The King's sword

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As Ronan lifted the finished sword, light from the small window in his workshop bounced along the smooth white blade. Made entirely of rare Hadenla metal that was only mined from the peaks of the Genelle Mountains, the weapon was a masterpiece of fluent lines and simple elegance. Ronan smiled with satisfaction as he turned the blade against his calloused hands in appreciation of his hard work. He’d done well.

He’d been chosen to make the King’s Sword months ago for the newly named king. The assignment had come as a surprise to him. While he was confident in his skill level as a blacksmith, he’d not realized that word of his work had travelled as far as Merisgale. The guard that had delivered the unique metal and the summons of work told him that the young king had requested Ronan by name. It had filled him with pride of having his work acknowledged by a wizard king.

“Master Culley?” Young Arien’s cracking voice caused Ronan to wince from his thoughts. Wishing desperately that the plague of puberty would have pity on his ears, Ronan turned to face the boy he’d hired on only a few months prior.

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