He entered the tent and saw a man sitting at a table drinking from a cup. The tent was full of differing weapons of every shape and size. Along the left side of the tent stood an array of swords; some had curved blades, others had massive straight blades. Some were made of rare and precious metals while still others were made of simple iron and bronze. A collection of axes stood along the right side of the tent. Landon stared curiously at many that held one blade and some that held two. The blades varied from rounded to triangular to square. There was one in particular that caught Landon’s eye. It was about two feet long. At the base was a soft grip for the wielder and beneath it a long spike. Near the top two triangular blades spanned out from the long shaft in the midst of the weapon. In the soft candle light both blades glinted a deep sapphire color as if the blades were made out of the gem themselves. The metal itself shone brightly as though it were made from pure gold. At the back of the tent sat a long wooden table empty except for the man and his cup. Immediately Godfrey saw the boy and beckoned him to come closer. Landon, not sure what to do, stood frozen in place. Godfrey again called the boy over to him and asked, “What’s your name?” Landon told him trying to sound braver than he really felt.
“Interesting,” was all the older man said when Mordecai burst into the tent, his eyes flaming with anger.
“Godfrey! How dare you speak with my nephew without my permission! He has work to do!” Mordecai blared.
“My apologies, sir,” came the reply in a quiet voice.
“But uncle, he didn’t–”
“Enough! Landon you stay away from this crazy old man, you hear me?”
“Yes sir,” Landon said sheepishly. That was the first and last time Landon had ever seen his uncle that upset. Since that day, as Landon grew older, Mordecai was more willing to allow Landon the freedom to visit Godfrey. He tended to visit Godfrey’s shop more often than he, and even Mordecai, realized.
The two men walked back towards the dusty building. Godfrey was the first to enter. As he did, he set down his horseshoes and lit up a few candles near the doorway. He continued into the darkened room lighting up candle after candle as he went bringing a warm glow into the dark shop of metal. Finally, he returned, shoved some dust-covered books off of a chair and bade Landon sit down.
Landon gladly obliged, and Godfrey headed towards a large hearth. Set inside was a fire burning steadily upon which rested a large iron kettle. “Care for some tea?” Godfrey said.
Landon never liked the tea Godfrey always offered him, but he always accepted to placate the older gentleman. “I would indeed.”
The old man grabbed two iron cylinders, poured the steaming liquid into them, and handed one to Landon. “It’s all I have,” apologized the old man. “I do not have many nice things these days.”
“It’s quite alright,” Landon reassured him. He took a sip from the warm cylinder and flinched at the heat and strength of the tea. Godfrey took a seat across from where Landon was sitting. “I suppose you’ve come to hear a story?” he inquired. Landon nodded. Though Godfrey was known for his talents at the smith, he was also known to recount tales of long ago that had been handed down from generation to generation.
“Well, it has been a while since anyone has come calling for tall tales. What would you like to hear . . . A story of true love? No, no, I think you are looking for a more epic story . . . how about one involving great battles and great deeds . . . come to think of it, I believe I have told you all of the great war stories I know. Would you like to hear them again?”
“Well, I was actually hoping for new stories; if you don’t mind.”
“Hmm . . .” he murmured as he searched the recesses of his memory. He kept his gaze upon the glowing embers beneath the tea trying desperately to remember a grand tale. Staring at the fire, his eyes lit up. “I cannot believe it had not occurred to me earlier! Speaking of great deeds, I do think I have one that may interest you. I suppose you are old enough now.” He paused for effect. “How much do you remember about your father?”
“My father?” Landon said in a surprised voice. “Nothing really. Uncle hasn’t been too keen on sharing.”
“Hmm . . .” was the reply from Godfrey as he took a long sip of his tea. He began slowly, pausing after every few words to give Landon time to absorb his words. “Suppose I told you he was a great man who accomplished a great deed. Would that interest you?”
Landon stared blankly back at Godfrey. His head was swirling with a torrent of questions.How did he know my father? Who was my father? What great deed? Then, his dream from the previous night exploded into his mind. Could all that I saw have really been a vision into the past? He decided he would wait to hear Godfrey’s tale before he shared his dream.
“I would be lying if I said it didn’t,” Landon said trying to sound calm and not betray the wave of emotions that was building up inside him.
“As you know, before his death, your father worked the farm that now belongs to Mordecai. One day, while he was toiling away at plowing his fields, your father heard a commotion out on the road. Men were shouting and horses were neighing. Your father stopped his work to investigate the noise; his curiosity always was strong. He ventured towards the road to see four men on horses galloping at a lightning fast pace towards the house. They came upon the short, stone fence, which encircles your farm, and each in turn tried to jump it. The first three cleared it with little effort; however the fourth tripped on a loose stone and broke its leg. Jediael, seeing they were in trouble, offered assistance.
“The men were reluctant at first to allow a stranger into their business. Eventually they decided that they could go no further with a lame horse. Your father then brought the men into the house and offered them shelter and food for the night. While at dinner Jediael asked why they were riding so hard and to where they were going. ‘We are on an important mission for the Sovereign,’ they said. ‘We cannot tell our mission to anyone.’ Appeased, your father did not inquire further. After dinner, Jediael showed them to their rooms and bade them a good evening.
“Later that night, he awoke to hear them talking to each other. Your hut being very small it was easy to hear their conversation. They were deciding what to do about the horse.
‘The horse will not make it through the night. Best to end it now,’ a dark voice said.
‘Agreed, but that only leaves us with three horses for the four of us. We must get to the castle tomorrow by sundown if we are to complete our mission,’ another said. ‘The Sovereign will only be vulnerable for thirty minutes and we have to be in the capitol before he is.”
“Another man chimed in, ‘How are we to kill the Sovereign with only three horses? We will never get there in time, and Reginald will kill us instead.’
‘We will ride at dawn. Arthur and I will ride ahead, while you two take the third horse. The plan only requires two anyway. You are simply our cover.’
“Your father understood the Realm was in grave danger. He had to warn the Sovereign. Jediael waited for the strangers to finally sleep, then quietly awoke one of his farmhands. Knowing the assassins would inquire of him in the morning he gave orders to inform them that he had grave business to attend to in Ellington and wished them a speedy journey. He told your mother to serve them breakfast and assist them in all ways. At their peril he instructed them not to reveal knowledge of the assassination attempt. Then, he walked his horse to the edge of the farm keeping noise at a premium. Once he was safely away from earshot, he mounted his horse and rode hard toward the capitol. The next morning the servants and Catherine did their best to act casual and sent the strangers on their way.
Since Jediael had ridden ahead, the Sovereign was alerted, and by the time the assassins arrived, they were taken into custody. The next day the four of them were hanged for their conspiracy, though their leader Reginald was never found. For his courageous act, the Sovereign called your father into his throne room to reward him.”
“What reward did he receive?” Landon said
leaning forward as close as he could to hear Godfrey’s every word.
Refusing to answer the question Godfrey began another story.
“I knew your father quite well, actually. He and I had a long friendship dating back to before your aunt’s death. Do you remember the night we first met?” Godfrey inquired.
“How could I forget? I had never seen Uncle Mordecai so angry.” Landon said still wanting an answer to his question.
“He had good reason to be, at least, he thinks so. It was soon after your Aunt Calliope’s death that everything began to change.
The three of us had been as close as friends could be. After the accident, your uncle disappeared for many years. No one knew where. Your mother wanted to find him, but she couldn’t leave her parents who were still grieving from their loss. Eventually, we gave him up as dead too. A few years went by and your father married your mother, and your father assumed control of the farm in your uncle’s stead.”
“You still have not told me how the Sovereign rewarded my father?” Landon interrupted.
“Have patience. I am telling a story, so you must wait,” Godfrey said calmly. Landon leaned back in his chair annoyed at the suspense the smith was building in him.
“Now, where was I? Oh yes . . . your mother was a strong influence on your father. He was intending to work for the church, but she convinced him otherwise. She convinced him that his life would be better suited raising a family and having a son to carry on his legacy. A year later they became pregnant, and your uncle returned from wherever he had been.
‘He seemed changed somehow. He wasn’t as talkative as he used to be, and he had much more muscle on him than when he left. He did not like the fact that your father had married your mother. There was something about him that Mordecai did not like. Personally, I think he began to resent him for taking Catherine’s attention away from him. Anyway, after two years of marriage your father discovered that he was having a son.”
“You mean me.” Landon clarified by interrupting again.
“Yes, now hush . . . Anyway, once your father knew he was going to have you, he knew he wanted to give you a gift.” Becoming intrigued once more, Landon sat up straighter. Having never known his parents, he had always longed for some tangible piece of them. Now Godfrey had revealed that very possibility.
“Do you know what he wanted to give me?”
“This,” Godfrey said. “This is the very reward the Sovereign gave your father.” And as he spoke he pulled out from underneath him a piece of folded cloth. “Open it.”
Landon took the cloth in his hands and immediately he could feel the weight of the object. He set it on the ground and slowly began to peel away the layers of sackcloth. First the left side, then the right side, finally he unfolded it towards the top, and sitting there before him on the floor in Godfrey’s dusty home was a ring of purest silver with the boldest, fiery, crimson stone inlaid into the top.
“This is your inheritance.”
Chapter Four
Deals in Darkness
Mordecai pushed open the door to Archer’s store. The door gave a long loud creek from too many long winters of keeping out snow. A strong musty fragrance emanated from the room. It was the smell of leather, steel, and dirt. Mordecai took a deep breath filling his lungs with the store’s atmosphere. He took a few steps inside and looked about him. The store looked different from the last time he had been there. That time, he had been able to trade some potato crop for a leather harness for Octavius. He knew this time would not be so easy. Mordecai would have to use his rainy-day fund to buy the harness, and Archer might make him pay extra due to the drought.
The store had noticeably fewer items for sale than before. Shelves that were once stocked full were now collecting dust. The walls which once proudly boasted a collection of assorted goods from across the Realm now claimed a meager variety. Mordecai could see the toll the drought was taking on the area. Thankfully, the weather had been showing signs that rain was on its way.
Mordecai may not have been good at many things but he was exceptional as a farmer. He could track the weather better than anyone. His weather journals had been legendary ten years prior when the last drought hit. That one hadn’t lasted long, but when people were getting desperate, Mordecai promised rain was coming. Amidst scoffs and doubts, the rain did indeed come and Mordecai was hailed as a prophet. Not wanting the spotlight, he directed people to his journals which proved he was more adept than prophetic.
Mordecai walked past two rows of bare shelves while approaching the sales counter. The owner did not seem to be present, but Mordecai was certain he was around. As he walked, the floorboards groaned under his weight matching the creek the door had made earlier. He looked back at the door wondering if Landon was getting himself into trouble. When he turned around, his toe snagged on an unknown object on the floor and Mordecai stumbled forward. He reached for a stack of saddles to keep his balance. However, the stack was not sturdy enough, and he and they tumbled to the ground. Mordecai swore to himself and bent over to raise himself off the ground. When he stood up, his nose was inches away from the point of an arrow shaft strung on a solid yew bow. “Mordecai?” the bowman asked.
“Yes, Archer, it is me. Sorry about the mess.”
Putting away his bow and arrow, Archer said, “I almost put an arrow through your skull! I didn’t hear you come in, and we’ve had a lot of bandits these days,” he said directing his attention towards his weapon. He reached his arm out, grasped Mordecai’s forearm, and helped Mordecai to his feet.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you; I just came to buy a harness for Octavius.”
“A harness? Are you doing a little plowing? Has your magic journal told you when this drought might end?”
“Archer, it’s not magic. I’ve been trying to explain it to everyone for years. I’m just tracking patterns. They indicate rain within this week.”
“That is good news indeed to sore ears. Told anyone else?”
“No. After last time, I’ve decided to keep a low profile. I have too many people trying to make money from my journals. To the last person who tried, I threatened to cut off his ear if he ever bothered me again. That was a year ago.”
“Well, I do hope you’re right. It would be nice to see this town happy again.” He looked around his store slowly as if a memory of some joyful past filled his mind. A smile and a peace washed over him. Then, in an instant it was gone. “In any regard, you said you were looking for a harness, eh? What happened to the last one I sold you?”
“Octavius snapped it, again. I think the drought is to blame.”
“Perhaps. Though, this has been a recurring issue.” He paused to think; the lines on his brow furrowed. “I must say,” he continued with a smile. “This issue is keeping me in business.”
“I’m glad I can be of service,” Mordecai said with obvious sarcasm. “Do you have any more that I may be able to buy?”
“I’m sure I have some around here,” he said looking around the store. Archer left him standing there and ducked through the doorway behind the counter. Mordecai could hear him banging around. Then, after a few moments, he reappeared with a very thick, and very long belt. He handed it to Mordecai who surveyed it with a long eye. He turned it over in his hands and pulled on the leather to check its durability.
“This appears to be acceptable. How much?”
Archer looked about his store before answering. “Hmm . . . I’d say five crowns.”
“Five crowns?! The last I bought was three crowns?”
“True, but as you can see, I’ve had a slow turn of business.”
“Very well, here it is.” Mordecai said exasperatedly as he handed over the money.
“Thank you for your business, as always Mordecai. Enjoy your stay in town, and do, I say, be careful. There are strangers about.”
“What exactly do you mean?”
Archer’s eyes darted back and forth and behind as though he was checking for eavesdroppers in th
e deserted store. “A number of weeks ago, I had a chance encounter with a traveler in Rowan’s Tavern. It had been a tough day and I just wanted to forget it with an ale,” Archer said responding to Mordecai’s look of disapproval. “Anyway, when she stumbled into the bar and planted herself down at an empty table in the corner trying to remain inconspicuous, I couldn’t help but pay attention. She looked dirty as though she had slept in mud for many days. She seemed in trouble, always looking behind her, so I didn’t ask. However, oddly she didn’t order anything; she just sat there. I watched her for a few moments before returning to my ale.
‘A few minutes later I heard a few men jeering at her. They mocked the vagabond about her atrocious odor in front of the entire bar. When the woman didn’t respond, the tall one in the middle attempted to force her out of her seat. Deciding I had had enough, I drained my glass and rose to confront the imbeciles. From across the tavern I rebuked them. The two smaller guys wheeled around to face me, but the big one was too preoccupied with the wanderer. They approached me. The first moved to slam his fist into my gut, but I side-stepped him and planted his face into the stool I was sitting on. He dropped to the ground unconscious. The other man anticipated this and gave me a good clean shot in the back of my ribs. I stretched backwards in pain and the man angled for another punch towards my head.
‘However, the leader of the three noticed the commotion and called his lackey to stop. The man hesitated and the leader claimed he wanted me. The man who had hit me took three steps backwards and waited for his leader. I did too. I waited for him to get close enough to smell his breath. He leaned in close to me and told me that I could either leave on my feet or on my back. I told him I would leave peacefully but as I started to walk towards the door, the tall man kicked me in the back of the leg. Falling to the ground, I knocked over a glass sending shards everywhere. The man turned to kick me again, but before he could I caught his foot and pulled him to the ground with me. We struggled a bit. Then, without thinking, I grabbed one of the shards from the broken glass and stabbed him up under the rib cage.
The Awakening (The Stones of Revenge) Page 4