Someday, he'd inherit his father's full dragonscale armor, though if he went through with his idea of abdicating from his position as First Councilor-to-be, he'd have to re-dye them from royal fiery red to something else. If he lived long enough to inherit it...
His three opponents regrouped and tried a new tactic, coming at him in a semicircle, spread in a short line. All three were armed with swords and wore cheap but common chainmail. The warriors looked determined, hard-set on bringing Jaekob down despite knowing who he was. Or because of it.
The feel of his leather gloves around his spear's ironwood haft felt good. He almost felt like his spear talked to him somehow, telling him when his grip was good or weak, when he should strike, when he should block. His father had nodded with understanding when he tried to explain the sensation, and had said that was his blogsang, his dragonblood singing its ancient battle cry. Whatever it was, it felt good. Really good. Almost euphoric.
The three men came at him with the one in the middle slightly back from the rest, while the other two moved to flank him. Simple, blunt, and effective. Jaekob side-stepped to his right, leaving only one man able to strike him. He blocked the man's overhand slice with his spear haft, over his head, and then swung the pointy end down with no loss of momentum; it whistled through the air and sliced his enemy's unarmored hand through the bone.
The man dropped his sword and cried out. As Jaekob shuffled backwards, away from the wounded man, another one grabbed their wounded ally and yanked him out of the way--he landed hard on his back, skidding a couple feet before coming to a stop, and then curled up to cradle his bleeding, demolished sword-hand.
The remaining two attackers came toward him more slowly, which brought a smile to Jaekob's face. They separated, but frustratingly, they weren’t far apart. Wide enough to pressure him from two directions and not stumble over each other, but not wide enough for Jaekob to take one out at a time. It was a good thing they hadn't come at him like that when there were three of them...
When they were only five feet away, they bolted at him, one crouching to swing his sword at Jaekob's legs, the taller one attacking in an overhand diagonal slash at his face. Pain was coming, and Jaekob knew it. If he were a blacksmith, like he wanted to be, he wouldn't have to deal with situations like this. Just one more check in the “cons column” for following his father's plans.
He almost missed the attack, distracted by his thoughts, but at the last moment he stepped back with his right leg so that his lower armor faced the incoming leg slash.
With his spear tip, he knocked the high attack farther left and quickly snapped the point back the other direction with both hands. His spear tip caught the man at the base of his unarmored neck just as his enemy's diverted attack crashed into Jaekob's own shoulder armor; it bounced painfully off his armored shoulder, but he felt a fiery tingle shoot down his left arm, and at the same time, the other man's low attack struck his leg greaves full-force on his left shin. The armor’s baseplate bent slightly, and agony radiated from where it crushed into his shin bone.
Jaekob's taller enemy staggered back, dropping his sword to wrap both hands around the deep cut at the base of his neck. His hands, neck, and chest were the color of Jaekob's armor.
The other one stood, legs thrusting like pistons, and he brought his sword into an upward, diagonal attack at Jaekob's right side, putting his whole body into the massive strike.
Jaekob was out of position to defend against it with either his spear tip or its haft, so he leaped backward. The sword tip sliced across his chest armor, and while it was loud, it didn't hurt at all. The attack left the man facing him with feet shoulder-width apart, left arm across his belly, sword arm stretched up and out to his right. He was wide open. Jaekob grinned and shoved his spear haft into the man's chest with all his might. Startled and wide-eyed, the warrior staggered backward, trying desperately not to fall over.
A quick follow-up thrust with his spear's pointy end slid between two metal bands on the man's cuirass; a couple inches cut into his belly. This time, he did fall over. He curled up on the ground, cradling his pierced belly.
Jaekob had won the battle. He grinned savagely, but the thrill of winning paled in comparison to how he felt whenever he finished a sculpture, bending and welding the metal pieces together until he coaxed them to match his mental image.
Three more people ran into the chamber, rushing to the wounded warriors, and the glow of healing magics reflected off the dark stone walls as the bitter scent of poultices wafted through the air.
A fourth person charged toward him, fists clenched, with fire in her ruby-red, glowing eyes. Jaekob braced himself. What would Bruindy, his personal arms master, yell at him about today? Hadn't he won the fight? He rolled his left shoulder, his arm still feeling like it was on fire with pins and needles from the blow he'd taken.
She shouted, "Where on Earth were you, back there?"
"Um... in a fighting ring, I think." He tried his best not to smirk.
In a flash, she lashed out and punched him in his jaw. His head snapped back and he saw stars--she'd hit him harder than usual. "Mind your tone with me, young man. I'll leave you bleeding in the dirt for the medics. Now, answer me. Where were you while you were fighting three enemies? It sure wasn't on the fight." Her tone kept getting louder as she spoke.
“But, I won the match—“
Bruindy shouted, “Only because of your training. You go against someone as good as you and zone out like that, the dragons will be without an heir to the Council throne.”
Jaekob had to stop himself from rubbing his jaw, lest he get punched again on the other side. He stood tall and straight, eyes locked dead ahead. "Ma'am, I was thinking about my career options. I was debating whether all these years of training are worth the time I've spent on it."
Her jaw dropped, and she took a step backward. "I... what?"
"I’ve spent two or three hours here every day, six days a week, for nearly all of the eight years total that I've been awake. That's over six-thousand hours, and--"
"And you need ten-thousand hours to call yourself anything more than a Guardian, you fool," she snapped.
"... and if I'd spent that on blacksmithing, I'd be near to earning a Master Smith’s forge by now," he finished, eyes narrowing. He wasn't stupid enough to look at her, though, and kept his gaze dead ahead.
Bruindy took a deep breath, fists on her hips, and then took a few more deep breaths. No doubt she was trying to think of something witty to say, but she wasn’t well equipped for a battle of wits.
At last, she said, "Jaekob, you aren't a blacksmith. You're the son of the First Councilor, and you have a duty to your people. It's not about what you want. Do you think I wanted to waste six-thousand hours trying to train a clumsy, disobedient oaf like you? No. But that's my duty--keeping you alive when you lead your people into war. You're young, still. What, sixty? Seventy, maybe. And as you said, only eight years awakened, total.”
“Yes…”
“Talk to me again about the glory of blacksmithing when you've been awake a couple centuries."
"I'm sure I will," he said, but made sure to keep any hint of sarcasm out of his voice. That took a lot of effort.
"Bah." Bruindy stepped forward again until she was only a foot from his face and said very quietly, "This is that Jewel woman's influence, isn't it? I told your father not to humor you with that blacksmithing nonsense, and you can bet your best dragon fangs I'm going to have a word with him about it, now."
Jaekob took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but he didn't reply. Seconds ticked by, neither speaking. At last, though, she spun on her heels and hissed, "Dismissed." She stormed out of the chamber, leaving him alone to watch the cleanup from his match, without even a word about the hit he'd taken.
Watching her go, he said under his breath, "Just because Mikah is a master warrior doesn't mean I have to be."
Then he looked around to make sure no one had heard him.
#
/> Scene 06
Jaekob watched himself walking down the street with his little arm stretched as high as it could go, fingertips held in the hand of a beautiful, smiling, happy woman. His mother, Rachel, looked down at him and chirped, "No, you have nothing to worry about. It's just water, Jaekie. It can't hurt you. But Mommy will be there to make sure you feel safe, okay?"
"Okay, Mommy," Jaekie said in a high-pitched voice. "I can’t wait to be in the water, if you are wif me." His 'th' came out as a 'f,' and each syllable was emphasized. "Will Father be wif us?"
Rachel smiled, but her lips were thin and tight. "Sorry, nommy's little prince will have to swim without him again, today."
"Is he fighting Germins again? I hate Germins. They keep Daddy away and he's going to die." Jaekie's voice rose even higher and cracked on the last word. He stood in a pool of water surrounded by glowshrooms, both arms resting on the edge of the floor and pool as he talked to Rachel, who lay on the floor in front of him. She said, "Yes, he's fighting Germans today. And every day. But they can't kill him. Your daddy is big and strong, stronger than any German."
"Is that 'cause they are just humans?"
"Yes, that's right. So smart! Humans are weak and run away when dragons shoot fire breath at them. Daddy will be fine. He's working hard to make sure humans don't ever find us down here again."
"When I get bigger," Jaekie said with eyebrows raised and eyes suddenly wide, "will I breafe fire at the Germins, too? I don't want to do that. They should just leave us alone so I don't hafta be like Daddy, telling dragons what to do."
Rachel pated his little hand softly, her face the picture of patience. "You don't want to be First Councilor when you grow up? Then, who will lead us?"
"Daddy, silly. Who else can do it?" The boy let out a high-pitched giggle, seemingly certain that his mother was an idiot for not knowing that.
"We all do things we don't want to. Remember that. So what do you want to do when you grow up?"
Jaekie rolled his eyes and, sounding exasperated, said, "I told you, I can go swimming wifout you or Daddy when I get big."
"True, but what you want to do the rest of the time? You can't swim forever, you know."
The boy's face dropped, bottom lip jutting out a little bit. "Maybe I could make stuff with my fire and a big hammer. I want to be a smiffy!"
"That's a 'smithy,' dear. What would you make, if you were a blacksmith?"
Jaekie kicked his legs in the water as though swimming, but kept his arms on the pool's ledge. Then he stopped and brought his knees up, letting his lower half drift downward until his knees came up against the stony pool wall.
"I could make culpshures?"
Rachel let out a little squeak of amusement and covered her mouth with her hand. Then she reached out and tousled his wet hair. "Sculptures, eh? Well, I never heard of anything so fun! You could make Mommy one."
"I'm making a necklace for you."
Jaekob blinked and suddenly found himself watching Jaekie and Rachel walk down a broad corridor, but it was empty except for the boy and his mother. Jaekie's shorts left a trickle of water behind him as they walked. Rachel fidgeted with something by her collar, but Jaekob couldn't see what from his angle behind them.
"I love it, my little prince. You made me a very nice necklace. I'll wear it always, I promise," she said.
Jaekie looked up at her, beaming a wide smile, which she returned. He said, "Promise and cross your heart? Hope to die?"
"Yes, I'll never take it off."
"And don't let Germins take it, 'kay Mommy?"
"Daddy's making sure they don't, honey. Someday, you'll make sure they don't come get this necklace, too. And you'll be even bigger than your dad."
The boy squeaked with delight, but then stopped walking right there in the middle of the corridor, crossing his arms.
Rachel missed a step, stumbling to a halt, and turned around to face the kid. Jaekob saw the necklace she wore, then, and it was identical to the one he'd found with Kalvin. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"I don't wanna be First Councilor. Daddy is gone all the time, Mommy. I would miss you. I can make sculp-shures at home with you."
Rachel let out a heavy breath and gently took Jaekie's hand in hers. She led him to resume the walk. "You say that now, honey, but don't you want Daddy to be proud of you?"
"Yeah..."
"When he gets old and tired, he'll need a strong big-boy dragon like you to take over for him. Just like he did with his dad, so you'll do it too."
"Why? I don't wanna. That's not fair." Jaekie's eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. (Jaekob wasn't sure how he knew that, since he was watching the scene from behind Jaekie and his mother.)
"No, it's not fair. But people need good leaders, son. They need a leader like you, who cares as much about them as he does about himself. Or herself."
"I'm a boy, silly."
"Yes, I know, honey. You want Daddy to be proud of you, right?"
"Yeah, I already said it," Jaekie replied, but didn't sound too certain.
"And you want Safeholme to be safe for little boys and girls, and mommies and daddies? And not to let Germans take your mommy's necklace?" She beamed a smile at the little boy.
"Oh, cer-tain-ly, Mommy. I won't ever let any humans down here, not even Germins! I can keep your necklace safe, 'cause I gave it to you."
She stopped, knelt, and gave her son a giant, squishing bear-hug that half took the boy's breath away. "Remember, son, you have responsibilities. You are a part of your people, and the people are more important than any one dragon's dreams."
Then, Jaekob opened his eyes and saw he was in his room--his real room--and Jaekie and Rachel were gone. He let out a long, slow breath and felt a heavy weight wash over him, settling on his chest. It ached. His pillow was damp, and he wiped his cheeks with the backs of his hands.
He sat up in bed and let his feet swing down to the floor, then fished for his slippers. He wiped his tears once again, knowing that, somewhere out there, Rachel’s spirit watched over him. He didn't want her to see him crying, not even as an ancestor spirit.
"I wish I could do what she had wanted for me. I wish I could make her proud, take over for Father, and protect our people. But I just can't do that." His treacherous mind popped up with a question--can't, or won't? He shook his head to clear both that thought and the sleep-fog from his mind. She'd just have to get over it, because he wasn't sure any of those reasons were enough to make him take a place in the Dragon Council. He had his own dreams, as he'd told her the day they went swimming so long ago, and they didn't involve ruling over his people, making life-and-death decisions for them every day and sacrificing what he wanted to do.
"Sorry, Mom. I miss you."
Still, after the dream, he felt doubts he hadn't felt when he had gone to sleep. He trudged into the kitchen looking for a late-night mushroom snack.
#
Scene 07-A
Jaekob entered his father's study and closed the door softly behind him, then stood by the door with his hands clasped together in front of himself as he waited for Mikah to acknowledge him. His father was writing a letter by hand.
After a minute, Mikah set his quill down and looked up, smiling. "Jaekob! Nice to see you midday like this. What brings you here? I thought you were at your smithy that I don't know about, today."
Jaekob smiled. He had suspected Mikah knew about it, but confirming it at that moment actually helped settle his nerves a little for what he was about to ask. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, smirking, "but I wanted to discuss a business idea with you."
"Excellent, son. You know I'm always interested in new ideas to expand the family's good fortunes. Tell me what you have in mind."
Jaekob reached up and fidgeted with his bandoleer strap. It was an old nervous habit. When he saw Mika's eyes shift, noticing the gesture, Jaekob brought his hands to his sides and stood as tall as he could. He said, "We have an opportunity to buy into the smithy of one of
the best blacksmiths in the warrens, Thomaes, of Thomaes MBs."
"Oh? Why is that a good investment? We don't have any experience in that market."
"The quality of his work has him drowning in the new production orders for the Warriors' stockpiles, but when those are filled again, it will take awhile to shift production--"
"--And even longer for the price of iron, steel, and dragonsteel to go back down," Mikah said, interrupting.
Jaekob nodded. "That's the point. Our investment would profit us now and in the future, and give him the ability to take advantage of the shortage of other goods we'll face when the Warriors orders are filled."
"You mean, 'and pay for raw materials while metal prices are high,' right?" Mika's mouth turned down ever so slightly at the corners.
"That's true. I think you'll find it worthwhile. And he has a child who will take over when he passes, so we don't have to worry about that. I've worked with his daughter Jewel, and I know she picked up her fa's impressive talent with a forge."
Mikah watched Jaekob for long seconds, his face unreadable. Jaekob fought the urge to squirm under that unblinking gaze. "Son, I hear almost everything that goes on in Safeholme and even beyond. I know you spend a lot of time with Thomaes' daughter, Jewel. This wouldn't be connected to your ridiculous plot to get out of your duty to the dragon realm, would it?"
Jaekob felt his heart beating faster. This wasn't the direction he wanted the conversation to go. He forced his best 'bemused smile' onto his face and chuckled. "We have plenty of time to talk about that. You know I have my doubts about what I want to do in life. Smithing is an honorable profession, and Thomaes' business would skyrocket with our help, so maybe if I partnered with them after we prove how profitable it can be, it wouldn't be so embarrassing to the family name? But like I said, I'm not sure what I want--"
Spark of War Page 6
