The Reign of Magic. Wolf Awert

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СКАЧАТЬ four words smashed, hammer-like, everything he had lived into little pieces. In that moment, after barely eight harvests, Chigg’s childhood ended. Ended by a boy who wasn’t even evil, just older, larger, stronger and more ruthless than the others.

      Chigg stood rooted to the spot, not even moving as the other children passed him, puffing and shoving. Brongard was already a few steps away when Chigg finally turned around and yelled: “I will take the name Nill, and the whole world will bow before it!” But the shout broke after the first few words in his throat and the rest was so quiet that none could hear it. But it was the first sentence of his new life. Chigg had been the child, Nill was the man. It had happened faster than lightning could split a tree. And it happened quietly, unnoticed.

      Nill stood there for a few more moments, staring after the other children with empty eyes, until he ran home, disturbed and full of anger, sadness and defiance.

      “Where have you been, Chigg?”

      “I’m not called Chigg, my name is Nill!”

       “That is not your name.”

      “Now it is.”

      For Esara, her boy lost his name on that day. She never called him Chigg again, because he did not respond to it, but she never spoke the word Nill.

      The children’s argument had not gone unnoticed by the adults, and some of them saw another bad omen in it. Esara knew that the time had come to let her boy help with the work in the village. She would not make a truth-teller out of him, because real truth-tellers are born, not made.

      He may have been tough enough to be a hunter, but he was too small and weak, so she simply asked him what he wanted to become.

      “A blacksmith!” the answer rang out.

      Esara shook her head. “A blacksmith needs a lot of strength. The tools are heavy. I do not think Ambross will teach you this profession.”

      “We’ll see,” Nill answered stubbornly and went to Ambross, the local smith. After lurking around the workshop long enough for the smith no longer to be able to ignore him, Ambross stopped what he was working on and asked shortly: “Huh?”

      “I want to become a blacksmith.”

      Ambross hesitated. He looked twice and began to laugh heartily. “You tiny tot want to learn forging?”

      Still laughing, he turned back to the blank and began to forge it into shape with heavy blows from his hammer. Occasionally he shook his head, but Nill could not tell whether because he was not yet pleased with the blank’s shape or because he was still wondering about the boy’s strange wish.

      A long time later he lifted the red-glowing piece of metal from the anvil and cooled it, first in a plant brew, then in a water trough. This shall be part of a fine digging-stick, he thought and looked around for another blank to use.

      “You’re still here.”

      “Yes, I’d like to learn how to forge things.”

      Ambross was no longer laughing, but scrutinizing Nill thoughtfully.

      “You are tenacious, no doubt, but I can’t make a blacksmith out of you. You’re too weak.” The words were calm and matter of fact; there was no derision in them. “But if you’re really that keen on it, you may stay until you’ve realized that there is no point in it.” His face cracked into a wide grin, making his mouth seem like a well-placed ax wound. “It’ll probably cost me a good piece of metal or two. I will show you how to engrave, and later on maybe how to make rings or bracelets. Who knows, you might have a keener interest in jewelry than in tools and weapons. Here!” He tossed a broom to Nill.

      From that moment Nill worked in Ambross’ workshop. He learned quickly, understood the delicacies of forging iron, bronze and brass and knew how to engrave fine patterns with a graver. He helped his teacher with the bellows until his arms went numb and he cleaned the workshop. Whenever he had nothing else to do he would sit on a wooden block in a dark corner, watching Ambross work. So the time passed, until Nill spoke to his master: “Master Ambross, I would like to make a weapon.”

      Ambross thought for a while and said: “Alright, I’ll give you a blank. You can choose one. Once I’m done here you can do whatever you want with it. But one blank is all you’re getting from me.”

      Nill nodded. “One blank is all I need,” he said confidently.

      Ambross looked up at the ceiling, where he presumed the gods of silly ideas to reside, and shook his head again. The boy never spoke much, but Ambross rather enjoyed his company. They were similar in at least one way, the huge blacksmith and the small boy: a single sentence was usually enough for them, like a well-placed strike of a hammer.

      The workshop was not roomy and rather dark, cluttered and dirty. The blanks lay, sorted by size and hardness, on different piles between hammers and pliers, torn bellows, broken tools and finished objects, and on everything in the room lay a sticky, foul-smelling residue of soot, iron dust, steam and sweat. How anyone could find anything in this mess was a mystery to all but Ambross and Nill, yet there was a hidden order to things in this dark, hot place.

      Still, every order leaves room for the past and the future, for forgetting and wishing. Nill had found a blank in the darkest corner of the room that did not seem to fit in with the other blanks. One of his duties was to regularly clean the iron. This piece had remained hidden for a long time, and under the layer of grime it had a peculiar pattern that Nill did not recognize from any other blank. The metal itself did not seem to be solid; rather it was layered, as the leaves that fall in autumn become a single sheet upon the ground in winter. Judging by the filth on the blank it must have spent a long time in the workshop already. Nill did not know if it was valuable in any way, but as he held it he felt as if the iron were talking to him.

      Nill waited until the day the council was held, where the village’s troubles and affairs were discussed. Nobody ever wanted to miss out on this, and so Nill had always been present in the past. The children never understood much of the discussions the adults were having, but they loved the feeling of being part of something special and enjoyed the break from their monotonous daily life.

      So it was that Nill had the entire day to himself. Stopping in the middle of forging something and continuing later was possible, but not risk-free, as the metal would have to be re-heated. Nill only had this one blank and did not want to risk it. He chose a medium-sized hammer, because he lacked the strength to use the larger one. As nobody was there to help him, he also had to tread the bellows to heat the iron to the temperature he needed.

      Nill beat the pointed end of the blank into a short, four-sided tapered tap and drew most of the metal to the other, wider side, flattening it to a wide blade. Nill knew what a good hunting knife looked like. The weight needed to be in the handle, not the blade, or the hand holding it would tire out quickly. The spine of the blade needed to be strong and solid so as not to break when the hunter cut hollow bones to reach the marrow. And the edge had to be robust of course, or it would quickly wear down.

      He forged this knife against his better judgment. The taper was short and thin, the blade long and flat, the edge thin, and to be sharpened along half the back as well.

      Ambross rarely made weapons, and when he did he answered all questions with an irritated growl or with silence. While working on the weapon he would mumble words Nill could not make out.

      “Master СКАЧАТЬ