Muck of boots kicked up through the streets as sellers called out to all who would listen. They yelled about anything they could. A new cure-all potion that would prevent even the most dire of disease, a tanned leather coat that would keep out the cold better than even the kings finest clothing, jewels that would make a sultan blush. Trinkets and gems, food and spoils. The market square had nearly anything a person could want.
Mary didn’t want any of it. The fancies of treats, the delicacies of meats, the shine of pearls, none of it appealed to her. What she was looking for was a weapon.
Her last sword had been lost due in an accident. While camping along a trail she had taken it off her belt to rest. Half way through that day she realised she left it behind. But when she made it back it was gone. Someone must have stolen it.
It set her back, but she took it as a blessing in disguise. Her old one was rusted beyond any repair, bending in strange places if it wasn’t perfectly removed from it’s sheathe, dull as a stick. The worst it could do to a person what maybe give them a light case of tinnitus and a bruise.
So now she needed a new one. One that would protect her from all the sorts of monsters she would face on her journeys.
Yet in this market no one sold weapons of any kinds. They were just simple items of quick pleasure over something hard and strong. She grimaced. Not what she needed right now. But perhaps it would be somewhere nearby…
She patrolled down one of its side streets. Perhaps she had missed something.
It was a darker section, one she would have been glad to have anything other than her steak knife prepared. People glanced at her with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue while she moved. She felt mutters and murmurs pass over her as they looked at her, though their mouths didn’t move. It was the strangest thing.
It reminded her of when she was trapped in a dungeon a year ago. The people held there could only call out in desperate hope to someone, anyone to save them. She herself barely managed to make it out with a few pieces of cloth and determination.
She shook her head and kept walking. No time to reminisce now. It was probably just the feeling of the area. Nothing actually supernatural about it. Just… weird.
Mary finally found herself passing a shop with weapons outside. The name “Walter’s Weapons” stood above the shop, it’s peeling red paint looking more like dry blood than a font. Halberds, Scythes, Spears, all sorts of sharp sticks specialised for sparring. Though no swords.
She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand. This place was strange. A shop she would have to keep an eye out to what was going on inside. But one she would have to enter.
The door opened with surprising smoothness as it’s bell rang her presence. Around her even more weapons of all types that she could imagine hung it’s walls, ceilings, benches and displays. They all appeared used, though cared for and clean.
“Coming!” A voice called out.
An old man soon appeared. His skin hung on his face with many wrinkles and grey hairs. He had clearly seen better days, but was excited to hear someone new enter his shop. He smiled up to her and nodded.
“Ah, hello there,” he – Mary assumed him to be ‘Walter’ – said. “Interested in anything here?”
“Maybe,” Mary said. She kept a grip on her knife, though remained outwardly calm. “Do you have a sword of some kind? Preferably something short and easy to maintain.”
“A sword, hey?” he said. “I think I have some in the back. Let me have a look around.”
Walter headed out to the back room again, pulling out a few boxes and crates with many more weapons.
Mary glanced around as he searched. It was strange for a weapons store to not have any swords. While they may not be the best weapons in combat, it was what worked for her and many others. Something must be around here.
Under a pile of wooden staffs she caught a glint of steel. It was just a brief moment, a small flash of light as the sun shined on it. She frowned and stared to it, trying to see if it really was there. That it wasn’t a trick of her imagination. Stores like these always played on her expectations. But maybe if she…
She pushed the staffs to the side. Inside was a beautifully adorned rapier, cut to her exact length. Gold and gems lined the hilt of the sword in neat rows. The length of the weapon was cleaned to a polish. Not a hint of dust lined it’s steel even with how poorly it had been kept.
Mary reached out to grab the weapon. She felt it pull on her, begging her to hold onto it. She pulled the sword from it’s hole.
It was perfect. The weight was distributed to a fine tee. It’s hilt covered her hand while still being easy to move around. Mary lightly tapped the end of it with her gloved hand, feeling the leather cut away easily. She smiled at the weapon as a clutter of steel rang out behind her. Mary turned to find the old man staring at her.
“Don’t touch that sword,” Walter said. The cheery nature of his voice had disappeared, replaced with fear. “Drop it now.”
Mary frowned but didn’t let go. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Just do as I say,” he said. “That sword… it’s not good.”
“What do you mean?” Mary asked. “It’s perfect! Look, it cut my glove with only the slightest-“
“You cut your glove?” Walter yelled, quickly rushing up to her to investigate her hand. He carefully checked over her fingers. The cut in her glove was just that – a cut. It didn’t reach the flesh. He sighed in relief. “You’re lucky you’re not bleeding.”
“What would have happened?”
“Nothing, if you let go of that sword.”
“What’s wrong with it? I want it. I’ll pay.”
Walter looked up to her. She stared down to him, gripping her new weapon in the fear he would yank it out of her hands if she let him. He sighed.
“I suppose it’s for the best…” he murmured. “But I’m warning you, that sword should never be used. Decoration, ceremonial, that is as far as you should use it. Don’t use it for fighting, don’t use it for defending, don’t even use it to cut your food. Understand?”
Mary looked down to him, still confused as to what he was saying. It was just a sword, right? A good one, certainly. But just a sword. A tool to be used.
“Understand?” he repeated forcefully.
“Alright, alright,” she said. “I understand. Just admire the damn thing. Got it.”
He looked up to her, not believing a word she said. It was hard enough to stop her now. She did have a sword now. He sighed and rubbed his temples.
“Fine, that’s legal enough for me,” he said. “Alright then, that’ll be a hundred gold.”
“Here,” she said, pulling out a bag of coins. He stared at her dumbfounded as she placed it on the scales. He quickly measured it out and found it to be the right value. He sighed.
“Good enough,” he said. “But heed my warning. Please. What you do with that weapon may be too great for any one person to handle.”
Mary just gave him one more look up and down before leaving the sword smiths. Walter sighed.
“I warned her,” he muttered. “I did the best I could.”
Mary didn’t hear him say anything as she sheathed her new weapon and headed back outside the gates, onto her horse, and onto new adventures.
She held her grip on the sword the entire way. Something told her to keep it close by.
- Part Two: https://cheesmanchronicles.com/2024/11/11/the-swordsmith-part-two/
- Part Three: https://cheesmanchronicles.com/2024/11/18/the-swordsmith-part-three/
- Part Four: https://cheesmanchronicles.com/2024/11/25/the-swordsmith-part-four/
Image Credit: Petr Kratochvil, Public Domain Pictures
Cheesman Chronicles 
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