by Kris Hiatt
He wondered how Moff was doing in his integration with the wealthy part of town. He wondered if he had walked through the poor area, or if he had walked further around and entered from the western or northern roads. He assumed Moff did not travel through the filthy part of town and went to the western road at the very least. He guessed that he was in an expensive inn, drinking expensive wine, and flirting with the ladies by now.
He knew Drevic and Heral would be in the city by now too, but he also knew they would be at the baron’s palace, which Treace realized he could see from his window. He peered outside and looked at the palace. He knew he couldn’t see his friends, but it made him feel better just knowing they were there.
He wondered what the Archmagister wanted Drevic to return for and thought it must be something very important since the Archmagister had said this mission was important. He guessed he would find out when the time came, but it must be very important. He hoped he would see Drevic and Heral one more time before they left the city and he thought maybe Drevic would clue him in on what was going on. He dismissed the latter quickly, however, as he knew that Brother Drevic wouldn’t risk the Archmagister’s trust on his account.
He doused his candles some time later, after several unsuccessful attempts at finding The Calm, and went to bed.
He kept thinking about how odd it was that every time he tried to find The Calm that he couldn’t see his emotions below him as Kelvrin had instructed. The Archmagister said that he was one of the leaders in the class, and if that were the case, then why couldn’t he see his emotions below him? He could feel them all around him, but Kelvrin said that he would feel that too. He drifted off to sleep thinking of The Calm.
Chapter 15
He hadn’t had much luck so far; the smiths either already had apprentices, or wouldn’t let him use their forge, claiming they were much too busy to spend time away from their forges. Either way, the answer was still no, he couldn’t use their forge. They either dismissed him as soon as he told them he was also a smith, or they waited for him to finish then shooed him away laughing. He still had one forge left to try, and that was the forge near the palace. He highly doubted his luck would change, but he had to at least try.
He wasn’t sure how he would find Moff, but he guessed he would worry about him after he convinced a smith to allow him to use their forge. He would have to come up with some scheme, but he didn’t know what yet. He even asked if he could use their forge at night while they were asleep, but they all declined. He guessed he understood; why trust a stranger with the piece of equipment that you made your livelihood with? One who could easily steal all of the tools and materials and leave them with nothing.
He hoped he would find a smith that would let him use the forge soon, he wouldn’t have enough money to pay for food and lodging for the next three months at the rate it was going already. He guessed he could last only a single month on what he had in his purse and still leave enough for some tools and supplies for smithing. He thought about not smithing, but he knew that the plan was for him to get as much information from the people of Haven as he could. They would be much more likely to tell him things if they knew he worked here and belonged here. An outsider without a job had no roots in the town, so why would they tell him anything? He knew smithing was his best shot at fitting in and becoming part of the community.
He was close to the baron’s palace and could hear the familiar sound of a hammer striking metal on an anvil. He followed the wisp of smoke filtering into the air and the sounds of metal on metal and soon found the smith.
The smith who operated this forge had to be close to fifty by Treace’s estimation. His once dark hair and beard was more grey than dark now and his face had many wrinkles from squinting into the fires of the forge. Treace wondered if that would be what he looked like if he continued to forge for another thirty or forty years. He noticed this smith didn’t have a single apprentice as the others did; he had three. He guessed this smith must be very good to command enough work to pay for the forge and three apprentices.
Treace approached the man and couldn’t help but notice the muscles on the smith’s forearms bulging with every hammer strike. He watched for a few minutes, noting how the forge was laid out. Everything was within reach of the smith and Treace could tell the many years of experience led him to set up his forge for maximum efficiency. He knew this smith would also say no, but he thought he would at least talk to the man before leaving.
“What can I do for you?” the smith asked.
“I’m also a smith and would like to be your apprentice, or just rent your forge,” Treace said.
“What do you know about smithing?” the man asked, clearly not believing him.
“I know that you have your forge set up for maximum efficiency,” Treace told him.
“Anyone should assume that much. Anything else?”
“I know that you are shaping the tang of the sword, something difficult for new smiths to master. I also know that you contract your handles out since they are made of wood or leather. I don’t see any engraving tools, so you must use a local jeweler for your engraving, like most smiths do,” Treace said. He must have finally broken through, because the man stopped and looked at him.
“Well maybe you do know something about forging, but you don’t know me. I engrave all my work myself, back at my house,” the smith said, which Treace was impressed by.
Doing all that work himself must take him a very long time and Treace wondered what the turnaround time was on one of his weapons. “Impressive feat, to say the least,” Treace said. “Does that mean you’ll take me as an apprentice?”
“Nope, I’ve got three already,” the smith said.
“What about use the forge?”
“I’d suppose I could let you use it for a few days, but it’ll cost you,” the smith said.
“How much?” Treace asked.
“A kaden per day.”
Treace couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A kaden per day? That was outrageous. That would leave him with less than a jin for the rest of the time he remained in Haven, and that was only to rent the forge for a single day. He couldn’t possibly agree to that, it would take him weeks to finish a decent quality sword. He couldn’t afford two days, let alone several weeks.
“Look,” the smith said after Treace didn’t respond right away. “This forge operates for the baron and his men. I get paid quite well because I am the best. That’s why I am here. You seem to know a bit about the forge, but no one is dumb enough to hand over their forge to you, especially not me. Try the guys by the docks, they may be stupid enough.”
“They already said no.”
“Heh, then you think the best in town would say yes when the guys that get my scraps already said no?”
“But you did say you would for a kaden a day,” Treace reminded him.
“And if you could afford a kaden a day you’d already own your own forge,” the smith replied.
“I’m very good,” Treace said, not knowing what else to say.
“You might be, but before I accept anyone, especially someone barely old enough to be called a man, I need to see some work first. Bring me a few of your weapons and pieces of armor to show what you can do and then we’ll talk,” the smith said.
“I have this,” Treace said, pulling his charm from his tunic.
“That’s a nice piece, but this aint a jewelry shop,” the smith said after a quick inspection.
“Now let me get back to work, I’m exceptionally busy these days,” he said after Treace said nothing further. “Come back once you have something to show me.”
Treace offered a quick thanks and walked over to lean on a fence that was close by. He was thinking about how he could convince one of the other smiths to let him use their forge. He knew he couldn’t afford to rent this one. Metal on metal rung behind him and he found it to be oddly comforting. It wasn’t long before other familiar sounds found their way to his ears but he didn’t notice them at
first; he was too deep in thought.
After a short while he realized that he wasn’t only hearing the sounds from the forge, but he also heard the all too familiar sound of swordplay. He looked up and noticed that he was leaning on a fence that overlooked a large training ground. He wasn’t sure how he missed it before, it was very large with many posts driven into the ground with wooden combatants attached to them. The grounds butted up against one of the large walls to the baron’s palace and Treace guessed this was the training area for his guardsmen. The sound he heard was coming from a sword of one young man slapping at one of those wooden combatants. His form wasn’t horrible, Treace thought, but it wasn’t close to perfect either.
After a short time several other guardsmen joined the young man in the yard and began going through attack and defense routines with each other. They weren’t anything spectacular, but Treace figured they would suffice. Most of them used a shield and either a mace or a short sword as a weapon. He figured he would stay and watch; it had been a long time since he was able to watch swordplay.
It wasn’t long before the yard nearly filled with soldiers. The men that were fighting had stopped and everyone was standing around like they were waiting for someone.
“Attention!” one of them shouted. It came out, ‘Ah-ten-shun.’
All of the gathered soldiers stiffened their backs, brought their stiff legs together, and saluted as a man with silver hair strode in amongst their ranks. His armor was beautifully crafted and Treace knew from experience that it had taken the creator many months to make such armor. The leather looked to be soft and supple and each buckle polished to a shine. The metal breastplate was emblazoned with a setting sun over the horizon; the symbol of Haven’s baron.
“At ease,” he told the men in a firm, loud voice.
The men stood at ease and looked around at each other with smiles that Treace thought were equal parts excitement and nervousness.
“What is today?” he yelled out.
“Proving day,” all of them shouted in unison.
“That’s right people, today is the day that some of you prove that you belong with the elite group of men and women I surround myself with,” he said.
The gathered soldiers cheered.
Treace didn’t notice the ladies before, but now that he looked around, he could see at least a handful of them in the group of a hundred or so gathered.
“Chondra, step forward,” the man instructed.
A young man a few years older than Treace stepped forward while those around him cheered and clapped him on the back. Treace recognized him then as the young man he first saw fighting the wooden combatant.
“Primain, step forward,” the man said.
A man several years older than the first stepped forward and nearly everyone cheered for him. Treace thought it was clear who the soldiers thought would win, or at least wanted them to.
“The winner picks two other opponents and if successful, is accepted for the next year,” the silver-haired man said to several more cheers.
“And the losers get two more tries to succeed at a later date,” he finished much more quietly. That was not followed by any cheers, only concerned looks on the faces of many.
“Chondra, this is your third and final attempt this year. Good luck,” silver-haired said.
“I knew I would find you by a forge,” a familiar voice said.
“Hi there, Moff,” Treace said, turning to face his friend.
“Trouble getting in?” Moff asked.
“No, just rough finding a place that was decently priced,” Treace told him, turning to face the combatants who were about to begin.
“What’s going on?” Moff asked, nodding his head in the direction of the training yard.
“Guardsmen appear to be fighting for the right to be part of some special group,” Treace said.
“Interesting, I don’t think I’ve watched much fighting,” Moff said.
“Let us watch, it’s been some time since I’ve watched myself,” Treace said.
Chondra stepped back and parried away one of Primain’s attacks that Treace doubted was ever intended to connect. He stopped his backward movement and stepped to the side, bringing his wooden mace tipped with cloth over his head and on a line toward Primain’s.
Primain pivoted away and used his small shield to cover any attacks that might come his way; none did.
Primain launched himself forward and executed a simple left, right, slashing routine that ended with a straight ahead thrust. The second slash moved Chondra’s shield far enough away for Primain’s thrust to land a solid blow with his wooden sword, but luck saved Chondra as he blindly threw his sword down and across, saving himself from the loss.
Primain backed up a step and Treace could tell the soldier thought he had won with his previous routine and was surprised that his blow hadn’t landed home.
“He nearly had him,” Moff shouted next to him.
“It was close,” Treace agreed, speaking loudly to be heard over the cheers. “Only luck saved the younger man.”
Primain needn’t be too disappointed; it took him five more offensive routines to land a solid blow on Chondra’s ribs. Chondra fell to the ground in what Treace guessed was more from disappointment rather than pain, but he stayed there for a while before his friend hauled him up helping him to through the crowd. He was soon lost in the cheering throng that congratulated Primain on his victory.
“He seems a solid fighter,” Moff said.
“He’s capable,” Treace said.
The silver-haired man congratulated Primain on his win and then waved at all the men in an apparent gesture indicating his departure.
“Attention,” the same voice called before.
The men snapped to and were told to stand at ease only a moment later. The silver haired man parted the crowd by simply walking toward them and entered the baron’s palace after being saluted by the two guards at the entrance.
Primain walked around and picked another younger guard as his opponent. This time, however, Treace could hear several of the nearby men placing bets on the winner. Treace looked around and noticed a lot of the men and a couple of the ladies were doing the same thing. He guessed once the boss was gone, all bets were on.
Most of the wagers were placed in favor of Primain and he didn’t disappoint them with his quick victory. Many cheers erupted and the winners collected from the losers.
“Primain, two victories,” a man said from near the entrance to the baron’s palace. Treace thought it was the same man calling the men to attention.
“Locitin, two losses,” he said.
The man named Locitin shook his head and moved through the crowd. Treace could hear the men supporting him with words and gestures, indicating he would win next time.
“Seems more than capable,” Moff said, still loudly to overcome the noise from all the guards.
“He is beatable, to be sure,” Treace said. One of the nearest guards turned and gave him a dirty look. Treace ignored him.
Primain chose his third opponent and by the cheer of the crowd, this was about to be the best fight yet. The wagers from those nearby were split as to who would win; Primain or his opponent they called Salden.
Salden opened with a fierce overhead slash of his long sword that he swung with both hands. Primain backed away in time and rushed forward with his shield leading but Salden let go with his right hand and shoved Primain away before his sword could come close.
“He leads blindly with his shield,” Treace said to Moff. “A good way to get beaten.”
Primain held his balance and feinted with his sword to draw an early attack from Salden. It worked. Salden brought his large sword in from his right to left and Primain ducked back out of the way and then stepped back in following the massive swing of his opponent with an overhand of his own.
Salden leaned to his left and avoided the blow, bringing his right forearm up to push Primain aside. He put both hands on his sword again and thrus
t the sword straight ahead toward Primain’s belly.
Primain brought his shield down and angled the sword off to the side, though he was moved several feet from the force of the blow.
“He should have stepped away instead of absorbing that blow,” Treace told Moff.
“Why?”
“That blow could have knocked him off balance or off his feet. The first is bad, but the second would cost him the match. If he side stepped, he would use less energy and be in a position to counter, whereas now he can only wait,” Treace explained.
Primain set his feet as another swing came from his opponent. This time Salden performed a nice backhand swing and nearly took Primain’s shield from his hand.
Primain did manage to hold on, though, and backpedaled quickly to get out of range of the large sword.
“See,” Treace said, thinking his point was proven.
Salden came in again, this time a quick thrust followed by and right to left shortened swing that didn’t come close to scoring a hit.
Primain stepped diagonally away from the sword blade and toward the side the Salden swung from. Treace knew it was over before Salden did.
The sword struck Salden in the ribs and he threw his sword to the ground in disgust. The crowd howled in delight and nearly everyone thought the fight was as good as they thought it would be. Treace, however, was not that impressed. The crowd cheered for Primain and the winners once again collected their money.
“Three wins for Primain, first loss for Salden,” said the man by the entrance.
“Three straight wins,” Moff said, eyebrow raised as if questioning Treace’s earlier assessment.
“Only Salden was his equal,” Treace said “But I could still beat him with ease.”
“You really think you can beat him,” a voice said next to him.
Treace turned from the fence and noticed many people around him were looking at him, including some of the guards. The speaker Treace recognized as the smith.