Chapter Thirty-Three

Dusk's thickening mantle covered the city. Alleys turned dark first. Shadows grew longer and darker. Few of Galpernia's female denizens walked the lamp-lit streets unescorted, save those who hurried home, or servants who rushed to complete late errands. The avenues and byways were choked with cart vendors, towing and pushing what remained of their wares from the market square, and by thrill-seekers like themselves touring the streets in search of a promising night of entertainment. In and amongst the honest and hardworking host, Tarn discerned the odd unsavoury character. Most dressed in dark clothes and followed their prey with hawk-like eyes and stealthy steps, or prowled the streets in search of larcenous opportunity. One hunter recognized the traits of another. Along the way, he read the name of the shop they passed earlier that afternoon, 'Weapon Smith.' Crossed swords were secured above the sign for those who could not read.

Nodding his head to indicate his intent to Ludvic, Tarn walked through the doorway into an amply stocked store whose floor was little more than a few paths that coiled around shelves bursting with used armour. Chainmail, plate, breast, and leather armour from many lands spilled off the shelves. Old and stale sweat sat in the background. Pegged on the walls, swords, overlapping shields, and daggers hung on serried display. An iron-banded, weather-faded barrel, beside the oak counter, burst past capacity with second-hand swords; hilts and pommels stuck out of the top like a porcupine's ruffled quills. Various pieces of new armour, from studded-leather to chain mail coats dangled from wooden display racks. Their polished studs and leather surfaces twinkled brightly under scented-oil fuelled lanterns, whose smoky flames flavoured the air with a pleasing scent that pushed the unpleasing odours into the background.

Tarn withdrew several promising swords from the barrel to inspect and test the blades. Some were adequate, while others were poor. Their edges were nicked or badly dulled, or the blades were soft and would bend or break under heavy use. A short sword, its blade no more than eighteen inches in length, caught Tarn's attention. The blade was well made, wide at the base, double-edged, and its hilt leather-wrapped. Had it been longer, he would have purchased it. The weapons smith studied the big youth through merchants' eyes, wordlessly arriving at prices should the customer make a selection. As Tarn jammed the last steel finger back into the iron-banded receptacle, frowning obvious disgust, the weapons smith said, "Ye fathom thy steel. Tell me what ye be questing and, perhaps, I can assist."

Tarn looked up to behold a heavily muscled man in his middle years, thick arms crossed over his chest. His middle had thickened, but not yet run to fat. Flecks of grey peppered his otherwise dark hair. The face was friendly, but weathered; his hands and forearms carpeted with scars. The merchant's eyes were blue and steady, unyielding and honest.

"I need a sword for close spaces, but not so short that I surrender reach; a double-edged blade. No curved blades. A set of well-balanced boot daggers, and a proper harness for the sword on my back," Tarn announced, while Ludvic eyed a jewelled sword in a showcase in wishful thoughtfulness.

"If ye be not afraid to pay a fair price, I have just the sword," he replied. Once Tarn nodded his head, the swordsman and slipped through a curtain into the back room that doubled as a workshop. He returned shortly with a plain sword and offered it hilt first. Tarn accepted the proffered sword, holding it at arm's length to look down its surface. The blade was straight, double-edged, superbly balanced and though the pommel appeared simple, it was finely crafted. The man had wrapped the hilt with a thin, unknown skin that gripped his palm of its own accord. Tarn knocked the sword against the steel rim of a barrel. A pure ring resonated high and long, like a tuning fork when he grounded the pommel against steel.

"Double tang?" Tarn asked, referring to two prongs of steel that joined the blade to the hilt beneath the wrapping. Two prongs, rather than a single prong to anchor the blade, was superior. When the merchant nodded, more of a grunt really, Tarn said, "This be a fine piece of craftsmanship, but I don't recognize the hilt wrapping."

"Be ye in the trade?" asked the merchant. "Not many would have recognized a double tang."

"I've sung forge songs, but none this fine," responded Tarn, raising the sword.

"My thanks," began the smith. "I only finished that particular piece a fortnight ago. As for the hilt wrappin', the skin is said to have come from a fish that eats men and was reported to have sprouted ten rows of teeth. Now I know nothin' bout that, but its hide produces a fine cover. What type of scabbard and harness do ye cravin'?"

"Fleece-lined, and a waist belt to match."

The weapons smith pulled a readymade scabbard out from beneath the counter with a waist belt attached. Removing two throwing daggers from a display case, he said, "I'll need thy sword and scabbard." Pulling sword, scabbard and strap over his head, Tarn handed all to the smith. Grey-speckled eyebrows shot up in surprise when the smith discerned the lightness of the long length of sheathed steel. He drew it part-way to examine the blade. "Never have I glimpsed its equal in craftsmanship, and the steel be so light, like a feather in comparison to its size. Reminds me of Atlantean forge-work. But even their steel lacked such lightness. Will ye barter it, lad? I'll give ye one hundred gold coins and the equipment ye require in exchange."

"No. 'Tis not for sale," Tarn firmly replied.

"Och, aye. I'd no part wi' it either, but it doesna hurt to bid," he stated, shrugging his shoulders. "I'll need to measure ye."

The merchant used a slender cord that he tied in a series of knots to record the size and breadth of Tarn's waist and back. He moved behind the counter and removed a wooden box. Under it lid neatly sorted, compartmentalized rows contained all variety of studs, buckles, snaps, and rivets. Holding the end of a worn, leather throp, whose other end was attached to the counter by a short length of rope, the slip-slapping of a skiving knife being coaxed to full razor-sharpness filled the shop. After flicking a thumb pad across the edge, the smith cut two lengths of straps, expertly punched holes, crimped studs, and attached buckles. Wearing a satisfied expression of a job well done, he handed the harness to Tarn to try on.

Two straps crisscrossed Tarn's chest and middle back. The X-frame harness fitted perfectly, with extra holes punched in the straps for future adjustments.

A thin, circular plate protected the straps and buckles where they crossed in front. Tarn tested the strength of the rig, experimentally drawing his sword several times before nodding his head. As a parting gift, the smith added an oil-soaked whetstone. Tarn belted on his swords and placed a throwing dagger in each boot.

"That will be six gold coins for the sword, four silvers for the scabbard, and seven silvers for the two daggers and harness," announced the weapons smith, eyeing Kalen's sword longingly. "Should ye change thy mind about the sword, I'll be here."