by Matthew Berg
Breeden accepted the words humbly but didn’t believe them and knew the truth himself. Cooking for the giant seemed to be the one thing he had done so far that was actually helpful.
But for now, the giant appeared happy enough. He wolfed down the first portion in seconds and went back for more, quickly polishing off the remainder.
“Excellent fare, young Breeden. My thanks again.”
The giant had unwrapped his axe and begun to walk back down the path when he stopped and turned back to face Breeden. “My axe! You’ve gone and put an edge on it!”
Breeden shrugged. In his guilt the night before, he had done just as the giant had guessed, sharpened his axe blade using his whetstone—and his powers as well—to ensure the edge was as perfect as possible. The effort had been difficult just on scale, since he’d never tried to sharpen such a massive blade before. But the work of aligning the metal along the blade’s edge had been difficult too. The metal was quite hard, nearly the equal of the chisels he had found at the tinker’s stall, and moving the essence-bearing lines within the metal had drained him physically.
“It was the least I could do—and I thought your work would go faster with a sharper blade. Besides, my da always says that using a dull blade when you are tired is a sure way to have an accident.”
The giant shook his head and then positioned his eye at a low angle to the axe blade. He held it up to catch the morning sunlight streaming into their clearing through the lowlands to the southeast. “You are a marvel, Breeden. This blade has never been so sharp. Not even on the day it left my father’s forge. And on that day, I could have shaved with it. Again, and again, my thanks. I’m not sure how you did it, but I begin to see why your father believed you could help.”
Breeden felt pride, and gratitude to the giant for the kind words. But at mention of his father, and Breeden knew which one the giant had meant, Breeden felt doubtful once again. So he could sharpen an axe. And break a rusty iron hinge. And spot a broken wooden spindle. How were these things going to help them against Mirgul?
But he restored his smile anyway, thanked the giant for his praise, and began collecting the cookware he’d used to make breakfast before the giant had even turned to walk back up the trail.
37
Flight
The next day, Janelle awoke and was entirely too aware of where she was. Well, not exactly sure where, but on the road south of Ridderzaal. But while she remembered why she was there, she had also regained the clarity of mind to recognize that she didn’t know where she was going. She sat up on her bedroll and saw both of her companions already awake.
Aelric was nosing the morning’s light wind as if, she thought in all seriousness, he were determining the direction in which they would be traveling for the day.
And Kestrel was building a fire. He looked much recovered already from his fevered shaking of the night before, and she was pleased to see that he once again seemed a man to her. The thought was comforting. Kestrel had always been so capable and confident. It was good to see that Kestrel moving about the morning breakfast fire with efficiency.
Without ceremony, she raised the question that had been haunting her dreams. “Where are we going?”
She didn’t direct the question to either man but hoped that by not choosing whom to address, she would be more likely to receive a prompt answer.
Kestrel and Aelric were sharing a look at her question, and while no words were exchanged, she could see that some type of communication occurred. Aelric finally nodded, and Kestrel answered, apparently, for them both. “Aoilfhionn. We’ve got to warn the elf queen of the princess’s plans. And perhaps she can help us as well.”
Aelric nodded again, to confirm he agreed with Kestrel’s words.
Janelle had never been farther from home than Arlon, to the north, and Miremont, to the south and west. But as much as the thought of visiting the homeland of the elves appealed to her, she was intimidated by the idea of traveling so far from home. She was afraid, too, of what dangers would await them on their journey. If the princess had consorted with people with the capacity to attack the elves, and they had any hope for success, then she wielded far more power—before she had even been crowned—than Janelle had ever imagined.
She wasn’t sure she could make it to Aoilfhionn. She feared she might lose her mind, or die from the grief and fear.
Aelric and Kestrel watched Janelle’s face contort, shifting between anguish and fear, and shared another look. Aelric shook his head. And Kestrel took control.
“Janelle. Janelle?”
She realized she had been consumed by her thoughts again and had not heard what Kestrel and Aelric had been saying. “I’m sorry. Yes, what is it?”
“Didn’t you once tell me you had family in Miremont? An uncle, maybe.”
“Yes. My aunt and uncle run a successful business there in cloth—just as my father does in Ridderzaal.”
Kestrel nodded. “Good. I thought I’d remembered that. Well, I think it would be a good idea if we went through Miremont on our way to Aoilfhionn. And I was wondering if you thought you might be welcomed to stay there with your uncle for a while.”
Janelle was torn. She knew what they were doing. And part of her wanted to lash out and tell them she could make the trip to Aoilfhionn just fine. But the wiser part of her knew that their concerns were well-founded. She was a mess. And perhaps it would be a good idea for her to spend some time away from Ridderzaal and its intrigues. The more she thought about it, the more she clung to the idea. Maybe this change would be just what she needed. If she remained in Ridderzaal, she would be constantly reminded of her losses. But perhaps in Miremont she might even find a new opportunity. Perhaps there was a Laonese noble who would like having in her service a girl who was once handmaiden to the queen. Janelle smiled. Yes, she was sure such a noblewoman would be easily found. Perhaps this was what she needed.
“Yes, I think that would probably be for the best. Thank you, Kestrel. And I’m sorry I’ve become such a burden for you. It’s just all . . . so much to deal with.”
Aelric nodded again. “It is decided, then. We head for Miremont after breakfast. We can try to procure some mounts along the way, and if we fail, we will certainly do well with the stock we find in Miremont’s stables.”
38
Squire’s End
Laudan reported to Cedric’s room in the tower the next day, as he’d been told to do. The cleric wasn’t there. And he had to wait for several long minutes. It was not unprecedented that he should be late, but it was unusual. Laudan grudgingly acknowledged that these were anything but normal times, but as the time drew longer, he became restless. To keep himself occupied, he glanced at the documents on Cedric’s desk. Maybe they would help him understand what could possibly be keeping the man so busy.
Among the piles of paper, one bore a seal that looked familiar to him, and he walked around the desk to examine it. He was right. It was Kestrel’s family seal. He scanned the letter and realized it was from Kestrel’s father. The letter described rumors of Krigare activity to the north of Pretania—and a scarcely believable report of unknown troops moving west through Ath.
But above all, the letter brought home to Laudan the fact that Kestrel’s father had no idea about his son and heir’s disappearance. Next to the letter appeared to be an unfinished response Cedric was writing to Kestrel’s father.
Dear Lord Starkad,
Your reports of troop movements are deeply concerning and align with reports we have heard ourselves. But before I speak further of those concerns, I must relate to you some ill news of a much more personal nature. Your son, Kestrel, has gone missing. I wish I could tell you it was some youthful escapade. But I’m afraid that in these dark times, it is likely something much more sinister.
I can’t begin to tell you what Kestrel’s loss means to us, to his peers, and to our countries. He is a young man of great wit and ability.
I myself continue to lead the investigation into his disa
ppearance, and it is only the death of the king and the preparations for the succession of the new queen that have distracted me from my task. These activities will soon be over, and I will be able to refocus my energies and efforts more exclusively to finding your son.
That was the extent of the letter so far.
Laudan could only imagine how hard writing such a letter must be. And he could understand why Cedric might want to walk away from it.
Laudan also felt sorry for Kestrel’s father. He had met the man once, the summer before. He was lean and wiry, like Kestrel, albeit with an old man’s paunch. He was also a few inches taller than his son, and his hair had been streaked with grey and white. He had been much more affectionate than Laudan’s own father, hugging Laudan upon meeting him for the first time—or at least trying to hug him, anyway, before Laudan had pushed him away. Laudan cracked a gentle smile at the memory.
Footsteps sounded on the stone floor outside the room, and Laudan came around from behind the desk a moment before Cedric entered. But the monk was looking at the ground as he walked and likely didn’t notice Laudan’s snooping. It took him a moment even to realize there was someone in his room.
“Ahhh. I had forgotten about our meeting, my son. Well, I have work for you after all. And important work it is. I need you to go to Arlon and carry some messages for me. I can trust no one but you. And you must defend the messages with great care. If they should fall into the wrong hands, it could mean your life, as well as my own. They are messages concerning suspicions that have recently come to my attention. They are in code, and may therefore look innocuous enough, but one talented in cipher could very well unlock their secrets.”
He paused a moment, as if to add weight to the words that followed. “Laudan, it has come to me that word was brought to the princess’s minister about a captive escaping from the dungeons. To my knowledge, the only person known to be missing within the city is Kestrel. Now, it may be that the prisoner mentioned was not Kestrel. But my sources also referred to the one who escaped as ‘the boy’ and ‘the westerner.’ I think it all far too coincidental to consider that the prisoner could be anyone else. And how is it that I didn’t know someone was being held in the keep’s dungeons? No. If the prisoner had been one of the minister’s own retinue, then there would have been no need for secrecy. And a suitable place could have been found on the main floors of the keep.”
Laudan felt a lump rise in his throat and a weight lift from his shoulders. Kestrel might be alive!
“I have already spoken with the princess’s minister about you accompanying her retinue when they leave the castle at noon today. He has no reason to suspect that I know anything. But listen carefully to me. I said nothing about your carrying messages. He could just as easily have had one of his own runners carry them for me. I told him you were to see Knight-Captain Jenlyns as part of your training. I indicated we had high hopes for your abilities and believed that some time under his tutelage would give him the chance to see your potential for himself.
“One of the messages you are to carry will be for him. And it will say just what I have told you—or near to it, in any event. Bring it to Captain Jenlyns, along with the rest of the messages you will carry. And tell him this when you are alone, and away from prying ears. Tell him what I told you about the prisoner, that I believe it to have been Kestrel, and that Kestrel may know something he should not. You need say no more than that, and he should understand what you mean.
“These messages are of the gravest import, Laudan. You must protect them and handle them with the greatest care. Do you have any questions for me?”
Impulsively Laudan thought of the armor he’d found so many months earlier.
“I’m sure you’ll think this is odd, but many months ago, Kestrel and I were in the tunnels beneath the castle when we found an old armory. There was a suit of studded leather armor. I left it behind, and I assume it is still there, but I was hoping that, if it’s not too much to presume, I might have it—or use it, at the least, on my trip to Arlon.”
Cedric looked at him strangely, and Laudan cursed himself for even suggesting such a thing. Cedric clearly thought him a fool and was now second-guessing himself for even considering sending him on such an important mission. He had been given everything he could have wanted—including traveling with the princess to Arlon—and now he had ruined the whole thing. His face fell as he waited for Cedric to speak and pronounce him unfit for the task at hand.
But Cedric surprised him. “An old armory in the cellars? How often did you go down there? And what was the extent of your exploration?”
Laudan answered without understanding quite what the old man was getting at. “Yes. Not often—as a group. Perhaps three or four times, though Kestrel would often explore on his own.”
Cedric didn’t answer for some time and even turned away from Laudan to pace the room in the small space behind the writing desk. “I wonder . . .” He spoke in such a low voice that Laudan wasn’t sure if the older man had trailed off or just left the sentence unfinished.
And then he seemed to snap out of his reverie. “Yes, Laudan. I am sure you could take a suit of armor from an old armory in the cellar. Have you checked with the sergeant-at-arms? Is it an active armory?”
Laudan answered at once, elated that he had been permitted to wear the ancient armor. It was a rare day indeed! “No, sir, I have not checked with the sergeant-at-arms. But it is no active armory. The arms and armor are all extremely old. Everything is covered in dust. And, well, I had to break open the door with my shoulder, since the hinges had rusted fast.”
Cedric nodded, his eyebrows raised at the last admission. “Very well. Then I see no problem with you using it. If we should discover your opinion of the armor’s status is incorrect, you will simply have to forfeit it to whoever lays claim upon it. Does that seem fair to you?”
“Yes, sir. Of course I would, sir.” And just like that, Laudan was off, moving toward the door to retrieve the armor.
But he didn’t get far. “Laudan?”
Laudan stopped in his tracks. “Yes, brother. What is it?”
“You should return here in one hour’s time. I will have the letters prepared for you then and will take you down to meet the princess’s minister.”
Laudan was abashed. He had been so eager to retrieve the armor that he’d not let his mentor finish. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
Cedric looked him in the eye and held his gaze for a long moment. Laudan felt as though he were being weighed and measured.
“You may go now. But collect everything you plan to take with you, and meet me here again in one hour’s time. Go.”
And just like that, Laudan had been told he could have everything he wanted.
Once in the hallway, he began to run, a strange sensation of lightness making him feel he was capable of running faster than ever before. He didn’t overdo it, knowing that in the sometimes-narrow hallways of the keep, he might easily run down an unsuspecting servant if he were not careful.
He would head for the kitchens and then into the cellars beneath the keep to retrieve the armor first. Then he would head back to the barracks to collect his other things.
In a few minutes, he was back in the old armory. The door was closed, as they had left it, but this time it opened with relative ease. The rust had not had time to reclaim the room’s contents for itself.
It was just as he remembered it. The surfaces of hundreds of weapons and pieces of armor reflected back his torchlight as he entered. He walked straight over to the stand where he’d left the armor. He noticed, with minor annoyance, that he hadn’t straightened the armor when he’d put it back on the dummy. It was twisted somewhat. The thought raised sensations of discomfort as he thought back to when he had first worn a chain mail shirt as a boy.
He remembered being unhorsed by his older brother and falling in a heap of metal links onto the ground. When he’d gotten up, the metal shirt had twisted on him, and it took several agonizin
g moments to straighten it out. His brother had, of course, given him no time for such adjustments and had dismounted and come at him with his sparring sword. It had been all Laudan could do to find his own blade and defend himself. And he had fought the remainder of the match hampered by the slightly oversize armor, which still hadn’t been settled properly on his shoulders. His brother had drubbed him.
But such a thing would never happen were he wearing such a shirt as this one. As lightweight to one accustomed to wearing chain mail as wearing no armor at all, with short sleeves extending to just above his elbow, and leather straps to snug it tight against him. He had the armor off the dummy and couldn’t help but throw it over his head, to try it on and see if it fit him any better now than it had those many months earlier. Even without a gambeson underneath, it fit well enough that he could probably wear it into battle as is—with the straps pulled as tightly as they would allow. He hadn’t realized he’d grown so much in such a short time.
He considered taking it off before heading back to the barracks but thought it would be easier to carry if he just left it on. On a day of impulses, Laudan surprised himself once more by deciding he should look for a suitable sword while he was down here. Most he saw were the short broadswords popular during a period in the distant past—likely the same time as that of the armor he wore.
And then he noticed a rack of weapons that, while still old, appeared to have been made more recently than those filling the rest of the room. Among them was a large hand-and-a-half sword—or so it would be to Laudan, though he realized it may have been more of a two-handed weapon for its original owner. He hefted it in one hand, and the balance was slightly heavier at the tip than felt natural. He snugged his right hand up against the guard and his left hand rested neatly between his right hand and the pommel. A perfect fit for both hands, if a tiny bit crowded. But with both hands on the grip the weapon became much easier for him to control. Lighter than the two-handed swords he’d used before, and something he was sure he could wield with one hand if he practiced with it enough.