He had worked the smithy in times where he was tired and when recovering from minor injuries. Those hurts seemed a small thing indeed when he recalled the image of Sahbin catapulted through the air, away from her severed arm. Sir Wilhelm had been severely injured as well, yet regained his feet to fight again. Even Cat displayed a reservoir of strength Trestan wasn’t sure he could claim. She had fought the Tariykan one on one and by her own admission nearly lost. If it hadn’t been for the miraculous healing potions, she would be dying in the streets of Troutbrook hoping clerics would get to her in time.
Dark thoughts came to the young man. He had to imagine himself facing Loung Chao over a short distance, with the Tariykan pointing his blowgun and ready to fire. Could Trestan avoid that deadly missile and beat an opponent who nearly killed Cat? The cleric of the Goddess of Death had been a very formidable opponent in the street battle. How could he make sure of a strike against a cleric that needed only a touch to render him helpless? If the minotaur charged him, would he be able to stand toe-to-toe against its muscles like Jareth did? He could not consider the others without at last facing the image of the elf wizard in his mind. He could imagine Revwar, silver hair whipping about his shoulders as his yellow eyes stared coldly at the young smith. He could envision the wizard casting a spell, and had to face the reality that he would not make the kill in time. A trio of phantom swords would fly at him, or a shaft of energy would cut through the air. Trestan had to face the question of whether he could take a hit from any one of these four enemies or their unknown henchmen. With the young man’s own blood pouring out of any wound on his body, could he still find the energy to strike the killing blow that would save the day?
Trestan had been sitting in the cold water of the tub for some time now. The water sent a shiver through him, a cold reminder of the fears whispering in his mind. Maybe it was still part of his grieving, and maybe some of it was caused by that ill feeling of vengeance, but the wounds in his heart remained unhealed until drawn to a proper conclusion. The young man could only hope that if the moment came, he could still find the strength to accomplish whatever needed to be done. Whatever the outcome, he had to keep the goodness of Sir Wilhelm’s teachings close to heart. He could not suffer the cost of losing a friend during a battle because he acted rashly. His brown eyes looked up to the dark rafters of the ceiling, heart reaching out to one far above him. He asked Abriana for guidance. Trestan prayed some good would come of his dangerous path. He found it hard to bear the thought of Cat or Petrow dying, and realized he would give his own life if it came to saving one of them. The young man took some comfort that if he was to die, his life would be given in the hopes of stopping evil and saving a young lady. As the quality of metal was judged by the power of the fire that tried to consume it, his life could be weighed with more quality by facing danger and coming out strong. Sir Wilhelm often viewed life as merely a test by which we were judged for the next life. If this life was a test, Trestan didn’t intend to fail it by shying away from danger. Although it might mean his life, he determined to see the quest through until the unforeseen end.
Trestan tried to push bad thoughts away, for tonight may be the only chance he’d get to wear fine clothes out to supper. He dried and started to dress. He clothed himself in fresh new garments for the first time in over a year. The colors were not too fancy, but the dyes and fabric were rich compared to the worn colors of his old clothes. A dark-red shirt was the most eye-catching, and went on first. Gray pants and black leather shoes followed. At this point Trestan went up the back stairs to finish dressing in his room. Petrow opened the door for him. The older human was almost fully dressed and ready. After being so poor for so long, Petrow’s newly bought outfit shined with color. He even had elaborate peacock feathers coming out of a hat. Lace and ruffles were in such abundance that he could have been accused of imitating the nobility, if only he had jewelry to complete the appearance. Although the blue-eyed man also bought simpler travel clothes, he dressed as fine as could be for tonight.
Although Trestan considered wearing the gray vest that matched the pants, he decided to abandon it in favor of wearing something more important to him. For once in his life, Trestan could dress like the adventurers passing through Troutbrook. The young smith had bought some armor that started with basic leather, yet also had metal pieces to protect key areas of the body. Wearing a vest underneath would add to the heat of the outfit, and with the armor the vest would not even be seen. The armor was put on piece by piece, from the torso protection to the strap-on bracers and greaves. Trestan simply tucked his rawhide gloves into his new, sturdy belt. The young smith hoped he would never again be dependant on a simple rope to hold up his trousers. The armor came with a metal helmet, featuring a thin visor that lowered to protect the lower parts of the face. Trestan decided to forgo the helm, preferring to spend some time fussing about his hair to make sure he looked as handsome as ever. Trestan put on a baldric, which held Sword of the Spirit over his back. The handle of the elven blade stood visible over Trestan’s shoulder, ready for action should he ever need it. The young smith wasn’t about to let his most important possession be left behind in an unguarded room.
Petrow often asked Trestan his opinion on his own look, and he offered suggestions and help with the young smith’s armor. The two of them fussed and changed their minds many times. Petrow considered taking his brand new axe down to the dining room as well, but he eventually changed his mind. It was a well-made waraxe, with a handle as long as his old axe, but Petrow did not have a covering for the blade. It rest on the bed next to Petrow’s old axe. Petrow also bought armor: a simple leather jerkin and bracers. He hadn’t felt comfortable with the heavier metal armor. One other addition to Petrow’s arsenal was a quartet of small, balanced throwing axes. Cat had giggled when she saw them, remembering the goblin incident. To the two young men a crossbow was as unfamiliar to them as most other weapons. Yet Petrow had thrown small axes before in friendly competition, so it seemed a logical choice for him. Petrow decided that for dinner, he would take nothing more than his simple knife, belted on a new harness.
When the two men finished, they walked into the upper hallway of the inn, facing a mirror mounted on the wall. Only candlelight illuminated the image, but the two men stared at their reflections with wonder. In the past they stood as two poor men, working hard for every copper coin that came into their life. Now they were dressed well, and looked as if they had seen a hard road. The young humans saw their faces had changed as well, wearing different expressions than they were used to seeing in a reflection of water. They couldn’t tell if the change was good or bad.
Petrow straightened out some imagined wrinkle in his sleeves, and summed up what both were thinking, “Tres, there are two strangers in there staring back at us.”
“Aye, Petrow,” Trestan replied, “And if you recall, we used to have a laugh over people dressed like you are right now.”
The handyman playfully slapped his friend while the smith chuckled. Petrow considered the reflections in the mirror as he spoke again. “This was a short journey compared to what adventurers go through, Tres. Imagine, how changed we might be if we walked all the way to far-off Orlaun?”
Trestan dropped his head slightly, “Who says we won’t walk all the way to Orlaun? Tonight we might find out, depending on if the gnome found anything.”
Petrow paused a moment, contemplating the thoughts going through his mind. “If this has all been for naught, then we might as well enjoy this night before walking back to face our hometown.”
Trestan nodded, “I hope Mel found something, and even if he did, I’ll be wondering what we could possibly hope to do to change things. It seems like we can’t win either way, but I try to think the effort we put forth must be worth something. I’d hate to come this far for naught.”
The more colorfully dressed human turned to his friend, “Dwell not on the dark possibilities. We’re here, Tres! We’ve had all day to travel the shops of one of the
biggest towns in this part of the country! Even better, led by a hostess with a bottomless purse, willing to pay our way. I can see concerns in your eyes. Believe me when I say I’ve been scared a good part of this trip. I will not let you take this moment away from me. This day has been one of the best that either of us could have asked! After being the boy who works for coppers all my life in my hometown, I finally walked through a rich town and picked what I wanted from the merchants. This is luxury!”
Trestan’s face went unreadable, “So we enjoyed luxuries today? We shopped like nobles?”
Petrow thought he caught sarcasm in his friend’s voice, but continued with genuine happiness, “Aye my friend!”
“And where is the noble?” Trestan retorted sharply, with more venom than intended, “Lady Shauntay spends the days as a slave, if she even still draws breath. For all we know…she might be laying injured or worse…she might even…”
Trestan tried to continue, but faltered. His raised tone of voice sounded like he was angry at his childhood friend. He stifled any forthcoming words and tried to choke back his fears. Petrow stood back from Trestan, unsure how to respond to the outburst. The two men had come on a hard journey from the home they had known all their lives. Even as they looked at each other and stared at their reflections in the mirror, they saw their old friend. There were differences, evidenced in the clothes they wore and attitudes after the long road. At the same time, under those layers of expensive clothing, they were young men growing up in ways they didn’t expect.
Petrow put an arm around Trestan’s shoulder. The younger man welcomed the close contact. “I’m not saying you can’t grieve, or worry. But life comes on two sides of a coin, Tres. You can’t have the lucky side without the unlucky side, and if the lucky side happens to shine in your favor and brightens one day, you should live that day to the fullest.”
Trestan put his face in his hands, rubbing tired eyes. When finished, he looked a bit more collected, though not completely at peace. “I still feel guilty for some reason. One of my good friends, a man I really respected, was murdered in front of me. Others died that night. All of those people had goals in life. A woman, whose beauty captured the hearts of young men, was taken against her will. She may still draw breath, but if so, she is likely living a harder life than you and I ever had as ‘commoners’. How can I be so close to such events and yet feel relaxed and at peace?”
It took Petrow a moment to collect his thoughts and answer his friend’s query. “Well, you just have to realize and face the fact there is nothing you can do at this moment. You don’t have to soften your resolve, but instead you have to be reasonable with yourself. Let me tell you a story.”
Petrow drew himself up straighter, recalling something from many years ago. “I can’t help but be happy that I could dress up today. Neither of us has ever had it so well. But I do remember when someone showed me a lot of charity at a time when I was really down. You may remember my parents both died one winter when I was so young. There were nay relatives to take care of me. The house was a burned pile of cinders in the snow. Troutbrook as a whole adopted me and made sure I had a roof over my head every night. In return, as I grew up helping people with chores and their jobs. The church took me in some nights and made use of my labor, but they wouldn’t keep me and I wouldn’t stay there. That path wasn’t for me. I guess the other labor set me up to be the town’s handyman, seeing as I had already been there my whole life helping with one job or another.”
Trestan patiently listened to his friend’s story. The older youth continued, “Growing older, it wasn’t as easy for folks to let me sleep over some nights. Sometimes I spent the night sleeping in a store; the guard on watch, I guess. Sometimes I put in my work for the day, and those I helped got me a room at the inn those nights. The village always put a roof over my head, but I grew tired of going from place to place like that. One day my mind settled on the task to build a new house on the cleared, blackened area where the old house once stood. In fact, I swore I would spend nay more nights under any roof but my own. Maybe I was thirteen back then, yet I stubbornly set out to build the supports and planned to at least have a roof over my head that night.
“After a day of walking around the village and working for people to gather junk to use as supplies, I had about eight pieces of wood that were all different lengths, several used nails but nay hammer, suffering a monster headache. I was lying out on the ground as evening came, next to my haphazard pile of supplies. That night Sir Wilhelm brought out some blankets and camped with me under the stars. I was miserable, yet he visited my spot, started a fire, and over my early protests he roasted some meat and shared a meal with me. My mind couldn’t calm down due to my frustration. He told me to relax and share the food with him. He was a great man, Tres, and while I fretted he acted like a father to me and got me to enjoy a fire under an open night sky. Guess what he told me that helped to settle me down and relax my nerves?”
Trestan shook his head, “I have nay clue what he said or where this is all going.”
Petrow took out a copper coin, “He tossed a coin into the air, but didn’t show me whether it landed crown or castle. He looked at me and said, ‘Life comes on two sides of a coin, Petrow. You can’t have the lucky side without the unlucky side, and you can’t control which one turns up at a flick of the wrist. Most important though, if the lucky side shines in your favor and brightens one evening by sharing a warm blanket and meat under a scenic starlit sky, you need to relax and enjoy it.’”
Trestan cracked a smile, “So that’s where you came up with that bit of lucky coin wisdom!”
“Aye, told by one of the wisest men we both ever knew. I’m glad I finally relaxed and shared laughs with him that night; I needed my strength the next day. Jareth grabbed a bunch of strong townsmen and supplies. After a hard day of work I spent the next night and every night thereafter under my own roof. That first night about all I had was a roof and some beams holding it up, but it was a roof. If Jareth were here right now, he wouldn’t want us to suffer with worries. Tonight, you have a chance to eat well and sleep in a soft bed. We have this chance to rest up, for tomorrow we may need to run or fight, and we’ll need our strength. I bet you never swing that smithy hammer so well when your strength is taxed by lack of sleep, or your mind weighted by worry. We should take what the night offers us. It may be the gods giving us this gift to regain our will for the task ahead.”
Trestan nodded, smiling over Petrow’s tale, “You’re right. Give me a moment to collect myself and I shall go down there.”
Petrow considered Trestan’s motives, deciding to give his friend the time he needed. “Ok, I’ll head down. You follow as soon as you can, my friend.”
Trestan was grinning when Petrow turned to head down the stairs to the common room of the inn. The young smith took a moment to study his reflection in the mirror. He straightened his outfit, brushed away specks of dust. Looking every bit a gentleman, he turned and strode down the stairs with renewed vigor.
CHAPTER 7
Trestan walked downstairs into a light veil of smoke. Apparently, the locals in this pub favored smoking as much as Troutbrook’s residents liked fishing. The heavy aromas of different pipe weeds saturated the air, assaulting the noses of anyone unused to the smell. Some of the scents were quite enticing and sweet, but overall barrage forced Trestan to choke and clear his throat before he could go further. The smith had never been a smoker, figuring he got enough in his lungs from furnaces and other fires. Looking past the wisps of pipe smoke he could see patrons filling the room. From his vantage he could not spot his friends, but he couldn’t see into all the dark corners from the stairway. The candles and hearth fire offered barely enough light to reveal anything in the dim room. The young man moved to the bar instead, planning to resume his search after proper refreshment. The bar was crowded, but he found a spot and ordered from the barkeep.
From out of the descriptions in Cat’s recollections, Trestan spotted the dwarf bo
uncer who must have suffered the indignities of Revwar’s cruel spells. He was the only dwarf in the bar. Trestan tried to recall if a name had been mentioned, but if so he had forgotten it. The dwarf certainly looked as if he could crush any elf with his bare hands if given the chance. He stood maybe four feet tall yet seemed every bit as wide. The short figure wore no armor over his chest, just a shirt with short sleeves to show off his muscled arms. The young smith had never seen such well-muscled arms in his life, with the exception of the minotaur. The dwarf’s brown eyes complimented his thick, brown beard. Hair on the side of his head had been braided down to the level of his beard, ending in charms resembling a hammer and axe. Though his chest was unprotected by anything more than cloth and muscle, he did have a helm and wore metal bracers on his arms. He occasionally spared a quick grin to regular guests of the inn, though mostly his eyes stayed stern and serious. The dwarf constantly scanned the room for anything that might disrupt the peaceful nature of the evening. Trestan met his gaze for a moment and found himself on the receiving end of a challenging glare. It occurred to the young man the dwarf remained angry at being the public recipient of Revwar’s incapacitating spells. With such being the case, the blatant stare of a newcomer was probably someone who came to see the dwarf and enjoy mirth over the incident that was now half a week old. The young man quickly turned his attention elsewhere.
The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path Page 16
