Re: Writing Exercise: Swords!
The young man had a glow about him, that was for sure. It had been an afternoon like any other, with crickets chirping and birds consequently picking them off their long shoots of grass in a masterful dive before ascending to the sky. His smoke-darkened brick lodge remain unperturbed next to a lazy river as clear as it was slow, giving some passerby's the notion it might be a winding corner of a lake. Bernard had lived there for many years, his large muscular frame tanned under the sun and helped hide the various and versatile scars that traversed his body. The thick black beard he kept, in addition to his hairy genes, had earned him a nickname among the small villagers as "The Bear". He had come to enjoy his resemblance of the large creature, often using it to greet the few kids that dared get close enough to his lodge. Those playful children were most of the company he had; true company that need not seek his skills as a blacksmith. Until one day a long pair of legs came wandering down the rugged overgrown path from the village's hill, one's that he had never seen.
The young man was tenacious, that was for sure. He called himself Dalton, as he swept back his own short black hair and bristled out beads of sweat from his journey. Clad in traditional leather gear of a wanderer, Bernard could do little but give a gruff laugh when the young man requested Bernard use his skill to make for him a sword. Thinking that was the end of that, Bernard had continued to work on the grain sickle for one of the local farmers, but when his eyes arose Dalton stood there. The unwavering jade green eyes of the youth pierced into Bernard as little had ever done, and for a moment the old blacksmith found himself considering the request with an open mind. But such thoughts were beyond old Bernard, who dismissed Dalton again with a wave of his hand. "There are other blacksmiths with plenty of swords made, young lad. I have the work for the farmers to occupy my time, why should I postpone their endeavors to take charge of one for you?" The jade shone with the sharp movement, as Dalton tossed him a small sack of gold coins, each embossed with the crest of a nobility that few might recognize for hundreds of miles.
The young man was convincing, that was for sure. Just as Bernard prepared to toss the sack of gold coins back to him, he found himself staring at the young man holding a knife, disposition as calm and collected as the moment he had first walked down the path. Bernard couldn't decide what he was in disbelief of first, the young man knowingly drawing a knife on the old bear, or the request he made next: "Fight me in a sparring match, if you can best me I will withdraw. If I can make you submit though, you will craft me the sword." Bernard hardly realized his own movements until he was carrying two swords, long forgotten and kept stashed away, out to the young man, a taste of iron filling Bernard's mouth and wetting an appetite he had never quite found sated by the smoke of the forge or the meat of fresh game. With blades in hand, they stood ten paces apart, the slowly wind and sound of crickets breaking for the most infinitesimal moment, but they heard it.
The young man reminded Bernard of long forgotten days, that was for sure. The paces disappeared as both charged, blades in hand and meeting overhead as each swung over and from their right. Clamping their left hand's to the hilt's, each of them in a mirror fashion buckled down their strength, remaining in a deadlock. With a brief push, each of the men stepped back in a sudden movement, returning a unwavering stare. Bernard had only been distracted for a moment to move the hair out of his eyes when the young man came lunging again, the blade arcing downward as he attempted to slash straight down against him. If Bernard had just been a blacksmith, he might have lost the sword and submitted, but the bear had awoken from a long hibernation that had prevailed many seasons and his hunger blinded him to the failure. Bernard rose his blade and stepped to the left, glancing Dalton's swing off Bernard's right side, a metallic ring filling the air as the metal swiped together. Rotating his legs clockwise and flourishing the blade quickly, Bernard swung with the same direction at the back of Dalton's shoulders. Before he could make contact, the youth predicted his movements and dropped to his knee's, tucking the sword against his waist and rolling forward beyond Bernard's range, only to stand again, ready for the next clash of their will. The blows continued, each matched or equalized between Bernard's brawn and the young man's dexterity, time slowly melted away under the flames next to the forge. A brief lifetime later, Bernard found him with the advantage from their parrying session as Dalton chose to glance off the strike with a second supporting the end of the blade. That was the end, as Bernard planted his knee into the youth's midsection, toppling jade eyes into the ground.
The young man had won, that was for sure. Though Bernard had his sword against Dalton's neck, who lay on the ground defeated, that hue of jade penetrated back into Bernard even at the edge of defeat. Silent for a moment, Bernard withdrew his blade, the edge sliding against the metal top of the scabbard at his waist and reversing direction as he tilted it parallel to the scabbards form, the hilt clinking lightly as it met the scabbard. With one great heave, Bernard hoisted Dalton off the ground and onto his feet, slowly bringing him back towards the forge and questioning him on his choice of blade.
Days later, the young man was complete. A hand and a half sword, one of Bernard's own favorites. Complete with scabbard of blackened leather and polished metal that might make silver jealous, the matching leather hilt drew out a wondrous blade 34 inches in length, magnificence reflected in the craftsmanship of the cross guard. Bernard had found himself bewildered as he actually crafted the mark of his trade into the blade, just below the guard. With a smile that could even overpower the intensity of his gaze, Dalton set off, Bernard against his forge with a small bag of gold coins that belonged to a nobility that no one knew. As the old bear picked up his hammer, inclined to finish the scythe before dawn, he could only wonder what style he would craft next was, when its owner came calling.
