The Sword Unbroken - SAMPLE CHAPTERS

Chapter Nine Part II

Master Toriem squared his shoulders. "We have come to get a sword."

"Certainly, Master...?" Baratien trailed off, raising his eyebrows at the handler.

"Toriem."

"Master Toriem?" Baratien's half-smile slipped, thin lips dropping into a weathered line.

"Yes." Master Toriem lifted his chin slightly. If he had not been standing so close to the handler, Imalroc might not have seen Master Toriem's shoulders tighten and the muscle in his jaw flex again. The handler had not missed Baratien's recognition of his name.

"Excellent, excellent." Baratien rubbed his hands together, massaging the swollen joints of his fingers while staring unblinkingly at Master Toriem. "I have a few pieces you might like, sir." He swung around with uncanny speed, loping with the crutch under one arm and leading them to a long table beneath the awning. Scattered across it lay a mess of jutting hilts and bright winking blades, each wrapped in oilcloth.

Master Toriem stepped up to the table, his hands tucked neatly behind his back. Imalroc's eyes dropped to where the handler's fingers were twisting around each other over and over again. Imalroc leaned a little closer to the blades.

It was Bartien's usual assortment of crude gear. Short swords, a few wicked-edged dirks, throwing daggers and the occasional axe, all stacked on top of each other.

Master Toriem turned to Imalroc."So...what do you want?"

"None of these are my traditional weapons, master," Imalroc murmured, slipping behind his deferential mask. On the other side of the table, Baratien's eyes narrowed and he grinned. Imalroc knew that his act did not fool the old man, but he carried on with it. The swordsmith had always liked him. He'd play along.

"You fight with a long sword, don't you?" Master Toriem asked. Imalroc nodded.

Baratien's smile gleamed brighter on his face."I have just the thing for your fighter, sir." He stumped away into the dark of the forge. When he reemerged, he carried a long sword with a jet-black blade pouring like the world's deadliest stalactite from the slender pommel.

"Newly made, sir, and the finest work I've done in some time," Baratien said as he passed the blade grip-first into Master Toriem's hands. The handler held it awkwardly, and then made a motion to give it to Imalroc.

Baratien coughed in alarm. "Er, sir...I don't think we should...ah...arm the battleboxer when he is not...ah..." Baratien stuttered into silence. Imalroc gave the smith a withering glance that he managed to wipe off of his face when Master Toriem glanced at him.

"There is no need to worry. He will be perfectly obedient," the handler said. Baratien met Imalroc's eyes almost on accident, and then looked at the ground. When Master Toriem handed him the sword, Imalroc saw at once why Baratien had not wanted him to get a closer look at it.

This was most certainly not something Baratien had forged recently, if he had made it at all. The blade was perfectly balanced and longer than most Inofaran swords. Inlaid in the braided black leather of the grip was a thin silver snake, its eyes set with tiny green jewels. That snake, coupled with the black steel of the blade was a dead giveaway. Baratien was trying to sell them a Draalish sword.

Imalroc twirled the sword in his hands. The smith was undoubtedly trying to get the weapon out of his shop before it got him into trouble. Imalroc did not much like his trickery, but then again, he was not the one being tricked. It wasn't his fault if the handler was too clueless to recognize the traits of a Draalish sword. Master Xavian had always insisted the Draalites made the best weaponry anyways.

"It's perfect, Master," he said, swinging the blade to hear the musical whistle as it sliced through open air. Baratien's smile popped back into place.

"Fine. How much are you looking for, swordsmith?" Master Toriem asked. His hand traveled to the top of the little pouch inside his cloak.