Whew! Who knew a chapter could take me so long! If any of you are still reading this, I'll be impressed. My computer is still down, homework is ankle deep, and I'm getting ready for a move across several states so writing time has been a bit rare. That, everybody, is my spectacular excuse. I am sorry and I will try harder to get the next up in a shorter timespan. :)
Thank you so to all of you that favorited or put this story on alert or in a community! :D
And thank you, as always, to my reviewers: Peace-Love-And-Mokneys7112, ginevra85, Wildfire2, girlbird3, Lita of Jupiter, Autumnia, Mary, LunaNigra, and rolletti! :) I really appreciate you taking the time to tell me what you thought of the story!
This chapter is dedicated to Aerwen Skywalker. Thanks so much for the idea!
Special thanks to rolletti for giving me a little nudge to get this chapter written!
Chapter 7: Swordsmith
Rarely in a creature's life is he given the change to defend his honor in battle. To experience the thunder of footfalls, the roar of voices, and the buzzing heat of adrenaline. Yet nothing is so moving as the sight of a pale blade lifted high into the bright midday sunlight in the hands of a warrior.
Khur had not seen a truly talented sword-master in ions, not even amongst all his wanderings.
He'd never been quite content to settle in one area for long before the itching to explore, to experience, began to grow in his bones. Therefore, he'd only been in near the sea a few weeks, enough to establish a budding reputation, when a guard in the full palace livery delivered a commission to Cair Paravel's sword smithy.
Acceptance had never been a question. Really, now, who refused a king? The only real question was how long Khur would remain employed there, a question that, once answered, left him much relieved.
The contract was of a temporary kind. The original sword-smith's wife had experienced a great number of complications while bearing their children and as a result the dwarf had requested a number of weeks off to care for his growing brood and weary wife.
Khur had been found to be a suitable replacement.
And that was why he stood in the forges of the palace, eyes keenly inspecting a blade fresh from the furnace. The sheen of metal glowed with a pale silvery light dancing up the sharp edges and clean lines. Khur felt a slow grin slide over his face as he surveyed the blade.
Never let it be said that this dwarf was not a swordsmith.
He laid the heavy weapon carefully aside for the apprentices to sharpen and polish before moving deeper into the smithy's dark awnings to fetch the next sword to be tempered. He had only just begun to shape the metal when there was scuffling of footsteps and the hushed words of someone approaching.
Khur noted that during his entire time here he hadn't once received a visitor within the smithy. They'd always delivered the day's commissions at the door each morning. They must want something, a conclusion that Khur reached with distaste. He had no great care for the pinched face of the page that handed him the letters listing the daily requests.
However, he replaced the hammer to the workbench and shoved the sword into a tub of water, sending great clouds of steam flying about the room. That should keep the page away even a few moments longer.
He turned back to the anvil, fully prepared to begin the next round of hammering when a figure far too tall to be the scrawny faun page appeared from the thick steam. He received a second surprise as a another figure emerged.
They were conversing in soft but clipped tones, both seemed slightly agitated. As the steam cleared, the picture became more clear and Khur came to the most stunning thought that these were perhaps not pages, at all, or palace workers of any kind. He caught a glimpse of a wonderfully crafted sword at the first figure's hip.
The seamless work could only mean one thing. Rhindon.
And that meant that the High King Peter the Magnificent stood before him. Behind him, a dark-headed human followed, a covered item cradled in his hands.
Khur had never considered himself the kind that scraped and bowed before royalty but when he realized that not only High King Peter stood in the smithy but King Edmund as well, he set aside the sword as swiftly as was prudent and bowed low enough that his beard, braided to remain free of his work, brushed the dusty floor.
"Oh! Oh..."
Straightening, Khur looked up. The High King's face was showing confusion and his brother, a pace away, seemed so as well. They exchanged a quick glance, King Edmund subtly shifting the item in his hands into the shadows.
"Is...is Dneg here?"
"No, my lords, I believe he is to return to his work in a fortnight. I am his replacement." Khur bowed low again.
A silent conversation flickered between the pair, the words formulated by the twitch of an eyebrow or the look in the eyes. The younger seemed to shrug and the older reached out to take the item so carefully concealed by a pale cloth.
"And have you much experience with silver?"
Khur reflected a moment to formulate his answer. He'd tinkered with silver, as any good swordsmith should but he wouldn't be considered a silversmith by any means. "I have some experience, my lord, not extensive. I am familiar with filigree and things of that nature."
"Excellent." The cloth was unwrapped and the item came into sight. He extended a slim wooden box with fine filigree embellishing the lid and four silvery short legs at the base. One leg had a crack where the metal came to meet the rich wood, leaving the delicate thing useless.
King Edmund stepped forward. "Can you fix it?"
"If I may..." Khur held out his palm to examine the box.
It was placed in his care and after a brief moment of inspection during which the two monarchs were unable to hold still, though perhaps that was common for sons of Adam, Khur spoke. "I believe the main damage is in the fracture here," he pointed out the rift in the smooth silver, "which can be repaired without much trouble at all."
High King Peter breathed an audible sigh of relief, a sound which King Edmund copied only a half second later.
The nervous spark re-lit itself in King Edmund's eyes and his spine shot ramrod straight. "Will it take you long to mend?"
"Nay." Khur gave the box another glance. "I daresay this will be as good as new by the noon meal."
King Edmund looked as thought he wanted to interject a comment, but High King Peter interrupted smoothly. "Excellent. We'll wait."
"Peter-"
A firm look, even more firm than the farmers who would bargain for a hour for a pound of nails at half price, and the younger King remained silent, though he had the looks of a centaur who'd been slighted by a filly.
Khur cleared his throat, feeling very much out of place. Perhaps it was custom in Cair Paravel to carry on such silent conversations. "Shall I begin work then?"
"If it all possible, my brother and I would most grateful."
"We'd retain our hearing, too."
"Ed..."
"Well, it's true."
"As I said, we would be grateful."
Khur selected the smallest hammer at his workbench and began to tap the fissure close to latch around the wood. If had the resources he would have liked to seal the crack shut with a bit more silver but that would take much more time than the monarchs seemed willing to accept. Besides, the silver's fissure had a clean edge and would likely set right back into place.
Time passed and slowly the Kings' agitation became more pronounced. King Edmund began to pace, his long stride carrying him easily across the smithy and back within moments. High King Peter settled himself on a low overturned bucket, fingers drumming his knee.
"Peter? Edmund?" A female voice, light and airy, floated through the air.
High King Peter blanched and, in his haste to stand, nearly cracked his head on the workbench.
King Edmund was slightly more graceful, if not as swift. "We were not here," he hissed and snatched the box from Khur's hands, dashing away towards a nook behind a tall stack of fresh firewood.
"And we haven't seen Susan's music box," High King Peter added and then he disappeared into the shadows by the bellows.
Khur felt his mouth gape, barely managing to close it and replace the hammer in his hand to the workbench when a slender form entered the smithy.
Not once had he beheld anything so lovely as the sight of Queen Susan. Lilies were tied into her dark curls and the smooth silk of her gown permeated the room with the scent of roses. "Peter? Oh, I am dreadfully sorry...I didn't mean to interrupt."
"It was nothing, my lady." Khur bowed for the third time that day. This time his beard came up with a fine powdering of dirt.
She smiled and Khur thought he'd seen a glimmer of the finest jewels dwarven miners could find. "Please, do continue."
"Thank you, your highness."
"Oh, and if you see my brothers, would you inform them that I wish to speak with them?" Her fingers danced against each other.
"I will indeed."
"My thanks." Then she dipped into a curtsy and was gone, the memory of her beauty and the smell of flowers lingering in the smithy.
Khur was unaware as the two Kings tumbled out of their hiding places, only thinking of the Gentle Queen.
"Ed, take the music box."
"Why do I take it?"
"Because you took it out. Now, come on, before she knows what happened." The brothers were only a few steps from the doorway when the High King suddenly turned back. "Thank you..."
"I am called Khur."
"Ah, well, thank you, Khur. Your services have been most appreciated." An instant later and the pair had scuttled out, the box carefully secured under King Edmund's arm.
Khur turned back to his smithy, now empty, and blew out a long breath. A good draught of ale would suit him at this moment, for only at a tavern would anyone believe a story such as this.