Chapter 127: The King and the Blacksmith
"Six against thirty, and a total wipeout!"
Percival's large eyes sparkled with excitement. He hoisted himself onto the workbench with his arms, his short legs dangling. "Quick, tell me how you fought! The story must be spectacular... and it's vital for crafting the right weapon!"
Because it involved the Treant, Arthur had no desire to keep rehashing that battle. He tried to brush it off: "Those in the thick of a fight can rarely describe the whole picture. Perhaps in a few days, you'll hear the tale in one of Dandelion's ballads."
But then, a heavy hand Eist's hand clapped onto his shoulder. The King's mouth widened into a grin, his teeth gleaming. "Go on, tell it. I'm quite curious about that skirmish myself."
Arthur felt a touch of helplessness. This King of Cintra wore only a simple chainmail shirt beneath his tunic and stood in the middle of a bustling street with only two armed retainers. Truth be told, he looked less like a monarch and more like an adventurer leading a party across the world.
Seeing Arthur's reluctance, the adventurer-king turned the pressure on his own men. "I know! How can one tell a story without ale? You, go to the inn at the street corner and fetch a cask of mead!"
The retainers' faces twisted with apprehension. Protecting the King was stressful enough with just the two of them, and now one had to leave for spirits... The mead wasn't the issue; the issue was this Arthur Dayne! Had they not just heard? This was a man capable of cutting through Brokilon and leading six to kill thirty! If he proved to be a mean drunk, the two of them stood little chance of ensuring the King's safety.
The guard dispatched for the mead gave his companion a deep, meaningful look and ran off without looking back, as if he had made a grim vow. The one left behind stood with a face of steely resolve, seemingly determined to defend his charge with his very life.
Percival wiped his brow and dragged a padded chair out from the shop. "Don't just stand in the street, everyone. Sit and speak. Your Majesty, are you planning to commission a weapon for someone again?"
Arthur noted that the back of the chair was higher than the gnome's head; it was clearly kept specifically for human guests.
Eist didn't stand on ceremony. He sat down heavily by the shop entrance, watching the crowds pass by on the street, and grumbled, "Young men these days all thick-headed. Taking so long just for a bit of ale."
"Perhaps they were out of mead," the remaining guard suggested.
Fortunately, Eist didn't dwell on it. He turned his gaze back to Arthur. "This whole business served as a reminder. That girl Ciri... the moment she's idle, she stirs up trouble. She needs something to keep her occupied. So, I'm thinking of hiring you as her swordmaster. What do you say?"
Percival's mouth hung open wide enough to fit a fist. "You came here today for the Princess...?"
Eist nodded. "She is Calanthe's granddaughter, after all, not one of those pampered princesses from the neighboring kingdoms. You might not believe it, but Ciri has been training alongside the squires since the year before last. Calanthe's way of raising children... it's not much different from how the elves do it."
Percival nodded understandingly. "Then, what kind of sword does the Princess require?"
"Ha! Now you've stumped me!" Eist scratched his head and began to vent his frustrations. The guard watched the King's scalp with concern, seemingly worried he might scratch it raw.
"The little lass has spirit and strength, but she's still growing. She can't handle a heavy blade. Yet, if we coddle her from the start, she'll never achieve anything of note in swordsmanship."
"Aha! I have the solution!"
Arthur didn't know how Percival managed to distill a core point from the King's rambling, but he chalked it up to the innate talent of a master smith.
"We can forge the blade into a flamberge a wave shape and add twin fullers for weight reduction. That way, we maintain the profile while keeping it manageable for her!"
Eist let out an excited shout. He lunged forward, grabbed the gnome under the armpits, and hoisted him high above his head. "Percival! Percival! You always have the answer to my problems!"
Percival kicked his short legs frantically, shrieking, "I'm going to hit the ceiling! Help!"
When the King finally set the gnome back down, his expression was slightly sheepish. "What's the price?"
"That depends on the material of the billet. Ordinary blade steel is affordable and easy to work; fifteen crowns would suffice..."
"Don't you have a batch of that new alloy? I heard blades forged from it can slice a silk towel falling through the air. Use that!" The King waved his hand dismissively, clearly believing an ordinary sword was beneath a Princess of Cintra.
Percival tried to reason with him: "The little Princess is only nine. No matter how good this sword is, it will be too short and light for her by the time she's sixteen. There's no need to "
The two argued over the materials for a good while, and Percival, predictably, admitted defeat.
"If we use the new alloy, the material costs will increase by about a hundred crowns, and the forging difficulty rises accordingly. The total bill will be "
"Don't be in such a hurry. I have another order." The King held up a hand and pointed at Arthur.
"When I was young, I was an adventurer just like this lad until I took an arrow to the knee. Seeing his spirit today reminds me of my days leaping onto enemy decks amidst the crashing waves. So, I was thinking..." The King rubbed his hands together, looking like a child anticipating a new toy. "I want you to use that new alloy to forge me an ax "
"A dress sword!"
The King's words were cut short, drowned out by a voice ringing from the street corner.
The three men at the forge turned in unison. Calanthe, draped in a black cloak with a crimson lining and flanked by over twenty guards, approached like a dark cloud sweeping across the sky.
"My dear, you... what are you doing here?" Eist jumped from his chair with a start. But the King was a man of many storms; he steadied himself quickly and hurried forward to meet her.
Calanthe smiled and placed her hand in Eist's, leaning into his side with a show of wifely devotion. However, with his supernatural hearing, Arthur clearly heard the Queen's hissed interrogation through her teeth:
"Did I not send you here to commission a new dress sword? Why has it turned into an ax?"
"My love, I am a Skelliger after all. I simply missed the sea a little..." The King maintained a majestic expression, though his words were rather pathetic. Calanthe remained unmoved.
"Once we have dealt with Verden and Brugge, I shall grant you a month's leave. You can surf or box to your heart's content then. But for now, I need you to carry a sword of sufficient dignity."
"Ahem. I have decided." Eist spoke to Percival in a voice of booming authority. "Use the finest steel you have to forge a greatsword. Its total length should be just over my height, a palm's width wide. It must be peerless in both quality and appearance."
"As you wish." Percival offered a well-meaning caution: "But Your Majesty, a blade of those dimensions might exceed fifteen pounds. It will be quite exhausting to wield..."