Garola was a noisy place during the daytime, unlike the quiet streets of Rovert Erhan was so used to. His destination was the busiest part of the town, the Townsquare. The conversations of people, shouts of hawkers calling out their wares, and various other noises mingled in an incoherent jumble as he searched for what he needed. He wanted to finish his work as fast as he could to avoid the noise from increasing his headache further.

The caravan would still stay here for over a week or so but Erhan didn't want to stay that long. He had decided to travel to Valar by the river, taking a boat scheduled to leave after tomorrow. Now, First thing’s first, if it still exists, it should be around the town square.

Jewellery, textiles, bakeries, various small and large shops set up their business around the square. And among them, the noisiest one was Erhan’s goal, the building full of the music of hammer striking metal.

In Clover, the Ficrous family had one of the best metalworking techniques Erhan had seen. In this war-ridden land having a Ficrous blade meant a lot. The last time Erhan had come to Garola, through a series of unfortunate events, he’d made the acquaintance of Monmer Ficrous, the master of the smithy.

Now the generation must have changed, even the shop looked different now. The noise of metalworking came from further inside where the actual smithy lay. The outer portion of the building was a shop. Metal made household necessities hung from hooks and lay on shelves. Erhan noticed a surprising lack of war-related tools. Less than ten swords, spears, daggers lay scattered around the many farming tools filling the shop.

A lanky, shabby looking boy with red hair and dull blue eyes managed the counter. Seeing Erhan enter, he said in a careless tone, “what’d you need.”

“A sword,” Erhan said, glancing at the few weapons that were there. Not anything he wanted. He wanted a sword good enough to last for a time. Druidic arts come with risks, so having a good weapon in his hands would make a world of difference.

The boy picked his nose as he gestured towards the weapons in the room with his free hand. “Well, feel free to check them out then.”

Erhan raised his eyebrows. He was behind the times if this the new trend for managing shops. He walked towards the nearest sword took it off the self. A few light swings and he had his verdict. Disappointing.

Carelessly made, it may be adequate for a sword you’d pick up at a pawn shop, but it was an insult to even the cheapest Ficrous workmanship. He picked up a farming sickle hanging nearby and weighed it. A good product. At least, the smith put more care into making it than the blade. It had a blunt edge now, but he had no doubt the sharpened product would do its job well.

He put it down and looked towards the teen. “Don’t you have anything… better?” he asked.

The boy shrugged. “What you see here is what we got.”

“Well, they are not good enough,” said Erhan with a dismissive shake of his hand. “Especially for a Ficrous.”

The young shopkeeper leaned on the counter. “You came for the name? Yeah, we get a few of those every year.” he chuckled and pointed at the swords. “those are for them. Most of them can’t tell apart the broad side of the blade. You know your stuff though, don’t you?”

Erhan felt a twinge of Regret. “So the Ficrous name has fallen this far, huh?” he said. He wanted a good affordable sword for his journey ahead, but the lady luck wasn't on his side. The prices in the capital would be anything but affordable.

The boy sighed and raised his hand. “Look, The Ficrous hasn’t fallen, alright. My uncle is the master smith now and he works at the capital, my father holds the fort here. And look around you…” he spread his hand, indicating the plains outside. “Most folks around here are farmers. So weapons kind of don’t sell here.”

“Hmm…” Erhan looked up at the roof in thought. “What’s your name again?” he asked, looking at him.

“Why do you want to know my name?” the boy gave him a suspicious look. Then before Erhan could answer, he said, “It’s Arban Ficrous. And I don't care, so no need to tell me yours.”

Erhan clenched his fist. Control, control! Randomly beating up strangers wasn't a civilized thing to do. He smiled at Arban, inquiring, “would your father accept the request to make one.”

“Yeah, sure, Come back next week then. This week he’s got his hands full,” said Arban as he gave a nonchalant shake of his hand as if trying to ward off flies.

Erhan shook his head in disappointment. Of course, that won’t be possible. Even the caravan was only going to stop here for a week. And he was leaving earlier than that. He turned around and headed for the door.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Arban called out to him. As he turned his head, the boy said, “Are you by any chance heading for the capital?”

Erhan gave a tired nod.

“Hmm… if you’re tight on time, I think I have something for you.”

“Really? And what is this thing?” Erhan asked.

“Wait a moment,” Arban said, and bent down, disappearing under the counter. After nearly fifteen minutes, and a lot of clattering and clanging, he rose up, holding a three and a half feet long thing covered in dust and cobwebs that Erhan assumed was a sword. The boy blew on it, coughing a little at the rising dust cloud. A little golden glitter shone in the sunlight from the window where he had blown. A design of golden flower bud decorated a black surface.

"Ahem," The boy cleared his throat and took a dust cloth from a drawer. He cleared away all the dust from the shiny black scabbard covered in gilded vines. He held the long red dotted black hilt and drew half the blade. The straight double-edged blade showed no sign of age or neglect apparent from the dirt outside. The two-inch-wide silver-grey metal gleamed in the sunlight.

Erhan’s breath caught at the sight of it. A claymore. Comparable to the best swords he had seen in his entire life with an edge so sharp it might cut the very air apart. “How much?” Erhan blurted out, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

Arban put the sword back in its sheath and said with a grave expression, “It’s my grandfather’s memento so it’s not for sale.”

Erhan clenched his teeth. Ok, so maybe he didn’t expect that answer. Without wasting another word he turned around as he suspected he was only capable of cursing right now.

“Hey, wait! Let me finish my words,” The boy stopped him again.

Erhan took a deep breath and stopped, waiting for Arban’s last words.

“Well, although it’s something close to our heart, just for you, I’m willing to part with it for the measly sum of ten crowns.” Arban saw Erhan take another step towards the door. “However, seeing as you can’t afford that, I’ll settle for something else. I’ll give it to you as long as you do me a favour.”

Erhan turned and calmly looked at the boy. “What favour?” he asked.

Arban cast a furtive glance towards a door at one corner of the room. The sounds of rhythmic hammering came from beyond it. “You’re going to the capital for the quest, aren't you? The one her majesty the queen issued?”

“What if I am? What if I am not?”

Arban leaned towards him and whispered conspiratorially, “Take me with you.” he held out the sword towards Erhan. “Let me travel with you to Valar and it’s yours.”

“Why do you want me to go with you? Can’t you travel alone?”

Arban shrugged. “Father wouldn’t let me go to the capital. I think he has some… issues with my uncle.”

“you want me to convince him to let you go?" said Erhan as he shook his head. "I’m an outsider.”

Arban looked away from his eyes and muttered, “father doesn’t need to know.”

“Oh, so you intend to run away?” he nodded in understanding. “I see.”

“I’m not running away, just leaving quietly without him knowing, ” the youngster protested, shaking his head vigorously. He stopped glared at Erhan with defiant eyes. “Anyway, are you in or not?”

Erhan smiled. “Leaving quietly, is it?” He sighed and shook his head. “I can not take that responsibility.”

“Are you sure? I’d give the sword to you if you just take me there,” the boy said with some anxiety. He pulled out the sword again, this time fully, and said, “here, just look at it. It’s so beautiful.”

Erhan gave a quiet laugh. Did the boy think he is a child? However, he somewhat understood why Arban’s father didn’t allow him to travel alone even though he was over fifteen years old. Willing to run away with a stranger he just met on his own volition. It was beyond foolish.

Erhan sighed. No matter how magnificent, the sword’s fate didn’t lay with him. He was about to turn away and leave when a bunch of letters etched into the side of the blade caught the corner of his eye.

Was that his name there? He turned around again, but a disappointed looking Arban was already returning the blade to its sheath. Erhan thrust out his hand and caught Arban’s wrist.

Erhan started for a moment, then his voice turned outraged. “What are you doing? Are trying to rob me? Let- let go of me or I’ll call my father.”

Erhan let go of his hand and backed away a step. “Sorry,” he said with an awkward smile, “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but can you show the whole sword to me once again?”

Arban nose scrunched up in a disgruntled expression. “Why would I do that? You want it, pay for it,” he said while shaking his hand. Erhan’s grip had been quite painful.

Erhan drew a long breath. He looked at the boy’s eyes and said, “If you show it to me again, and if it is what I think it is, I’ll consider your request.”

Arban measured Erhan with his eyes. “Ok, see it, but if you do you anything suspicious, I’ll shout for my father,” he said as he drew up the sword halfway and held it before Erhan.

“The full length,” Erhan prompted.

Annoyed, Arban yanked out the whole three feet length of the blade. Erhan squinted and watched the stylized letters etched a handspan below the tip. ‘ “I name you Markreath, the Eternal flame. A gift to honour Sir Erhan Raiser, my benefactor and lifesaver”— Monmer Ficrous’.

Erhan laughed out loud. He couldn’t help it. A lot of pressure built up after Arya's death news Released itself at once.

Arban’s face changed. He scolded Erhan under his breath as he shoved the sword beneath the counter, “shut up, dammit! Stop being so loud. My father will kill me if he sees me take this sword out.”

Erhan stopped laughing and sighed. “Sorry,” he said.

Arban’s brows creased with anger. “What’s so funny? Care to share the joke with me before my father comes and kicks you out?”

Erhan ran his hand through his hair in half embarrassment and half amusement. “I am Erhan Raiser.”

Seeing Arban’s eyes opened round and wide was a satisfying experience.

Round lantern lights from the boats scattered throughout the river undulated over river Russet under the darkening evening sky, their reflections shattered and reformed like pieces of fiery crystal with the gentle flow of water. Chilly river breeze sent the hem of Erhan’s dark cloak flapping before him like a flag. Feeling a tug at his waist, Erhan looked down. The scabbard got caught a little bit in all the moving about of his cloak.

Erhan never thought it would take so much effort to convince someone that he was himself. Arban’s father Naveer’s hostile attitude had been predictable. Erhan didn't look like his father's generation. He had to perform a minor spiritcraft to fully convince them.

He looked behind him where Arban sat leaning on a big bundle, waiting for the boat with him. Erhan did keep his promise with the boy, but not by letting him run away. Convincing Naveer had been easy after revealing his identity. The boy’s bundle though, was almost four times Erhan’s satchel. Erhan had indeed taken on some burden.

Once again, Erhan looked down at the sword. Markreath or Eternal flame, in archaic language, it was the name of one of the lords of spirits. It isn’t a name you’d use lightly. But the name did fit the blade. Ten crowns… didn’t come close to the price of this masterpiece. Monmer poured his heart and soul into forging this sword. The accumulation on a master swordsmith's lifetime of effort, that alone made it priceless, but to top it off, Monmer used arberium to forge it. A metal so rare an ounce of it costs a thousand crowns, that is if someone does manage to find it.

He did save Monmer’s life in the past, but this was too much. Still, since it was a gift meant for him, and he needed a weapon, he didn’t have any reason to refuse.

A one masted vessel holding rows of swinging lanterns approached the pier where they waited. It was a small ship just a bit bigger than the biggest boats. Arban was nodding off, so Erhan poked him with his staff, waking him up.

“Ow!” Arban gave a start. “Damn, man, that hurts!” he said, rubbing his waist. “Can’t you wake me up gently?”

“The ship’s here, so get ready. We’ll spend the night on board before it leaves tomorrow,” said Erhan.he looked back and stared at Arban. “I assume you brought your own expenses?”

“Of Course. You don’t exactly give off an aura of wealth that I’d depend on you for money.”

Erhan nodded. Hmm, could he sew Arban’s mouth shut? Or was he going to have to endure it flapping around for the whole journey? That… might kill him.

As the ship closed the wharf and put down the sail. A man at the helm of it threw a thick rope towards two sturdy sailors standing on the pier. The men pulled the rope with all their strength, docking the vessel.

Erhan and Arban walked up the plank the shipmen put down. The bald dark-skinned man built like a bear standing at the helm owned this vessel. He came forward and greeted Erhan. “So, this is the young man who’d be travelling with us,” he said as he gave a vigorous clap on Arban’s back.

“Ow!” Arban cried out in surprise as he stumbled forward, He whirled around and glared back at the old sailor. “Are you trying to kill me, you old man?”

“C’mon kid, your spine will rust if I don’t hammer it a few times.” the sailor raised his broad, calloused hand again.

Erhan glanced from one of them to the other. “You both know each other,” he stated.

“Yeah, old man Han brings some goods for the shop. Ingot, ore and whatnot,” said Arban as he rubbed his back.

The old sailor Han looked at Erhan. “If you’re taking care of this kid, I don’t envy you.” He looked askew at the boy and said, “he’s got a real thorny mouth on him.”

Erhan gave a grave nod of agreement.

“Come, my cabin is this way.” Han put a hand on Arban’s back and walked towards the door of the cabin. “Though you’ll be sleeping with the sailors, we can still share a few drinks before that.”