Tales Of Grimea

by Andrew Mowere

  Before he could even smile in return, something like a lightning bolt jolted Silver suddenly, starting at the top of his skull and travelling all the way down to his riding boots, shaking him and driving the breath away. In an instant it was gone, but Silver understood the significance of what he’d just felt, and was sure the golden haired woman before him- Aria, was it- had experienced the same thing. He could see it in her slightly alarmed eyes, yet knew she’d felt no malice.

  The man to her left, who was huge and had a shorn head as well as arms the size of tree trunks, gave her a disapproving look. “You don’t welcome people who don’t say hello back, girl.” The man’s air of strength matched hers.

  Lady Aria- who hardly looked like a girl to Silver- shared a laugh with the man. “And how would you know-“

  “If he’d say hello back? You wait for him to talk first, bahahah!” Silver got the feeling they took his silence as a sign of intimidation and were trying to make him feel more at home. The large man had an enormous war hammer resting upon his lap and slapped at it in his mirth.

  “Oh, uncle,” remarked the woman, her blue eyes already mid roll. Everyone else at their table sat patiently and silently, as if these two were usually best left to their shenanigans. After a few seconds both niece and uncle seemed to settle down.

  “I apologize for any rudeness, my dear lady,” started Silver with a simple bow. “My name is Silver Vermillion, and I wish to settle here.” Her eyebrows rose at that, seeming as if she couldn’t quite believe her ears.

  “Settle here?” asked an old lady almost on the far right side of the table. She was obviously blind, and had a piece of blue cloth tied around her eyes. This lady was dressed all in purple and her hair spread from her head in thick black ropes despite the obvious wrinkles on her face. “Do you know about what happens here, young wolf cub? Don’t answer that,” She added with a cackle, “I can tell that you do.”

  Silver pulled at his leather collar. Spring was still a bit away, but there was already no hint of snow around and this forest had started to heat up a week ago, while he still made his way. “True... Are you a truth reader, ma’am?” At that she laughed again.

  “I have a bit of the gift, but hardly need it now. If you came through the forest, you’d sure enough have seen the beasts.” At that, the atmosphere turned a little darker. Children and families at the two tables by the hearths huddled slightly closer, as if to protect each other.

  Silver smiled and replied humbly, “Only once or twice. They generally stayed away though.” At that, the entire hall fell silent. Only the crackle of fire in the hearth interrupted the stunned nature of it, and Silver could tell that he had said something wrong. Even the children looked at him with slightly upset expressions. Aria looked angry too, and it made him sad. I need to get used to this bonding business soon, he thought to himself. His master had warned him, back when he was still an apprentice, but Silver had never expected it to hit quite so hard.

  “This forest’s beasts fear nothing,” the leader started in almost a whisper, barely holding in her rage. “Not even death. They rush headlong into it upon our walls every day. Erbhelm’s combined might does not phase their determination, and has not prevailed for many generations.” She went deathly quiet for a moment, obviously aware of her rising voice and wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt. With a start Silver realised that they thought he’d been bragging. “Are you telling me that you’re a greater warrior than all of us combined?”

  “Oh no, I terribly apologise. They avoid Surge, not me. I’m sure if your mage will inspect my sword outside he’ll agree that any beast with magical senses would be quite afraid of it indeed.” In a moment the elder man with his star patterned robe and pointy hat was prompted by many bemused stairs and made his way outside, grumbling that he was being made to do this. Silver allowed the man through, sighing politely. The mage turned outside the hall, a bored expression on his face, and immediately gasped with a recoil.

  “How... how the hell was this made?!”

  At that, Silver smiled, glad that they were finally moving along. It was uncomfortable to just stand there and talk, but it would be rude of him to fidget or go to a bench until given permission. Everyone around seemed taken aback at the mage’s reaction, and Silver reckoned the old man was usually far more collected than that. He could feel his quiet air of competence.

  “Ah, straight to the heart of the matter,” he announced, smiling pleasantly. “This leads me to explain my profession. You see, I am a type of mage blacksmith-“

  “A mage?” a few of those present murmured, perking up, and Silver let them talk politely. True war mages were rarer than spell weavers, and were therefore well prized in many societies outside of Indellekt. Aria’s eyes were fixed on him. Silver couldn’t decide if he enjoyed her staring at him, for he became too frightened of doing something she doesn’t like. Luckily, he had Coeur with him, and so he let it centre his being. “Let him finish,” she said sternly, and her peers obeyed.

  “Thank you my lady. My magic is very specific, called Coeur, which in my language means heart. I am able to understand people’s hearts as well as my own, and this allows me to create better weapons. My weapons fit costumers like their own hand. Added to that, I can directly pour feelings into my creations. Positive ones, mind you, that’s a law of our tradition, and there is only one official blacksmith of Coeur each generation so it becomes vital that we don’t turn bad. Friendship, admiration, care, determination, the more of these are present in me, my costumer, or the bond between us, the greater my weapons become. Arcane forces sit within them like the life in a tree. They turn more lethal, and can hold their edge longer. Now, before you ask,” he added when he saw that the mage, who was now back in his seat, was about to interrupt. The blacksmith walked over to a nearby hearth after asking with an eyebrow and receiving an affirmative nod from Erbhelm’s leader. He warmed up his fingers whilst talking. “Before you ask, Surge is special. He is passed on each generation, and each of us put in our self respect and willpower in him. Everything that has made each of our legion good lives on in him. He shall be only used once before breaking, and only against a powerful foretold enemy.”

  At that Aria stood, almost angrily. “I will be the one to slay the troll!” she challenged, pointing one finger behind her, at her slender, almost bow shaped sword. Silver was a master fighter and swordsman, and could tell that her style depended very much on inner flexibility. The sword reflected that perfectly. “What right does an outsider have, to come here and take our fathers’ fight into his hands?”

  Silver was taken aback by her proclamation. What had this troll done to anger her so? What am I thinking, it must have hurt this town immensely.

  Silver felt angry on her behalf, but the leader misunderstood his intentions.

  “I never claimed Surge was for him, my lady,” he reminded Aria, taking her aback. After a moment of challenge, she sat back upon her chair in a huff. “No, Surge’s enemy won’t be met for many generations more. He is simply for safekeeping until then. I simply propose that you allow me to make weapons for the townsfolk while I live here. My weapons will allow these beasts to stay dead much longer before regenerating, giving humans the edge as well as much greater respite between attacks. Furthermore-”

  “Done,” Aria exclaimed, her blue eyes eager. Everyone looked at her shock except Silver. He understood her wish to have him nearby, for he felt exactly the same. The electric shock felt earlier had bonded them on an astral level, and he had no control over either of their feelings anymore. It happened only once in every Coeur blacksmith’s life, when he found a perfect match. His master had warned him to not let that love go, because if one of them ruins things or dies, the blacksmith would never be able to be happy again. Without happiness, they cannot practice their craft and would need to retire. His master had told him that in front of a campfire at night, and a younger Silver had shuddered to see eyes colder than that season’s frost. He hoped to avoid such a f
ate. Luckily his own successor was ready and roaming the lands, gaining real world experience until such time that he was allowed to carry Surge and practice the craft.

  The gathering spoke to Silver at great length, learning more about his abilities, personality, and wishes. One by one, all ten of her council agreed to have him stay, until finally her uncle conceded with a great booming laugh, stroking his great mustasche. All the while Silver and Aria looked at each other in a manner that could not be truly understood but happened to be unmistakable.

  That very same day beasts attacked in waves, just as the sun’s orange disc sank back towards a green horizon backed by twin mountains. They howled as they came, and Silver sensed deep rejection from them, burning just as hot as the limitless determination emanating from Erbhelm’s townsfolk. The people here were going nowhere, for their will was so strong it soaked into the very wood of the many huts and buildings. Old lady Grathilda, the keenly cynical truth reader in purple, had stood atop the central hall and rang a bell twice as tall as she was, sending an ominous gong across the town. Within ten minutes soldiers lined the town’s wall and a wedge of warriors had been formed before the town’s gate, standing proud and tall.

  It seemed that everyone who was of fighting age had joined. Uncle Bast spun about his mighty war hammer near the front, standing almost half again as tall as most others. Hans was also there, and Silver felt bad for not having the time to craft that man an axe. It would fit him better than a spear. All in all, there must have been around twelve hundred warriors present. Lightning lined Mervan the mage’s fingers, and Silver had been told that Mervan’s job was to stay by the gate and make sure no monsters made it inside whilst everyone else met the horde. Silver himself had pulled out a simple dagger he’d made for himself a few months back. It reflected his whimsical disregard for danger, and was meant to be quite versatile. Now he held it in a reversed grip, barely noting the disjointed army of all manner of beasts coming at their ordered wedge in loping strides, screaming all the while. No, Silver’s attention was held completely captive by this goddess of war he saw before him.

  She stood at the forefront, rolling her shoulders in extreme confidence, relishing the fight to come as her golden hair scattered the sunset. He went to her and stood by her side. She didn’t complain, and rather smiled at him warmly. “I like to fight,” she said cheerfully, as if it were a secret.

  Silver wanted to scratch at her smile’s corner, but of course he didn’t. He wasn’t crass like that. “I can feel something,” he said instead, smiling warmly and trying to tell her that he loved her. His beautiful lady looked almost concerned and tugged at her vest of what seemed like silver wolf fur. Her eyes promised him an ocean’s wealth. “How much can you feel?”

  “A little. What is it?”

  “Just the emotions, and mostly projected ones. It’s like a higher form of empathy.”

  “Oh. In that case we’re going to need a talk later.” At that he nodded, and she looked forward, expression reflecting joy. “Charge!” she exclaimed simply, and sprinted forward. Instantly her warriors complied, and Silver was almost left behind before catching up. Trying his best to not worry about her, he focused his attention to the fight, but the blacksmith still decided not to stray too far from Aria just in case something tried to get her back.

  His first opponent was a green giggling imp, with hellish wings and a trident. It flew straight down at Silver and he deflected its stab with the flat of his knife, spinning. As he did, the blacksmith allowed his right leg to sail high above him, and as he brought it down in an axe kick he went on his left toes, allowing his attack to not only send the imp so forcefully into the ground that it bounced back up, but also allowing his right leg to then sail further behind him, pulling him lurching forward and downwards. He used that momentum to stab the thing in the heart, but caught his fall with his left hand. Silver didn’t want to get dust on his clothes, after all. As soon as his knife entered the imp, it screeched horribly and exploded in a shower of magical dust. Everywhere around, Warriors dismantled other beasts in a similar fashion, yet their dust shone with a brighter inner light.

  So the battle raged on, Humans slowly pushing the beasts back towards the trees. Silver spun and wove about the whipping branches of a mandrake, one of the treefolk. Halfway up its trunk gaping eyes sat, and a matching maw yelled at him, but Silver tumbled forwards over the last branch and landed in a neat stance, stabbing inwards with his right hand, other arm pointing left to lend force to his blow. The tree went down instantly. Then came a minotaur and then a dire wolf. Where he went, Silver kept dodging blows while remaining close to Aria, who was flanked by her uncle. She seemed to be doing the same thing, and stole glances at him as he did at her.

  Both Erbhelm’s leader and her uncle were amazing fighters, but whereas Bastion Stormbreather balanced enormous strength with smaller movements when haste was needed, Aria seemed to be a master of using her body’s flexibility in order to create enough striking power for her slender blade to slice through foes. She seemed to tense and twist before every strike, then unleashing all that power like a catapult, slicing foes in twain with barely a backwards glance. At times she even curled up or crouched just before delivering devastating attacks potent enough to cut a tree person in half. Through it all she looked graceful and balanced at all times, and Silver had a few moments to admire her beauty. Not once did she look crazed or barbaric, rather more like a master of blades, a fighter in her element. Most of all, she kept her comrades safe and checked on them often, more than once pulling someone out from harm’s way. She kept a certain look in her eyes, which Silver understood to be respect for her opponents. Beautiful, thought the blacksmith, not just meaning her form or her face.

  Finally, after about two hours of fighting, the remaining beasts retreated back towards the forest and mountains where the troll resided, leaving humans to cheer. The wounded were carried off to be treated, but none had been slain. This was because an old strategist called Flint had created a system where inferior fighters were grouped in fives and were never sent individually against beasts, even if it was a goblin or imp. They were trained in five man battle stratagems, prioritizing survival over destruction.

  Aria looked perfect as she thanked everyone for their efforts and assured them an eventual victory. She then introduced Silver to the entire town, allocated him an old empty house with enough space for a smithy to be constructed where he couldn’t keep anyone awake, and told them of his craft. “I saw him fight,” she announced, eyeing him with enough open admiration to make the swordsmage scratch at his beard. “He’s good.”

  “Damn good!” yelled uncle Bast from the side, eliciting a few laughs.

  “Indeed. He’s also going to make us better weapons , although he didn’t exactly explain the process yet.” With that, Aria stepped to the side and gestured the blacksmith over. He could feel the people’s acceptance of him as he went, and those who knew him or saw him fight cheered. He waved in appreciation.

  “As you all know, all these beasts here are under the troll’s curse,” Silver started after introducing himself again, getting nods from everyone. So far so good. “They cannot reproduce, they cannot die, nor can they flee run. Each time they are destroyed, they are reborn of its power. With my weapons, the time taken for regeneration will increase. You can tell the length by the light present in the magic dust left at death.” Mervan nodded knowingly at that, but a few villagers looked puzzled. Silver pulled out two pouches, which he’d filled from the battlefield earlier. He emptied one, which glittered like gold “This is the dust left by usual weapons. From the shine, seems it takes about a day to regenerate into a fully formed beast, which says a lot for the troll’s power. This is another from a monster killed by my knife.” The second bag contained dust little paler than fresh dirt.

  “How much slower is it?” this was Flint asking the question, looking extremely curious; calculating even. Silver could feel his devotion for this town, as well as a deep inhere
nt sense of guilt. Perhaps it was why the old grey man refused to wear his last name.

  “A couple of months, I’d say.” Everyone gasped at that, and Silver hastily added, “Remember, this was with my knife. I can only promise weapons that are twice as effective at first. My skills are based on positive feelings and bonds. With time, they will grow more powerful. I could make something that keeps them dead for a week if I only pour MY feelings in, but then they’d constantly need to be close to me and I can’t do that for a whole town. The weapons would be bonded to me, not to its user.”

  Aria looked at him. “But you’re saying that we can now fight once every two days?” All around the ring of people, hopeful faces looked at him, but Silver only had eyes for her. How could one person be so perfect in caring for others? The blacksmith knew she loved battle, but he could feel how much she wanted respite for her warlike town’s sake. He could feel her will for peace, if only for them to have a chance at a normal life. I love you, he said with his eyes again. She seemed to stir.

  “Aye, starting next week I’ll have weapons made, but first I’ll need to befriend all of you.”

  It took a while for his word’s significance to reach the crowd, but when it did they went wild with cheers.

  A week as well as a few parties later, Silver had managed to make weapons for most of the townsfolk. Of course, each fit his or her owner perfectly, and didn’t need much training at all to become usable. This allowed many fighters to go from mediocre to slightly above average in a short span, which caused them to fight much more effectively as a unit and with fewer injuries during battle. Most warriors were taught by either Bastion Stormbreather or Aria, but the blacksmith started to teach a third martial arts class, for those who were neither compatible with Uncle Bast’s or Aria’s. Some people had neither strength nor flexibility, after all. For those, he taught his own martial art, based on dodging and creating directional force. This meant, basically, pointing your limbs precisely in the direction that you want your strength to flow. Hans seemed particularly adept at this martial art, and so managed to do extremely well in time. As days wore on Silver became very popular in town, for he was not only the cause for its increasing periods of peace (as monsters began to need a week to regenerate), but was also in fact quite a likable and empathetic man. One day, he was surprised to find Aria Stormbreather, in her well-worn black boots and usual attire, shield proud on her shoulder, standing in his workshop.