“I’m
interested in this.”
Parmack
laid a drawing out across the oak counter. Lines on the parchment were rough,
curves subtle, but the smithy could tell what was drawn there.
The Greatsword
of Ahm-En-Suul.
And
though the old merchant wanted no part of this affair at all, the fierce
warrior took rather unkindly to negative answers.
Endil
Wackan, blacksmith of kings, looked his rough customer dead in the eye.
“Aye.”
Endil replied. “I’ve heard of it, but it’s lost. Gone for all time, it’s said,
melted in dragon-fire.”
Parmack’s
eyebrow rose, in an elusive way that gave no hint of his disposition at all.
“I
have many other fine blades.” Endil continued. “Sil-Blades, Mystaran Hammers. I
think I may have an old Baran greatsword left over from the War.”
The
stoic warrior’s face still offered no expression.
Anxiety
turned to fear in Endil’s stomach as the seconds ticked by. This soldier was
known to cut out the tongues of liars.
“Very
well.” Parmack’s gray eyes pierced the smith through to the back of his skull.
Endil was certain he felt something in that instant.
“Lead
the way.” The warrior uttered. “I’d like to see what I’m buying.”
Parmack’s
words cut Endil to the bone. What he was buying? As if he’d already made the
purchase. What did that mean?
Icy
terror replaced the marrow in Endil’s bones as he realized exactly what Parmack
meant.
The
immense warrior already knew Endil did indeed have the sword he was after.