Chapter 7

  Alyra woke to the soft sounds of birds and a crackling fire. She reached out for her grandfather and found Rues curled against her instead. She looked to the fire where her grandfather quietly hummed to himself while he skinned a fresh rabbit.

  Where did he get a rabbit? Alyra wondered. The sudden realization drug Alyra to her feet; at the same time, she awoke Rues with her sudden movement.

  “Grunfh... You look better this morning, Glem. Slightly less dead than we worried you would be,” Rues said sleepily.

  “Ha girl, you didn't expect me to die from a little cold, did you? Besides, you girls took such good care of me I feel better than I have in years,” Glem said. “Chest’s a lot better, thanks to you, although at one point I wondered if you planned on smoking me to death.”

  He laughed but the girls didn’t find it humorous. Keeping a fire going had taken all their effort and strength, and now they were dead beat despite some sleep.

  “What happened last night?” asked Glem. “I don't remember much. I do know there was a man, his coat was on fire, and he dropped this.”

  Glem held up the sword from the night before in a remarkably steady hand.

  Then he listened to a careful recitation of the previous evening’s events by the girls and asked a few questions. He said, “I need to think about this. I do believe you are telling me what you saw, but I don't understand it.” Glem was shocked at what the girls were telling him. He didn’t know how to respond or what it meant for the future. For the moment at least they were safe. “We can stay here another night and move on tomorrow. I saw fish in the stream this morning. Maybe we can tickle some out for dinner.”

  “Grandpa, do you think he will come back? He ran off but I don’t know if he lived. I’m afraid. What are we going to do if he shows up again?”, Alyra cautiously asked.

  “Well, if he comes back, it is going to be without his sword,” Glem pointed out, still holding the blade and eyeing it as the sun’s rays glinted off the occasional patch of clean steel among the rust and dirt. “I really don’t think he’ll be back. From what you said, he is hurt. He may just crawl into a hole and die. So no point worrying yourselves silly over it.”

  The sun streamed into the small clearing between the creek and the stones, radiating its golden warmth, seeming to hold the promise of the days to come. Glem felt better than he had in years and playfully drug the girls to the edge of the creek.

  He stared down into the lazy water, looking for the overhangs that shadowed the surface, with grass hanging down to just touch the water. Once he found a place that looked promising, he peeled off his shirt and threw it down at the edge of the bank.

  After Glem flopped down, he very slowly began to ease his hands down into the water, spreading his giant palms wide apart as he cast a careful eye about him.

  Brilliantly colored streaks moved back and forth from the shadows to the sun, and he slowly brought his hands together as he waited for just the right moment.

  Glem’s hands were nearly touching one another, a tickle on his palms the only sign of the fish that moved slowly between them. One smooth, quick motion and the iridescent streaked fish was flopping around on the bank. “Ha girls, that's how it's done,” Glem said. He turned back to the water and eased back down. “Quick now, grab it and run some twine through the gills and get it back into the water before it dies or flops back in itself.”

  Half a dozen fish later, Glem pushed back from the bank.

  “That should get breakfast and maybe lunch out of the way,” Glem grunted as he stood and pulled his shirt back on. When he turned toward the camp, he saw three of the cleaned fish roasting on an improvised spit above the fire.

  “We found some wild lemongrass and thyme while you were fishing, so we stuffed the fish with them,” Rue said.

  Alyra wandered around the small campsite picking up twigs and small bits of wood. “Once those have finished roasting, we can smoke the rest, so they'll keep for longer. Glem, do you think you can get some more in the afternoon for dinner?”

  “I can, but we may have to go upstream a bit. I think my little eddy is about fished out already. It's not much of a stream,” Glem replied. Chuckling, he added, “How about if you two fish and I will hunt for spices to go with them this time?”

  “Grandpa… I am not getting wet!”

  Still laughing, Glem said, “Just push up your sleeves, and try to not fall in. What about you, Rues? You afraid of a little water like my granddaughter here?”

  Shaking her head, “Of course not old man, I can out fish you and her together.”

  “Big words from a little mouse, and you will get your chance to prove it later.”’

  “Rues, now look what your big mouth has gotten us into. I am going to get wet, sick, and die,” Alyra said with a dramatic swoon.

  They laughed loudly while they all settled around the fire to break their fast.

  The delicate aroma of the herb-stuffed fish caused their mouths to water, the combination of food and laughter working to raise their spirits after the long night.

  Glem glanced at the cart, and the oilcloth-wrapped bundles inside drug him from the levity. Their oppressive weight reminded Glem of the life he had left behind; his mood darkened at the thought. “I thought I was done with you,” Glem whispered to himself. Glem thought back on his life before he came to the village. It had been a long time since he had carried a sword to protect the kingdom.

  “Alyra, Rues, why don't you head upstream and see if Rues’ skill fishing matches her talk? I'll see what I can find to go with them.”’

  “Ok, Grandpa.”

  “Ok, Glem.”

  Glem strolled around the campsite as the girls left to go fishing. He moved slowly into the surrounding forest on the hunt for the rest of dinner; along the edge of the camp, he found some wild onions with their soft purple flowers in bloom, and farther on, resplendent in a patch of sun, he discovered some mint thriving. The small game trail near the mint led him quickly to another small field with a considerable raspberry bramble running down one side.

  After he filled a small sack from his belt with the early season black raspberries, he headed back to the campsite. Glem looked pensively at the wagon and around the still empty camp as he crouched and gently laid down his new provisions near the stones behind the fire.

  Then, he rose again and returned to the wagon, sighing heavily as he began to pull the large bundles out and spread them next to the cart. It was quite a stash.

  “I thought I was done with you,” Glem muttered again, as he unwrapped and carefully set aside each of the pieces. He opened the first bundle and removed the heavy but very finely wrought steel chainmail shirt, looking it over. He felt the rings and rivets, smoothing a finger over them as if enjoying the craftsmanship, then held the chainmail piece to the sky.

  His arms visibly trembled under the weight, and it shone in the light.

  Each of the rings that made it up had been carefully formed and riveted after being laced through the others. This shirt had a value higher than most men could dream of making in a lifetime. Carefully examining the rings again and running his hands over the weaving, the steel seemed oddly soft and familiar to his touch. The heavily padded shirt in with the mail, the gambeson that was to be worn underneath, still appeared stained with slight rust, sweat, and—in places—blood now of a reddish-brown hue rather than blood red.

  The shirt set to the side, he moved to the next bundle, opening just the end of the wrapping and sliding out a long smooth blade which he laid on the cloth. Again, he went gently about each movement as if partaking in some sort of ceremony at which he was the only attendee.

  He treated the items with such obvious reverence in their unwrapping and in how he caressed, smoothed, and admired each piece as it emerged.

  The texture of the blade steel was like glass and the blade almost translucent as the light reflected off it, its edge still clean and sharp.

  A long dagger, a match to the bigger blade, followed it to the cloth and was laid next to the chainmail shirt. Last, he took the heavy signet from his pocket and set it down with the rest. He took his time to gently position the ring among the larger pieces, as if creating a display.

  “An old life put away is taken out again,” Glem muttered to himself. “It cannot be helped.”

  The decision made, Glem moved without hesitation to complete his task. He slipped into the thick gambeson, the sweltering padding feeling like a familiar old blanket, and the crafted mail shirt followed it onto his frame with a well-practiced ease.

  He stood and swung his arms to settle the shirts and to see where they might rub and chafe.

  The answer was that they might rub and chafe everywhere, for the mail pinned down the cloth and pushed it into every small fold of his skin. “This thing is heavier than I remember.”

  He breathed heavily under the exertion of even putting the garments on.

  Next, Glem knelt near the blades and ring, speaking into the air although there was no one else to hear. “You’ll have to do something about these, Glem. There are still too many people that will recognize them.” He turned and stroked each one lovingly. Glem knew that because of his rank and for the length of time he had been gone that there were still people that he had served with that would recognize his personal signet. He was not prepared to be recognized yet.

  Glem had now unwrapped his bundles completely, and he took the knife and smoothly sliced a piece of the oilcloth down its length. A stretch of the cord that had held the bundle was tied around the cloth and the sheath, so he re-laced it down the length and tied it neatly at the bottom. After he carefully covered the pommel and grip of the sword, he tightly wrapped the hilt with the string, successfully obscuring the sign on the pommel. Once the dagger received the same treatment, he stopped to examine his handiwork.

  “Not great, but it will hopefully be enough to disguise me from casual notice,” he said to himself, sighing and wrinkling his nose. “The years under the floor certainly didn't help with the smell of this damned shirt. I’m surprised it’s in one piece with a stink like that.”

  Glem picked up the signet now. “This, at least, is easy to hide for the moment,” he said as he laced it onto a thong and dropped it into the open neck of his shirt.

  The sword and dagger, in turn, had also just settled onto their heavy belt.

  “Grandpa?”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “We got fish,” Rues said enthusiastically as she followed Alyra into the campsite. “Not as many as you caught but mine are bigger.” No response. Rues looked up from her stringer of fish and spotted Glem looking quite fine, adorned in all his unusual finery.

  “Whoo, Glem!”

  Glem turned to face the girls, ignoring their shock. “I wasn't sure it would still fit. I've gotten old and fat,” he replied.

  I'm kind of surprised that it fits as well as it does, he thought.

  Glem picked up the rusty sword dropped by the would-be murderer the night before. “I'm going to go down to the creek for some sand to clean this piece of junk up. While I’m down there, why don't you get started on cooking some dinner? I found some onions and mint, also some more early blackberries that should make a nice treat later.”

  “Ooh, I still can't believe any are ripe yet!” exclaimed Alyra.

  “Ok, but I have questions,” Rues stated firmly.

  “Leave off girl, you both know I am an old soldier.”

  “I know you were an old soldier, but I was an apprentice blacksmith, and I know what your mail shirt is.”

  “Huh, I don't understand. What is so special about an old chainmail shirt?”

  “That's not regular chainmail.”

  “Hush girl, we'll talk later,” Glem said, unwilling to explain why an old soldier would have armor of that caliber to Alyra.

  “I still don't understand… Someone explain what is going on?”

  “Later!” Glem said as he turned to walk toward the creek to look for sand.

  A short way down along the edge of the creek, Glem found a low spot and eased down onto a large rock in the middle of a sandbank.

  Using a piece of cast-off oilcloth, he scooped a big handful of the fine wet sand into it and began to work it softly, up and down the length of the blade. It could take hours to buff the old and neglected blade fully, but for now, seeing shining patches being born would be a pleasure.

  “Fool girl. Needs to learn to keep her mouth shut,” he muttered to himself.

  He worked the sand up and down the blade and quickly fell into old habits. The blade slowly began to show through the rust that had marred it for so long and to Glem’s surprise, the blade that emerged was better quality than he had first presumed. It appeared rust free.

  He looked up and realized that the sun had moved farther across the sky than he thought. Quickly, he rinsed the blade in the creek and checked the wide, now clean blade as it emerged from the water. “The steel might have been good once, and there is certainly enough of it. I wonder if Rues can do something with the edge?” Glem said aloud as he grabbed a large piece of the fine-grained limestone nearby.

  ***

  “We were beginning to wonder if we should go look for you,” Alyra said to Glem as he walked back into the camp.

  “The food smells good,” Glem replied. “Sorry about being such an old grump earlier. Rues, can you take a look at this for me?” He held out the recently cleaned blade. “I think it's salvageable, and the edge isn't too damaged. It looks like it saw a lot of abuse. I know you used to clean and repair tools with your father. What do you think?”

  When Glem saw the reaction on Rues’ face at the mention of her father, he winced.

  “I'm sorry, Rues. I shouldn’t have said… Anyway, he was a good man.”

  Rues held her hand out and took the sword carefully from Glem, silent and sad.

  She moved off into the brightest patch of sun in their camp as she scrutinized the sword. She began to tap the hilt of her belt knife against the blade as she worked meticulously, listening to the sound change as she moved up and down the sword's length.

  “This was never more than passable work, not great, but maybe reparable. I can certainly fix the worst with a stone and rewrap the hilt tonight. By tomorrow, it will be a sword again.”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes, he was a good man, and he would be ashamed of me if I couldn't make something usable out of this old mess,” Rues said.

  She set aside the blade and moved quietly about the camp, with purpose.

  Her eyes scrutinized everything, seeking out a stone flat enough to do what she wanted.

  Rues retrieved her hammer from the cart, and a rapidly built simple bellow created from some cloth and a reed, and stoked the remains of the cooking fire.

  After she buried the blade deep in the fire, she said softly, “Glem, I can repair most of it here but tempering it will have to wait until we get to a town big enough to have a forge.”

  Glem watched her and thought that her movements were studied and workmanlike.

  This is a girl that knows her craft. She was a joy to watch.

  Glem sat back to eat with Alyra by his side; in silence, they continued to watch Rues working diligently on the blade, breathing new life into the old.

  She seemed completely engrossed in it, as if she and the blade had almost become one.

  Rues heated and then gently worked the edge with her hammer over and over, slowly drawing the edge of the blade back into shape, meticulous and unforgiving.

  The night was already coming on before she was satisfied with her work.

  “That will have to be enough for now. I'll finish the job when we get to town.”

  Rues stood and stretched, still eyeing the sword as if it might speak back.

  She drove her fists into her lower back to knead the muscles, sore from being hunched over her anvil stone on the ground. She handed the blade to Glem. “I'll stone the edge in the morning. There are some soft spots, but I was able to hold the heat mostly to the damaged areas. It will need to be fully annealed and then re-hardened and tempered. Now, I'm hungry. Alyra, did you save me some food?”

  “Yeah, Rues. Come sit down. I'll bring it to you.”

  Glem studied the blade carefully, the repaired areas invisible despite the rough working conditions. “This is good work, Rues. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have thought this was a different blade. Really good work.”

  “I know,” Rues said. She caught Glem’s eye and stuck her tongue out at him.

  Glem laughed loudly. “We could have used you when I was in the army years ago.”

  “Ha, you mean before I was born, old man. My work is good, but crude compared to my father’s. He was a master and anything I can do, I owe to him and his patience and skill.”

  Rues settled in to eat her dinner, leaned up against the cooled stones after the heat of the fire. She fell asleep almost before she’d finished eating.

  “Alyra, I'll keep watch tonight. You get some sleep.”

  After he broke down the cart and used the remains to build up the fire for the evening, Glem quietly took stock of their few remaining provisions. The rest of the oilcloth, leather, and enough food for a couple of meals if their luck held for foraging.

  He settled on a log the girls had pulled up near the fire earlier, and Glem took the piece of stone from the creek out and began to quietly work it lengthways down the blade.

  Each stroke would make a single soft tone, attesting to Rues’ skill in the repair of the old sword. Oddly, the stone did not seem to bite into the untempered areas as he expected it to.

  It skated, as though the blade was hardened already.

  Glem stripped off the rotten leather of the hilt and threw it away, then examined the wood that remained. Even that is punky, he grunted to himself as he separated the halves with his belt knife and threw them into the fire. A long dried piece of maple that he had intended for the fire, he deftly split lengthwise. He began to work a hollow into the center for the hilt’s core and trimmed it for fit and length. He adjusted it a bit at a time until it was a snug fit on the hilt.

  He then cut three long thin strips from their small leather supply, and braided them tightly and began to wrap the grip. He tied it off and grunted, “Good enough.”

  The next morning, Glem woke to a fire going in the pit. Rues sat nearby with the sword from the night before across her lap and slowly worked the stone down its length.

  “Nice job on the blade last night. I only had to fix your bungling a little,” she teased Glem. “Alyra has the rabbits roasting that we caught in the snares set while fishing yesterday.”

  “Is it just me, or is that better steel than I thought last night?” Glem asked.

  “I don't understand it. Before I started working on it yesterday, I would have said it was junk steel and not worth fixing, but this morning, it looks like I was just fixing a master's work that had been ignored for too long. The stone is starting to skate along the edge as if hardening itself somehow. I can't decide if it's my imagination or if something’s changing in it.”

  “Last night, I wondered about that myself,” Glem replied. “Let's get through breakfast and break camp. The nearest big town is a couple of days’ walk.”

  “Alyra, come over here,” Glem said, holding up the leather belt and sheath he had been working on while they ate. “It won't last long, but it'll hold until we can get into the town and get the materials to make a better one.” First, he fastened the hand-wide strip of material around her waist and then the sheath to the belt.

  Glem told her, “If it comes to a fight, drop the belt and sheath when you draw the sword, that will keep them out of the way. Rues, draw your hammer, and both of you stay behind me.”

  Rues looked carefully at the heavy hammer choked up on the haft and nodded at Glem as she looked up.

  “Alright then, grab the food we have left, and let's go,” Glem said.

  Glem didn’t understand what had happened with the man at the stream.

  Only fragments of his memories of the encounter remained.

  The description of what happened—that the girls had given him—sounded like magic. Still, nothing like that had existed since the last kingdom had fallen almost two thousand years ago.

  He remembered hearing the scholars in the capital talking about magic when he was in his novitiate training for the army, but also remembered clearly that the learned men in the capital had believed that it was gone forever. For a moment Glem remembered the slightly musty smell and dark wood of the great library again. A place he had not thought of in many years.

  Maybe the girls had been mistaken, and the man had tripped and fallen into the fire instead.

  “Girls, when we get to the city, stay close to me. Don't make eye contact with anyone; they will either want to sell you something or think you want to fight. Understand?” Glem said.

  “Grandpa, we are grown women, not little girls anymore. I think we can handle ourselves in a town,” Alyra replied.

  “‘That you are... that you are. Just the same. Until you get comfortable, you understand?”

  “You don't have to worry about her, Glem. I will keep an eye on her,” Rues said.

  “Ha, I'm sure you will, but who will keep an eye on you, little mouse?” Glem laughed. “We may get to the city tomorrow. I remember there being another village up this way that we can stop in tonight. If we don't come to it soon, we will stop for the night before it gets dark. We have enough of the forage that we won't need to hunt along the way.”

  After walking for some time, Rues asked “Glem, it’s starting to get dark. Do you think we will get to the town tonight?”

  “No, I am thinking we won't, after all. Let's find somewhere to camp, and we can go on in the morning,” Glem replied.

  The night was quiet and uneventful, allowing them to get the first real rest they had gotten since fleeing their village.

  ***

  “Come on, lazybones, time to get up,” Glem said as he nudged Alyra gently with the toe of his boot.

  “What about Rues... She has to get up too,” Alyra responded sleepily.

  “Ha, she is already up and made your breakfast,” Rues responded to her friend. “Come on and eat so we can get moving.”

  Rues threw some dirt over the morning’s fire remains while Alyra grumbled and started to eat her breakfast.

  “Glem says the other town should not be far this morning. Maybe we can find somewhere to have a bath. You certainly need one,” Rues told Alyra.

  They picked up their few possessions and started to walk toward the trail.

  The light fog clung in patches to the forest floor and each of them was lost in their own thoughts as they walked till mid-morning.

  “When we get into the village, keep quiet about what happened at home. We don't know these people or how they will react. We are just travelers headed to Eshly to look for work. Understand?” Glem asked.

  “Yes, Grandpa,” Alyra replied.

  “Yes, Glem.”

  “I can't wait to get a bath. This smoke smell never seems to go away,” Alyra said as she shook her shirt.

  “We could all use a good wash, you especially,” Glem replied. “But I smell smoke too, and it is coming from in front of us on the breeze. Off the trail now, and hide,” Glem said as he slipped his bag off and handed it to Rues. “I’m just going for a look. Stay here until I return.”

  Rues and Alyra quickly moved off to hide in the brush along the side of the trail.

  Glem loosened his sword in its sheath. Then he took a last glance around and started forward. “Be careful,” he heard from a whisper in the brush.

  A short walk later, Glem arrived to find the small village still smoldering. A ring of scorch marks around the village looked eerily familiar. The forest village had been built entirely of wood, and the fire had not left anything standing. Sadly but predictably, the rain had missed the village, so there had been nothing to slow the fire’s appetite and the bodies of the villagers were scattered between the remains of the houses. They lay where they had fallen.

  They didn't even burn the bodies this time, just left them where they lay. If I meet the man that ordered this, he will not survive either.

  Glem moved from building to building, looking for survivors.

  He found only the dead. After searching the village quickly, he left.

  “Girls, it's safe to come out. We’ll go around the town. There is nothing left,” Glem said softly when he reached the brush in which he had left them hiding.