I had just heard the news that my cousins village had been raided. There were not very many survivors. My cousins whole family had been slaughtered. I had gone to look for survivors. I found my cousin lying face down in front of his house, a broken sword in his hand. His family was scattered about the storeroom at the back of the house. The barricaded door had been splintered and torn apart. It was too much for me, I had to leave and retreat to my forge.
That sword was the one I had made for his thirty second arrival day celebrations. I knew how to make the metal strong and flexible. I have made thousands of swords before that one. I've been forging mithral blades and armor for a long time, it should not have broken. If my workmanship would have been better perhaps he would still be alive. He should not have died.
This time I will make a blade that will not fail. I will make sure that everything about this sword is perfect. It will have a perfect blend of metals with no impurities in it. This time I will try a new folding technique that I had heard about. I will keep trying until everything is perfect and it is tempered just right. This time I will not fail.
The forge began to heat up as I worked but I hardly noticed. I focused intently on every step of the process, from smelting the ore to polishing the finished edge. The metal flowed together nicely. There was almost what appeared to be a radiance to the blend of metals. I hammered out the rod over and over again, shaping the metal and aligning the grain. Finally the blade was straight and true, perfectly balanced with a good weight.
It was now time to temper the blade. I placed the metal into the heart of the fire, adjusting the placement to make sure it heated evenly. As I watched the metal carefully time seemed to slow down. My whole world focused in on the moment. The blade's surface danced with colors as it heated up, telling me when it was ready. A part of me had entered this blade, connecting us. It had taken on a life of it's on and I could feel that it was ready.
A cloud of steam rose from the oil bath as I plunged the hot metal into it. After it had cooled I pulled the blade out of the bath. I could feel an inner warmth inside the metal, speaking to me. This was no ordinary sword. I had only created a few others like this one in my lifetime. I honed and polished the blade, after sliding the guard and grip onto the tang I hammered on the pommel. I finished the sword off by wrapping the grip with snakeskin and etching a tower into the flat surface above the guard. I wrapped the sword in oil cloth and carefully put it away. One day this sword would come alive again and it will not fail the hand that wields it.
No comments:
Post a Comment