by Ryan Kirk
Brandt didn’t know how he would catch her, but looking at the remains of his home, he swore a vow that he would never stop trying.
2
Rolle was an enormous man, making the front room of the smithy look small when he stood within it. Most days two or three customers could browse through the space comfortably, but Rolle alone looked like he barely had room to turn. His arms were as thick as Alena’s waist, but it was hard not to laugh at his infectious smile and quick wit.
Rolle’s kindness was even more expansive than he was. He worked as one of the town’s butchers, and his generosity was legendary. He provided liberal portions, a business practice that worked well for him, guaranteeing customer loyalty. Alena’s own mother bypassed the nearest butcher in favor of Rolle because she knew it helped their family’s money stretch further.
Rolle chose one cleaver from the table between them and held it close to his eye. He examined the edge of the blade and took some practice swings, as though cutting through the air was the same as cutting through flesh and bone. Then he picked up a second cleaver and repeated the process.
The two tools were the same except for the steel used. An apprentice had made the first out of a lesser steel. It served as practice for the apprentice and a cheaper option for those who couldn’t afford nicer. The other had been made by her father.
Alena’s eyes tracked Rolle’s movements closely. She saw the years of experience ingrained in his cuts. Rolle was no warrior, but she suspected he could butcher a cow faster than anyone in town.
“The grip feels a bit small,” Rolle said, “and I prefer my cleavers to be a bit longer and heavier.”
“If you’re interested,” Alena replied, “we could forge something custom for you, but it would require some time. We’ve been busy.”
Rolle laughed at that. “So I hear. Drok’s smithy is worried they’ll be run out of town.”
Alena shook her head. “We can’t handle all the work this town requires. And Drok does fine work.”
“True,” Rolle admitted. “But everyone knows where to go when they need a blade they can count on.” He picked up each cleaver in turn again. “These feel nearly identical. Different steel?”
“Yes.”
“I think I like this one more,” he said, handing her the cheaper cleaver.
Alena saw how Rolle’s eyes lingered on the more expensive cleaver. He knew it was better, but couldn’t convince himself to spend the extra money. He was a man careful with his money.
She’d seen such expressions on many faces in the last two years.
Part of the challenge was her father. He insisted that his shop be known for quality of all its products, not just his own. The whole town knew of her father’s gift with steel, but he rarely marked his personal creations in any way. Perhaps an expert would notice the difference between a blade crafted by her father and one crafted by an apprentice, but most wouldn’t, and her father preferred it that way. If the shop sold it, the product had earned his approval.
Alena was also prohibited from speaking about who made what. Custom work was an exception, but for items up front she had strict orders. She knew who made which cleaver, and could have easily sold Rolle on the more expensive one if he knew her father had crafted it himself.
She admitted that it allowed the smithy to charge more for all its work, and the practice fueled avid speculation about who made what, but she did sometimes find the restriction annoying.
“If you don’t mind me saying,” she began, and Rolle nodded for her to continue. “More than many professions, the quality of steel will matter for you. The less expensive cleaver will serve you well, but it has its own cost. It will require more time to maintain, won’t hold its edge as long, and will need replacing sooner.”
She paused. “You’re a man who lives by the quality of his blade. Although this blade costs more,” she pointed to her father’s cleaver, “you’ll be more satisfied with the purchase, and it will save you time in the long run.”
Rolle wavered, but Alena didn’t push. Sometimes the art of the sale was in knowing when not to say more.
Rolle let out an explosive sigh, a grin lighting his face. He had wanted the more expensive one all along; he just hadn’t been able to justify it to himself.
Alena had given him just the reason he’d been looking for.
Not long later he left, the proud new owner of her father’s cleaver.
Her father came out from behind the corner. Alena hadn’t seen him from her position, but she’d thought she heard the rustle of cloth and shifting of weight that signified his presence. He didn’t come forward very often. It distracted the customers too much.
Father looked at the pile of silver on the counter. His look was mildly disapproving. “You didn’t—”
Alena smiled at her father’s discomfort. “You know I promised not to. And I didn’t need to. He just needed a reason to get what he wanted all along.”
Father nodded, not quite convinced, but trusting anyway. “It’s a good sale. I suppose I’ll have to get to work on another one. If he does come in for custom work, offer him a bargain. He’s been good to our family over the years.”
“Yes, Father.”
Before Father could reply, the door to the shop opened again. The young man who stepped in stood tall. Though he wasn’t half the size of Rolle, his presence still filled the room.
“I came by to escort Alena home, Father, if she’s done making all your sales for the day.”
“Hello to you, too, Jace,” Father said. He nodded his permission. “I can have the apprentices finish closing up.”
Alena glanced suspiciously at her younger brother. “I don’t need an escort.”
“The streets are filled with pickpockets and thieves, my dear sister. I couldn’t bear the blemish on my honor if any harm were to befall you.”
Alena raised an eyebrow. “You’re that bored?”
He laughed. “I am, indeed. And we haven’t had any time to ourselves lately. I want to know how my sister is doing.”
Alena gathered what few belongings she had brought to the shop, then remembered to call after Father. “Don’t be late tonight!”
“I won’t!”
The siblings left the shop, turning in the direction of their house. They shared the events of their day, though nothing momentous had happened to either of them. Alena noticed her brother containing his excitement about something, but he didn’t want to spill the story yet. Perhaps he’d finally met a young woman? Their mother would swoon at that news. She feared Jace spent too much time working and not enough time looking to start a family.
Pleasantries exhausted, Jace dug into weightier subjects. “How are you?”
She noticed the shift in tone. A glance confirmed it wasn’t simply a polite question. “Is it that obvious?”
His smile was wide. “Only to anyone who knows you at all. I think you were better at pretending when you were younger.”
“I had more practice.” She paused. “Did they put you up to this?”
“Yes, but I would have asked on my own soon enough.”
“I’m not sure what to do,” she admitted. “When I returned home, all I could think about was how I wanted to stay here forever. And I’ve loved the past two years.”
“But you want more?” Jace completed the sentence for her.
She nodded. “I need to find a teacher. Someone in the empire has to know more about soulwalking. And I want to visit Etar and see my family there.”
Jace’s shoulders tensed for a moment at that, but he relaxed them quickly. If she hadn’t been looking for it she wasn’t sure she would have noticed. Unlike her, Jace had gotten better at disguising his emotions.
They walked in silence for a block, each lost in their own thoughts.
“What will you do?” Jace asked.
“I’m not sure yet. It will break their heart if I leave, but I don’t think I’ll be happy to remain in Landow for much longer.”
Their h
ouse came into view. “Whatever you decide, you know I’ll support you, right?”
“I know.”
Their conversation came to an end as they entered their family house together. Their mother welcomed them, then immediately put them to work. Jace, being better in the kitchen than Alena, helped finish the meal. Alena put out the bowls they would eat from. She had a little time to read before Father’s heavy footsteps could be heard in the hallway.
Family meals were still boisterous. Jace served as a commander in the city watch, and he had no shortage of stories to share. From celebrants who had gotten a little too deep in their cups to thieves that knocked themselves out while trying to evade pursuit, he had a new story every time they gathered.
Father still groused about his apprentices, but less than he had many years ago. He had trained them well over the years, and several were becoming masters in their own right. Father paid well and cared for his smiths. If not for that, Alena suspected several of them would have moved on. Many were skilled enough to start their own smithies.
Alena didn’t have stories to share. She enjoyed working for Father, but stories from the front of the shop didn’t entertain the way Jace’s did. And she didn’t speak about the far more interesting aspects of her life. Her abilities made her family nervous whenever she mentioned them.
Eventually Jace called for silence. “I have news!”
The family obediently quieted, plates long since finished.
“The governor came to see me today,” Jace said, and Alena’s heart dropped for a moment. She’d been hoping the news was about a young woman, too. Jace worked too hard. “He wants to create a new position, a lieutenant governor for the region. And he wants me to fill it.”
Mother beamed and Father clapped his son on the shoulder. They were proud, and why shouldn’t they be? Jace had become not just an admirable soldier, but a competent leader as well.
Alena smiled, but doing so required an effort. She was proud of her brother, but it hurt to see him succeeding while she felt stuck.
It wasn’t fair to him, but it was true.
Their father went into the cellar and pulled out a bottle of wine. Their family rarely drank, but Jace’s promotion merited the occasion.
They laughed and drank until the sun kissed the horizon.
Then they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Jace, in high spirits, went to answer it.
Alena’s heart skipped a beat when her brother let in a figure cloaked in red, a familiar shade to any trader in the empire. Those cloaks denoted Etari traders.
The Etari threw back his hood once he had crossed the threshold into their house. His eyes met Alena’s. “Sooni has summoned you,” he said. “Your aid is required.”
3
Brandt stood with his fellow monks on the path, staring slack-jawed at the monastery that had been his home for over a decade. He saw the ruins before him, but he still struggled to believe. The monastery had been something solid, a place where the ravages of time raged ineffectively against the sturdy construction. But now?
It would take years to rebuild what she destroyed in moments.
He didn’t understand.
The destruction wrought by that last blast was orders of magnitude greater than her previous attacks.
He’d run.
Retreat had been the only way to survive.
Questions plagued his lethargic mind. The how bothered him, but he already knew the Lolani queen was stronger than him. This was simply more evidence of a fact he already understood. The questions that demanded answers were the whys. Why now? Why here? Brandt took pride in his abilities, but he was no threat to the Lolani queen.
Had this been simple revenge, attacking him because he’d prevented her invasion years ago?
Ana’s hand clutching his stopped his questions cold. He’d been so obsessed with the attack and its meaning he’d forgotten to check on her. Thanks to their efforts, and the mostly empty monastery, every monk still lived. Ana appeared unharmed and remarkably calm. A look passed between them, and her slight nod let him know that she was fine.
Kyla stepped in front of the assembled monks. “The danger has passed. Let’s return and search for what can be salvaged. We need to know if we can sleep here tonight, or if we have to make our way down the road.”
Brandt hoped they would find enough bunks to remain at the monastery tonight. The nearest village with space for them to sleep was a full day’s walk away. At the moment, he didn’t find the idea of such a walk inviting.
The monks followed Kyla into the ruins of Highkeep. The gate had shattered and the short journey was slow. They stepped carefully, cognizant of the fact that a twisted ankle now would only increase the already weighty burden on friends.
They paused inside the gate. A blackened crater silently smoked inside the destroyed courtyard. Nearly two hundred years of history, wiped away in a flash of power. Brandt clenched his fist and looked over the rest of the monastery.
The blast had destroyed the abbot’s quarters and study. Brandt stepped toward the last standing structure. The guesthouse, which had been the target of the queen’s previous attack on the monastery, remained unbroken. Brandt put his hand to the stone and closed his eyes, listening to the song the element sang to him.
He had always heard stone as a steady hum, and today was no different. The building stood and would give them shelter, at least for tonight.
Kyla issued the monks’ orders. Several began searching the rubble. The monastery housed no small number of valuable items. Any that could be easily recovered would be moved to the guesthouse and protected by the remaining monks. Brandt, Ana, and two others cleared a path to the guesthouse and ensured it was ready to host an influx of unexpected residents.
Brandt threw himself into the work, grateful for the opportunity to bend his body to a difficult task. He left himself no time for questions. All that mattered was moving stone out of the way, clearing the way to the guesthouse.
Brandt used his affinity at times, but for the most part relied on his hands and muscles to perform the labor. Thanks to the cost, using his affinity expended as much energy as picking the rocks up by hand would, but sometimes the affinity made the task easier.
By the time the sun descended to the tops of the peaks, casting long shadows, Kyla declared the work done for the day. Others had found food and the well was undamaged. For tonight, survival wouldn’t be a problem.
The meal was quiet, the only sound that of utensils scraping against the bottoms of bowls. No one said as much, but no one knew when their next meal would be. Brandt imagined the other monks were also lost in their thoughts, memories of their home mixed with fears for their future.
Brandt and Ana retired early, seeking solace in one another. Brandt held onto her tightly that night. Despite the loss of the monastery, she remained. Her presence shielded him from the worst of the attack’s effects.
He woke up first the next morning, staring at the ceiling as Ana breathed softly on his neck. Over the course of the night she had rolled over and curled up next to him, her arm draped over his chest and her nose next to his ear.
He matched his breath to hers, slow and steady.
Ana’s transition from sleep to wakefulness was instant, the same as his had been. Some habits from their days as soldiers refused to die. He only noticed because their breaths suddenly didn’t match. She spoke before he could greet her. “What’s on your mind?”
“What comes next.”
Her hand reached up and played with his hair. She waited for him to elaborate.
“I need to see the emperor.”
Her hand paused for a moment, then resumed. Two years ago the emperor had offered to make Brandt one of his personal honor guard. Brandt had declined, insisting he could study better at Highkeep. Anders VI, or Hanns, depending on the formality of the situation, had conceded the point and stopped short of ordering Brandt to remain by his side.
At the time, Brandt’s feelings had been comp
licated. He had inherited some of Alena’s anger over the lies the empire told to sustain itself. But unlike Alena, he understood that truth didn’t always govern best. He had genuinely believed that Highkeep was the best place for him to study. Hanns freely admitted that even with the knowledge only known to the line of emperors, he didn’t possess any greater understanding of the queen’s power than they did. The monastery offered him more time to practice and monks who would help push him. As part of the emperor’s honor guard, Brandt would have had to travel, stand guard over meetings, and complete dozens of other tasks that weren’t a part of monastic life.
But, if he forced himself to confront his own shortcomings, a large part of his decision was the woman lying next to him. Ana would have traveled with him to the capital. She was a strong warrior in her own right, but the emperor’s offer hadn’t extended to her. Accepting the offer would have meant more time apart from her.
They’d enjoyed the past two years together, but more than once Brandt had questioned his decision. All the time to study hadn’t resulted in the gains he needed. In his moodier moments he worried his decision to return to Highkeep had struck a blow against the empire he served.
“You’re sure?”
“I am. Perhaps the emperor doesn’t understand the Lolani queen, but he still has the most powerful affinities in the empire. There has to be something he can teach me.”
Ana didn’t reply immediately. Her hand kept running through his hair, though, slowing his thoughts and his breath. “You’re probably right. I don’t like it, though.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t answer at first, seeking the right words. “It’s nothing I can point to, nothing rational. But this feels like the beginning of the end to me. When we leave Highkeep, I doubt we’ll ever return.”
Brandt hadn’t considered beyond their trip to the capital, but Ana’s words rang true. This did feel like a door closing.
But it opened upon another part of their journey.
Outside, Brandt listened to the sounds of the monastery coming to life. Mostly, he heard the sounds of rock being moved by some of the early-rising monks. But he didn’t want to get out of bed, not quite yet.