“It’s beautiful,” Qyxal said, his eyes wide.
Benjo blushed. “I-it had to be beautiful for Gwyrtha.” He had spent some time with her over the last few weeks while he had fitted her for the saddle. She had even let him ride her a couple times.
He began pointing out the features, “It has a low cantle and front and rear self-adjusting cinches because of the way she runs; you know, more catlike than horselike. I-I also made it with low forward jockeys for slow riding and a set of rear grips for your feet for when you’re laying forward against her while she’s running at speed. There’s no horn because it would just get in your way.”
Gwyrtha! Come see this! Your saddle is finished, Justan sent.
Yes! she replied, switching from sleep to wakefulness almost instantly.
“She’s coming,” Justan said.
“Gwyrtha is going to love it,” Qyxal said.
“And we didn’t let the dwarf add any of his extra metal bits,” Bettie added.
“Nothin’ would blow up!” Lenny exclaimed.
“It would!” Bettie retorted. “Rogue horse chunks everywhere. How would you replace that? I tell you, you don’t know what you’re doin’ when it comes to mixing leather and metal magics on horses.”
“Yer wrong! I been on horses since I was a dag-burned stub of a young dwarf. There’s lots you don’t know about me, woman!”
“And what happened to the fat sow you tried your little ‘test harness’ on?” she said, hands on hips.
“That pig was good eatin’!”
Gwyrtha arrived and ignored the rest of them, trotting right up to Benjo. She sniffed the saddle, gave it a snort, and rubbed her head against him. Put it on.
Benjo cleared his throat. “As you requested, it’s been runed to keep you warm in the winter and cool in the summer. The leather will stay supple far longer than normal leather will.”
Gwyrtha turned her side to Benjo, and gave him an eager nudge, causing the big man to stumble back a few steps. Put it on!
“Um, she wants us to put it on,” Justan said.
“I can see that,” Benjo replied. “Give me a hand, Sir Edge. I’ll show you how to properly secure it.”
Justan nodded and helped Benjo place it over her back. The large man described the saddle’s features in more detail as they cinched the straps, more talkative than Justan had ever remembered seeing him.
When they finished, Gwyrtha moved over to bump Fist. The ogre was examining the details on his new mace, showing them to Squirrel, who had retaken his customary perch on the ogre’s shoulder.
Look, she sent.
“It looks good, Gwyrtha.” the ogre said, patting her head. Squirrel leapt from his shoulder and ran from the top of her head, down her mane to sit on the saddle expectantly. Gwyrtha strutted about a bit before taking a quick run down the road to test it out. Squirrel began to slide on the leather and darted forward to clutch her mane in desperation.
Fist laughed.
”Benjo,” Justan said. “You outdid yourself.”
The large man shuffled his feet, “Well I-.”
“Yeah, boy. You done good.” Lenny clapped him on the back. Then he bent over to pick up the final cloth bundle. He turned to Justan. Justan’s heart skipped in his chest.
“Okay son, now here’s the best part. I gotta tell you, these were the hardest dag-blasted swords I ever made. Everthin’ was a mess to begin with. The magicked metals were stubborn to work with even with the meltin’ powder, and I had no idear how I was ‘posed to set yer rune-dagger blades into the swords. It took every garl-friggin trick and bit of Firegobbler know-how I had to get the metal shaped just right. Bettie could tell you, I was sweatin’ buckets-full tryin’ not to make a mistake.”
“He didn’t curse for almost a full day, he was so blasted focused,” she confirmed.
Lenny nodded solemnly. “Finally I got ‘em ready. I heated up yer rune blades as much as the magic’d let me and slid them into the slots I made in the swords.” The dwarf whistled through his missing tooth. “Lemme tell you, son, it was amazin’. Everthin’ clicked into place and the magic sealed in by itself and-. Just . . . well, look.”
The dwarf opened the bundle and Justan’s breath caught in his throat. The blades were exquisite. As Justan had envisioned, each blade began below the hilt and curved out to the tip like slender quarter moons. The hilts were inset into the back of the blades with a gap just wide enough space carved out for his fingers. The sides of the blades were finely runed in a starburst pattern and at the center of the patterns were the naming runes. The rune on one sword matched the rune on the back of his right hand while the other matched the rune on the palm of his left.
“I can’t even see where you inserted the dagger blades,” Justan said.
“Yeah, well, when I put them blades in, they just sorta melted in with the rest of the metal and yer namin’ runes appeared. It was like it was meant to be.”
Justan reached for the swords. “What do they do?”
Just before Justan’s hands touched them, Lenny pulled them out of his reach. “So you see, the thing is, I couldn’t rune the swords too much before-hand. If I tried to force a particular magic on it, yer namin’ runes might’ve rejected them. All I could do was prepare ‘em fer whatever magic yer rune-blades were gonna bring with ‘em.”
“What are you saying?” Justan asked.
“Well, the thing is, I don’t rightly know what they’re gonna do.”
“How is that?”
The dwarf winced uncomfortably. “Yer blades basically runed themselves. Once it were sealed, I couldn’t add nothing to em. I can tell you this much. Like all namin’ weapons, they’re indestructible as long as yer alive. Also this one-.” He gestured to the sword emblazoned with Justan’s wizard rune. “When you touch it, somethin’ funny happens. All yer emotions and feelin’s just vanish. Poof! Yer anger, yer pain, whatever, they seem to go away. Dunno why. The other one, I ain’t got no idear what it does. But it does somethin’.”
“Damn near raises my hackles, that one does,” Bettie agreed.
“I’ll tell you one thing, though,” Lenny added. “Them’s the best dag-gum swords I ever made and that’s the truth.” He held the swords back out to Justan.
The moment Justan’s hands grasped the hilts, there was a small click within his mind, somewhere deep within the bond. A voice, quiet but firm echoed out, EDGE.
His excitement at finally touching the swords disappeared, replaced by a calm assurance that all was right. These swords were the last swords he would ever need to own. They were a part of him.
Justan lifted the blades and though they were long and were heavier than the swords he was used to, they seemed like extensions of his own arms. Any worry he had about being able to learn to use them disappeared. He extended the right sword out and with a flick of his wrist, flipped the left sword around so that the dull back of the blade rested against his forearm. They were perfect.
He could feel the left blade siphoning off his emotion, leaving only cool calculated thought behind. The right blade, however, burned with a hunger. Justan switched to spirit sight. It came much easier to him now. He saw a thin cable of silvery spirit magic that linked the hilts of the two swords together. All the emotions that were siphoned off by the left sword were flowing into the right, though he did not know for what purpose.
“Edge?” Bettie said. “Are you alright?”
“You feel strange,” Fist agreed. The ogre had felt the absence of Justan’s emotions through the bond.
“No everything is fine,” Justan said. He looked at Lenny. Though he didn’t feel the emotion, Justan knew that there were tears in his eyes. “They are wonderful, Lenny. They are perfect.”
The dwarf smiled and patted Justan’s arm. “I told you I’d make you swords that sing.”
“Um, is there a way to turn these things off while I’m fighting? The way it takes my emotions away is a bit unsettling.”
The dwarf shrugged apologetic
ally. “They’re yer rune-swords, son. Like I said before, I didn’t form the magic in ‘em. Yer gonna have to figger that out on yer own.”
“Here,” Bettie said. She held out two leather half-scabbards attached to harnesses. “These will strap to your back so you can sheath your swords over your shoulders.
She helped Justan strap them on. The moment he sheathed the left sword and let go of the hilt, his feelings rushed back in. “Whoa,” he said, and wiped the tears from his eyes. He sheathed the right sword, put his arms to his sides, shook his hands, then in one fluid motion, reached back up and drew both swords again. He felt that strange peace settle over him again. This was going to take some getting used to. He re-sheathed the swords.
“Thank you, Bettie,” he said. “You did marvelous work on the sheathes. How much do I owe you?”
“Ah! Don’t worry. Lenui subcontracted ‘em out to me. I got paid for my work already.” She winked at Lenny and whacked Justan on the back hard enough that he nearly stumbled. She looked over at Fist, who was trying to strap the shield to his back while still holding his mace. His every movement was fast and awkward. The shield slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a thud. Bettie yelled, “Not like that, Fist! Here, let me help!”
“Lenny,” Justan said, watching Bettie storm over to the ogre. She made Fist put the mace down so that he could stand still long enough for her to help him with his shoulder harnesses.
“Yeah, son?”
“You and Bettie . . .”
Lenny’s eyes narrowed and there was a warning tone in the dwarf’s voice. “Whadda you want?”
“It’s just that the way you two work so closely toge-.”
“Shh!” The dwarf reached up, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him down until Justan’s ear was level with his moustache. He whispered, “Don’t you dare say nothin’ to no-one. All’s I know is it’s goin’ good, so shut yer dag-gum face about it, afore you screw it up.”
Justan looked at Lenny with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t know you could whisper.” At the dwarf’s scowl, he added, “All I was going to say was that you two produce good work together.”
“Yeah I know, son,” the dwarf said, releasing him. “We work too dag-gum blasted well together.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“One day it’s gotta end.”
Bettie finally had the shield and mace hung on Fist’s back. The ogre stretched, rotated his neck, and nodded. “Feels good. I could carry this.”
“Good. Now you just gotta learn how to-.” Her mouth hung open mid-sentence and her eyes looked distant as if she was listening to something. Bettie nodded and yelled, “Alright, boys! You can play with your pretty new weapons later. Coal says Becca wants us to come eat! Then we gotta go!”
Justan smiled and his heart jumped. It was time. They would be on the road soon. Somehow they would find a way to help the school, he knew it. He would be able to see his father and mother and Jhonate would be there . . . He pulled his swords once again and felt his excitement sucked away by the magic of the left sword. His pulse evened and he felt calm once more. This could be useful.
He looked over at Fist. The ogre wasn’t as happy about leaving. “I’m sorry, Fist. I know you are going to miss this place.”
The ogre grunted. “I will be sad to leave Miss Nala and the children.”
Justan sheathed the left sword and felt the ogre’s sorrow wash over him. He suddenly felt guilty. “I can’t make you leave, Fist. You could stay and help Benjo watch over the community and keep farming.”
Fist gave a sad half smile and shook his head. “I am with you. You are the leader of The Big and Little Peoples.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. We will stay bonded forever whether you come with me or not. I can return for you when the siege is broken.”
“No. I will go with you,” the ogre said firmly. “If I stay here too long . . .” I won’t be able to leave.
“But you will be happier here,” Justan said. Fist didn’t understand. “Everyone accepts you here! Where I am taking you . . . it’s going to be hard. People are going to look at you and-and-.”
“I know! They will see an ogre.” He grabbed Justan’s shoulders with both hands. But I have decided. I am not an ogre. Not anymore. I am just Fist. You will tell them. You are Edge. They will have to listen.
Justan looked him in the eyes. What if they don’t?
Fist let go of his shoulders and shrugged. Then we shall show them.
“And what about your friends here?”
“They are my friends.” Fist placed one large finger on Justan’s forehead and said both aloud and through the bond, “You are my family.”
Justan swallowed a lump in his throat. “Thank you Fist. I-I am happy that you are coming.”
Fist nodded and headed towards the lodge.
Justan felt a confused bundle of emotions at the edge of the bond. He looked up past the wall at the tree he knew Deathclaw was sitting in. The raptoid had been listening. We leave soon, Deathclaw.
From the upper boughs of the fir tree, Deathclaw nodded, ignoring the waves of pain the movement caused him. We leave.
Chapter Thirty Six
Fist walked into the lodge with his new mace and shield strapped to his back. The smell of the morning meal usually made his belly rumble, but this time he hardly noticed. His belly was too busy churning with turmoil. He was excited to leave, excited to experience the long journey with his tribe, excited to see Justan’s homeland, and perhaps most of all, excited to use his new weapons in battle. But sadness weighed him down. This place felt like home.
He headed past the food-laden table, waving and smiling weakly at the men who called out to him in greeting. Justan was right. He had found a unique place here in Coal’s keep; a place where he was befriended by the humans. Fist had tried to show confidence that he would be accepted elsewhere, but in truth he shared Justan’s fears. What if he was leaving the only place in the human lands where he would be seen as an equal?
Fist passed the busy kitchens and opened the door to his room. He let out a sad sigh as he bent over to step through the low doorway. Squirrel emerged from his pouch, scampered across the floor, jumped nimbly over Fist’s oversized pack, and darted inside his own little home. Fist sensed his friend’s sorrow and received a mental scolding through the bond. Squirrel did not want to leave.
“Sorry, Squirrel,” he said. “Maybe we will come back. Oh, I am going to miss that bed.”
“I’ll keep your bed here for you,” said Becca from behind him.
Fist turned and smiled at Coal’s wife. “I will miss it a whole much. I wish I could take all of it with me. Especially my pillow.”
“I don’t think we could fit as much as a single straw inside that pack without it bursting.” She edged past him into the room and put her hands on her hips. “I do think, however, that I might let you take that pillow with you on two conditions.”
“Really?” Fist’s grin grew wider.
“First of all, you must promise not to get it dirty. You keep taking off the leather cover I made for it.”
“But it’s sooo soft without the cover,” the ogre protested.
She scowled and shook a finger at him. “That cover keeps the pillow clean. You sweat and drool in your sleep, you know it. Besides, on this journey you could be sleeping in the dirt and rain and who knows what else. That cover has been treated to handle dirt. You will keep it on, or I will not let you take it. Are we understood?”
“Yes,” he grumped.
“Alright then. My second condition is that you keep the promise you made to your little friend there.” Her look grew stern. “You must come back and see me. Do you understand?”
Fist hugged her. “Yes Mrs. Becca. I will come back. We all will.”
“You had better.” She hugged him back, then pushed him away. “I’ll strap your pillow on top of that pack. Have you eaten yet?”
Fist shook his head.
“Goo
d, Nala heard that you were leaving and wanted you to eat breakfast with them before you go. Now, you go down and say goodbye. I’ll make sure that Sir Edge brings your pack down with him when they leave.”
Fist nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Becca. Thank you for everything.”
She opened her mouth as if to say more, but her eyes welled with tears and she shooed him away. Fist patted her shoulder, then bent over and walked through the doorway. “Squirrel. It is time to go.”
Squirrel reluctantly left his little house and stopped in front of Miss Becca. He unloaded a cheek-full of seeds at Becca’s feet and chattered at her, then darted into his pouch at Fist’s side and sulked.
Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) Page 39
