28. The Plow and the Sword

Mayor Berrun Ghastkill was quite wrong. Onyx's party was still at the Nashkel Inn when Jade's passed through (Minsc's snores had almost been audible from the bridge where she parlayed with Edwin after being misinformed by the mayor), and the two siblings and their rapidly-growing adventuring parties might have met then, each learning of the other's recent adventures, new friends, and current quests. Had that happened, the events to come might have been very different, and likely for the better, but this was not to be realized.

----

Onyx woke early that morning, before the sunrise, just with the first perceptible lightening of the sky outside the window. He smiled as he felt the warmth of Imoen's body next to his and heard the faint, pleasant sounds of her breathing.

What with the banditry and iron crisis all but killing travel in the region, there had been a number of rooms available even at the small inn. Khalid and Jaheira had gotten their own room of course, Viconia a small one to herself (Onyx had no wish to wake up to find his party back down to six living members), and he, Immy, Garrick, and Minsc all shared a large one. Garrick's high-pitched snoring now wafted from the cot across the room. Minsc's much deeper snoring, from the middle of the floor, was nearly unbearable. It sounded as if every tree in Rasheman were being sawed down. He decided he and Imoen were luckily they'd fallen asleep first. Poor Boo had by now learnd the hard way that this was prudent each night, and his contented purrs sounded from atop the ranger.

Imoen opened a sleepy eye the moment as so much shifted his weight to leave their bed. "Just goin' for a jog, Immy," he whispered to her and brushed her hair caringly, "Back by dawn."

"Okie dokie," the girl mumbled sleepily and returned to whatever pleasant dreams she was having.

Garrick's snoring remained uninterrupted, but Onyx could swear the bard was almost singing in his sleep. "Zzzz Zzzz Zzz / Zzz Zzz Zzz / Zzzzzz Zzzz / Zz Zz!" Yes, he was definitely snoring some little ditty, in perfect iambic pentameter.

In between deep, deafening snores, Minsc mumbled, "Oh Boo, look! Candycane forests and lollipop fields, and evil is nowhere in sight…where are the hamster treats, you ask?…" Onyx arched an eyebrow, for he noticed that in between Minsc's statements, the small brown hamster curled up in the center of his vast chest seemed itself to sleep-squeak quietly, as if conversing with the ranger in their dreams.

Less than sixty seconds later, Onyx was in tunic and trousers and boots, longsword over his back if it came to that, jogging around the edge of the small hamlet for his morning run, something that he almost always did before dawn, until recently. Now, on the road and hunted, being able to do anything like this, much less at a particular time of day, had like bathing and shaving suddenly become a luxury, and he was glad for this chance. Running, firstly, was an important part of a warrior's regimen, if he wished to be fast on his feet, and have the aerobic stamina to battle. Most civilians he knew had little appreciation for this.

Adventuring was dangerous, everyone knew, and tiring, they supposed, but it was hard just to imagine how tiring, particularly for a warrior who used large weapons and heavy armors. Anyone who tried to wear metal all over their body, while walking for hours on end, or even while swinging more metal around over their head, while making quick full-body movements to thrust and dodge and move quickly, would soon understand just how tiring it should be, like wearing several dozen pounds of iron and dancing in it for several hours. Having one's brain filled with mortal fear the whole time didn't help. Then again, sometimes it did.

Hence the training. Part of his training, while exercising, was to maintain mental discipline. Just practicing staying calm . Easy to do while running, but that is bad, for it lessens the value of the practice. Important for an adventurer, especially a front-line warrior, and party 'leader' - as Jaheira paid him lip service, though truly he thought, or at least hoped, it was her much greater wisdom leading them.

Going into a panic was certainly not a good battle strategy, and obviously terrible for the morale of one's companions. At the opposite extreme, going into a rage was a practice of some warriors. This Minsc fellow had mentioned something about this the previous night. He, though, tried to avoid both extremes, with moderate success thus far. As when faced when antagonistic companions - Viconia and her tireless haughtiness and cynicism, Jaheira and her maternal nagging - when facing enemies he had found it best to remain calm. As not to feel the need to retort to every insult in kind, but to massage or ignore it, so to not to overreact to the inexpert weapon-swings of these rookie assassins and highway thugs, but let most of them go astray as they will and counter the material ones with parries and counterstrikes. And the calm was important, of course, for moral judgments, which could arise at any time.

Thinking of Jaheira and Viconia made his thoughts wander to Imoen as he mulled the obvious contrasts. Imoen, dear Imoen, when frustrated or dejected he had but to think of her cheery gaze and warm smile to sooth or lift his spirits. He was grateful to her for this reason among many others.

Viconia had mistaken them for lovers, not surprisingly, as presumably Jaheira and Khalid had at first unless Gorion's writings had told better. He hadn't even thought anything of sharing a bed with her until he'd had to ask Viconia what she meant by his mrimmd'ssinss . Although there had never really been a need in Candlekeep, with their own modest rooms at all, Imoen had been fond of occasionally sneaking into his room to lie with him, usually on the coldest nights, or those where she complained of having very strange and very disturbing dreams, which did happen to both of them more and more in the last few years, often the same nights. And now, on the road, they had each night, out of economy and comfort, for they now had great need of both.

As he was running through the farms just west of the town, the soft feeling of natural earth beneath his boots was interrupted as one struck something hard. He stopped suddenly, and looked down, to notice a faint green glint. He knelt over the stop, brushing earth with his hands, to reveal more and more of a smooth, green surface. Resembles those ankheg husks we got up around the Arm and sold in Beregost…

He gasped when he exposed enough of the alien object to recognize it. Armor! A full suit of ankheg armor! He gripped it, and strained as he ripped it from its earthy resting place, and as he did so a small, white glimmering object fell back to the ground. And a pearl? Strange indeed.

He pocketed the pearl and held the armor up in the dim predawn light. It was beautifully crafted, and so light that it didn't even seem real. Not a single sign of wear and tear. Must be magical too. I wonder how long it's been here.

"Whoever you were," he address the armor as if its previous owner were still inhabiting it, "Thank you. I'll use it well."

The armor was so light that, donning it barely impacted his jog, and a short while later, passing by a farmhouse just across the river from the town, he saw a young woman with a face to rival the dead's, or perhaps as if she'd just seen one.

"Something wrong, miss?" he slowly approached the lady, who wore long braided brown hair and a labor-worn peasant's dress.

She sighed, and seeming welcome for the inquiry, answered, "I…wish things were better here on the farm. At least we're not miners."

"How," Onyx mumbled under his breath, looking around at what to him seemed a beautiful, rustic landscape, with the calm river running by and glimmering in the near-dawn light, the trees swaying gently in the cool breeze, and trees and grasses growing about him, "Could anything be better than this pristine, pastoral setting? I myself soon will seek out the mines." You know, sometimes I wonder if I'd have been happier as a ranger.

"Aye, we could have a crop, for starters," the woman sighed indignantly. Oops, didn't mean to really say that out loud. "See those crusted mounds of earth?" she pointed dejectedly at some of the more barren tills of earth. "They're all left over from last year's harvest. The sun's baked them firm and hard and the plow breaks at the very thought of trying to turn that tortured soil. My son tried pushing the new seeds in between the cracks but I doubt anything will come of it. Come this time next year, we'll all be living in the endless slums of Athkatla. And my husband, Joseph, is a miner and hasn't been heard from in days! So yes, I wish things were better than this here pristine, pastoral setting!"

The woman looked as if she were about to sob, and Onyx turned towards her, holding up his hands apologetically. "I'm sorry, I just…I suppose I am very ignorant of the world. If you'll suffer my presence, you mentioned the difficulty of plowing, and…well, I'm not exactly an expert farmer, but perhaps I could but some weight behind it and give it a go? It would round out my morning workout nicely, and…it would do my heart well to pass back this way in the fall, and see a harvest come of it."

"Enough!" she spat, and shed a tear in spite of herself, "Must you continue to mock me, a poor peasant, and you in your fancy-pants armor!" She turned away, and covered her face, and sobbed.

"I mean it, miss," he sighed.

They fetched the plow from her toolshed, and together fixed its snapped arms with spare wood, making the angle between them narrower so that it would be harder to control and to thus push through hard earth, yet harder to break. And then Onyx carried it back to the edge of the barren field, and after removing his armor and tunic, began to push it across the first unforgiving mound of dirt. He pushed, trying to optimize between sheer strength and control. He could easily snap the arms off the plow again with too much strength, but with not enough nothing would happen. At last, the edge of the mound shore under his carefully guided force, and he kept pushing it to apply steady pressure to the long raised mound, and soon he was striding at a slow but steady pace, tilling a row of the field.

The woman gasped in disbelief, called to him in thanks, and disappeared briefly into the shed, returning a moment later with a bag of seed. As Onyx pushed along, she strode happily behind him, spreading the seed into the freshly tilled earth, which was much richer and loamier beneath the sun-baked surface.

The went down row after row, each in turn yielding and becoming a purchase for new seeds, and just after sunrise, the field was done.

"Thank you, sir," she smiled and waved goodbye as he donned his green armor and walked off, towards the Nashkel Inn and his doubtless stirring companions, "You will always be welcome at our table. If no sooner, return in the fall, and we will toast the harvest in your name!"

He smiled over his shoulder and waved goodbye. "I do hope to return in the fall, miss!" If only because I simply hope to live that long.

Alas, we reap what we sow…

But I was not meant for peaceful times, at least not yet, and I cannot take up the plow, for fortune hands me the sword.