The Sale

“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.