Someone who knew little of swords might not think this one was very impressive. No jewels encrusted on the hilt. No gold filigree. No special etchings on the blade.

But Xerxes could tell just by looking at it that the craftsmanship was superb. For one thing, it was made of steel, and Mannemid didn’t produce steel.

“The blade’s nine ‘ands, one and a ‘alf fingers in length,” the old man said. “Grip, two ‘ands and one finger. Feel for yourself how ‘eavy it is.” He offered it to Xerxes with two hands.

Xerxes took it and felt it for weight, then gripped it with one hand to test for balance. “Very nice,” he said.

“Indeed. According to the story I was told, this blade once belonged to a famous swordsman from Sin-Amuhhu, who used it to slay no less than fifteen bandits on the road from….”

Xerxes tuned out the story and focused instead on the blade. The term “Sighted” wasn’t figurative. Those within whom magic had awakened could see everything related to melam energy, including both spells and spell formations, the latter being essentially permanently cast spells. They could also see things that were normally hidden to the naked eye, whether poison in food or doorways cleverly disguised as bookcases.

Xerxes sent his sight into the weapon, examining every aspect of it. Spell formations were exceedingly rare, so he didn’t expect to find one in the sword. But if there was one….

After a moment, he exhaled softly in disappointment. There was no spell formation, which meant the sword wasn’t magical.

Even still, it was the work of a master craftsman. That much he could tell just from the quality of the steel. All in all, it made his current weapon seem…. ordinary.

“... and ‘e ‘eld the gate for twelve hours,” the old man was saying, “until the carcasses of the enemy piled like mountains on either side of ‘im…”

The shop was too cramped, and the sword too large, to swing it around. But Xerxes was able to heft it. The more he held the thing, the more he could envision himself wielding it in a duel or on the battlefield. It was almost like it was made for him.

“I get the picture,” he said, interrupting the old man’s story and handing the sword back to him. In all likelihood, the tale the old man had been spinning was a fabrication. If not in whole, definitely in part. But that didn’t change the fact that the workmanship was superb. “It’s an incredible blade. How much are you asking for it?”

“Twenty shekels,” the man answered. “A steal, if you ask me, but I do need to get rid of it eventually.”

Xerxes’s lips tightened into a grimace. His own father currently earned thirty-six shekels per month, and that was high for someone of his position. After all, he worked directly under Gandash’s father in the political machine of the capital city, and Gandash’s father had pulled plenty of strings to get him a higher-than-average salary. Xerxes knew that, years ago, before he had been born, his father and mother had survived on less than fifteen shekels per month.

“That’s outrageous!” Gandash said. “Twenty shekels? That sword isn’t worth eight shekels, let alone twenty.”

The old man reacted with a pained expression. “Wrong, young man. If I sell it for twenty, I’ll hardly break even! Let me tell you about how I got it. It’s quite a tale….”

Xerxes and Bel looked on in amusement as Gandash proceeded into a heated negotiation. However, even after thirty minutes of haggling, the lowest price he could get was fifteen.

It was still far more than Xerxes could afford. “It’s a great sword,” he said, “but I’ll have to pass.”

“Your loss,” the old man said.

“Excuse us a moment,” Gandash said, then grabbed Xerxes by the arm and pulled him away from the counter. Lowering his voice, he said, “Xerk, it really is an amazing sword. You might not find anything like it without going to a higher starisle.”

“I agree,” Xerxes said. “But I can’t afford it. Simple as that.”

Gandash flashed a slightly irritated look. “Just pay what you can, and I’ll spot you the difference.”

Xerxes looked over to see Bel and the old man staring at him, and he felt a tiny spark of anger in his chest. He only had one shekel and a handful of minas, which was slightly more than he had paid for his current weapon. Even if he spent all of his pocket money right here and now, Gandash would have to chip in nearly fourteen shekels. Given that mage studies made it impossible to do steady work on the side, it meant Xerxes had to survive on whatever his father could send. In other words, paying back a loan of fourteen shekels could take years.

Trying to ignore the mounting embarrassment at being stared at by Bel and the shop owner, he shook his head. “No. Look, Gandash, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a sword. The one I have is fine enough.”

Gandash sagged dramatically. “Are you kidding me? It’s made from high quality steel! Even if it wasn’t forged on Sin-Amuhhu like the old man claims, it definitely comes from a higher starisle. Honestly, fifteen is a really good deal for something like that.”

Xerxes’ jaw tightened and he pulled his arm out of Gandash’s grasp. “I said no, alright? I’m not buying it!”

“What if I get it for you as an early birthday—”

“NO!” Xerxes yelled, then turned on his heel and walked out of the shop, slamming the door behind him.

“Asshole,” he muttered as he threw his hood over his head and stalked down the street, away from the town square. Along the way, he noticed a woodsman leaning against the side of an alley across the street, looking at him.

“Got a problem?” he growled, casting a glare at the man as he walked past. The man didn’t respond.

The rain had lessened, but the streets were no less dry, and the way he stamped through them caused flecks of mud to splatter his boots and the bottom of his cloak. Turning into an alley, he threaded his way through some smaller lanes before reaching a point where a rocky hill marked the northern edge of the town proper. He climbed the hill, stopping at the crest to look at the view beyond.

For about half a league, there was mostly open land peppered with occasional trees and boulders. Beyond that, the Yellow Forest took over.

Realizing the rain had stopped, Xerxes pulled his hood back and stared at the forest. He’d never traveled this far north in his life, so this was his first time seeing trees this tall and dense. According to what he’d been told, they got even bigger and taller the further you went into the depths of the forest. Despite its name, the place wasn’t yellow. Supposedly, it was called that because of tiny yellow flowers that bloomed in springtime on the vines that choked the lower levels. Right now, it was mid-autumn, and any such blooms were long gone.

Only a minute or two after arriving at the hilltop, he heard a noise and glanced back to see Bel climbing up toward him. He noticed her holding a bundle in both hands, and for a brief moment his temper flared as he thought it was the longsword. As she neared, he realized it wasn’t. The bundle was too short and thick.

Stupid, he thought. This mission traveling to the outskirts of the kingdom had been one of the most amazing things he’d done in his life so far. Why let things turn sour now?

Bel stopped next to him and took a deep breath. “Smells different compared to where I grew up, that’s for sure.”

“I imagine so,” he said. A moment passed. “Sorry for losing my temper.”

“No skin off my back. I think you caught Gandash by surprise though. He seemed… well anyway. You okay?”

“Yeah.” He laced his fingers together behind his neck and sighed. “It was dumb of me. But… it just pisses me off sometimes.”

“What does?”

“Gandash throwing money around all the time. It’s like he has no idea that not everybody in the world is rich.”

“He’s rich?” Bel asked curiously. “I honestly didn’t know.”

Xerxes shrugged. “Maybe not rich. But not poor, I can tell you that.”

She grunted in response.

They stood there for a few more minutes, looking at the clouds rolling over the forest. Finally, Bel said, “I have an idea.”