Page 8 of Chasing the Night
“Sensible choice. Boring. But sensible never the less,” Ender sang in a low conspiring tone. He shifted, placing a hand on the counter, his weight subtly left to linger against my side.
A chill ran up my back. He was bold. Familiar, yet disputably distant. A Master of Fine Lines.
His smile was at the ready, but it never caught. Mossy green eyes sifted to my lips and lingered there until I subconsciously bit the lower one.
A throaty, thoughtful sound proceeded the flash of his brilliant smile, and he reached across the tool rack to seize a weapon from the counter. It had a lengthy handle that sported two chains, each of which possessed a solid iron ball. No ordinary spheres, these were covered with spikes.
“It’s called a flail,” Ender explained. He jerked his arm and they snapped above and below his wrist with a vicious, promising sound. Securing the chain, he slid his hand down until he was strangling the balls and prepared to land a blow to the support beam of the stall.
“No.” A firm, simple word from Dagma was all it took for Ender to hold the thing out in presentation toward its owner.
“Ah, friend.” Ender sighed on a laugh. “My enthusiasm for your delicacies gets away from me at times. You understand?” came the gentle, even apology. “
It was never spoken, but the blacksmith bowed and waved the matter off with a merchant’s smile.
It was a beautiful weapon. The sound alone would likely chase off any would-be robbers, but it looked heavy. How would I carry it home without appearing to be looking for trouble? It wasn’t exactly concealable with those big spiked balls dangling from it.
“Something smaller… I want to have a face left when I finish using it,” I mused.
“The Lady must sample some of his finer goods.” Ender held out a weapon that had the handle of a dagger rather than a flat blade. It sported three bladed edges that spiraled about, only to connect into a singular point. It glistened with sharpness. The point was so precise that it reminded me of a hypodermic needle spliced in two, the bevel end blown up to sword proportions.
“What the fuck is that?” I gasped, clapping my hand over my mouth as soon as the outburst flew past my filter.
His laughter was deep and lascivious. “I don’t know that it has a name. I call it Death’s Dart.” He grinned, sliding an obsidian piece toward me. “How do you feel about that one?”
From the other side of the forge, Dagma grunted and nodded in approval at the suggestion. I squinted at the thing skeptically. With the size, I couldn’t even blame the lighting for my lack of interest.
“You have hesitancy, Madam?” he tipped his head, and the wayward hair fell about his jaw. “Are you aware of the properties?”
“Properties?” I repeated, cursing myself for not having found a rental to stay the night when it was still daylight.
“Indeed. It’s an obsidian dagger.” The way he said it should have told me it was special. When I didn’t make any sign of acknowledging the importance of his revelation, he tsked and forced it into my hand.
The black surface was smooth and shiny, but I had been able to see that from some distance. No, it was the unforeseen weight of the thing that truly impressed me. I rolled it about my hand and stepped around the tools and equipment. Once I found the favor of the fire’s light, I could tell the difference. Unlike the poured metal specimens, mine was a dagger crafted by hand. Dagma had taken the time to chisel it to perfection. The blade shimmered here and there where the center of it spilled into the finest razor’s edge I had ever seen. The glass-like weapon would do considerable damage, and it was small enough to wear on my belt.
“I’ll take it,” I announced, but Ender was gone. The smile waned from my features, and a blush set in. I felt foolish but forced myself to meet Dagma’s gaze. “How much?”
He flicked his finger toward the slugs, and I reasoned that he wanted to know my price. How much could one charge for a bucket of slime when their pockets were weighed to the limit? I shook my head and tossed him a wink.
“A gesture toward our future friendship,” I dismissed, not before wondering if he could have actually done the math.
He grunted and nodded to the dagger. When I didn’t move, he glanced back at me and grunted again before jerking his head toward the entrance of his shop. I could have kissed the ugly lug and likely would have if I had known him a bit better.
Instead, I smiled like he had given me the world, tucked the dagger into my belt, and set off for the bridge.