Death Comes To All (Book 1) (24 page)

Malik
jumped forward into a hard downward attack. Roland knew his companion
wasn't fighting with his true speed and power, simply testing
Roland's ability with the massive blade he wielded. Roland brought
the blade up into a quick parry, then blocked the next three strikes
in rapid succession.

Malik
was right,
he quickly realized.

The
greater weight and slightly different balance of the larger blade
made it more difficult to move the same way he had been before with
the smaller, lighter sword Malik carried, or the wooden imitations he
practiced with regularly.

He
noticed, however, that Malik's attacks barely affected the blade when
he parried. It took less of an effort to keep Malik's strikes at bay.
The man's smaller sword simply couldn't move his blade. Because of
this he could parry much closer to his body than he would have been
able to do with a smaller weapon.

Malik
stepped back after a moment. "Good. It seems that you can move
into the defensive positions despite the weight. You should be able
to defend yourself with it decently. You'll get better with the blade
once you've gotten used to it."

"I
noticed that it was slower moving into the positions," Roland
informed his companion. "When our blades struck, however, your
attacks barely moved it. It felt as if you were barely touching my
blade, though it looked like you put some power into a few of those
strikes. I think I can get used to it. I'll have to change my
fighting style a bit for it to move right though. It didn't quite
feel right using the techniques you taught me."

"No
doubt you’re right," Malik admitted. "We will have to
change your stance and fighting style to compensate for the heavier
blade. I already suspected as much. Now let's see what it can do on
offense.”

“
Alright,”
Roland answered, shifting into one of the offensive stances Malik had
taught him.

“
Just
don't use your full strength just yet. Use the first set of strikes I
taught you, and try to bring the second attack as quickly as you can.
That way I can see if you can swing it effectively and how long it
takes you to recover."

Roland
brought his blade into a shallow arc, putting only a small amount of
his own strength into the attack. Malik quickly bought his own blade
up to defend. The blades clashed with a loud ring, like the chiming
of some great bell, and Roland stepped forward into the second
strike. He suddenly stopped. His target was no longer there at all!

Malik
literally flew through the air, the force of the contact between
their blades throwing him backward. His back hit the wall behind him
with a dull thud, the air driven from his lungs by the impact. He
barely managed to stay on his feet after he hit, gasping for breath
and shaking his head vigorously.

"I
said not to use your full power!" Malik snapped as soon as he
recovered enough to speak. "That blow could have cut me in
half!"

"I
didn't!" Roland replied in dismay. "I hardly put any
strength into that swing at all!"

"It's
my fault," Malik said quickly, his anger disappearing as quickly
as it had appeared. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I greatly
underestimated the striking power of that sword. The amount of weight
it has combined with a fast attack can be devastating. How did it
feel when you moved for the second strike and recovered the blade?
Was it unwieldy? I couldn't see what happened after that first
strike."

It’s
no wonder,
Roland thought, but decided against saying it out
loud.

"It
was a bit slow,” he answered instead, “but I could move
it well enough. I think I could get used to it with practice."

"Amazing,"
the smith said in shock. "I never thought I would ever see one
of my blades become capable of such power. This sword is even greater
than I had expected it to be. No doubt that has as much to do with
the man wielding it as it does the weapon, but still."

"As
I said, it is truly a work of art," Malik said. Roland nodded in
agreement. "The final decision though will have to be Roland's.
So what do you think? Is this sword the right match for you?"

Roland
considered for only a moment before nodding. "I could think of
no greater weapon."

If
it can throw Malik across a room like that, I wonder what it would do
against a normal opponent?

"Sold,"
Baldor declared. "Let us return to the shop up front and we'll
make the exchange."

They
all headed back out to the front shop, where the smith smoothly
fitted the sword back into its thick sheath. Roland handed over the
promised price, and Malik helped him attach the blade to his back.
They had to adjust the strap slightly, as it had been set to fit the
larger frame of a trog, but the smith had made the strap to be easily
adjustable, so it wasn't difficult. The blade felt strange to Roland;
he had to move it several times once it was on his back to find the
right position.

Wearing
it will take as much getting used to as wielding it will,
he was
certain.

"I'm
just glad that I was able to sell it," the smith commented
happily. "It would have broke my heart if I had to destroy it.
It might very well be one of my greatest creations. Any good sword
needs a name, and it has always fallen on the first owner to name a
blade. I never thought that this blade would have a name, at least
not one I would ever know. Trogs don't often bother to name their
blades, no matter how well they might be made. If you decide on a
name please let me know. I would like to know what you would like to
call my creation."

"What
do you think I should name it?" he asked Malik.

"It's
not my weapon," Malik answered. "You don't have to name it
now, but when you do I would suggest it be something that the blade
represents to you. By taking on this weapon it becomes a part of who
you are. Think of how it feels when you use it and in time it will
name itself."

Roland
considered that.
Something that is a part of who I am.

He
remembered something his mother told him when he was a child. A
person is created by the life they have lived, she had said. Their
past defines them and makes them who they are. Roland's past,
however, was something he needed to keep hidden inside him if he was
to stay with Malik and Tara. Using something that was a part of his
past might not be wise.

Malik
had also said that he should think about how it felt when he wielded
the blade. When he had defended with it the blade seemed as
unyielding as a mountain, yet it had struck with greater force than a
gale force wind. It had felt as if the power of a hurricane had
rested in his hands, just waiting to be unleashed.

What
could ever exist that was stronger than mountains and more forceful
than the mightiest of winds?

Something
else his mother had said once came to his mind. With sudden clarity
he knew the blade's name.
Perhaps it
had always been its name, and had only been waiting for someone to
see it for what it really was.

"I
don't have to think about it," Roland announced. "I already
know the name of this sword. It is Ocean's Hand."

Tara
looked at him quizzically. Malik seemed thoughtful. "An unusual
name," Malik commented. "How did you choose it?"

"It
was something that my mother said to me a long time ago. Mountains
have always been thought of as the most powerful monuments of
nature's strength, and kings have stood as the most powerful of men,
but even the greatest of kings must bow before the awesome weight of
the ocean. Mountains have toppled and entire civilizations lost with
only one wave of the ocean's mighty hand."

Baldor
nodded. "That seems to be a very fitting name when you say it
that way. I'm grateful that I have the chance to know it."

Malik
had to agree. He had felt the power of Ocean's Hand once already, and
only a small portion of its full attack at that. Once Roland mastered
his use of the blade, he would become a truly formidable opponent.
Something that he hadn’t seen, that he hadn’t expected,
had just clicked into place.

"We
should toast with a drink," the smith declared.

"Perhaps
later tonight if we are still here," Malik promised. "It's
still a bit early for drinking, and we have other things to attend to
at the moment. Your shop was only the first stop in several we need
to make today. If all goes as planned we will be staying at the
Gatortooth tonight. Come on over after you close up shop. If we won't
be there I'll leave word with the waitress."

"I
know the place fairly well," the Canis smith replied. "The
girl who works there is pleasant to talk to. She always seems to
brighten the mood at the end of a hard day."

Malik
grinned in agreement. The group took their leave of the smith,
heading directly to the next shop on their list. Roland was worried
that he wouldn't have enough funds for the rest of the supplies he
needed. He had spent more than half of his funds on the sword alone,
after all.

Would
new clothes cost as much?
he wondered.

The
first shop they stopped at sold mainly leather goods, which took
Roland by surprise. He had expected Malik to lead the group to a
cloth merchant, or perhaps one of the ports many tailors. His
companion, however, had noticed another need that he thought needed
to be addressed first.

Roland's
travel bag fit on his back in a particular way, but now that his
sword rested there it would no longer fit him the same way. He would
need a different bag to store his goods in. The group would need
several extra bags for the trip as well. Tara knew where they would
be going. She knew what they would need for the journey and the
coming winter.

She
purchased the bags they needed for their journey to the Hut, and
quickly said her goodbyes to the others. She had eyed the magically
enhanced bags with longing, but followed Malik's instructions, and
left them on the shelves. Roland could choose his own clothing
without her assistance, and she had other matters that needed to be
dealt with before the group would be ready to depart.

She
wasn't entirely sure what Malik had planned, but he had said he
wanted everything ready in case they had to leave that night. He
indicated it was in case something went wrong. Still, she knew him
well enough to know that he had something in mind that could make
such a move necessary.

Roland
picked out a new pack that would fit well over the sheath of his
sword. At Malik's suggestion he added a black leather jerkin and
thick, black leather breeches to his order. They would be far too
warm to wear comfortably in the warmer months, but winter was close
at hand. While he didn’t think that the leather would be very
comfortable in any weather, he couldn’t think of any other
reason that Malik would want him to buy them.

Roland
considered purchasing one of the magical packs for himself, but had
to discard that idea. He only wanted one, however at a price of over
sixty gold for the smallest of them they were far beyond his price
range. He finished with a new pair of black leather boots, that
covered his legs all the way up to his knees.

From
there Malik told him they would be going to the cloth merchant. Along
the way he stopped to get a large bag of thick cut, heavily spiced
jerky. Roland had assumed it was meant for later, but to his surprise
Trick appeared as if from nowhere, looking for his breakfast. Malik
chuckled and turned into a narrow alleyway between a merchant selling
sweet smelling bread and another selling wooden plates and bowls.

"I
noticed Trick following us for the past half hour," he
explained. "If he didn't get something in his stomach soon he
might have done something that could have brought us some mischief.
As it was he knew he was supposed to stay out of sight until we
returned to the room tonight."

Roland
hadn't seen Trick at all until he joined them, though the dragonling
had to have been nearby in order to appear the way he had. He was
certain that the only one that could have seen him would have been
Malik, who knew how to spot those places the dragonling would use to
hide his presence.

He
would be able to see Trick no matter where he was,
Roland
suspected.

The
aroma of the bread shop became too much for Roland, who hadn't eaten
anything that day either, so while Malik was busy feeding his little
friend Roland bought two small onion buns from the merchant to eat
while he waited. Other customers, and even people just wondering
through the market, stared at the huge blade on his back as they
passed him. He couldn't hear their whispered comments, but he could
guess the sorts of things they would be saying.

He
finished the warm bread only a moment or two before Trick finished
his breakfast. Trick flew off, presumably to return to their room in
the inn, though Roland wasn't certain if that was really the case.
The dragonling could have just as easily continued to follow them
without his knowing.

The
two men continued to the clothing merchant two blocks away, where a
young fawnling woman, the proprietor of the establishment, greeted
them warmly. The woman was dressed in a light, mint-green dress that
fell just passed her knees, accentuating her thin, shapely figure.
Light tan fur covered her otherwise human looking face, her light
brown, almond shaped eyes twinkled with unspoken kindness.