Tales Of Grimea

by Andrew Mowere

  “Lady Aria!” he exclaimed, heart skipping a beat, “to what do I give the pleasure?”

  She took a seat and waited pleasantly while Silver put away the sword he was sharpening, wiped himself off with a towel, and caught the breath that had fled her arrival. “Well, firstly I wanted to say hi,” She said, accepting a glass of the apple juice Mrs Copferstal had brought him earlier that day. Mrs Copferstal was Flint the strategist’s wife, and was far more forgiving of him than the man was of himself. “Secondly, I wanted to ask why you haven’t made me a new sword yet.” Her eyes looked slightly upset, and it confused Silver for a moment. Then he realized that she thought he’d shunned her.

  “Lady Aria-“

  “Just Aria will do. Look here,” she said, clearly hurt now. “I know you felt what I felt when we met. I want to know that it wasn’t some kind of sorcery... You promised me a talk.” He could see clear determination, and Silver understood her fears. She thought he had seduced her with magic, and after their initial agreement they had avoided the subject.

  “Aria... Listen, I’ll tell you everything, but I promise you that it wasn’t a trick. I...” The words stuck in his throat. “Emotions have a way of being instant, but also building through the knowing of others. My magic goes around that. I love you too,” at that she gasped, almost making the blacksmith think he’d misunderstood, despite knowing of the magic and being sure that he loved him too, but then nodded in a show for him to continue. “I can’t control it, but wouldn’t stop it if I could. It’s part of my magic, Coeur. When I meet the one person who fits me perfectly, my magic reaches out and entwines our souls, and if I let them go there’s no chance for happiness left in me. Not through love, and not around it. It is a way of… hastening the inevitable.”

  They spoke for hours then, about how they felt and why. “And now?” the beautiful golden haired woman inquired at length, “You say we love each other, and I feel something. I won’t be with a man I don’t know, not because of magic.” Silver thought that Coeur had chosen perfectly, for he thought the exact same way. What small hint of doubt had been harboured in his soul fell away. “I think we should accept our feelings, but not rush into them. Let’s get to know each other, our likes and dislikes. We could start off as friends and see where it goes.” They had by now drained their glasses of apple juice, but the furnace’s warmth and each other’s company gave them a comfortable escape from the cool weather outside. “Deal?” he asked, and she nodded happily. Start slowly and see where it goes. “So where exactly did you meet your…”

  They were married within the year. The wedding was a joyous occasion anticipated by everyone. For some reason Uncle Bast insisted on presiding over the affair, and looked slightly out of place in a priest’s robe. He also had not known that he needed to have his words memorised for the whole thing, and had thus caused a month long delay. By that time, attacks only came once every two weeks. New clothes were prepared for everyone, even Old lady Grathilda, and Mervin wept for joy so much that he got his beard covered in magical frost. A guard called Mense, who was special for being the only one holding multiple forged weapons, exhibited his knife juggling skills for everyone. All in all, it was a wonderful day for the entire town, who loved Silver for who he was and what he’d done.

  A tragedy struck, however, less than a month after the wedding. In one particularly ill fated battle, Hans slipped and was struck down by a goblin. He fell into his precious Helga’s arms with his last shocked breath and managed to tell her that he loved her for the ninth and last time, but that did little to lessen the hurt on her face. After his burial she had gone into Silver’s smithy and thanked him for the confidence he had given her lover, as well as the longer periods of peace that he allowed their Erbhelm. “You know what else lies in my heart, blacksmith of Coeur. Tell me what it is,” she’d asked stiffly, standing tall and proud. Hans had never been one to be sentimental either, thought the blacksmith.

  Silver sat in his chair and sobbed bitterly. “Yes I do, Ma’am,” he’d answered truthfully. He could feel her grief like an open wound. “You wish that I never came, that I’d stayed west. Hans would have remained weak and alive. He would never have told you that he loved you, that day under the oak tree, but he’d have been alive.” She nodded and left silently, leaving Silver crying hot tears in her stead.

  If he lived long enough, would the same pain reach his own wife? He didn’t tell Aria of Helga’s visit, although he explained her pain. His lovely had nothing to say, but her mere presence helped. It was all because of that troll, Silver decided. It was all its fault.

  It was six months later that it happened. That week Silver spent an unusual amount of time in his smithy, working on what seemed to be one blade, long and straight and strong. It was double edged, its guard was of silver and red, its grip ribbed and its pommel rounded. The blade reflected runes along deadly edges, each in a different language. For seven days and seven nights Silver worked on it, until exhaustion took upon his soul. He poured everything he had into it, and Aria had allowed him space as he did it. She had understood that he did something important, and thus had asked no questions. On the seventh night, however, another villager came.

  Grathilda.

  She cackled at him in that way of hers and Silver smiled tiredly back at her. “What are you doing, young’un?” she asked.

  “Forging a sword,” he said simply, causing her to nod.

  “I can see that!” Out of the corner of his eyes, Silver spied her point at her blindfold and a laugh was forced out of him. Then the old lady sat, scratching at her arm. “Got any milk?” She’d demanded, and Silver paused in his work to pour them both some, groaning as he stretched. His sword was almost complete, after all. No need to rush it now. She demanded that they exchange mugs because hers had less in it. Silver chuckled and complied, wanting to appease her.

  “Now, child. Mervan sent me here because he felt you pour more strength and care than he’d ever felt into that thing. Well, other than that monster sword you have. He said that in the Astral realm it looked like you were calling a tornado to connect the sky and that blade.”

  “Well, with all du-“

  “Said that much strength scared him, and he sent me here to see the truth of it.” Despite being blind, Grathilda nonetheless had an uncanny way of looking at people as she talked to them. She was sly too, Silver knew. There was no way around it.

  “It’s a sword to kill the troll,” Silver whispered, causing her to gasp. “It was never impossible, just takes a lot of power. This blade, it will kill the troll then break, and then you can live happily here. No troll, forever. Even the magical creatures will be free from its grip.”

  The old purple robed lady eyed him carefully whilst licking her lips, probably mulling things over. Silver could sense her distrust. She trusted very little, but she was willing to give him a chance. “And the cost?” she asked finally.

  The blacksmith of Coeur almost thought of lying, but could tell she’d find out. “Forbidden technique,” he answered gruffly, hoping to end it there.

  “Well? Don’t keep me waiting.”

  Damn it. Miserably he said it, cursing both her and old man Mervan. “It’s called the Coeur Tueur, the heart slayer. It needs to be quenched... in the life’s blood of a loved one.”

  The truth seer looked stunned for a second, then something shifted and Silver couldn’t tell what she felt. Confusion, perhaps. “Ah, well... best leave you to it,” she remarked finally, getting back to her feet. After draining her mug, Grathilda turned to leave, her black ropy hair swinging around her wrinkly face. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything, thanks for the milk.” Silver thought of finishing the deed then, but unnatural tiredness took him somehow and he fell asleep.

  The next day, Silver was arrested. An oblivious Aria had tried to protest, not knowing what the matter was, but uncle Bast almost challenged her to a duel in his rage. It was all the guards could do to stop him from killing Silver then and there. The blacksmit
h was chained, locked for half a day, then brought to the central hall for trial. He was manacled and chained, although no one had the heart to beat him. The hall seemed a very different place indeed, for it was now filled with grim faces and both hearths were extinguished. The place looked bleak and blue with cold, and even the runes along its floor middle seemed more accusing, somehow. Silver realized that much of the phrasing had been purposely vague. Now he stood once more before Erbhelm’s grim faced council. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He said sheepishly. Aria, apparently, hadn’t yet been told a thing and was completely bewildered in her seat. Bastion Stormbreather stood slowly in his seat, for once leaving his weapon behind. Presumably he didn’t want to touch anything that Silver had made at the moment. Or perhaps he didn’t trust himself with a weapon around the blacksmith. The thought made Silver nervous, especially with how he could feel the warrior’s rage. It burned. Something else niggled at him as he stood surrounded by his peers, however. Silver knew everyone in this town, but he now felt a presence that he’d not felt before, coming from the leader’s table. He could see no one unknown at the council, however. He quickly dismissed the thought, however, for Bastion seemed ready for murder.

  “Silver Vermillion,” uncle Bast started in a booming voice. “You are accused of plotting with the intent of murder.” The audience, which was of course the whole town, seemed shocked. Especially Aria. Before she or Silver could say anything the older man bellowed for silence and immediately called for Mervan to come forward and explain Silver’s magic again to everyone. After that, old lady Grathilda stepped in his place and told of Mervan waking her up at night. “Quite rudely,” she added. She then relayed the entire contents of her conversation with the mage and her subsequent visit to Silver’s smithy, finishing off with how he’d confessed to the blade needing to be quenched in a loved one’s blood. When she was done, both uncle Bast and Aria were visibly shaking with anger. “See, brothers and sisters?” said the warrior, “This is what he plotted behind our backs. Kill the troll, but take a loved one to do the deed. And who does he love? Who of you all was going to pay the price?” He looked furious, working himself into a greater rage. Silver could feel the mountain of a man almost slip into bloodlust. “Your leader, my niece! Do you want my niece dead in exchange for the troll? Would it appease our ancestor? Cold blooded sacrifice?”

  “Nay!” bellowed the crowd as one in response, and Silver couldn’t help but admire their unity. This is why he had decided to use that technique after all. This town deserved a happy ending. Now they booed him to the rhythm of Bastion Stormbreather hammering his right fist against his table repeatedly. The hall shook with their volume and dust came from the ceiling. Then moustached man brought his arm down and silence reigned. “Now, what say you we do to this-“

  “Bastard!” yelled his niece suddenly, cutting him off. She looked almost as angry as the man was, but Silver could feel that she was much more furious. Hurt lay inside her too, for she felt betrayed by her husband and it cut at him like a knife. This was why he’d wanted to finish the night before, while she still believed him a strong good man. He hadn’t wished to see such a beautiful woman look so hurt. “You were going to kill me!” she screamed, and uncle Bast turned as if to comfort her.

  “Yes, child, but for now we will take care of-“

  “You don’t understand, uncle!” she accused, “It wasn’t my blood he’d wanted to use for the sword.” At that the man looked baffled, and Silver stared at his feet in shame. “Coeur Tueur, uncle... that blade was meant for him!”

  Silence reigned for a while, and Silver tried to look no one in the eyes. It wasn’t meant to be like this. He was supposed to be dead and gone by now. They would have cried, then gotten over it, then persevered as only Erbhelm could. “He was going to kill himself so we could live free of the troll!” his wife insisted again.

  “Is this true?” asked him Grathilda in the silence, and for a while Silver didn’t answer, then whispered a weak affirmative, hating his tongue. She looked to Bast and repeated the nod.

  “Why? Why not me, Silver?”demanded his wife, and Silver looked at her in astonishment.

  Then he saw the look in her eyes and said “I love you.” She didn’t respond, and Silver added “I didn’t want to be like Helga, to see you go first. I thought it would be better if I died to make everyone here happy.” He then felt anger and hurt coming from everyone in the crowd. They were all friends. “You would have been crushed at first, but peace would have made you all happy eventually! Don’t you understand?”

  “Everybody would have been happy eventually, that’s true. They would have gone back to their loved ones and hugged them and cried… Except for me,” Aria countered, then knocked the buckler at her shoulder. “This shield belonged to my father, Karl Stormbreather. He held the troll down singlehandedly the last time it came down the mountain. He died because he used this shield to save uncle Bast instead of himself, and I never saw a man so broken to be alive.” Her uncle said nothing, but his eyes said everything. “I wear this shield to remind myself that throwing your life away will leave others even more hurt.” He uncle nodded, pride and sadness both apparent in his stance. “If you don’t believe me, love, then see for yourself.” She looked at the people in this hall, people who have suffered against the troll for many years, and who had lost loved ones to its cruelty. “Would you here exchange Silver’s life for the troll’s?”

  “Nay!” they bellowed in defiance. The heat of their will and their love almost brought Silver to his knees with its force. Then he thought of the strange presence he’d felt. Aria came down from her place, stepping slowly. Silver could feel her start to forgive him already, and it caused a lump to form in his throat.

  “Now what say you,” she announced, “That we do away with these manacles, make my husband break that sword, and keep fighting by our side until we one day rid ourselves of our sworn enemy, united as one?”

  “Aye!” cried each and every one. The blacksmith of Coeur felt blessed to have such friends, and knew that he would never allow his sense of self value to suffer again as he heard them cheer. That was the meaning of carrying Surge, after all. The blade would be sent to his successor in time, but not yet. One by one, his friends came and scolded him for his actions before apologising for doubting his intentions. Uncle Bast even bent down to embrace him fiercely.

  Still, Silver looked at his feet in shame. “Thank you, wife,” he said, “but even with your forgiveness, how am I ever to forgive myself for this foolishness?” Just then, he felt a coarse hand rest on his left shoulder. It was Flint Copferstal, who of all people understood being ashamed of your actions.

  With a wizened grin and a wink, the old man said, “If you can’t forgive yourself for your own sake, then at least do it for them.”

  Aria had reached him by then, looking splendid in her fur vest and skirt and shield. She was perfect, in body and mind and soul. “What say you, Silver Vermillion?” Erbhelm’s leader asked, as beautiful as the goddess of the morning, “Will you fight for the two of us?”

  “I will do it for the town, but more importantly,” he said slowly, looking at her belly, which still a few weeks shy from starting to swell. Found you, he told the presence that had been nagging at him all morning.

  “I will do it for the three of us!”

  Tales Of Grimea glossary:

  Although to the citizens of Grimea and its four continents, many of these local terms may be entirely sensible, they are certainly localized. Modes of travel have not advanced in the realm, and magical means are often only available to those of medium means. For those unaware of terms in other lands, as well as hypothetical readers from another realm, Indellekt’s Greenstar library has compiled to following list of terms and their meanings, adding it post scriptum to the tome:

  Belg: A trap like insect. It sits still on the ground, opening mouth wide to bite. Its hard brown body protects it from impact.

  Baku: The southwestern continent.

/>   Colna: The river’s old man. This mythological being is not exactly worshipped as a diety normally is, but he is still highly revered in Baku.

  Dodomeki: A creature native to the wilds of Sehkai. It resembles a globe of eyes sporting four arm like limbs. It is said, strangely, that a Dodomeki’s most dangerous aspect is its breath.

  El: A diety worshipped mostly in Lor and Ramlah.

  Ghata: A wide, triangular region of wasteland in the continent of Veld. Its harsh climate encompasses Lor and its surrounding area, stopping just shy of the desert proper to the east, Indellekt to the south, and Regalia to the north. Many researchers find the Ghata and the desert’s existence itself to be a marvel in an otherwise lush continent.

  Gost: A large but particularly dim creature, native to Veld.

  Ghouti: The central and western region of Baku. Tundra and savannahs cover the rich earth.