The Iron Sword

by J. M. Briggs

  Arto looked towards the doorway of the village as they drew closer. It was a narrow opening in the walls that provided only a little protection and was a constant point of worry. Two warriors were stationed by the gates, tall torches burning next to them illuminating the surrounding area. Both men grinned as they rode into sight, one turning and shouting that they had returned to the village. People rushed out of their roundhouses and called eagerly to them, but to Arto, all the voices blended together in a mess of noise.

  Cheers rippled through the gathering crowd as they rode into the village and were swarmed. Thankfully, someone stilled his horse and gave him a chance to dismount. Arto wondered if he needed to say something to the crowd, but the exhaustion in his bones was too much. His head was hazy and he didn’t imagine that he could manage more than a few words. In the corner of his eye, he saw Airril dismount and help Morgana down. Merlin gracefully dismounted and smiled widely at the crowd, looking far too relaxed and awake for Arto’s taste.

  “Arto!” a very familiar voice called over the crowd which thankfully began to part. Gwenyvar rushed forward, Luegáed right behind her, both of them smiling.

  His wife jumped forward, wrapping her arms around and almost sending him to his knees. Arto laughed and returned the embrace, closing his eyes for a moment, willing the rest of the world away. The moment of peace didn’t last long with Bosil’s booming voice greeting his own family behind them. Questions erupted from many people about their trip, but Arto ignored them, feeling relief when Bosil began happily answering them.

  “Welcome home,” Gwenyvar greeted in his ear before she released him and stepped back.

  “Good to have you back,” Luegáed greeted, clapping him on the back.

  “I see the village is intact,” Arto remarked loudly so he could be heard over the crowd of people.

  “Yes, I did my part,” Luegáed replied with a laugh. “Although it was horribly boring without you here.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Arto remarked with a laugh, wrapping an arm around Gwenyvar. “I missed you both,” he told them before looking at Gwenyvar. “You most of all.”

  “I’m glad you’re back safely,” Gwenyvar told him in a soft voice with a faint blush on her cheeks. “I worry when you’re gone.”

  “I worry about you too,” Arto informed her. “The only thing that kept it at bay was knowing that Luegáed was here.”

  “Welcome home cousin,” another familiar voice said from behind him.

  Arto twisted to look back at Medraut who was standing calmly behind them, regarding Arto with a blank expression and dressed in fine woven robes.

  “Thank you Medraut,” Arto replied with a nod. “It is good to see you well.”

  “Indeed. I am sorry to ask, but may I speak with you?”

  “Now?” Arto asked, frowning at the request.

  “I know it is late, but please,” Medraut answered, looking at Gwenyvar for a long moment.

  “It’s alright Arto,” Gwenyvar assured him. “I’ll stop in and wake your mother; she made me promise to tell her the moment you returned.”

  “I’ll see her home,” Luegáed promised, looking at Medraut with open curiosity. “Goodnight Medraut,” Luegáed added as he gently touched Gwenyvar’s arm.

  Arto sighed and watched his wife and best friend slip away from the crowd. Medraut cleared his throat loudly, making Arto think about just walking away. With a small sigh, he gestured for Medraut to lead on and they quickly extracted themselves from the crowd, a feat made possible only because Bosil was entertaining them all with a recounting of their last battle against the Sídhe.

  Leaving the crowd behind them, Arto followed his cousin up one of the two gently sloping hills that the main village was built around. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the top of the other hill where his own roundhouse stood near the roundhouse occupied by his mother. Medraut cleared his throat again and Arto sighed once more, following his cousin into his roundhouse.

  It was a large roundhouse, built for Medraut when he became the leader of the village. A large set of shelves opposite the doorway displayed signs of his wealth: several bottles of perfume, a plate of jet and gold beads, vases from Rome and other trinkets that the traders brought with them. A low fire burned in the hearth and his cousin took a moment to stir up the flames.

  “What is it that you wanted to talk about?” Arto asked, rolling his shoulders and barely holding back a yawn.

  “Yes, of course. It is very important that we talk,” Medraut said even as he frowned deeply, his hands behind his back as he paced across the roundhouse for a moment.

  Arto shifted uncomfortably, his aching muscles protesting being kept from his own roundhouse and, more importantly, his own bed. He was unsure of what to make of his cousin’s hesitation as in his experience, Medraut spoke his mind.

  “Medraut,” Arto cut in, finally losing his patience. “I have been away for four months, been in more than twenty battles with the Sídhe and made two new Iron Gates,” he reminded his cousin, leaning wearily against the wall of the roundhouse. It wasn’t comfortable, but it took some of the pressure off his lower back. “What is bothering you? Tell me or let me go home and spend some time with my wife.”

  “Of course cousin,” Medraut replied quickly, stopping his pacing and wringing his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m just not sure how to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” Arto demanded, worry churning in his stomach at Medraut’s wording. “Is my mother-”

  “Oh she’s just fine,” Medraut assured him quickly. “I have no doubt that she is waiting for you in your roundhouse.”

  “Then what is it?” Arto asked, his impatience and exhaustion returning.

  “I fear that Gwenyvar has betrayed you with Luegáed,” Medraut informed in a rush, his eyes gleaming oddly in the firelight.

  “...What?” Arto asked slowly, his mind not fully comprehending what his cousin had said.

  “I’ve observed them spending a great deal of time together, especially when you are gone. In the last four months… this time together became more frequent. It is not uncommon to find Luegáed at your roundhouse late at night and slipping in and out of the roundhouse at odd times in the day. Whenever he finishes training with the warriors, he always goes to see Gwenyvar.”

  “He is my best friend and I entrusted him with Gwenyvar’s safety whenever he doesn’t travel with me,” Arto replied coldly, narrowing his eyes at his cousin. His heart was beating faster than normal and his hands tightened into fists of their own accord. It was all he could do, not to lash out and strike his cousin. There was a smug little look on his face that threatened to enrage him as if Medraut was internally betting on what his reaction will be. “It’s natural that Luegáed is spending time with Gwenyvar, he’s her friend as much as he is mine.” Glaring at Medraut, Arto couldn’t help but add, “He’s the closest thing I have to a brother.”

  Medraut didn’t seem bothered by the last remark, but then again he’d never seemed to care much about their relationship beyond making sure that they remained allies.

  “Arto I know this is hard for-”

  “You will not speak of this further,” Arto ordered, straightening up and using his great height to glare down at Medraut before turning towards the door.

  His cousin moved in front of him, a firm expression on his face, to block the doorway. Arto was surprised and impressed by the move. His cousin had never struck him as a brave man: the only battle he even remembered Medraut ever being a part of was the Sídhe attack that claimed his father’s life. The very reminder made his scowl deepen.

  “Arto, some of the warriors are already talking,” Medraut insisted. “Your influence is based not only on your magical powers and martial skills, but also your marriage to the daughter to an important northern priest. If news about her having an affair gets out then it could impact-”

  “And your position is partially based on being my cousin,” Arto retorted with a small snort. “You’re worried about yo
urself, not me. I don’t believe this for a moment and you are foolish to believe it. Leave these rumors be.”

  “But Arto-” Medraut protested, but Arto pushed him out of the way and quickly left the roundhouse.

  Stepping out into the cool night air, Arto strode away from the roundhouse, confident that Medraut wouldn’t follow him. His cousin would want to keep such conversations away from the ears of curious villagers. Arto breathed in the air deeply, taking in the smells of his home village and began to calm down. Medraut was seeing something where there was nothing; his concern over appearances and power dynamics driving him to new levels of concern. It was something that Arto didn’t understand and preferred not to.

  Looking around, Arto surveyed the slight differences in the village. The eastern wall had been partially rebuilt and a new roundhouse had been constructed near it. Otherwise, it was much the same, the roundhouses scattered about with small yards containing a few livestock or supplies. Smoke wafted out of the houses and he could smell the remnants of dinner. On the far side of the village were the smelting forges and the iron storehouses. Nothing had really changed.

  He walked down the path from Medraut’s roundhouse and towards his own, his movements sluggish as his feet dragged against the dirt. There was an uncomfortable sense of doubt seeping into his mind that he did his best to ignore. But it was persistent, like a little voice whispering to him. Shaking his head, Arto summoned the image of Gwenyvar and Luegáed’s smiles upon seeing him and relaxed. A small smile came to his own face at the mere memory of their expressions.

  Stopping in the middle of the path, Arto closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Beneath him, he could feel the solid well-beaten soil of the village and could smell the chill of autumn on the wind. He opened his eyes and looked up into the night sky. With the sun gone, he could see countless twinkling stars. For a moment Arto felt as if he was falling into the darkness, falling towards on the lights. He lost any sense of time, listening to his own heartbeat and feeling the soft pulse of his magic within him.

  Arto jumped when a young couple walked past him, each of them smiling at him even as they gave him curious looks. They vanished into their roundhouse and Arto became aware of the silence in the village. No longer could he hear Bosil or the sounds of questions down the path. Instead, everything was still, save for the livestock in the nearby yard. Shaking his head, Arto chuckled to himself and resumed walking up the hill.

  “Arto,” his sister called, causing him to stop suddenly and look around for her.

  She was right up ahead of him, standing next to a torch. He’d only been a few steps away from walking into her, Arto realized with a flush of embarrassment. Morgana frowned at him, the long thick cloak fluttering softly in the wind. From the look on her face, she had something to say to him and she knew that he wasn’t going to like it. Arto sighed softly, hoping that Medraut hadn’t run off to tell his sister his suspicions while he took in the village.

  “Sister, I would have thought you’d have gone to sleep now. Surely you and Airril are pleased to be home again,” he greeted, hoping that if he seemed relaxed and content that she’d let him be for the night.

  “Arto, I need to speak with you,” Morgana informed him, wrinkles between her eyebrows deepening.

  “Can it wait for morning, Morgana?” Arto asked, nearly whining. “I’m exhausted.”

  “I know what Medraut told you,” she told him bluntly, stepping closer to him. “And you should consider his words.”

  “I don’t believe it, Morgana,” Arto replied firmly, raising his chin. “I trust them and I don’t blame them for spending time together when I’m gone. Medraut is just obsessing over nothing.”

  “Arto, I know that you value Luegáed, but I’ll remind you that we have never identified who is passing information to the Sídhe. We suffered that ambush-”

  “Morgana, those attacks are random! The Sídhe’s power is weakening with every new gate, they have patrols everywhere and orders to destroy us on sight,” Arto insisted, throwing his hands up in the air. “There is no real evidence beyond your suspicions that there is a traitor. Besides, even if there is a traitor passing information to the Sídhe and Medraut is right, which he isn’t, that hardly proves that it is Luegáed. There is a huge difference between what Medraut is suggesting and what you are suggesting.”

  “Arto-”

  “No, you don’t like him because of that ambush right after he joined us. That wasn’t his fault and your grudge is ridiculous. And you have never liked Gwenyvar, but she is my wife and is your sister as much as Airril is my brother. We cannot simply accuse them of wrongdoing. We are at war and I will not cast suspicion on our allies and warriors without true cause.”

  “Arto, I only want to protect you,” Morgana insisted softly. “Please, understand that. I spent so long worrying and feeling guilty.”

  “I know Morgana, but I’m not a child,” Arto offered in a gentle voice. “Luegáed is not a traitor, please trust me on that. He would not risk the war effort. He doesn’t care about power or position, he cares about people.”

  “And what of Medraut’s suspicions?”

  “I do not believe them and even if they are true, it is my concern and I will deal with it.”

  “What affects the Iron Soul affects us all,” Morgana reminded him before a deep sigh escaped her. “But for now, it will be as you wish. Sleep well brother; we will speak in the morning.”

  Staying in place, Arto watched his sister turn and walk towards her own roundhouse. Even from here, he could see Airril standing by the doorway waiting for her. He huffed softly and shook his head, looking up the hill at his own home. The animal hide protecting the doorway was down, but he could see traces of light escaping around it. As he approached, he could hear the soft voices of Gwenyvar and his mother. Smiling at the sounds, he pulled back the flap and stepped into his home, putting Medraut and Morgana’s concerns out of his head.

  19

  Slice of Life

  Holding back a yawn, Alex glanced over the options for dinner as she balanced the tray in her hands. She set the tray down on the edge of the serving bar and reached for the tongs, grabbing a small piece of meatloaf that didn’t look overcooked. Hearing people walk up behind her, she paused and tensed slightly.

  “I still can’t believe that they did that,” Aiden grumbled, setting his tray down next to her own. “Making us fight the shadow monsters without help,” he huffed, spooning up a large helping of mashed potatoes. “I mean sure they were standing right there, but fighting one of those things solo is intense.”

  “Gee,” Alex muttered with a raised eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Seriously Aiden, let it go,” Nicki remarked with a roll of her eyes as she came up on Alex’s other side. “You’re just pouting about not getting the ice spear spell to work.”

  “Alex hasn’t done an ice lance spell yet,” Aiden whined, his bottom lip sticking out a bit further than usual.

  “Leave me out of this,” Alex replied with a shake of her head. “I can’t believe you’re talking about it again.”

  “He’s been whining about it all day,” Nicki muttered as she snagged a baked potato wrapped in foil. “It’s getting old.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Alex agreed, giving Aiden a pointed look as she picked up her tray.

  The others followed her over to the small dessert bar that oddly enough shared space with the fresh fruits and salads.

  “There is a serious lack of chocolate today,” Alex pouted, surveying the selection of carrot cake and tarts.

  “Well we are eating late tonight,” Nicki replied with a shrug, grabbing a slice of carrot cake and examining it. “Do you think this counts as healthy?”

  “No chance,” Aiden snorted, picking up some kind of tart that Alex couldn’t identify. “Even the carrot flavor cannot overcome the sugar content.”

  Alex was ready to leave the dessert bar with her friends in disgust when a cafeteria worker sudden
ly appeared with a small tray of chocolate cakes slices. With a victorious smile, Alex grabbed one of the small plates and ignored the expressions on Nicki and Aiden’s faces. She led them over to get drinks and then paused at the edge of the tiled area and checked the seating area for the others.

  It only took Alex a moment to spot Bran and Arthur in the mostly empty space. They were at a small round table in the back of the dining hall near one of the large windows. The sun had set more than an hour ago and most of the cafeteria was empty, feeling a little deserted. A few students were coming in and out to raid the dessert bar and ice cream dispenser. One girl was sitting at a far table with what looked like a bowl of sugary cereal and a pile of books. There were only a few people actually eating from full dinner plates.