72nd of Fall, 514 A.V.; 19th Bell
Deltan raked a hand through his red hair as he made his way toward the appointed street, following along the bank of the river as he had been instructed. It had taken Deltan considerable trouble to convince a young woman to tell him where to go; he really had to learn the streets unless he planned to antagonize people for directions every time he needed to get somewhere.
Guilt about doing that had dissipated a while ago. Some people were so scared of him, it was ridiculous. Sure, he was carrying a sort of makeshift club, but that was hardly any reason for her to start crying! ...Okay, maybe he felt a little guilty. Gods, it was like she thought he was going to force himself on her, instead of asking for directions. He only grabbed her arm to keep her from running away.
Regardless, the young man pushed those thoughts from his mind. The armory was in sight, now. It was a large place, almost able to be mistaken for a warehouse, were it not for the gouts of dark smoke that puffed into the sky through the chimneys. The young man approached and stepped in through the open doorway.
The heat hit him like a wave, and the noise of hammers on anvils sent nails driving into his eardrums. The clamor put the young man on high alert, though he didn't really suspect any danger. The place had a good reputation. An apprentice was minding the counter, staring blankly at the doorway until Deltan came in. The apprentice, barely more than a boy of thirteen or so (though definitely with the budding build of a blacksmith), narrowed his eyes at Deltan's weapon. Noticing that he still had his stick dangling in one hand, the redhead gave the apprentice a grin and propped it up far enough away from the door that no one would steal it. Probably.
"Where can I look at the weapons?" Deltan asked, approaching and smiling at the boy. For good measure, he lightly applied a suggestion to trust Deltan. The boy relaxed slightly, returning that smile though with constant wariness. Good, smart lad.
"This way," the boy replied, neglecting any courtesies usually expected of a youth, in Deltan's home city. Hopping off the stool he was sitting on, the boybeckoned Deltan to follow. The young man noticed that the apprentice had a dagger on his belt. Uneasy at his own lack of a weapon, Deltan trailed along behind him.
Deltan knew his club wouldn't do for work in the city, since it looked unprofessional. He'd only be hired for a thug's work, and that seemed more dangerous than appearing like a proper blade-for-hire. So, he had to get one. With his supply of money in short supply, the thought made him cringe. He had sold his horse for enough money to survive, now he was going to have to give a large chunk of it away.
The boy led him into a large, cavernous room with rows and rows of...weapons. Armor, too. It was spectacular at first glance, and the young man couldn't help but gawk. Then he saw the dings and dents and scratches on all of the pieces. Yes, right. These were second-hand, reclaimed from those in Sunberth who no longer had need of such things. Deltan would have wagered that many of these pieces happened to be frequent visitors to this shop.
"Got any swords?" Deltan asked the boy, pitching his words to sound polite, "Short swords." It always paid to be nice to a person in charge of selling things. He might end up being cut a deal.
"Here," the boy answered, gesturing to a large section of wall that seemed devoted to weapons. There were all sorts, he saw. Everything from swords to spears to crossbows. It would be impressive, if not for the fact that absolutely nothing looked new. It was all clearly used.
Deltan soon realized it was more than used. Most of these swords were junk. Not unusable, to be sure, but most had a chip or two in the edge, some weren't quite as sharp as they should have been, fresh out of the smithy. Worse, others had poor balance that would make accurate wielding all but impossible. In disgust, Deltan looked over what else they had for sale; maybe something would stick out. He had no real experience with anything but blades, but he supposed anything that was in decent condition could be learned easily enough.
A mace, maybe? That couldn't be too different from a sword...
Unfortunately, Deltan suspected it was. He looked over axes, hammers, daggers, and assorted other weaponry, all less than ideal. Then, an interesting object caught his eye. It was a sort of club, reminiscent of the one he had left up front. However, this one was obviously meant to be a club. Larger, too, and with three spiked bands of steel around the end. The young man stepped over and picked up the club, grunting a bit at the unexpected weight. Definitely heavier than the other one. Deltan took a couple steps back from the apprentice, testing the weight in one hand. Yes, slower than a sword, but...
"How much?" Deltan asked the lad, testing the balance of the club by holding it in his palm and trying to find the center of gravity.
"Eight," the apprentice answered with a smile, noticing how quickly Deltan became attached to the weapon. No doubt to keep some of the profits for himself.
Deltan kept quiet for a few moments, deciding that the balance of the club wasn't quite right. A little too heavy on the handle. Better than it could be, but not perfect. "Bad balance," Deltan said with a frown, bringing the staff down on the metal floor with a loud clang! "Two."
Annoyed, the apprentice's cheeks flushed and he snapped, "Seven." That was bad; he wanted the apprentice to like him. How would he fix it?
"Three." Deltan answered with a frown, gesturing to the staff with his free hand. "See all these nicks? Any one could crack the staff if it got hit right." It was true, if unlikely. Still, it was a good talking point.
The apprentice stepped forward, moving to jerk the club away from Deltan. "Seven, or no deal." The boy enjoyed making bargains, it seemed. For a kid, he drove a tough bargain.
With a sigh, Deltan let him take the weapon; the young man had an idea. "I'm fallen on hard times, what do you say to an even four?" He asked, tones filled with a dual-purpose hypnotism delicately woven into the speech as blue eyes held the apprentice's green. One was a faint emotion, the next an even fainter suggestion. Pity. Obey. "...And you can keep a fifth for yourself..." He added in what he hoped was a tempting voice when the apprentice seemed to hesitate.
After almost a minute, the boy sighed and grumbled, "Okay..." He offered the club back, and Deltan reached into his shirt for the bag of coins he'd prepared.
Dipping out four mizas, he pushed them into the apprentice's hands and slid the fifth out afterward, flipping it toward the boy when he'd tucked the rest away. The boy grinned at that and very nearly scampered back to the counter, making Deltan nearly job to keep up. Big-built or not, the boy was still a child.
After thanking the apprentice, Deltan turned and walked out to return to the Sunset Quarter. He glanced where he had left his last "club" and noticed it was still there. Well, no matter. It was only a piece of wood. For now, Deltan carried the weapon in his hands. Later, he'd devise a way to keep it on his hip like a sword.
The young man whistled cheerily as he returned to his home for the next couple seasons, feeling so much more secure now that he had a weapon. It would take some practice to use in combat, but he bet he could be quite formidable with a club.
|
|
by Deltan Colari on November 19th, 2014, 2:29 am 
