Tales Of Grimea (19 page)

“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 fate. 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
inherent 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.