The Weight of the World by G. M. Archer

Author:G. M. Archer [Archer, G. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-08-07T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11- Living to Pursue a Broken and Peculiar Fate

I tried to mentally map out the camp as we traversed it, a bit confusing considering how easily sight of the buildings could be lost to the encroachment of nature. Hirsh stopped before the mouth of a cave, lit within by a warm glow, the familiar smell of burning coal on the air.

“Good luck, I’m going to run get another tankard, and I’ll come back,” Hirsh waved.

“Have fun,” I said, eying the cave.

I entered as I lost sight of Hirsh. I was immediately surprised that I wasn’t in a building. It was a large room, walls sculpted to make it seem as such, smooth, the coolness of the stone drawing out the heat from the forge and overall making it a comfortable atmosphere. The walls were lined with unfinished weapons and other devices, shimmering steel and cast iron on stone made up the decor of the place.

A man stepped out from a doorway beside the forge, wiping his hands on an already blackened leather apron. He was tall, middle aged, his blue eyes were bright and clean on his soot-covered face, rimmed by his hair like two strips of coal on the side of his head, the only place it still grew.

“Are you Atlas?” he asked.

“Yes,” I nodded.

He smiled, sticking several rods of steel into the fire and cranking the blower thoughtfully. I watched as the smoke off the coal filtered through a mesh on the ceiling, leaving the air in the cave clear.

He stopped, leaning on a cabinet, “You have in your possession a stone a smith would kill to work with; Fairyheart, Moontear, Dragonsbane, Starstone. Legend says blades made out of it in ancient times never dulled, chipped or broke.”

I raised an eyebrow, “I’ve only heard it called Moontear,” I watched the fire, “I’m sorry, I cannot sell it to you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he clarified, “The koras on your back, I want to finish them with it. Put it as their edge, and fill in the decorative patterns.”

I eyed the handle of the swords on my back, “If so, I could not brandish them without drawing quite a bit of attention.”

“It would make you more thoughtful of violent actions,” he started turning the blower again, checking a rod of metal.

He sounded like Joseph.

I took the koras off my back, pulling out my Moontear in my other hand, “What sort of payment would you want for such a thing?”

“The opportunity to work with an element of fantasy,” he pulled one of the steel rods from the fire and bent it on the anvil.

“You don’t want money?” I asked.

“The last I checked, you didn’t have any on you,” he crossed his arms, putting the metal back in the coals.

“No,” I trailed off, “But it still seems like an awfully demanding thing to do for someone you just met.”

“You showed up to camp and upset our whole hierarchy in a matter of hours. You’re legendary for being a false princess, but now you truly have a small army.

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