‹ Prequel: The Pauper Princess
Status: Currently undergoing renovations.
The Game
Five
"Wait!” she calls over the crowd. I turn and push my way back toward her. She’s too nice to do the same. I reach for her hand and pull her in the direction I had been heading. The blacksmith is only a few streets away, but the crowds in the marketplace are impeding our progress.
“And it’s not even market day,” I mumble, but I knew why the crowd had gathered. Three guards are being promoted to the elite inner guard of the castle. Following the ceremony is a huge festival in the city, for which every citizen seemed suddenly to be preparing for. Men and women crowd into the marketplace, buying trinkets and such to celebrate this event. I, however, am intent on getting to the blacksmith.
“Finally,” Mehta sighs as we erupt from the mass of people. I let her hand slip from my grasp as she jogs a few steps to match my pace. “Why are you in such a hurry anyway?”
“I told you yesterday,” I sigh. “The blacksmith sent word that he’s finished the king’s order. My only chance to see them up close is to get to there before the guards come to collect them.”
“It’s just a bunch of swords,” she grumbles. I bite my tongue, knowing that I can’t expect her to understand this. I take the last corner and stride into the blacksmith’s work area. The air is thick with heat and the smell of metal.
“What are you doing here?” the deep, rough voice of the blacksmith questions. I swivel my head in his direction. He’s sitting at a table against the wall, barely lit by the fires behind me.
“I want to see the blades you made for the king.” The man chuckles around the pipe in his mouth. He knows who I am, or at least I believe he does. I come here often to observe his work, but the blades he’s made this time are different from the rest.
“Such a strange one you are.” He shakes his head and exhales a stream of smoke, adding to the already cloudy atmosphere of the workroom. “Alright then,” he says as he heaves himself up off the chair. “Hurry up. The king’s men are set to arrive any minute.” I nod and follow him into a separate room. It’s slightly cooler in here.
On a table in the middle of the room are the weapons the king has ordered. The ascension to the position of a Royal Knight is no small thing. To be chosen is a great honor and a sign of the valor, courage, and strength of the chosen men. As a reminder of the high position they hold and the expectations of such, they are given a specially crafted sword engraved with the oath they will take at the ceremony tonight.
“May I?” I ask in awe. The man sets his pipe on the table- far from the blades- and picks up one of the swords. He carefully eases it out of its sheath and takes hold of the blade, extending the hilt to me.
“Don’t even think of dropping it,” he warns before letting go. I run my fingers down the center of the blade, where the oath of the Knights is carved.
“This blade I swear and my life I forfeit in service to my King,” I read solemnly, “I dedicate myself wholly to Kyshia-“
“-to defend and protect Her people from any threat.” I nearly drop the sword in shock, but the blacksmith catches the blade before it hits the floor. I whirl around to see Kahlin in the doorway. Behind him I can hear at least three men entering the other room.
“What did I say about dropping it?” the blacksmith hollers. A few of Kahlin’s men chuckle, most likely thinking the smith is scolding a foolish apprentice.
“Get out,” Kahlin whispers almost soundlessly. He motions toward a second exit and the blacksmith guides me toward it with a firm hand on my shoulder.
“And it’s not even market day,” I mumble, but I knew why the crowd had gathered. Three guards are being promoted to the elite inner guard of the castle. Following the ceremony is a huge festival in the city, for which every citizen seemed suddenly to be preparing for. Men and women crowd into the marketplace, buying trinkets and such to celebrate this event. I, however, am intent on getting to the blacksmith.
“Finally,” Mehta sighs as we erupt from the mass of people. I let her hand slip from my grasp as she jogs a few steps to match my pace. “Why are you in such a hurry anyway?”
“I told you yesterday,” I sigh. “The blacksmith sent word that he’s finished the king’s order. My only chance to see them up close is to get to there before the guards come to collect them.”
“It’s just a bunch of swords,” she grumbles. I bite my tongue, knowing that I can’t expect her to understand this. I take the last corner and stride into the blacksmith’s work area. The air is thick with heat and the smell of metal.
“What are you doing here?” the deep, rough voice of the blacksmith questions. I swivel my head in his direction. He’s sitting at a table against the wall, barely lit by the fires behind me.
“I want to see the blades you made for the king.” The man chuckles around the pipe in his mouth. He knows who I am, or at least I believe he does. I come here often to observe his work, but the blades he’s made this time are different from the rest.
“Such a strange one you are.” He shakes his head and exhales a stream of smoke, adding to the already cloudy atmosphere of the workroom. “Alright then,” he says as he heaves himself up off the chair. “Hurry up. The king’s men are set to arrive any minute.” I nod and follow him into a separate room. It’s slightly cooler in here.
On a table in the middle of the room are the weapons the king has ordered. The ascension to the position of a Royal Knight is no small thing. To be chosen is a great honor and a sign of the valor, courage, and strength of the chosen men. As a reminder of the high position they hold and the expectations of such, they are given a specially crafted sword engraved with the oath they will take at the ceremony tonight.
“May I?” I ask in awe. The man sets his pipe on the table- far from the blades- and picks up one of the swords. He carefully eases it out of its sheath and takes hold of the blade, extending the hilt to me.
“Don’t even think of dropping it,” he warns before letting go. I run my fingers down the center of the blade, where the oath of the Knights is carved.
“This blade I swear and my life I forfeit in service to my King,” I read solemnly, “I dedicate myself wholly to Kyshia-“
“-to defend and protect Her people from any threat.” I nearly drop the sword in shock, but the blacksmith catches the blade before it hits the floor. I whirl around to see Kahlin in the doorway. Behind him I can hear at least three men entering the other room.
“What did I say about dropping it?” the blacksmith hollers. A few of Kahlin’s men chuckle, most likely thinking the smith is scolding a foolish apprentice.
“Get out,” Kahlin whispers almost soundlessly. He motions toward a second exit and the blacksmith guides me toward it with a firm hand on my shoulder.