“As I said the other day, we do not know what language the markings are in,” Matthew said to his unasked question. “The only thing we know for certain is that if we have not studied the language here, it is a very old language indeed.”
The awakened nodded and turned back to his sword. He hefted it into the air and swung it. It made a satisfying whoosh, but he found himself off balance, and had to reach out to the wall to keep from falling. Without a pommel, the sword was blade heavy.
“Where is the pommel?” he asked.
Matthew scratched under his ear. “We don’t know. It appears to have a narrow socket, but the screw-hole is threaded too finely for any sword-maker we have ever seen. No one we know can make threads that fine.” He shrugged. “You’ll just have to get used to it, or improvise something.”
The Awakened took some more swings with it, but although his muscles seemed to feel at home with the sword, he couldn’t find his balance. It was clearly going to be difficult to get used to.
“It is a very fine sword," he said, nodding to Matthew. “Will I be able to thank Sister Joan in person? I had hoped that she would give me the sword so that I could thank her for her care.”
Matthew put his hands out to the side. “Alas, she has already left. She will be happy to hear of your gratitude, but she has set out for the Kingdom of Mathrekesh. They have been performing the arts of the blacksmith far longer than we have, and she hopes to find some knowledge of the markings on the blade.”
“Her work is masterful.” He held the sword up in front of his face, examining the indecipherable writing. “I would not believe that this blade had ever been used before, much less that it was in the state that you said she found it in…what did she say?”
Matthew smiled, and raised his eyebrows while quoting her words: “That it was ‘as if it were entirely made of rust’. But Sister Joan in an exceptional blacksmith.” He chuckled. “And perhaps she exaggerated the condition a bit, as well. I didn’t see the blade when you came in, I was occupied with your body.”
“That she must be a master, to have done this.” He shook his head, picked up the newly made sheath, and put the sword away.
For some reason, he suddenly felt warmer.
Matthew cleared his throat. The Awakened looked up at him, eyebrows raised again.
“Have you chosen a new name, Awakened?”
“I have.” He looked downward. “I believe that I would like to be called Renek.“
Matthew frowned. He thought for a moment before responding. “After the old king of Lerona, west of here?” The Awakened nodded, and Matthew continued. “He is mentioned in the third chapter of the book, I think. He is referred to as the ‘breaker of worlds,’ is he not?” The Awakened nodded again.
“That is why I thought it was fitting,” the Awakened said. “Haven’t I had my world broken?” He smiled gently. “Be it a disease or an angry man with a sword, death can come easily to all of us. Both the original Renek and I have survived at least a kind of world-breaking.”
Matthew shook his head. “But he caused the world-breaking wars that he survived. He was the father of death itself … he sent myriads of souls to hell, leaving their bodies unburied, where they became food for birds and dogs.” His voice grew serious as he looked away from the Awakened. “According to the text, the soil was unable to grow crops normally for three generations after Renek’s eventual death—there had been too much blood spilled!
He paused, shrugging. “I just do not think that this is a wise choice.”
“I can see that you don’t like it,” Renek said. “But for some reason, it feels right. The name does not feel evil to me, but rather feels good.” He looked at Matthew’s eyes, resting beneath a furrowed brow. “Perhaps I am here to make the name carry honor once again?”
Matthew considered for a moment, eyes narrowed. Finally, he smiled again, though weakly. “Perhaps that is the case. I hope you have chosen well, Renek.” He paused. “You should eat, and then rest well tonight. Tomorrow you can begin ‘the long walk,’ as we call it—the nearest village is many miles away, and you will want to leave at dawn.”
* * *
The dawn brought warmth to the abbey’s cold walls. Renek was already awake and ready to greet the Sun as it crested the horizon. There was snow under the dense firs that lined the pathway leading to the stone walls of the abbey, but the path itself was clear.
Matthew was there to see him off.
“It snowed a few days ago. It’s spring, so the armies will be on the move soon. If they aren’t already, that is.” Matthew shook his head and frowned that frown that still seemed to belong to someone else’s face. “I hope that there are not too many killed, this year.”
“Was last year bad?” He furrowed his brow in concern.
“Oh, yes, there were thousands dead,” Matthew said, nodding. “We had many wounded seek us out. It was difficult for all of us, but of course we were glad to be able to help people.”
“Isn’t it difficult, healing people who are just likely to go get themselves hurt again?” He put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder.
Matthew looked out at the valley, and was quiet for a while. Finally, he spoke. “Yes, it can be a heavy burden.” He turned to look at Renek. “That is why it is important that you remember: you should repay any debt you have with us by giving whatever help you can to help other people to have a better life.”
Renek looked with concern into the light blue eyes, which were so bright they were almost flashing. “I promise, Matthew. I will…but I have to ask, why do you stress this? Are you worried for my future? Do you think that my … regrets, you called them … will come back to haunt me?”
Matthew sighed. “Life is uncertain. When you were speaking in your deep slumber, and hinting at the difficulties you had been through, it was clear that you might have regrets.” He gestured down into the valley. “What happened before does not necessarily need to happen again, and, if it does, it is not necessarily for the bad.
“Perhaps your actions, which led you to regrets, were witnessed by others who were encouraged to act in a way that they would be more proud of.” Matthew reasoned. “Perhaps you regret only small things—we humans often obsess over the smallest, most inconsequential things.” Unexpectedly, he barked a laugh, and grinned widely. “I remember one time, I encouraged some of our patients to sing with me—the results were … well, let us say, the results were not spectacular.” He grinned and winked at Renek. “I sometimes think the abbey’s walls must have cracked from the sound. I am fairly sure that we drove the birds off for weeks!” He sighed, and although his smile stayed, his eyes narrowed. “I have regretted that for many years. They were such awful singers, and so embarrassed—the chagrin showed on their faces. Every time I think of it, I hang my head in shame.” He grinned wryly at Renek. “Yet, however bad it was, we did add song to the world for a time. Perhaps that is not something I should regret—but I do.”
“Matthew, you do not regret the song. You regret the embarrassment that you assume that you must have caused your patients.”
Matthew tilted his head to the side, and looked out over the valley again. The sun was rising higher, and light was spilling into the basin, chasing the shadow away. “Yes, perhaps you’re right.” He laughed again, and clapped Renek on the shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. May you never regret your actions.”
Renek straightened, and turned to face Matthew. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“You’re welcome, Renek.” He nodded. “Try not to come back, but if you need to, you will be most welcome.”
Renek turned away, and began walking down the narrow footpath away from the abbey.
* * *
He had been walking for hours down the steep road. The abbey had disappeared, hidden by the forest after only a few minutes, and it seemed like he hadn’t gotten anywhere since then. Nobody was nearby, and all he could see was trees, and a pathway through them. There wasn’t much underbrush in th
e forest, but the occasional shrub gave places for birds to rest their wings. A bit of snow lay along the roadside.
The only thing that seemed to change was the field below him. Far in the distance, there was a large amount of dust coming off of one side, clearly emanating from a swarming gray mass of people.
Armies, probably, he thought while he stopped for a moment to drink some water. He took out a large horn that the monks had given him, removed the cap, and drank the clear coldness. “They must be fighting,” he said aloud, while fishing in his pack. Soon, he pulled out a small vial of vitlach. “Some cavalry, or there wouldn’t be so much dust this early in the year.” One swallow of the vitlach seemed to fortify him against the coldness. He stood up a bit straighter.
“Look at me, talking to myself.” He grinned. “Too long without talking to anybody but Matthew.” He shook his head, laughing softly. “He was a strange one. Those eyes were…penetrating.” He shook his head again, but more forcefully, as if trying to clear it of the cobwebs that might have formed in his mind during the time in the abbey. Was it only a week that I was there? He thought silently.
“Seemed longer,” he added, aloud.
It took the rest of the day, as Matthew had warned him, but he eventually got to the village at the base of the mountain. In reality, the ‘village’ turned out to be a small general store and inn that the local farmers came to have a drink once in a while. He stood outside of the building, looking at the two horses hitched to the railing.
“Cold enough for ya?” he asked the horses. One of them blinked at him; he got no further reaction. “Maybe I’d better go inside. This vitlach doesn’t satisfy like real food does.”
The door banged shut behind him as he entered the room. There was a fire going, with a large pot of stew of something over it, and the two men who must belong to the horses outside were sitting at a table near the fire, drinking beer. The innkeeper was a tall, thin woman who looked at Renek with suspicion. She was older, and her white hair was thinning. After a moment, she spoke in a croaking voice that sounded unused.
“Can I get somtin’ for ya? We got beer, and some beef stew.”
Renek nodded, then cleared his throat. “Beer would be nice, barkeep, and some stew would just about hit the spot right now.”
“That’ll be 7 copper, stranger," she said, holding her hand out over the counter.
Renek opened his pouch and counted out some money. There isn’t much in here, he thought. I’d better be careful not to spend too much. Aloud, he said, “How about five, barkeep? I’ll give you seven if you let me stay the night, too.”
The barkeep narrowed her eyes. “Stranger, I don’t know where you come from, but hereabouts we don’t dicker.” The two men near the fire laughed a bit.
One of them spoke up. “Now, Freiya, you know that price you quoted were for a room, too.” He turned to look at Renek but kept talking to the barkeep. “Leastways, that’s what you charged that fella last night.
“Don’t mind Freiya, stranger.” He looked pointedly down at Renek’s sword. “She’s just tired of havin’ soldiers try and haggle with her.” He pulled a chair from another table, and smiled. “Why don’t you come sit with us while you et your dinner?”
Freiya clunked a bowl on a tray, and pulled a long lever, made of a stag’s antler, to fill a stein of beer.
Renek smiled as he walked over to the table where they sat. “I suppose company would be welcome. I haven’t seen many people of late.” He sat in the offered chair.
“Oh? Where you been, then?” His voice was rough, but kind.
“Here and there.” Freiya shambled over to the fire and slopped some stew into the bowl. Renek realized Freiya had drawn his gaze away. He turned back to the man and stuck out his hand. “Traveling. I’m Renek.”
“Don’t want to talk about it, huh? Don’t blame you. My name’s Thomas. And this here’s Will.” He gestured to the younger man. Renek shook Will’s hand, looking them both up and down. They were scruffy and dirty, both with untrimmed beards. From their simple clothing, stained with dirt, they looked to be farmers. Will was very thin, Thomas a bit tubby.
“So, you gents from around here, then?” Renek asked, trying to be polite.
“Oh, yeah,” he drawled. “Will works for me up on my farm, ‘bout five miles west.”
“What do you farm?” Freiya plonked down the tray with the beer and the stew. There was a hunk of bread next to the bowl. Renek picked it up and found that it was rock hard. Probably yesterday’s bread, he thought.
“Wheat, mostly.” He took a pull of beer. “Have some sheep, but they’re more trouble than they’re worth, really.” He spat on the floor. “Bunch of dirty, sorry animals. Cows’re where the money is, though. I can’t afford `em, so that’s that for that.” He glanced at Renek’s sword again. “So, you a soldier?”
“Haven’t been for a while.” He shrugged. “Thinking about it again—”
The front door crashed open, slamming against the wall, and three men came in. Their weapons were drawn.
“We don’t want any trouble, innkeeper! We just want your money!” The tallest of the three yelled. Freiya had jumped behind her bar as soon as she heard the noise. “Give us your money—”
“And some beer!” yelled the shortest of the men.
The leader looked at the short one, frowning, but finally nodded. “Yeah, and some beer, or we’ll cut you and your ‘customers’ up.”
The men were clearly soldiers, but there was something odd about them. They were very thin, and their uniforms were in tatters. All three of them had a sword in their right hands, with long dagger in their left hands.
“Yeah, yeah, ha ha yeah” stuttered the one who hadn’t yet spoken. “Cut your ‘cuuustoMERs. Ha ha! And beer! Beer! Ha!”
“Shut up, Len!” the tallest man hissed between clenched teeth.
Back at the table by the fire, Renek was fidgeting, fingering the hilt of his sword under the table. There were three of them, but they were tired, thin, had poor weapons. This innkeeper certainly didn’t deserve what was happening. And this might be a chance to start associating good with his new name.
The two men he was sitting with were looking at him…his expression must have given him away.
“Don’t do it, lad, Freiya’ll just give them some coin and they’ll leave,” the heavyset one whispered at Renek.
Matthew told me to repay him by helping others. “Pay it forward …” Renek thought, and made his decision.
“You thieves!” Freiya shouted. “You think you can—” Len threw his dagger at Freiya. Fortunately for the barkeep, it hit her sideways, doing no damage. But Freiya was cowed a bit. She bent over and pulled a drawer open.
“Careful, there! That better be money you’re getting, barkeep, because if it ain’t—”
Renek stood up and drew his sword. Luckily, Joan had ringed the mouth of the sheath with that bit of steel, and the sword made a satisfactory ‘shing!’ as he pulled it into the air.
“Gentlemen, I think that you should leave now,” Renek said, with what he hoped was a voice that betrayed none of his fear.
Skills
The sergeant is testing me, Ryan thought. He lifted his shield and brought his sword up to point at his opponent’s chest, the sounds of fighting around them seemed to drop away. He wasn’t sure if the others had stopped fighting to watch, or if he stopped hearing their noises; either way, his senses seemed to sharpen.
The sergeant swung his sword down in the maneuver that they were supposed to be practicing, but much faster and harder. Ryan defended with his shield, although he had to step back and drop his weight to fend off the much heavier man.
That gave him leverage to push back, though, and he did so with all his might. He pushed with his legs, his stomach, his chest, his arm—he felt like he was pushing with his eyes. Even his lungs pushed, and he heard air rushing out of his mouth.
The sergeant was taken aback by the power of the boy’s push, but he did not go fa
r. He outweighed Ryan, and was also wearing heavy chain mail, belted at the waist. It threw him off balance, though, and he stepped backwards trying to regain control.
Ryan was slow in reacting to his unexpected success, and jumped forward a bit too late. He swung, hard and fast, at the sergeant’s helm, but the larger man shifted his sword just far enough to catch Ryan’s on his cross guard. He then brought the sword straight down onto Ryan.
Ryan’s right shoulder seemed to explode in pain. No bones snapped, but the blow brought him to his knees. His hand seemed to have stopped working, he realized his sword was in the dust but he couldn’t get his hand to move toward it.
“Do you yield?” the sergeant screamed at the boy.
“I yield, sergeant!” Ryan knew better than to speak softly, but it hurt his shoulder when he yelled, and he winced at the pain.
The sergeant turned to his class. “If I see any of you being as tame as these two were, I’ll come after you! This little weakling didn’t have a chance, and he’s the best of you sorry lot, so you’d better work at it!
He turned around and looked at Ryan. “And you had better not let me catch you joking around again. Battle isn’t funny. If you go easy on your friend, he’s not going to know what to do in battle. You want to have his death on your head?” Ryan shook his head. “Then make him work. You’ve only got a month, maybe a month and a half before we’re at the river. A few cold months after that and then you’re out on the battlefield.” He snorted. “The Triols won’t tap you lightly on your noggin, that’s for sure.”
He turned and walked back to the edge of the clearing they were in. Edmund held out his hand, and Ryan found that his arm could move again, though it was painful. He winced again as Edmund pulled him to his feet.
“You alright?” Edmund asked quietly.
“Yeah, but I think I’m going to win for ‘biggest bruise’ today," he said, wincing.
Edmund grinned. “I don’t know, I usually have some whoppers.” He bent over and grabbed Ryan’s sword. “He got you pretty good, though. Mean bastard, isn’t he?”
Legend of the Swords: War Page 3
