Spirit Sword

by Sam Ford

  "How would I kno--oh, you are talking to your sword again."

  We should avoid anyone with official status or good standing with the city. They will have other masters, priorities above helping us. They will also be more difficult to influence.

  "They might be smart, though."

  A fact which may not work to our advantage. Head for the docks. We shall see who we find there.

  They made their way through the crowded streets, ambling for the seedier part of town. It didn't take long it find it. Things went downhill fast the farther one traveled from the city center. Alleyways grew dark pressed so close to one another, while merchant shops and food stalls were replaced with taverns and dice boxes. The sea fog still lingered in the shadows, granting them an otherworldly appearance.

  Still, people crowded everywhere. Sailors and fishmongers and fishermen and shipwrights, merchants of pitch and tar, and young boys carrying cargo to-and-fro. The taverns were especially crowded at midday, full of men laughing and jeering as they ate and drank their dinner.

  There. That one.

  Sword indicated a particularly seedy alehouse, inset into the wall so the building above jutted farther out. The facade sported a sign long since faded with age and rot which may at one time have been a ship, and a yellow flag that was now little more than a few tatters of cloth. Cale hitched Thunder to the post.

  "Um, Cale? Are you sure about this?"

  "Yes, absolutely." Cale helped her down, before muttering under his breath. "Sure this is absolutely crazy."

  You will be fine. I will neither abandon nor forsake you.

  The inside was just as horrible as Cale imagined it would be. Dark and dingy, it stank of fish and mildew and saltwater. There were very few women present who weren't working, so Jazreal got a lot of stares beyond her tawny skin. A minstrel played the lute for coin, entertaining the patrons while they ate their meals, drank their ale and took a much-deserved rest.

  Cale stood in the doorway looking around. He felt Sword urge him toward the corner of the room, so he followed. They were in no noticeable danger, but he kept a hand on the pommel at all times, just in case. Jazreal was equally ready to drop into a combat stance at the first sign of trouble.

  Along the wall, men were cheering and cursing. Several booths had been set up, areas of skill and chance. Dice rolling, card playing, a game where the object was to dance a knife between your fingers and not prick yourself. The players couldn't have been very good, as the table was stained with old blood.

  But the most interesting game was in the far corner. It must have been good because it was attracting quite the crowd. Cale moved in closer, more curious than fearful. Many were laughing and screaming, drumming their hands on the table or walls or their bellies, building to a crescendo, only to be followed by explosive cheers or screams of defeat. Small in stature, Cale needed Jazreal's help to shoulder a way through to get a decent view.

  An older man with an eye patch and a bushy black beard sat at a table, with another person sitting across from him. The man had three bowls in front of him and was shifting them around with remarkable speed. The crowd clapped and built up energy until reaching a thunderous peak.

  Ah, the shell game. Knights and Swords used to try to outsmart one another at this game. Do you know how to play?

  "No." Cale shook his head. "I've never seen it before."

  The object is simple. A ball or small object is placed under one of three domes. They can be shells, cups, bowls, what have you. Then, a wager is set. The pusher shifts the domes around as quickly as possible and the gambler must try to follow the ball with his eye. When the pusher stops, the gambler guesses. If he is correct, he wins. If not, he loses his money.

  "Sounds simple enough," muttered Cale. "What's the catch?"

  The pusher cheats.

  Sure enough, when the man stopped and the gambler picked, the crowd fell silent. The pusher lifted the cup, only to have the crowd cry out in disappointment. Nothing. The gambler looked completely dejected.

  "No!" one of the men exclaimed. "He was our best bet."

  "If Felix can't do it, no one can. Vyk is just too fast."

  "Who's next?" The man asked. The crowd was moving off now, their lunch shift just about over. Cale stepped forward. The man looked him over once. "Aren't you a little young to be in here?"

  "Aren't you a little old?"

  In fact, the man was not old, not in the slightest. His big, bushy beard and patch over his left eye gave an impression of a man down on his luck. His dirty clothes and unkempt hair added to the appearance. But it was just an act. He was young, certainly. His piercing brown, almost golden eye gave it away. It was too fast to belong to an old man, always moving, searching, appraising. He glanced Cale over three times, taking everything in before Cale had even finished his own assessment.

  "Go home, boy." His voice sounded gruff, but that was another act. He held the lyrical tones of someone from the far south.

  "I want to play." Cale stepped closer.

  "Aye, that you may. But I don't play with children."

  "Hey, let him play." Jazreal stepped forward.

  The man took a long, appraising look at Jazreal, one with no kindness in it at all. He studied her and mentally cast her aside as useless. Jazreal shrank back slightly under his withering glare.

  "I told you." The man stood, set both fists on the desk and leaned forward. He spoke, looking squarely at Cale and barely glancing at Jazreal. "I don't play with children, and I especially don't play with Indians."

  The man dressed in black began to gather his shells, drawing curious stares from the tavern patrons. He shouldered past and Cale said nothing. Jazreal clung to Cale’s right arm, more afraid than Cale had ever seen her. She almost seemed smaller than Cale.

  "Cale let us just go, please. I do not like this place."

  We need him.

  Cale didn't want to be here anymore than Jazreal, but Sword had led them here for a reason. If they needed this man, then Cale had to figure out something to make him stay. There had to be something he wanted that would make him come back. He reached into his coin purse and placed his single, heavy coin on the table with an audible clack.

  "Gold," someone whispered.

  The entire tavern fell silent. All eyes were on the single coin on the table. Cale smiled. Jazreal beamed. The pusher looked back, squinting hard and giving Cale the evil eye. He strode back to his booth and sat back down without a word, with everyone following him. Cale was pushed hard from behind, big beer bellies and voluptuous bosoms shoving him against the table. Everyone in the tavern wanted to see, including the minstrel. Someone shouted in the street and more people on their way back to work at the docks piled in for one last exciting show. Cale found himself squeezed hard again Jazreal. She gave him a reassuring smile of encouragement. He pretended he didn't like being pressed against her and tried to hide his blush. A barmaid gripped his arm, murmuring sweet words. She reminded him of his mother.

  "One game." The pusher held up a finger. "One! No take backs, all bets final. You understand?"

  "Yes." Cale tried to sound braver than he felt. His palms were sweaty.

  "You sure you want to do this? Last chance to back out, kid."

  There were shouts of encouragement, cheers of gambling and warnings against the craftiness of this pusher. It made it hard to think. But Cale just nodded. "Yes."

  "Aye, suit yourself. It's your money."

  And they were off. The red cloth ball went under the center wooden bowl. The bowls went clickity-clack on the table, dancing at incredible speed. The crowd cheered a deafening drum right in Cale's ears. The minstrel strummed his lute but no one could hear him. Jazreal reached below the table line and gripped his right hand, far more scared than Cale. The feel of her skin on his almost made Cale lose track. Finally, the drumming reached its zenith and the pusher sat back, crossing his arms. The minstrel strummed out a tense tune for the standoff. The gold coin still glinted on the table. Cale was sure
he knew, but he wasn't sure he was sure. He glanced at the coin and back to the cups. Releasing Jazreal's hand, he stretched out his arm.

  The man in black gripped him by the wrist. "Are you sure, lad?"

  Cale shook his hand off and extended a finger, moving to the right with a smile.

  Left.

  Cale paused and moved right again.

  Left, Cale.

  Cale hovered over the rightmost bowl. He was sure he had watched correctly. It should have been here!

  He palmed the ball when he started. It's under the leftmost bowl. I told you, the pusher cheats.

  Cale's eyes went wide, the grin vanishing from his face as he watched the pusher. He was smiling with tight, pursed lips. But that eye, that eye saw everything. Cale quickly moved his hand to the leftmost shell. "Here. It's here." And he lifted the bowl.

  The cheers and celebration that erupted could have torn the roof off, and the slaps on the back and shakes nearly rattled Cale out of his bones. The barmaid kissed him on the cheek, a wet, sloppy thing. He wiped at it ferociously. Even Jazreal screamed in surprise as some man picked her up and danced around the room with her, and then another. By the time she made it back to Cale, her hair was a mess where people had tussled it. Rubbing an Indian's head was considered good luck.

  But Cale's eyes never left those of the man. That faint smile had vanished, but that eye had remained. He took another long, hard look at Cale, sizing him up from top to bottom. Then he shifted his intentions to Jazreal, really studying her. Her size, her shape, her appearance.

  He turned back to Cale once more and did the same, coolly appraising every single thing about the boy. In the roar of celebration, no one watched the three of them. Then the man's gaze shifted one last time, turning a keen eye lower. Cale's blood turned to ice water in his veins.

  He was staring at Sword.

  Chapter XX

  How was this possible? Sword was supposed to be hidden. His scabbard kept him from view of those he did not wish to be seen by.

  Did Sword want to be seen? Why did none of the other tavern goers notice the two teenagers running around with very adult swords? They were still oblivious. So how did this man see them? He didn't appear to see Jazreal's, or maybe he just hadn't noticed hers yet?

  The man stood, handed Cale his gold piece and walked to the money box behind the bar. The tavern owner had a sour look on her face but didn't say anything as the man deposited several silver coins in her box and removed a gold one. Apparently, it was not an equal exchange though, because she still glared at the man, even as he handed Cale the second gold coin.

  "Well. I guess we'll be, uh, we'll be going now." Cale walked backwards, bumping into Jazreal. He motioned her out the door, keeping an eye on the man who hadn’t said a word. He watched them leave.

  "What are we doing?" Jazreal whispered once they were out in the street. "What was that? I thought it was the right one?"

  "I did, too." Cale stared off into the distance. He realized he was shaking.

  "Then how did you guess the left one?!"

  "Sword told me."

  "Oh." Jazreal covered her hands with her mouth. "Oh my, it's real. Everything you said is real. You really aren't crazy, and your Sword really does talk?"

  "No, he isn't." The man in black stepped from the shadow of the doorway. "And yes, it does."

  "Run!" Cale shouted, grabbing Jazreal's hand. They darted through the throng of people, hoping to lose him in the crowd.

  The midday rush was almost over and the crowds had thinned out a little. Still, in a city as large as this one, busting at the brim with people, it wasn't difficult to find a mob in which to hide. Cale had no idea where he was going--he just knew they had to get out of there. They ended up back at the center square on the bay side.

  "What," Jazreal wheezed, trying to catch her breath. "What was that?"

  "He could see Sword." Cale sank down, holding his head between his knees.

  "Is that all? I can see Sword, as well."

  "No, Jazreal," Cale looked up at her. He wanted to cry. "He could see Sword. They can't be seen unless they want to. That's what their scabbards are for."

  "That's right!" Jazreal's eyes widened. "I forgot. Old Mother told me that. And this man could see it? What about mine?"

  "I can't say for sure. Yours is on your back. But I know he got a clear look at mine."

  "What are we going to do?"

  "I don't know." Cale fidgeted, nearly panicking.

  They sat together in the square for another hour, according to the sundial. They took little notice of the people around them or their errands or devotions. Cale and Jazreal huddled together, thinking about what their next step would be. Somewhere along the way, one of them took the other's hand. Cale didn't know who and he didn't care. Jazreal's hands were rougher than Tully's, but it felt so good and more than anything he needed a friend.

  Cale.

  "What?"

  He's coming.

  Cale sprang to his feet and Jazreal followed suit, her hunter instincts scanning the mass of people. Cale started to draw Sword.

  No.

  "But you said he's coming!"

  I do not remember telling you he is an enemy, do you?

  "No," Cale admitted.

  Calm down. Use your head. See what he wants. Fear has no place in an Imperial Knight.

  In response to Sword's words, he felt a calming, cooling sensation flow through him. He breathed deeper and his heart no longer raced. The sounds were much louder and the world went back to full color.

  "Was that you?"

  Yes. A Sword can affect its Bearer's emotional state. You needed help calming down. No good comes from panic.

  "That feels neat."

  Just wait till I slip into combat mode. Then you will really think it feels neat.

  "Why didn't you tell me everything would be all right?"

  I wanted to see what you would do.

  More relaxed now, Cale watched the crowds with Jazreal. He placed a hand on her shoulder to help calm her, because she wasn't bonded with her Sword yet. He smiled reassuringly.

  "We need to talk." The man came out of nowhere. Cale and Jazreal were both searching in all directions and yet he still managed to sneak up on them. He looked up at the sky. "It's too bright here. Let's talk someplace a little more private."

  The man walked off without looking back and Cale followed. He lost him twice, but tracking and following was something Jazreal excelled at, so she led the way. The man took them down twists and turns, straying far off the beaten path. Eventually, they ended up in back alleys, sidestepping night soil and old women sweeping out their doors and naked babies playing in the cobbled streets. He stopped at a rickety flight of wooden stairs and an apartment on the third floor. Thunder was harnessed outside, happy to see Jazreal and Cale again. They exchanged looks and followed him in, unsure of what to expect.

  The inside was as unimpressive as the outside. Piled high with clutter, dirty dishes, unwashed clothes and bits of broken furniture, it smelled as if it had not been aired out in several weeks. Cale glanced around the dingy apartment. Arrows, swords and honing stones lay about unguarded. When Cale shut the door, the man did not open a window. Instead, he gestured to what was left of a settee. Cale and Jazreal both sat. They just stared at each other for a long time. Jazreal twitched, ready for a fight. The man noticed.

  "Don't let the left eye fool you, children. I can see just fine with my right. Now, let me see the Sword."

  "You want to see a sword? I'll give you a sword!" Jazreal sprang to her feet, reaching over her shoulder for the hilt of her Sword. Cale grabbed her elbow.

  The man had moved. Under his dark cloak flashed a bit of silver, glinting in the pale light. A saber, old but well-oiled. Cale had seen it somewhere before. The man’s black duster also looked familiar. The realization was slow in coming, but like the dawn, it swept over Cale's mind like the sun.

  "You're a Ranger."

  "What?!" Jazreal excl
aimed, struggling in Cale's grip.

  The man stood a little taller at being called a Ranger and his eye shone brighter. He squared his shoulders and fixed Cale with an honest, open stare. "Yes."

  His response was level and honest. Cale felt a tingle run up his spine. He had walked them into a trap. Here was a Ranger, the same kind who had killed his family, who had killed Jazreal's.

  Yet, he felt no animosity from the man, and Sword remained still and silent.

  Was this some kind of sign? Why wasn't Sword saying anything? Was this another test?

  Sword encouraged Cale to make his own decisions. Evidently, this was one of those times. What he did now, what he said, would be Cale's choice. Sword and Jazreal would both back him up, but the final act had to come from him. He chose faith.

  With a shuttering breath, Cale stood and drew his weapon. The song of steel drawn from lacquer said more than he ever could. In the gloom and shadow, Sword shone brightly, casting reflections around the room and upon the Ranger's face. With the most reverent of motions, Cale laid Sword in the Ranger's outstretched hands. Cale's eyes never left his face. The Ranger's look of wonderment never left Sword.

  "Cale, what are you doing?" Jazreal hissed.

  She was upset, thinking he trusted this stranger. She couldn't have been more wrong, however. He didn't have the least bit of faith in the man, but he had complete faith in her.

  And Sword.

  "So it's true." The Ranger broke the silence, turning Sword this way and that. "I heard tales--legends, really. I barely dared to hope. But to think..." He wiped his good eye. Maybe he’d gotten some dust in it? "It's lighter than it looks. Warmer, too."

  "Yeah, he does that."

  "He. And does hers do that, too?" Vyk nodded towards Jazreal.

  She drew her own Sword. It was dark red, almost black in the shadows. There was no glow about it. She let it drop to the ground with a heavy thud.

  The Ranger lifted it, examining the heft and weight. With two Swords in his hands, he gave them a few quick swings. Even in the small apartment, it was clear his skill far outmatched Cale or Jazreal's.