Chapter 2

  The warm sun of the spring afternoon shone on a small village in the kingdom of Laterius, just north of the border of Hasdingium. An older man sat on a rickety wooden bench outside of the Wounded Sloth. The village children, too young to help in the fields, gathered with some excitement down at his feet to listen to the tales of war and adventure, fond tales he told of his time in His Majesty’s Army.

  The Wounded Sloth was the nickname that the old man, Glem, had given to the quaint little tavern; that just like the town it inhabited, was too small to deserve a name.

  Glem called it the Wounded Sloth because, like him, it was old, somewhat broken down, and had lost a few steps over the years.

  He was also its primary customer; admittedly, much of his nest egg disappeared into the tavern's coffers.The bench out front had long since conformed to his backside.

  Eventually, he would have to decide if it was time to die before he ran out of money.

  The Wounded Sloth was the westernmost building in the town, which allowed for the sun’s last warm rays to set on its doorstep each evening. Glem always enjoyed his time sitting out in the sun; telling his tales of rescued princesses and slain dragons, with the occasional secret mission for His Majesty thrown in for good measure.

  Naturally, the boys wanted to hear more of the dragons, while the girls dreamt of the flowing gowns and sparkling tiaras.

  “Tell us the story of how you got wounded in the big battle. You always promise that you will!” one of the boys demanded as Glem took a big draught of mead.

  Glem choked, spilling some of his drink down the front of his already not very clean tunic. What a waste of mead, the only true sin, he thought.

  “Boy,” Glem said, coughing to recover his breath. “You children aren’t yet old enough to appreciate that tale.”

  Glem thought it was the truth, even if the story wasn’t as exciting as they would like to believe. His war injury was, in reality, just the body of a soldier with too many years behind him. The ravages of old age, arthritis, and a crippled back had left him in worse shape than a sword ever could.

  After all, he came to this insignificant little town to take care of her after her parents’ death. Both victims of an illness; his son passed first, quickly followed by his wife.

  The virulent illness, attributed to the cattle they were keeping, caused them to pass very quickly. Glem was sent news of their deaths, in the capital, by the first trader to pass through. Immediately upon hearing the news, he hurried to the little town to raise baby Alyra in a manner of which his son, Thomas, would have approved.

  Thomas hated the capital. He wanted to raise Alyra away from the crime and politics inherent in any major city. Glem disagreed with his son’s wishes and misgivings but could not bring himself to scoop up Alyra and return to the city. He couldn’t let his son’s dream of a quiet life in the country for his daughter die, even if the mead was abysmal.

  The boy’s requested tale darkened Glem’s mood, an unwelcome reminder of the loss of his family and his physical ailments. Though in truth, he had been feeling more limber of late.

  “Leave me be, children,” growled Glem. “Your parents will be needing your help soon to prepare dinner. Run along. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the time my men and I slew the beast with two backs.”

  The children were disappointed by Glem’s response but knew better than to argue with him. He would curtail all the storytelling for a week if they misbehaved, which had happened several times before. The children waved goodbye for the day and left Glem to finish his mead in solitude.

  ***

  Alyra walked to the clothes washing area downstream of the village. A woven reed basket, heavy with clothes, rode roughly on her shoulder.

  She detested washing her grandfather’s clothes. They always reeked of spilled mead and sweat, and were caked in dust and grime from sitting in front of the tavern all day.

  The small stream was the lifeblood of their town; an area upstream was used only for the gathering of potable water, to help keep it uncontaminated from chemicals and waste.

  A larger, deep pool below the wash area was reserved for bathing and swimming in the heat of the day. Livestock were allowed access far below the village, ensuring their waste was always kept well away from the clean water.

  Her parents’ death taught a hard lesson to those left behind; access to clean water, after all, was what kept this remote village alive. Without this stream, the town would quickly fall, and the families would be forced to relocate to another town or resettle elsewhere.

  I wish the stream would just dry up, Alyra thought.

  Trapped in a life that neither she nor Glem had chosen, Alyra could understand her grandfather’s depression. Glem’s heavy drinking resulted from giving up his military career to take care of her when her parents died. She was grateful for his sacrifice, though angry that he had chosen to stay in this dead-end town. He should have taken her back to the city.

  She loved her childhood; spending her days playing with friends, swimming in the pool, and doing her best to avoid anything that resembled a chore. Those glorious days had died along with her family. Now, the monotony of country life was beginning to take its toll.

  She'd given up on her dreams of escaping this ordinary and insect infested life.

  Her dreams of marrying into a wealthy family and living in a big stone house had also fallen away. Alyra had long believed that a sad life of drudgery awaited her; but after years of discontent, something indescribable had changed. The small spark of hope she had begun to feel was unexpected. She prayed that she did not imagine it.

  The little spark kept her from gagging on the smell of her grandfather’s tunic.

  The constant, rhythmic scrub and rinse cycle of washing allowed Alyra's mind to wander to her one remaining friend in the village, Rues. Alyra wore her melancholy as a badge of honor and kept mainly to herself as her friends found lovers from nearby villages and married away. Her childhood friendships slowly drifted apart, friendships that she’d once thought were as firm as bedrock slowly dissolving into memories of better times.

  Rues, conversely, stuck to her like a cocklebur. Rues wasn't about to let go. She was always happy, dirty from her father's forge, and constantly trying to drag Alyra into some kind of mischief or other.

  Energetic as Rues was, she often annoyed Alyra, almost as much as she kept her sane.

  The two of them were different to the core. Alyra wanted nothing more than to stay clean and to avoid sweating, if at all possible. Rues, however, loved to work in the forge with her blacksmith father. Alyra would never understand how Rues could tolerate the noise, heat, and filth of the forge.

  She didn't look down on the blacksmith family, far from it; as she knew having a blacksmith was central to the town’s vitality. So, Alyra understood, even if she couldn't fathom the calling.

  Alyra believed she would find her own calling one day; and she hoped for it, dreamed of it, and woke in the night thinking of it. If only she knew what it was!

  Her grandfather wouldn’t live forever, and eventually, she would be alone.

  It didn’t seem likely that her calling would be appearing to her today, and tomorrow would be more of the same. She continued to wash their clothes and bedding in an unrelenting routine that stretched back for nearly half her life. She wondered how the garments could survive it all, with the scrubbing and soaping, the spinning and squeezing, and then drying in the air until they were crisp—and needing to be beaten to soften them again.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Alyra was tall when she stood up from the creek where she had been crouched. She had scrubbed at the stains that refused to come out in the old shirt that was plainly past its best now.

  She stretched her back to relieve the tension in it, causing the twisted knot in her hair to come undone and fall below her shoulders. She was slim but fit in the way of people who grew up working from a young age, ones who were often mocked for being ‘too skinny’.

  Her skirt was pulled between her knees and tucked into the front of her waistband to prevent it from getting wet while she worked. The sleeves of her simple blouse, pushed above her elbows, were damp from splashing the water while she toiled away in the suds.

  Her chocolate colored eyes stared dejectedly at the still frustratingly large pile of dirty laundry, and her pouting expression made her look like a child even though she was clearly a woman.

  ***

  Rues grabbed the empty waterskins from the floor of the forge and turned toward the front door. Her father, the village blacksmith, hammered away at a cracked plow while her two brothers steadied the steel and stoked the forge for him.

  Her generation continued in the family’s profession.

  Every male child was expected to follow in his father's footsteps without question, beginning their apprenticeship as soon as they could work the bellows. Rues was proud of her blacksmith lineage, blacksmiths being the glue that held civilization together. And Rues hoped to one day convince her father that the world was ready for a female one.

  Strong despite her slender build, she still couldn't equal her younger brothers’ strength. Her determination was going to be her key to becoming a smithy. Rues’ finesse and skill, rather than her power, allowed her to equal her brothers at her father’s anvil.

  Despite Rues’ determination, her father was not optimistic about her chances.

  "When can I take a turn with the hammer?" asked Rues, as her father rhythmically pounded the cherry-red steel, trying to weld the crack back together.

  "When your arms are as big as your mouth," laughed her father.

  Rues’ father was sympathetic to her dreams, but the blacksmith knew the world outside his village. No matter how skilled, a woman blacksmith wouldn’t be taken seriously in any town of consequence. One day she might inherit his forge in their sad little village, if her brothers moved on; but admittedly, he hoped that she would escape to something better.

  The village wasn’t the place to start a family.

  It was a place for those looking to hide from debts left unpaid, a village of desperation for those with nowhere left to go, and who were hopeful that no one would come looking.

  "Quit daydreaming and fill those skins. Your brothers and I are thirsty," her father said.

  Rues begrudgingly headed toward the creek with the skins. She loved her father dearly and knew that he was just looking out for her, but the forge fire ran deep in her veins. Rues' dreams were grand, filled with intricately crafted armor and rows of uniquely forged swords.

  Plows and hoes, while necessary, didn’t excite her.

  To outfit a knight in plate strong enough to turn any lance yet light enough to carry all day, did. Greeves and bracers engraved with fanciful designs created a burning fire within her.She longed for mail so finely wrought that it appeared more like lace than steel, but with the strength to turn any blade. The swords from her forge would be sought after by so many great men who would build long enduring Houses on their steel.

  She would turn out weapons and armor crafted for war but cherished as fine art.

  That was Rues’ dream. Her only dream.

  Rues' father humored her by discussing her ideas for unique weapons, occasionally even admitting that some of the designs had merit. A discussion, however, was where it ended.

  Steel was expensive and hard to come by, though easier to source this close to Hasdingium. Still, it was not a commodity to be wasted.

  Rues walked upstream toward the freshest water. She passed by Alyra, who looked downtrodden as usual as she washed clothes in the river. Rues waved as she passed and decided to stop on her way back to town. Alyra smiled at her and waved back, then furiously resumed her washing, evidently most displeased by the shabby and filthy state of Glem’s clothes.

  After Alyra’s parents died, she moved in with Rues' family while traders tried to locate her grandfather. It was a difficult time for everyone in the village, especially as no one understood why the disease killed some and left others unscathed. As a young child, Alyra was left grieving and alone, left to fill her own time and to care for herself.

  No one in the village was willing to take her in, fearing that the sickness would follow her.

  Rues' family, though, was different.

  Her father refused to leave a grieving child alone and welcomed her into their house.

  With the waterskins filled, Rues returned to find Alyra now finished with the washing.

  The outline of her recently removed apron, left on her clothes from the forge’s soot, was still clearly visible. Her short, blonde curls cropped above her shoulders were peeking out from under the kerchief tied over them in an attempt to maintain clean hair.

  The two skins filled with water and draped over the long brace between them did not slow Rues down as she strode back from the creek. Her pale blue, almost gray, eyes lit up and her smile crinkled the freckles on the bridge of her nose. Taller than her friend, she was wiry and strong from the hours spent in her father’s forge learning her craft.

  "Hey Rue," called Alyra as she walked up the bank of the creek. "Fetching water again? Is that really the job of a blacksmith?" she teased her friend.

  "Wow, starting off snarky today. The smell of your grandfather's clothes must be making you drunk" Rues fired back. “And why do you insist on calling me Rue? You and Glem are the only ones that feel the need to shorten my name to a single syllable when it was a single syllable to begin with! I fail to see how that makes sense" she said, pretending to be dejected.

  The ribbing was status quo for the two young women who delighted in flinging insults at one another in jest, followed by awkward silences and more insults.

  Rues and Alyra continued their conversation as they walked slowly back into town.

  "How is Glem doing today? I saw him sitting at the tavern. Actually sitting. He hadn't even fallen over onto the bench yet," Rues said.

  "He’s...he’s better actually," Alyra replied. "I think Gramps is feeling better than he has in months. All joking aside, something is helping his arthritis lately. It may be the new mushrooms we got. We traded for them from a farmer north of town who has been feeding his hogs on them. His little boy accidentally ate a few before the farmer could stop him, and they didn't make him sick. Now their whole family eats them. His wife swore they cured all kinds of sicknesses and recommended we try them. I don’t know about healing properties or anything, but at least they taste good."

  "Ooh, I love mushrooms! Can I try a few?" Rues asked.

  "I'm cooking the last of them for dinner tonight. You're welcome to join us. I don't know when we’ll be able to trade for more as we don’t go up that far very often," said Alyra.

  "I'll try, but no promises. I may be needed in the forge. I'll come if I can, but don't wait for me."

  The girls said their goodbyes as Alyra headed home and Rues headed back to the forge.

  Rues could hear her father cursing well before she ever made it back. The plow repairs were obviously going poorly. Her father was not an angry man, but frustration took its toll on everyone from time to time. Rues' brothers were standing ready, prepared for whatever orders were sure to be barked in the next few moments. Right on cue, her father bellowed,

  "More heat! I need more heat! Stoke the fire and heat the anvil. This blasted steel is junk, and I'm going to need flux. Lots of flux. Let me know when we're at welding temperature."

  Rues wordlessly handed her father one of the waterskins. He accepted it with gratitude, downing a quarter of the skin without pause. In the forge, you hydrated or died. When the blacksmith was in a mood like this, it was better not to speak until spoken to. The wrong thing said at a time like this would be like pouring water on a hot anvil. He might crack.

  "We're going to be at this for a few more hours. The flux should make the weld take. Tell your mother that I said to eat without us. Farmer Warsh needs this fixed by morning, and I agreed I'll be damned if we're going to be late," said the smith.

  "I'm sorry the plow is giving you problems, Papa. Would it be ok if I had dinner with Alyra and her grandfather? I was invited, I promise!"

  "So long as your mother says your chores are finished, you have my permission. It's going to be a tough evening in here anyway, and there is no need to subject you to my mood and the endless string of profanity that’ll flow," he said.

  With a smile, Rues rushed to the house to check in with her mother.

  ***

  Alyra dropped the hint of mushrooms to try and get Rues' attention. Predictable to a fault; dangle a carrot in front of her, and she’d walk for miles.

  Both girls knew it was a setup, but each would get what they wanted.

  Rues would be fed, and Alyra would benefit from her company. Glem wasn’t usually the talkative sort while at home. Sure, he would spin yarns at the tavern for hours, but not with Alyra. Whether he was embarrassed about the things he had done, ashamed of his physical condition, or just felt that she was uninterested, she didn’t know. Alyra's father used to tell her that her grandpa had been an important man at the capital, but she didn't ever really believe him. Sure, he was in the army, but that just meant he had to follow orders.

  Alyra headed home and hung the laundry out to dry on a line strung from the house to the oak tree on the south side. With dinner prepped and the kettle now heating, Alyra left to bring the old man home. She wanted him presentable when Rues arrived. Presentable would be a stretch; Alyra would settle for a washed face and a clean tunic.

  Getting Glem sorted out and presentable should have been simple enough, she thought; but seemingly, it was never going to happen.

  As Alyra walked over to the tavern, she noticed a dust cloud a few miles out. Wagons were coming in from the south. She hoped they were bringing more mushrooms.