As expected, I am not the only nominee for Royal Swordsmith: I simply arrived much earlier since I was nominated by Chester. Solomon explains the trial process the next morning, in an advisory room.
"Over the next few months, all sword orders in Magairleag will be directed to the castle." he says. "Each nominee will be given three orders to complete, and feedback will be received from the user, as well as judgment from Polaris Court."
Upon further clarification, Polaris Court is the court of all twenty Paladins in Ceatha Tor. Each Paladin has had to put forward a nominee: apparently Chester has slightly upset Zantham by choosing me instead of someone from Mason Valley. (They have since compromised by allowing Zantham to pick a member of Chester's town.)
There has been no orders as of yet, as Solomon has at the same time imposed a policy that requires you to bring your old sword to prove that it was indeed put out of use (and Solomon being Solomon, I can imagine that he would tell if damage had been done intentionally). It's been several days since I'd arrived at the castle, and life is fast dulling. The books in the library are mostly history - nothing that sparks my interest - and whilst the food is rather good, there just isn't very much to do.
Paladins come in and out of the castle on a regular basis, mostly to report on news from their town. Patrol guards also come weekly to bring updates on the security of the border, talking about how offenders of the border have been dealt with appropriately. If the reports are to be believed, the unrest is getting worse.
"Somehow or other they've managed to get hold of a sword that could've only been made for an Adroite, and have learnt to channel the magic woven in it." The latest report says. "Several soldiers have been killed-"
"Was the sword a yellowish green?"
"Well - yes-"
"Hunt it down immediately!" Solomon storms, eyes flashing lightning. "And you," the Chief turns to Riordan. "Send an errand-boy to call for Chester."
Two other forgers have arrived in the castle since my arrival: Lyneside's representative is a middle-aged man with greying hair pulled into a bun (he seems perfectly friendly and would make a good candidate, even if he doesn't seem the most potent); Everdale's representative is a woman whose hair is dyed an electric blue. Her signature style, apparently, is her eccentric sword art. (Her own blade is splashed with neon oranges and purples. She would have to be gold-eyed to get away with that.)
Ten days after my arrival, I am in my room, currently fixing a shirt that I've scorched. The flarings are getting worse: I am having to place dulling charms on myself for my gloves to stay intact, my goggles are getting increasingly chipped, and I woke last night with an excruciating headache, coming out of it to realise I'd set fire to my room.
Half my items are damaged to some degree and I'm still trying to repair them all. The solution I have come up with is magically removing the burnt areas of the cloth, before creating new cloth and magically stitching the pieces of fabric together. (I'm now too nervous to touch it with my hands, even with the gloves.)
There is a knock on the door. Probably a servant calling to clean out the room.
"Enter." I say, hastily pulling a shirt on.
The door opens slowly, and opens to reveal a pale, brown-haired man, fairly tall and rather slim, with
the brightest, piercing golden eyes.
What is a Paladin doing in this room?
"I'll assume that you will be one of my competitors?"
He's a swordsmith?
YOU ARE READING
Saviour of Neither
Random"There is another, master... But the soul of the Devil resides too within him and the resulting destruction will spell the end of us all." The magical people of Ceatha Tor believe that those that are amoral should be named and shamed: this is indica...
