by Lee LaCroix
“Just a pathetic performance. I tire of this. Die now,” Khern taunted.
Khern launched into a series of offensive strikes, executing a free-flowing combination of attacks that destroyed Novas’ fortitude and drained his endurance. All Novas could do was try to deflect the blows, waiting for something, anything. Khern made a quick step back and bounded off the front of the carriage, bringing down both his swords with all his might, and a powerful yell followed. In that split second, Novas had a strange feeling like recalling a distant memory or smelling a fragrance of the past, and he remembered his father’s battle in their wooded homeland. Novas brought up his sword in attempt to deflect the blades. As the blades connected, Novas bent his head to the left, let his sword take Khern’s blades past his shoulder, released the tension of his down-turned sword, and then returned it in a wide arc, sending it straight through Khern’s neck. The bandit’s eyes bulged, and his face turned from bright red to a sudden paleness as his head tumbled to the floor. Khern’s body sagged, and his blades fell to the forest floor. Novas tossed his sword aside and grabbed at his chest. The pain began to overwhelm him, and he felt dizzy and absent in his head. He looked up at the caravan to see Zill inside shocked and bewildered, but he did not move to help Novas. Novas turned his head to see the traveller, and they locked eyes before Novas lost consciousness altogether.
Chapter Sixteen
Kayten held her breath tight, managing to sneak past the men’s bedroom without setting off the groans of the uneasy wooden floor boards in the sleepy room before dawn. The air was still crisp, and a cool breeze ran through the streets as she left the Salty Dog and headed east down the way. Although she did not mind the early mornings, she had been sleeping later now that she was on her own agenda unlike when she used to meet the early morning with her father’s labours at the Crossroads. She reminisced about that place and wondered how the Crossroads would fare without their business; the owners of Broken Kettle would have to venture farther now to fix their aging hinges and handles, she thought. Today, Novas would begin his infiltration of the Blackwoods. She worried for him, knowing that he would be gone for a time and would not be able to speak with him. She hoped his headstrong ideals or his youthful recklessness would not be his undoing.
That morning, she had to meet with Mose to inventory a shipment of materials for the smithy that had come in from the harbour. She soon found herself at the solid iron door leading to the courtyard. She knocked three times and stood waiting long after the echo faded from the sealed-off alley. She tapped her foot and then slammed upon the door with her closed fist.
“Hello! Anyone in?” Kayten called to the top of the door and began to lose her patience.
A window shutter opened in the building to her right, and a sleepy head with disheveled hair appeared.
“Just a minute, my dear!” the figure called out before shutting the window frame.
Before long, the gatesman appeared in his sleeping clothes and unlatched the gate, allowing Kayten into the passage. He led her to the second courtyard gate and unlocked the door, letting her into the still quiet area. A few thrushes cheeped in the tree over the armory as Kayten approached. Mose had not arrived that day yet, and Kayten grabbed the key from a crevice in the wall behind some nearby bushes and opened up the smithy. She pulled out a small cart, led it down the alleyway into the street, and then sat upon its edge. Before long, Mose arrived with a carriage filled with crates, bins, and packages.
The two spent the rest of the early morning carting their supplies from the street into the storage room of the armory; a much needed order of metals, tools, and oils to keep up the increased demand of all the new recruits and the needs of their equipment. The purchase had almost bankrupted their sparse funds, but Berault insisted that it was a worthy purchase. Every day, the recruits would come to the courtyard with notched swords, bent armour, and broken hilts. Her work was not thankless, for she was the first female smith to grace the armory in many years, and her apprenticeship under her father prepared her more than she ever expected. She became quite popular around the courtyard, and many would seek her out specifically for their repairs. It was not just the beauty of her sultry hair or the bravery she displayed in the sparring pits that attracted them, but also the caliber of work she gave in return.
It was afternoon when Kayten was sitting outside the armory designing a refurbished hilt for an older sword. Much of the work she had done so far had been restoring older weapons and armour to working condition, but she craved a chance to work in design and crafting again. Opulent collectors and gilded warriors had sought out her father to combine the attractive design of ceremonial weapons with the strength of a military tool. She had been lucky enough to help in the construction of these weapons including the decorated blade that served as her father’s gravestone. She wished that its quality would stay undimmed till the end of time with its resplendent jewels a shimmer and gold finish alight but knew that it could not be so. As well as the works she produced, the memory would have to serve as testament.
A shadow came over the sword she was working on, and she squinted to see the details of the blade. Absorbed in her work, she thought it was a passing cloud that robbed her of the light until a curt cough brought her attention upwards. A tanned man with blonde hair past his shoulders and a pencil mustache stood in front of her. He was wearing an overcoat of orange and dark red over a silken shirt and cloth pants. He’s not from around here, Kayten mused.
“Greetings, young smith,” the man spoke with a distinct, rumbling voice.
“Hello there. Can I help you?” Kayten greeted as she finished securing some leather to the sword’s pommel.
“My name is Ralphedo. I am looking to commission a work from you. My son trains here and he tells me you do fine and thorough work. I have inspected the degree of your repairs, and I have to agree with him,” the man told her as he motioned his arm towards his son standing nearby.
A sheepish grin and a timid wave came from the lad. It was the same boy she had sparred with when she first was gifted her shield. Kayten became flush with excitement but took a deep breath to maintain herself.
“Well, what did you have in mind?” Kayten asked Ralphedo as she stood up.
“I have obtained some special alloys at great cost and would like them forged into two swords. One for myself and one for my son here,” the man explained.
With a wave of his father’s hand, the boy hauled over a large bundle of cloth and opened it in his arms. The metallic bars were nearly as black as charcoal, but a certain glint caught Kayten’s eyes, and she bent over to examine a piece. As she lifted it into the air, the metal passed from shadow into the sun’s rays, and the shimmer turned from a humble glisten to an effect that was like the shooting of stars. It seemed to trap streams of light within its core. She had never seen something so resplendent in her life; the metal was marvelous.
“This is sunsteel, is it not?” Kayten mused with a gasp.
“Indeed it is, miss. It has been used throughout the upper kingdom in decoration, but very few smiths succeed in such complex metallurgy as forging with it,” Ralphedo told her.
“Very few? What was their problem?” Kayten inquired as her eyebrow arched.
“Although the specific issue eludes me, I know only what I have read. Without the proper management of heat, the inherent lustre of the metal will melt away and become inert, ruining its value,” Ralphedo explained.
Kayten nodded as she continued to inspect the alloy with great interest.
“I will try my best then,” Kayten nodded.
As Ralphedo held out his hand, she shook it in agreement.
“Excellent. Here is the first half of your payment. We will be in touch,” Ralphedo stated as he handed over a purple cloth purse with a slivery drawing string.
Ralphedo’s boy wrapped up the rest of the metal and gave her a quick wink before following his father out of the courtyard. Kayten returned to her seat on the tree stump and looked around
her. No one had seemed to be watching her, so she undid the drawing string and emptied its contents into her lap. The chiming melody of colliding money jingled in her lap as it filled with square pieces. There must be forty tetra here, she thought to herself with excitement. She bagged the coins and took the bundle of sunsteel back to the room above the Salty Dog. If the metal was as precious as she thought it was, there was no degree of safety she could not take. She brought a single bar with her back to the armory to test its properties later.
Kayten worked through her daily duties without rest, but with all due diligence. When Mose left the smithy before sundown, he thanked her for her work again and disappeared from the emptying courtyard. Kayten lit a brazier, placed it over the forge, and then retrieved the sunsteel bar wrapped in linen from the armory’s storage. With a pair of gloves and clamps, Kayten grasped the bar and placed it into a rack in the forge. With a careful eye, she watched the metal as small slivers and flakes began to melt and fall off into the fires, which shot up into the air like dancing sparks.
The dark bar changed to red, orange, and then a bright yellow before Kayten pulled it from the fires and placed it upon the anvil. She began to pound it flat with the hammer it to test its malleability, but the strangest thing happened then. To her surprise, the sunsteel continued to shine brighter and brighter as she struck it, and it gave off bright flashes that illuminated the smithy and poured out of its windows like a lamp. The metal began to hum and then shiver, and she could feel its protest shaking against her arm. She gripped the tongs and flexed her grip to control it. On the next strike, the shining bar exploded with energy and light. An unseen force threw Kayten against the door of the storage room, and she collapsed against the ground.
When she came back to her senses, the smithy was dark except for the dull light that emerged from the forge and the coals from the brazier that lay spilled across the ground. In a panic, she rose to her feet, swept up the ashes, and then returned to the anvil, but not before she praised her luck for not burning the entire armory down. Although Kayten needed some strength to pry away the clamps from the bar, no marks remained afterwards. Ralphedo was right, she thought as she examined the bar; the metal was dark as coal and no longer retained any of its golden lustre. If anything, it seemed to absorb all the light in the room because the metal was pitch black with only the slightest reflection of texture. She grabbed the bar with her gloves and felt the surprising coolness that it had returned to.
Escaping the heat of the closed-in smithy, Kayten took the cool solid into the night of the courtyard and sat to catch her breath. As the breeze soothed her singed face, she hoped that she still had eyebrows. The sky was clear that night, and a collection of stars seemed to dance around the full moon. She recalled the wonder of the metal in the sunlight, and how stars seemed to escape from it. The smith wished she could master such brilliant metal. Her vision was brought low by another light, but not of the fires of the armory. The bar radiated a blue-white glow, shining bright than dark at a slow interval. It was if it had absorbed the light of night.
“Moonstone…” Kayten whispered to herself, and the word was borne of amazement.
Chapter Seventeen
Torn cloth billowed in the wind like stringy clouds before a storm, and Novas was awakened by the flickering of light that passed through the dancing material and played upon his eyelids. Beyond the roof of the wagon, the telltale shade of dark green foliage still dominated the sky, and he had wondered if he had ventured far since losing consciousness. Novas attempted to sit up but tightness and pain pulsated across his chest, and he fell down onto his back. Novas raised his head and looked down upon himself. His shirt was off, and he was completely unarmed. He had been bandaged tight across his chest and around his back, overlapping the area where Khern’s blade had cut him. He was still in some pain, he thought to himself. The intensity of the battle must have dulled his pain then, but it was back in full force now. In the driver’s seat of the wagon, a robed figure was sitting. At the sound of Novas’ struggle, it turned around to face him.
“Oh! You have awakened finally. You were so still, and your breathing so hoarse, we thought that you may die,” the woman said to him as she entered the wagon.
“You did this to me?” Novas questioned as he motioned to his bandaging.
“Yes, I did… it was nothing. I had to use the rest of your water to clean the wound. I hope you don’t mind,” she replied.
“It’s probably more than I deserved. I killed a man,” Novas sulked as he fell onto his back.
“Yes… you did. But you saved me. Thank you. My name is Velya,” the woman stuttered and bit her lip.
Novas met her eyes and noticed the gleaming brown of her eyes, shining like golden amber.
“I knew you were different! I could tell by the look in your eyes,” a voice yelled from in front of the wagon.
Novas sat up to see Zill standing out front. Novas threw on his shirt, and Velya put an arm around his back and helped him to his feet. Novas hopped out of the wagon and stretched the tightness out of his limbs. The initial shock of the pain had begun to subside, but he still felt a dull burning on his chest. Novas looked around at his surroundings, and the corpses of the bloody aftermath were nowhere to be found.
“You still haven’t taken off yet?” Novas said to Zill with a slight surprise.
“Return without Khern or the goods? Tell Griff we all got slaughtered? They’d hang my hide for sure. They treat me like scum anyways, so I won’t be going back. What about you, Rast?” Zill questioned.
Novas noticed the same blades Khern had used against him now hung from Zill’s belt, which were cleaned of the blood they had been shed. Novas thought for some moments about which truths he should reveal.
“I need to go back. I need to remain in league with the Blackwoods. I need you to come with me, Zill, if Griff’s to believe any of this. We can find a way to escape soon,” Novas explained.
“I’m also going to need whatever goods you can spare, Velya. I’m going to need something to convince our boss that this expedition wasn’t a complete waste… I swear it is for a good cause,” Novas told her.
Between her searching gaze and crooked frown, Velya did not seem delighted at his request.
“I suppose you did save my life. You can take these boxes of silks and jewelry. I suppose I can survive without them,” Velya said as she reached back into the wagon and hauled out the two crates.
“Thank you,” Novas replied as she handed the goods to him. “Will you be okay on the road from here?”
“Not as okay as before I entered this damned forest, but I will have to make due,” Velya admitted with a hard look in her eyes as she slung the crossbow against her shoulder.
Alone, Velya whipped the horses into a trot and the wagon creaked on down the forest path towards Amatharsus.
“Farewell, you strangest heroes,” Velya called out, waving before disappearing down the path.
When the wagon was out of sight, Novas and Zill were left alone in the woods.
“So, what’s your game, mate? You’re obviously not just here for work from all your planning, stealing, and murdering,” Zill questioned with a jagged brow.
“The less you know the better at this point. If we make it out of the forest, I can fill you in then but not a moment sooner. Understood?” Novas explained to him.
“I suppose I can do that. Anywhere is better than here. Well, lead on,” Zill replied.
Novas and Zill each grabbed a crate and headed back into the forest in the general direction of their approach. Eventually, they found the dirt path that they had taken from the mill, and the rest of their trek was a fairly linear journey. When they returned to the mill, a similar restlessness and underlying hostility hung over the camp as the gamblers hacked away at the table with their knives due to a bad roll of the stones. Novas and Zill approached Griff’s cabin with their loot where Novas knocked on the door, the door slat opened, and then an eye appeared in observation.
The slat closed, the door opened, and then the henchman herded the two bandits into the cabin. Zill and Novas placed the crates next to Griff, who was sitting at his usual place behind his desk, looking over some documents.
“What are you whelps doing here? Usually, my main man Khern brings me the loot. Where is he?” the leader questioned, narrowing his eyes with suspicion.
“I, uh,” Zill mumbled as he looked into the furious bandit’s eyes.
“Khern and the rest of the men are dead. We tried to take on an armed caravan and he got too cocky. They had guards on horseback and crossbows. We took them by surprise, but they were still too coordinated,” Novas explained.
“If it wasn’t for our bowman here, I’d be dead too. He managed to take out the remaining guards before they put a sword in me,” Zill stated.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Let’s see if it was worth it,” Griff stated as he stood up and made his way to the stolen crates.
He wedged a dagger into a crack and pulled the top off the crate. The silk clothing slid through his rough hands with ease, and he pushed through it without regard.
“These are exotic fashions. This is good. These will fetch a good price in the Trade District, for those Upper Quarter fops will pay fine coin for this,” Griff chuckled.
“What do we have here,” Griff whispered as he opened up the next crate.
The shrill sound of colliding metal was heard as Griff dug his hands into the crate. With a handful, he pulled out all sorts of shiny shapes that could have been currencies or ornaments to Novas all the same.
“Interesting, interesting. These will do fine,” Griff explained as he sat back down in his seat.
He put his hands together and looked over both the young men.
“You didn’t do bad. I expected less from this outing. I even suspect Khern had been stashing half the loot elsewhere before turning it in. I wouldn’t put it over his head. You didn’t do bad. But, now he’s dead, and I need someone to escort these valuables to the capital. Seeing as you managed to haul these all the way here, I don’t think you should have a problem getting them to Amatharsus,” Griff spoke.
