There was a sense of eager anticipation in the huge warehouse as a pair of guide boats manoeuvred the heavily laden barge into position. A foreman barked instructions from a tall platform, and the boats began to nudge the barge in. Once the prow had entered the warehouse, guide ropes were thrown and caught by burly men lining the dock. On the foreman’s instructions, they began to haul the behemoth into the warehouse. As soon as it was clear, large doors began slide shut, and from the outside, it looked like the warehouse had devoured yet another vessel.
It was all a well-rehearsed drill, and the labourers moved like clockwork. As soon as the barge had been tied and the docking ramp lowered, more men swarmed aboard and formed a human chain to begin unloading the vessel, taking some boxes to marked locations in the warehouse and others to waiting wagons. Meanwhile, a crane quickly swung into position overhead to lift the heavier items out of the vessel’s hold. The phrase ‘Time is Money’ was emblazoned on a large banner that hung from the rafters.
Artek tore his eyes from the mesmerizing display and forced his thoughts to the loss of his friend. It disturbed him that he felt no sadness at the death of his childhood friend, only mild concern that Vergan would be identified and traced back to him. He was accustomed to seeing people die from his time as a soldier, but he thought seeing a childhood friend perish would affect him more.
Not that he felt responsible for what happened. Vergun had invited Artek for drinks upon his return from the battle. After a few drinks, Artek had let the job slip and Vergun, who was desperate for money to pay for his impending marriage had begged to be taken along for a quarter’s share. In an alcohol induced lapse of judgement, Artek agreed, and the rest was history.
“The boss will see you now,” a surly voice announced.
Artek looked up to see a broad shouldered man glowering down at him. It was one of Ganlin’s thugs. He jerked his finger over his shoulder at the small office on the warehouse’s upper level.
“It’s about time,” Artek growled as he hopped down from the box he had been sitting on and hoisted a bundle of farm implements that had been securely lashed together onto his shoulder. Both swords were hidden inside. A commoner simply didn’t walk down the street armed with a sword in this day and age. Especially not after what happened last night.
“Make way, he’s here to see the boss,” the guard bellowed.
The organized chaos in the warehouse came to a screeching halt, allowing Artek to cross the warehouse to the stairs that led up to the office. Once he began climbing, work resumed. As he approached, the door at the top of the stairs swung open. Artek walked into a plush office that was dominated by large windows which overlooked both the warehouse below and the river outside.
A wiry man set a heavy wooden desk was set close to the windows on the far end of the room and he looked at Artek as though he was a cockroach that had just crawled up from the warehouse below.
“Artek Genovian,” a female voice announced. Artek jumped and turned around to see a stern faced woman close the door behind him. Her name was Miara, and she was Ganlin’s enforcer. A sabre hung from her belt, and she had a reputation for being one of the best fencers in the province despite being a woman. “He’s the one on the Filern affair.”
“You made a right mess of that didn’t you, boy?” Ganlin sniffed.
“I think I did alright, all things considered,” Artek began defensively.
“Do you have it with you?” Ganlin asked, cutting him off.
“I do,” Artek replied.
“Excellent.” The wiry man removed his glasses and gazed out the window at the warehouse below. There, legitimate cargo was mixed with illicit to be sent off to all corners of the world. All behind closed doors and hidden away from prying eyes. It was a setup that made Ganlin Stovarn one of the richest and most influential men in the town of Intol Breadth.
At length, Ganlin ran a hand through his iron grey hair and stood up. “Do you know why it’s called the Sword of Immortality, young man?”
Artek raised an eyebrow and shook his head. So, he had grown from a boy to a young man now. He’d be an old man by the end of the day at this rate.
Ganlin turned to face Artek, and a crooked smile twisted his lips. “They say it dates back to the Third Age.”
“Then it must be positively ancient,” Artek replied, not a little impressed. The dawn of the Seventh Age was so long ago now that it was the stuff of legends.
“It’s over three thousand years old if it’s true,” Ganlin agreed as he walked over to Artek. “And wasted on the likes of Filern Keredin, wouldn’t you agree?”
Artek shrugged noncommittally, wishing that the wiry smuggler would get to the point.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Indeed, it is a sword from a violent time,” Ganlin said, his voice laced with venom. “Wanted by violent people, if you get my meaning.”
Artek sucked in his breath when he realized who Ganlin was talking about. “The Peace Breakers.”
Ganlin’s smile broadened. “We live in the age of Pax Dei, God’s Peace. The wars of the previous ages were said to be so destructive that God Himself descended from the heavens and decreed for the sentient races to swear off war once and for all.”
The wiry old man paused and looked at Artek expectantly. “What are your thoughts on that?”
“I think that you would be placed in a gibbet if an Inquisitor heard you ask that question,” Artek replied glibly.
Ganlin laughed softly and shook his head. “That’s true enough. Let’s make it our little secret, shall we?”
His eyebrow twitched, and the woman bristled when Artek didn’t reply. However, the lapse was momentary, and Ganlin continued. “So the Peace Breakers wish for those violent days to return. They are violent maniacs who would not think twice about putting a city to the sword to achieve their goals.”
“I don’t follow,” Artek began.
“Those violent maniacs are the ones who commissioned this job, you simpleton,” Ganlin snapped as his geniality evaporated in a heartbeat. “And they have expressed their displeasure to me over the mess you made last night.”
“How does it affect them?” Artek protested. “They wanted the sword. I took it and now it’s here. What is the problem?”
“They want to keep a low profile, you dunce,” Ganlin roared. He paused to pinch the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.
“They have demanded a discount,” his voice was soft now, but there was a dangerous undercurrent. “Subsequently, I can only pay you half of what we agreed on.”
Artek felt the blood rush to his face. So all that boring preamble was an effort to cheat him out of what he was due.
“I must let you know I’ll be losing money on this venture,” Ganlin said sourly. “However, I don’t want to get on those maniacs’ wrong side, if you get my meaning.”
“Then you’d better pay me what we agreed on,” Artek declared.
Ganlin paused, and the woman at the door let out an audible gasp. “Excuse me?”
“As you said, the Peace Breakers are dangerous,” Artek replied. He wasn’t about to be cheated out of what he had been promised. Not again. “If you don’t want to get on their wrong side, you’d better deliver what they asked, and I’m not turning it over unless I’m paid what I’m owed.”
Something in Artek’s mind screamed danger. Instinctively, he ducked and rolled forward. A split second later the woman’s sword sliced through the air where his neck had just been.
“Last chance, boy,” Garlin growled as Artek drew his dagger, wishing desperately that his new sword was more accessible. “Turn the sword over and I’ll let you walk away with your life.”
“You like changing deals,” Artek panted as he kept a careful eye on both the woman and the smuggler. “So here’s my new one. Come to the crossroads at midday, two days from now. Bring triple what we agreed upon, or I’ll disappear with the sword, and you’ll have to tell the Peace Breakers you can’t uphold your end of the deal.”
“Or I’ll flay you alive and hang your skinless body from the rafters!” Garlin snarled.
At his command, Miara lunged forward. Artek spun on his heel and charged towards a window facing the river. At the last moment, something told him he should go through the window on the right. He made a last second course correction and crashed through at full speed. He looked down and saw a pier dangerously close to him twenty feet below and gritted his teeth.
Miraculously, he missed the pier by inches and plunged into the freezing cold water. He initially began swimming for the near shore and then remembered it would take him right next to Ganlin’s warehouse. He then cursed as one of the strings securing his farm implements came undone and groped blindly into the frigid water until his fingers wrapped around something.
He was about to dive under to search for the rest when he heard shouts from the warehouse and cursed before swimming as quickly as he could to the far bank. As his feet touched the frozen clay bank, he raised his hand to see that it was wrapped tightly around the Sword of Immortality.
There was a stroke of luck, he thought bitterly to himself as he cast a forlorn look at the river. His other sword was probably now resting at the bottom. He then spotted men piling into rowboats on the opposite bank and became acutely aware that he was freezing. He came to the quick decision that the remedy to both his problems was to run away as quickly as he could.
As he took to his heels into the tall grass that lined the far bank, Artek marvelled at his luck at being able to grab the Sword of Immortality out of all the other things that had fallen out of his bundle. Perhaps his luck was finally changing. He sneezed as he ran and decided that he should find a way to warm up before he caught his death.
Artek came to an abrupt halt. Several intrusive thoughts had popped into his head since the night before. That was unusual. Is this really the time to think about this? Part of him asked as he let out another mighty sneeze. No, it wasn’t he decided quickly. He needed to start a fire and knew just the place.
The young man walked unerringly through the overgrown boundary between fields until he came upon a small depression that was concealed from the river by a large tree. There, he found plenty of dead leaves and twigs which he used to start a fire. As he warmed himself by the growing fire, he looked around and blinked. He had lived in Intol Breadth for almost his entire life but had never been here before. How was it that he knew to come here?
He attempted to mull this over, but quickly found himself distracted. Once again, he had been betrayed. Trodden upon. His anger began to grow, and he set his mind to work. He had given Ganlin a time and place to meet. However, he was sure that he would be betrayed. No, he would set a trap of his own and get even with him just like he got even with Filern.
Artek looked down at the sword on his lap and smiled grimly. Oh yes, he would get even. He drew the sword and held it up to the fire. The blade was still immaculate and breathtakingly beautiful despite supposedly being thousands of years old. Perhaps he could get paid and keep it. Yes, that would be ideal. He’d use this sword to cut Ganlin down, Miara, and whatever other goons they brought with them.
On a whim, Artek leapt to his feet and swung the unsheathed sword around. It made a pleasing sound as it pierced through the air, and he began to imagine himself cutting down his foes. He then became aware that it had gone dark. Steam was rising off his sweat drenched body. Breathing heavily, Artek pictured those who had wronged him lying dead at his feet and began to cackle.