The Parables of Undique

The Boy, The Baron, and The Blacksmith

      In a time before, there was a beautiful fair.  This fair would arrive at the start of the Renewal and would stay for thirty cycles.  In it was an abundance of trinkets and treasures from strange and faraway places, sold by people who were even stranger.  Among the fragrant smells of foreign foods, spices, and oils, the vibrant colors of foreign gems, jewelry, and cloth, and the beautiful sounds of many foreign languages and songs, sat a booth where a man of middle age, with gray in his hair, crafted weapons and armor by hand.  Despite his age, his hands were quick and nimble and his mind was even more so.  His craftsmanship was well known across the globe, bringing scores of warriors, soldiers, and even kings from across the great seas and over mighty mountains to receive a weapon or piece of armor made special for that person.  They knew that when this blacksmith forged, he forged with that customer in mind, creating a shield weighted perfectly and a sword that was like an extension of their arm. 

        Now it came to pass that on the thirtieth cycle of the Renewal, a young boy had made his way to the fair from a village far back.  He was poor and meek, but still sought the famous blacksmith.  When he arrived at the booth, his eyes met the eyes of the blacksmith, and he felt a warmth pass through him that gave him the courage to speak. 

"Sir, I hail from a poor village that has no protection.  I wish to be a warrior and protect my village from harm, and so I need a sword."

The blacksmith looked upon him for a mere moment, then began without saying a word.  The boy waited patiently, listening to the steady clanging of metal, and finally, the blacksmith presented him with the sword.  It had a very basic design, forged from steel and it gleamed in the sunlight.  It handled effortlessly, as if it were an extension of the boy's arm.  He gazed upon its perfection in awestruck wonder, for how could such a glorious weapon have been uniquely made for him, and yet, he felt as though it truly belonged to him, like a missing part now reunited.  The boy beamed and turned to the sword's maker. 

"How much do I owe you for such a privilege?"

The blacksmith's eyes narrowed as if examining the boy. 

"What is it worth to you?"

Astonished by his answer, the boy frantically searched his pockets and, when retrieving nothing more than a meager coin, he remembered that he was a pauper and lowered his head in shame as he laid the coin on the counter.  Speaking softly, near to tears, he spoke these words. 

"Sir, this is everything I can give you and I can retrieve no more.  All that I have is yours."

Upon hearing these words, the blacksmith smiled warmly, and with his right hand, accepted the coin, and with his left, he ruffled the boy's hair.  Proudly the blacksmith spoke. 

"It is more than enough.  Take your sword and return home."

The warmth that was present before once again filled the boy and he wept, not of sorrow but of joy.  He held his sword tightly and ran back to his village, proudly proclaiming the excellence of his new treasure and its creator, and did not cease until he had made it home. 

      Now it came to pass that a wealthy baron who was very cunning and clever, had witnessed the entire ordeal from the crowd.  Never before had he seen such an interesting business tactic and he wished to test it himself.  He approached the blacksmith confidently.

"So you make swords, eh?  What kind of swords do you make?"

The blacksmith gave a rebuttal of equal confidence. 

"I make the kind that is perfect for you."

The baron sneered at his retort. 

"Then get on with it."

The blacksmith began without hesitation, clashing hammer against steel with refinement and poise.  He presented to the baron a nimble rapier, finished with gold and silver and adorned with jewels.  It handled effortlessly, as if it were an extension of the baron's arm.  The baron was most impressed and viewed it higher than his many other weapons, but even still, he turned to the blacksmith with a sly, fox like expression.

"What would I owe for such a masterpiece?"

The blacksmith's eyes narrowed as if examining the baron. 

"What is it worth to you?"

The baron was astonished by the consistency of the blacksmith's pricing and laughed to himself, for if a man should make such a foolish decision in business, he deserved to be cheated.  He reached into his satchel of gold and pulled out a single coin, no different from the boy's and placed it on the counter.  The blacksmith took the coin and said nothing.  So elated was the baron at his clever scheme that he paraded around the fair, gloating about his incredible weapon and its foolish creator, who accepted no more than a coin. 

       Annoyed by the baron's boasting, a warrior from the far north challenged him to pit his mighty sword against a shield made of wood.  The baron delighted in this challenge and accepted without second thought.  The proud baron lunged forward with a powerful attack, but upon first impact, his beautiful sword had shattered, leaving nothing but the hilt.  The baron was embarrassed and angry at this loss and returned to the blacksmith near the end of the cycle as he was packing up. 

"What is this you have done?!  You promised a perfect blade, but the one you have given me has shattered upon first impact with a shield made of wood!"

The blacksmith looked at him with disgust. 

"I promised a blade that was perfect for you.  It was you that determined its worth by giving me a meager coin.  Therefore, the quality of your sword is no more than a meager coin."

The baron then became angrier. 

"Then what of the poor boy's sword?  He gave you no more than a coin as well!"

The blacksmith spoke on. 

"In all of my time, I have never made a weapon more powerful than that boy's sword and t'would be a miracle should I ever make one stronger."

The baron gritted his teeth. 

"But our payment was the same."

The blacksmith then took the boy's coin in his right hand and the baron's coin in his left. 

"They are not the same at all.  You gave me a meager coin from your satchel of gold, but the boy, with his coin, gave me everything he had.  Because he gave everything, his sword shall give him everything in return.  Because you have given next to nothing, your sword had almost nothing to give."

The blacksmith then returned the baron's coin to him. 

"Take it.  It has no worth; much like your sword."

The blacksmith left with his things, leaving the baron alone, for the thirtieth cycle was up, and the fair had departed.