Weaponforger (Guardian's Prophecy Book 3)

by D A Godwin

  That Which Was Lost

  Edward and Vestus flagged them down as they rode across the causeway onto the island. Though she dearly wished to return to Eluria’s temple and continue to sort out what she had been shown, Shalindra turned her horse in their direction.

  “We saw your approach,” Edward said as they dismounted and passed the reins to waiting soldiers. “Did you discover anything in Rumbleton that requires our attention?”

  “There was a small matter that we may discuss later,” Shalindra replied.

  Enna shot Tormjere a look at the understatement, but said nothing as she hurried towards the temple.

  “I can see that there is a more pressing topic to attend to first,” Shalindra said. “What is the trouble, master purser?”

  “Forgive me, Your Highness,” Vestus said with a small bow, “but our last merchant to Silvalaria is overdue by more than a week. Given that we have also seen no sign of the elves who usually visit, the council feels that someone must be sent to investigate.”

  Edward bobbed his head. “I feel we should, as well. The elves may be absent due to their own affairs, but Crosby is not the kind of man to dawdle when he has goods for sale.”

  “Normally I would agree,” Birion said, “but with one patrol already out, I am loath to commit a full complement to another with so many visitors in the valley.”

  “Treven is trustworthy,” Tormjere said quickly.

  “The priests may be,” Edward admitted, “but their hired swords not as much. We’ve had a few altercations with the watch, here and there, but nothing worth making a stink over. There’s little enough to entertain them here, and I think most are more eager to return to Kirchmont than they let on.”

  “I am also reluctant to leave ourselves so lightly defended,” Shalindra agreed, “though I would trust the Legitarso with anything. Can we send a smaller group?”

  “We could,” Birion answered, “though they would be ineffective should they encounter anything. You remember what happened last year when we tried to shrink the patrols.”

  “I’ll go,” Tormjere volunteered.

  Are you certain?

  I need something to do, and it’s ground we’ll cover on the way to Ildalarial.

  You have done very well since Treven’s arrival, which makes me happier than you know. But Enna and I cannot go with you, and after what happened with the soldiers…

  I’ll be fine as long as no one pokes me with a stick.

  Shalindra almost said no. The emotions of the previous night were still raw and her passions inflamed, and she wanted to depart as soon as possible. Birion caught her eye and gave her a curt nod. Despite his reservations he had honored her request and had made attempts to draw Tormjere from his shell. Clearly, he saw this as another such opportunity.

  She relented. “I think that would be beneficial, for all involved. Enna and I will need a few days to prepare.”

  “I’ll join you and bring a few from Sam’s squad,” Birion said, exchanging a questioning glance with Edward, who indicated his agreement with the decision. “We’ll leave at first light tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Tormjere said.

  Vestus bowed again. “Thank you, Your Highness. If you’ll excuse me?”

  Shalindra returned his bow.

  “He has cause for concern,” Birion said when Vestus had left. “We’ve needed to do more in the south for some time.”

  “We have,” Shalindra agreed, “and we may put our efforts in that direction sooner than we had planned. If you gentlemen will join me for a moment, I have news to discuss.”

  “I’ve heard it,” Tormjere said, “and I wanted to speak to Honarch before I leave.”

  “I believe he’s wandering with the priests,” Edward offered.

  Tormjere gave him a quick nod of thanks and headed towards the village.

  Join me at the temple when you are done.

  I will.

  It took him little time to find Honarch and Treven as they walked at a leisurely pace along the road, followed by his acolyte and a pair of guards.

  “Ho, Tormjere,” Honarch called, interrupting their conversation. “I was wondering where you’d run off to.”

  “Here and there, as usual,” he replied. “What problem are you two solving today?”

  “Actually, we were discussing architecture,” Treven said. “I had not realized that rockhurlers aided in the construction of some of the buildings here.”

  Tormjere looked at Honarch for confirmation.

  “I guess we never got around to talking about that. I went looking for them when we arrived, to try and avoid any confrontations with the village. It took some effort, but one or two were willing to help in exchange for some concessions.”

  “Is that how your tower was built?” Tormjere asked. “I thought they hated water.”

  “They do, and it was a miracle that I could get one of them onto the island. They regard it as sort of a holy place, though I’m using our words to poorly describe their outlook on things. Their aid really saved us that first year.”

  “Those who help us the most often arrive from unexpected directions,” Treven said.

  “None were more unexpected than this. They really don’t like goblins, so having a mutual enemy helped.”

  “How far south do they travel?” Tormjere asked.

  “I don’t know for certain. Why?”

  “We’ve a merchant long overdue, and we’re taking a patrol to find them.”

  “You say that like you’re leaving,” Honarch observed.

  “I’m going with them,” he confirmed. “It’s where I’m needed.”

  Treven smiled at the reference.

  “Well, take the dohedron,” Honarch said. “We’ll see how well it works at distance.”

  “I will.” Then to Treven, he asked, “How’s the new church coming along?”

  “Well, thank you. We had to adjust our plans to fit within the available space, which is what we were debating when you joined us.”

  Tormjere looked to the mainland. “Why not build it on shore where there’s plenty of room and more people?”

  Treven chuckled. “Father Bentoni has a fascination for islands and was most eager to construct it here. The land was also in less demand than across the water, so the price was more equitable.”

  “Even knowing that something the size of the abbey in Kirchmont will never fit on this island?”

  “I think a more modest structure will suit our purposes for the foreseeable future. Would you like to see it?”

  “Sure.”

  “We just visited the site,” Honarch said, “and I need to check on one of my experiments, which is hopefully not bubbling onto the floor right now, so I’ll leave you two.”

  He bade them both a good day with a wave.

  Treven did an about face and steered Tormjere back towards the northern point of the island.

  “You seem to have achieved some level of peace with your decisions since we last spoke,” Treven observed as they walked.

  Tormjere glanced at the temple of Eluria as they passed it, and shrugged. “It isn’t worth stewing over. I have more important things to worry about now.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. We can never escape our past, just as we should never feel bound by its influence.”

  “I find it difficult to ignore the benefits of those influences at times. It seems to be what I’m good at.”

  “How we employ the tools and weapons we possess, whether given or obtained, is entirely our choice to make.”

  Treven was correct, and Tormjere was certainly not about to debate the point, but the world was never quite so simple. He shook his head. “Every weapon has its purpose.”

  “Indeed. As you are well aware of my own limited experience with swords, I think I know of another who can give far better counsel on such matters, though he is as skilled as you at avoiding attention.”

  “I don’t avoid it,” Tormjere protested. “I just don’t see a be
nefit most days.”

  Treven came to a stop facing the new church, which lay a polite distance away from Eluria’s temple. The stone foundation had sprung from the ground overnight, and now a small army of workmen were processing felled trees into walls and beams. The ring of a smith’s hammer came from a temporary forge situated beneath a slanted roof.

  “I believe you have met our blacksmith,” Treven said.

  Tormjere looked more closely at the shirtless dwarf as he tapped the glowing head of a nail into shape and dropped it atop a pile of similar pieces with mechanical precision.

  “Fendrick?”

  The smith paused, then turned and gave them both an unkind look. “You were expecting perhaps some nymph from the lakes of Elessia come to shower you with affection?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Fendrick just frowned at him before confronting Treven. “Just couldn’t wait, could you?”

  “Those who find reason to delay often miss their best opportunity. I should probably check on Father Ignatius, so I will leave you to your conversation.” He beckoned the waiting acolyte closer, though the lad eyed Fendrick with obvious trepidation as he took hold of Treven’s arm. “Good day.”

  “Priests,” Fendrick muttered the moment Treven was out of earshot. “Always sticking their nose in where it doesn’t belong and claiming divine right to do so.”

  “Treven’s a good man,” Tormjere countered.

  “Never said he wasn’t.”

  Fendrick pulled a rod of metal from the forge and set to tapping the glowing end into a point.

  “I suppose I should thank you again for the sword,” Tormjere said.

  Fendrick grunted something unintelligible and stubbornly kept working.

  “Not once have I sharpened it.” Tormjere pressed. “I’ve killed men and goblins in numbers I can’t count, chopped through mail like it was butter, cut through hide thick enough to blunt a spear, and the edge is as keen as the day you gave it to me.”

  Fendrick flattened the head of the nail with one blow and cast it aside. “You knew it was special when I was making it. How?”

  Tormjere shrugged. “It just looked like you were putting extra effort into it. I don’t know how. It just seemed… different.”

  “Different is an understatement, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”

  “I’ve figured out a lot of things, but if you’ve been here with Treven all this time, why didn’t you want to talk to me? Were you afraid of the questions I’d ask?”

  Fendrick set his hammer aside and turned to face him. “No, lad. I was afraid of the answers I’d have to give you. Did you ever wonder why you were given something so special?”

  “You said it was because you sold enough of those extra swords.”

  Fendrick cleared his throat. “Did turn a good profit off that. Look, when his high-and-mightiness Father Nathan brought me the lump of metal you saw me working, he didn’t tell me where he’d gotten it or why he needed it made into a sword. He only said that no one was supposed to know that their abbey was behind it. It made sense, given their cultivated image as kindly custodians of knowledge, but I figured out later that it was meant for you, or whoever Nathan got to go on his little quest.”

  “So why are you telling me now?”

  “First, because you’re here and Nathan isn’t. Second…” His hand went to a pouch on his belt. “…because a swordsman needs to have a thorough understanding of what his weapon’s capable of.”

  That was not what he was originally going to say, but Tormjere let it slide. “Apart from the edge, what’s special about it?”

  “You ever have any flashes of inspiration you weren’t expecting?”

  “I follow my instincts all the time.”

  “Well, they’re obviously sharper than your head, or you’d have noticed that your mind is clearer when the sword’s with you.”

  Tormjere raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was just good.”

  Fendrick turned his eyes heavenward. “Hyrim, what am I to do with this bag of sand?”

  “I’m not sure how I would have ever noticed. Other than the few weeks I was home, I haven’t taken it off since you gave it to me.”

  “Well, accept that it is.”

  Tormjere crossed his arms, tired of accepting anything. “Fine. I’m not good; I’m just lucky to have a magic sword.”

  “It doesn’t give you a brain if you don’t already have one!” Fendrick roared, loud enough that everyone nearby paused and looked their way.

  “So what am I supposed to do with it?”

  Fendrick threw up his hands. “How should I know? Go and ask the priest, and come back once you’ve figured out the difference between a blessing and an enchantment.”

  “I’m going on patrol tomorrow.”

  “Then come back after that,” Fendrick huffed as he returned to his work. “There’ll be time enough to sort you out then.”

  Encounter in the Woods

  Tormjere rode with Birion from Newlmir the next morning, accompanied by a trio of soldiers. Jax was short and stocky, while Samuel was tall and lanky. Diran was the youngest member of the patrol but near to Tormjere’s own age, and seemed as competent as the rest. All the soldiers wore mail coats and sat their horses comfortably. Each kept their spears, the new, heavier sort, from becoming entangled in branches with casual ease.

  The road from Newlmir generally followed the river from the lake all the way to the southern end of the valley, where the flowing waters had carved a wide gap in the mountains. He could have travelled the distance in a day had he been in a hurry, but Birion preferred a more measured speed. Going somewhere became slower the more people you brought along.

  It is no longer the two of us against the world.

  It was much easier when it was.

  Tormjere chafed at the overly cautious pace, and after half a day of nothing but watching the trees go by, he looked for a way to hurry them along.

  “I haven’t seen anywhere to make a wrong turn yet,” he said. “It seems more likely that whatever befell them happened outside the valley.”

  “Getting lost within sight of the Three Sisters is improbable,” Birion agreed, “but these forests have other inhabitants and the road is not always uncontested.”

  They had not seen any of those other inhabitants either, nor had any such creatures bothered Tormjere on his wanderings. The remainder of the day passed without incident or sign of the missing merchant, and they stopped for the night far too early.

  Tormjere doubted he would be able to sleep and so chose not to even try, though he allowed himself brief periods of rest when others took their turn standing watch. He envied their deep slumbers, but he still could not bring himself to relax so completely. His body was beginning to protest the effects of being awake so long, and his stomach twisted with an unpleasant reminder of what it would take for him to continue ignoring such needs.

  They were moving again by the time the sun crested the ridge of the valley the next morning, speaking less and watching the woods more closely the further south they travelled. A goblin foraging party was spotted on the far side of the river near midday, and they came across the fresh footprints of an ogre stamped in the soggy ground, but there was not a wagon track or hoofprint to be found.

  They forded the river at a broad, shallow crossing, after which the road began to fade to more of a grassy path. Birion called a halt not long after, and they made another early camp near the exit of the valley. Jax shot a wild pig with his bow, and Diran drew the task of butchering the animal. It was while everyone was helpfully telling Diran exactly how he was going about his task the wrong way that something shot through the underbrush with a rustle of leaves and a thump that sounded like an impact against a tree. The soldiers turned in the direction of the sound, hands seeking nearby weapons.

  “It’s a pair of mountain hares fighting,” Tormjere said without moving. He had been half paying attention to the battle raging behind him, because ra
bbit fights were always amusing with all their hopping and paw waving, no matter how large the protagonists happened to be.

  His proclamation was greeted with some skepticism, but moments later they heard distinctively high-pitched rabbit growls as the combatants chased each other past the camp and away.

  The entertainment gone, Tormjere pulled the dohedron from a pocket, taking care to avoid touching the jewels. He tapped the green gem once. It sparkled briefly at his touch, then went dark. After a lengthy delay, the same gem pulsed twice in answer.

  Tormjere recalled most of the code Honarch had established and with a series of taps on different stones he attempted to convey that they had reached the bottom of the valley but had yet to see any sign of the missing merchant.

  The reply came more quickly this time, as the lights pulsed in a sequence he interpreted as ‘All is well here.’

  He returned the dohedron to a pocket. It was good to know that it worked across such distances, but they would have to work out a less cumbersome way to convey information. Tedious or not, he could only imagine the advantage that would be conferred by having even a handful of the devices.

  What, exactly, did you intend by ‘at nothing of valley end?’

  That’s what I said? His codes are difficult to remember.

  So I gathered. Nevertheless, Honarch is overjoyed at your successful use of the device. He has gone to tell Treven about it.

  Our way’s easier.

  Do you ever wonder why, or how?

  No, but I still think it’s your fault.

  Her exasperation was clear even without words, and he chuckled as he settled back against a tree.

  Diran was now turning several choice cuts of meat on the spit, and the fat from the pig sizzled as it dripped into the flames, emitting a pleasant aroma. Tormjere squeezed his hands together, wondering if meat alone would be enough this time. His conversations with Treven had served as a soothing balm which tempered the angry churns of his stomach, but Treven was not there and he could only suppress his body’s desires for so long.

  “Relax,” Birion said from where he sat on a nearby rock. “There’s nothing more dangerous than us in the valley now.”