City in the Sky (2 page)

The old smith's expression was unreadable as he picked up one of the daggers and balanced it. He made a small motion, and the stiletto all but vanished in his hand, unseen and yet still deadly.

“Crystal forging isn't cheap,” Byron said, his eyes on the weapon hidden in his hand.

Erik shrugged and turned the purse the Draconan had left on the counter onto its side. Coins spilled out, glinting with the dull yellow of gold. “He paid twenty marks in advance for materials,” he said helplessly.

Byron suddenly thrust downwards with the hand holding the stiletto. There was no glimpse of metal, but when the smith removed his hand, the knife's entire blade had disappeared into the wooden countertop. “Erik, these aren't normal weapons,” he said, his voice strained.

“I
know
that, grandfather,” Erik replied. “The one and only time I ever saw anything like them was when I was in Garria. The Duredine smith I was working with had a collection of unusual weapons. He had a weapon like this,” Erik touched the stiletto his grandfather hadn't taken, “that was one of the prides of his collection. According to him, it was an assassin's weapon,” he finished.

The old Duredine smith he'd worked with in the Garria Forest – a Duredine nation – would have known, too. Like many of that long-lived race he'd been a soldier in his youth, before turning his hand to the forge.

“Erik, this isn't the sort of job you want to get involved in,” Byron told him. “The affairs of spies and assassins are dangerous to meddle in. You could get hurt.”

“He gave me twenty gold marks up front, and offered another twenty on completion,” Erik said flatly. “Without a Mastership and my own shop, I can't afford to turn down that kind of money, no matter what it gets me involved with.”

“Erik…”

“It's done, grandfather,” Erik said softly, cutting Byron off. “I took the man's money. I'll do the job.”

The old smith bowed his head in acceptance. “Be careful, Erik,” he admonished. “We don't know what you've got yourself into yet.”

“I'll be careful,” Erik promised. “It's not like he's going to kill me for making weapons for him.”

Even through his heavy cloak, the cool autumn air of Vidran's busy streets chilled him. Smith's Row was quiet compared to the rest of the city, but then many of the smithies were built into the smiths' homes.

Once into the rest of the city, the population picked up dramatically. People of all six races travelled the streets, though the vast majority were human. Everyone came to Vidran, in the end. It was one of the major ports where the Aeradi and Mermen came to trade with the rest of Cevran.

The population of non-humans rose as he crossed the bridge over the great North Selt River, whose immense navigable length was another source of Vidran's wealth. In the moments it took him to cross the bridge, he saw barges from the Dwarven North Hold and the Duredine's Kingdom of Garria.

He knew he'd arrived at his destination when he heard the high, trilling roar of the first dragon. The eastern edge of the Trade Quarter housed the pens where the Draconans corralled their beasts. Even his current worries couldn't keep Erik from taking a moment to stop and watch the magnificent creatures.

The dragons were immense, sinuous creatures. Their necks stretched out a quarter of their length from their broad, wing-bearing bodies. Long spiked tails flicked out from between a single pair of stocky legs, the tails' neatly-shined spikes gleaming under the sun as they flicked back and forth.

Most of the dragons here were the huge blacks, the ones that carried the traders and goods of the Draconan peoples across the length and breadth of Cevran. A small number of smaller beasts were kept in pens near the ones for their larger brethren, which likely meant a caravan had come in recently. The only reason for the lesser dragons, the ones who bore the Draconan's elite Skyborne warriors, to be in Vidran was if they'd just escorted a trade caravan in.

The armies of Hellit, the kingdom whose main port Vidran was, were quite capable of handling a handful of Skyborne, but no one wanted war-trained dragons stabled in a city. The Skyborne caravan escorts normally encamped well outside the city, but would be inside it for the first night or so after arriving.

The combination of the shrill cries of the greens and browns with the louder and deeper roars of the blacks created a cacophony of noise that pressed in on Erik's ears, and he shuddered, remembering the one time he'd been here and something had roused
every
dragon in the pens.

It was an experience he wouldn't soon forget, and the memory helped him leave the dragons and press on to the store he was seeking. Tucked away just inside the Aeradi section of the Trader's Quarter, it looked exactly like a hole in the wall until one entered it.

To a large extent, much of what the Aeradi traders did was pick up goods from one place and trade them for goods from another. They did trade goods of their own manufacture, but were more circumspect about which of those they traded.

This little hole in the wall traded the sort of things they were
very
circumspect about trading. Air Magic involved the creation of empowered crystals, and once empowered, those easily-used crystals became both valuable and dangerous.

Those sorts of crystals glinted from every wall and display case in the small store. Despite the nondescript appearance of the outside, the inside of the store was both well-kept and well organized. The crystals were organized by purpose and price, everything clearly labeled.

Erik had been here before, and the proprietor rose from behind the plain wooden counter at the end of the store with a smile. He was pure Aeraid, with the same slanted eyes and dusky skin as Erik, but coming in at barely under five feet tall.

“Erik,” he greeted the smith. “It's good to see you again. What are you looking for today?”

“I need forge crystals, Jaron,” Erik told him. He thought for a moment, counting in his mind. “Three of them,” he finished.

“Those aren't safe things to play with, Erik,” Jaron said quietly. “You certain?”

“I worked with them when I was in Garria,” Erik told him. “I need them for a job.”

Jaron nodded. “All right.” He paused, and then added: “They aren't
cheap
, either.”

“How much?” Erik asked as the Aeraid merchant crossed to a specific shelf.

“Four gold marks each,” Jaron replied. He took three black-wrapped shapes from the shelf. “If you're wanting sky steel to go with that, it's a half-gold per stock bar.”

“You carry sky steel?” Erik asked, surprised. He needed sky steel, and it was almost pointless to use forge crystals for anything other than sky steel, but he'd figured he'd need to go deeper into the Quarter for it. As far as he knew, Jaron only carried crystals.

“Some. Not much,” he admitted, “and I wouldn't normally sell it, but it is you. A half-mark is a quarter less than they'll charge you in the Quarter, too.”

Erik nodded slowly. “I need twelve stock bars, if you have them.” If everything went right, he'd only need ten, but he was experienced enough to know that he was going to make at least one mistake.

Jaron nodded. Laying the crystals on the counter, he knelt down behind it and opened something, presumably a box. He quickly laid out a dozen of the twelve-inch-long stock bars.

Erik picked one up and ran his fingers along it. It was sky steel all right. The white tinge was there, and both the weight and feel were right for the crystal-purified metal. “Eighteen marks, then?” he asked, removing his money pouch from his belt.

“Yes,” Jaron replied.

Erik counted out the coins and laid them on the counter. Jaron swept them off the counter and into the drawer beneath it and Erik regarded the significant pile of items on the table for a long moment.

“You'll want these delivered to your grandfather's smithy, I presume?” the storekeeper finally asked into the silence.

His eyes on the metal and his thoughts on Rade's still disturbing order, Erik merely nodded.

Erik laid the first bar of sky steel on the anvil and regarded it levelly. The forge he and his grandfather shared was supplied with every amenity of the blacksmith’s trade. They could afford the best coals and charcoals for their work. All told, this forge could produce the hottest heat possible.

The fires in the forge were cold. It took more than natural heat to make sky steel forgeable. No number of bellows or quality of coal could do more than cause it to heat to the touch.

He removed the first forge crystal from their velvet casing and laid it on the anvil, next to the steel bar. It looked innocuous enough, a piece of crystal about the length of his hand, glowing gently silver. Innocuous-looking or not, that crystal could provide a level of heat the forge's fires couldn't.

Erik picked the crystal up and held it above the bar of sky steel. He concentrated, and the silver glow intensified. Carefully lowering the crystal closer to the bar, he focused on the bar through the crystal. The silver glow intensified even more then jumped from the crystal to the bar as he brought it close enough.

Even through his thick leather gloves, he could feel the heat radiating from the bar. The crystal, however, remained cool. Encased in the silver glow, the bar of sky steel slowly began to glow red with heat.

The bar's glow edged slowly towards the bright orange of forgeable steel and Erik removed one of the tools from the thick leather belt he wore over his apron. With a quick and precise strike, he neatly broke the glowing bar. The smaller piece he tossed aside onto a bed of sand by the forge, to cool for later use.

The larger piece he left on the forge, glowing even brighter in the light of the forge crystal. It reached a pure orange hue, and Erik lowered the crystal and took up his hammer. With swift and sure strokes, he began to shape the first of the weapons the Draconan had ordered.

It took Erik two days and almost all the materials he'd purchased to produce the Draconan's order. He used up two of the forge crystals entirely, and the glow of the third was faded far from its original hue. A single complete bar and a handful of scraps remained of the sky steel, but Erik had the man's eight stilettos, two poniards and small-sword.

Once he'd finished, he turned to the other orders he'd had in. Almost as soon as he'd fired up the forge, however, the shop bell rang. Taken by a sudden suspicion, he glanced over to the apprentice who stood by the bellows.

“Can you cool the forge down, Jona?” he asked. “I think I need to meet a customer.

The boy nodded and Erik clasped his shoulder as he turned away. Throwing a cloak on to cover the heavy leather apron he was wearing, he hurried across the courtyard of the house to the shop.

He met his grandfather at the door to the shop.

“I was just coming to get you,” the older smith said. “Rade is here.”

“I'd guessed,” Erik replied. “His order is in the rack.”

“Be careful,” Byron advised with a slow nod.

“I will,” Erik promised. “Now go check on Jona, he's watching the forge on his own. I'll be fine.”

The older smith hurried across the courtyard and Erik ducked into the store. Rade was waiting, dressed in the same dark maroon as before. Erik met his eyes, and the Draconan quickly jerked his gaze away.

“Is my order finished?” he asked.

Erik had finished the order less than an hour ago, and he sincerely doubted the Draconan had turned up this quickly by accident. He
knew
Erik had the order finished, and wondering how sent a shiver down the smith's back.

“Yes, it is,” Erik replied. He reached under the counter and removed the cloth-wrapped package containing the weapons and slid it across the counter to the Draconan.

Rade unwrapped the packaging and laid the weapons, each in a leather sheath made by a leatherworker Byron contracted with, out in a quick order. He drew each weapon in turn, starting with the smallsword and poniards, and examined them.

“This is fine work, Mr. Tarverro,” he complimented. “I've rarely seen better. I believe we agreed on twenty marks on completion?”

“Indeed we did,” Erik said with a hidden sign of relief. He hadn't been
too
worried, but he guessed some of Byron's fears had rubbed off on him.

Rade drew a bag of gold from inside his doublet and reached across to drop it on the counter. Erik looked down to examine it, and realized that one of the stiletto sheaths was empty.

Almost as he realized it, Rade released the moneybag and lunged across the counter, the glint of metal barely visible in his hand. The knife punched through the cloak Erik had wrapped around himself and into the leather apron he hadn't bothered to take off.

The blade wasn't quite long enough to go deep through the leather, and it scored along his ribs as Erik hissed in pain and knocked the man's hand away. He kicked out as he did, and sent the Draconan stumbling backwards.

Rade regained his balance quickly, and had somehow grabbed the smallsword off the counter. With a swift gesture, he drew the weapon and slid into a point-forward combat stance, lunging towards Erik.