Warscribe Pages 5-9 (NaNoWriMo)

He raised an eyebrow. “Surely an ordinary blacksmith cannot be uncommon for you to find?”

“No, but an ordinary blacksmith is not what we require.” Sergeant Petrov led Ian to tent the size of a small room. Pulling the flap open, Ian immediately saw a man lying in a cot at the other end. “Mr. Vlasek, I would like you to meet Mikhail.” Ian entered the tent, followed by Petrov. Mikhail was an elder man, though Ian could not tell if Mikhail was older than him. Some sickness had made Mikhail’s features stretched and pale.

“Ah, Sergeant Petrov. Am I to meet my replacement after all?” Mikhail turned his face towards the two of them slowly before descending into a coughing fit.

“It is with my hope, old friend.”

“Ian Vlasek, sir,” he said, nodding.

“What has the sergeant told you Ian?”

“Dreadfully little, I’m afraid.”

Mikhail winced. “You would make a dying man waste time explaining matters, sergeant? Bastard.” He cleared his throat. “Very well. As you can see, I am dying. Over by the door you will find my workbench. On it is my last work that I have left incomplete.” Ian looked back and found a large sword lying on a small wooden bench, turned into a makeshift table. Symbols lined the blade, leading up from the hilt. The symbols ended halfway up the sword. A hammer and chisel lay by its side. “You must complete my work Ian. And hopefully a great many more.”

Ian swallowed. “This is an Aegisguarde sword, isn’t it?”

“It will be when it is finished,” answered the sergeant. “Do you understand why you are here now? Listen to me, I know this is an unorthodox situation, but I know what you are thinking. A new ‘scribe should have been sent to us from the capital. But, here is what you do not know nor have we told anyone in your city. We are cut off from the capital.”

Ian widened his eyes. “They have come this far?”

“Yes. And with Mikhail here unable to work, we are unable to utilize the Empire’s greatest weapon to reopen the passes. We need you to learn this new trade and make us more Aegis weapons and armor. Do you understand what is needed of you?”

Ian nodded.

“Good then. Are you ready?”

“In all honesty, sir? No.”

Petrov nodded. “I would have been surprised if you were. But needs what may. I’ll leave the two of you to get acquainted.” He let himself out of the tent.

Mikhail directed Ian to a thick, old book at the foot of the cot. Within were worn pages scrawled with a multitude of symbols in black ink. Each had at least a full paragraph of notations on their purpose and use.

“You must memorize that book,” Mikhail explained. “It matters not if you understand the words now. You will need that knocking about in your head for any hope to understand what will be to come.”

“I see.” Ian flipped through the book, running his fingers over the pages but being careful not to touch them. “How long it take you to learn this craft?”

Mikhail raised an eyebrow. After a moment of thought, he chuckled and settled on saying, “More time than you have.”

With his eyes still buried in the pages of the book, Ian asked, “I see.”

Mikhail waved dismissively. “Go to the mess tent and find yourself something to eat for now, we can begin your tutelage afterwards.”

Ian nodded and set the book down. “What about you? Should I bring you something or…?”

“Sergeant Petrov will have something arranged for me.” He descended into a coughing fit. Clearing his throat, he added, “It’s become something of a punishment for the junior officers, heh.”

Ian nodded and left the tent. It wasn’t until he was outside before he realized he did not know where the mess tent was and the idea of going back in to ask did not seem becoming of his new position. He picked a direction and began to walk, hoping that when he found a large enough gathering of people he would be in the right place.

Following the sounds of the camp did little to guide Ian. Everywhere around him soldiers and laborers were busy tearing tents down or putting tents up. A familiar clatter of metal on metal brought him to a smithing workshop where he felt an odd comfort.

One of the blacksmiths looked up from his work towards Ian. “Something I can help you with?”

“How much carbon do you use in your metal?” asked Ian.

“Oh, a metalworker are you?”

“Mostly tools, pots and pans.” He shrugged. “Swords once in a while for the city guard.”

The smith took off a work glove and extended a hand towards Ian. They shook. “Good to meet you, friend. My name is Korbova, call me Korb. I assume you are here to work for the army?”

“Yes, but not in the smithy. I was going to ask for directions to the mess tent.”

Korb winced. “Don’t tell me they have you working in there. That would be a waste of your ability, and we could certainly use your help here.”

“No—ahh.” Ian paused and wondered how much he should be talking about his new job. “They brought me in to work with Mikhail.”

“M-Mikhail?” His eyes widened and he withdrew his hand slowly from Ian’s. “I didn’t know. The tent you are looking for is down that way. Forgive me for my impertinence.”

“I was not offended.”

“Thank you, sir. If you will excuse me, I have to get back to my work.” Korb went back to his anvil where he picked up a pair of tongs holding a piece of metal. He brought it to a forge and plunged the end of the metal into the fire. Ian noticed that Korb ceased to look back in his eyes after he mentioned he was working for Mikhail.