A Hollow Mountain (The Brightest Shadow Book 2), page 37
"I'm not sure anyone else does."
Slaten began to wander, gaining his bearings in the new location. His clothes attracted a little attention, but less than his hair. He realized that none of the men wore their hair long and almost all wore beards, even those who would be better off shaving. The women had their hair bound up in braids or hidden beneath cloths. Many stared at Natala's unbound hair, perhaps because they saw few dark locks.
What he felt, more than anything, was a sense of distance. The people of Torgaadi carried on with their own lives, untouched by the Legend. That might not be true, but until he bridged the distance, he could believe it. Stepping into their lives to demand information about his own seemed inexcusably rude at that moment, so he drifted without speaking to anyone.
Though only a town, Torgaadi had a considerable amount of metal on display. Instead of one area where the smiths congregated, he saw smithies on many streets. Most seemed devoted solely to the daily needs of the townspeople, but eventually he stumbled onto a street where they walked among more errants. Most appeared to be Ironsquires, wearing only the dark pads he saw underneath the armor of others.
This street contained several stores devoted to weapons and equipment. Slaten admired some of the steel he saw, but continued to walk onward. He had exchanged his southern money at one of the ports, but it had been a poor deal and he knew he had relatively little.
When he stepped inside the small store at the end of the lane, he nearly stepped out again. It had no storefront, only a bench covered in nails, animal shoes, and hinges. Beyond it, a muscular old man stripped to the waist worked at his forge. The building was unremarkable compared to the others... yet something along the wall caught Slaten's eye.
He realized that it was a display of weapons, yet no common display. When he walked closer to it, the smith waved cheerfully at him. "Feel free to take a look!" Slaten nodded and proceeded to do just that.
What first drew his eye were the swords, similar to both straight and curved Coran styles, yet the hilts were more finely worked and they had larger cross-guards. There were no Oken blades, but most of the display was devoted to two-handed weapons. He saw pikes with heads in a dozen styles, some simple and some so ornate he wasn't sure how they could be effective in battle.
All of the weapons were finely crafted and many were ornate or gilded. Some even had a strange red or blue sheen to the steel, which struck him as familiar even though he had never once seen anything like them. He could easily have stared at many of the beautiful weapons for some time... but instead his attention was drawn to a thin sword in back.
The blade was unusually gray, so much so that it did not reflect the firelight. Though the handle was heavily worn, the blade itself lay untouched. Slaten found himself reaching out to pick it up, admiring the balance even though it was not his accustomed style. Yet what struck him was not steel, but sein...
"Do they look with their hands wherever you come from?" The smith had crossed most of the distance between them, his smile slipping... yet when he saw the blade Slaten held, his expression became something slightly sad. "Ah. Interesting that you would choose that one."
"I meant no offense, I just..."
"None taken, my boy! I keep this display here to see where errants look first." The smith turned away from him, passing his hands a hair away from the blades. "The shiniest are to catch the eye of young and rich fools, of course. The more discerning will notice the quality of this simple pike, or those who want bloodsteel will be attracted to this hammer. For swordsmen, of course, the most important sword here is this one in the back."
Slaten had not even noticed the three weapons the smith pointed out. Now that he looked at them, he could see that they were of a finer quality than the others, and the last sword in particular had a strange quality to it that he struggled to describe, even to himself. He swallowed a strange sensation as the smith turned and took the gray sword from his hands.
"This blade... was not meant to be here. It is a weapon with a sad history. I have long meant to reforge it, but it carries the memories of the man who wielded it..." Without warning, all the sadness on the smith's face vanished and he grinned at Slaten. "My name is Mantyos! Well met!"
Alongside his greeting, he put the gray sword aside and thrust out a hand. He crooked his elbow almost as if he wanted to arm wrestle as some mansthein did, yet it seemed a greeting. Slaten carefully returned the gesture, awkwardly trying to clasp wrists in the Oken way. Mantyos ignored the awkwardness and cheerfully grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly.
"And will you give me your name, mysterious stranger?"
"My name is Slaten." He realized that Natala still stood behind him and gestured to her. "And this is Natala."
"Well met!" Mantyos took a large step over to her and clasped her hand in exactly the same way, apparently not noticing how Natala winced at his grip. The smith didn't stand like a warrior, yet he had unusually strong hands. "Now, boy, tell me: why did you look at that sword in particular?"
"The truth is that I don't know." Slaten took the sword back and stared over the edge for a time, then simply set it back in its place. "All I can say is that it caught my attention first."
Mantyos roared with laughter and struck him on the back. "Good answer! Usually after I flatter someone about picking the most interesting sword, they can come up with a reason right away!"
"Then... is there anything unusual about it at all?"
"Oh, there is." Mantyos immediately became somber again and brushed his fingers along the edge. "I think, friend, that you are far from home, not to know these arts. Have you come from Fareshel, perhaps? Eltar Trathe?"
"No. I have journeyed from across the Sotunn Mountains."
"Well! That is quite a trip, and perhaps a greater ordeal in these trying times."
Uncomfortable with the focus turning toward him, Slaten gestured to the blade. "Someone from Portant would recognize this steel?"
"Indeed they would. This blade was reforged as soulsteel, truly becoming part of its wielder. To all others, it is only a lump of metal, so this blade is a sad, useless legacy. Yet the arts that once forged it retain the edge, after all these years..."
"Is that the secret of northern steel? I have always heard that the northern nations forge the best steel in all Breilin."
"What? Hah!" Mantyos clapped him on the back again and then gestured into the smithy. "You seem a curious lad, would you like a lesson? Come, come, I have a pot of fhoka ready. You too, girl, you look like you could use something to warm you up."
Though it was actually warmer than Slaten had expected, after the mountains, he nodded his acceptance. The smith tugged on a rough shirt as he moved to a small corner of his shop with a small table and several stools, where he poured a dark drink into two metal cups. They had been finely wrought with patterns of flowers, making them look absurdly delicate in the smith's battered hands.
Soon enough, he sat them down in stools and lay a cup before each of them. Slaten noticed that Mantyos now kept his distance from Natala, never looming over her as he had at first. There was more to him than first appeared.
Mantyos sat and watched them until they took a sip. Slaten found the fhoka to be slightly bitter, yet bracing, and nodded his approval. It didn't seem that the smith cared, simply grasping the pot as if it was a mug and drinking from the side. When he set it down with a satisfied sigh, he began speaking.
"Portant, Espal, and Wahleen will all claim that they forge the best steel in the Maenhu. Looking at steel as simply steel, I believe that Wahleen has the best claim to that crown. But when sein arts are applied to the metal, well! That is a different story entirely!"
Slaten leaned forward, fascinated. "I knew that I felt something unusual... is sein somehow forged into the steel itself?"
"Sein is life, boy. How can it be placed into dead metal?" Mantyos sat back and shook his head, his gray hair flying from side to side. "Yet there are still ways to use sein arts to create superior weapons. All master smiths use techniques to make their forges burn hotter and to create truer steel and better edges. There, as I said, I believe Wahleen can rightfully boast."
"But you said that there were other ways. What is soulsteel?"
"It might be easier to start with something different. Did you notice the weapons with a red coloring? Those are forged from bloodsteel, the blood taken from the errant themselves. Make no mistake, you cannot simply mix a little blood into the metal and expect anything to happen. But if warriors truly give up part of themselves... the weapons are not alive, but they are something close to it."
Slaten looked over his shoulder to the rack of weapons, considering. "Then do some warriors force others to sacrifice themselves to forge weapons?"
"It can be done." Mantyos became somber again, his elation from his explanations fading. "Your mind travels to dark places, boy, but many others have considered the same thing. But that is the path of cowards and fools, errants without purpose or respect. It is little different than ordering others to fight your battles for you, and no warrior who demands such will ever become a Steelmaster."
"But the bloodsteel weapons you have there..."
"The coin of cowards and fools is worth exactly the same!" Mantyos laughed loudly and took a long drink from the pot. After slamming it back to the table, he wiped the fhoka from his beard and continued. "There are different bloodsteel techniques for different purposes. Soulsteel is something different yet, forged by arts that would be difficult to explain. Such weapons are useless in the hands of another, at times worse than useless."
"Fascinating. I would like to know more of these techniques."
"And I believe that you would! So few errants are interested in such things, this is a welcome reprieve! But first, I have been dying to see that weapon at your side."
Slaten unsheathed his blade and handed it to him. The smith rapidly examined the blade with a practiced air, testing the balance and running his finger along the edge with no concern for being cut. As he worked, he nodded thoughtfully.
"Yes, hmm... this is a solid blade. The smith clearly struggled with inferior metals, yet they have ma-"
"That sword is not some treasure from my home. I took it from the site of a battle after my previous weapon broke."
"Good, because it's a piece of shit!" Mantyos laughed and flipped the sword around to hand it to him hilt-first. "You seem like you know your steel, boy."
"I feel that I know very little, considering I had never even heard of the forging arts you spoke of."
"Nonsense! Anyone can learn new words, but it is difficult to learn to stop being a fool. I often see young errants in here, convinced they can forge a legendary pike from their heartblood and become a Steelmaster in a day. I give them the best they can afford and send them on their way. But you... I hope that you are not merely passing through Torgaadi?"
Before Slaten could answer, the door opened loudly. In the frame stood a tall woman, middle-aged but well-preserved in the manner of sein masters. She wore little armor except gauntlets and a helm that framed her face and swept back her hair, yet the way she held the pike in her hand suggested that she knew how to use it. He noted that the steel had a dark red cast, and judging from the woman's stern expression, he wasn't sure whose blood had forged it.
"Olondris! Welcome back!" Mantyos bounded to his feet, his face immediately filled with an immense fondness. The woman didn't smile back, simply stared at Slaten and Natala.
"Those two had better be customers and not another charity case."
"They are new friends!" The smith strode across the room to her, waving his hand back to them. "They have come to us from across the Sotunns, can you believe that? The boy has an eye for steel, and I would love to see how such foreign sein reacts to well-forged arms."
"A Greater Ironlord?" Olondris looked first at the insignia on his mantle, then briefly over the rest of him. "I will be the judge of that."
As Slaten watched the two of them, he remained unsure as to their relationship. He did not think that Mantyos was a warrior, yet despite the age visible on his face, he had the body of a far younger man, so perhaps the arts of a smith had preserved him. Olondris looked to be twenty years younger and was cast from a similar mold of handsome features. Given their interactions, perhaps his daughter?
When Mantyos reached Olondris, he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her hard against him, and kissed her on the mouth. She kissed back just as passionately, gripping his neck with her free hand. Hopefully not his daughter.
After they parted, for the first time the woman's sternness faded and she regarded Mantyos with a deep fondness. "Very well, they can stay for tonight. After that, we must know who they are and what they want."
"Of course, of course." Mantyos turned fully to them, keeping his arm around her waist. "My wife has given her permission, so consider yourselves welcome! Come, let me brew some more fhoka!" Abruptly he froze, looking at them as if in real concern. "You will stay, won't you?"
Slaten glanced at Natala, who gave no reaction, and took a slow sip from his cup. "I suppose that we will."
Chapter 27
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"A carved set for a well-off Feinan merchant:
* Dark Lord statue with painted eyes
* Zeitai Xetsu statue (carve Feinan ears)
* Noble Zeitai statue
* Hooded Zeitai statue"
- order of a shrine woodcarver
-
As it was always unwise to upset the Voidwalkers, particularly when asking for a favor, Celivia never visited their headquarters. She would simply have to hope that Unila would honor her promise and find her when she returned. In the meantime Celivia had lodging from Jeraeli, though the other woman left on campaign after a few days, leaving her mostly without connections.
It seemed that any interest in her had evaporated after her previous visit to Castle Wahles. She took it as a sign that she was on the right path: her only hope was to succeed at the impossible assignment she had been given. If she managed it, perhaps she could join the mysterious operation in the west, which she had been unable to learn anything more about.
Then, one day, there was simply a knock on her door. Celivia opened it to find Unila standing there and knew that her waiting was at an end.
"You didn't wait long on that favor, did you?" The Voidwalker sighed and rubbed her eyes. "In a sense, you're lucky: I just finished extensive training to expand my route. But I'm also expected to immediately reinforce that work, so my time is limited. I can take you and others along with me, but if you need me to go far outside my schedule, don't ask."
"Depending on where you need to travel," Celivia said slowly, "this might still work. Where are you going?"
"No, you tell me just what kind of scheme this is before I give that information."
"Very well. I need strong warriors to have any hope of stopping the human raiders. If the Zeitai won't assign me any, I have no choice but to ask some of my friends. They're stationed at several key military points, so I hope that your schedule would take you near them."
Unila rubbed her eyes more vigorously. "You had better hope that these friends are willing to follow you in this mad scheme, or going across the world to beg them is going to be more than a little uncomfortable."
"They've journeyed across the world to meet me. Ever since the pits, we would do anything for each other." With others she might have stressed how much they had been through together, but Unila knew, even if she had taken a different path. She stared back for a short time, then nodded.
"Then we need to speak of specific paths. Just where do you need to go?"
Though Celivia hadn't anticipated needing to make her plans so abruptly, she knew the location of her old friends automatically. "One is with Zeitai Xetsu in Baelen, one is a liaison in Laerith, and one is with the Vear - maybe in Veartel or maybe one of their outposts. Then... I'm not as certain of it, but since I assume you will pass through Ith Silvaros, I think I can call in a favor there."
"Hmm. This can work." Unila shifted onto her back foot and gazed into space as she considered. "You're damn lucky that I'm taking a message to Zeitai Xetsu's position. I need to go to Laen Karnak, so I can leave you in Laerith for a few days. But your Vear friend... if she's not in Veartel, I won't be able to help you."
"That's more than I'd hoped. And Ith Silvaros?"
"That will depend on if I'm given anything of higher priority, but it's likely, given the importance of some of these messages."
Celivia felt an impulse to hide her smile of relief, but let it shine through. She knew that if she could contact her friends, they would gladly help her - Ghalia might even relish the fight. "Thank you, Unila. I know you said I had a favor, but I won't forget this."
"Hmf. You're not as bad as some, demanding I voidwalk whole shipments across the world. Your friends are at least basically trained in voidwalking?"
"At least to the stage of using voidlinks." She actually wasn't sure in some cases, but decided not to press it, now that she was so close. "When do we leave?"
"Now. Right now. Get your things and let's go."
That put Celivia in a difficult position, yet as she turned back to her room, she realized that it would be easy to prepare. She had never felt truly at home in Wahleen, most of her things remained in her pack. There weren't many, after so long hiking through human territory. Celivia simply stuffed some of her clothes into her pack, placed the pearl comb in her hair, checked her weapons, and then she was ready.
"Not bad," Unila said. "Maybe this won't waste much of my time after all. Now stand close."
The world collapsed in around them and Celivia felt herself cast into the void. This time she actually had heartbeats to drift among the scattered fragments, barely even herself. It was this overflowing emptiness that had bested her when she trained as a Voidwalker, simply too vast and infinitesimally small at once for her to cope.
Unila, however, soon expanded the world around them. They stood in the center of a square, suddenly across the world. They had mostly traveled south, so the sun had only leapt slightly westward, but Celivia shivered as cold air rushed in around them. It might be summer in Wahleen, but it was winter on Orphos, and Laerith lay very far south.
