by James Wolf
Whilst Hirandar was busy, Logan led the three younger warriors to another section of the Emporium, through an insignificant doorway at the back of the shop. Taem’s senses tingled as he stepped through into a short passage, lit by candlelight. He realised there were magic weapons beyond the door at the end of the passage, but in the same moment he felt Estellarum’s presence on his right hip. Taem stopped in shock, as his companions walked on. Somehow, he was aware of the Starblade in the back of his mind. Taem felt some sort of connection, a presence. He did not even have to look at the blade, but he knew where it was. They were linked. Taem also realised the bond between him and the sword had always been there, this was just the first time he had been conscious of it.
‘Come on Taem,’ Logan said as he came back down the passage. ‘Why have you stopped?’
All of a sudden, Taem was dimly aware of a similar connection between Logan and the blade Mantioc, on the Master’s hip.
‘What’s the matter?’ Logan asked.
‘I do not know...’ Taem looked down at Estellarum. ‘I can sense my blade!’
Logan smiled, ‘Welcome, Taem. You are truly Sodan now.’ Logan placed a hand on Taem’s shoulder. ‘You are one with the sword.’
Taem grasped Estellarum’s hilt, and he felt the power he held in his hand.
‘Come on,’ Logan strode back to where Baek and Forgrun waited, outside the door at the end of the corridor.
Taem followed the other warriors into the dark room, and smelt the sweet aroma of balming lotions, used to keep blades clean. The walls were decked in purple drapes. Unlike the Emporium of Magic’s main chamber, this room was tidy and clutterless. There were weapons and pieces of armour, held on carved display stands, and that was it. An elderly man sat sleeping on a stool, slumped with his arms crossed and his eyes shut, but the companions did not wake him as they entered. Taem could see the man was in the twilight of his years, and he took pride in keeping himself neat and tidy. Taem watched the wisps of the man’s white Dolami moustache rise and fall with his heavy breathing.
‘Magic weapons are rare,’ Logan kept his voice low, so not to wake the old man, ‘and hard to obtain. Have a look around, but be careful.’ Logan left the room.
The three younger warriors examined the items on display. There were swords, axes, spears, shields and suits of armour. The arms and armour were covered in ornate decoration, but Taem searched beyond this, marvelling at the high craftsmanship of the goods. Only the best would be charmed with magic.
‘For weapons and armour,’ Baek whispered, ‘I have heard the process of enchantment is long and complicated.’
Taem imagined that any magic item of great power would be kept under more guard than those here. Such items would be incredibly valuable, even dangerous.
‘Normally they are kept as family heirlooms,’ the old man yawned, startling the three warriors. ‘Prize possessions that are never given up. But we at the Emporium acquire what we can, and make it available to the adventuring public.’
The old man seemed pleased to have someone to talk to, and Taem supposed he did not get many visitors coming to the shop.
‘We’ve got a Fireblade in stock at the moment,’ the old man swept out a broadsword, with rune markings scratched into the gleaming steel of its blade. The sword started burning as the old man picked it up, flames leapt across the length of the blade, causing the three friends to rear back in surprise. With a grin, the shop man handed the Fireblade to Taem. Who, to his immense satisfaction, began willing the flames to appear and then disappear.
‘Let’s see,’ the old man mused, as he looked around his shop. ‘An axe of Tritian.’ He held the axe out with two hands, so Forgrun could examine it.
Taem saw it was a heavy war axe, with a large Rhungari rune etched into the side of its weighty head, and a gleaming razor-sharp blade. Taem thought the rune was a sun, with countless square-cut edges superimposed on each other. Forgrun gaped at the mighty axe.
‘Makes you hit with the strength of a giant,’ the old man said. ‘Rhungari made, rune enhanced.’ The old man gave the axe a test swing.
The axe blade whistled past Forgrun’s nose, and he leapt back out the way.
Smiling at Forgrun’s reaction, the old man handed the Rhungar the axe. Taem could see the old custodian was enjoying having a little play with the three young adventurers.
‘Something Aborle,’ the old man regarded Baek. ‘Very hard to come by,’ the old man shifted through the weapons on the wooden stands, and those hanging on the wall, ‘magic weaponry of Aborle-craft. Very scarce. But what they do make is good. Unfortunately, the cost reflects the scarcity.’ The old custodian looked at Baek. ‘Tis a long time since I saw an Aborle abroad in Hathlore?’
‘Even Aborle can sometimes desire an adventure,’ Baek smiled.
‘I was an adventurer myself,’ the shop man grinned, ‘many years ago, then a captain of the Defenders. Here we are!’ He opened a finely crafted black-wood chest, with silver edging and green velvet furnishings inside. Inset into the velvet were a pair of exquisite daggers. Their blades were dark metal – a green as dark as the forest under a moonless night – and on the hilts and pommels there were markings of the clearest green frost.
‘Twin daggers of Sulamoth.’ The old man deftly twirled them round, one in each hand. ‘So light, so fast – but that’s not magic, that’s their craftsmanship.’ The old custodian shuffled the daggers through his fingers, spinning and flourishing them with an easy familiarity, before he passed them to Baek.
Baek, Taem and Forgrun all gaped at the old man’s skilful display, which pleased the old custodian no end.
‘They’ve got far more bite than a normal dagger,’ the custodian said, ‘but the best thing is they can be thrown with uncanny accuracy. In fact, it’s probably harder to miss a target than hit it with these.’ The old man’s eyes shifted around the room, gauging the distances. From nowhere he flipped up a small sheet of wood, ‘Throw!’ He yelled at Baek.
The Aborle was sharp enough to hurl one of the daggers at the falling wood. The flying dagger pierced the wood and pinned it to the far wall, lodging it with a resounding thud.
‘Whooaa!’ Forgrun smiled.
‘Well met!’ Taem said.
The old custodian grinned from ear to ear, ‘Regardless of the daggers’ magic that was a good throw. But alas, gentlemen,’ the old man sighed as he gathered back the weapons and restored them to their display stands. ‘I do believe these items may be too far out of your price range. These daggers of Sulamoth are the most expensive item in stock, ten thousand gold pieces for the pair,’ the old man took one dagger back from Baek, and retrieved the second from the wall.
Taem’s eyes went wide, Forgrun let out a low whistle and Baek’s jaw dropped loose. The old custodian sighed, ‘I suggest you head down the street to the weaponsmith, Ralhean. He’s the best around here, and he’ll give you a fair price. Get some normal weapons of good workmanship. Won’t give you that extra edge that a magic weapon does, but they’re a hundred times more affordable than what we’ve got here in the Emporium…’
The old man’s eye lit up as he caught sight of the sword at Taem’s waist, ‘May I see your sword, sir? It looks like…’ The custodian’s eyes glazed over, as his mouth hung low in astonishment. ‘You’re carrying an ancient Sodan blade! I can’t believe it!’ The old man gazed at Estellarum in amazement.
The sheer wonder in the old man made Taem feel uneasy, and he put a hand to his swordhilt.
‘In all my years I’ve never seen one of the great blades!’ The old custodian gasped. ‘How – in Hathlore? – did you ever come to carry this sword, young man? Have you any idea what power hangs at your waist?’
Baek stared at the old man in amazement.
Before Taem had chance to answer, the old man continued, ‘Incredible craftsmanship on the hilt, perfectly formed grip, the best I’ve ever seen. And I thought I’d seen it all.’ The custodian chortled in disbelief. ‘Please, may I examine the
blade?’
Taem hesitated, but drew out the sword. The Starblade gleamed with its blue sheen. Even Taem was taken aback by how beautiful it was. He turned the blade over, so the custodian could see the shallow curve.
The old man gawked at the sword, and he was actually shaking with exhilaration, ‘Never in all my years…This sword is not just a Sodan sword, it must be a sword of legend!’ Baek and Forgrun exchanged an incredulous glance. They knew Taem’s sword was magic, but yet was there even more to it than that?
‘It’s so powerful I can almost feel it from here.’ The old man’s hand quivered as he reached out towards Estellarum.
Taem edged his sword away from the man’s grasp.
‘A Sodan does not give up his sword,’ Taem murmured, but the old man did not even seem to hear him, he was so caught up in the sword’s majesty.
‘Not for all the gold in Grantle.’ The old custodian shook his head. ‘What chance is this? How did this sword, fit for the Sartorian High Kings – this blade of a Sodan Lord – how did it come to you?’
Taem was too dumbfounded to answer.
‘Who are you, boy?’ The custodian looked at Taem in wonder.
‘Enough!’ Logan strode into the room, cloaked and hooded, and motioned for Taem to sheath Estellarum. ‘You are learned in weapon-lore, friend,’ Logan said to the old man, as he lowered his hood to reveal his face. ‘And that is a rare thing in these times.’
The old man was taken aback by Logan’s famous face, but recovered well.
‘I do not often ask something of someone I do not know,’ Logan said, ‘but I see a good heart in you. If the word of the Grim Wanderer has any sway with you, I ask you to never talk of this sword, and delve no further into its secret.’
‘As you command, Lord,’ the old shopkeeper bowed low. ‘As a fellow warrior, I would respect the Wanderer’s wishes without question.’
Logan nodded. ‘Come, our leader awaits,’ Logan gestured for the younger warriors to leave the weapon room.
As Forgrun and Baek were saying goodbye to the old custodian, Logan whispered to Taem, ‘Be careful with that sword, Taem. Remember, it should always be kept a secret! Promise me that?’
‘I will, Master.’
‘I only tell you this because I fear for you, Taem,’ Logan murmured. ‘One day I may not be there to protect you, and there are many people who would kill you for this sword.’
‘But I do not understand, Master?' Taem whispered. ‘If this sword is so great, why do I have it?’
‘That is a question you must answer yourself,’ Logan said softly, as Forgrun and Baek came over.
‘So where did you get that sword, Taem?’ Baek asked, as they were walking down the passage to the main chamber of the Emporium.
Taem felt torn. Baek deserved to know the truth, but he would not go against the Master’s wishes.
‘I do not yet know the full tale myself,’ Taem looked down at the floor, he could not meet his friend’s eyes as he spoke. ‘It is an ancient Sodan blade, and I am now its keeper. More than that, I cannot say.’
‘Ever since I do first lay eyes on yhee sword,’ Forgrun murmured to Taem, ‘I do know it be special. Rhungari myth do speak o’ a blade o’ Star metal–’
‘That is enough, Forgrun.’ Logan said. ‘Here is not the place to speak of such things.’
‘But Logan,’ Baek said, ‘why did you insist on the man’s secrecy?’
Logan remained silent for a few moments, ‘One well-meaning but free-tongued old man could spark a wealth of rumour. And that we can do without.’
Taem saw the glance that passed between Baek and Forgrun, and he saw their disappointment as they looked at him.
‘Please, my friends,’ Taem said as they came to the end of the passage. ‘I would trust either of you with my life–’
‘But it is a story for another time,’ Logan looked to all three younger warriors. ‘You will all know before too long, of that I am sure.’
As the warriors went through into the main Emporium, Taem saw Hirandar leaning against the counter, with a hefty green cloth bag packed and sitting ready by her feet. The old sorcerer who ran the shop was engaging Hirandar in an apparently fascinating conversation about the healing properties of different herbs. Taem could see Hirandar was only too happy to display her vast knowledge. Taem knew, once you had Hirandar talking it was very difficult to get her to stop, but the elderly sorcerer did not seem to mind. By the way the sorcerer leaned forward eagerly, Taem thought he seemed to have more than a professional interest in his teacher.
‘You see,’ Hirandar nodded, ‘it is far more effective to crumple the leaves of Shepherd’s Wort, rather than just burning the roots to a char. It retains far more of their magic.’
The sorcerer nodded, enthralled with the apparently fascinating conversation.
‘Ah ha,’ Hirandar noticed Logan and the other companions, ‘it looks like my friends are ready to go.’ Hirandar smiled at the sorcerer, ‘Farewell kind sir, may we meet again one day.’
‘It was good to meet you, my Lady,’ the sorcerer said. ‘Perhaps... you would like to come dine at my house?’
‘Alas, I must decline,’ Hirandar smiled and bobbed her head. ‘I have many tasks to accomplish before I leave Dolam.’
‘Farewell then,’ the sorcerer said quietly, and Taem saw his glum face as Hirandar left the Emporium, leading the companions back out into Fandivas Street.
‘Hirandar Firefist!’ Someone shouted, as the companions walked away from the Emporium of Magic.
Taem heard Hirandar curse under her breath. The Wizard had forgotten to raise her hood as they left the shop. Hirandar went to pull her grey hood up, but it was too late. Already people had stopped to stare. Taem noticed Logan move away from the other companions and lose himself in the crowd.
A self-important wizard, in his middling years, with brown hair and a permanently raised nose, introduced himself, ‘Fenglas Malahide, Keyholder of The Order at your service, my Lady,’ his crisp, clear voice marked him a wizard of Marnion.
Taem thought Fenglas must have been wealthy; he was wearing voluminous robes of purple and green, and felt gloves of the deepest blue.
‘Cassandra Anjou,’ curtsied a Darnean sorceress who came up from behind Hirandar. She wore a long silver dress and a green cape over her shoulders. A silver chain encircled her neck, with a single sparkling diamond.
‘Voldo Asgarath,’ announced a bald and scowling man. Taem suspected, by his tanned skin and harsh accent, that Voldo was a sorcerer of Shacain. His fingers were covered in rings with colourful precious stones, and he had countless gold chains and bracelets on his arms.
‘Liria Sansyra,’ chirped a plump woman with a wide brimmed hat, a stout woollen dress and jewellery of wood and crystals.
‘Sibrian Lucan,’ an older wizard swept in to shake Hirandar’s hand. Sibrian had a long black beard, streaked with silver and tied with blue ribbons, and purple robes. By his familiar tone, Taem thought him a Wizard of Aritas.
Soon, Hirandar was surrounded by a dozen wizards and other types of adventurers who were keen to meet her. Taem had known Hirandar was renowned, but he had not realised she was this famous!
‘Is there a Sceptre Room in Grantle?’ Many were eager to know. It surprised Taem that they did not know. Apparently, only the highest of The Order knew the locations of the secret Sceptre Rooms.
‘Are you on a quest?’ Other wizards asked.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Are you taking apprentices?’
‘Quiet!’ Fenglas Malahide called his fellow wizards to heel. Taem thought there was a brittle edge of command about Fenglas. Fenglas was someone who assumed he was entitled to leadership and respect, rather than having to earn it.
‘Firstly,’ Fenglas said pretentiously, ‘may I say how glad we all are to meet you, mighty Lady Firefist.’
Taem chuckled at Fenglas’s insincerity, and Forgrun snorted with barely contained laughter.
‘Now,’ Fe
nglas glared at Forgrun, ‘as to the matter of apprenticeship, there are many here – even those who are already Keyholders – who would gladly present themselves.’
Taem could hear in Fenglas’s haughty voice that he thought of himself as the most outstanding candidate.
‘Lady Hirandar!’ Someone shouted from outside the group of wizards.
Before Hirandar could answer, a man squeezed inside the middle of the throng and fell flat on his face. Every one of the wizards laughed at this bumbling fool – except Hirandar. The man stumbled up onto his feet. Taem could see this man had a short dark beard, and green eyes that sparkled with a laughter for the simplest of jokes.
‘I am Amos Ballon,’ the Wizard scrabbled to wipe the dust from his clothes and straighten his long, wayward hair. If it had not been for whatever magic ability Amos possessed, he would still have been ploughing his fields somewhere in the back of beyond.
‘Please, my Lady,’ Amos said to Hirandar, ‘please take me as your apprentice.’
Many of the other wizards convulsed with laughter.
‘Amos!’ Fenglas Malahide barked. ‘Get out the way you ignoramus! Can’t you see there are real wizards doing business here?’
‘It is good to see you again, Amos,’ Hirandar said genuinely, ignoring Fenglas.
‘You remember me, Lady?’ Amos’s eyes sparkled with delight.
Hirandar nodded, ‘But what are you doing in Dolam? I told you to go to Marnion, to The Fortress?’
Taem heard the care in Hirandar’s voice, and he knew his teacher liked this Wizard Amos, despite his bunglings.
‘But I hoped you would take me as your apprentice?’ Amos’s bushy eyebrows drooped.
‘If I’ve told you all once I’ve told you a thousand times!’ Hirandar glared at them all. ‘I do not take apprentices! I told you to go to The Fortress of Magic,’ Hirandar said to Amos, ‘there you will find someone who will take you.’
‘I went there, Lady,’ Amos stared at the floor, ‘they would not have me.’
Taem felt desperately sorry for Amos. To have to admit that in front of so many people must have been embarrassing.