Temple Sword

Chapter 7 The Blacksmith and the Farmer

Riding Sarecher is like gliding along the ground on the back of the wind, the horse completely obeys the will of his little master, Antal does not feel that the horse is separate from him, but thinks that they are one. , sharing the same movement and heartbeat.

He leaned on the black horse, urging it to run faster, laughing and enjoying the rare freedom.He screamed until he was hoarse, and no one could hear him, and the only horse who could hear him was not frightened by his screams.They galloped through the rough fields to the banks of the river, the waves of the Sava lashing the world around him with him.

When they came to the town of Dubica, Antal reined in his horse but did not dismount. He sat in the saddle, proudly thrusting his chest out as he passed passers-by, many admiring the shiny black horse. Thoroughbred.

It wasn't until he reached the blacksmith shop that he jumped off his horse, took Sarecher's rein, and walked all the way to the door.

"Good morning, Uncle John!" Antal shouted happily.

A burly, bald man with a face full of soot came out of the darkness. He leaned his giant hammer against the wall, then stretched out his giant callused palm, and tightly held the boy's hand.

"Hello, Antal!" John greeted him cheerfully, and then stared at the horse in amazement. "Lord, he is so beautiful!"

"This is a gift from Uncle William," said Antal, puffing out his chest. "I named him Sarecher."

"You gave it a strange name... because of its color?"

"Arabian thoroughbred," Antar said, stroking his mane, "a real war horse, and he'll grow even bigger!"

Antal likes to come to the blacksmith shop to look at the semi-finished armor and weapons. Now that he has a horse, he suddenly feels that he is much bigger, almost like an adult, so he asked the blacksmith with his head held high:
"Uncle John, how much will you charge me for a real sword?"

The man laughed in his slightly hollow voice.

"I made you a weapon a few days ago, what, you don't like it?"

Pride melted from Antal's face, replaced by a faint blush, and he began to think about the past few days of training, and suddenly his right shoulder began to twitch and burn.

"I don't like it," he exclaimed negatively, "it's so heavy, it takes two people to lift it that heavy!"

"You are still a child, Antal," the blacksmith smiled. "When you grow up, I will make you a sword that will amaze the whole world. Of course, if you still order it from me if……"

"I want a sword like my uncle's!" said the boy with enthusiasm. "Can you make a weapon like that, Uncle John?"

The blacksmith raised his eyebrows and shook his bushy head humming.

"I've seen your uncle's sword, boy," he said with genuine admiration in his voice. "Once he let me take a closer look. It was a perfect weapon. I don't think it can be made by humans."

"He brought it from the Holy Land, it used to belong to my great-grandfather."

"Well, I know." The blacksmith nodded, trying to recall the exact image of the sword.

The comfortable one-handed grip is covered in soft black leather, and the silver-plated hilt knob widens at the sides like a finely carved cross with four equal lengths."POST DOMINUM AMBULABUNT QUASI LEO RUGIET" engraved on the jaw.

Steel leaves and tendrils wound around the blood troughs in fine and precise patterns, right down to the sharp blades.The blacksmith had forged many swords, each of which was a superior work to his satisfaction, but he felt that he would never be able to forge a weapon like William's.

"I'll tell you a secret, kid," he said, leaning closer to Antal, "but only if you don't tell anyone else."

"I'll keep your secret, Uncle John."

"That sword is not human," said the blacksmith in a low voice. "I think the Lord Himself forged it."
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Antal rode through the town, he chose the most lively streets and squares, so that he could show people his black horse as much as possible, he also passed the monastery where he lived for a year before, but there was no one The apprentice blocked his way and looked at his new mount with envy.There were only two guards occupying the door, and they didn't bother to talk to him.

Later he dismissed the idea and continued on towards the western border of Dubica, which was too far from the town, and Antal galloped again with his thoroughbred until they reached their destination.He is very familiar with this place, and often finds some excuse to visit.

There were two people living in the house, a farmer named Matthew and his son.He mainly grew corn, and tried to sell his grain in the town, from which William often bought in bulk, but each time paid far more than the value of the goods.

The farmer's son, Laszlo, was the same age as Antal and had been working in the fields with his father for many years.Antal knew him when he was eight years old, when he saw the boy carrying a huge sack, he instinctively ran over to help him, and when Uncle William and Matthew settled the price, he took the opportunity to ask Laszlo Shows his dagger and wooden sword, and all his hiding places on the estate.

They quickly became good friends and would often visit each other whenever they had free time.They could talk for hours without saying anything, but they never talked about their mothers: Laszlo's mother had died in childbirth, and Antar had lost his memory.The word "mother" was never mentioned between them, and both boys were wary of it.

As the boys got older, more and more responsibilities fell on them, and they saw each other less and less.Antares had been given more difficult and time-consuming training, and Laszlo had more work to do in the fields.

These two children look so much alike that it is not too much to say that they are biological brothers.They had brown eyes and thick dark brown hair. Laszlo was short and thin, and he could have had his hair long and down to his shoulders, but Antal had to keep it very short.

Laszlo was working in the fields with his father when Sarecher stopped in front of the hut, panting loudly.Seeing such a scene, Antar always felt a little strange, because he had no idea what kind of farm work they were doing in front of him.

He learned to read and write in Latin and French, and he had to study not only the Bible but all of his uncle's strange scrolls that told stories of the Old Masters.He learned to ride horses, fencing, throwing spears, archery, chess, and swimming, but every time he saw his friends working in the fields, he felt ignorant.

"God bless you, Uncle Matthew." He dismounted and greeted the man respectfully.

"God bless you, my boy," the farmer said to him with a half-smile, and nodded his thanks. "How did you come here?"

"I was riding through the countryside and wanted to stop by Laszlo." Antal replied, blushing with embarrassment.

He knew the man in front of him would not be happy about his son befriending a would-be knight, Antal, a future knight who could paint a future for Laszlo he had never dreamed of.

When they were young, the kid had listened enthralled to Antares telling stories about the Holy Land and the Knights Templar, and at one point blurted out that he wished he could become a knight himself.

At that time, Antal didn't know the laws and rules of the Knights. He told Laszlo that he could become a warrior like him, and they could fight against evil together.Laszlo believed it, and when he got home, he told his father with his twinkling eyes of his plans, including chivalry, tourneys, and rescuing the princess.

Matthew told his son in a bitter rage that only those of noble birth could be knights, and that such as they could only be servants of honorable warriors.

"Daddy, can I go play?" Laszlo asked Matthew, looking at his blushing friend, "I promise we won't be playing for long!"

"Okay," Matthew agreed with a sullen expression, "but don't run too far!"

They walked along the edge of the forest, and Laszlo couldn't take his eyes off Sarecher for a moment.The black horse fascinated him, and he approached it slowly. The black horse behaved as if it was his master. Slo stroked it gently.

"It looks like it likes you," Antal laughed. "Even old Wenceslas is afraid of it, and even said to make it into a sausage!"

"An Arabian thoroughbred?" Laszlo looked at him in disbelief. "Come on, he must be joking, so he can't bear it!"

"He's serious, I can see it in his eyes," insisted Antal, "he kept the poor fellow away from the other horses, and he wouldn't have let him into the big fence if my uncle hadn't been there of."

"It's a very handsome horse," Laszlo praised, realizing that he would never own a warhorse like this.

Antal noticed the loss of his friend, and suddenly felt a sharp pain in his heart. Laszlo was the only person he didn't want to arouse envy. He didn't go to him to play with him just to show off his things deliberately.

"Don't be sad," he tried to reassure him, "you can be a Templar too..."

"I've trusted you once," the boy turned around with a frown, "I won't do it again."

"That's not what I mean," Antar explained, "you may not be able to become a knight, but there are many servants in the monastery who wear the robes of the Knights. Although they are not the white ones, they still belong to the Knights Templar. You You can be a member of the knight order, you don't need to be a nobleman to do it, and one day you can even get a sword of your own..."

Laszlo turned around, tears welling in his eyes.

"How am I going to explain to my father that I am leaving him here alone in the fields?" he asked in a weak voice. How do I tell him I'm serving the Templars instead of helping him?"

Antal couldn't answer the question, he looked at his friend in silence, feeling worse than ever.He probably shouldn't be here at all, he thought.

"I'm not going anywhere," Laszlo said bitterly, kicking a broken branch, "I'm not going anywhere!"

"It's not like that," Antar touched his shoulder, "You don't need to work in the fields forever."

"You don't understand!" He shook off Antar's hand, then wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and ran home. "I have to go back to my dad!" he yelled without looking back. "We'll play next time, God be with you, bye!"

Antal watched his poor friend disappear from his sight, and a sense of misery rose in his soul, and to calm it he shouted and kicked the surrounding tree trunks.

He hesitated for a while whether to go after Laszlo, but at last he mounted the black horse and rode home.

(End of this chapter)