Saviour of Neither

7 - Trial

I an whisked away to the same advisory room the trial was explained in.

"There has been an order." Solomon tells me, as if I hadn't been informed already. "A knight in the Army is looking for a blade that will conplement his newfound Archangel abilities, and his order will represent the first part of your trial."

"Can I meet this knight?" I ask immediately.

"He is currently on duty." the chief answers, just as quickly.

Would Solomon be able to answer questions relating to this Knight's hand size, style preference, other magical affinity and embroidery?

"Is his current sword available to view the dimensions?" is my next question. If I cannot meet him and his old sword is unavailable, Solomon will have a barrage of questions soon heading his way.

"No."

"How well do you know this knight in question?"

"Fairly well." Solomon says confidently. "Ask away."

I would break into his mind to check if he knows everything I need to craft his ideal sword, but you can feel someone doing so, and I doubt Solomon would appreciate it. Well, he forced me to choose this way.

"How large is his hand from the bottom of the palm to the top of his middle finger?"

Solomon looks at me, at once annoyed and yet... something else? I can't quite identify what.

"That's a very specific question." he answers finally.

I stand my ground. "It's a necessary question."

He sits there and considers for a minute. I can imagine a game of checkers playing out in his head, even for such a simple yes-and-no request. Perhaps his affinity is future sight, able to play out every single possible scenario inside his head.

Which is probably also why we've never been at war whilst Solomon's been Chief (for us, ten years is quite a lot).

"Very well." Solomon says eventually. "I will call Michael Ambre from duty; you may meet him tomorrow."

I am dismissed, and bump into a rather sheepish Chester at the doors. I assume that he's been summoned by Riordan.

Michael Ambre arrives at the castle the next day. Just like Solomon has said, he is gold-eyed (it never ceases to fascinate me how those eyes get their wonderful lustre and depth), which clashes with his freckles and neatly combed olive hair (though I'd assume, given its lighter hue, it's light brown or even carrot-red). His aura, rather than being a stuck-up angry little man, is rather that of someone deserving of the title Archangel; he greets me with politeness and waits quietly for me to speak.

"I have been told you are wanting a new sword, and I'll ask you some questions about yourself." I begin. "Do you have a blueprint of your previous sword?"

"I don't keep my blueprints." he smiles apologetically. Something feels off about all of this, but I push on.

"You'll wish you have it; I have a lot of questions."

"That's fine; I have time to spare."

"What is your hand size?"

His response was seven and a half inches, which I noted down. I continued through the list of questions I always ask when crafting a new sword: preference of style, carving patterns, handle preference, blade colour and thickness, and what it would be generally used for. (The answers to each of those were: broadsword, straight edges and squares would do, one-handed, just silver, regular thickness, and probably combat if there will be a war though I'll do a little practice with it.)