A crowd of children surrounded the blacksmith shop. On the wooden steps sat a man in a white shirt stained with dust and soot. The children sat around him on the steps, perched on crates and on the bare ground. The townspeople passing by looked at the man with suspicion at first, but then smiled: a cheerful children's squeal and laughter were heard throughout the street.
"...then the young knight took out the magic sword from its scabbard and, swinging it, cut the rock in half!"
The boy, wide-eyed, followed the movement of the speaker's hand, as if he saw in it a magic sword from legend, and gasped. The children screamed with joy, and there was no empty space around the narrator at all: every child wanted to hear what happened next.
"Thick black smoke was coming out of the crevice in the clubs, and suddenly two fiery eyes appeared from the darkness!"
The children froze in anticipation, but the narration was interrupted by a strange voice.
"Hey, you!" shouted the middle-aged man to the narrator. "Stop messing around, better call your master and tell him that I came to him from the baron himself!"
"From the baron?" the man asked in surprise. "And as for the master, he is in front of you."
The man needled through the crowd, pushing the children aside and grumbling in displeasure.
"Oh, forgive me for being rude! I was so eager to see you that I completely forgot about politeness. Let's go inside: the case with which I have come to you will not tolerate other people's ears."
They entered the reception hall. Swords, sabers, hammers, and axes hung from the plastered walls, and ornaments sparkled on a table covered in dark green velvet in the center of the hall. The gentleman looked around the room, and his lips stretched into a pleased smirk. He sat down in the chair, which creaked under his weight, and loosened his belt.
"The Baron wishes you to take part in the smithing contest. His son's twentieth birthday is approaching, and the baron wants the most skilled craftsmen to forge a sword worthy of being a gift."
"Does he really distrust the guild's skills that much?"
"Wait, don't rush to guess. The Baron announced that the winner would become the new head of the blacksmith's guild and his personal master. Many have already started work, and .."
"I am not a member of the guild," the master interrupted him, "and I do not wish to be. And the head too."
"The Baron also said that if you refuse, then your modest association will become the property of the city, and you will be punished for non-payment of taxes and fees. You know that without the seal of the guild, you cannot sell a nail."
"However, I sell, and, moreover, very successfully. The Baron must not like it very much."
"You're right, he doesn't like it at all."
"Well, sir, if that is all the baron wanted to tell me, I will ask you to leave. My apprentices are waiting for me."
"So you're refusing?"
"Yes."
"Good, good. This is your business, of course, even the baron's words are not your decree. Do not be surprised if one day your workshop suffers from, for example, a fire. Have a nice day!"
Flushed with discontent, the man left, leaving behind a sagging chair. When the master went out onto the porch, the children surrounded him again. Someone handed him a basket of apples, and someone - flowers, some tried to give their toy or some multicolored bead. He accepted their gifts with a smile and thanked them by name.
"Forgive me, friends, but I will continue my story tomorrow. It's time for me to get to work, and you run home."
Master Morvain was the most respected and famous blacksmith of Sardast, a small town southwest of the kingdom's capital. When he first arrived in the city eleven years ago, he was immediately noticed.
Morvain's appearance, though not exotic, was unusual. His age was unclear: he could have been twenty or thirty, and sometimes even forty. He was a head, or even two, taller than any inhabitant of the city, and thanks to his majestic posture, he seemed unshakable, like a mountain peak. He was of average build, in his image there was neither an excess of masculinity, nor excessive refinement. His waist-length black hair was always tied up in a bun or braid, and walking around with his hair loose would have been extremely indecent in his case. His face attracted with its harmony and proportionality of features. However, if you ask the inhabitants of Sardast what was most memorable about his appearance, many would answer: eyes, light gray and cold, like the steel of a blade.
Morvain was a talented blacksmith and jeweler. The swords and sabers of his work were unmatched. Only a few masters, who came from ancient families, in which secret knowledge was passed down from generation to generation, could compete with him in weapons. As for jewelry, his brooches and earrings adorned not only court ladies, but also ordinary townspeople. One brooch, made in the form of a golden flower with dew drops on the petals, even ended up in the queen's jewel-case.
Many people asked him when he managed to learn everything. Morvain replied that his talents were revealed during travels. Throughout his childhood and youth, he traveled the world with his parents, absorbed the wisdom and knowledge of different peoples, got acquainted with dozens of crafts and arts. Of his origin, except that he was born far in the east, Morvain did not say anything. People agreed that, most likely, his family was rich, but was persecuted, because of which they often had to change their place of residence. The name "Morvain" also seemed to many fictitious and, moreover, unpleasant to the ear, and therefore everyone called him "the master."
In the first month of his stay in Sardast, Morvain opened a small blacksmith's workshop. He almost for nothing repaired everything that was brought to him, melted down old tools, knives, axes and forged new ones. He was also good at working with jewelry: how many fallen stones he inserted and how many rumpled rings he straightened, not to count. He quickly achieved universal respect, and he was invited to the city blacksmith's guild, but he refused.
The Guild couldn't do anything about it. Morvain did not seem to take hints, was not afraid of threats, and it was impossible to take him by surprise. The love of the townspeople saved him from direct confrontation, and the guild could only come to terms with his presence. Two years later, other blacksmiths began to join Morvain, and a few years later the shop grew into a real workshop and was able to compete with the guild in terms of the volume and quality of work, and soon completely surpassed it. The baron even wanted to give the guild under the control of Morvain, but since the head of the guild was his son-in-law, this idea had to be abandoned.
Sometimes the baron sent his people to him in the hope to interest or entice him, but all attempts were unsuccessful. Once, he secretly turned to him for help in fixing his wife's pendant. The master did not take a single extra coin from him, and a personal meeting with him forever impressed the baron. In subsequent years, he bothered him less and less, and the visits of his subordinates were nothing more than a tribute to tradition: they offered, but the master refused, and that suited everyone.
In the free hours, the master could be found by the river. He often sat on the shore under the willow branches and sang, sometimes he exchanged glances with the women rinsing the linen, and smiled sadly. He sang very well. His voice was neither low nor high, warm, like memories of a summer, and a little sad. Sometimes in the evenings, Morvain would come to one of the city's taverns and drink a pint of ale, listening to the latest gossip and occasionally interjecting a few words. He was more talkative around children.
The master knew hundreds, maybe thousands of fairy tales and legends. He could tell any of them with such involvement that even adult listeners believed his words. Whether it was distant lands, unseen beasts, or great warriors of the past, Morvain had anything to tell. No one thought about whether there was a moral in his stories: they struck with the colorfulness of the descriptions and the intricacy of the plots. Children hung around him and constantly asked for a new fairy tale, and he rarely refused them.
Such was the master.