Magi'i of Cyador

LVII

CYAD IS SWATHED in gray, the sun sending but a dim light across the city. The fog outside the master cupritor’s shop carries not only the scents of salt and the clamminess of the fog itself, but the acrid odors of acids and chaos-forming. The sounds of hammers and forges echo more loudly as Lorn, wearing the grayed waterproof, climbs the step to the narrow porch, where he wipes his boots.

After opening the door and stepping inside, Lorn closes it firmly behind him, walks forward, and waits at the countered half-door. When the young journeyman finally acknowledges him and approaches, Lorn shows the token he had received earlier and the Dyljani plaque. “I have come for the Brystan sword.”

The journeyman inclines his head but slightly. “The modified sabre is ready, and the master would have it out of his place, masterful though the work is.”

Lorn places the token and the five golds on the narrow counter-and two silvers.

The younger man takes the token, but leaves the coins on the polished wood and steps to the side and a rack that Lorn cannot fully see, returning with the sabre and the scabbard. He eases the weapon out of the scabbard for Lorn to see.

Lorn glances at it, in the manner of an enumerator unaware of and unconcerned with the intricacies of blades. “It looks as it should.”

“The master also rebalanced the blade and adjusted the scabbard for the additional thickness and the point. That meant some additional rivets.”

Lorn smiles, keeping the resignation from his lips, and adds another gold to the pile.

“We thank the house of Dyljani,” responds the journeyman.

“The house of Dyljani thanks you and master Wanyi.”Lorn bows, then wraps the weapon in the gray cotton and the oilcloth before leaving the shop.

As he walks eastward through the heavy fog toward the harbor, swathed in his gray waterproof, Lorn hopes that his investment of more than a year’s pay will provide what he needs.