CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Edinburgh’s district for cattle and horses was called, appropriately, the Cow Market area, and it was in this district not far from the castle where Andrew found what he was looking for.
He needed a blacksmith; but not any blacksmith. He was looking for a man who specialized in weapons because, for what he was about to enter in to, he needed something better and stronger than the weapons he already had.
He needed a giant killer.
Seeing his brother with his army from Haldane hadn’t been the life-changing experience Andrew thought it would be. He thought he would feel a surge of unmitigated hate and anger, foaming at the mouth and all that. But he hadn’t. The hate and anger he’d always had was there, but it didn’t surge. Instead, he felt some kind of odd satisfaction at the sight of Alphonse, as if he had once again sighted the reason for the turmoil and was pleased to see no one else had killed the man yet. That privilege was reserved for the one he’d done the most damage to.
Andrew.
The Street of the Blacksmiths in the Cow Market was more like an alleyway. It was hot and full of steam and smoke, impure air, and the alley ran with dirty water and slag from the anvils. Andrew wandered down the street, looking at each man’s stall, seeing what they were doing and what they specialized in.
Every smithy specialized in something. One man was making chainmail while another was working on something that looked like fire pokers. Still another was working on shields, which he had hung up along the eaves of his stall to advertise.
Andrew paused to look at the shields, as they were very well made. When the smithy came to talk to him to see if he could sell him a shield, he and Andrew began to engage in conversation about weapons as well. The smithy didn’t make weapons, but he knew who did, and Andrew spent almost an hour with the shield smithy because he appreciated the man’s work and inspected every one of the shields he’d already made. He found one he liked a great deal; a big tri-corner shield that was lightweight but extremely durable. When he purchased it for a good price, the shield smithy was more than happy to take him down the row of stalls to the man who produced the weapons.
And what weapons they were.
Andrew had seen many weapons in his life and he knew excellent craftsmanship when he saw it. The weapon’s smithy had beautifully made daggers on display, on tables that were surrounded by heavily-armed men to protect the wares, but as much as Andrew admired the daggers, he was more interested in broadswords.
The smithy was not Scottish nor English, but from across the sea, where he had learned his trade. Tyre, he’d told Andrew, and when he brought forth the first of four big broadswords for Andrew to inspect, he pointed out the wavy steel patterns of Damascus steel, a secret he’d brought with him from the Holy Land.
Andrew was awed. He’d heard of Damascus steel, but he’d never seen it. And, already, he knew he was going to purchase a broadsword from this man. Damascus steel was the strongest, most durable steel in the known world and Andrew very much wanted a weapon forged of such material. Perhaps it would be that giant-killer he was looking for.
The first three broadswords were magnificent in size and craftsmanship, but they weren’t exactly what Andrew was looking for. Then the man, called Abe, brought forth the last sword he had – a massive weapon with one razor-sharp straight edge and the other edge serrated, like viper’s teeth. Andrew fell in love with the sword the moment he put his hands on it.
This was what he’d been looking for.
It was a spectacular piece and extremely expensive, but price was no object. In fact, Andrew paid Abe for it before he even took it into an open area next to the stall to test it out. Six gold coins ended up in Abe’s palm as Andrew took the sword and began moving it around, swinging it, becoming accustomed to the weight of it. One of Abe’s heavily-armed guards came out with another sword so Andrew could practice the use of the sword against the man.
There was some gentle parrying and thrusting against each other as Andrew quickly became adept with the sword, which was magnificently balanced and surprisingly lightweight for such a weapon. The swords clanged against each other but when Andrew would stop to inspect the blade to see if it was damaged, there was no such blemish on the steel. Damascus steel was nearly impervious to nicks or scratches. Andrew ran a careful finger over the blade with satisfaction.
“Abe,” he said. “You are a master at your craft. I cannot believe I did not know you were here in Edinburgh. I thought I knew where all of the good weapon craftsmen were.”
Abe, short and old and wrinkled, with enormous shoulders and biceps from years of hammering steel, grinned.
“I have been here for many years, young knight,” he said in his heavily-accented voice. “Where have you been?”
Andrew chuckled. “Everywhere,” he said. “My army and I are paid very well to fight other men’s battles, and we go everywhere.”
Abe watched him as he swung the sword around casually, adjusting to the weight. “But you have not been to Edinburgh.”
Andrew’s smile faded. “Nay,” he said. “Not until now.”
“And now you intend to fight another man’s battle?”
Andrew shook his head. “I am here to fight my own battle.”
Abe could see the change in his expression. “It must be a serious battle.”
“It is.”
Abe was an old man, wise with years and experience. He sensed this strong, young knight was not about to fight a battle for his own pleasure. There was something more behind the man’s eyes, something quite serious.
Normally, Abe did business with only the elite of Scotland. He even had English lords that traveled all the way from their homes to purchase his wares. Many of these men simply put the swords on the wall and never used them, but this man was different – clearly, he knew how to use a sword, and he fully intended to do so. It wouldn’t simply be a trophy piece for him. And the man had a good knowledge of metal and weaponry, as Abe had discovered during the course of their conversation. But he seemed most serious about purchasing this sword, showing there was only one purpose for it.
As if it were only meant for one thing, one event.
“Come, Andrew,” Abe said, calling him by name because Andrew had introduced himself at the beginning of their business. “Come and sit with me. We must speak.”
Andrew stopped swinging the sword around and came into the stall again, sitting on a stool as indicated by Abe. It was dim and hot in the stall, as two of Abe’s sons operated the anvil. They were hammering away at something, working on another weapon perhaps, but Andrew had what he’d come for so he wasn’t paying attention. As he placed his sword carefully on the table next to him, Abe’s wife came forward with a tray of refreshments.
The woman was wrapped from head to toe in dark fabric that resembled something Justine might wear. It covered her head, her body, and part of her face. She set a tray down in front of her husband, a steaming metal pitcher and two metal cups, most likely pewter. Abe poured something hot from the pitcher into the cups, handing Andrew one of them.
“Drink,” he said. “Tell me why you have purchased my finest weapon. What is this battle you must fight?”
Andrew sipped at the hot drink, discovering it to be minty and sweet with apples. He rather liked the old man, who had been kind and helpful, and didn’t much mind the question. But he wasn’t sure he intended to answer it.
“All men have battles they must fight, Abe,” he said, pronouncing the man’s name as “Ah-bay”, the way the old man had. “Does it truly matter?”
Abe shook his head. “It does not,” he said. “But I have six sons. I have lost two to battles they were sworn to fight. I sense that there is more to your battle than simple obligation and it worries me.”
Andrew smiled faintly as he sipped at the very hot brew. “Why? You create weapons, Abe. You know men purchase them because they must fight battles. Why should I worry you so?”
Abe sipped at his own brew. “Tell me of yourself, Andrew,” he said. “You said you are paid a great deal of money to fight other men’s battles. That makes you a mercenary.”
Andrew nodded slowly. “It does, indeed,” he said. “I have been a mercenary for many years.”
“Are you successful at it?”
Andrew laughed. “I must be if I paid you six gold crowns for this magnificent weapon,” he said. Then, he sobered. “The battle I must fight has been a very long time in coming and no one is paying me to fight it. It is one of my own choosing.”
“Who must you fight?”
“I must kill my brother.”
Abe blinked, perhaps hit by the impact of those words. “I see,” he said, concern in his voice. “May I ask why?”
Andrew didn’t see any real harm in telling the old man at this point. “Because he is a vile, wicked creature,” he said. “When my father died, he inherited my father’s lands and title. He imprisoned my mother and banished me, but I always remembered. My brother has enacted many evils in his life and I must stop him.”
Abe looked rather sad to hear all of it. “Why did he send you away?”
Andrew shrugged. “Because I was alive,” he said simply. “I was a threat, I suppose. I was very young at the time and clearly no threat, but my brother did not see it that way. I think I was lucky to escape with my life.”
“And you became a mercenary.”
“I did what I had to do in order to survive.”
Abe nodded in understanding. “So you were chased from your home and you have spent all of these years waiting to seek revenge,” he said. “But why now?”
Andrew smiled, but it was without humor. “Because I was betrothed to a woman I love,” he said. “She is a cousin to the king, and the king sought to make an alliance with my brother, who is a powerful border lord. He dissolved my betrothal and pledged the woman I love to my brother. I cannot allow him to marry her. For that reason, and for the slight against me and my mother, I must kill him.”
Abe’s bushy eyebrows lifted as a horrible story came to light. He felt sorry for Andrew. “Then you have a terrible burden to bear, my friend.”
Andrew looked at the sword lying on the table, the magnificent piece with a dreadful destiny. “I do not know how terrible it is. I only know that it is my burden. It has always been my burden. But it is something that shall soon be lifted.”
Abe looked at the sword because Andrew was. Something ironic occurred to him as he gazed at the nasty blade.
“Then you have selected the right weapon for such a destiny,” he said.
Andrew looked at him. “Why would you say that?”
Abe’s gaze drifted away from the blade, now looking at Andrew with his black eyes. “Because I name all of my weapons,” he said. “Like children, I am their father because I gave them life, so I name them all. This weapon was christened qatal alshyatin.”
“What does that mean?”
“Demon Slayer.”
Andrew was struck by the appropriateness of that name. He returned his attention to the sword, seeing it in a whole new light. Demon Slayer. Reaching out, he picked it up, holding it vertically so he could once again inspect the blade.
It was the blade that would free him.
“It will, indeed, slay a demon,” he muttered. “This blade will destroy the burden that has dogged me all of these years.”
Abe watched Andrew’s face as he studied the steel. Amidst all of the vengeance, he thought he might have seen a ray of hope flickering in the man’s eyes.
“Andrew?”
“Aye, Abe?”
“When you have finished with your brother, will you send word that you have survived as well?”
Andrew looked at him, hearing concern in the old man’s voice. It was strange, he thought, considering he’d just met the man, that he should be concerned for him. But it also reminded him that there were kind and genuine people in the world who did care for the fate of strangers. And with that, Abe became something of a concern to him, as well.
“I will,” he said. “And from now on, I shall only do my business with you, Abe. We share a bond, you and I. With this great weapon, you have made it possible for me to achieve what I have needed to achieve all of these years.”
Abe simply nodded. Leaning forward, he put a meaty, dirty hand on Andrew’s arm. “I hope you find peace, Andrew,” he said. “That is what I pray for you. Peace.”
Truth was, Andrew prayed for peace as well. He hoped that killing Alphonse would finally give him what he sought but, as he’d seen so many times with men bent on vengeance, sometimes being successful in their revenge left them empty, as if the revenge had become such a part of them that it was difficult to find that peace once the vengeance was gone. Some men needed that hatred in them simply to survive.
Andrew didn’t think he was one of those men but, soon enough, he would find out.
Soon enough, he would know.