I’m finally allowed to help dad in his smithing shop! I’m actually not excited about doing blacksmith work, I’m just excited to be out of the house with its three rooms of nothing. Nothing for entertainment, nothing to read, nothing to learn other than knitting and mom was adamant in not teaching me knitting. Apparently it is a “girls skill” and I’m either not allowed to learn it or would be looked down on the future if I know it? At any rate, I can finally do something other than play with the firewood that sat beside the stove. First on my agenda: explore! I guess I’m currently meant to be a tool fetcher. And if I don’t know where tools are, how can I find them? Even while I rationalize this thought, I beeline straight to the swords. It doesn’t matter what age one is, swords are always cool. One sword in particular seems to glow. Maybe glow isn’t the right word, maybe it’s just shinier? It oddly makes itself well known when it is just in the periphery of your vision – kind of like and enemy indicator in one of those flight simulator video games.

I go to pick it up so I can ask dad about the details of it but as soon as I touch it it actually does glow! There’s an outline of the sword as I hold it! I gingerly take it out of the barrel with all the others, which was a tad arduous since I am still a little short, and hold it with both hands to examine it with the handle in one hand and the blade flat in the other. The glowing image on the blade is that of a crudely, almost childishly, drawn sword only it looks to be made of lightning. The image dances slightly as if a tendril from a plasma globe toy is constantly running in circles on the blade. Without taking my eyes off of it, I walk it over to father while he’s prepping to start the days work.

“Is this special metal?” I ask him.

He gives it a cursory glance and gives his customary terse reply in his gruff voice, “common steel.”

Not to be deterred I ask, “why is it so bright?” He stops shoveling coal and turns, studying me for a moment.

“Come.” He turns on his heel and heads to a door on our house that I had never noticed before. It doesn’t connect to anyplace inside the main house, of that I am certain. On the front of the door is a very large padlock. He fishes a large ornate key from his pocket, undoes the lock, and steps inside. Still carrying the sword I step in after him. Inside are even more swords, staves, maces, flails, and weapons of all types lining the walls, though these are displayed with much more meticulous care. All of them seem extra visible out of my periphery – as if I had happened upon an entire squadron of enemy fighter planes. In the center of the room is an empty table.

“Like these?” he asked.

I step forward and place the sword in question on the empty table and walk to the nearest sword on the wall. I tentatively touch it and, like the first sword, this one also has an outline of itself along its blade. This one seems less crudely done, however. And instead of reminding me of lightning, this one seems more...watery. It’s hard to explain the odd feeling of water coming from the blue outline on this particular sword. I touch the staff next to it and saw its outline – in wispy white this time.

“Yes,” I reply.

He nods and studies me for a few moments more before fishing around and finding a scabbard and a cloth. He sheathes the first sword I’d found and places it on top of the cloth on the table. He then takes down another sword from the wall, places it with the first, and wraps the two swords in the cloth. He opens a chest at the far end of the room and removes a well worn travel pack complete with its own rolled portion. He undoes the rolled portion and unrolls it on the table. Looks to be a sleeping bag. He puts the swaddled swords on the sleeping bag, rolls the sleeping bag back up with the swords in the center, refastening and shouldering the pack. He steps out of the room and waits for a moment, clearly intending for me to follow. He locks the door back once we’re both outside, takes a moment to ensure the fire in the forge is out and goes back inside.

“Takin’ the boy to th’ mountain” is all he says.

“Why, you’ll be gone for a week! Isn’t he too young?” mother replies with clear worry in her voice.

“He’s the reason wer’ goin’,” he replies as he collects an item or two from inside and shoves them in his pack. Mother starts collecting items as well apparently no further words were needed? I really wish these two would talk more.

“I don’t have a cloak small enough for him,” mom frets as she looks through the clothes to ensure I’m to be warm enough for the trip.

“Use m’old one. Cut it’n half,” I hear dad reply from the other room.

After doing as he bid, mom comes up to me with the half cloak and makes new holes at the neck to be able to tie it. I’m suddenly feeling very much like a hobbit with how short I am next to my dads towering size that made all the more apparent by the sheer amount of cloth left on the floor from the cloak I’m now wearing. He comes out wearing two daggers. Seems a little odd considering his massive frame, but I suppose it would be best to stick to weapons you’re familiar with after all.

The two of us set out. I have to run a little to catch up with his pace. I’m not sure how long I’m going to last if we’re to walk an entire week at this pace to wherever we’re going. Thankfully he turns to head inside a little store just this side of the city wall to buy food for the trip and stuffs it into his pack. The brief stop was all too short as we set off once again, this time leaving the city gates.

Panting hard, I call after him, “Dad!….Dad!….Waitup!….Ican’t….runthatfast!” He stops and turns around to assess my inability to keep up with him. Eventually, he just decides to pick me up and put me on his shoulders, my butt resting on the top of his pack with my legs dangling over his shoulders. Won’t this make the trip just that much more torturous for him, though? Why not just slow down so we can both walk?

The answer to that question is made quickly apparent. He actually had slowed down for me. I’m just so tiny that even at a run I couldn’t keep up with his walking pace.

Atop my dads shoulders, I now finally have a chance to slow down and take stock of what’s happened so far. Those swords glowed. I’ve seen nothing so far that hinted at any type of technology. In fact, as far as I can tell from the times I’ve accompanied mother to the market, this place actually is like I’ve gone back in time. Like I’m in the bronze age or something. Wait, no, he said steel. When was steel invented? At any rate, this place seems positively medieval, so I am safely assuming the sword wasn’t glowing from LED’s. The only other thing I can think of is magic...but that’s preposterous. Right?

We spent the entire day like that. Him walking with me atop his shoulders with a few brief potty breaks. I guess when on the road you only eat once per day to save time. Once nightfall crept in, we make camp in the woods within earshot of the road. Seems like an odd place so I ask dad about it.

“Why here for camp?”

“Close ‘nough to th’ road to run from monsters. Far ‘nough from the road t’hide from people.” His gruff reply was given matter-of-factly as he built a small fire.

I feel like my father has just hit a ‘pause’ button on my brain. Monsters? Also, why would a blacksmith have information such as the where and why for setting up camp. And while I do want to ask him about it, I’m kind of getting worn down by his unwillingness to talk.

After dinner dad unrolled the sleeping bag and the swords and I joined him inside it for warmth.

----------------------------------------

The next day consisted of more of the same. Dad walked while I rode his shoulders. Still curious about where we’re going, I ask, “Why were those swords glowing?”

“Dunno.”

“Then where are we going?”

“To th’ moun’ain.”

“Why are we going to the mountain?”

“T’find out about the swords.”

It almost feels as if I’m talking in circles with his non-answers so I eventually give up on interrogating him and try to content myself with staring up at the foliage above us and looking out for birds or any other kind of wildlife. Near the end of the second day the traffic on the road we travel starts to pick up with the mountain looming over top us. Hadn’t really seen much of anyone til now so maybe we’re getting close to a major city or something. The foot traffic on the road, however, begins giving me odd feelings however; there seem to be an inordinately large number of midgets around. Wait, am I not supposed to call them midgets anymore? Does it matter here? There’s probably a different name for them here anyway. We still follow our newly formed routine and make camp slightly in the woods to eat and sleep for the night.

On the morning of the third day, the foot traffic seems to be almost exclusively midgets. Many of them with very long beards. --Wait. Mountain. Beards. Midgets. Glowing swords. Are these dwarves? Okay, okay, calm down. Think rationally. For the sake of argument, yes. These are dwarves. The magical variety. That would explain the swords glowing. And the medieval setting as well. Magic either does not exist on Earth or, if fantasy books are to be believed, no longer exists on Earth. So either I am on a different planet or I’ve gone really far back in time.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Okay okay – so if magic is real, why haven’t I seen anyone doing magic? Maybe it’s just rare? I guess it would either be rare or super common with only the ultra powerful then considered rare. And since the swords glowing is the only hint I’ve had of magic so far–

I’m ejected from my reverie as dad places me on the ground. We seem to have arrived at a cave entrance. A guarded cave entrance. And it’s guarded by – yep, you guessed it. Armed bearded midgets. Dwarves. As we neared, the armor the guards were wearing became extra known. I’m starting to think I have a sixth sense for magic items. And these two dwarves are loaded with them. Looks like he’s maybe a whole foot taller than me though.

The two guards stop us as our turn in line reaches them. They hadn’t moved a muscle for the near steady stream of dwarves in front of us entering but seemed very disinclined to allow us entry.

“Identify yourself.” The guard speaks much clearer than I had expected. In fact, dad speaks more like what I’d expect a dwarf to sound like than this guy. Maybe I shouldn’t rely on stereotypes from another land. World? Dimension? Jury is still out on those verdicts.

“Eric. Here t’ see Thavim Hammerswing.” Dad’s reply is terse as always. In fact, I’m a little impressed he can be so stoic in front of active guards like this. It always feels a little weird to not have a surname, but apparently only nobles have those. This thought give me pause. Is this Thavim a noble or do dwarves have a different naming system?

The guard on the left turns to look at me, “And this?”

Dad answers for me, “Son an’ ‘prentice. Alvis.”

The guard on the left nods once and looks at the guard on the right who turns and walks inside. Then he turns his attention back to us, “Stand to the side while we call Thavim here.”

Dad moves a good distance away from the entrance – further than I would have thought was merited for ‘to the side.’ This seems like another gem of knowledge, so I ask, “How come so far?”

“Other guests’re private,” he replies with a nod to the rest of the people waiting in line. Ah. He’s being considerate. That makes sense, even if it’s a little surprising considering how blunt he often is.

We wait for what feels like an eternity, though it may only have been a few hours. Eventually, a dwarf exits the cave and walks straight toward us. Finally he with a guffawing with his gravelly voice.

“Eric! An’ wha’s got’en yous t’ come all way ou’ here?” he shouts from a little too far away. He speaks more like a how I imagined a dwarf would. Dad walks forward to meet him partway and I tag along.

“Bus’ness. Swords.” He haltingly replies.

“Y’know I don’ charge y’ per th’ number o’ word ye use, aye? An’ who might this’n be?” Thavim asks as he turns towards me.

“I’m Alvis. I’m his son,” I decide to answer directly rather than have dad answer for me this time.

“Oh ho, tha’ you are boyo. Since you don’ seem t’ carry th’ same word ration affliction as y’r dear pa, why ‘on’t you tell me th’ reason for comin’ all o way ou’ here.”

“Most I got out of him was to find out about the swords,” I reply while giving a halfhearted shrug.

“Ah, well let’s see ‘em then! Forge coal burns!” Thavim claps his hands and rubs them together.

“Not ‘ere,” dad replies. “Private.”

“Well now. In all my years, this mi’ be only th’ secon’ time I’ve ever heard you ask for sommat to be kept private! Ha! Let’s go, then!” Thavim turns and heads toward the cave entrance with us in tow. Both guards are back and Thavim waves at them.

“Ey’re with me.”

The left guard nods and we all proceed inside without incident. The cave gently slopes downward for a surprisingly long distance, gemstones that glow a pale green line the wall to light the way. Eventually we come to an enormous door carved in relief that depicts some sort of battle. But rather than going towards it we move off to the side where there’s another door, though one much smaller.

My curiosity peaked, I can’t help but ask. “Where does that one lead?”

Thavim turns to see what I’m referencing, “Oh, same place, lad! Only bigger!”

“Oh.” I pause for a moment and think. “What for?”

“Giants an’ golems. Mostly.”

That ‘mostly’ has me a bit worried but the question dies on my lips as I walk through the smaller doors. Inside is an entire city that looks to be chiseled out of stone onto every available surface. There are stone building lining the walls and even on the ceiling! I almost can’t see the other end of the city if it weren’t for the twinkling of lights visible on the far wall, which I assume are peoples windows but from this distance there’s just no way to know for certain.

I am in awe at the scene and stop walking to revel in the wonder. This seems contrary to the intentions of the pair however since dad picks me back up and sets me on his shoulders to make off yet again. The walk takes quite a while and does help to explain the wait at the front gate, but eventually we make it to the chiseled stone building that Thavim had been leading us to on the wall in the far right corner. Honestly, the only way it could have been further was if it were on the ceiling in the same corner.

As it turns out, Thavim is a smith himself and we enter a room that is very clearly a smithy with several dwarves manning the coal while others the billows and others still are hammering atop anvils. We walk through here and into another room in the back. This one seems very similar to the room dad had back at our own smithy with an empty table in the center and weapons lining the walls. All of them enchanted, of course.

Once everyone was inside and the doors closed, every bit of the noise from the previous rooms hustle and bustle went away.

“Righ’ then. I kno very well tha’ ye not be comin’ this far an’ ask for privacy just t’ talk abou’ a couple o’ swords.” Thavim crossed his arms and waited.

Dad took a knee to shuffle the pack around, slid the cloth-wrapped swords out from the center of the rolled sleeping bag, and placed them on the table. As he unrolled them Thavim’s eyes seemed to grow a few sizes larger.

Dad picked up the sword I had found and presented it to Thavim. “Th’ boy plucked this’un out a barrel o’ common swords.”

“Aye, and it looks t’be a common sword.” Thavim replied while holding the sword.

“Look closer,” dad implored.

Thavim narrowed his eyes and slid the sword out of its scabbard. He opened his mouth and a sound like the crunch of gravel underfoot escaped causing a dull glow to emit from his hand as he slid it along the flat of the blade. The blades outline faintly glows for a moment before fading back away like someones breath on a windowpane.

“Well, I’ll be. It be weak. And y’ sayin’ this boy, Alvis, picked this’n from a barrel o’ common swords?” Dad just nods back at him.

“C’m’ere, lad,” Thavim beckons me over. “Show me how ya could tell.”

“I can sort of tell that it’s different just by looking. It just looks a little shinier than all the others. But if I touch it it seems to glow and shows an outline of itself along the blade.” With this I reach out and touch the sword and the scrawled messy outline of lightning once again blazes to life on the flat of the blade.

“Just a minute,” Thavim quickly walks out of the room and after a few moments walks back in with a trunk under each arm. He sets each down on the floor and opens them both up.

“Are there any like’at in these here chests?” he asks as he takes a step behind the chests. Both chests are chock full of daggers and knives.

“The chest on the right all look to be like that sword. The chest on the left likes like it might only have one in it. I think I would need to touch each of them to be certain.” I reply while looking at the contents of each chest.

“Do so,” Thavim says.

I immediately grab just the shinier looking knife on the left and it glows a pale blue in very straight lines. I then start sifting through the box on the right. Sharp red outlines, wispy white, curly green, there seems to be a large variety to not only the colors but also the styling of each. Down near the bottom I find one particular knife that seems absolutely normal. Not extra shiny, nor did it glow when I picked it up.

“This one seems to not glow at all,” I report.

“Phenomenal. So?” Thavim appears to be addressing my father at this point. “What’s t’ be done?”

“Needs trainin’,” is all my father replies with. He picks up the second sword from the cloth that we brought. “Payment.”

“Ya can’t be serious! How many years ‘ave I been tryna get tha’ very sword off’a you? Said ‘twas worth more an’ you!” Thavim nearly shouting.

Dad just nods and says “Aye.”

A brief pause goes by before Thavim does what I can only describe as a slow clap version of a madman's laugh.

“Ha….Hahaha….Hahahahahahaha! Eric, m’boy, you’ve got yr’self a deal! An’ if I can’t train ‘im, I’ll be certain t’ find one what can!” Thavim is lifting holding the sword as if it’s a holy relic.

Dad nods and gets down on one knee before taking both of my shoulders in his hands. He stares into my eyes for a long moment and does a single nod. After which he shoulders his pack once again and walks out of the room, not another word spoken, nor does he look behind him. I start to follow after him but am stopped by Thavim’s hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t think badly o’ him f’r leavin.’ Ne’er been one to mince words, which left many a people angry at’im. He have ya look at this’un?” Thavim asks as he holds the sword out to to me.

I stiffly shake my head and gingerly reach forward to touch it. This particularly sword seemed to light up the entire room. It has not one outline, but three. Flowy blue, wispy white, and jagged yellow.

“He once told me tha’ he valued this sword more ‘an his life. An’ he’s just traded it to get ye trained.”