The Dark Lord of Crafting

Godwod sent the witnesses off, though I had to assume the guard didn’t go far, and we retired to a small alcove off the side of the garden to talk business. A girl in a green dress appeared carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses which she placed on the wicker table between us. After pouring the wine for both of us, she backed away with the tray to stand just outside of the alcove.

Godwod drank from his cup, so I felt that I had to follow his example. It was bitter and dry, and I tried not to grimace as Godwod monologued.

“They don’t understand me,” he said, “None of them do. There is no true appreciation for quality and beauty among the lords. My daughter has a heart like mine, but I fear that it will break upon the world. I have the soul of an artist, and as soon as I laid eyes on the sword Sir Otto brought back from Erihseht, I knew that it had come from a kindred spirit, someone with an appreciation for perfection.”

“He showed it to you?” The sword had been a bribe, and Otto had claimed he was going to tell Godwod he hadn’t found me. Obviously, something more had happened, otherwise, I wouldn’t have been drinking with the lord now.

“I was informed,” Godwod said, swirling the wine in his glass. I wondered what that meant for Otto. Why hadn’t Godwod just taken that sword instead of summoning me to make another one? “I need you to make me a sword with steel like the one you gave to Otto. But more than that, I need you to make something beautiful. This will be no mere soldier’s weapon, but a blade fit for a king. Did you know that I am thirty-second in line for the throne of Drom?”

That seemed like a long list, kind of like being Secretary of Agriculture. Technically, eventually, you could become president that way, but a whole lot of people would have to die first.

“I didn’t know that.”

“It is the truth. I am descended from Umberious Rex himself through my late mother. I commissioned the fountain in his honor the year that I found out I was of his most noble and ancient line.”

“It’s a great statue,” I said, “the water, is very nice. How do you get it to keep spraying like that?”

“I have no idea,” the lord waved away the question. “But it was very expensive. Now we are venturing far afield of my desires. The sword, young man, I must have the sword. Are you up to the task?”

“I’ll clear my schedule.” Doing what he wanted would probably take all of ten minutes once I had the materials, but there was no reason for him to know that. “But I have stipulations.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“Complete artistic freedom. Whatever I make will be to the standard you desire, but the style and subject are for me to select. I can promise you it will be the grandest weapon in Henterfell, but I ask you to leave the design to me.” If he asked for something specific, like a pommel in the shape of a dragon or whatever, there was no way I could fulfill the request. Crafting gave me what it gave me, and though there were probably rules in there somewhere, the system was not transparent. When I carved figures, I had only the loosest control over the result.

“As you say,” he nodded, “an artist must be without constraints. I want the best that you can produce. How much time do you need?”

How long did smiths normally take to do this sort of thing?

“Give me two weeks from when I return home,” I said.

“Is that all?” He almost spilled his wine. “I want the best you can produce, you understand?”

“I’m sure,” I said. Two weeks was about five hundred times longer than the amount of time I would need to do the crafting. “But before I can begin this project, I need the right materials. In a work like this, every ounce of metal has to be carefully selected. There can be no imperfections.”

“Yes!” Lord Godwod enthusiastically agreed. “That is what I want. Perfection.”

He hadn’t said anything about payment, and I was under the impression that he expected me to provide the weapon as a gift to my new liege lord, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get anything out of it. “I have limited funds,” I said. “To do this for you, I will either need you to provide the materials I require, or your permission to collect them myself.”

“Collect them?”

“I need a mine,” I said.

Lord Godwod blinked. “You…what?”

“Not all iron is the same,” I said. “If you give me the right to harvest the ore myself, that will lead to the best result. Is there a mine nearby that I could visit?” These people had to be getting their metal from somewhere, and it was high time I took this Maincraft stuff to its natural conclusion.

“An interesting request.” The Lord’s demeanor shifted, his eyes narrowing in focus. “There is, in fact, a small mine under my eye that is not producing what it should. The current grantees claim that it has run dry, though it did produce iron for a time. I will offer you a proposal, if you are able to find what you need there, and the sword you bring me proves to be everything you have promised, I will transfer their rights to you, and the mine will be yours.”

That was more than I’d been expecting. “I would own the land?”

“No,” Godwod shook his head. “You have no title to your name, the land would still belong to Baron Gent, but you would have the rights to work it. A portion of whatever you brought up out of the earth would go to him, and another portion to me, but the rest would be yours to do with as you chose. Remembering that you would sell no swords of this kind without my consent, of course.”

“I accept,” I said, it was more than I’d been expecting, a lot more. Was Godwod in the habit of throwing around mining rights to strangers? “How far is it from here?”

“Gastard knows where it is,” Godwod said, rising from his seat. “He has met Gent before. I’ll provide you with the necessary documents, and you may await them at the gate.”

“Is there anything else you need from me,” I asked, standing as well.

“No. You need to think of nothing but the sword. As interesting as you are, I’m afraid I have no more time to spend on you today.” He waved his hand at the servant standing a few paces away. “Show out Master Smith, will you?”

The girl bobbed her head, and I was shortly escorted back to the entrance of the garden, where the guard returned my weapons to me. Gastard and Esmelda were resting nearby. She looked relieved to see me.

“What happened?” Esmelda asked.

“Kind of a lot,” I said, and quickly filled them in.

Gastard’s face darkened as I described swearing allegiance to Godwod. “You are neither a knight nor a peer,” he said, “an oath was not necessary.”

“It didn’t seem like an offer I could refuse,” I said. “It may lead to problems, but at least I don’t have to worry about being arrested anymore.”

“For the time being,” Gastard said.

Esmelda patted Fuzzu’s snout to calm her. The horse tended to get agitated whenever I came close. “We still don’t know who told him so much about you, or what Otto said.”

“I’m not super worried about it. Once we get Godwod’s official permission, I want to get to this mine right away. Are you guys coming with me, or do you want to head back to Erihseht?”

“Of course, I will come,” Esmelda said, glancing at Gastard, who nodded.

“The Baron won’t be pleased to have you there,” he said. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t attempt anything rash.”

“Thank you,” I said. We discussed the location of the mine, which was only a few miles from Henterfell. It would be possible for us to make it there before nightfall. After a few minutes, the same girl who had served the wine appeared at the gate and handed me a scroll tied with a golden thread.

She looked past me as I took it, and her eyes fixed on Gastard. I hadn’t been paying attention to her before, but she was beautiful, with a teardrop face framed by wavy, golden hair. Her clothes were also finer than what I would have thought a servant would wear, a pale green, silk dress.

“Johanna…” Gastard’s voice sounded strained. I glanced back at him, and then at her. The girl looked stricken, and after a moment’s pause, she spun on her heel and strode back into the garden. The guard took a small step to place himself under the arch as if to dissuade Gastard from following.

“Was that her?” Esmelda asked, her brows furrowed in concern.

Gastard’s jaw clenched. “We should go.”