by Travis Kerr
“He would have gotten away with that too. Bloodheart doesn't care what happens to the rest of us as long as he gets his money. Most of his money is from taxes, but there is plenty of less honest means that his men employ to get his money for him. It's those funds that Sloan gathers for him. Sacrificing the happiness of one small girl to keep Sloan happy is certainly to Bloodheart's benefit, and the bastard probably couldn't care less."
"Why didn't you tell her the truth?"
"I didn't have the heart to," Silus admitted. "Her mother is just as trapped now as Tammie was before she ran away. The only thing telling her would do is make her angry about what that creep is doing to her mother. She wouldn't be able to do anything about it, so why open old wounds? She's been here with us for five years already, and it took her most of that time to put what had happened behind her. Sometimes it's best to leave the past exactly where it is; in the past."
"And sometimes it comes back to haunt you," Malik mumbled in reply.
"What was that?" Silus asked with a sharp look.
"Nothing," Malik answered quickly. "We should get back out there before you are missed."
"That's all you needed to talk about then?"
Malik nodded. That’s all I need to know.
The two men walked back out through the kitchen, separating right after they walked through the door. There didn't seem to be anything he was needed for at the moment, so Silus headed to his position behind the bar. Malik went back to his table, where Tammie was once again sitting where she had been before, with her arm once again draped over Roland's shoulders.
"They both spent over a minute apologizing to each other right after you left," Tara whispered into his ear as he sat down next to her. Her voice tingled with amusement. "I'm starting to think that she's almost as awkward when dealing with the opposite sex as he is, though she's certainly not shy. I could watch this all night if they would let me. It's one of the funniest things I've seen in a while."
"Tomorrow we'll be splitting up after a bit,” he told her, completely ignoring his friend's tasteless sense of humor. While he was often guilty of the same sort of thoughts, Roland was as close to a friend as the two had outside of each other for far too long. He didn't like taking pleasure in his companions distress, even over something as trivial as a woman's affections.
“I have something I want to take care of with Roland. Just the two of us. Don't worry, I'm sure we can handle things well enough. I'll need you to come back here and get our things ready to leave at a moment's notice if we need to. I don't think it will be necessary, but I want to be prepared just in case."
"Are you expecting some sort of trouble?"
"I hope so," he answered with a wolfish grin. "We'll finish our shopping first, then I want to look into this little problem I noticed earlier. I'll split with you after the shopping, and I'll let you know when we get back whether we can stay another night or not. Don't mention it to Roland. I'll tell him when he needs to know about it."
Tara didn't seem happy about being left out of whatever he had planned, particularly when he was being so cryptic about it, but she knew better than to ask. Malik would tell her everything he thought she needed to know, and nothing more. She knew that he could take care of himself in nearly any situation. If he couldn't handle it, than it was unlikely she would be able to do much to help.
He handed her a small, black leather bag that jingled softly. "Pick us up some dried food on the way back, anything that will keep for a decent length of time. Depending on how things go tomorrow we might have to winter in the Hut. Pay more attention to those things that Roland can eat. You and I can always hunt for more food, but he doesn't have that option. There won't be much for him once winter sets in fully. Get us a pack horse. We won't be able to carry everything we need for the entire winter."
"Are we really going to need that much?" The packs they normally used not only carried far more than they appeared to, but also greatly reduced the weight of whatever was put inside. They almost never needed more space than what those packs provided. For the two of them, using a pack horse was almost unheard of.
"He wants to be trained, to be one of us. I can't think of a better place than the Hut to go for that training. The horse isn't just for carrying the packs. It's also a way for us to travel the south road freely without as many questions. Most of our things we should put into regular packs to keep up appearances, and we'll need a horse for that. We won't have to worry as much about appearances once we reach the Hut. No one will bother us there."
"That's because no one else wants to go anywhere near there at any time of year, let alone during the winter," Tara retorted.
"We're going to have to head up to our rooms," Malik said, ignoring Tara's barbed comment. "Would you like to do the honors and inform Roland that it's time for him to leave his friend behind?"
"I'll leave that up to you," she said lightly. "He only just managed to get her to come back. I'm not going to be the one to tell him he has to leave now."
"Wonderful," he said sarcastically. "Just remember that the next time you want me to do something distasteful."
Raising his voice he informed his companion that it was time for them to retire. While the sorvinian man knew that he wouldn't be able to stay, he was still reluctant to leave. Tammie seemed more inclined to understand the need.
"It's alright," she said with a bright smile. "We'll still see each other tomorrow night. I'll be counting the minutes until then." She leaned over an kissed him hard on the mouth. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but to Roland it felt like it would never end. It was the first time a woman had kissed him, aside from his mother, who didn't really count. When it finally did end it was all too soon.
"Goodnight," she whispered, and skipped away before he had the chance to reply.
Chapter Eight
The three companions woke and were out of the inn before the sun had crested the eastern horizon, finding the streets to be dim but visible in the predawn light. It was still a bit too dark for Roland to read the small street signs at each corner they came to, though it wouldn't have mattered if he could have. He had no idea really where they were going, and he didn’t know the roads anyway. He unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn and continued to follow Malik, who led the way.
His dreams had been filled with fantasies of the waitress, Tammie, who had inflamed his heart in ways he never thought possible.
Well maybe not my heart, he corrected, but she had certainly inflamed something.
It wasn't love, he knew that. He wasn't foolish enough to really believe that he could have fallen in love with the girl in only one night, cut far too short for either of their liking.
She was, however, the first woman to show even the slightest interest in him, and she was the first girl he had ever kissed. Even if they never saw each other again, that alone would give her a place in his heart forever. He knew that by choosing to stay with Malik and Tara he had also chosen to leave Tammie behind, but a part of him still hoped that someday he could return.
He found himself daydreaming of her as he walked a few steps behind Malik. Tara followed a few steps behind him, occasionally giving him a nudge when he started to lag too far behind. He knew what she was thinking. She thought he was acting like a love sick puppy. Only one thing kept him from feeling angry or upset. He knew she was right.
The sun had only just risen, little more than a bright wedge over the wall too far in the east for any of them to see, when Malik turned down a street packed with merchants booths. Most of them were still closed, all of the merchandise either covered with tarps or boarded up in false walled rooms. Unlike most of this city, several of the merchants seemed to be selling their wares on the street, reminding Roland of Port Dayton more than it did the little of this city he had seen. Malik passed several shops quickly, not giving the slightest attention to the clothing shop, the herbalist, or the glassblower they left behind them.
He finally stopped at a shop with a sign above it th
at read Baldor's Swords and Cutlery. Underneath the words was a hand-drawn picture of two swords crossing each other, for those people who could not read and write. A huge canis was just bringing out a load of blank shields, little more than shaped sheets of steel without any sort of insignia on them. Roland was thankful that the shop was faced away from the rising sun. The bright steel would certainly have caught the sun and blinded him had the light been able to reach it.
The canis himself was a marvel. Roland had thought that the canis who had tended bar in Port Dayton had been large, but he was as tiny as a trill compared to this man. The canis was not unusually tall, in fact he and Roland were fairly close to the same height, but the man's entire upper body was so heavily muscled it seemed entirely disproportional to his lower half. His forearms were as thick as soup bowls, while his massive biceps as big as dinner plates. His huge barrel chest jutted out from the rest of his body, showing above the thick leather blacksmith's apron he wore.
"I'll be open in another few minutes," the canis said tersely as the group stopped in front of his shop. "You'll have to wait until I'm finished setting things up."
"You'd even make an old friend wait?" Malik asked politely. He used the same strange accent that he had been using with his persona as Malik, which for some unknown reason he had refrained from using at the bar. Roland hadn't even noticed that he didn't use it until now, when he heard it again.
The canis looked Malik over completely before answering. "I don't know you," he said finally. "I never forget a face, and I haven't seen yours. What makes you think that I should think of you as an old friend?"
He looked over the other companions. Tara had added a veil to the hood she regularly wore. Her face was so completely concealed it would have been impossible for him to tell much about her. He looked Roland over quickly, deciding with a glance that he had never seen him before. He opened his mouth to say so when his gaze fell on the sword at Tara's hip.
"I don't recognize any of you, but I do know that sword," He said. "Where did you get it?"
"You made it for me Baldor, " Tara answered lightly, pulling down the veil that covered her face just enough to allow herself to be recognized. "It was my friend Malik here who commissioned it for me."
"Malik?" Baldor started, then stopped himself. He looked closely at Malik. After several seconds his eyes lit with recognition. "Of course. Sorry my friend, I didn't recognize you. I must be losing my memory somewhat in my old age."
"As long as you haven't lost your touch old friend. I have a friend in need of a good blade, and yours used to be the best."
"They still are," Baldor assured him. "We should go back inside. If one of you could help me with these shield blanks I'll close back up for now. On occasion I need to do a little shopping, and don't open until later in the morning. No one will think anything of it if I open a little late. I don't think that it would be good for us to be interrupted while we catch up on old times."
"I don't think we'll have much time to catch up I'm afraid," Malik said seriously. "Still, it would probably be best if we could conduct business without anyone walking in on us."
Baldor nodded. Grabbing several of the blank shields he headed for his door, which Tara politely held open for him. Roland picked up the remaining shields, perhaps two dozen of them, and followed him. Baldor dropped the half dozen shields he carried on a stout oak table in the middle of the room, then turned to go back out to help with the rest. He gasped in surprise when he saw Roland behind him carrying all that had remained.
"Those shields weigh twelve pounds apiece," he exclaimed. "That load has to be nearly three hundred pounds!"
"My friend here is a pretty strong lad," Malik remarked. "I was hoping that you might have something in the shop already that might suffice for him. What's the heaviest sword you have in at the moment?"
Roland gazed around the room in wonder. Despite the story they had concocted for Tammie the night before, he had never been in a sword shop. All along the walls hung blades of every size and shape imaginable. A line of axes hung from thick wooden platforms behind the oak counter directly to the right of the doorway, just far enough away from the door that it didn't block customers that might be coming in or leaving.
A complete suit of steel armor stood on the opposite side of the door, and several other armor pieces decorated the shop. There were several rows of glass cases along one wall that contained small knives, everything from expertly weighted throwing daggers to kitchen knives that the women would use to cut the evening's roast.
"You've never asked for a heavy sword before," the smith remarked casually. "Didn't think it was really your style to rely on strength. I always thought you were more of a speed fighter."
"I am, but as I said, this sword isn't for me. I've always believed that each person should take his own natural strengths and build on them. In this case his strength is, well, his strength. We will probably be commissioning a sword to be custom made for him sometime later, but he needs something to work with until then. Do you have anything ready that will work for him for now?"
The smith thought for a minute. "I might have one thing, though I not sure if even your friend here will be able to wield it. A few months ago I had a trog commission a sword for himself. I finished the sword, but before he could pick it up he came down with a sudden case of death. Apparently he tried to rob a merchant's caravan on its way to Miani along the main road. The guards put so many arrows into him he looked like a porcupine by the time they were done.
"I suppose the brute should have thought about getting himself some armor instead of a blade," Baldor continued, his deep laughter rolling from his lips like the sound of thunder. "Still, he paid half up front, so it wasn't a total loss even if I can't sell it. Like I said, I don't think your young friend here will be able to wield it effectively, but if he can I can give it to him for thirty gold."
"Thirty gold pieces seems a little expensive for a friend," Malik said skeptically. "Especially considering that you've already been paid half the price up front once already when the blade was commissioned."
"It's cheap actually. The full price was a hundred gold coins, fifty of which were already paid. I'll go get it and you'll understand once you see it why I had to charge so much."
The smith disappeared behind a door in the back of the shop. Roland felt a great heat coming from inside. He glanced through the open door and could just barely spy a huge forge in the back of the room. The coals inside were dying down to a deep red glow.
The smith must have been working on one of his blades earlier, before opening up for the day, he suspected.
In the room's center sat an anvil that stood about three and a half feet off the ground. He guessed the size of the steel tool to be about two feet long and a foot wide. From what he could tell it appeared that the anvil and its base were all cast from a single, seamless piece of metal.
He only had the briefest of glimpses before his vision was obscured by the returning smith, his massive frame completely shutting out every small detail inside. Even with the smith’s great size he seemed to strain under the weight of the large object he carried, as if it was almost too much to carry. It took Roland a second to realize that the object he carried was a sword; a massive weapon as long as the smith who carried it was tall.
That thing must weigh a ton!
The sword was mostly hidden inside a simple black leather sheath, with a black strap along its length.
It was meant to be worn on the back of the person carrying it, Roland noticed. And I had just gotten used to wearing one on my side.
The hilt and pummel were made of shining steel, with a thick black cloth wrapped around the grip. It appeared as if the entire weapon was forged from a single, massive piece of metal. The smith held it in two thick hands by its sheath, with its hilt facing Roland. He reached out and, after a nod from the smith, pulled the weapon free, holding the blade in one hand with his feet planted in one of the stances Malik had taught him.
Baldor stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. "How are you able to hold that so easily?!" the smith gasped in astonishment, his deep voice booming like the bellows of the forge he worked on. "Even the trog who paid for this meant for the weapon to be wielded with two hands! I would never have believed that someone could use it single-handed! That should be impossible!"
"It is a little heavy," Roland admitted. "How would I grip it with two hands and balance? Like this?" He put his left hand underneath the right and stepping into what he supposed might have been the correct stance for a two handed weapon.
"No," Malik said quickly. "I want you to get used to wielding this with just your right arm. You have the strength to do it, and I've taught you enough that you should be able to use it now. It might take you a while to become accustomed to the weight and balance, but I know that you have the power to wield it."
"I never expected this," the huge smith shook his head. "The total weight of this sword is seventy-eight pounds, ten of which are in the pummel alone. It's actually balanced toward the back just a little bit to allow for a faster recovery. The pommel itself is heavy enough that it can be used as a mallet. It isn't only the blade of this sword that can kill. I'm not sure if the lad will be able to swing it and recover effectively with one hand, even as strong as he is."
"Well, there's only one way for us to be certain," Malik said. "Will it be able to stand up to a little sparring to test it?"
"This sword could stand up to any blade," Baldor answered seriously. "Come put it on the table here lad so your friend can get a better look at it."
Roland did as he was told, carefully setting the great weapon down along the length of the counter. The blade hung over the end by more than a foot. The smith came over with a small lantern to allow them to see the blade in its full glory.
"This entire weapon is crafted from a single piece of folded steel," the smith declared proudly. The steel seemed to glow a faint blue, and all along its surface the metal appeared to ripple like the water in a soft flowing stream. The base of the blade was nearly a foot wide, tapering to a point at the far end in a long, slow arc along its blade. The spine of the sword was perfectly straight. The hilt of the weapon continued as an extension of the spine, with a narrowing before the pummel at the far end that melted into the rest cunningly.
