Paragon of Destruction

The first thing Arran did when he returned to the camp was to take a thorough bath.

In the three months he’d spent training, he’d barely even paused to have a proper meal, much less bathe properly. His skill had benefited greatly from the effort, but the same could not be said for his smell.

Yet half an hour of vigorous scrubbing remedied this problem, and when Arran was confident that the stench of stale sweat was entirely gone, he headed into the camp.

He’d barely set foot inside the camp during the previous months, and when he had, his mind had been too consumed with training for him to pay much attention to the goings-on.

But now, his training was over, with nothing left to do but wait. And as he waited for the blacksmiths to arrive, he walked around the camp, striking up conversations with the mercenaries who were still present.

From what they said, Arran surmised that Kaleesh had been no less busy than he.

Much to the mercenaries’ dismay, the captain had spent hours each day drilling them in spear formations, as diligent as he was demanding in preparing them for the battles ahead.

Arran listened attentively, knowing that if even these men and women complained, the captain’s training must have been particularly harsh.

After all, these were the ones who had chosen to accompany him into the Desolation — his most loyal followers, each of them prepared to face death at their leader’s side.

He spotted a familiar face, as well — Ervin, the older man whom Kaleesh had appointed as Arran’s sergeant. And at Ervin’s side, he saw a youth who’d been among the group of borderlanders he had commanded.

He’d believed all his troops had left, but it seemed that there was one among them who had decided to stay.

As he approached the two, Ervin gave him a friendly wave. "Good to see you, commander. I’d almost thought the earth had swallowed you."

"I was busy training," Arran replied. "And there’s no need to call me commander anymore. Unless I’m mistaken, only the two of you are left from my group."

Ervin smiled wryly. "So it would appear."

"Can’t say I blame them," Arran said with a shrug. "They came to the Imperium to find peace and safety, after all." He glanced at the youth next to Ervin, then added, "But it seems you’re the exception. What’s your name?"

"Saief, commander," the youth replied, giving Arran a bow that was slightly too polite.

"Call me Arran," Arran said. "Saief, is it? An unusual name, for the borderlands."

"It’s from the Empire, comm— Arran," the young man said. "That’s where my parents were born, before they moved to the borderlands."

"What brings you here?" Arran asked, his curiosity sparked after hearing of the young man’s background.

A sorrowful look crossed Saief’s face, and he replied, "My parents were killed when our village was attacked by a group of bandits. I was working as a caravan guard at the time, but when I returned to my home, I found only death."

Arran gave the youth a sympathetic look. The story was one much like his own, and he could not help but recall how he’d felt after losing his father. Even now, years later, the memory still felt like an open wound.

"Why did you decide to travel to the Desolation with us?" he asked.

Saief hesitated in answering, but after a moment, he said, "If it’s as dangerous as the captain claims, he wouldn’t go unless there was a reward to match the risk."

"Perhaps there is," Arran said, a small smile on his lips. He knew that the reward the youth sought was power.

Yet there was no chance for him to ask any further questions, because just then, he heard Kaleesh’s voice.

"Arran! Get over here!"

With a quick goodbye, Arran hurried off in the direction of the captain’s voice, where he found both Kaleesh and Sassun looking at a large column of guards that had just reached the camp’s entrance.

"They’re here," the captain said in a cheerful tone. "And right on time, too."

After giving the column of guards a quick examination, Arran saw that although it held several Rangers, there were no Knights. Instead, it seemed the blacksmiths had chosen strength in numbers, as there were well over two hundred guards present.

Among the guards, Arran spotted the burly blacksmith he’d met three months earlier. And when the man noticed their small group, he hurried over immediately.

"Master Kaleesh!" he exclaimed in greeting, his voice excited.

The captain gave him a polite nod. "Your punctuality does you credit. And from your expression, I take it you succeeded?"

The blacksmith grinned broadly. "Of course. We have everything you required, and I think you’ll be most pleased with the results."

"Let’s see if you’re right," Kaleesh replied, in a calm voice that nevertheless could not fully hide his excitement.

It was obvious that he’d been filled with anticipation at this day, and now that it had come, he looked every bit as impatient as a child awaiting his birthday gifts.

"Of course," the blacksmith said. "Follow me."

He led them to the group of guards without delay, clearly sensing that the captain had little interest in exchanging further pleasantries.

As they approached, Arran saw that among the guards stood half a dozen heavy carts — the captain’s new treasures.

When they reached the first of the carts, the burly blacksmith pulled aside the large sheet of oilcloth that covered it at once, revealing that it was full of starmetal swords.

Although Arran had already Sensed that the cart was full of starmetal, the sight of fifty masterfully crafted starmetal swords still filled him with a sense of awe. He knew that each of these weapons was worth a fortune, and fifty of them represented a priceless treasure.

Kaleesh took one of the swords from the cart, then gave it a few practice swings. At once, a broad grin appeared on his face.

"It’s good," he said. "Better than I expected, even. Sassun, Arran, give them a try."

Arran did as the captain said, picking a sword from the cart at random and swinging it around a few times.

At once, he knew the weapon was a masterpiece. Its balance was perfect, and although he gave it a thorough inspection, he failed to find even a single flaw.

It was a weapon fit for a king — and one of fifty just like it.

The next two carts were filled with spears. Here, Arran lacked the knowledge to judge the weapons’ quality, but from Kaleesh’s pleased expression, he could tell that these weapons were every bit as good as the swords.

"You used ebonwood for the shafts," Kaleesh said as he inspected one of the spears. "That must have cost a pretty penny."

"A gift from Lord Rannoc," the blacksmith said.

"Then I owe him a debt of gratitude," the captain said, though his expression was thoughtful — almost as if he didn’t know whether or not to be pleased with the gift.

The next cart they inspected held armor, and although Arran gazed at it with wide-eyed enthusiasm, a deep frown crossed Kaleesh’s face as he held up a breastplate.

He faced the blacksmith, then pointed at a sigil etched into the upper left corner of the breastplate. "What is this?"

When Arran looked at the sigil, he saw that it featured a stylized wolf’s head, with two crossed swords beneath it.

"Lord Rannoc requested it," the blacksmith replied, a hint of worry in his eyes as he looked at the captain. "He assured us you would appreciate it."

Kaleesh, however, looked not the least bit appreciative. Rather, his expression was troubled, as if he’d encountered an unforeseen obstacle.

"Do we have a problem?" Arran asked.

"Not exactly," the captain replied. "This sigil... I assume the wolf’s head is meant to represent the Wolfsblood Company. But do you see the crossed swords beneath it? That’s Rannoc’s mark."

Arran frowned. "So what does it mean?"

"It means," Kaleesh began, "that Rannoc has marked us as his allies. That will offer us protection, and fend off any questions about how we acquired such riches. But..."

"But his enemies will think us their enemies, as well," Arran said, now understanding the problem.

Kaleesh nodded. "Exactly. And it also means that we’ll have a harder time steering clear of Darian politics." He sighed. "But I suppose the protection should outweigh the risk. And either way, it’s too late to change it."

The burly blacksmith had listened intently as they spoke, and when he heard the captain would accept the armor, he let out a small sigh of relief.

The next few carts contained armor, as well, and although all of it bore Rannoc’s mark, Arran saw that it was every bit as masterfully crafted as the swords had been.

While it couldn’t quite match Knights’ armor, the difference was small enough that he knew it represented yet another fortune. And once more, there was enough of it to equip fifty soldiers.

But as he perused the armor-filled carts, Kaleesh turned to the blacksmith. "What about the final piece?" he asked. "Did you bring it?"

At this, the blacksmith gave an uncomfortable nod. "I did, but..." He hesitated before continuing, an uneasy expression on his face. Finally, he went on, "We made it exactly as you requested, but I fear it will be useless. The weight is just too much for a single man to carry, much less wield as a weapon."

Arran looked at Kaleesh, his eyes widening with surprise when he realized what the captain had ordered the blacksmiths to craft for him.

Kaleesh responded to his surprised look with a wide grin. He glanced at the blacksmith, then said, "What are you waiting for? Show him his new weapon!"

A look of confusion crossed the man’s face as he stared at Arran. "That weapon is yours?"

"It seems that way," Arran replied. "Where is it?"

The burly man hurriedly led Arran to the final cart, and when he pulled the burlap sheet that covered it, Arran looked at its contents in wonder.

Within the cart lay a giant starmetal sword — large enough that it almost looked ridiculous. It lacked any trace of elegance or grace, instead carrying an aura of ruthless function.

Arran picked up the sword immediately, and as he did, he could not help but marvel at the weight. Made of starmetal, it was many times heavier than his other giant sword, heavier than even most Body Refiners could carry.

Yet as Arran swung the weapon around, he instantly found himself enthralled with its destructive heft. It was a weapon forged for devastation, created to crush and shatter all that came before it.

"I take it you like it?" the captain asked, amusement in his eyes.

"I do," Arran replied. "But... the starmetal in this..."

"Would be enough to buy a small town," Kaleesh said. "Or maybe one not so small. You should name it."

"Name it?" Arran gave the captain a puzzled look.

"A weapon like this deserves a good name," the captain replied. "Godsbane, perhaps? It certainly looks up to the task."

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