CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Demetrius found himself feeling a little claustrophobic. The chamber he stood in was enormous in terms of open space, but the knowledge that he was deep underground gave him chills. The idea that more dirt and stone than he could imagine was being held up by a few wooden beams was distressing. The air was cool, but he was sweating so profusely his shirt was soaked. It clung to his skin and made him even more uncomfortable. The servant had left him alone in the room, and he was beginning to wonder what was taking so long.

The door swung open and the same general who had met him outside Radda strode in, followed by two guards leading a blindfolded man in flowing grey robes. Demetrius looked questioningly at the general. “This” he waved towards the man, “—is Vallen. He will be working with you.”

Demetrius’ brows rose. “Who is he? A prisoner?”

The grey robed man let out a chuckle. The general was not impressed.

“He is King Manaem’s wizard. We don’t need the Oaks having anymore advantages over us; hence the blindfold.”

That put Demetrius on his heels. His initial shock, and then anger, was apparent on his face. “I will not work with some fool from Oakvalor,” he cried angrily. “Especially not a servant of their king! Is this some sort of joke? My home was destroyed and you come in here …” his large body was shaking with rage.

“Be calm, silversmith. The Oaks,” he used the insulting slang term again, “are facing the same problems we are. King Garun has issued an unofficial treaty of peace with Manaem. Do this task so we can be rid of the vermin from our land.”

Demetrius almost refused, but the look on the general’s face reminded him of the deadly stare of the king. He hated the Oaks as much as anyone else in Talvaard, but he valued his life and nodded in resignation.

“Follow me.”

The general led them through a maze of passages and into a chamber similar to the one they left. There was a furnace and an anvil, as well as all sorts of tools hanging on one of the walls. “I still don’t know what I am supposed to forge,” he commented to the general, who in turn said nothing. He instructed the guards to take the blindfold off the wizard and left Demetrius in the room with him.

Demetrius looked at the wizard. He was young, perhaps younger than himself. His robes looked to be made of velvet. The man’s hair was long and platinum colored, hanging down past his shoulders. His eyes were slate blue and brought the waters of the Ocean to mind. He carried an ordinary looking staff made of wood, but it was not to help the wizard walk.

The smith had never met a wizard. Before he was born, sorcerers were a common sight. A few bad seeds, however, caused a great persecution to break out against anyone who practiced the craft. The soldiers were able to quell the violence, but it was too late. Those who had not been killed went into hiding or gave up the craft altogether. It was whispered that the church had a hand in the revolt, but the Abbot condemned such accusations. It was also whispered that some wizards had the ability to control others with the power of their minds.

If the rumors were true … Demetrius suddenly wondered if this man had that power. He looked questioningly at the wizard, who frowned and muttered something about stupidity.

“Well?” Vallen said impatiently.

“Well what?” Demetrius answered.

“Are you ready to get to work or are you going to stand there until the beast destroys both our lands?”

“The king hasn’t told me what to forge,” he reiterated.

“I’m telling you what to forge, you fool.”

—

Demetrius was the best at what he did because he worked alone. No one told him what to make or how to make it. His clients asked for certain pieces, true, but they did not dictate to him how to accomplish it. And that was precisely the reason he wanted to strangle Vallen. The wizard had drawn up a very specific blueprint and he insisted every detail be followed.

With each hammer blow, he would hear Vallen mutter something about “too much force” or “this is the best smith they could find?” Demetrius glared at him on one such occasion.

“Do you want to do this?” Vallen returned his glare but didn’t say another word.

Demetrius prided himself on attention to detail, which was one of the reasons his work was so highly sought after. But this … this was just a round, hollow sphere of silver unadorned in any way. He had to shape it in two separate pieces, each one the wizard inspected meticulously. With both pieces complete, Vallen had him heat the metal pieces up so that he could engrave some sort of symbols onto the inside.

When Vallen was finished, Demetrius melded the two together, ensuring it was a perfect seal. For all the specifics, it looked like something he may have crafted when he was an apprentice.

“It looks unfinished,” he lamented, turning his gaze to Vallen. For the first time since they had met, Vallen was smiling.

“It’s perfect.” Vallen reached over to pick up the sphere. “You are crazy, you blasted Oak!” Demetrius smacked the wizard’s hand away. “The heat of the metal will burn the skin right off your fingers!”

The wizard’s smile quickly vanished and turned into a scowl. “Watch what my craft can do.” Vallen snatched the sphere off the anvil and held it close to Demetrius’ face. “Do you feel any heat?”

To his surprise, Demetrius didn’t. If anything, the metal seemed to be radiating a coldness. “What is it?” he questioned.

“This, silversmith, is a weapon beyond imagining. And it is going to save our kingdoms.”