The King's sword

by A. J. Searle

  “Now do that standing on your head and I shall be impressed,” Ronan challenged.

  Ula’s lips pressed together in a thin line and she turned to stomp from the house, taking her rat foot and rock with her.

  “Have you ever seen anything like that before?” Ronan looked at Arien as the boy shook his head and wiped tears on the back of his hand.

  “She is an odd old creature,” Arien said.

  “What kind of rock was that?” Ronan’s chuckled. “Looked like one she dug out of a river bank.”

  “That was no rock.” Arien started to laugh again. “It is the same thing that I shovel out of the mule stable each morning. There were pieces breaking off and flying into her hair.”

  Ronan stared at the boy for a moment and then begin to chuckle again.

  Ronan knew very little about horses. His old mule was hardly any trouble and fat from being treated too well for too many years. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on any of the large beasts that Keegan arrived with the next morning. They were magnificent animals with muscles that rippled with every movement.

  “They are Dulcet Horses.” Keegan swung down from the animal he rode and led the three remaining to stand in a row in front of Ronan. “They are pure bred with no mixed magic. Strong, intelligent, and I trained them myself.”

  Ronan could hear the pride in Keegan’s deep voice. “Which one shall I ride?”

  Keegan smiled and shook his head, the sun glinting across his red hair. “Don’t know yet.”

  “I like the gray one.” Ronan nodded toward the mare of the three.

  “But does she like you?” Keegan’s smiled dipped to a grin. “A Dulcet Horse chooses its own rider.”

  “How can a horse make a choice like that?” Arien asked.

  “Animals sense things about us,” Keegan explained as he ran a large hand over the gray mare. “They know things about us and choose a rider that best matches them.”

  “Sounds like a little horse manure to me,” Ula said as she stepped from the house to Ronan’s side.

  “You could always shake your foot at them to be certain you are chosen first.” Ronan grinned when Arien snickered but didn’t look at the witch.

  “Sorcha comes from two Dulcets that are strong and mild tempered. She is fast but not reckless.” Keegan patted the gray mare again before moving to the black and white horses. “Ahearn is stronger than Sorcha and acts as protector to the others. He is very intelligent. And Dermot is the gentlest horse I have. He’ll probably choose the most inexperienced rider.”

  “Fascinating. I’m curious now,” Ronan admitted staring at the dark eyes of each of the animals when Keegan moved away from them. Ahearn stepped forward almost immediately and nudged at Arien. The boy’s eyes widened.

  “Why did he choose me?” Arien asked lifting a hand to rub between the black horse’s ears.

  “Only Ahearn knows why,” Keegan answered. The other two horses stood for a moment looking at Ronan and Ula. Then they moved forward in unison and Ronan watched as the gray mare chose him. He’d liked her best anyway.

  “Well, hello, Sorcha.” Ronan smiled when she nuzzled against his beard.

  “Now, don’t get too attached to them unless you are willing to pay the price to own this kind of animal,” Keegan warned. But Ronan was already deciding what he was going to sell to raise the funds to pay for this horse that looked him right in the eyes.

  “So where is your dead guard?” Keegan asked after a moment.

  Ronan nodded toward stable. “In the mule stable. I didn’t bury him in the event someone wanted to make sure the story I told was truth.” He slanted a gaze at Keegan. “Would you like to see him for yourself?”

  “No.” Keegan scowled. “Is that his robe?” His attention dropped to the bright blue material draped over Ronan’s shoulder.

  “I thought if I wore royal colors that it would ease worries of getting people to feed and shelter us at night,” Ronan told the man.

  “Just don’t ride next to me. I don’t want anyone to think I am a guard if those that ambushed the first batch are still around.” Keegan leaned down to adjust the saddle strap. “No doubt they’ll know that the one wearing the colors is the one carrying the sword.”

  Ronan considered the horseman’s words, then removed the material and folded it. He stuffed it down from sight in his pack. He hadn’t considered that he would be in danger by delivering the sword. He’d only thought of the burden of having to leave his home and make arrangements for a neighboring farmer to look after his mule.

  “Have you eaten?” Ronan asked.

  “I have not. I assumed my meals would be provided since I was doing this service for you,” Keegan answered so Ronan motioned him inside. Ula Baen might be a crazy old witch but she was one who could cook. And she’d prepared enough food for a dozen people.

  When Ronan had found her that morning placing the food on the table he’d felt a bit guilty for laughing at her. She’d gone out that night and managed to bring in a boar to fry up at breakfast, along with Slog eggs and corncakes. Arien had nearly made himself ill eating so much.

  It had been a long time since Ronan had eaten such a meal. The aroma of fried meat had roused him from bed and brought a rumble from his stomach that clearly spoke that it had been neglected such luxury. Breakfast usually consisted of cold bread and lukewarm milk. He’d made sure to tell her twice what good food it was and complimented her on the seasoning. At first she’d seemed shocked, but by the end of the meal, she only smiled at his efforts to show appreciation.

  If Keegan was impressed, he said nothing. Instead, he sat down and began piling food on his plate. Ronan imagined from the size of him, he would demolish a good bit of what was left. He was thankful. Ronan was never one who approved of waste.

  “Since none of you have ever been to Merisgale, I feel obligated to tell you this will not be an easy trek,” Keegan spoke around a mouthful of boar. “There are places of magic that we must pass through or near. You must always be on guard. And then there is Sledgewood and River Blanch.”

  “River Blanch,” Ula echoed in a whisper that trembled through the air like a hollowing note in a winter wind. “I’ve been that way before. Many years ago. I’d hoped I’d never have to walk that way again.”

  “Why?” Arien leaned toward the witch when she sat down heavily at the table. Her fingers held a stone that she ran her thumb back and forth over. Ronan wondered if it was a nervous movement or another secret spell.

  “Not much frightens me. That water scared me so I felt I would die.” Ula bowed her head causing Ronan to frown. Maybe that was before she knew of rat feet and mule manure.

  “It is one of most difficult parts of the journey.” Keegan nodded in agreement. “It only takes fifteen minutes to cross but it feels like…”

  “Eternity,” Ula finished in a low voice.

  “How do you mean?” Arien pressed.

  “Imagine reliving your worst memory for fifteen minutes from the eyes of someone who hates you.” Ula looked at the boy. “Now multiply that by ten.” Arien paled and fell silent, clearly frightened of her explanation.

  “When will we pass through that way?” Ronan asked.

  “If we are lucky we’ll be past it in eight days.” Keegan looked at Ronan. “Have you never been anywhere outside of this place?”

  “I am a blacksmith. People come to me,” Ronan answered pointedly. “I have been places but nowhere that has the magic of the likes which she describes. Is there no way around this River Blanch?”

  “No.”

  “What is Sledgewood? Is it just as scary?” Arien asked.

  “It isn’t if you do not disturb the trees. They are guarded by Sledgers…well, that’s what they’ve been called.” Keegan shoveled more food into his mouth. “If you keep to their good side, they won’t bother you. Do wrong…well, let’s just say that pain can do a lot to a person and the Sledgers are experts about making you realize that fact.”

  “I rather l
ike the idea of the river better.” Ronan glanced at Ula when she shook her head as she shivered. Maybe her rat foot wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “I’ve traveled this road many times. You shall make it to Merisgale alive,” Keegan said when he glanced up at Ronan. “It was wise that you asked for someone to lead you. You may have died before you got half way. There are many dangers to be aware of. I know them all by heart.”

  Ronan nodded, for once in agreement with the horseman and thankful now that the man was going with them.

  Two

  Ronan lifted his eyes to a sun that had no mercy on the morning. Only four hours upon the horse, and his body was already silently cursing at him for the unfamiliar strain. He shifted in an attempt to ease some of the soreness in his legs and back. He was not soft but he was no rider.

  Glancing at Arien and the witch, he found them visibly as uncomfortable as he felt. Keegan was the only one of them that seemed at ease upon the great beasts. He frowned. The man had sneered at the difficulty Ronan had suffered when mounting. He would not give the horseman the satisfaction of knowing he was having trouble again. Instead he would wait for one of the others to call for a break.

  The heat did nothing to ease his discomfort. In fact, it made it worse. The strong smell of the animal seemed to intensify beneath the smoldering rays. Stinking, sweaty, and sore, Ronan’s mood darkened with every miserable moment. When Keegan began to whistle ahead of them, Ronan felt like running him through with the damnable sword he carried.

  “Do you think the horses may need to stop? They might need water in this heat?” Arien was the first to break and Ronan let out a breath, for once thankful to hear that uneven pitch in the boy’s voice.

  “Not Dulcet horses. They can go for many more hours without stopping,” Keegan called back without turning. Ronan considered asking Ula to throw her Mule rock at the back of Keegan’s big red head.

  “Many of my customers purchase Dulcets when traveling the yellow sands of Golythia,” Keegan continued. “There are miles there with no place to stop and drink.”

  “We are not Dulcet Horses and apparently they can also hold their water a little longer than some of us,” Ula snapped and Ronan grinned when Keegan looked back and sighed heavily with irritation. Nevertheless, he called for the horses to stop.

  Ronan waited until the others dismounted and Ula was well into the trees before finally swinging down from Sorcha’s back. He forced himself not to groan with the relief he felt in his leg muscles. Instead, he checked the pack secured to Sorcha’s saddle, pretending interest in its integrity.

  “She likes you, Culley.” Keegan stepped toward him and Ronan looked up, raising a brow. “You can tell by how still she stands. If she didn’t like you, she would have moved away once you were on the ground.”

  “She has good taste.” Ronan gave the horse’s head a pat. Only after he turned to face the horseman did she wander off to the patch of grass where Ahearn and Dermot were grazing. All three bent their heads close as they nibbled at the green.

  “Looks like they are talking to one another,” Ronan observed, wondering what Sorcha would say about him. He remembered what Keegan had said about them sensing things about their riders. He imagined they were probably snickering over the aches their riders would have that night.

  “Some call it whispering grass when they do that,” Keegan told him, then faced Arien. “How are you doing, boy?”

  “I hurt all over,” Arien answered, and then straightened when his gaze darted to Ronan. “But I am young and strong. I adapt well.” As if to prove his words as the truth, he turned and walked toward the woods with no expression.

  “He cares what you think of him.” Keegan faced Ronan again. “He is a good apprentice?”

  “Yes.” Ronan smiled. “He works hard and does what he is told. His mistakes have been minor and he learns from them quickly.”

  “Damn.” Keegan glanced toward the trees where Arien disappeared. “I wish he’d stumbled onto the ranch. I’m always looking for young men who are willing to work.” Ronan stood a little taller, feeling a bit of pride that it had been his stable that Arien had decided to sleep in.

  “Next one I come across I’ll send your way.” Ronan saw Keegan’s gaze slant at him. Slowly his lips twisted.

  “The boy and woman cannot see. Stretch your legs. It will be a long day’s ride,” the horseman advised and Ronan wanted to hit him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Anyone unaccustomed to riding is sore for the first couple of days.” Keegan’s grin widened. “I expected you to fold hours ago. I’d seen you before when I would travel the road past your place. I admit I wondered at what kind of man you were. You’ve got grit on your spine. I’ll give you that.”

  He jerked his head toward the trees. “Made those other two ride an agonizing wait but they did it. You didn’t seem much of a leader type to me, but there have been occasions when I’ve been wrong before.”

  “I’m no leader. I’m a blacksmith. And I didn’t say anything because you are a smug bastard with a big mouth,” Ronan snapped, angry that his pride was so easily injured by Keegan. He’d hoped the horseman wouldn’t guess of his pains.

  “Blacksmith or not, that boy wouldn’t have opened his mouth again if it wasn’t for the woman and she would not have at all had her bladder been younger.” Keegan didn’t seem offended at Ronan’s insult. “They were following you.”

  “I didn’t ask them to.” Ronan finally gave in and bent sideways, stretching the tight muscles of his back. The movement sparked a new pain, one he welcomed that stretched and released the tension that had formed in his body.

  “A true leader doesn’t have to ask.” Keegan shrugged his large shoulders. Ronan had to think about that. They saw him as a leader? He supposed out of the three, he was the most likely to lead, but still he wasn’t certain he liked the responsibility that came with that. It seemed that with each passing moment the King’s Sword brought more and more complicated obligations to his otherwise simple life.

  “You would follow me?” Ronan bent to the other side and allowed himself one low groan of relief.

  “As long as you were riding one of my horses I would.” Keegan’s grin parted, revealing his uneven white teeth. “I’m not a follower though. I’m a man of business and make my own way.”

  Ronan grunted an answer as he straightened, eyes moving to Ula as she stepped from the trees with Arien.

  “So how did you come to be a blacksmith? It would seem someone who has leadership qualities would have been sent to Merisgale to train as a guard,” Keegan wondered aloud.

  “Training takes money that my family did not have. My father died when I was young. Smithing came very natural to me. I’ve always enjoyed working with metals, crafting fine weaponry for those more fortunate than my family. And it put food in mine and my mother’s stomach.” Ronan glanced down at the hard leather boots that Keegan wore. “Those boots alone are worth more than we had to live on in a year.”

  Keegan’s eyes widened slightly. “I cannot be blamed for doing well for myself.”

  Ronan winced guiltily and shook his head. “No, you cannot,” he agreed. “And you? You have always been a horseman?” Ronan watched as Ula offered the boy some of the dried meat she’d brought along. Her fingers combed at his unruly hair but he did not seem bothered by her fuss.

  “Not always. For only the last ten years,” Keegan told him.

  “And before that?”

  “Those horses saved me from the man I was before that.” The horseman turned, offering no more explanation than that, and headed back toward his own mount. Ronan studied the man as he walked away. It had been easy to hate Keegan Yore when he thought of the wealthy rancher with a suspicious, greedy nature. Seeing him now as more man than ogre, Ronan felt some of the hard edge he’d built up start to chip away.

  “Hungry?” Ula was suddenly at his side, offering a couple of strips of dried meat. Ronan took the food and bit into it, eyes
dropping to Ula when the flavor of the seasoned meat hit his taste buds. She was waiting for his approval he realized.

  “It’s good. How did you cook this?” Ronan asked. “It’s not another piece of that unfortunate rat is it?”

  Ula’s mouth curled, creating new wrinkles around her lips. “You wouldn’t know the difference if it was. It’s cow. The secret is to season it with herbs before its dried. I used lavender, salt, and Tesser root.” He raised a brow with surprise and took another bite. He wouldn’t have even have thought of seasoning anything with Tesser root. The smell alone when digging the root was enough to make a man gag.

  “I have never known much of preparing food except to throw it over the fire until it was black. I appreciate your knowing a bit more than I,” he told her.

  “I have a bad feeling.” Ula leaned closer, her face suddenly serious. “It’s gnawing in my guts. Be careful of whom you trust.” Then she turned and bustled back toward Arien.

  Ronan glanced at Keegan, wondering if the warning should be taken seriously.

  That night, Keegan had them set up camp in the trees, just deep enough that the road was still visible. Ronan, despite the witch’s warning, had no choice but to trust the horseman’s decision. He did, however, station himself directly across from Keegan just in case the man meant to do any of them harm. It would be easier to keep an eye on him that way.

  Ula, as before, went off in search of food to prepare, leaving the men to build a fire and tend the horses. She returned within thirty minutes to Ronan’s surprise with a few rabbits. He wondered at what kind of hunting technique she used but forgot to ask as he watched her begin to clean and prepare the beasts for food.

  She pulled a tiny blade from a pocket of her dress just large enough to slip beneath the animal’s skin but sharp enough to cut a clean line in the fur. The witch then, using fingers and knife, began peeling back the skin, exposing the muscle and fat of the small beast.