The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path

by Douglas Van Dyke

  Two escorts accompanied Lady Shauntay. One, a young woman hailing from the city of Kashmer to the north, was responsible for schooling her in riding. It seemed the two acted more as friends rather than a teacher-student relationship, for when the lady’s parents weren’t around the two behaved rather unladylike. The second escort always guarded her employer’s daughter. Sahbin, the only female guard employed at the Tessald mansion, could draw her sword quickly enough whenever she perceived a threat against the young noble. The bodyguard dressed in chain armor with plates over vulnerable areas, short hair tucked under a helm. Sahbin’s muscles could put many men to shame, and a few scars accentuated her tough appearance. Aside from the aging Sir Wilhelm, Sahbin was the most dangerous fighter in the village.

  Hebden followed Trestan’s eyes to the sight down the street. He gave a snort in amusement as he realized who distracted his son, and the nature in which she dressed. “Her mother must be out of town for her ladyship to travel and dress like that. Probably trying to find a proper suitor for her and marry her off. Lady Shauntay is out flaunting and flirting favors again most likely. She must have ridden in with the other two when they delivered the horses to the stable, though I didn’t see her.”

  Trestan half turned to ask something, but still kept his eyes down the street. “Horses? Stable…huh?”

  His father gave a laugh and elbowed his son to get the young man’s attention. “The warhorses that I just told you needed new shoes. They are in the stables waiting for us to start working for a living.”

  Trestan blushed, “I’m sorry, lost track of things there for a moment.”

  “Well,” Hebden Karok took a last look at the forge before turning back to his son, “I think you’ll be alright holding the shop by yourself while I grab the first horse. It’s not like her ladyship has any reason to come by the smithy. I’ll be right back with our first victim.”

  Trestan attended to the coals of the forge. He gathered a few supplies together and set the tools close to where he would need them. He became aware of someone walking by the smithy, but his mind was in his work until he heard a voice behind him.

  “I couldn’t help but notice those hairpieces you have hanging there. Nice design.”

  Soft, gentle and female, it was a pleasant voice from whoever stood behind him. Trestan set his tools down in a hurry. The young smith turned about to look at the voice’s owner…and stepped back in shock. Lady Shauntay stood before him: silky blonde hair, lovely blue eyes, curvaceous figure, intoxicating perfume and ruffled skirt. She trapped him with her soft blue eyes from only a few feet away. He hardly registered the bodyguard and the young woman from Kashmer standing slightly behind her. All his attention narrowed on the girl of every village boy’s dreams, realizing she had just complimented him.

  Trestan went through a moment of stunned indecision, then decided the best response was to start with a bow. It felt hurried and clumsy, though it widened the smile on the noble’s daughter. “My thanks for such kind words…um, regarding my humble work, milady. I toyed with some designs with some extra…err, some leftover copper stock. Would you like to inspect one closer?” Trestan felt heat in his cheeks he could not attribute to the forge.

  Lady Shauntay nodded her approval. Trestan turned to retrieve the hairpieces in question, trying to move calmly despite galloping heart and nervous fingers. Loops and stylish intersections wove a pattern that might accentuate any lady’s hair. Trestan had crafted them just to practice his skills rather than any thought of actually selling them. He found himself handing those pieces over to the most desirable woman in the village for her to admire. The young smith wouldn’t question his good fortune that the lady happened to have affection for something copper from his shop. Typically, the Tessald family tended to buy higher end silver and gold items from Kashmer in the north, or even ship the best stuff from the distant city of Orlaun. The local lord’s family only dealt with them when some menial task like horseshoes came up.

  He stood silently and nervously as the lady and her riding instructor chatted quietly over the items. They shared some girlish giggles, while the bodyguard Sahbin held a rigid stance nearby. The hand of the guard never strayed from the sword in case it was ever needed. Trestan strained to listen to the conversation, slightly distracted by the perfume scent of the lovely lady so close to him. He overheard, “…this looks good. It will work out well…” and was comforted by the fact the giggles weren’t made in mockery of his work.

  By the time Lady Shauntay turned back to him, he adopted what he hoped was a very masculine pose, smiling his best smile ever underneath his well-trimmed mustache. There was no disguising his overall dirty clothing, but he smiled in confidence as if he bore a lord’s outfit. She looked him up and down. The lady ran soft fingers over the polished copper pieces slowly, shining her warm smile into the young man’s heart.

  “We are blessed to have such a skilled young smith in our midst,” she began. “I would love to have jewelry such as these for my own. You truly master bending metal to your desire. What price do you set on owning such wonderful works of art?”

  Trestan had never even thought of a price, nor even thought someone would actually want to buy them. He once again seemed to pause and stutter a bit while collecting his thoughts. “Um…uh. Well, your ladyship…they cost me less than a few coppers to make. Nothing much really.” In truth, a few coppers were a lot to a smith’s boy. In the face of such a radiant beauty, he found it hard to ask her for anything, despite the effort involved. “I wouldn’t charge you for them milady, I’d be proud to just let you have them.”

  Lady Shauntay appeared flattered. “Aw, that is so nice of you. I wouldn’t have these for free. I don’t carry money on me when I am in the village, but I can see to it that when my father comes to town he can stop by and pay for these properly. I wouldn’t want your hard work to go to waste. May I have these three then?”

  He just couldn’t refuse. “Take them and enjoy, milady. You honor me by your praise. Just remember if anyone else admires them as much as you do, be sure to let them know where you got them.”

  “Aye, I will indeed. Bye for now, and good fortune follow you.” Lady Shauntay Tessald slowly turned away from the smithy and continued to walk down the street. Sahbin nodded politely to Trestan but otherwise turned to follow her lady. The young Tessald noble paused and turned in an alluring way, and facing Trestan she winked in his direction.

  The young smith thought his heart skipped a beat. He gawked as she walked away, studying her curves and movements very closely. She turned her attention elsewhere but still held the hairpieces in her gentle hand. The young man remembered to take in a deep breath. His throat had gone very dry. At some point Trestan wasn’t even watching her anymore, so much as he replayed the scene in his head. He started to think of a few things he could have said better. He also dwelt on every movement the young lady had made, as well as the scent of her perfume. He had even tried his best not to be caught glancing at the start of her gifted cleavage, though temptation tried to pull his eyes there. His breathing returned to normal. For a time, he was completely lost in his own thoughts.

  His daydreams broke apart when his father walked up to the smithy leading the first horse. Trestan recognized the horse for it was well known. Sahbin’s large warhorse had a mean temper and vicious kick. The horse stood seventeen hands high and packed with muscle. It mirrored the danger of its owner. The young smith recalled an incident on the main street where Sahbin had reacted instinctively to a drunk causing trouble with the noble family. The bodyguard had guided her horse into kicking backwards and seriously wounding the drunkard. Although Lord Tessald chided her for overreacting, the injured man never recovered the full use of one arm. The horse looked fearsome enough without the rider.

  Hebden Karok looked at his son and shrugged, “Might as well get the bad one out of the way first thing, aye?”

  Trestan nodded grimly, but his eyes sparkled when he started work that morning.

&nbs
p; * * * * *

  The sun and forge made for a hot combination, but the season was still cool and a breeze off the ocean to the east helped. At midday, both Trestan and his father took a break for a noon meal. Hebden Karok ate some bread and cheese inside the house. In the smithy, Trestan sat farthest from the forge as he could under the shadow of the roof patting a content stomach. He felt the need to quench his thirst. He grabbed a clay water jug and proceeded to walk to the well outside the church. Trestan wasn’t worried about guarding anything in the smithy; he wouldn’t be out of sight of it and they never had problems with thieves.

  Trestan approached the well. Upon the marked stand on the edge of the well rested a relic, which the church of Yestreal considered sacred. The green stone, with its strange markings, was said to be a gift from the god in ancient times. Traveling mages confirmed it radiated magic of some kind. The clergy residing in the Church of the Sacred Harvest claimed it helped the crops grow and fended off droughts and other disasters. Trestan attended church and prayed, but he always felt his heart belonged elsewhere. The more he talked to Sir Wilhelm Jareth, the more Abriana’s ways appealed to him. He approached the well with little regard for the sacred stone, focusing attention on someone standing there.

  A young man named Petrow dipped his cup into the water bucket. At twenty years he was only a year older than Trestan. His garb matched Trestan’s in terms of apparent poverty, though he also wore a leather utility harness with numerous tools and implements strapped to it. Petrow wore only laced sandals on his feet. Brown haired and blue eyed, he considered himself more handsome than his young smith friend, though if the two were washed clean the opposite would probably be true. Petrow worked as a jack-of-all-trades in the village to support an income. He stood muscular, tanned, and never excused himself from a day of hard work. The woodcutter’s axe leaning against the well next to him seemed to be his trademark. He supplied wood to the inn and the pub, repaired thatch roofs for others when asked, ran errands for the local shopkeepers or worked as an extra hand on farms or ranches. He knew enough about so many jobs it sometimes made him irksome; displaying a superior attitude and feeling he was the local expert on many subjects.

  He saw Trestan approach and smiled in greeting to his lifetime friend. “You look like you’ve been putting in tough hours in today my friend! What has your father got you doing now?”

  The young smith lowered the bucket back into the well. “We’re putting new shoes on several of Lord Tessald’s horses. It’s going about as well as can be expected. After that we have several smaller chores to fill. But, my day is the brightest day in a long time.”

  Petrow cast a glance at his friend, but Trestan exaggeratedly ignored him. It became a game, the older young man had to ask to get it out of him. “Ok, don’t keep me in suspense. What made you all smiling and cheery this day? That little mustache of yours doesn’t cover the ear-to-ear grin.”

  The smith said, “Someone important came by the smithy today, and paid me a compliment.”

  Once again a period of silence followed, and the jack-of-all-trades would have to keep begging it out of him if he wanted more. “Important? Was it the Priest Gerloch? Maybe Sahbin or better yet the Lord Tessald himself? Ok, spit it out, I give up already!”

  “Her Ladyship Shauntay Tessald,” Trestan enjoyed the shock on Petrow’s face. “She came by and admired those copper hairpieces I made. She even bought them…err…well, I gave them to her.”

  “Gave them? Those must have cost you a few good coins just for the metal. Did she offer to pay or just sweet talk you into handing them over?”

  Trestan responded, “Well, I…I guess she offered. She said her father would when he came by but I told her he didn’t need to pay for them. Hey! The most beautiful girl in the village was standing right there asking for them. It was an honor! I didn’t charge her.”

  The sudden look of superiority that came over Petrow’s face discomforted the young smith. The handyman shook his head. “I used to be infatuated with her too, but I hate to say it, all her good points are on the outside.”

  “But…”

  “Let me explain Tres.” Petrow liked to condense his friend’s name. “Do you know how many local merchants to whom she should be owing money? Seems you’re not the only young man from whom she has acquired some item and didn’t pay. She arrives so sweet and dressed so…well…less than respectful for a lady of her upbringing. She promises her father will pay, but he never does. In fact, I dare you to go up to Lord Tessald when he is in town and ask for money to pay for those pieces. I’d like to see the reaction then. You can bet if he asks her about it, she’ll deny owing anything, or she’ll remind you that you offered it as a present. She uses people Tres, I wish you’d see that.”

  The smith poured the bucket of water into the clay jug, making sure not to spill any. “I don’t get it. I had a pleasant encounter with the most desirable woman in town, and you treat it like you are sympathizing over some loss of mine.”

  Petrow looked past Trestan into the street, and after a moment he talked again. “Well, second most desirable, at least by looks alone.”

  Trestan looked up at his friend, but the other young man’s eyes faced further down the street. Looking to see what captured his friend’s sudden interest, he saw a new visitor riding into town.

  A female adventurer rode into town from the south, having already crossed the lone bridge over the river. She sat astride a small warhorse armored with leather barding and laden with packs, such as might carry provisions for a long ride, or maybe even a treasure of ill-gotten bounty. Her femininity could be easily seen by her lovely shape, though the young men couldn’t see more details until she rode past them. The rider wore black leather armor; a dark steel helm protected her head and covered a small portion of her face though it left her ears open. What the men could see of her beyond the helmet added some exotic beauty to this stranger. Long black hair cascaded out from beneath the helm, catching the breeze. Green eyes surveyed the village, studying everything as she traveled. Her ears were slightly pointed, and the face angular, proclaiming elvish blood mixed with human ancestry. The young men admired the athletic curves of her figure. As she passed, they could see she was armed for dangerous business. A crossbow strapped across her back, with a second crossbow on the side of the horse. Numerous quivers held many crossbow bolts, including one on her left side and one on her right lower leg. Her rapier hung on her left side, opposite the young men, but the glare of the midday sun revealed a glint of silver on the basket hilt. Despite the harshness of her war implements, she actually grinned and gave a nod to the two men as she passed them. They gave respectful bows in return, though neither man seized the opportunity to speak.

  The rider dismounted in front of the inn and tied her horse to the railing. Slightly short for a normal human woman, and a bit slender, she nevertheless walked with quickness and gracefulness. She took off her helmet and shook out her hair a bit before entering the inn, though neither of the young men could see anything more revealing of her face from where they stood. Once inside the inn and out of view, both men regained their breathing. They forgot all memory of their previous conversation.

  Petrow said to the young smith, “When you get done with your chores this evening, meet me for a few drinks and let’s splurge a copper or two.”

  Trestan responded, “I plan to see Sir Jareth later this evening, but I’ll join you for a round. Meet at the pub or the inn?”

  Petrow grinned widely in reply, as if the answer should have been obvious. He indicated the armored warhorse, “At the inn. I’d be interested to see what develops there tonight.”

  The young smith reclaimed his water jug and headed back to the smithy. Already he could see his father resuming his place near the forge. He turned about as he walked and called back to Petrow. “I shall see you there tonight then, with my good shirt.”

  Upon getting back, father and son shared a drink before Hebden asked Trestan to get the next horse. Trest
an obliged, even half-hoping the lady of elvish blood would pick that moment to stable her horse. In that regards, he was disappointed. He did look around the stables for a bit to see which horse they should take care of next. Finally, he spotted the obvious choice for their next customer. In one of the stalls stood one of the few horses Lady Shauntay favored on her rides. The expensive saddle and reins hung nearby, both objects of fine colors and ornamentation. As he coaxed the horse out of the stall, Trestan couldn’t help but notice the horse’s mane. It had been combed and braided in a very nice style, with the hair held in place in three spots by copper clasps. Three very familiar copper hairpieces kept the horse’s mane dressed up in a fashionable way.

  Trestan was taken aback, but then hung his head low and laughed to himself. His very nicely designed work was the adornment upon her ladyship’s favorite horse. He hadn’t told his father yet of the exchange that morning between him and the flirtatious noble, but there would be no concealing it when his father saw that braided mane. Petrow would certainly laugh once the he heard about it.