“Is it possible that the Illusionists have presence much farther than this?” he questioned.
“I can only hope not,” Alma said. “Why do you ask?”
“It may be nothing, but its robe looks familiar. I believe someone in Ganwin wore such a robe.”
“Ganwin…” This word seemed to strike a profound concern within Alma. “Are you sure of this?”
“No, I’m not sure.”
“If what you say is true, our biggest fears have been realized. Tell me: what caused you to flee Ganwin?”
Ing recounted the events that had occurred, beginning with the townsfolk’s skepticism about Salkar’s intentions and ending with his flight from his home, going into more detail on the matters he thought to be most important.
At the name Oxen Mollish, Alma seemed deeply interested. “Mollish—the royal family from the north. I have heard of them. The greed of King Turen and Queen Mare became their downfall and their son, who is most certainly this man you speak of, was rumored to be searching for a new kingdom to control.”
“A new kingdom to control?”
“Yes. The people would have nothing to do with a son of the two tyrants who cared naught for them. Therefore, he sought out a new domain. It is my guess that Slithzalien is playing some part in all this. But enough idle talk. We must find you a weapon. We should be near the forge where the mightiest blacksmith in all the land lives. He can make you a weapon worthy for our journey. You will not make it very far without any means to defend yourself. We must prepare you for what lies ahead.”
Chapter 6: Horwin, the Blacksmith
Ing and Alma saw the forge off in the distance. The blacksmith’s home was somewhat hidden in a small forest by a brook. Forget-me-knots bloomed here and there beside lilacs, lilies, and roses. Squirrels ran about through the clearing. Ing thought it looked like a nice place to live. His mind began to drift back to his days in Ganwin, under the safety of King Galfer. That time can never be taken from me, he thought to himself. It was a comforting notion; he let the memories blanket his mind, giving him an innate protection. In a soft chant, Alma began to sing to herself.
There once lived a blacksmith
Mightiest of all
He found his death beneath the falls.
The sound of rushing water,
brought the squirrels near,
And of his death, all did hear.
He bore two sons,
That would carry on his legacy,
Tombert and Felwin were their names,
And from them, mighty shields came
In forges they dwelt
They walked the earth, long ago,
And the sons of Erdwick they did know.
In a forest with autumn leaves,
Horwin dwells, the last of their kind,
The blacksmith continues the ancient bloodline.
His beard is thick,
His pride is strong,
His years will be long.
His hammer is grand,
The forge rings loud,
But he never attracts a crowd.
Horwin remembers the songs of his father,
Who sat by the brook with son and lovely daughter,
And now he is laid to rest.
Of the three heroes, he is the second,
The third still lives where the dark does creep,
The first was in the Forest while he was asleep.
Of Elwin and Felwin, Horwin longs to see,
His hands still work the ancient metal,
There is always tea upon the kettle.
He lives in quiet,
His home is quaint,
His hair is black with soot.
“That was a lovely song,” said Ing when she was finished. “I never knew you could sing so well. Promise me you'll sing for me another time.”
Alma blushed. “If you insist.”
The two companions walked towards the forge and the sound of the rushing waters drew nearer with every passing second. A burly man looked out of the round window positioned at the front of the hut and rushed out to meet them as they arrived.
He wore a long black apron that was tied around his waist. His hair was greasy and matted with sweat, the sign of hard work present.
“Alma, my dear!” shouted the blacksmith. “Alma Lifetree, I haven’t seen you ‘round these parts for many a day!” His voice was like thunder, booming and overbearing, yet comforting and soothing, like a soft melody being plucked upon a harp.
“I would like to introduce you to Horwin,” Alma said to Ing. “Horwin, this is Ing.”
“Horwin Yelts,” growled the man pleasantly as he shook Ing’s hand. “How do you do?” he said merrily. He had a bright smile on his face; Horwin was a giant of a man with meaty hands. A thick black beard hung down from his chin, his facial features hidden behind the mass of hairs. Horwin turned his gaze towards Alma. “I see you are a little taller than last we met,” he said.
“My companion needs a weapon,” replied Alma curtly, looking impatient and rather nervous.
“Straight to the point, I see,” Horwin said, tugging firmly on his tangled beard, smiling in an attempt to hide the fact that Alma had made him slightly upset. “I can forge a mighty sword, that I can. It will just take a few days. I hope you’re not in a hurry.”
“We will wait,” Alma said reluctantly.
“You’re welcome to stay at my humble abode,” the blacksmith responded.
“That would be nice,” said Ing with a smile. He felt bad for the man. The blacksmith seemed so happy to see Alma, but the feeling didn’t appear mutual.
Horwin shuffled over to the doorway of his home and led them inside. “Please, have some cider,” he said, pouring three glasses with a red liquid that smelled like roses blooming in the Spring. The scent tickled Ing’s nostrils pleasantly and made him crave for drink. Once the three of them sat down at the table, he eagerly gulped down the rich substance that filled the glass. “Dark are the days that an ancestor of Elwin must create a sword to combat evil. It was my wish that
