Haven Keep (Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

even the master blacksmiths praised.
    He drew the steel from the fire and laid it on the anvil.  His hammer rang out, over and over again.  The sense of creative power redoubled.  He worked with skills taught to him by the blacksmiths of Azmark.  Skills never taught to outsiders, until now.  He was the first and only foreigner to have learned them.
    Stories Von remembered from his childhood spoke of mythical blades from Azmark.  Blades said to be magical.  Azmarkian weapons were prized throughout the world and Von was learning to forge them.  They exceeded the craftsmanship of other nations so far that Von understood why many believed them magical.
    Azmark blacksmiths knew ancient secrets they guarded closely.  Tales claimed even greater secrets were now lost, that blades and armor from centuries ago actually were magic.  Von knew those were just stories.  Still a strange energy pulsed inside him as he pounded the steel.  The metal felt alive in his hands, almost as if contained within the techniques he used there actually was magic at work.
    Von knew nothing about magic, but he did know how to craft a fine blade, and he was continually improving.  He hoped to develop enough skill to one day forge a sword to rival the fabled Durendal, the legendary blade of the ancient lords of Azmark.  It was pure fantasy. That weapon was lost ages ago.  Maybe it never existed.
    Von’s father once owned a remarkable sword.  One prized above all his other possessions.  Von never thought it more than a masterfully crafted blade, a sword well suited for battle, but used mostly for ceremony.  Certainly nothing that would be called magical.  Von remembered it as the greatest sword he’d ever held, but now attributed those feelings to the fanciful thoughts of a little boy.  One who knew nothing of swords and sword craft.  He wagered he could forge a weapon just like it now.  Especially if he used the steel from the cave.
    The energy and power he often felt when working in the forge grew within him, stronger than ever before.  The metal sang to him, he was one with the hammer, the anvil, the forge.  This would be a master piece.  He could feel it, he knew it.  Dell and Reece would be pleased when Von presented them with these prizes.
    He pounded the metal, folded it, again and again.  The power built within him, became a song, built in tempo, built in volume.
    He worked in the forge fires with skill and artistry, drawing upon all that was taught him in his years of training, blending the techniques together, changing them slightly, making them his own. He worked by instinct, sheer talent, incorporating all the brawn, force, power, energy, speed he could muster.
    The power was growing.  Building to a climax.  Each hammer stroke continued the song.  It sang to him a melody, one of his own making.  He laid a pattern into the metal.  Layer after invisible layer.  Each building upon the other.  Fitting perfectly into an intricate puzzle.
    “What’s going on here?”
    The voice startled Von.  He whirled around.
    Berkler stood just a few paces away.  The man possessed the face of a weasel and Von often thought of him as such.  There was not much left of his sand colored hair, and his body was just as thin and appeared frail, but years working as a blacksmith had actually made him strong and wiry.  Those who thought Old Berk, as many called him, was weak did not know the man.
    “What’s going on here?” he repeated.
    “Nothing,” Von answered, shaken by the appearance of the man.  “I”m just working.”
    “On what?” Berkler demanded.
    “Just a dagger,” Von answered.
    Berkler scrutinized the dagger on the anvil then gazed back at Von.  “Doesn’t look too remarkable.  What kind of techniques are you using?”
    “Just what I’ve been shown,” Von said, not willing to share with Berkler the strange feeling that had overcome him.  He hoped Berkler didn’t look too closely at the dagger.  Berkler