Zar handed over the sword, handle first, holding the weapon by its long, broad blade in both his hands. Barek sucked his teeth and shook his head as he eyed the blade’s countless nicks, then continued examining the handle and finally its pommel. The round, steel knob shined brilliantly in the light, and Barek rubbed his hand over it as a warm and nostalgic smile passed lazily over his lips. He gripped his hand around the black, leather-wrapped hilt and swayed the weapon back and forth, controlling it with one hand. He added his other hand to the weapon, just below the other, and swung slowly a few times at the air, measuring the weapon’s weight and balance.
“Of course,” Barek replied, laying the sword across the table. “I’ll get her all fixed up for you.” He rose from the bench. “After I get some of that food you were telling me about. Is it goat ‘n greens?”
“That it is, old man.”
Barek chuckled, giving Zar a few hearty pats on the back. “Then tell me, lad, what are we still doing here?”
°
There was nothing more beautiful than a spring snow in the meadow. The climate wasn’t cold enough for the snow to stick, and most of the flakes melted in the air, so that flurries fell thick from the clouds and thinned out until they finally disappeared just above one’s head.
Being on that road with Shahla—riding their mounts under an enchanting spring snow—took Zar’s mind back to when he first came to the mainreach from the east. It was then that they both roamed the meadow for hours, hunted the forest for game, and at the end of their day came to lie on the soft grass by the brook, drifting asleep to the sound of the water. They hadn’t been in that place together for years, but even now as they cantered along the high road toward the forest it seemed as if no time had passed. They were once again together, dauntless and carefree.
The two slowed their mounts as they neared the edge of the forest, and Shahla, commanding Dalya to halt, gripped the mare’s mane and sprung up to a squat in her saddle. She rose to her feet and balanced herself on the mare’s back. “Do you remember when we used to hunt here?” she said, stretching her arms out in the wind.
“Aye,” Zar replied with a grin. “I remember you couldn’t hit a goat if it was ten paces ahead of you.” He let out a laugh.
“That was years ago,” Shahla interrupted the laughter. “I’m a fine shot now.”
Zar perked up, propping himself up and kneeling in Asha’s saddle. “Your father tells me the same.” He scanned the area. He was dying to see how much her aim had improved. He sincerely hoped she’d gotten better. If it wasn’t for him and Barek, they certainly would’ve gone hungry in those days.
Zar’s eyes wandered toward the tree line, gazing through the spring foliage speckled with snow. He searched the bank of trees with their newly grown leaves and the tiny lou shrubs that had sprouted and hugged tightly around their trunks. It wasn’t long before Zar found a target. “Do you see that chur tree afar off?” he said, pointing toward the woods. “There’s a fruit that seems to have blossomed early. It’s nearly at the top. Do you see it?”
Shahla directed her sight to the chur tree. She looked through the top branches until she noticed a green, bulb- shaped item amid the foliage. The unripe fruit was glazed with snow. Peculiar among its surroundings, it stood out like a diamond against a dunghill.
“I see it,” Shahla responded. She already had her bow in one hand; the other hand reached for her quiver. She took her time, carefully selecting the arrow. She was quiet, and all the while focused on the target.
“Now it’s quite a ways away.” Zar turned to Shahla. “Don’t be sore if you can’t make the shot.” The arrow sliced through the wind and stuck against something solid—he heard it. Seeing Shahla standing there on Dalya’s back, so confident, so composed, made his neck jump and twist eagerly to the trees, his eyes darting back and forth to find the fruit. He searched hard among the branches, but could find the target nowhere, and that taken with Shahla’s self- assured posture—it was all starting to tally up. The fruit no longer hung in the tree.
Zar made for the trees slowly, leaning over and peering into the forest. Raising his gaze a bit higher he caught sight of Barek’s yellow fletching not far into the woods. The arrow had found its abode in a large tree branch, and surely enough, the single fruit he had selected was pinned to the bough along with it.
“Leviathan!” He called. “You got it!” Zar sounded as if he didn’t believe it himself. “Right through the center,” he said to himself quietly, as if confirming what his eyes saw. Shahla rode up looking quite contented. “You believed I still couldn’t shoot, didn’t you?”
Zar turned himself back towards her. “I believed your aim was the same as when I left,” he said, still looking surprised by it all. “And how wrong I was.” Zar turned and looked up at the branch once again. It was a perfect shot. Shahla smiled complacently. “There’s never much to do in the meadow so I started shooting every day.”
“And the practice has certainly paid off,” Zar replied. “Aye, it has,” said Shahla. “I’ll need to know how to shoot when I’m exploring different lands like you.”
“You’ve always wanted to travel.”
“And you’ve never wanted to take me with you,” said Shahla with a faint smile, turning Dalya away from the forest and giving her a kick. The mare jogged off and Zar turned to find her trotting down the plain. He knew exactly where she was going, around the bend, past the byroad, over the hill and down to the brook. She knew he would follow her there, and after watching Dalya’s powerful legs kick into a gallop, Zar commanded Asha to run as well.
Dalya was fast, and Shahla quickly disappeared over the hill. When Zar came over she had already dismounted and was lying in the grass. He wasted no time joining her by the stream.
“What is it about traveling that you believe you’ll enjoy the most?” Zar asked, lying beside Shahla. His head was rested back in the soft grass of the bank, his face to the sky.
“There are many things,” she replied. “New faces, creatures, beautiful lands, treasure, and gold—”
“And fighting, and death,” Zar interrupted, “You seem to have forgotten those.”
“Aye, but there are more good things than bad,”
Shahla insisted. “Besides, I’d be with you.” She turned her gaze from the clouds to Zar. “Would you not protect me?” The young woman let out a giggle.
Zar’s heartbeat quickened. What he wanted to say was that he would kill anyone who touched one hair on her head, and that death wasn’t nearly an adequate penalty for anyone who tried to harm her; but as he lay there in the grass, his heart throbbing, all he could bring himself to say was, “Of a certain.”
Zar remembered his first year in the meadow. Shahla was still a young girl and the boys from down the plain would always fight with her over hunting spots and horses. They’d told her since she never killed anything hunting, she didn’t need to be out there scaring off the game. Shahla, of course, objected; she would curse them, and they would curse her until finally she would yell, “I’m going to get my big brother!” And then they would leave her alone because they knew Zar and they were afraid of him. A few times the boys got their fathers into it, and Zar would challenge them to a duel to settle it—and he beat them each time. He had always looked after her, and Shahla knew that he would soil his hands with the blood of nobles and princes, kings and queens, before letting any harm come to her. She knew without asking.
“Where’s the old man?” Zar asked, finding Barek gone when they returned to the cottage.
Shahla paused for a moment, a quick smile grazing her lips before she forced it away. “I don’t know. Hunting, probably.”
Zar chuckled. The woman was lying, but he didn’t inquire on the matter.
2
“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO COME yesterday, love. I thought you weren’t coming.”
Barek chuckled and squeezed around Friida’s body. “You knew I was coming,” he replied.
Friida giggled in agreement
. “Then what took you?”
“I was working on a sword.”
“A sword?” the woman replied, sounding shocked. “That’s the reason you couldn’t come see me?” She pulled forward to release herself from Barek’s grip, but Barek held on tight. “Fine,” she pouted. “Then tell me the story.”
Barek brought his chin over her shoulder and rested it there. “What story?”
“The story of the sword,” said Friida, turning her face toward his. “You told me every weapon has a story, so tell me the story since this sword is so important that you had to work on it all day instead of seeing me.”
Barek sighed. “Must I really tell you the story?”
The woman nodded, and her wavy, flowing hair leapt around Barek’s face. “After all, you’re so good at telling stories,” she said.
Barek smiled warmly. Friida had no idea, but it was a rather important sword and a rather important story. It was the story of the beginning of a friendship between two men—a story Barek would never forget. “Very well,” Barek agreed. “That sword—I can recall the very day I crafted it. It was to be sold to Harol, captain of Snowstone’s castle guard at the time. I was to craft the sword and bring it to the city of Sirith when it was ready. So I did, of course, and I was met by Harol and a set of his guards when I got there. I handed him the sword and he seemed to be very pleased with it.”
“You do excellent work,” Friida commended.
“I do,” agreed Barek, kissing his love on the nape of her neck. “Now Harol looked the weapon over and told me he was pleased with it, and I was pleased as well for the reward was sixty pieces of gold.”
“Sixty gold pieces!” Friida exclaimed.
“Aye, and I was just as excited. But after he examined the sword he didn’t hand me my gold. Instead, he turned his horse and rode away.”
“But what about your payment?” Friida demanded.
“Well, that’s what I said,” Barek replied. ‘“And my payment?’ I called out after him, ‘What of my payment?’ Now I’m not one for getting cheated and if I couldn’t have my gold I was going to curse him as much as I could before he rode off.”
Friida moved her face back toward Barek’s. “Truly?”
she said, smiling. “Did you curse at him?”
“Aye.”
“Did you want to be killed?”
“I didn’t care,” Barek replied. “I was angry. I yelled at him, I cursed at him, I told him my daughter could swing that sword better than he could!” Friida and Barek both burst into laughter. “That’s what I said, I swear it,” said Barek, laughing out the words.
“And what did he do? Go on, go on!” Friida insisted.
“Well, after hearing that he turned his horse around,” Barek continued. “He came back and said, ‘You forget your place, blacksmith! I am the captain of the guard and by crafting this weapon you’re only serving your king! Don’t expect to get paid for that!’” Barek imitated the captain in a funny voice that was rather high-pitched and with an embellished arrogance that could be heard in every syllable.
Friida laughed. “That’s right, dear, you were serving Tiomot by making that sword,” she teased, giggling as she did.
“Oh, nonsense!” Barek growled, shaking Friida around the straw mat. “My blood was boiling when he said that, and I began to think to myself that maybe I could take them.”
“There were too many,” said Friida.
“Aye, there were too many,” Barek agreed, “but I wanted to kill that arrogant fool. I knew I could do it if it was just me and him—”
“And if you were younger,” Friida interrupted, laughing as soon as the words came out.
“Quiet you!” Barek tightened his grip around her tiny body. “I was fit as a buck—I was just outnumbered is all. I’ve won many battles in my day, but that day wasn’t mine, and I knew it. But, still, I wouldn’t be cheated. ‘What of my gold?’ I shouted again, this time with my axe in hand.”
“What happened?” asked Friida.
“Well, they all dismounted.”
“Did you fight?” she asked impatiently.
“No, not yet,” replied Barek, “but listen well for this is the best part. It was at that same time that a stranger who happened to be traveling our way approached us. He was a young traveler armed with a sword on his back, a dagger on his hip, and led behind him a camel that bore his luggage. He bid his camel stay and walked directly to Harol as if to speak to him. And he did. I’ll never forget what he said, and how he said it. ‘I would most certainly hate to intrude on your business here, but I must ask, how is it that the captain of the castle guard cannot spare the gold to compensate this good man for his work?’”
“Truly?” said Friida. “That’s what he said?”
“Aye, and he said it so calm,” Barek answered. “Harol was speechless, just as much as I was.”
“Too bold! The both of you. “I’m surprised he didn’t have you killed.”
“Well, he certainly wanted to,” said Barek. “Now Harol was silent for a moment, choked by the daring of this before his men. So he raised his voice at the stranger. ‘You fool!’ he yelled.”
“Then what happened?” asked Friida.
“Well, the stranger interrupted him,” Barek replied.
“‘I’m not quite finished, I dare say,’ he said, his voice so calm, but so commanding. ‘If you would be so kind and pay him what you owe, I’ll be on my way.’”
“How bold!” Friida exclaimed.
“Aye,” Barek agreed, “but that’s not it, he then bantered, ‘You might find that you’ll feel better about yourself, also.’”
“And the nerve to joke?”
“Aye, and he was so calm when he said it,” said Barek with a chuckle. “You should’ve seen him out there, speaking as if his words were of no consequence—like he was royalty.”
Friida giggled. “That Harol must’ve been thrown at sea.”
“He most certainly was, and I was just as surprised as he,” said Barek. “I gripped my axe with new hope.” Barek squeezed Friida tighter as he said it. “By that time there was a small crowd gathered to the scene, and Harol could take no more. ‘You must be a madman!’ he said. Then he pointed my sword at the man and commanded his men to attack. They all rushed forward and the stranger drew his sword to meet them.”
“Did he fight them all? What happened?” Friida asked eagerly.
“Well, if you’d let me tell the tale—”
“Go on, go on!” she insisted.
“Three of the guards rushed the man,” Barek continued, “and they all came from different sides, but the young traveler wasn’t much intimidated by being outnumbered. It was his footwork that was most impressive. As they attacked he parried, and carefully moved himself back to keep a good distance between them—and to avoid being surrounded. A fourth soldier joined the fight. It looked like the first three were driving the young man back, and the fourth strode up quickly to strike a blow, rising up high as he was certain of an opening. But he rose too high. Left open only for a second he was stuck by the young man’s sword— a fatal wound. Not even a second after his blow went home, the young stranger dodged back to avoid the other blades upon him. I couldn’t believe it, and I could no longer just sit and watch while this stranger fought on my behalf.”
“You joined in?”
“Aye, I joined the fight,” Barek replied. “I started swinging my axe at the closest guard to me, and another one turned and started to fight with me as well. I held off those two and the young stranger continued his dazzling display of swordplay.”
“His dazzling display of swordplay,” Friida echoed.
“Aye,” said Barek. “He dashed, he dodged, he attacked and parried. His body floated. His footwork was impeccable. Harol saw that the fight wasn’t going well for him, so he pulled a bow from behind the saddle of one of the horses. He thought to put a quick end to the fight without risking his neck.”
“Coward!” Friida protested.
replied. “For the young fighter was not new to combat, and in his travels he had come across the likes of this coward, Harol. He had kept an eye on him the whole time, for he saw that he didn’t follow after his men. He saw that he didn’t rush forward with the rest of the company,” Barek whispered into Friida’s ear, “and he saw him make for the bow.”
Friida turned herself around on the bed to face Barek, staring into his eyes intently, as if she didn’t want to miss a thing. “Go on.”
“I had slain one of the guards,” Barek went on, “and in the midst of the fray looked over my shoulder to find Harol drawing the bow. I immediately looked to the young stranger then back at Harol, who by this time had the bow bent to an arch and ready to fire.”
“You should have warned him,” cried Friida.
“I did, I did,” said Barek. “I called out to him, but I turned to find him still.”
“Dead?” said Friida, her eyes widening.
“Listen,” said Barek, touching the tip of his finger to her lips. “His body was stiff, and his arm was stretched out in front of him. I heard a faint cry as he concluded his pose. Everyone had stopped. The people were quiet. The few guards that remained did not move. All that could be heard was the singing of birds and Harol’s lamentation.”
“All that could be heard was the singing of birds and Harol’s lamentation,” Friida repeated.
“Do you mock me?” Barek inquired with a grin, grabbing Friida’s chin with his hand.
quite good with words, that’s all. Go on, love, do go on.”
“I turned to the dying man and saw the dagger stabbed into his chest,” Barek continued. “I examined the distance between the young swordsman and the man in agony—it was a perfect throw.”
“A throw!” Friida declared as if she had uncovered one of the world’s greatest mysteries. “He threw his dagger!”
Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1) Page 2
