A Banner Torn (Book 1 Complete)

Brannic:

The forge sang its familiar song, hammer striking metal, coals hissing as they cooled, the rhythmic whoosh of the bellows. His scales absorbed the heat that would scorch human skin, a natural advantage that had served him well in his craft. Ten years in this village, and still the humans marveled at how he could plunge his hands into nearly molten metal without flinching.

The door to his forge creaked open, letting in a shaft of midday sunlight. Orlen, his apprentice, entered first, shoulders squared with pride. Behind him trailed two smaller figures, village boys who had taken to visiting the forge with increasing regularity.

"Master Brannic," Orlen greeted him with a formal bow. "I've brought the helpers, as you requested."

He suppressed a smile at the formality. "Thank you. You may continue with the nails for Farmer Tallen's order."

The apprentice nodded and moved to his workstation, casting a sidelong glance at the newcomers.

"You're late," he said to the boys, without real reproach. "The baker kept you longer than usual?"

The older one grinned. "Marta's father needed extra hands this morning. Festival season is approaching."

"And Marta dumped flour on us," the younger one added, eyes fixed on the fire. "We had to clean up."

He snorted, a small jet of steam escaping his nostrils in amusement. The baker's daughter was a fitting friend for these two, mischievous and sharp-witted.

"Well, you're here now," he said, gesturing to the pile of scrap metal in the corner. "Sort that while I finish this order. Copper in the red bucket, iron in the black, silver in the small box. Anything you're not sure about, set aside."

He observed all three boys as he worked. His apprentice moved with focused determination. The two helpers sorted with surprising efficiency, occasionally whispering when encountering an unfamiliar metal.

"Done with the obvious pieces," the older one reported. "These ones we weren't sure about." He pointed to a small pile of mixed metals.

He picked up a piece, turning it in the light. "Good instincts. This is bronze, copper and tin mixed. It has its own properties." He handed it to the younger boy. "What do you notice about it?"

The boy turned it over, testing its weight. "It's heavier than copper, but not as heavy as iron. And it's... less flexible?"

"Correct," he nodded, pleased. "Alloys take on new properties. Sometimes stronger, sometimes more brittle, sometimes more resistant to rust."

From his workstation, Orlen listened while pretending not to.

"Master Brannic," he interjected, "shouldn't they be learning by doing rather than just handling scrap? I was making nails within my first week."

"Different paths to knowledge," he replied evenly. "You learn through structured practice. They learn through observation. Both methods have value."

"In fact," he continued, "today they'll have a chance to learn by doing. I need a simple kitchen knife shaped for the innkeeper. Think you can manage the initial shaping while I work on these horseshoes?"

Their eyes widened with excitement. Even Orlen looked surprised.

"Under supervision, you'll guide them through it."

What followed was both amusing and instructive. Determined to prove himself a worthy teacher, Orlen became excessively formal. The village boys, equally determined to prove themselves capable, followed with exaggerated precision.

"No, not like that," he corrected at one point, adjusting the younger boy's grip on the tongs. "If you hold it there, the metal will shift when struck. Hold it here instead."

Kaelid adjusted without complaint. "Why does the metal move differently? Is it like water flowing around obstacles?"

"It's about balance and force, metal isn't like water exactly. It's more like clay. It resists change but can be persuaded with the right pressure."

The younger boy nodded thoughtfully. "So, it's flexible but resistant. It remembers its shape but can learn a new one."

An interesting way to phrase it. "That's... surprisingly accurate," he admitted. "Metals have memory, in a sense. It wants to return to its original form unless we convince it thoroughly to take a new shape."

"Enough for today, I'll finish it tomorrow. You've made a good start."

The boys cleaned their workspace with practiced efficiency, returning tools without being told.

"Same time next week?" the older one asked as they prepared to leave.

"If you wish," he replied with a noncommittal shrug.

As they headed for the door, he called out to the younger one. "Boy."

Rannek turned, questioning.

"Be careful in the woods," Brannic said simply. "Not everything that bends is harmless when it snaps back."

The boy's eyes widened slightly, and his friend tensed beside him. They exchanged a look, surprise, perhaps a touch of fear.

"We're careful," the older one assured him, his usual confidence subdued.

"See that you remain so," he rumbled. "This village has seen enough tragedy without adding two foolish boys to its tally."

They nodded solemnly and slipped out the door, their whispered conversation fading.

The forge's heat ebbed as twilight seeped into the village, the last embers hissing like restless serpents. His claws tightened around the half-finished blade, still radiating a dull crimson glow to his infrared-sensitive eyes. He had dismissed his apprentice hours ago. Alone now, he worked in deliberate silence.

His nostrils flared, catching their lingering scent: sweat, iron filings, and beneath it, something sharper. Pine resin. Damp earth. There was an odd tang he didn't recognize.

They had changed. Subtle shifts in their posture, their movements. Village boys did not move like pack hunters. Nor did they vanish for hours, returning tired and scratched, but hiding answers from those that cared enough to ask.

And he would have answers.

At the back of his workshop, hidden beneath an oiled cloth, lay his spear. He approached it with reverence, fingers pulling away the covering. The shaft was blackthorn wood, strong in his hand. The blade shined in the dim light.

His tongue flicked out, tasting the air. The same mix of odd smells, distinct enough to track them with.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He called to his mate, "Mind the hearth, I seek answers from those two boys. They might have brought something dangerous from the deep woods." Kerethin looked up and swished her tail in ascent.

He moved silently, following the boys' scent. They had tried to hide their trail by moving rocks and breaking branches in confusing patterns. This might fool humans, but not him.

Forest shadows swallowed him whole. The canopy thickened overhead, blotting the stars, but his vision parsed the dark in gradients of heat and movement.

An hour's tracking brought him to a clearing. Brannic froze, nostrils flaring. Light. Not fire. Not moon. Blue-green radiance seeped between the trees, pooling in the air like liquid.

The clearing opened abruptly, trampled ferns surrounding a glowing pool. At its edge stood the boys. Between them rippled a creature of impossible form, translucent and shimmering. His pulse quickened. This thing moved almost playfully, making sounds that vibrated the air of the clearing from everywhere at once.

The boys were copying its movements, trying to touch it with sticks. They laughed, the sound strange in the quiet forest. He gripped his spear tighter. In campaign stories, slimes were dangerous predators that dissolved bones. But his mate knew different tales, legends about wise beings from ancient times, before their people left the great desert.

He stood still, watching for any sign of danger to the boys, ready to attack if needed.

The slime's motion froze, its core sparking with alarm. It contracted, light pulsing across it in ripples. Kaelid stumbled to a halt, confused. "What's wrong?"

"Someone... watches," the slime said, its voice deep and echoing.

The boys turned quickly, the older stepping forward, the younger moving to the side defensively like they were practiced at it. They didn't look scared. They looked determined.

The younger boy lifted his chin. "Show yourself!"

Rannek:

His stomach twisted with nerves as the slime warned them of a watcher. He glanced anxiously toward Kaelid, whose nod back steadied him.

The slime resonated again, "Not human… Larger… Higher Temperature… Stronger." With this statement, the slime slid in front of them, placing itself between them and what might be a danger.

From the brush rose a massive figure, looming over them at his full eight-foot height. Scales gleamed in the pool's eerie light, and a spear hung ready at his side, not threatening, but clearly able to be brought to bear in an instant.

His eyes widened with recognition. "Master Brannic?"

"Boys," he said, voice low and rumbling, "explain what you do here. Where did you find this creature? Is this why you have been sneaking away?"

He looked at the slime, which kept itself between them and him, forming a fluid wall to protect them from an unknown threat, all the while watching him with interest.

"In my homeland," Brannic continued, "some say these beings bring knowledge. Others say they bring death. You do not know its intentions, how can you trust it?"

The slime bobbed forward. "Desert-Born, your spear could bring fish from the river, or it could bring death. Which should we expect?"

Brannic flashed his sharp teeth. "Yes… it could do either… and the answer largely depends on the answers I receive here this evening."

The slime rippled, colors shifting slightly. "Both truths," it said, voice low. "The small ones come to visit us. We teach, and we learn. They cannot read the next shape their enemy will be, cannot see the next shape to be. But their thinking grows, and their flow improves. They also bring knowledge and sound shapes so we can share thoughts better."

It shifted, collecting its thoughts. "I remember being different selves... many colonies... in the past. I remember when your kind ruled the great sands." Brannic's scales tightened against his body. The creature knew of the ancient kingdom, before his people scattered across the world. "It's fuzzy, only flashes. I did not know I knew until you were seen. More memory may surface in time."

He nodded. "It knows other things too. About plants that heal, and how to make a leaf shelter from the rain. We have been playing here this whole summer, learning from each other."

The slime hummed, its voice like water over smooth stones. "We teach. We learn, they sought us. Curiosity met curiosity."

Brannic's massive tail lashed once, scattering dry leaves. His skepticism was obvious.

The slime's light pulsed rhythmically. "Watch, we show"

They took their stances again, legs apart, knees bent just like Blob had taught them over so many secret lessons. More cautiously now, knowing Brannic's golden eyes missed nothing.

The slime moved slower at first, its translucent body rippling. It guided them through familiar sequences, patterns of response, of movement, flowing around obstacles. He felt the forest floor beneath his boots, smelled the earth and pine sap as his body followed motions becoming as natural as breathing.

The dragonkin watched silently, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. When their demonstration ended, he stepped forward abruptly, his scales making a soft whisper-click sound.

"Impressive," Brannic acknowledged, voice softer. "But children's games prove little."

With startling speed for his size, like an avalanche moving faster than should be possible, Brannic lunged toward the slime. The butt of his spear came around in an arc that whistled through the air. The spear swept through empty space where the slime had been just a heartbeat before, but it had already flowed aside, its mass redistributing in a rippling wave. A light tap landed on the blacksmith's wrist, gentle but definite.

"Fast," Brannic noted, cocking his head with a smirk.

"Let us see how you respond to true challenge."

What happened next burned itself into Rannek's memory. Brannic's attacks came with increasing speed and complexity, claws sweeping like silver scythes, tail lashing like a whip, his massive body pivoting with surprising grace. His spear reached points he could not, extending his already impressive reach.

Each time, the slime responded with movements he could barely follow. Not meeting force with force but redirecting it, absorbing it, flowing around it like water around stone. The slime's body shimmered and stretched, contracted and expanded, the core stones within it glowing brighter with each exchange.

Yet the difference in their capabilities was clear. Brannic's pulled strikes, ones he knew could shatter tree trunks, still connected more as he took the slime's measure. Each impact made him wince as if the blow had landed on his own body.

After one particularly solid impact that sent its mass rolling backwards, the slime smashed into a tree trunk with a wet splat. Bark cracked and splintered. Brannic stepped back, satisfaction evident in his posture.

"Enough," he declared, voice ringing through the clearing. "You are no threat to me. Perhaps no threat to the village." His eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring wide as he leaned closer to the reforming slime.

The slime rippled thoughtfully. "We understand. Intent clear. Teach, protect, improve. These young ones will survive what comes."

"Survive?" Brannic echoed sharply, the word cracking like a branch in winter. "What danger threatens?"

Rannek felt suddenly small under that piercing gaze.

"Life is danger," the slime replied evenly. "Better flexible than rigid-break when threat arrives."

Brannic's tail twitched in irritation, scales rattling slightly, then calmed.

"Why keep this secret?" he demanded, turning his fierce gaze to him. "Why not tell the village?"

Looking down at his scuffed boots, shame burned his cheeks. "We were afraid," he admitted, voice smaller than he wanted it to be. "We were worried they would attack it."

The slime resonated. "Fear is pattern-recognition without understanding. Those who see difference, assume threat. Natural. Expected. We understand this but are not."

Brannic's features softened slightly. "Sometimes," he acknowledged, "but caution is wise."

The imposing smith stepped toward the slime, one clawed hand extended back to keep them behind him. His scales caught the light, turning his arm into a living shield. "These younglings vouch for you today so I will stay my hand, but know this fluid thing. If they come to harm by your teachings or your nature... No place you can flow will keep me from finding you. I will boil your mass and grind your core to sand. To wear as a trophy until the mountains have worn away.... Do you acknowledge this?"

The threat made his skin prickle with goosebumps. He'd never heard Brannic speak so menacingly.

"This one sees agreement," the slime pulsed, light patterns shifting in what he had learned was respect. "They will not be harmed."

Turning to them next, Brannic's shadow fell over them like night itself. "Your secrecy could have greatly harmed your home and family. I will not allow that to happen. Matron Myra will be informed of these events, but it will not be spread among the village."

Their shoulders sank. He felt his stomach drop like a stone. Elder Myra knew everything about everyone, and her punishments were always perfectly fitted to the crime.

"Give your word that you will honor her ruling in this matter."

They nodded solemnly. his throat felt too tight to speak.

Brannic's expression hardened slightly, scales tightening around his eyes. "I will tell her." And here his voice softened just slightly, "However, I will speak on your behalf that plates do not harden properly without a measure of peril to guide them."

A tiny spark of hope flickered in Rannek's chest. That almost sounded like... approval?

"Enough lessons tonight. Return home." The command was gentle but firm. "I will organize a supervised hunt for you two to assess where your skills lie and what training you need to grow properly."

A hunt! His eyes widened. The village children weren't usually allowed on hunts until they were twelve summers old. He exchanged an excited glance with Kaelid.

The smith turned to head back to the village. His tail dragged a pattern in the soil behind him. He looked over his shoulder, eyes gleaming in the dimming light. "Since you seek to prove yourselves, I will take you into the copper mine and we shall have you learn your claws."

Brannic disappeared between the trees, somehow blending with the forest despite his size. They lingered a moment, glancing at the slime. Its core glittered softly, reassurance in the silent communication they'd developed over many secret meetings.

"We'll return," he promised, feeling the weight of the words.

"Flow well," the slime murmured gently, its voice like water over stones, form slowly sinking back towards its pool, leaving only ripples to mark where it had been.