by T P Sheehan
Magnus looked to Dale and his deadly weapons. “You made this from an old plough?”
“Aye,” Dale smiled sheepishly.
“I grew up on a farm, but never gave thought to creating something like this from our plough.” Magnus found the idea amusing. “I daren’t think what you could do with a horse cart!” He and Dale laughed.
“A catapult, perhaps,” Dale said, raising the laughter further.
Willem recovered the remaining crossbow bolts, stored them in a heavy quiver and slung them over his shoulder. “We will continue to scout the field back to the river for any more of these vermin, then retire to our camp in the afternoon. If you’ve time to spare, you are most welcome to join us for an evening meal.”
Magnus looked to Catanya. She nodded affirmatively to Willem. “Aye. Thank you. We would appreciate that.”
The western field as far as the river proved free of any more Worgriels. It was easy, though, to find their tracks leading back to the weir and the Black Cliffs. Willem pointed out a cave entrance half way up the cliff face.
It was mid afternoon when Magnus and Catanya followed Willem and Dale across the fields to a farm homestead. Here, Magnus shared Catanya’s delight in seeing that Willem and Dale were two of many artisans that had set up camp in a garden area a short distance from the homestead.
“This is exactly how they set up in the Romghold,” Catanya smiled.
Within the garden, there was a large white tent and many smaller tents surrounding it. The central tent was a communal area. There were two long tables, each with benches either side for sitting. Several people were busy laying out spreads of breads, salads and fresh fruit down the length of the tables, others were cooking at portable ovens and, outside in the summer sunshine, two pigs roasted on spits. The smell of the roasts made Magnus weak at the knees.
“Wow,” Magnus whispered to Catanya. She took his hand and gripped it excitedly.
“Wow, indeed.”
“Everybody,” Willem announced in a loud voice. “We have company!”
Every face in the artisans’ camp turned toward Magnus and Catanya. Eyebrows raised as several of the artisans seemed to recognise Catanya. One among them was a woman of about fifty. She came to them, wiping her hands clean over her white apron.
“Oh my! I did not expect such company for this supper,” the woman said. “Semsü.” The woman bowed to Catanya.
“Ivy,” Catanya replied. The woman’s eyes widened.
“You’ve a good memory.” Ivy smiled.
“She remembered our son’s name, too.” Willem raised his eyebrows twice. He and Ivy both looked at Dale, who shook his head and walked off toward the roasting pigs. Magnus was beginning to get the picture—they seem to see Catanya as a suitor to Dale.
“Please, call me Catanya.” Silence immediately fell over the camp of artisans. All turned to Catanya and looked at her. Apparently, Magnus realised, this was not the thing for a priest to say. As if to divert from the awkwardness, Catanya was quick to add—“And this is Magnus.” Ivy shook Magnus’s hand. “Ivy made my Ferustir suit,” Catanya explained to Magnus.
“One of three seamstresses and one of many artisans, Semsü.” Ivy bowed again. She stood beside Magnus, looking him over. For the first time, Magnus felt awkward at his appearance. He was still wrapped in Eamon’s large cloak that thankfully covered most of his scorched pants but not the torn boots he scavenged from the dead Quag guard. Ivy then looked Catanya over. “Your suit has seen a few battles, I see.”
“Aye,” Catanya said. “It has fared far better than Magnus’s attire.” She looked at Magnus and winked. Magnus refrained from a cheeky retort.
“Your sword holds up well,” Willem said. “I saw you wielding it against the worgriels. If I’m not mistaken, that be made of Icerealmish steel, am I correct?”
Magnus pulled the dark red leather scabbard from across his shoulder and pulled the pommel a few inches out from it, handing it to Willem. He thought the blacksmith would appreciate taking a closer look at Lucas’s sword. “Aye, it is. Although, not forged in the Ice Realm.”
Willem drew the sword free of its scabbard. “What a delight.” He looked Lucas’s sword over, drinking in every detail. “A fire-bronze pommel and cross guard… interesting.” Willem went to say more but stopped himself as he examined the engravings, looking at Magnus then back to the sword. “But if I may say, this sword was not made for you.”
Magnus looked at Catanya but she was preoccupied with Ivy who was examining her damaged vambrace. Catanya seemed comfortable in their presence, so Magnus entertained Willem’s enquiries. “It is one of two swords forged together. There are differences. The other is mine. This belongs to… a friend. A brother of sorts.”
Willem nodded. Dale returned, sinking teeth into a large chunk of roasted pork. He looked over the sword. “Fleu-steel?” he mumbled through a mouthful of food. “And bronze. Made in the Fire Realm?” Magnus was distracted by the delightful smell of the food. He began to salivate.
“Manners, Dale!” Ivy scorned at her son. “Where are your manners?”
Dale’s mouth snapped shut and his eyes widened. He looked at Magnus, then Catanya. Magnus smiled. He was warming to Dale for he was very much like a younger version of himself. “It is,” Magnus said. Dale looked to him again. “It is made in the Fire Realm. A good friend of my father’s made it.”
Willem rested the sword just above the cross guard on his forefinger, shifting the sword until it balanced on his finger. “The bronze runs deep through the blade—deeper still than a conventional Fire Realm blade. Needed, no doubt, to counterbalance the lighter fleu-steel. Interesting. To what purpose were these blades forged, may I ask?”
Magnus looked at the sword balancing on the artisan’s finger. He knew full well the purpose of the swords construction. The contrast between it and his own told a tale as Sarah had explained—‘The differences represent your maternal origins, the similarities show your link to the Fire Realm… the realm of your fathers.’
“Like I said, they were built as a symbol of brotherhood,” Magnus reiterated, his mood dampening a little.
Willem handed Magnus the sword and scabbard and spoke gently as he did—“I think you could do well with a hearty meal and cup or two of ale. What do you say?” He said nothing more on the matter of the swords.
Magnus appreciated Willem dropping the subject. He sheathed the sword, swung its scabbard over his shoulder and looked at Willem. “If it suits Catanya to do so, then yes, thank you.”
In the large central tent, Magnus and Catanya sat at one of the long tables in the company of fifteen artisans and nearly as many farm hands. They worked their way through the most glorious meal either had eaten in half a year. The roast pork was just the beginning. Grilled river trout, steamed opal beans and Kreeluck carrots, stewed rhubarb smothered in thick, honey-sweetened cream and the best ale either of them had ever tasted.
A good hour passed. Magnus looked at Catanya. A contented smile came to her own face and she took Magnus’s between her hands. “I could sit at this table forever,” she smiled, her eyes glazed with tiredness. “But I’d just as soon go to sleep.” She seemed about to kiss him when the table fell silent. Magnus gathered Catanya’s intimacy was a further display of un-priestly behaviour. He and Catanya turned away from each other.
Willem broke the silence. “Where does your journey take you from here?”
Magnus looked at the blacksmith. He seemed like a nice enough man, but there was something about his interest in Lucas’s sword that made him wary. It was not so much the sword, but Willem’s ability to deduce so much from it and so quickly. To say he was travelling to Thwax could give more away than he was willing. Given that this man knew these lands of the south coast better than he did, Magnus thought it best they keep Thwax to themselves.
“We’re headed east,” Magnus said, keeping things general.
“We’ve a scheduled meeting tomorrow,” Catanya added. Willem looked at Catanya,
perhaps hopeful he could garner a little more information. She seemed to sense it. “As Magnus said—to the east.” Willem nodded, still staring at Catanya.
“What of you?” Magnus redirected to Willem. “Are you and your companions here for the rest of the summer?”
Willem looked back to Magnus. “That was the plan. We have some work to do in Brindle, a day’s journey west from here. We will remain camped here and commute, as we need to. Brindle is that little bit closer to Ba’rrat. The Quag have a hold over Brindle which is not to our liking.”
Magnus realised the artisans and travellers were likely unaware that Ba’rrat had fallen. Telling them the news would garner a lot more questions. Willem excused himself and moved away. Catanya shifted closer to Magnus, turning to face him.
“You were right to not speak of our intentions.”
Magnus rubbed his mottled beard and mumbled through his fingers. “I see no advantage in them knowing who I am.”
“It’s likely more Quagmen will stray this way. Perhaps we should warn them of that.”
“If they think we bring trouble, it may be easier for them to turn us over to the Quag.”
Catanya looked about again. “Anyone here could be a spy for Delvion. But then, I’m confident we’re among friends.”
Magnus agreed. “They all seem to know each other quite well. A stranger here would stand out as much as us.”
Catanya’s eyes started to look heavy and soon she closed them. Magnus looked at her, observing the scar on her left ear. Forgetting the company they were in, he stroked her earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. With reflexes faster than a scalded cat, Catanya had Magnus’s wrist in a vice grip. Her eyes were wide and wild. Magnus had never seen reflexes—nor instincts—anywhere near this in all his one hundred battles in the arena. He looked to Catanya’s hand, muscles flexing as her grip reasserted itself.
“That’s what comes of disrespecting a Ferustir, young man.”
Magnus turned to the source. It was a man of about forty. Dressed in white linen clothing as many of the other artisans were, he was exceptionally neat with the most deliberately manicured dark hair and beard he had even seen. His eyes shifted repeatedly between Magnus and Catanya.
Catanya loosened her grip and stood. “Delik?”
The man bowed politely. “Semsü.”
Catanya looked to Magnus for moment. “Magnus, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Magnus smiled.
Catanya turned back to Delik who appeared intrigued with their interactions.
“I apologise. I’ve interrupted you,” Delik said.
“Not at all,” Catanya replied.
Delik smiled. “I just arrived and was immediately informed you were here. It is wonderful to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” Catanya said. “Magnus, this is Delik.” Her eyes flashed a sharp warning at Magnus.
Magnus stood and shook Delik’s outstretched hand. Delik’s eyes widened as they touched. Magnus was intrigued by the softness of his hand. He had a deliberate, firm grip, but not one of strength. He looked Magnus over then shifted his gaze back to Catanya. “I see your Ferustir armour has held you in good stead.”
“For the most part.” Catanya said. “Until this afternoon.” She held her left arm up. Her vambrace was missing—Magnus had not noticed. “Ivy has taken my vambrace for Willem to repair.”
“That must have been quite an altercation,” Delik smiled.
“Well, it wasn’t me, I swear,” Magnus humoured. Delik laughed and the remark made Catanya smile and relax a little.
“Will you be staying with us a while?” Delik questioned. “I would be curious to hear of your quests since last we met.”
Catanya stiffened once again. “We’ve just arrived. I guess we’ll play it by ear.”
Catanya was being diplomatic, nothing more. Magnus was ready to leave, but as if on cue, Ivy arrived. “You two need beds and rest. Semsü, Dale is working on your armour right now. You can try it on in the morning,” Ivy said. She came to Magnus and handed him a fresh set of folded clothes and a newly made pair of leather boots. “You look as though you need a tidy up and you’ve come to the right place. Everything was made by us.” She grinned and winked.
“Thank you,” Magnus said. For a moment, Ivy’s kindness reminded him of Sarah. He looked at the clothes. His gratitude turned to grief. Wherever Sarah was, it was only a matter of time before she would learn the truth about Lucas killing Ganister… her son killing his father… her husband…
“There’s a bunk for you in the men’s quarters and one for you, Semsü, in the women’s. Sleep well. Both of you.” Ivy turned away before Magnus had a chance to snap out of his thoughts and thank her again. She broke into conversation with Delik.
Magnus and Catanya were quick to move out of the large tent. The heat of the summer day had given over to a balmy coastal breeze and the sky was sprinkled with evening stars. Magnus studied Catanya’s strained expression. “Are you okay?”
Catanya released a pent up breath. “It’s strange. I thought I had the measure of that man.” She studied Delik who was moving briskly away from the tent without having eaten. “Just now though, he seems so different to me. I guess I’ve changed a lot since I first met him.”
Catanya explained how Delik led the group of artisans who made her Ferustir suit and how meticulous he was. Catanya had respected him for his professionalism at the time. Six months and many deceptions later, it seemed, had made Catanya wary of almost everyone. “Maybe I just need to rest,” Catanya yawned.
“Don’t discredit your intuition, Catanya. If you think you can smell a rat, then perhaps you do.”
“What do you think, Magnus… Should we spend the night? Start fresh in the morning?”
Magnus thought about things. He was holding the folded clothes and boots, feeling the fine fabric of the shirt. “I’d like to move on but sleep in a soft bed, perhaps followed by breakfast, sounds inviting.” Magnus smiled, certain he was getting ahead of himself.
“I’ve just had a thought,” Catanya said. The strain in her face eased into a coy smile. “The last time we were ready to hightail it, my father intervened and it was the last time I saw you until a few days ago. Now we wish to flee again and Ivy would have us sleeping in separate quarters. I’m not sure I want to let you out of my sight.” She pinched Magnus in the ribs.
“Perhaps you can sneak me into the women’s quarters.” Magnus could not resist the joke.
“In your dreams,” Catanya said, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands.
“I think we should sleep, Catanya. Even if just for a few hours.”
Magnus led Catanya around the encampment and into a field to the north. In the darkness and away from the lamps outside the tents, the moonlight seemed to shine brighter. A few hundred feet away to the east was a rise in the field.
“Catanya. Do you think you can wake an hour before sunrise?”
“Yes. I’ve most certainly learned to sleep lightly in recent times.”
“Then we’ll meet over there, on the other side of that rise, and take our leave.” Sure no one was looking, he stole a kiss from Catanya.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Catanya said.
HANNAH - TWO
“Is this necessary?”
“I can no longer tolerate these distractions.”
“Distractions?” Alessandra leant back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Hannah looked from her mother to her father—the three of them were seated at the square kitchen table. A fourth chair was empty, as it had been for many months since Catanya left.
“What I’m saying is, I will feel all the better knowing you are both safe. Trying to defend our lands, all the while knowing what will happen to you if we are overrun, is a distraction.”
“It was Csilla’s idea,” Hannah contributed. She liked to contribute to her parents ‘adult’ conversation where she could. It reminded them she was there and seemed to soften
their mood.
“You’re right, Hannah.” Alessandra pulled a half-hearted smile as she reached across the table and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “It was Csilla’s idea and it was thoughtful of her to do so. However, travelling through Froughton Forest? To The Core?”
Hannah waited for her father’s response. She was quite excited to be going on a journey. The last time she had travelled anywhere further than the Nuyan River or the Quarries was before the war began. Before Catanya left.
Xavier chewed slowly on his steak and pointed his fork at Alessandra. “Your sister is right suggesting you take refuge with the OhUid folk. A month ago I’d have suggested you travel to Guame.”
“I like the markets in Guame,” Hannah smiled. Xavier smiled back.
“Guame, it is rumoured, is under siege. My next choice would be the Ice Realm. However…” Xavier paused to wipe his mouth with a handkerchief. “And this does not leave this table.” He looked from Hannah to Alessandra. “Rumour also suggests the Rhydermere of the Ice Realm are responsible for the siege of Guame.”
Alessandra paused for thought before responding— “Perhaps there is no other choice, then.”
“Without the time nor resources to send knights to verify these rumours, the only clansfolk who hold fast and share our interests are the OhUid.” Xavier gave an affirmative nod and lifted his glass of red wine. Hannah imitated him, nodding with a frown. Xavier winked over the top of his glass at her, making her smile.
“Csilla knows someone who can guide us?”
“To guide and protect you, yes. His name is Creighton. What Csilla does to protect our borders, he has long done to protect his people’s interests at Mount Earthwood. Csilla has liaised with him for years. He has been consulting with us for the past three days and leaves for home in the morning.”
“That soon,” Alessandra said.
“And perhaps…” Xavier hesitated. “Perhaps the time apart will allow us to get our heads around the matters that vex us of late.”
Alessandra stood from the table. Hannah saw the uncomfortable expression on her face. “Come, Hannah. We need to pack.”
