Author's Note: Here I am with the third chapter. Really nearing that 10 000 word mark. Thanks for all the readers and for the review. Don't know when I'll have time to post the next chapter, probably sometime next week, seeing as I have a couple of exams coming up. Enjoy!
Chapter 3 – Unexpected Encounters
Eryana stirred from her slumber, stretching her back as she tried to get some feeling back into her limbs. Her feet felt cold, poking out from under the short blanket. Last night had been spent cramped up on a small cot with her brother's snoring form; Murtagh truly was a noisy sleeper, either snoring loud enough to wake half of the castle or sifting around caught in one of his many nightmares. He never did tell her about those and Eryana had stopped asking quite some time ago. Only Tornac was privy to whatever phantoms her brother encountered in his dreams.
They had been caught on unawares by a storm the previous afternoon and had had to wait out the brunt of it sheltered by a luckily spotted outcrop of rocks. Ravaging storms and rough elements were not all that uncommon on the plains this time of the year. By the time they had reached the small village on the banks of the Ramr, where the river took a shallow turn to the west, it was already early evening. Finding lodgings for the night had been relatively easy as there was only one inn, 'Auntie Anne's' as the locals called it, thought it had apparently been quite a long time since anyone called Anne had worked there as the innkeeper. Regardless, Tornac had managed to get them settled in a room with two beds, which was why Eryana was currently curled up next to her snoring brother.
"'Tagh?" she whispered quietly, getting no response. Eryana sighted. She sometimes truly wondered why her brother even bothered to sleep with his dagger under the pillow. Honestly, she doubted it would be of any real use with him being such a heavy sleeper.
The floor planks creaked under her weight as she got up. The sun was already up, judging by the strip of light poking through the drawn curtains. After rummaging around for the dress Murtagh had talked her into packing, she scoured the room for a washbasin. She found the wooden bowl, its sides scratched from use, leaning against the wall by the window. Cracking open the door of their quarters she found a bucket of water waiting outside by the door; most likely, it had been carried there late last night. Tornac stirred as she stumbled under the weight of the bucket, though she doubted the man had truly been asleep at all. "Good morning." She said offhandedly.
"That it is, that it is…" The man grumbled groggily. Eryana's suspicions were confirmed when she saw the man already dressed in his tunic and breeches, although the long leather coat he favoured was still hanging by the door from the previous evening. "Someone is up early. Better wake your slumbering pig of a brother, eh?" He remarked conspiratorially, getting up to help her fill up the basin. Eryana smirked as the man wandered over to Murtagh's prone form, lifting up the blanket to expose his feet. Her brother was rather ticklish just above the heel, a fact Eryana had gladly shared with the older man.
The cold water felt refreshing, washing away the last remnants of sleep as well as most of the grime from yesterday's travel.
Half an hour later they were sitting down at the downstairs bar, their stomachs full from the slurry porridge that had been served for breakfast. Tornac sat opposite the siblings in a corner table, sipping his ale merrily; he had ordered milk for both Murtagh and Eryana. "I've got a couple of errands of my own to run this morning." The man said placing his now empty pint on the table with a soft clunk. "I was thinking the two of you could go down to the market; it's a small town and I trust you both to keep yourselves out of trouble." He glanced meaningfully at Murtagh. Eryana gave an eager nod.
Murtagh scowled. "But you said…"
Tornac cut him off with a raised hand. "We will go to the smithy in the afternoon, after lunch." He reasoned, herding off Murtagh's objections. "I want to be able to set off early tomorrow morning." Tornac unstrung his purse, digging out three silver coins. He handed two to Murtagh and one to Eryana. "Here, have a little something for yourselves while you're out."
"I can't take this; you know I have my own savings." Murtagh refused, attempting to hand back the money. Eryana pocketed hers, thanking Tornac with a wide smile. Murtagh glared at his sister.
Tornac threw his hands up in the air, having none of it. "Consider it a part of your nameday gift; a man turns sixteen only once, after all." His tone was final. Murtagh gave a defeated sigh.
Luckily for Murtagh, there were few stalls lining the street selling more than farmers' goods. After all, Derwit was a small town; most of the visitors were merely passing through on their way to the capital. Even though they were practically in the King's backyard, Murtagh could catch a glimpse of the less reputable sort when they passed shadowed alleyways. He tightened his hold on Eryana's hand. Near the end of the street they paused by an apparently popular stall, at least judging by the size of the surrounding crowd. Eryana was already squeezing through the crowd to get a better look at the wares. Murtagh had always hated big crowds and optioned to wait.
With nothing better to do, Murtagh gazed at the trinkets on sale. "Anything catch your eye, young man? Have a dear one waiting at home?" A merchant inquired. Murtagh shook his head slightly, contemplating on walking away. Picking up a leather corded necklace the man presented it for Murtagh to see. "Have a look at this: the pendant is jade from one of the rivers running through the southern Spine." The man claimed. Murtagh decided to humour him.
The pendant was oval shaped, its green surface sanded and polished to the point where it reflected the sunlight. On the front was carved a rune foreign to Murtagh. "What does the rune mean?" He asked.
A gleam appeared in the man's eye, knowing that he had caught his customer's interest. "Now that is a curious little thing. The rune is apparently a rune of protection used by the Grey Folk, or at least that is what the man who made it implied. Although I had another who claimed it was rather an early form of Elvish. Apparently the two alphabets are quite similar."
Murtagh eyed the pendant. It had its appeal, and he knew his sister would love it. It wasn't often that Eryana wore jewellery, but this was something simple. He could hold onto it to give it to her on her next nameday. "What's the price?"
Eryana walked down the street licking her candied apple in contentment. The sugar made her lips sticky and she was aware of the drool dripping down her chin. She didn't care, really; there was no one to complain and it was rare anyone walking by gave her a second glance. She had ditched her brother by some trinket stall. Eryana truly didn't know what had drawn Murtagh's interest; as far as she knew Murtagh had never had a lady friend. Her brother was interested in two things to put it simply: blade work and riding.
Suddenly, she felt herself collide with something soft, letting out a surprised 'umph'. She found herself on the ground, surrounded by the contents of what she assumed was bag of whomever she had collided with. Her own candied apple lay in the mud, soiled and unsalvageable.
Apparently, she hadn't been paying enough attention to where she was going. Eryana scrambled up to apologize, bending back over to help gather contents of the bag scattered across the muddy street. "I'm sorry. It was an accident: I wasn't looking…" A flash of blue caught her eye as she picked up a now stained cloth bundle. Curiosity got the best of her and she lifted the cloth before anyone could stop her. It was a blue stone, bigger in size than anything she had seen before. Yet it felt warm against her fingers, along with a feeling she could not quite recognize: like a small, softly pulsing heart.
The bundle was rather violently ripped from her hands. She looked up to meet the wide, green eyes of the stranger. 'No, a lady' she thought, catching sight of the long ebony locks from underneath a hooded cloak.
"Era! Are you okay?" Eryana looked up to see her brother finally catching up to them. "Don't go running off like that, you hear!" Murtagh chided after catching his breath. He took one look at her muddied dress. "What happened? Your dress is all ruined."
"I'm sorry, okay? I just fell over when I…" She turned around to find the strange lady gone. Scouring the street, she could spy no trace of her. 'Odd, she was here just a moment ago…'
Murtagh gave her an odd stare. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up, shall we? I saw a well just up the road. Let's see what we can salvage."
The walls and the floor were covered in a thick layer of sooth and ash accumulated over a number of years. The heat from the hearth made the air feel smothering and heavy as they entered; already, Murtagh could feel the first droplets of sweat sliding down his forehead. An anvil had been set up in the far back, beside it a workbench topped with tools and other knickknacks. The lighting in the room was sparse, most of it coming the coals burning hotly within the furnace, though Murtagh spied a few narrow slits set high up at the base of the roof, apparently used mainly for ventilation.
A man bent over the bellows looked up as they entered, a grisly smile adorning his callused features as he recognized Murtagh's companion. "Ah Tornac! What brings the most noble master of arms to my humble adobe?" He bellowed in deep baritone voice, rubbing his grimy hands on a wet, stained cloth before drawing Tornac into an embrace by the arm. Murtagh winced unconsciously; a hug like that looked strong enough to fracture bones and his teacher appeared somewhat winded. Tornac did naught but chuckle, giving the man a somewhat strained smile, trying to regain his breath. "Here to pick up your order, no? Got it ready and waiting in the back." the smith said merrily.
Murtagh flinched as the man turned to him, expecting some level of the distain or fear that often accompanied such looks; daddy dearest had certainly left behind quite an impression. Instead, he was surprised with a strong-armed pat on the shoulder. Apparently the man showed no restraint even when meeting complete strangers. "And this must be the young Murtagh. Heard a great deal about you, lad. Tornac here just won't shut up about his star pupil. Says you're almost as good with the blade as old Palancar himself, that true?" Murtagh found himself shrugging, smiling a little yet feeling notably relieved.
"Not so sure about that, but I try my best." Suddenly Murtagh smiled slyly. "Although Tornac might just be getting weary, you know. Old age catching up to him and all." The man gave a booming laugh at his friend's expense.
"Call me Eren, son of Edrick." The now named Eren stated, shoving an arm at his face. Murtagh grasped it; luckily the man's grasp wasn't too crushing. The man's gaze turned fond, suddenly. "You have her eyes, you know. Dark hazel, just like dear Selena. Forged her a pair of daggers some years ago. A fine, clever lass if I ever saw one. Beautiful too. Was sad to hear she had passed on." And Murtagh could somehow tell the man was being naught but genuine. It felt good to be compared to his mother instead of Morzan, even if it was by a complete stranger. Murtagh was sure Tornac caught the brief gratefulness and happiness gracing his eyes.
"He's right." Tornac stated gently as they watched Eren excuse himself and disappear into the adjoining backroom. "You're more like your mother than you realize. You may have most of Morzan's looks," Tornac knew Murtagh didn't appreciate anyone calling Morzan his father, and honestly, the man had done little to deserve the tittle. "But inside, you are your mother's son through and through." He poked at the left side of Murtagh's chest firmly yet gently. "It is what's in here that counts; the compassion, the love, the benevolence and the will to protect. Morzan had nearly none of those things when he died. That's what makes you different."
They were interrupted by a clang and a curse. Eren reappeared bearing a long, cloth-wrapped object.
"Here it is! Finished it just two days ago; took me a while to get it right. Still, one of my best works, I must say. You're very lucky." Eren told them and Murtagh could clearly detect the pride in his voice. He handed wrapped sword to the boy. "Well, go on. Let us see it." He encouraged.
The cotton cloth fell away, revealing the blade underneath, still sheathed. At first glance it looked the size and shape of a typical longsword, perhaps with a blade a little longer. The leather of the sheath felt smooth and waxy as he ran his fingers along it, a reddish brown in colour. A steel chape and a locket of the same material reinforced the tip and the neck of the scabbard. "The scabbard is reinforced with steel. The leather is from an elk, as is the wrapping on the handle, though it also has a wire wrapping underneath to give better grip." All in all it was simple and undecorated in its design; just the way Murtagh liked it. He grasped the handle drawing the out the blade.
"Isn't she a beauty" The smith beamed at his handiwork. Murtagh couldn't help but agree; it was a beautiful blade. The steel shone polished and freshly forged, the edge had been meticulously sharpened. "The blade is Kuastan steel. Would have used dwarven metals but trade isn't really that good nowadays." He explained. "But it's the next best thing: doesn't rust easily, sturdy yet yielding."
Murtagh stepped away to give the sword an experimental swing, as if slashing at an imaginary opponent's shoulder. The balance was perfect, although he though the blade felt lighter than it should have. "It's perfect." The boy praised the smith a genuine smile gracing his features. Tornac held out his hand to examine the blade.
Tornac eyed the blade critically raising it to eye-level. "A lenticular crosscut? Never seen this design from you before. The handle is also longer than you usually see on longswords." He balanced the sword on his wrist. "And the balance is a bit peculiar."
Eren gave a sly smile. "New innovation. Got to keep up with the trends; everyone seems to want something special and new nowadays." He picked up what Murtagh supposed was a half-finished blade nearly identical to his in size and shape, only with one groove instead of two. "See the fullers here?" The man explained running a finger down one of the grooves. "Not just for decoration. Help make the blade just a tiny bit bendier, less likely to break. And lighter too." He gave the blade an experimental swing just for good measure before putting it down.
"Why the longer handle?" Murtagh questioned, curious.
Eren motioned for Tornac to hand over the blade. "This is what is called a hand-and-a-half sword, I believe. Named as such because, when necessary, it can be handled akin to a two-handed sword due to the longer handle." He demonstrated this by grasping the handle with both hands. He addressed Murtagh. "Tornac told me that you had a rather unpredictable fighting style; I decided to go with diversity."
Tornac whistled at the smith's words, truly impressed. "You have really outdone yourself this time, my friend." He handed the blade back to Murtagh digging around his person, taking out a rather heavy bag of coins from his pocket. "Here. A fair payment for such a beautiful blade, as promised." He said as the money exchanged hands. Eren nodded his thanks.
They found themselves walking down the road back towards the inn a good hour later. Eren had asked them to join him for a cup of afternoon tea, although it was mainly a tasty blend of nettle, clover and lavender from what Murtagh could discern. The man apparently shared Tornac's love for the stuff.
"He loved your mother, you know. Eren once told me they first met when they were just children; he was working as an apprentice smith in up north in Therinsford." Tornac spoke up suddenly. Murtagh looked at the man in interest. "Would've married her too, no doubt, had it not been for Morzan. In another time, another life, you could have been his son… Eryana too." Murtagh tried half-heartedly to imagine living in that shabby house, with his mother alive and happy and father who was proud of him… it wasn't half bad. "And sometimes, I like to imagine she loved him too."
.
.
.
Leagues away, in darkness, a pair of blue eyes opened.