Chapter Eleven: Secrets Exposed
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Gillie: boy, servant, Scottish Gaelic (16th century professional fishing and hunting guide.)
Trahern: name, Welsh, Strong as iron
Waylon: Old English meaning 'from the path' Wayland Smith was a legendary figure in Anglo-Saxon history. A craftsman known for his skill and his integrity: He created masterworks imbued with magic and never charged or accepted more than he had asked. The smith's creative power was thought of as being akin to that of wizards; the A-S god of the forge was also named Weyland.
Gunther paused on the crest of a small rise in the trail. At first Jane thought he may be weary, after all he did not spend as much time scrambling over rocky mountain trails as she did while in route to Dragon's lair. She was about to tease him for his lack of constitution when she realized he was not breathing heavy…he was simply watching the sunset. Vibrant oranges and bright red-gold melted across the sky leaving greens and violets in their wake…the view was breathtaking, she had to admit. But, she had never before considered Gunther as the type to be moved by such a spectacle. For the first time Jane entertained the notion that, like Drake, there may be more to her rival than met the eye.
"Gunther I-I…" she began--
--But he cut her off. "Time is a-wasting Jane." He said, in his usual mockingly superior tone, "Do not dawdle, it will be dark soon… I expect these trails will become treacherous soon enough."
Jane frowned and wanted to point out that He had been the one to stop…but bit back her snide comment and simply fell into step beside him. She would just as soon be indoors when wolves came out to prowl. The two squires hastened along the trail and, since they wasted no breath in conversation, they were across the drawbridge and through the castle barbican quicker than either expected. Once inside they went their separate ways. Gunther went immediately to the forge to see Smithy about getting more salve while Jane hurried to tell Sir Theodore of their return before heading to the kitchen to see what Pepper had mixed-up for dinner.
It was not unusual for the young smith to work long after the rest of the castle had settled down for the evening and today was no exception. The song of the hammer rang out clear as a bell. Pig was busy in her wheel working the bellows, keeping the fire hot as Smithy worked. She grunted a greeting to the dark-haired squire but did not leave off her duty with out permission from her blond friend.
"Smithy," Gunther called, careful not to startle the young man when he was working with hot metal.
"Here." The blacksmith acknowledged, but the rhythm of his hammer did not deviate.
"I am afraid Drake is going to need a lot more salve." Sir Ivon's apprentice explained fretfully, "He did far too much today and some of the wounds have started bleeding again." Smithy could almost imagine the younger boy wringing his hands.
"I said I would get more, and I will." The soft-spoken smith reaffirmed. "You may come by to pick it up first thing tomorrow, but I am rather busy at the moment."
As before, when Smithy spoke about getting more salve there was something…not quite right…in his voice, and that 'something' caught Gunther's attention. "All right then, I will see you later." The merchant's son agreed gave Pig a wistful smile and left the forge.
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Since it seemed his business with the smith was concluded for the moment the dark haired boy crossed the courtyard once more and passed through the gate and into the village beyond. Though it was getting late many of the villagers had not yet closed up shop, the Butcher and the Baker among them. Both were located in the same district near outskirts of the village so it took no time at all to make arrangements to have 'dragon cakes' made to Drakes specifications. Gunther's amassed credit easily paid for a half-dozen in advance. The only difficulty would be hauling them up the mountain to the lair in his rucksack come morning.
Gunther was leaning on the wall by the north bridge munching on a meat pie he bought for his dinner, when a furtive movement near the edge of the forest caught his attention. At first he did not even recognize the tall young man, hunched over with a bettered straw hat concealing his usually mussed hair. Gunther supposed he could have just hailed the Smith and asked to accompany him to wherever he obtained the miraculous salve, but the other youth clearly did not want to be recognized. The knight's apprentice wanted to find out why. He polished off the crust of his pastie, brushed the crumbs off of his tunic, and followed the hastily retreating figure into the woods.
About a year before Jane had become a knight's apprentice Sir Ivon's nephew Gillie came to Kipper castle bearing letters from his home kingdom at the far end of the realm. King Darius and Queen Roxanæ had given the youth leave to stay with his uncle until Caradoc and Gwendoline were ready to send him back with their replies. The messenger lad had taken-a-shine to Uncle Ivon's new apprentice and the two boys spent the better part of two weeks stalking game in the wood. The older boy had said Gunther was a natural woodsman and suggested he become a border-guard when he completed his knights training. At any rate during the past few years Gunther had not let his skills go fallow.
Smithy had apparently picked his way along a barely discernable deer path with the ease of one who had traveled this way before. Gunther was not particularly familiar with this part of the wood even so; he did not need a path to track the smith across the soft forest loam. Thanks to the impromptu training Gillie had given, Gunther's steps were steady and his footing secure even in darkness. Smithy had been wary at the edge of the forest but since entering he had no thought to glance behind him to see if he was being followed. As it was branches reached out repeatedly snatching the hat from the elder boy's head till finally he tucked it beneath his wide leather belt. All the while, the dark haired squire shadowed the smith, slipping wraith-like in his wake.
As the two figures wended their way deeper into the forests fastness Gunther noticed the faint scent of smoke on the breeze. Its cause became apparent shortly, as the smith broke into a small clearing. Thin tendrils of smoke issued from the the chimney of a squat stone cabin. it was an odd dwelling, hunched over, with a thatched roof that made it look a bit like an overturned birds nest.
"Ivy!" The smith called and before the word had left his lips a lithe figure darted across the threshold. She was slim and tall, not statuesque like Queen Gwendoline but willowy and beautiful just the same. Her skin was not ivory but delicately tanned. Her long unbound hair was deep auburn and looked as if it was shot full of red-gold in the last rays of the sun. "Waylon!" the young woman smiled lacing her arms around the brawny smith and snuggled against his broad chest in a way that led Gunther to suspect she was not his sister. Smithy twined his fingers with hers and the two of them went inside together.
'Smithy has got himself a sweetheart!' The realization rocked the young squire as he turned the situation over in his mind. The big blond was the private sort, sure enough, but Gunther could not help but wonder why he would go to such great lengths to hide the truth. It made sense that Smithy would not want Pepper spreading the fact about the castle, the girl'd gossiping had certainly caused enough havoc in the past. But the merchant's son was reasonably certain Jane and Jester were likewise in the dark about the situation.
The fact that the smith had a life outside the forge was surprising enough. But Gunther was equally amazed to hear the young man had a name, independent from his family and livelihood. Gunther rarely thought of Smithy as anything but Smithy but, truth be told, Smithy was only 'smithy' in the castle. The village had its own smith--a rather disagreeable man named Trahern. The villagers knew the young blond more familiarly as 'Jethro Farmer's boy' some even called him 'Jethro junior'. The young woman had called their smith, Wayland; a follower of the path. And in this light, the young squire decided the name suited the elder boy rather well.
Gunther was not sure how long he stood in the darkness waiting for the two figures to emerge, eventually it was the sound of horses not far away that made him begin retracing his steps toward the village. he had not gone far when a large figure suddenly loomed out from behind a great oak tree and placed both bear-like paws on his slim shoulders.
He almost wished it WAS a bear…the truth was much more unsettling. Gunther wanted to fight…wanted to run…wanted to shout for help in hopes that he was not so far from the cabin that the smith and his companion could not hear him. But Gunther did none of these things. The same was instinct tells a young cub to lie unmoving in the underbrush when a larger predator comes sniffing around…so too young Gunther stood paralyzed before his father.
"What business do you have at the witch-woman's hovel, boy?" Magnus demanded angrily.
"None sir." The boy's voice came out as little more than a whisper.
"One would think any son of mine would be a better liar." The merchant snorted giving Gunther's shoulders a shake that rattled his teeth.
"You know you are to come home straight away when Sir Ivon gives you time off. Now I find you sneaking about in the woods. You should know by now that any sneaking you do should be by my orders alone! Still, I am of a mind to be lenient, this time in light of other recent developments…" the burly man leaned close to his son's face; Gunther could smell the exotic spices that attempted to mask the merchant's fetid breath. The words were as repugnant to his as the smell, "WHERE IS MY DRAGON?!"
"Drake is NOT yours." Gunther hissed at the man through grit teeth. "He never will be."
"I will ask you once more--in the morning, 'It is going to be a long night, I assure you. We shall see how long it takes me to change your mind this time." The man said with icy calm. Moments later Gunther's world was eclipsed in darkness.