[FANFIC] The Sword and the Song
Posted: January 23rd, 2016, 8:38 pm
“So, ya want ta commission a sword, do ya?” The bald-headed man barely came up to Prewtez’s chest but his arms were as thick as the Gaidin’s thighs and his chest, bare beneath the well-worn leather apron was the size of a barrel. The small anteroom was overly warm from the heat of the forge in the back and the stone walls were hung with blades of varying size and design. “What’s wrong with the one ya got?” the swordsmith, Zander by name, asked, eyeing the blade that hung from a scabbard on Prewtez’s right side.
“It is a fine sword,” Prewtez d’Grayson answered, “but not mine. It belongs to the Tower.”
“Of course it’s a ‘fine sword’, Gaidin, I made it myself, along with most of the blades in the armory.” It was well known that Zander Komatsu was a master swordsmith, and the reason Prewtez need look no further than the Tower grounds itself for what he sought.
“I do not dispute that, Master Komatsu, but to a swordsman his blade is personal, meant to be a part of him. No borrowed sword will do.” And while that was true, there was another, more important reason for Prewtez to desire his own sword. Someday, with practice and hard effort, he intended to earn the heron marks of a blademaster. He needed a weapon worthy of those markings.
Taking a rag from his pocket, Komatsu wiped the sweat from his brow before agreeing. “Aye, that is the truth of it. But any Shienaran knows that. Tell me, then, what it is exactly that ya want.”
As Prewtez began describing the weapon he had in mind, the swordsmith scribbled notes on a dirty sheet of paper. “Forty inch blade, twelve inch handle, ridge and curvature near the middle of the blade with one sided edge,” he looked up from his notes to stare the Gaidin in the eye, “I’ve made a couple of these, I have, they’s based on a sword from the Age of Legends I’ve heard. ‘Course those were said to never need sharpenin’, nor could they break. Yours might look like one of theirs, but it’ll need sharpenin’, and often. As fer breakage, my blades seldom break, lad, but that don’ mean they can’t.”
Prewtez nodded his understanding and continued to describe what he desired. “Point with a curved edge, with a smooth three dimensional curvature across the surface towards the edge; blood groove, of course, and make the blade collar a dull gold.” Komatsu glanced up at that and then returned to his writing. “Make the handle core from two pieces of lacquered wood, then wrap in calfskin leather. I need it long enough to use two handed but light enough to use with just one.”
“You tellin’ me my business, lad? I know how to make the handle as well I know ta get the carbon rich charcoal and how ta use both the high carbon and the low carbon, so don’t ya be lecturin’ me about tha’. It’ll be lighter than th’ one you carry now. I oughta know as I made that one. Tried to copy from memory a blade I saw the Mistress of Arms carryin’. Now hers, that’s a sword I tell ya.”
“I’m sorry, Master Komatsu, I didn’t mean to presume nor offend,” Prewtez quickly apologized, “It’s just that this… means so much to me.” He reached into a pocket of his cloak and withdrew a ring, a ring of gold. “Here, Master, I would like this embed in the hilt end of the sword. And could you also add these to the blade?” He handed the smith a small paper which the man studied for a moment before answering.
“You want etched along the blade these images?”
The Gaidin nodded, “a symbol for the blowing wind on the left side, a willow tree on the right, if you think you can.”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem, son,” Komatsu arched an eyebrow but refrained from asking the question.
“So, I reckon it’ll take a couple months before she’s ready, Gaidin, what with the forgin’, the coatin’, the curvin’, and the polishing. And you be wanting a round or a rectangular hand guard?”
“Round, and black, if you please,” Prewtez answered, picturing the sword in his mind.
After the specifics of the order were dealt with they came to the most difficult part of the transaction, determining the price. What Komatsu quoted fairly took Prewtez’s breath away. But no amount of haggling could convince the master to lower the price. Although it would take most of what the Gaidin had saved away he decided it was well worth the cost. Now that he truly belonged to the Grey Tower what need had he of his own coin. The Tower covered all the expenses Gaidin could accrue and then some.
Once the transaction was complete Master Komatsu smiled. “When you earn your Herons, son, I’ll add them to your blade, no charge.”
Prewtez laughed at that. “So, it is that obvious, is it? That I seek to become a blademaster I mean.”
“I don’t know anyone that puts as much thought into their sword as you have unless that is their intent. Trust me, Gaidin, I’ll craft you a weapon worthy of the Herons, I guarantee it!”
Later, alone in his quarters, Prewtez opened a drawer to the heavy oak chest that stood at the foot of his bed and withdrew an envelope. From within it he removed two ribbons, one blue and one gold. Ribbons Lorena had worn in her hair. These he would one day tie through the ring at the end of the sword’s hilt, a ring he had never been allowed to give his beloved, the Children of the Light had seen to that. As for naming his soon to be new sword, Lorena would never do. She had been too loving a person for her name to be one with a device forged for dealing death. No, he already had the name, and the sword would bear its image; Wind That Shakes the Willows.
“It is a fine sword,” Prewtez d’Grayson answered, “but not mine. It belongs to the Tower.”
“Of course it’s a ‘fine sword’, Gaidin, I made it myself, along with most of the blades in the armory.” It was well known that Zander Komatsu was a master swordsmith, and the reason Prewtez need look no further than the Tower grounds itself for what he sought.
“I do not dispute that, Master Komatsu, but to a swordsman his blade is personal, meant to be a part of him. No borrowed sword will do.” And while that was true, there was another, more important reason for Prewtez to desire his own sword. Someday, with practice and hard effort, he intended to earn the heron marks of a blademaster. He needed a weapon worthy of those markings.
Taking a rag from his pocket, Komatsu wiped the sweat from his brow before agreeing. “Aye, that is the truth of it. But any Shienaran knows that. Tell me, then, what it is exactly that ya want.”
As Prewtez began describing the weapon he had in mind, the swordsmith scribbled notes on a dirty sheet of paper. “Forty inch blade, twelve inch handle, ridge and curvature near the middle of the blade with one sided edge,” he looked up from his notes to stare the Gaidin in the eye, “I’ve made a couple of these, I have, they’s based on a sword from the Age of Legends I’ve heard. ‘Course those were said to never need sharpenin’, nor could they break. Yours might look like one of theirs, but it’ll need sharpenin’, and often. As fer breakage, my blades seldom break, lad, but that don’ mean they can’t.”
Prewtez nodded his understanding and continued to describe what he desired. “Point with a curved edge, with a smooth three dimensional curvature across the surface towards the edge; blood groove, of course, and make the blade collar a dull gold.” Komatsu glanced up at that and then returned to his writing. “Make the handle core from two pieces of lacquered wood, then wrap in calfskin leather. I need it long enough to use two handed but light enough to use with just one.”
“You tellin’ me my business, lad? I know how to make the handle as well I know ta get the carbon rich charcoal and how ta use both the high carbon and the low carbon, so don’t ya be lecturin’ me about tha’. It’ll be lighter than th’ one you carry now. I oughta know as I made that one. Tried to copy from memory a blade I saw the Mistress of Arms carryin’. Now hers, that’s a sword I tell ya.”
“I’m sorry, Master Komatsu, I didn’t mean to presume nor offend,” Prewtez quickly apologized, “It’s just that this… means so much to me.” He reached into a pocket of his cloak and withdrew a ring, a ring of gold. “Here, Master, I would like this embed in the hilt end of the sword. And could you also add these to the blade?” He handed the smith a small paper which the man studied for a moment before answering.
“You want etched along the blade these images?”
The Gaidin nodded, “a symbol for the blowing wind on the left side, a willow tree on the right, if you think you can.”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem, son,” Komatsu arched an eyebrow but refrained from asking the question.
“So, I reckon it’ll take a couple months before she’s ready, Gaidin, what with the forgin’, the coatin’, the curvin’, and the polishing. And you be wanting a round or a rectangular hand guard?”
“Round, and black, if you please,” Prewtez answered, picturing the sword in his mind.
After the specifics of the order were dealt with they came to the most difficult part of the transaction, determining the price. What Komatsu quoted fairly took Prewtez’s breath away. But no amount of haggling could convince the master to lower the price. Although it would take most of what the Gaidin had saved away he decided it was well worth the cost. Now that he truly belonged to the Grey Tower what need had he of his own coin. The Tower covered all the expenses Gaidin could accrue and then some.
Once the transaction was complete Master Komatsu smiled. “When you earn your Herons, son, I’ll add them to your blade, no charge.”
Prewtez laughed at that. “So, it is that obvious, is it? That I seek to become a blademaster I mean.”
“I don’t know anyone that puts as much thought into their sword as you have unless that is their intent. Trust me, Gaidin, I’ll craft you a weapon worthy of the Herons, I guarantee it!”
Later, alone in his quarters, Prewtez opened a drawer to the heavy oak chest that stood at the foot of his bed and withdrew an envelope. From within it he removed two ribbons, one blue and one gold. Ribbons Lorena had worn in her hair. These he would one day tie through the ring at the end of the sword’s hilt, a ring he had never been allowed to give his beloved, the Children of the Light had seen to that. As for naming his soon to be new sword, Lorena would never do. She had been too loving a person for her name to be one with a device forged for dealing death. No, he already had the name, and the sword would bear its image; Wind That Shakes the Willows.