Mark Anthony - Kindred Spirits

“Hmm?” Miral said. Suddenly he shook his head, as if coming back to himself after being lost in reverie. “I’m sorry, Master Fireforge. I fear I slept little last night. The Speaker plans to make an important announcement tomorrow afternoon-though what it is, only he and Lord Xenoth seem to know-and preparations have kept everyone busy. Even a minor mage has duties. And so does Tanis, if ever I find him.”

Saying that he would look for the half-elf in the Grand Market, Miral took his leave of Flint and Eld Ailea, pausing to pat the toddler on the head. The youngster took a swing at the mage with a wooden horse; Miral deftly sidestepped the blow and headed out the door.

“Minor mage,” Eld Ailea whispered, her brows knit. She appeared deep in thought. Even after the mage was out of earshot, Eld Ailea continued to hover in the doorway. Twice, she appeared to be on the verge of saying something, then she stopped herself. Meanwhile, the child busied himself with denuding the climbing rose of its lower leaves and strewing them over the doorstep. “I have a confession, Master Fireforge,” the alto voice finally confided. “I too came here hoping to find Tanthalas. I… I am not welcomed by some at the Palace anymore. Thus I hoped to find him here.”

“Oh?” Flint questioned, still watching the receding mage’s red robe. “Why?”

“I knew his mother.”

She refused to say more, then left immediately.

Qualinost was silent. The night lay over the city like a dark mantle. Although it was closer to dawn than midnight, an orange light still flickered behind the windows of Flint’s small shop. Inside, the dwarf sank wearily to a wooden chair, regarding his handiwork before him. The sword was done.

It glimmered flawlessly in the ruddy glow of the forge, the light dancing on its razor-sharp edge and playing along the grooves of the dwarven runes of power that Flint had carved into the flat of the blade. The handguard was fashioned of smooth curves and graceful arcs of steel, so fluid it seemed as if it had grown about the hilt of the sword like the tendrils of some entwining vine. Even Flint-modest as the dwarf was wont to be-sensed there was something special about this sword. He could only hope Tanis would like it.

He enjoyed pleasing the half-elf. Perhaps someday he could show Tanis around Solace and let him see that elves weren’t the only folk on Krynn. That would please Tanis even more than the sword would, he thought.

Flint sighed and then stood. He banked the coals beneath the ashes in the furnace and blew out the one tallow candle shining in the dimness. By silver moonlight, he found his way to his bed in the small room behind the shop and, kicking off his boots, he tumbled down into exhausted slumber. Soon the dwarf’s snores rumbled upon the air, as rhythmic as the plying of his hammer only moments before.

It was the darkest part of the night. The door to the shop swung slowly open, smoothly, so that the chimes made no noise. A figure stepped through, carefully shutting the door behind itself. It paused, cocking its head, and then, as if satisfied, drifted soundlessly toward the workbench.

The sword shone faintly in the cool light of Solinari, spilling in through the window. The dark, cloaked figure lifted a gloved hand and ran a finger down the length of the blade, as if testing its edge, and then it held both hands above the weapon. Murmured words spilled forth on the air, spoken in an ancient tongue of a people turned to dust age upon age ago, the name of their people long forgotten. Few spoke the tongue now, save sorcerers and mages, for it was the language of magic.

The mumbling ended, the last syllables drifting on the air like motes of dust. The sword began to glow, not with moonlight, but with a light from within. It was a crimson brightness, growing hotter and hotter, until the sword gave off an angry illumination, the color of fire. Nearby, a small mound of iron arrowheads also took on the glow. Suddenly a shadow seemed to separate from the darkness beyond the ring of illumination and drifted toward the sword, as if beckoned by the stranger’s hand. The shadow defied the crimson light until suddenly it flowed down, coursing into the blade as if it had been sucked in. The weapon gave a small jerk, then the illumination faded.

The door to the shop swung in the gentle night breeze. The snores continued, uninterrupted. The stranger was gone.

Flint encountered Tanis the next morning in the Grand Market; the half-elf stood before a tent with a sign that read, “Lady Kyanna: Seeress of All Planes.” Underneath, a smaller sign read, “Special Rates Available.” The midnight-blue tent was decorated with silver silhouettes of moons and constellations. Several young elves, only a few years out of childhood, and giggling as they fingered their coins, slipped around Tanis and Flint and entered the tent. The scent of incense drifted from the tent as they moved the flap back, and a low voice intoned, “Welcome to a view of your futures, fair elves.”

“Seers,” Flint snorted. “Crooks and charlatans, all of them. Why, did I ever tell you the time I was at the Autumn Festival in Solace? Let’s see,…” the dwarf mused. “It must have been not long after that day I bested those ten highwaymen in the Inn of the Last Home.”

Tanis resisted Flint’s efforts to draw him away from the seer’s tent. “I wouldn’t mind a look into my future,” he said. The dwarf snorted and dragged him down the tiled pathway left open between the tents and stalls. The half-elf seemed suddenly to come to himself. With one last longing gaze at Lady Kyanna’s tent, he looked at Flint with a quirk of his features and prompted, “You were saying?”

“A Solace street wizard tried to sell me an elixir he claimed would make me invisible,” Flint said, allowing the half-elf to draw to a stop before the stall of an elf who sold, of all things, swords. “It looked suspiciously like clear water to my eye, but he said to me, ‘Of course it’s clear. Otherwise, it wouldn’t make you invisible, now would it?’ Well, when I got home with the elixir-”

Tanis turned from stroking the hilt of a sword. “You mean you bought it?” he asked in disbelief.

“Not because I believed a word of the street wizard’s sly talk, mind you,” Flint said testily, his eyes flashing, trying once again to hustle the half-elf away from the sword display. “I knew all along it was a hoax. I just wanted to have some evidence so I could turn him in to the authorities for the charlatan he was.”

“So what happened when you used the elixir?” Tanis asked smoothly, his attention still engaged by the weaponry display. “Those are beautiful swords. I could use-”

“Shoddy workmanship,” Flint interjected, hauling on the half-elf’s arm, ignoring the furious glance of the weapon seller. “You don’t need a sword. Who is there to fight in Qualinost? Anyway, I drank the potion down and thought I could get away with pinching a tankard or two off this snub-nosed innkeeper who had cheated me a few days back, giving me a mug of watered-down ale instead of the good stuff,” Flint said, a wickedly gleeful grin on his face. But then he frowned. “Except that somehow the bouncer-who was sure to be half hobgoblin if he was anything at all- managed to see me and… Hey!” Flint said indignantly, realizing he had told a bit more of the tale than he’d meant to.

He glared at Tanis, but the half-elf only regarded him with a serious expression.

“And…?” Tanis asked.

“And keep your nose in your own business!” Flint griped. “Don’t you have other things to be worrying about?”