New and Improved September First Addition
Author's note: I did quote some from the book directly. The reason for this is that I don't want to change his words around too much so I'm not… but I will have you know that I am not Goldman or claim to be or want to steal his glory. Nope, so his words are in bold and mine are not. Methods to the madness…
In the mountains of Central Spain, set high in the hills above Toledo, was the village of Arabella. It was very small and the air was always clear. That was all you could say that was good about Arabella: terrific air- you could see for miles.
But perhaps the best two things to ever enter the world of fencing came from the homely hills of Arabella. The first to come was the greatest sword maker, then later, the greatest fencer. Domingo Montoya was a fairly ugly man; he had a beautiful wife though, which explained his exceedingly good-looking son. Much to both of their dismay, Domingo's wife died while giving birth to this fantastic young lad.
"Inigo, dear Inigo. You are all that's left of your mother now." Domingo would say often to his son as he looked in Inigo's brown eyes that reminded Domingo so much of his love. Inigo grew into a fine child.
As to Inigo's personal life, he was always a trifle hungry; he had no brothers or sisters. He was fantastically happy.
Because of his father. Domingo Montoya was funny-looking and crotchety and impatient and absent-minded and never smiled.
Inigo loved him. Totally. Don't ask why. There really wasn't any one reason you could put your finger on. Oh, probably Domingo loved him back, but love is many things, none of them logical.
Domingo Montoya was a wonderful sword maker, the best, in fact. But no one knew it. Yeste, who happened to be a great friend of Domingo's, was always said to be the best. All the fencers knew the name Yeste but none knew that Domingo was actually the one Yeste would run to in his panicking times. Until one day, Inigo was nine, a man came to the door that had in deed heard of Domingo Montoya's greatness and Yeste's dependence on him.
This man, a nobleman apparently, was in search of a very incredible sword that was worth approximately 550 pieces of gold. The reason that he need such an amazing sword and had a terrible time finding one was this- the nobleman had an extra digit. Of course a six-fingered hand would have trouble with regular swords, either they would be too tight, off balance, impossible to grip, or a disastrous combination of the three.
Domingo accepted this request eagerly, the money he could care less about. All he ever wanted was a challenge. All Domingo ever dreamed of was creating a master piece of blade, so perfect, so difficult to make that it would keep him busy for at least year. That it did. Inigo at the age of nine knew that people must to at least 3 things to stay alive for long: eat, sleep, and breathe. Domingo only chose one. Sure he would breathe but eating and sleeping? Not a chance when such a great task as to make the six-fingered sword was at hand.
Inigo became worried. Every night he would wake to find Domingo working on his sword. Each day would be filled with the sound of hammering out the steel, the smell of the embers used in heating the metal. Inigo tried to get Domingo to eat but he never stopped, he never took a break either. Finally one night, one regular sleepless foodless night, Inigo awoke to his father staring with tired blood-shot eyes at the six-fingered sword. It was finished. It shone with glory and pride being the best sword ever created. Inigo was very exited to see his father's mission complete, now finally he might get some sleep.
Only a few days after Domingo's accomplishment the six-fingered nobleman returned for his master piece. What the two Montoya's didn't know was that the man had wasted his money on clothes and horses and didn't have left all that he was originally willing to pay. They also didn't know that he was not an honest man and if he didn't want to pay for something he certainly wasn't under any law that made him. Domingo, unaware of these crucial facts, gladly showed off his prized work. Then the words that shocked both Inigo and Domingo totally.
"Not worth the wait." The four words blew them over. Domingo was outraged and tried to convince the count of what a mistake he was making in tossing aside the greatest sword since Excalibur but the count was persistent, either lower the price or die. Domingo would not lower the price. Inigo watched from the house as the six-fingered man unsheathed his deadly sword. Watched, as it glinted like the eye of evil itself in the sun light and murdered his beloved father right before his eyes.
The noble man had killed his Domingo. Inigo's father was gone, lost forever. Inigo screamed with a horrific mix of terror, pain, and rage. People gathered at the sound that the boy, now ten, had uttered. The noble simply said he was defending himself and walked calmly back to his horse who was quite spooked. Inigo's rage had gotten the better of him as it reached up from his heart to his throat then into his mouth.
"Coward!" He yelled
"Pig!" He yelled again. But his courage soon left him as the count wheeled around to the young boy. Inigo grabbed the beautiful sword from his father's pale, cold hands and yelled once more. There was no turning back now.
"Coward! Pig! KILLER!" He spat the words out. The sword was truthfully a little more then he could handle but he held it strong and looked as menacing as he could manage. His eyes squinted against the rising sunlight, back straight, teeth clenched in pure hate. Inigo stopped the noble and challenged him to battle, not the cleverest thing a boy could do. The count sneered at him.
"Get him out of my way. Move the infant."
"The infant is ten and he stays," Inigo said.
"Enough of your family is dead for one day; be content," said the noble.
"When you beg me for your breath, then I shall be contented. Now dismount!"
The nobleman dismounted.
"Draw your sword." The nobleman unsheathed his killing weapon.
"I dedicate your death to my father," Inigo said. "Begin"
They began.
Inigo did not have a chance against a master, but he held his own… for a few seconds at least. The boy defended three of the man's attacks and even almost gave him a cut across the hand, but the man was a master and Inigo had never held a sword in his life. Lucky for Inigo, once he was disarmed the nobleman took uncharacteristic pity on him as he stood straight and unafraid, staring death in the face. Inigo felt nothing. He was too numb. He heard nothing because of the ringing in his ears. The last thing he felt that day was the sting of two long slices down his face. He still stood though. Tall as ever. Even as the world began leaving him he stood. But it wasn't long after the noble left when Inigo Montoya, age 10, fell.