Death Comes To All (Book 1) (23 page)

The
canis himself was a marvel. Roland had thought that the canis who had
tended bar in Port Dayton had been large, but he was as tiny as a
trill compared to this man. The canis was not unusually tall, in fact
he and Roland were fairly close to the same height, but the man's
entire upper body was so heavily muscled it seemed entirely
disproportional to his lower half. His forearms were as thick as soup
bowls, while his massive biceps as big as dinner plates. His huge
barrel chest jutted out from the rest of his body, showing above the
thick leather blacksmith's apron he wore.

"I'll
be open in another few minutes," the canis said tersely as the
group stopped in front of his shop. "You'll have to wait until
I'm finished setting things up."

"You'd
even make an old friend wait?" Malik asked politely. He used the
same strange accent that he had been using with his persona as Malik,
which for some unknown reason he had refrained from using at the bar.
Roland hadn't even noticed that he didn't use it until now, when he
heard it again.

The
canis looked Malik over completely before answering. "I don't
know you," he said finally. "I never forget a face, and I
haven't seen yours. What makes you think that I should think of you
as an old friend?"

He
looked over the other companions. Tara had added a veil to the hood
she regularly wore. Her face was so completely concealed it would
have been impossible for him to tell much about her. He looked Roland
over quickly, deciding with a glance that he had never seen him
before. He opened his mouth to say so when his gaze fell on the sword
at Tara's hip.

"I
don't recognize any of you, but I do know that sword," He said.
"Where did you get it?"

"You
made it for me Baldor, " Tara answered lightly, pulling down the
veil that covered her face just enough to allow herself to be
recognized. "It was my friend Malik here who commissioned it for
me."

"Malik?"
Baldor started, then stopped himself. He looked closely at Malik.
After several seconds his eyes lit with recognition. "Of course.
Sorry my friend, I didn't recognize you. I must be losing my memory
somewhat in my old age."

"As
long as you haven't lost your touch old friend. I have a friend in
need of a good blade, and yours used to be the best."

"They
still are," Baldor assured him. "We should go back inside.
If one of you could help me with these shield blanks I'll close back
up for now. On occasion I need to do a little shopping, and don't
open until later in the morning. No one will think anything of it if
I open a little late. I don't think that it would be good for us to
be interrupted while we catch up on old times."

"I
don't think we'll have much time to catch up I'm afraid," Malik
said seriously. "Still, it would probably be best if we could
conduct business without anyone walking in on us."

Baldor
nodded. Grabbing several of the blank shields he headed for his door,
which Tara politely held open for him. Roland picked up the remaining
shields, perhaps two dozen of them, and followed him. Baldor dropped
the half dozen shields he carried on a stout oak table in the middle
of the room, then turned to go back out to help with the rest. He
gasped in surprise when he saw Roland behind him carrying all that
had remained.

"Those
shields weigh twelve pounds apiece," he exclaimed. "That
load has to be nearly three hundred pounds!"

"My
friend here is a pretty strong lad," Malik remarked. "I was
hoping that you might have something in the shop already that might
suffice for him. What's the heaviest sword you have in at the
moment?"

Roland
gazed around the room in wonder. Despite the story they had concocted
for Tammie the night before, he had never been in a sword shop. All
along the walls hung blades of every size and shape imaginable. A
line of axes hung from thick wooden platforms behind the oak counter
directly to the right of the doorway, just far enough away from the
door that it didn't block customers that might be coming in or
leaving.

A
complete suit of steel armor stood on the opposite side of the door,
and several other armor pieces decorated the shop. There were several
rows of glass cases along one wall that contained small knives,
everything from expertly weighted throwing daggers to kitchen knives
that the women would use to cut the evening's roast.

"You've
never asked for a heavy sword before," the smith remarked
casually. "Didn't think it was really your style to rely on
strength. I always thought you were more of a speed fighter."

"I
am, but as I said, this sword isn't for me. I've always believed that
each person should take his own natural strengths and build on them.
In this case his strength is, well, his strength. We will probably be
commissioning a sword to be custom made for him sometime later, but
he needs something to work with until then. Do you have anything
ready that will work for him for now?"

The
smith thought for a minute. "I might have one thing, though I
not sure if even your friend here will be able to wield it. A few
months ago I had a trog commission a sword for himself. I finished
the sword, but before he could pick it up he came down with a sudden
case of death. Apparently he tried to rob a merchant's caravan on its
way to Miani along the main road. The guards put so many arrows into
him he looked like a porcupine by the time they were done.

"I
suppose the brute should have thought about getting himself some
armor instead of a blade," Baldor continued, his deep laughter
rolling from his lips like the sound of thunder. "Still, he paid
half up front, so it wasn't a total loss even if I can't sell it.
Like I said, I don't think your young friend here will be able to
wield it effectively, but if he can I can give it to him for thirty
gold."

"Thirty
gold pieces seems a little expensive for a friend," Malik said
skeptically. "Especially considering that you've already been
paid half the price up front once already when the blade was
commissioned."

"It's
cheap actually. The full price was a hundred gold coins, fifty of
which were already paid. I'll go get it and you'll understand once
you see it why I had to charge so much."

The
smith disappeared behind a door in the back of the shop. Roland felt
a great heat coming from inside. He glanced through the open door and
could just barely spy a huge forge in the back of the room. The coals
inside were dying down to a deep red glow.

The
smith must have been working on one of his blades earlier, before
opening up for the day,
he
suspected
.

In
the room's center sat an anvil that stood about three and a half feet
off the ground. He guessed the size of the steel tool to be about two
feet long and a foot wide. From what he could tell it appeared that
the anvil and its base were all cast from a single, seamless piece of
metal.

He
only had the briefest of glimpses before his vision was obscured by
the returning smith, his massive frame completely shutting out every
small detail inside. Even with the smith’s great size he seemed
to strain under the weight of the large object he carried, as if it
was almost too much to carry. It took Roland a second to realize that
the object he carried was a sword; a massive weapon as long as the
smith who carried it was tall.

That
thing must weigh a ton!

The
sword was mostly hidden inside a simple black leather sheath, with a
black strap along its length.

It
was meant to be worn on the back of the person carrying it,
Roland noticed.
And I had just gotten used to wearing one on my
side.

The
hilt and pummel were made of shining steel, with a thick black cloth
wrapped around the grip. It appeared as if the entire weapon was
forged from a single, massive piece of metal. The smith held it in
two thick hands by its sheath, with its hilt facing Roland. He
reached out and, after a nod from the smith, pulled the weapon free,
holding the blade in one hand with his feet planted in one of the
stances Malik had taught him.

Baldor
stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. "How are you able to
hold that so easily?!" the smith gasped in astonishment, his
deep voice booming like the bellows of the forge he worked on. "Even
the trog who paid for this meant for the weapon to be wielded with
two hands! I would never have believed that someone could use it
single-handed! That should be impossible!"

"It
is a little heavy," Roland admitted. "How would I grip it
with two hands and balance? Like this?" He put his left hand
underneath the right and stepping into what he supposed might have
been the correct stance for a two handed weapon.

"No,"
Malik said quickly. "I want you to get used to wielding this
with just your right arm. You have the strength to do it, and I've
taught you enough that you should be able to use it now. It might
take you a while to become accustomed to the weight and balance, but
I know that you have the power to wield it."

"I
never expected this," the huge smith shook his head. "The
total weight of this sword is seventy-eight pounds, ten of which are
in the pummel alone. It's actually balanced toward the back just a
little bit to allow for a faster recovery. The pommel itself is heavy
enough that it can be used as a mallet. It isn't only the blade of
this sword that can kill. I'm not sure if the lad will be able to
swing it and recover effectively with one hand, even as strong as he
is."

"Well,
there's only one way for us to be certain," Malik said. "Will
it be able to stand up to a little sparring to test it?"

"This
sword could stand up to any blade," Baldor answered seriously.
"Come put it on the table here lad so your friend can get a
better look at it."

Roland
did as he was told, carefully setting the great weapon down along the
length of the counter. The blade hung over the end by more than a
foot. The smith came over with a small lantern to allow them to see
the blade in its full glory.

"This
entire weapon is crafted from a single piece of folded steel,"
the smith declared proudly. The steel seemed to glow a faint blue,
and all along its surface the metal appeared to ripple like the water
in a soft flowing stream. The base of the blade was nearly a foot
wide, tapering to a point at the far end in a long, slow arc along
its blade. The spine of the sword was perfectly straight. The hilt of
the weapon continued as an extension of the spine, with a narrowing
before the pummel at the far end that melted into the rest cunningly.

The
rounded pummel blended into the hilt so well that it didn't have any
catch points where the back of the swordsman's arm might snag and
take away from the sword's momentum. The pummel was an oval ball
about six inches from front to back and three inches wide, without
any angles or edges. Unlike most other swords Roland had seen, it
didn't have any sort of crosspiece of guard, though considering how
the blade was shaped it made sense not to have one.

"I'm
impressed," Malik confessed. "It doesn't have
ornamentation, but with a blade like this I think it gives a better
impression without any. I have to admit it is truly a work of art. I
think this blade might even be better than my own. You said you made
this for a trog?"

The
smith shrugged. "His gold was as good as anyone's. Considering
how he died I can imagine how he came across it, but it's not my job
to question how my customers make their money. I'm going to do my
best regardless of who pays me to do it. I won't have it said that I
allowed a poor blade to ever leave my forge. I believe that's the
reason you came to me in the first place, isn't it?"

"It
is," Malik agreed. "So is there a place we can test this
blade? If it is as good as it appears than it shouldn't risk damaging
it."

"I
have a room in the back where I practice with the finished blades
before I sell them to the customers. To be honest I haven't tested
this weapon. I'm a strong man, but not even I can wield this blade. I
don't normally allow customers there, and it's not big enough for a
real match, but it should make do for a quick test."

The
group followed Baldor through the door that led to his forge. As they
walked through Roland glanced at the row of tools along the wall,
each lovingly placed in its particular home on the wall.

Most
smiths start by creating their own tools that they use for their
craft,
Roland recalled.

His
father had a small workplace beside their barn that he would use to
make and repair their farm tools. It included a forge and
blacksmith's tools similar to these, though on a much smaller scale.

They
continued on to a different door leading out of the room. Only Malik
and Roland were ushered in. The smith motioned to Tara to wait
outside. Roland quickly understood the reason why. The room would
have been large enough for all of them were they only planning on
standing and talking, but not for swordplay. Anyone in that room
could potentially be in danger if a swing missed its mark. Tara
watched from the doorway beside the smith.

"Alright,"
Malik laughed merrily as he often did at the prospect of a fight,
even if it was only a short sparring match. "First let's see if
you can handle your weapon while under attack. Remember to be careful
of your balance, which will feel different than you're used to with
the heavier weapon. Now defend yourself!"