by B C Penling
“This,” he said, “was your father’s sword.”
Lana stared at him then at the sword. She heard the stories her father told and it always sounded as if the sword was a long lost friend or companion. She never thought to ask him where he had retired it.
“He used it in the Fae Wars. The Malworn believed it to be cursed or enchanted and gave it the name, Malbane. Many foes fell upon this blade,” he said. “He wielded it well. A fine swordsman, he was.” He withdrew his sword as if he was reminiscing of old battles he’d fought and won, although he looked far too young to have participated in the War. “I’m sure you are, too.”
Lana nodded. “He taught me. Ever since I was little he insisted I knew how to use one.” Her eyes became a sea of pain and her face the mountain of grief.
Barator drew himself up, anger in his eyes, and suddenly drove the hilt of his short sword into the glass case, shattering the top. The glass splinters pinged as they landed, some on the stone ground, and caught the lantern light in a magnificent way like the ocean at sunset. The sword was free to be removed from its glass vault for the first time in centuries.
“He was a great elf,” he said to Lana as he stared at the sword. “Many men and creatures should follow his path of reasoning.” He paused. “He was the last to hold this sword and it was he who encased it. It was given to my kingdom many years ago as a show of peace after the Fae War.” He looked into Lana’s eyes. “The peace of Ancienta has been shattered now, much like the case. There is no reasoning with the Warisai. They’re monsters, like the Malworn. Lana, I feel this is rightfully yours so I’m giving it to you. And should the need to defend yourself arise once more, wield it wisely, courageously and righteously.” He motioned for her to pick up Arloen’s sword. “Please, take it.”
She reached carefully into the case and moved aside some glass shards. Her hand wrapped around the phoenix’s tail that made up the grip, pommel, and peen block. The guard was the phoenix’s wings and its head extended past the shoulder of the fullered blade. Made entirely from alvenite, the phoenix seemed to come alive in the lamplight as the flames danced glisteningly across the surface. The fuller was engraved with flames and extended from the phoenix’s beak, abruptly narrowing to a ridge that extended to the tip. She lifted it from its broken prison, the sharp alvenite blade shone silvery-gold in the lamplight. She rested the blade flat against her hand.
She looked at Barator, mixed emotions welling inside, and said, "Thank you. Its whereabouts were unknown to me. He was wise to place it among your treasures and under your guard. "
“Especially in the time we’re in,” Barator said. “Had it been in Arbortown, it would've been plundered. There is a notable threat on Ancienta, a threat that’s immediate to life as we live it. I came back from Fort Adoline concerned and after hearing about Arbortown, I’m doubly so. Now is the time we need to ally against the Warisai. They took a keystone from the world when they killed your father. The need to stop them is obvious. Only,” he paused, took a breath, and continued, “I hope it’s not too late. Mayor Mendon of Fort Adoline has taken in refugees from Pledonna after Doma was raided. Luckily, they had warning, packed up what they could carry and headed north. They brought ill tidings. Said they’ve overcome all the towns and cities south of Arborwood and Port Eyzin along with any farmstead in between. They’ve gone as far sunwake as Malmarsh where they came to a standstill because of the bog. That’s when they turned north. Eventually, I fear they’ll make it to Meridsani, either by land or by way of the Sea of Isa, to our small port north of here. I’ve dispatched riders to warn the denizens of my kingdom and have patrols scouting for any sign of them.” His face twisted into a scowl. “Grave times we’re in, Lana.”
Lana nodded. “I’ve seen it firsthand.”
Barator tossed her a sympathetic half smile then blew out the lamp closest to him. “Come, I’ll have my leathersmith make a scabbard to fit.”
They left the room and Barator locked the door.
“Was the sword the only reason you kept the room locked?” Lana inquired.
“Oh, no,” Barator said, his voice hushed. “I have some spell books in there too. They date far back before I was born. I’m afraid they’d fall victim to theft, spills, or go on a holiday on their own accord, so I keep them locked up. Only I have the key.” He tied the key ring to his belt and started walking down the hall.
They returned to Zen who smiled satisfactorily at their return. “Barator, you gave up your pride and joy? That, my friend, was very kind.”
“You knew?” Lana asked.
“Yes, I knew about it,” Zen replied. “We talked about the Fae War the last time we visited with one another. I all but threw up because he wouldn’t stop gloating about himself.”
Barator laughed loudly, grabbed Zen’s snout and pulled his head down so they were eye to eye. “You’re just jealous that you weren’t there!” He rubbed Zen’s face like he would a dog’s, hugged his snout, and turned on his heel. “He was a tad too young to be allowed to join in the fun,” he said to Lana.
Lana looked at him questioningly.
“Yes, I was there,” Barator replied to her silent question.
“Oh, here we go again,” Zen groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically. He dropped his forhead onto the stone floor.
“Quiet, you,” Barator chuckled, pointing a finger at Zen.
“You don’t look a day over thirty-five,” Lana stated. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m well over thirty-five, Lana. In fact, I’m just over four-hundred years old. I was almost halfway into my two hundreds when I,” he looked at Zen with a grin, “was allowed to fight.”
Lana raised an eyebrow.
“That’s what happens when your great-grandfather marries an elf. You end up with offspring with longer than normal lifespan. My father, King Baradier, has been retired for a century or so. He’s over twelve hundred years old. He’s old enough to remember the turmoil caused by Magnen’s death. He’s older than Zen by a few centuries.”
Zen went cross-eyed behind Barator’s back and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth. Lana stifled a giggle but not before Barator was onto him. He whirled around, saw Zen put his face away and pretend like nothing happened. Barator barked a laugh, walked over, and pet Zen on his neck.
“I missed you, my friend.” He smiled kindly and turned to Lana. “I think we should get the sword fitted to a scabbard. My leathersmith always has them prepared. He only needs to fit the sword to one and adjust if needed. You should have it back by tonight."
“Yes, please,” Lana answered. She walked over to him and handed him the sword.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Barator smiled, then turned and walked toward a pair of double doors.
“It’s too bad one of your relatives didn’t marry a dragon,” Zen said. “You would’ve had better looks.”
Barator waved dismissively over his shoulder, obviously laughing but trying not to make it audible. In all actuality, Barator was quite handsome, and he knew it.
Lana felt a pang of longing watching Barator walk away. Not because of his ruggedly good looks but because he had her father’s sword. She began to worry if she’d ever see it again, which was silly because she had only held it for a few minutes. It never mattered to her before today.
It’s because it’s the last thing you have of your father, Caeda chimed it. It’s a normal feeling, I think.
Thank you, Caeda, Lana replied.
Want me to follow him? I’ll keep an eye on the sword for you.
You will do that? Lana asked.
Just say the word! Caeda chimed enthusiastically.
Yes, please.
With that Caeda camouflaged herself and Lana felt her jump off her shoulder. Lana couldn’t see her but imagined that she hopped along behind him and slipped stealthily through the doorway. It’s not that she distrusted Barator, it’s that she didn’t know, let alone trust, Barator’s leathersmith. Plus, it was exactly what Caeda said. Th
e sword was all she had from her father. Having Caeda close to Malbane helped ease her mind and reassured her that it was safe.
Moments later Barator appeared through the doors he had exited, clapped his hands together, and said, “I gave the sword to Shan, a relative on my father’s side. He’s six generations, or seven,” he paused, questioningly, and then shrugged. “Anyways, he’s a distant cousin. He’ll be sitting with the sword while the smith fits the sword to a scabbard. I know how much it means to you, Lana, and I wouldn’t want it to grow legs and disappear. I’d punish whomever involved, of course, but who knows if the sword would ever be recovered. So, I took precautions. I trust my leathersmith but I trust Shan more. He’s quite like a diredog, actually, loyal until death.”
He rubbed his hands together and raised his eyebrows. “What would you two like to do today? I would like a day of leisure, so name it!”
“Fishing?” Zen suggested. “Or show Lana the cactus farm. That has cacti that don’t try to eat you. Or go fishing because there aren’t any cacti in the ocean. Or she could learn to make mault? Or we could go fishing. Or we can sleep.”
Barator looked at him. “You must be hungry.”
Zen shrugged his wings.
“So go! Miss Lana is in good hands,” Barator said. “I’ll show her the gardens and teach her to make mault. Go on, go fill your stomach.”
Zen looked at Lana and she smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
He turned, unfurled his wings, and left; leaping off the balcony and turning north. Lana assumed he was going to the port Barator had mentioned as at risk to an attack from the Warisai. She began to worry. She already missed him and found herself wondering if he’d make it back.
“He knows his way around,” Barator said after noticing her anxious expression. “Trust me. He’s been here a few times and knows all the good spots.”
Lana turned her attention to Barator. His brown eyes, with their expressive depth, were fixed on her. It startled her how he looked at her with intense kindness and for a moment she was uncomfortable. For a moment, she felt oddly vulnerable without Zen.
“Shall we?” Barator asked, holding out his left arm for her to take. “I’ll show you whatever you'd like to see.”
Lana slid her arm around his and rested her hand on his wrist becoming suddenly aware of how disappointing her muscles were. Her arm felt inadequate beside his bulk as they walked out of the dining room and turned to the right.
“We have the puppery where direpups play until they choose their soul mate. We can go there, if you’d like to.” He looked her in the eyes, smiling, hoping it was something she’d enjoy. “Only, you can’t look them in the eyes. That’s how they choose who to bind to, by looking through the windows of your soul.” He pointed to his eyes with his unoccupied hand. “I’m sure the pups would fight over someone like you.” His brown eyes afire with honesty.
She stared right back, determinedly, and wondered if his words held a hidden meaning. She brushed the possibility to the back of her mind, composed herself, and asked politely, “What else is there to show me?”
“You don’t want to see our pups?” Barator asked, accusatorily, but jokingly, as was his demeanor.
“Oh, no,” Lana began quickly. “That’s not it. I was thinking that adding anything more to my company now would be a bit much. I don’t think I’m ready for a commitment such as a direpup. I don’t…” She bit her lower lip and looked down at the floor.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Barator said, stopping midstride. “There are so many other places I can take you.” He lifted her chin with his right hand.
Her eyes glistened sadly and she finished her sentence, “I don’t even have a place to call home.”
Barator felt a twang of guilt and sorrow. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to experience his peoples’ heritage. It was because she felt lost, displaced, and alone. Without a home, a family to return to at the end of the day, and no people to call her own, how could she feel like she belonged anywhere?
“My apologies,” he said, sincerely. “If you need a home, you will always find one here. My castle is open to you and Zen. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, forever if you desire.” He motioned for them to continue walking.
“Thank you, kindly, Barator.” The way she said his name made him smile. “I appreciate the offer. It’s good to know I can belong somewhere. The wyverns made it evident that it wasn’t in Bledsoe.”
Barator rolled his beautiful brown eyes. “Wyverns,” he scoffed. “They wouldn’t help anyone if they were starving, had one leg, and were blind. The only reason why they agreed to Conclave with your people was because your father saved their king. Wyverns are selfish, conceited creatures. They’re completely ignorant of struggles that aren’t directly affecting them.”
“You couldn’t be righter,” Lana smirked.
“Where did they tell you to go?” Barator asked. “They always send people away.”
“Elventon,” Lana said. “To my kind.”
Barator chuckled. “I thought that’s where they’d send you and they sent Zen to guide you.”
Lana nodded.
“I hardly see a need for you two to go there now,” he said. “If you’re certain you’d like to stay here, that is.”
“I would,” Lana replied. “I’ll have to ask Zen. He said he wasn’t returning to Bledsoe.”
“Oh! Won’t that make them angry,” Barator laughed. “Good for him!”
They walked out of the castle and into the midmorning sunlight. A well-kept garden, with hedges neatly trimmed and bushes resembling diredogs, laid before them. In the center was a pond that was dammed with thick, white stones that sparkled in places when the sun hit them just right. The water within was clear and free of debris. When they reached its edge, Barator took her right hand in his, which surprised her briefly. He smoothly unwove her arm from his and guided her to the edge, releasing it gently like a feather in the wind.
“This is Aryenal. It is the deepest, clearest well in Gour. Have a look how deep it goes but be careful, it’s very hot. You won’t want to fall in.”
She placed her hands on the white stones that rose a little higher than her waist. They were delightfully warm, comfortably so. The wall was easily four feet thick making it difficult for her to see much. She stood on the tip of her toes and looked as far as she could but couldn’t see much.
“Here,” Barator said, moving her so she faced him. “You can see more if you’re on it.” Without much warning he lifted her around the waist with one arm. She let out a cry in surprise and started laughing as he placed her on the wall. “That’ll be better for you.”
“That was unexpected,” Lana laughed.
“What?” Barator shrugged.
“That was informal and unexpected,” she mused.
“My life is too long to be formal all the time,” Barator replied. “Who would want to be boring for hundreds of years on end, only to then die boring?”
“You’re right,” she giggled. “It does get old.”
“And, now you can see in.” He smiled and motioned her to look in the pond.
Lana looked over the edge. The heat of the pool washed over her face as it rose into the sky. It was refreshing against her skin, a kind of gentle massage relieving her stress worn face. Over the white stone wall was a pool that stretched beyond where her eyes could reach. The depths beyond the ocean-blue shadows were black and unfathomable, its bottom hidden from her sight through dozens of feet of heat-churned water. Colorful algae grew happily along the stone wall of the cylindrical hole, changing colors with the increasing depths. Small rainbow colored fish fed upon the algae and thrived happily in the heated water.
“It’s amazing,” Lana said, her eyes lighting up. “I’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful.”
“I have,” Barator said with a smile.
Lana looked at him. He cleared his throat and added quickly, “In the oceans all over Dagan there are reefs with colors l
ike that, like an underwater garden. It’s quite the sight.”
“I haven’t been far from Arbortown,” Lana said. “So I haven’t seen much. The forest was where I spent most of my time.” She suddenly realized how sheltered she was. In eight-hundred years she hadn’t travelled away from the shadows of the mountains. She twisted her face wonderingly. Her heart was in Arbortown, she was content there, and the thought of travelling was seldom and dismissed almost instantaneously. She had everything she needed, why would she have wanted to leave? A shadow of sorrow painted her eyes for a split second, just long enough for Barator to notice.
“If you want,” he said, interrogatively. “I can reserve the bath house for you, only you. The water comes from this well. It’ll give you time to yourself and a chance to relax.”
“I’d like that very much, thank you,” Lana replied graciously. “Where are we going next?”
Barator smiled enthusiastically, pleased that she appeared to be enjoying herself. “How about we tour the bathhouse? You’ll know where everything is and how to work the faucets, unless you want a servant to do everything and I’ll arrange that. You can use my bath suite, in fact, the one set aside for royalty. I’d want nothing less than that for you.” He held out his hand, waited for her to take it, and helped her off the wall.
Escorting her arm into his, he led the way to the bathhouse that was sunwake and slightly downhill of Aryenal. After a quick tour, they went onward to explore the quagmire created by the bathhouse further sunwake. The quagmire stretched for miles to the south, deep into the forest, where it stunted trees that needed stronger shoring to grow tall. Beyond the quagmire, toward sunwake, were the Drynol cactus gardens and the house where they made mauck and mault.
They saw Zen arrive back from fishing while they were enjoying cuisine samples that were uniquely Meridsani; mault, cactus fruit pies, and various maucks. They returned to the castle on borrowed diredogs and found Zen in the ball room in a full-stomach induced slumber. At his side was a belt wrapped around her sword in its leather scabbard.
