Part One
By Gestalt

Reprinted with permission.
(Under revision)
Added 07/21/2002.

The young boy pounds along the rutted dirt path, each stride of his frantic flight lifting small plumes of dust into the lifeless air. Runnels of sweat streak his broad face, revealing a slight bluish cast to the skin beneath the grime. Large, powerful, three-fingered hands clench into fists, his arms pumping as he tops a rise and hurls his stocky form down the gentle slope towards the cluster of buildings below.

Hadalin frowns down at his latest consignment, a wicked long sword, flared at the end into two opposing points. He has only just received the weapon from a brawny lugian swordsman, who wanted some minor enhancements. The most common enhancement Hadalin added to a weapon was a fairly simple spell to make the blade almost preternaturally sharp, until the spell faded. This warrior wasn't interested in sharp though, claiming he had yet to encounter a defense he couldn't bull his way through with sheer strength. No, he wanted a speed enhancement, an attempt to compensate for a potentially deadly weakness. Hadalin had suggested a fairly simple spell of weight reduction, but the lugian had asked for something more, he wanted something that would actually enhance his reaction time, as well as the speed of his swing.

"Keric," says Hadalin. Keric looks up from his work, the repair of a shortsword that suffered a stress fracture down the length of the blade.

"Master Hadalin?" the young journeyman asks respectfully.

"I need to add a fairly complex reflex enhancement spell to this sword, but I would like to combine it with a basic weight reduction spell. It occurred to me that the two spells would mesh easier if I had someone to create and maintain the weight reduction charm. It would allow me to weave the foundation of the reflex spell directly into the essence of the weight reduction spell, possibly increasing the duration of the resulting effect."

"Interesting idea, sir. Of course I will help you. I would be very interested in seeing how this turns out." Keric places the shortsword on his worktable, careful to avoid adding more tension to the fragile blade, and makes his away across the cluttered shop. He studies the long sword for a moment, then, "I'm ready to begin at your convenience Master Hadalin."

"Proceed."

Keric raises his hands in front of him, fingers slightly splayed, one palm up, one palm down, takes a deep breath, and slowly releases it, sinking into a near trance state as his mind reaches for the abundant essence in the ley lines that converge beneath the crafters shop. A pale green light slowly blossoms from the center of each hand, and smoothly expands to cover each finger. A slight flare originates at the tip of each finger and thumb, and tendrils of eldritch energy haltingly extend from his hands.

Hadalin frowns, "Keep it simple journeyman, a six strand weave is more than sufficient for my needs."

Immediately, the tendrils originating from the thumb and forefinger of each hand recede and fade, leaving six active strands of power.

"Strengthen your foundation. Your weave seems a little weak."

Keric concentrates on his bond to the ley line nexus, widening the link and mentally reinforcing the channel of power, shoring up any weak points he found. The tendrils of energy emanating from his hands pulse once and intensify; expanding slightly, the color deepening from a pale green to a translucent, shimmering jade. An expression of intense concentration slowly establishes itself on his earnest young face, as the six strands slowly begin to lengthen, gently entwining, flowing into an intricate pattern as they drop towards the hilt of the longsword. At the first touch of power, the sword languidly raises off the table, allowing the weave to encompass it hilt first. Power moves fluidly over the sword, and as the strands meet at the end of the blade, they begin to meld. Small fragments of essense begin to drop off the sword, taking on the shape and characteristics of feathers as they drift to the table and floor. Power dwindles from his fingers as the enchantment nears completion. The enchantment normally requires him to tie off at both ends, but he leaves off and looks expectantly at Hadalin.

"Good. Hold it there, I'll use the end you've left open as my starting point." Hadalin's open right hand hovers face-down over the hilt of the sword, then comes alive with a crackle of sapphire power, and a single incandescent rope writhes down and into the green weave at the hilt. Separating into twelve small threads that begin to grow at a stunning speed, they form a complex pattern within and around the structure woven by Keric, complementing and enhancing the jade energy until a matrix of breathtaking beauty envelops the weapon.

"Master Hadalin! Master!" bawls a young lugian boy as he skids to a stop just outside the open door of the shop. Keric yelps in surprise and releases the essence in a shower of green sparks. Hadalin frowns at him, drops his link as well, and turns to the boy.

"No need to bellow Lom," chided Hadalin. "What can I do for you?"

Lom puts one hand out and leans on the doorframe, his chest heaving, lungs working like a bellows. He gasps for breath for a few seconds, struggling to speak. Finally, "Master... Hadalin! Out in... the... lower fields! Near... the river!"

"Slow down apprentice! Catch your breath, take your time. What's in the lower fields?"

Lom shakes his head violently, refusing to rest, "A man! Hurt... hurt bad... said... attacked by a... a reedshark!"

Hadalin's face turns grim, "A reedshark. That's bad news. I'd thought we'd hunted the last of those vicious beasts out of this area long ago. Well boy, run and get yourself a drink of water. But be quick! I'll need you to guide me back."

"Yessir!" He pushes himself off the doorjam and jogs towards the well.

"Keric, please ask Tev and Siri to head for the lower fields with a wagon. I'll go ahead to see what I can do for him." Hadalin removes his leather apron and looks appraisingly at a couple of forge hammers. He hefts one with a good balance and weight, and slips it through a loop in his belt.

"Master Hadalin, what of the reedshark? The wounded man may have driven it off, but it could come back, and worse, what if it's a pack?!"

"It's just a reedshark Keric, and likely wounded at that. If it was a pack, there would have been very little left of that man for Lom to find. Just make sure you get that wagon moving. Then return to your work!" He shrugs into a rigid leather jerkin, sweeps up his staff, then strides out the door, calling for Lom as he starts up the hill.

Hadalin pauses at the crest of the hill above the crafters hamlet, shading his eyes against the bright afternoon sun. Below him to the west, expansive fields of rye grass extend for miles, before giving way to the rolling foothills of distant mountains. To the east, swaths of lush pastureland add broad patches of verdant green on either side of the path. Small groves of birch dot the landscape, light green foliage contrasting against the surrounding land. Here and there a massive oak stands alone, solemnly presiding over all in its shadow. A gentle breeze rises, blowing from the river and across the fields of rye, creating vast, rippling waves as the stalks bend and rustle under the tender caress of wind. A soft lowing rides the air, as distant auroch move towards the river at a sedate pace. Lom has stopped nearby, looking at him expectantly.

"Well let's go boy, we've a ways to go." He shifts his staff to a more comfortable grip, holding the stout length of wood near parallel to the ground, and sets out down the dirt path, which cuts through the pasture land to the river.