The First King of Shannara

He stared at the sword now, stunned. It was the most singular piece of workmanship he had ever encountered. Even the smeared glass and the poor light could not hide the high sheen of the blade’s polished surface or the keenness of its edge. The sword was huge, seemingly too large for an average man. Intricate scrollwork had been carved into the great hilt, a montage of serpents and castles overlaid on a forest background. There were other, smaller blades, equally cunning and fine, forged by the same hands, if Kinson did not miss his guess, but it was the sword that held him spellbound.

“Sorry, I’m closing up,” the shopkeeper announced, beginning to extinguish the lamps at the rear of his worn but surprisingly clean establishment. There were blades of every kind — swords, daggers, dirks, axes, pikes, and others too numerous to count, mounted on every wall, on every available surface, in cases and racks. Kinson took them all in at a glance, but his eyes kept coming back to the sword.

“I won’t take a minute,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to ask a question.”

The shopkeeper sighed and walked over. He was lean and wiry, with muscular arms and strong hands. He moved easily as he approached Kinson, and it looked as if he could handle a blade himself if the need arose. “You want to ask about the sword, am I right?”

Kinson smiled. “I do. How did you know?”

The shopkeeper shrugged, running his hand through thinning dark hair. “I saw where your eyes traveled when you walked through the door. Besides, everyone asks about the sword. How can they not? As wondrous a piece of workmanship as you’ll find in all the Four Lands. Very valuable.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Kinson said. “I suppose that’s why you still have it for sale.”

The shopkeeper laughed. “Oh, it’s not for sale. It’s just for display. It belongs to me. I wouldn’t sell it for all the gold in Dechtera or any other city. Craftsmanship of that sort can’t be bought and only rarely can it be found.”

Kinson nodded. “It is a fine blade. But it would take a strong man to wield it.”

“Such as yourself?” the shopkeeper asked, arching one eyebrow.

Kinson pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I think it is too big even for me. Look at its length.”

“Ha!” The shopkeeper seemed amused. “Everyone thinks the same! That is the wonder of the blade. Look, it has been a long day and I am tired. But I will show you a little secret. If you like what you see, maybe you will buy something and make the time I spend with you worth my while. Fair enough?”

Kinson nodded. The shopkeeper walked to the display window, reached down under the casing, and released something. There was a series of audible clicks. Then he took away a chain cleverly looped about the handle to secure the great sword to its mount.

Carefully he lifted the blade down. He turned, grinning broadly, and held the weapon out before him, balancing it in his hands — easily, as if it had no weight at all.

Kinson stared in disbelief. The shopkeeper laughed in recognition, and then he passed the sword to the Borderman. Kinson took it from him, and his amazement grew. The sword was so light that he could hold it in one hand.

“How is this possible?” he breathed, bringing the shining blade up before his eyes, dazzled by its ease of handling as much as by its workmanship. He looked at the shopkeeper quickly. “It can have no strength if it is this light!”

“It is the strongest piece of metal you will ever encounter, my friend,” the shopkeeper announced. “The mix of metals and the tempering of the alloy make it stronger than iron and as light as tin. There is no other like it. Here, let me show you something else.”

He retrieved the sword from a wondering Kinson and restored it to its case, resecuring the locks and chain that held it in place.

Then he reached farther in and brought out a knife, the blade alone fully twenty inches long, carved with the same intricate scrollwork, clearly crafted by the same skilled hands.

“This is the blade for you,” the shopkeeper declared softly and passed it to Kinson with a smile. “This is what I would sell you.”

It was as wondrous as the sword, if not so impressive in size.

Kinson was immediately entranced. Light, perfectly balanced, finely wrought, sharp as a cat’s claw, the knife was a weapon of impossible beauty and strength. Kinson smiled in recognition of the blade’s worth, and the shopkeeper smiled back. Kinson asked the cost, and the shopkeeper told him. They bargained for a few minutes, and a deal was struck. It cost Kinson almost every coin he had, which was a considerable sum, but he did not once think to walk away.

Kinson stuck the knife and its sheath in his belt, where the blade rested comfortably against his hip. “My thanks,” he offered. “It was a good choice.”

“It is my business to know,” the shopkeeper demurred.

“I still have my question to ask,” Kinson said as the other moved to show him out.

“Ah, that’s right. Your question. Haven’t I answered it? I thought it was about the sword that you ...?”

“It is about the sword, indeed,” Kinson interrupted, looking at the blade once more. “But another sword. I have a friend who is in need of such a weapon, but he would have it forged according to his own specifications. The task will require a master smith. The man who made your sword seems right for the job.”