- Part One: https://cheesmanchronicles.com/2024/11/04/the-swordsmith-part-one/
- Part Two: https://cheesmanchronicles.com/2024/11/11/the-swordsmith-part-two/
- Part Three: https://cheesmanchronicles.com/2024/11/18/the-swordsmith-part-three/
The steps to the wizards tower were a lot longer than Mary first thought. Her boots sunk into the mud and muck of the wet dirt, with dead leaves sticking to her feet by the time she raised her foot back up. The wind kicked at her loose clothing, looking much more impressive for Ordan’s long and billowing cloak than her tattered adventuring gear.
Coming up to the tower itself was the real marvel. Mary had never been to one, though had heard the stories. Kings conspiring with wizards to create all kinds of incredible potions or spells or, yes, even weapons. Up in the tower the wizard would experiment and test different combinations of ideas and ingredients to create whatever they were tasked with, often finding strange and upsetting results.
The building certainly conjured that effect. The five story tall tower stood high above the surrounding trees, dominating the landscape with is old yet strong brick walls that curved concave like a tree itself. The top of it was adorned with a cone roof, covered with brown tiles to create an almost leafy feel to the already naturalistic building. Windows dotted the sides of it to let a good amount of light in, though Mary could hardly see inside.
The bottom of the tower had a small stable and room, likely for gardening or hunting. She could make out a small patch with fruit and vegetables growing from it. Despite there being no gardeners around, it looked to be well kept.
Ordan led her up to the tower itself, marching faster than her as he was used to the incline. She kept pace as he reached the door. He turned around and sighed.
“Mary,” he began. “What we are about to do is important. Should this go well, you will come to no harm. However, I need you to promise that whatever happens inside you will do as I say. Do you understand?”
“Alright,” she said.
“That’s not enough,” he shook his head. “I’m telling you – this sword must be destroyed. I have all that I need in there besides the weapon, I just need your absolute assurance. Though you must understand that the ordeal will be challenging, I will help lead you through it. So again I ask: will you do all I say?”
Mary paused for a moment as she stared at the man. She had that same strange feeling pass over her she felt when first meeting him. That whomever he was, no matter how honest he may be, he could not be trusted. The way he tried to convince her to follow his every instruction before even entering the building felt odd. Surely if this was so important he would have explained it earlier, right?
Yet she was already here. He had promised her that she would be safe. And if they could prevent someone else from using this weapon again, it would be worth it.
She nodded to the wizard.
“I will do as you say,” she said confidently.
Ordan nodded back, believing her this time. He turned and opened the door to show off the insides of the tower.
It was surprisingly well kept. A few brooms dusted the ground as if guided by invisible hands, cups and dishes sorted themselves into place neatly after being cleaned. Candles burned softly and lit the room with a calming and tender feel. The table had been set up for a meal, though nothing lay there at the moment.
“Welcome to my home,” Ordan said. “We need to go upstairs to conduct this ritual.”
“Ritual?” Mary asked. He hadn’t mentioned anything like a ritual before.
“You shall see soon,” was all he explained.
They ascended the building by the stairs, steps hugging the outer wall like a lighthouse. It felt longer to Mary than she would have guessed. Without any indication for her outside of the occasional window, she had no frame of reference to how high they were, nor how fast they ascended.
She assumed that they were going to the very top of the tower. As far as she knew this was the lab of the wizards. She didn’t know the specific reason why it had to be up there. Perhaps it was furthest away from the rest of the world? Or was it quiet enough for them to work? Or maybe it was just the biggest space available?
It didn’t matter. As long as this would be over soon, she wasn’t complaining.
Ordan opened a trapdoor at the top of the stairs, revealing the lab above. It was the most amazing thing Mary had ever seen. Large telescopes pointed out the windows to navigate the stars, cauldrons and potions lined the sides of the walls with strange glowing liquid, scrolls pinned to the walls showed off fantastical spells and brilliant powers. A few wands were hung on the wall beside a set of daggers and short swords. Impressive trophies of monsters slain hung the walls. And in the opposite corner of it all…
Mary’s heart sank as she recognised the man tied up to a post, beaten bloodily and senselessly.
“Walter?” she quietly exclaimed.
The man in the corner looked up to her, eyes puffy yet still working. He strained himself to look at her through the low light. His eyes widened as he recognised her.
“Is it you?” Walter asked. “What are you doing here?”
“This was what I meant,” Ordan said calmly. “Mary, you know this man to be Walter. That was mearly his alias. His true name is Phillip Hendran, former King of Marydale, slayer of a thousand and one, and former owner of the sword you carry now.”
Mary froze as she looked back to Walter. Him? Walter? The old man who seemed to hardly even raise his voice for the most important of reasons?
He was the King?
“Ordan, please,” The old man pleaded. “I have grown from that. I am sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t bring back those you slew, Phillip,” Ordan spit. “Sorry doesn’t excuse you for all you have done. Sorry doesn’t pay for your crimes. Sorry doesn’t bring justice.”
He looked back to Mary. Her lips quivered as she tried to speak, to find the words she so desperately needed to say so she could understand.
“Walter?” she asked. “Is it true?”
He merely hung his head in shame, answering the question better than any words could.
“You see now, don’t you?” Ordan said calmly, putting a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “That old man before you. He killed hundreds. Slaughtered by his own hands, conquering land that never belonged to him in the hopes of expanding his own ego. That drive that could never be satiated. You see what has happened to such a man? He shows his true colours in the end, of course. He becomes a snivelling wreck, tortured by the sins of those who has wronged and taken.”
“But you helped him, didn’t you?” Mary said, turning to Ordan. “You aided in that destruction? Helped kill them, even indirectly? Are you not also responsible for his actions?”
Ordan glanced down and away from the two of them. He hid himself from Mary’s gaze with a mixture of shame and regret. He nodded slowly, gradually accepting the blame that was now placed on his shoulder.
“I…” he began. “Yes, that is true. I helped create many of the tools he used for his destruction.”
“And you were a rather willing participant too,” Walter piped up. “Some of the most feared weapons in my arsenal were you’re creation. You were proud of them too. Very proud.”
Ordan turned around violently. Yet he did not refute his captive. Mary stared at him. They all spoke honestly to one another, yet the veil of hatred between them masked any actual conversation, any truth. Could she be sure that they would keep whatever promise they made of destroying this sword?
“Care to explain why you have him tied up?” Shesaid. “Or is this just your strange version of punishment?”
Ordan blinked a few times, still staring angrily at the old man. He took a deep breath and returned his gaze towards Mary.
“He must be killed to release the curse of that sword,” he explained. “The magic inside of it ties to his very being. If he no longer exists, then neither does the sword.”
“So that’s it?” Mary said. “Just kill him? Why do you need me?”
“Because it’s the sword itself that must kill me,” Phillip said. “Isn’t that right, Ordan? I assume it was some kind of fail-safe measure? I once cut myself with it and felt my memories fall away through it. Scared the daylights out of me. Made me realise the error of my ways. Made me flee, to become ‘Walter’. I liked that life, you know. I made a difference. I was a good man.”
“A good man?” Ordan interrogated. “A good man who continued to sell weapons? To sell items of hurting and power? A true good man would do no such thing.”
“Did I not sell items of defence?” he retorted. “Did I not help the community? I protected people. I made those understand right from wrong. For many, I am like a father figure. I have saved more lives than I have taken and then some. I changed, Ordan. Can you say you have?”
“Alright, stop,” Mary said. The two men turned to her as she stood between them. “Ordan, he has changed. He has paid for his crimes by hiding and restoring his honour. Why must he still die? Surely there must be another way around this.”
Ordan looked Mary up and down, taking in a deep breath as he steadied his emotions. She felt Phillip’s eyes watch her with a mix of pride and fear. Not fear of her, but rather what could happen to her. She clenched her fist, preparing for whatever Ordan was about to say.
“The sword’s curse was a bit vague,” Ordan said. “It was specifically ‘those that kill through it shall live through it’. Anyone that has used it to hurt is responsible for destroying it. And Mary… you have killed with it. You could use it on yourself. You could free it.”
Mary stood back, shocked. On herself?
“Me?” she questioned. “You want to kill me?”
“No, I do not,” Ordan said. “I would prefer to use Phillip as the mark. He has killed many more, all of whom were innocent. You have only used it once on someone who, by the sounds of things, was guilty. However, if you want to spare his life…”
“Over my dead body,” Mary said.
She pulled the sword from its sheathe, holding it in a ready stance against the wizard. She didn’t even know why she drew it. Was whatever powers imbued in it protecting itself? Or did she truly feel threatened and wished to defend herself? She didn’t even know any more, but she did know she would save herself in any way possible.
Ordan’s eyes went wide as the tip of its sharp edge faced him, the rush of blood begging him to avoid it’s metal. He looked back to Mary, shocked.
“Mary…” he began. “Please. I don’t want to fight you.”
“You said that those who wielded this weapon are the ones who can destroy it, yes?” she said. “Well you must have fought with it too. Let’s see if it works on you. Because I’m not letting one more die at its edge if I can stop it. But if you force me too, I will protect life.”
Ordan sighed. He pulled out a small sword of his own.
“Very well, then,” he said. “Let the best swordsmith win.”
He violently slashed at her. In spite his lanky frame, he was surprisingly agile. Mary quickly raised the sword to meet its opponent. Yet now it felt sluggish in her hands. Where facing Miles it reacted quickly and freely, this time she almost felt hesitation in it’s weight.
Ordan grinned.
“It fight’s back, doesn’t it?” he said. “It can sense two of it’s owners fighting. It will have no option on how this battle turns out for it. You must use your own skills to best me.”
Mary gritted her teeth. He might be right. The sword felt its true weight in her hands now. If she were to fight, it would be at her own skill.
No matter. Magic sword or no, she was a skilled warrior.
She flew an attack back at Ordan, who blocked it with great ease. Each throw of the sword at him was deflected with trained and precise reactions. It was incredible. He was a master at the art of fighting. Perhaps the sword was letting him win? Or were her skills just not enough?
Mary couldn’t hesitate on these questions. She needed to push through her doubt and keep fighting.
She could at least tell Ordan wasn’t fairing well either. Despite his brilliant deflections, he was getting tired. His movements were slowing faster than hers, his actions getting more predictable.
Mary backed him into one of the tables, holding the weapon high over his head. He held his ground but struggled under her pushing.
“What’s the matter?” Mary taunted. “Too much time studying that you couldn’t do some exercise?”
“End this fighting, Mary,” he said through his clenched jaw. “We just need to kill Phillip and this can all be done.”
“I won’t let another person die by this blade!” she said. “No one deserves that kind of punishment. Not even him.”
“Then why fight with it? Why allow yourself to be consumed by that darkness?”
Mary hesitated at the question, giving Ordan just enough time to push her back with all his force. She flew back against the telescope, pushing it over and breaking the glass inside. Her grip on the sword faltered. He saw her hand and grinned.
“Just let go,” he said. “We can fix this now if you just let go.”
“No!”
She flew another attack at him. Though in her anger he missed his obvious deflection. The sword flew from her hands and clattered on the other side of the room. Ordan ran to grab it, but Mary grabbed him first.
“Oh no you don’t!”
She pulled out her machete and dashed him away from it. With the much lighter yet hard weapon, her attacks became quicker and deadlier. Surprised by the sudden appearance, Ordan deflected each blow with fear of his own life.
Mary didn’t know why she was fighting so hard. Was the sword affecting her judgement? Did she really want that man to live? What was going on with her mind?
They smashed each other into an array of strange chemicals. The potions Ordan had carefully placed melded into one another, causing sparks to fly and putrid smells to rise. The two of them backed up away from them as a small explosion rang out in the room. They flew back against the wall, weapons knocked out of their hands.
Mary was the first to rise. She looked over to where Ordan laid, dazed and confused but himself slowly returning to consciousness. She took her chance. She searched for her machete and rose.
“You will not kill him,” she threatened, slowly limping towards him. “No one deserves that fate.”
Ordan blinked and looked back to her. He quickly searched for his own sword, but found it out of his reach. A strange level of acceptance went through his body. He sighed and looked back to her.
“If that is how it must be.”
As Mary rose her weapon to kill him, they both heard a wail beside them. They turned and saw Phillip. He had escaped from his ropes, the explosion seemingly breaking the bonds. Through his chest the sword stuck, his hands pulling it closer.
He looked to them.
“This fighting is over,” he sputtered, blood pooling out of his mouth. “I deserved this. Now no one else… will… die…”
The breath soon left his body. He slumped over, still kneeling, only held up by the weight of the sword. It glowed a strange grey light, highlighting a previously unseen written verse on it’s sides. Mary couldn’t make out what it said – it appeared to be some runes – though the meaning was clear.
The curse was being broken. The person who slew with the sword shall die by it.
She dropped her machete beside her and ran to check his body. His pulse was gone. His eyes were blank and grey. Blood ran from his chest and onto the shiny wooden floor.
Mary removed the sword from his chest, letting him drop to the floor. The strange pull it once held was gone. It’s weight felt heavier, yet no experience was to be gained from it. It was once more a weapon, and a weapon only. The blade dulled and rusted, showing all it had gone through in one moment.
She heard Ordan rise again, staring intently at it. She turned to meet him.
“Ordan,” she began. “I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t know…”
“It’s okay,” he simply said. “I felt it too. I may have sounded calm, but I would just have much liked to kill you because of that sword as I imagine you did to me. Now that it is gone, I feel it’s curse lifting from me.”
Mary raised her shoulders, feeling that weight leave her own body. She looked back to the sword. It continued to rust, but it would still work well once cleaned and sharpened. Perhaps she could use it?
She shook her head, dropping it to the ground in a loud metal clank.
“No more,” she said.
Mary turned to Ordan, who let out a deep breath.
“It is done,” he said. “You are free to go. If you wish to keep the sword–”
“I don’t.”
He bowed. “I mearly suggested. If you do not want it then, I shall destroy it.”
He took the sword from the ground and headed over to the cauldron. He dunked it into its swaying and glowing liquid. Steam rose from it’s centre as that tangy smell of molten metal wafted through the room. Mary scrunched her nose as she stared back to him. He showed her the now melted sword, hardly a hilt. Hardly a fancy paper weight.
“There,” he said. “No one may use this again.”
He turned to Mary.
“I thank you for all your help Mary,” he said, bowing. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“What about Phillip?” she asked.
“Phillip,” he sighed. He looked over to the now slumped and bloating corpse. “I misjudged him, I admit. When I knew him he was ruthless and evil. But in those final moments he chose sacrifice. He chose freedom. Whatever had happened to him, he had changed. Yet I think that only our conflict was what pushed him over the edge. He saw what violence brought, that meaningless fighting without resolution. He knew that he was the only one who could end it. And for that, we should all be grateful.”
The End
Thumbnail Credit from ‘Pexels Free Photos’
Cheesman Chronicles 
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