The Islix Sword, Chapter 3

    Chapter 3
    The Islix Sword

    “Am I going to have to set that straw on fire to get you up?” Rock shouted to a sleeping Kelvin.

    “Oh, Rock,” Kelvin said, rubbing his eyes.  “How late is it?”

    “The sun has been up for nearly an hour.  Come on lazybones,” he said, slapping Kelvin roughly on the leg.  “Go get something to eat and meet me in the smithy when you‘re done.  Mother made some porridge.”

    Kelvin rummaged through his bag looking for work clothes, he put on a pair of heavy canvas breeches, a plain brown wool shirt, and a pair of heavy, thick soled, work boots.  He headed over to the house still wiping sleep from his eyes and was embarrassed to see that Rayene was already busy in the garden.  It felt funny to him but he walked in without knocking, he didn’t want to give Briz anything to chide him about this early in the morning.

      “Is anybody here,” he shouted into the empty house.

    “Come eat,” Ali’s voice came to him from further back in the house.

    He walked back to the dining room and found Ali sitting at the big trestle table sipping a cup of tea.

    “Good morning Kelvin.  There is porridge in the kitchen, I left it on the stove to keep warm,” she told him.  “Briz is out there, she will show you where the bowls and spoons are.”
    “Good morning Ali, thank you,” he mumbled sleepily.

    Kelvin is grumbling to himself as he walks the long walkway from the dining room to the kitchen, he hates porridge.  His mother made it every morning, except she called it gruel, because it was so grueling to eat, he supposed.  Call it porridge or call it gruel, boiled grain is boiled grain.  In the kitchen there is another, smaller, table with four chairs.  He finds Briz sitting in one of the chairs with a stick held between her legs, working intently at something at the tip of the stick.

    “Your mother said there was gruel, I mean porridge,” he says.

      Briz points to a large cast iron stove without looking up from what she is doing.

    Kelvin is curious about the stove; it is like nothing he has ever seen.  In the first place it is huge, the bottom has a fire box on both sides and there is an oven between them.  There are two different places to cook on the surface while the center, above the oven, can be used to keep food warm.  He sees an odd looking square part in the smoke pipe and after inspecting it he realizes it is another, smaller, oven that is heated by the escaping smoke.

    He lifts the lid from the pot on the stove, what he sees looks nothing like his mother’s gruel.  His mother’s gruel is thin and watery, almost grain soup, this is thick and looks like it has something other than grain in it.

      “Bowls?” he says to Briz.

    She points to a cabinet on his left and says “Bowls,”  Then she swings her arm around and points to a buffet on the right side of the kitchen and says, “Spoons are in the drawer, honey, jam, sugar, and anything else you might want to put on your gruel are on the shelves on top,” then she goes back to what she was doing.

    He gets a bowl and puts a generous portion of porridge in it; he carries it over to the buffet still curious about what else is in it besides boiled grain.  He adds a drizzle of honey, gets a spoon, and sits at the little table opposite Briz.  He takes his spoon and starts digging around in his porridge and finds hazel nuts, hickory nuts, dried raspberries, pieces of dried strawberries, and bits of dried apple.  He feels eyes on him and looks up to find Briz staring at him, her face devoid of any expression.

    “Don’t play with your food,” she says flatly.

    Kelvin stares back at her blankly for a moment, he can’t help himself and his face splits in a wide grin.  When Kelvin grins Briz’s face loses its blank expression, she puts her hand over her mouth and giggles hysterically.

    Briz goes back to her work and Kelvin, finally feeling fully awake, takes a spoonful of porridge.

    “This is really good,” Kelvin says, the surprise evident in his voice.

    “Yes, mother makes good porridge,” Briz says, looking up from her work briefly.

    “What are you doing there,” Kelvin asks.

    “Making bugs,” Briz replies, and goes back to her work.

    Kelvin shrugs his shoulders and continues eating his porridge.  When he finishes his porridge and stands up Briz says, “Just leave the bowl on the table, I’ll clean it for you.”

    “Thank you Briz.  Seriously, what are you doing there,” he asks as he walks over to her.

    “Seriously, I’m making bugs with some of the feathers from the grouse we had for supper last night,” she tells him.

    “Can I see?” he asks.

      She hands him the stick and he looks at it carefully.  It is perfectly round and slender at the bottom, near the top there is a bulge with a white ring, of what he supposes is bone, around it, and then it tapers to a small flat tip.  And there on the tip sits a bug made of feathers, complete with little feather wings.

    “Why do you make bugs out of feathers?” he asks.

    “Silly,” she says taking the stick from him.  She puts the bottom of the stick on the seat of her chair and tugs on the bone ring until it slides down to the bottom of the stick.  He sees that the stick is actually a small clamp.  There is an X shaped cut in the tip and pulling the bone ring up onto the bulge causes the cut to close and clamp down on anything that has been inserted into the cut.  Briz removes the bug and hands it to him and he sees that the body of the bug is the shank of a fish hook.

    “Will a fish really try to eat this?” Kelvin asks.

    “They will fight over it,” Briz tells him confidently.

    “You will have to show me some time,” Kelvin tells her.

      “Will you take me fishing?” Briz asks, her face lighting up.

    “Sure, sometime,” Kelvin says.

    “Good!  Then we won’t have to eat that,” she says, pointing to a large bowl, making a face and sticking her tongue out.

    “What is it?” Kelvin asks.

    “Salted fish, mother is making it for lunch.  She soaks it in water to remove most of the salt but I still think it tastes nasty,” Briz says, sticking her tongue out again.

    “Well, your mother has yet to feed me anything I didn’t like,” Kelvin says.

    “Yeah, and you have been here one whole day,” Briz says, rolling her eyes.

    “I better go help Rock before he comes and drags me out by the scruff of my neck.  I’ll talk to you later,” Kelvin says as he heads toward the front door.

      “I bet there isn’t anything you wouldn’t eat,” Briz yells to his retreating back.

    Rock and Kelvin work together cleaning and straightening things up around the shop.  Rock shows Kelvin where everything is stored and explains the differences between cast iron, wrought iron, and tool steel.  He demonstrates what the different parts of the anvil are and shows Kelvin how to secure a bending fork into the Hardy Hole on the end of the anvil.  Rock sees Rayene waving to him from the garden, when he looks at her and shrugs his shoulders she puts her hand to her mouth, miming eating.

    “Lunch is ready,” he tells Kelvin.

    “How do you know?” he asks.

    “Rayene told me,” he tells him.

      “I didn’t see her,” Kelvin says, looking around the smithy.

    Rock lifts his hand and starts to point in the direction of the garden; he drops it to his side and shaking his head he says, “Just come on,” and starts for the house.
    When they get to the dining room Rayene and Briz are there sitting on one of the benches chatting.  Ali walks in a moment later with a platter full of small brown pastries.

    “Briz, I put a pitcher of tea in the root cellar to cool, be a dear and fetch it, please,” Ali says as she is setting the platter on the table.

    “Briz said we were having salt fish for lunch,” Kelvin says when Briz has gone for the tea.

    “Yes dear, that is what is in the pastries,” Ali says.  “The ones on this side,” she says, placing her hand on one side of the platter, “are in sour cream sauce; the others are in a tomato sauce.  The tomato ones are rather spicy.”

    “I thought you didn’t like salt fish,” Kelvin says to Briz as she is eating one of the pastries.

      “It’s not too bad like this,” she says.  “It’s still awfully fishy tasting though,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

      Kelvin has tried both kind and can’t decide which he likes best; he thinks they are both delicious.

    “A week of my Ma’s cooking and you would be begging for these,” he says, shaking one of the pastries at her.

    “Let’s go Kelvin, I want to show you the rest of the place,” Rock says, filling his hands full of pastries before getting up from the table.  Kelvin grabs a couple for him and follows Rock out.

Rock walks out into the yard and turns to his left, “That, obviously, is the barn,” he says, pointing to the barn.  “It’s small but it is all we need, there are four stalls and the hay loft will hold enough hay to feed both cows and all three horses through the winter.  The lean-to on the left of the barn is where we keep the wagon and mother’s buggy.  On the right side of the barn is the chicken coop, we only have seven chickens but we don’t need that many eggs.”

    There was a split rail fence running the two hundred feet from the corner of the barn to the lane that came in beside the smithy.  The fence turned there and followed the road for three hundred feet where it joined another fence, making a small fenced in pasture.  Rock walked over and leaned his elbows on the fence, put his fingers to his lips and let loose an ear piercing whistle.  Kelvin heard a horse whinny far in the distance.

    “This is where we keep the animals when the weather isn’t too bad,” Rock told him.  “Bess and Tabitha,” he said, nodding in the direction of the two cows grazing together.

    “Tabitha?” Kelvin said, raising his eye brows.  Rock just smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

    “You know Buck,” he said, indicating the large draught horse that had pulled their wagon when they came from Brenshire the day before.

    “The brown horse with the white boots is Emily, she’s supposed to be Briz’s horse but mostly she pulls mother’s buggy,” Rock said.

    In the distance a black horse had emerged from the forest and came running toward them at a full gallop.

    “And that is my horse, Shazera,” Rock said, folding his arms across his chest and smiling.

    As they watched, Shazera closed the distance fast, she jumped the fence on the other side of the pasture without breaking stride and came up to Rock tossing her head and nickering.

    “Yes, sweetheart, I’ve missed you too,” Rock cooed to the horse as she came up and laid her head on his shoulder.

    “Rock, that is one of the most beautiful horses I have ever seen.  Do you think I could ride her sometime?” Kelvin asked.

    “No,” Rock said flatly.  “You’re welcome to try but she won’t let anybody on her except me, not even father.”

    “Where did you get her?” Kelvin asked.

    “I don’t know,” Rock said.

    “You don’t know?  Did your father get her for you?” Kelvin asked.

    “Nope, father and I came out of the house the morning of my fifteenth birthday and she was standing by the front door,” Rock told him.

    “You have no idea where she came from,” Kelvin asked.

    “I heard father say something to mother about a gift from Moriangus, but when I asked him about it he said I must have misunderstood him,” Rock told him.

    “Why would Moriangus send you a horse?” Kelvin asked.

    “I don’t know Kelvin, it doesn’t make sense.  I guess I did misunderstand him,” Rock said.

    “We have three wells,” Rock continued as he turned and started back to the smithy.  “There is an open well with a draw bucket in the garden, a closed well with a hand-pump outside of the kitchen, and that one,” he said, pointing to a pump at the corner of the smithy.

    “Uh oh,” Rock said when he saw Briz come through the front door of the house with something draped over her shoulder.

    “What?” Kelvin asked looking from Rock to Briz and back again.

    “You’ll see,” Rock told him.

    “Okay, you.  Now I’ll show you,” she said, stopping in front of them, looking directly at Kelvin.

    When she took the thing off her shoulder he could see that it was a wide belt with a large iron buckle.  After she had buckled the big belt around her tiny waist he saw that it had two pockets on it, a large one on her left side that hung nearly to her knee, and a smaller one on her right hip.  She opened the small pocket and removed a tangle of leather thongs, when she straightened it out he realized it was a sling.  It was like no sling he had ever seen.  It had a square leather pouch in the center like every sling, but the thongs on one side were braided together into one thong that ended in a little loop.  The other side had one continuous thong that was attached at each end to a corner of the patch, forming a loop.  She pulled the single thong through the little loop on its end, forming a slip knot; she slid it over her wrist and pulled it tight.  She let the sling dangle, a quick jerk with her wrist caused the looped end to flip up and she caught it deftly on her finger tips.  She repeated this move several times before unclasping the large pouch on her left side; it was shaped like a wedge with the small end by her knee so when she untied the clasp it fell open and stayed open.  She swung the sling over her head a couple of times before taking a pose with her left hand in the pouch on her left hip.  She took a stone from the pouch and tossed it up over her head and in one quick motion snatched the stone from the air with the sling.

    Kelvin couldn’t believe what he had just seen, he turned to Rock who stood with his arms folded, grinning.  Seeing the look of astonishment on Kelvin’s face Rock began to chuckle.

    “Okay you,” Briz said to Kelvin, “find some targets for me.”

    Kelvin looked around the yard.  He spied the pile of kindling that he and Rock used to get the coal burning in the forge and ran over and gathered an armful of sticks a little bigger around than his thumb.

    “Whenever you’re ready,” Briz told him, a stone already in her sling.

    Kelvin turned toward the barn and, using an underhand toss, lofted one of the sticks into the air.  It shattered into a hundred pieces before it reached the top of the arch he had thrown it on.

    He turned and looked at Briz wide eyed.  She cocked her head to one side and smiled at him.

    “Now throw them like you don’t want me to hit them.  At least try to make it interesting,” she said.

    Kelvin picked up two sticks and showed them to her, she smirked and nodded her head.  He threw them as hard and as high as he could, as before, the first one never reached the apex of its flight before exploding to pieces, the second one shattered shortly after it had begun to fall.  Briz fired the first stone with her left hand already in the bag of stones.  As soon as she released the first stone she tossed another into the air above her head, a flip of her wrist brought the loop of thong back to her fingers; she snatched the second stone out of the air with the sling and fired her second shot with unerring accuracy and speed.  Kelvin picked up three sticks, Briz nodded her approval, grinning.  She was clearly enjoying herself.  Kelvin threw the first two toward the barn as he had the others, the third stick; he whirled around and threw in the other direction, over Briz’s head.  She nailed the first two but missed the third one behind her.  Kelvin smiled at her.

    “Do that again,” she growled.  This time she got all three, the third one barely six feet from the ground.

    Kelvin went and kneeled before Briz, “I’m sorry I doubted you,” he said, bowing up and down from the waist.  He stopped bowing and prostrated himself saying, “You truly are the greatest slingist … er slinger, or whatever the word is, that I have ever seen.”

    Briz stepped over and placed her foot on Kelvin’s back and proclaimed, “Ah, victory is sweet,” thrusting her arms into the air. 

Rock was still laughing when he handed Kelvin a large basket saying, “Here, go take a long walk in the woods, we need more kindling.”

    “I’ll help you Kelvin,” Briz volunteers.  “Maybe we’ll see a grouse.”

    Shortly after they returned with the basket of kindling Briz had gone to see if her mother needed help with dinner.  Rock and Kelvin were discussing what they would do the following day when Rock held up a hand to silence Kelvin.

    “Someone is coming,” he said, turning and walking out of the smithy.  Kelvin listened hard but head nothing.  He found Rock at the corner of the smithy peering down the lane that led out to the road; he looked down the lane but saw nothing.

    “I don’t see anyone Rock,” Kelvin said.

    “Can’t you hear the hoof beats?” Rock asked.  “Whoever it is, he’s walking his horse slowly.”

    A moment later a lone rider came into view.  He was wearing a chain mail shirt over a blue hooded tunic and had a shield strapped to the side of his saddle.  When the rider got close, Rock walked back to the smithy door and waited for him there.  When the man dismounted, Rock took his rein and tied it to a ring in the smithy wall and walked back and shook the man’s hand.  Kelvin can’t take his eyes from the man; he is huge, nearly as tall as Rock but much more heavily built.  The late afternoon sun glistens off his bald head and makes the weltering red scar, that starts high on the left side of his forehead and runs through his right eye brow, nearly glow.

    “Where are my manners,” Rock said.  “Sir Fitch, this is Kelvin Cooper, a friend of mine.  Kelvin, this is Sir Fitch, Captain of the King’s Guard.”

    “A pleasure to meet you sir,” Kelvin said, extending his hand.

    “Any friend of the Smith’s is a friend of mine,” he said, taking Kelvin’s hand.  “And it’s just Hiram these days; I’m no longer with the King’s Guard.  My stars Rock, I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.  I bet you can give your father a run for his money these days,” he said, laughing a laugh that sounded more like a rumble than a laugh.

    “I have learned better than to tempt fate, sir,” Rock told him.

    “Ah ha ha, that is probably very wise of you.  He gave me this, you know,” he said, pointing to the scar across his forehead.

    “No sir, I didn’t know that,” Rock said, taken aback by the revelation.

    “Come Rock, you’re a grown man now.  Call me Hiram.  Yes sir, your father thought he’d smote me dead that day.  To tell the truth, so did I,” he said, laughing and jostling Kelvin with his elbow.  “Praise the stars it was just a wood sword or he would have smote me dead.  He never forgave himself, even though I did.  He would never compete in another tournament after that.  He was good Rock, maybe the best swordsman I have ever seen.  Speaking of the old head cracker, is Mangus about, I’d like to have a few words with him.”

    “I’m sorry, Hiram, father isn’t here,” Rock told him.

    “When will he be back?” Hiram asked.

    “I don’t know,” Rock said.

    “Well, where did he go, lad,” Hiram asked.  “Perhaps I can catch up to him.”

    “We don’t know where he went, Hiram,” he said.  Rock went on to explain how he had found his father’s empty wagon.  He told him how he and his sisters had searched far and wide and found nothing.

    “That was nearly four months ago,” Rock told Hiram.

    “That’s distressing news, Rock.  Very distressing,” he said.

    “That is why Kelvin is here.  He volunteered to help us out until we find father,” Rock told Hiram.

    “Did ya now,” Hiram said, turning to Kelvin.  “You’re a good friend Kelvin Cooper, and I’m proud to make your acquaintance.  True friends are hard to come by these days.”

    “Say Rock, do you think Aliajina would have a word with me?” he asked.

    “I’m sure she will, Hiram,” he said.  “Walk to the house with me and I’ll ask her.”

    When they got to the front door Hiram said, “I’ll just wait out here, if ya don’t mind.  I don’t want to be tracking dirt through your beautiful house.”

    Rock nodded and said “I’ll go get mother,” and disappeared through the door while Kelvin waited with Hiram.

    “Hiram Fitch, you look wonderful,” Ali said as she threw her arms around the big man’s neck.

    “I ain’t never looked wonderful in my life, Aliajina, but thank you for the lie.  You haven’t changed at all, still as lovely as sunrise in the mountains,” he said, looking down at her smiling.

    “Please Hiram, call me Ali,” she told him.  “Rock tells me you’re no longer with the King’s Guard.”

    “That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to Mangus about,” he said to Ali.

    Hiram turned to face Rock and drew the broadsword from the scabbard hanging from his right hip and a wicked looking long knife from a sheath on his left hip, he offered them both to Rock, handle first.

    “Do you think you could touch these up a little for me, and give me and your mother a little privacy,” he said.  Rock looked to his mother who nodded her head ever so slightly.

    “Sure Hiram, I’d be glad to,” he said, taking the weapons.

    As they are walking back to the smithy Rock handed Hiram’s sword to Kelvin.  Rock tossed the long knife from hand to hand, flipped it over and caught it by its tip, flipped it back and caught it by the hilt.  He started the knife spinning so fast it is just a blur as he walked it from finger to finger across his hand and back again, he rolled it over the back of his hand and caught it by the hilt.

    “Nice knife,” he said to Kelvin.

    “Where did you learn to do that?” Kelvin asked.

    Rock shrugged his shoulders, “Just from piddling around when I get bored.  I have always liked blades.”

    “Me too, Rock.  I’ve never seen a sword like this,” Kelvin said, running his hand over the wire wrapped hilt and ornate crosspiece of Hiram’s sword, “never mind held one.”

    “Do you like it?” Rock asked.

    “It’s magnificent,” Kelvin told him.

    “Father would be glad to hear you say that, it’s one of his,” Rock said.

    “Your father built this?” Kelvin said, holding the sword out by the hilt.

    “Yes, custom fit for Hiram,” Rock said.

    “What do you mean custom fit?  I thought a sword was a sword,” Kelvin said.

    Rock laid the long knife on a work bench and got a work box containing files and sharpening stones of various coarsenesses.  He sat on a stool and held his hand out to Kelvin who reluctantly handed him Hiram’s sword.

    “There are several things to consider when making a sword for someone,” Rock explained, “one of the main things is the length of the person’s arm.  You want them to have as much reach as possible but if the blade is too long they will have trouble drawing the sword quickly.  This sword has a fairly long blade because Hiram is a big man and has long arms.  The blade is a little wider and thicker than normal too, Hiram is very strong and can easily handle the extra weight, and the extra weight delivers more power when he strikes.

    “See how long the hilt is?” he said flipping the sword over and holding it by the blade.  “Hiram has very big hands.  This ridge here,” he said, indicating a raised silver ring in the middle of the hilt, “allows him to grip the sword with one hand, this will keep it from being pulled from his hand.  If he needs to deliver an especially powerful blow he can grip it below the ridge with his other hand and swing it with both hands.  The ball on the end of the hilt works as a counterweight, making the sword easier to wield, and it can be used as a bludgeon if you just want to subdue someone.

    “The ornate crosspiece isn’t just for looks either,” Rock said.  “See the way the dragon wings hook around here in the front?  If an opponent’s sword slides down the blade to the crosspiece, a quick twist of the wrist and the opponent’s sword is wedged between the blade and those hooks, allowing you to twist the sword from his hands.”
    “Wow Rock, you sure know a lot about sword crafting,” Kelvin said.

    “I learned from one of the best.  Knights and warriors have come from far away to have father craft a sword for them,” Rock told him.

    “Rock, if you ever apprentice me, will you teach me to craft swords,” Kelvin asked.

    “Maybe the basics, there are family secrets that I will only teach my son,” he said.

    “Like what?” Kelvin asked.

    “I can’t tell you Kelvin, that’s why they are called secrets,” Rock told him.  Handing Hiram’s sword to Kelvin he picked up the knife and began working on the blade with a file.  While Rock worked on the knife blade Kelvin jumped about with Hiram’s sword, thrusting and parrying.  Swinging it with one hand then two, Rock smiled at his inept efforts.

    “You better be careful with that,” Rock warned, “I know Hiram wants it sharpened but I wager it is still quite sharp.” 

    Rock winced when Kelvin slid his thumb across the blade to test its edge, when he saw that it had not drawn blood he knew it needed sharpening.

    Kelvin jerked his hand back quickly from the blade, “Rock, this thing is so sharp you could shave with it,” he said.

    Rock picked up a wool rag from the bench, wadded it into a ball and held it out for Kelvin to see.

    “See if you can hit this with the edge of the blade when I throw it,” Rock told him.  Kelvin nodded his head and took the sword in a two hand grip.  When Rock tossed the rag Kelvin hit it with the sword and sent it flying back to land at Rock’s feet.

    “It’s dull,” Rock pronounced.  “I’m nearly finished with the knife; I’ll get to it in a minute.”  Rock dipped his finger tips in a small tin and rubbed a couple of drops of oil from the tin onto the blade of the knife.  He wiped the excess oil off with a clean rag and dragged the flat of the blade across his palm very slowly, looking very intent, as if he were listening for something.  He repeated this on the other side of the blade.  He picked up the rag he had used to wipe off the oil and tossed it into the air and held the knife under it, point up.  The rag barely slowed as the blade passed through it all the way to the crosspiece.

    “Bring me the sword,” Rock said to Kelvin “and don’t touch that” he added, nodding his head to the knife he had laid on the bench.

    Kelvin pulled up a stool and watched Rock; he decided that if he wanted to learn to craft swords he should start paying attention.  Rock first wiped down the crosspiece and the ball at the bottom of the hilt with the slightly oily cloth he had used on the knife.  He slid his fingers along the blade on both sides, feeling rather than looking for dings and burrs.  He did this several times before he started working, first with one file then another.  He worked fast, with the sword lying across his lap.  He switched to the stones, first one then another, some he used with a drop of oil, others he used dry.  The back side of the box that held the stones and files was divided into three sections.  Each section held sand of a different grit and an oily wool rag.  Rock worked both side the blade with all three of the sands, he again dipped his fingers into the tin and applied oil to both sides of the sword blade and wiped off the excess with a clean rag.  He dragged both sides of the blade across his palm, his head slightly cocked as if he were listening for something, the same as he had done with the knife.

    Rock stood and whirled the sword about, left hand, right hand, behind his back, and stopped with it poised above his head.

    “Say, Rock, isn’t there an edict against owning personal weapons?” Kelvin asked.

    “Yes Kelvin, there is,” Rock said.

    “Then how is it that Hiram still has his sword?” Kelvin asked.

    “You weren’t planning to take it away from him, were you?” Rock said, lifting his eye brows.

    “Why no, no… of course not,” Kelvin stammered.

    “I’m glad to hear it,” Hiram’s voice boomed from the doorway.  “I like ya lad, would be a shame to have to kill you so soon after meeting.”

      “Hiram, I trust you had a nice talk with mother,” Rock said.

    “Yes I did Rock. I can’t imagine spending time with Aliajina not being nice, though I fear my news may have upset her,” Hiram said.

    “And what was that news?” Rock asked.

    “Alas, though you are, no doubt, a man in your own right, I will have to defer to your mothers judgment on this matter.  She should be the one to decide how much you should know,” Hiram said.  “As for your friend’s question, I can answer that.  All of the old guard were granted permission to own weapons as a condition of our … um, retirement.”

    “How many of the old guard has retired,” Rock asked.

    “All of them, Rock,” Hiram said, hanging his head.  “I was the last to leave.”

    “But why, Hiram?” Rock asked. “Why would you all quit your positions?”

    “We didn’t quit,” Hiram almost yelled.  “We didn’t quit, Rock,” he repeats more calmly.  “We were forced out.”

    “Hiram, I can’t imagine anyone forcing you to do anything,” Rock said.

    “Rock, if someone has the authority to make your life miserable and applies himself to that end long enough, any sane person who is free to leave, will leave,” Hiram said.

    “But you were Captain of the Guard,” Rock protests.

    “Rock, I haven’t been Captain of the Guard for nearly sixyears now,” Hiram tells him.

    “Baywin has been filling the palace with riff-raff from Westemia ever since he was made king.  I would wager there aren’t a handful of Koth citizens working at the palace today.”

    “But why would Baywin do this?  He is our king,” Rock said.

    “I don’t think Baywin cares much one way or another, Rock.  He spends most of his time with that little half-wit Lorak, supposedly training to increase his wizard’s powers.  I think most of the goings on at the palace is Wistissis’s doing.  But that’s just my opinion,” Hiram told him.

    “I remember Lorak,” Rock said.  “He gave me the creeps when we were kids.  Weren’t he and Baywin once accused of torturing animals when they were children?”  Rock asked.

    “Not accused, Rock, caught red handed, by me.  Lorak claimed he was teaching Baywin to divine the future from entrails, or some such thing,” Hiram said.

    “I don’t imagine you could be much of a wizard if Lorak can teach you anything, he was pathetic,” Rock said.

    “I agree, Rock.  What self-respecting wizard has to use flint and steel to light a fire?”  Hiram said, chuckling.  “Rock, I hate to rush off but I am staying the night at my sister’s place and I don’t want to miss supper.  I saw you twirling my sword about, so I guess you got her cleaned up for me.”

    “You tell me,” Rock said.

    He walked over and picked up Hiram’s sword and the rag he had been using and walked to the center of the smithy.  He dropped the rag onto the toe of his boot and took a stance with his knees slightly bent; his left arm extended with his palm held up, his right arm high over his head with the sword slanting down over his left shoulder.

    “The same odd starting stance your father used.  Though I have to admit it seems to work pretty well,” Hiram said, rubbing the scar on his forehead.

    Rock kicked and sent the rag flying into the air, two quick slashes and the rag fluttered to the floor in three pieces.

    “Good enough?” Rock asked.

    “She hasn’t been in that good of shape in a long time,” Hiram said.

    Rock laid the sword across his forearm and presented it to Hiram, hilt first.

    “I don’t know how you and your father do it,” Hiram said, looking at his sword while Rock walked back to the bench to get his knife.  “I give you a beat up old sword to sharpen and you give it back looking nearly new.”

    Rock just smiled and handed him back his knife.

    “Say Rock, do you know the Fletcher place out near Tolsley?” Hiram asked.

    “Sure, I know where you mean,” Rock said.

    “That’s where I’m staying.  My sister Betsy married Ronald Fletcher a few years back.  Old Ronald, he ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you know what I mean.  But he loves Betsy and he takes good care of her.  Ronald busted the coulter on his plow, he says he didn’t notice when it broke, and he kept plowing without it and banged up the plowshare pretty good and probably tore up the moldboard in the bargain.  I’d try to straighten it out for him myself but I have to head west in the morning.  Do you think you could go by there and see if you can do anything for him?” Hiram asked.

    “I’d be happy to, Hiram,” Rock said.

    “They’re a little low on funds at the moment,” Hiram said.  “If you can give me an idea what it might cost I’ll pay you up front.”

    Rock thinks for a minute and says “Five gold pieces, seven silver, and fifteen coppers, should cover it nicely.”

    “My stars man, I didn’t say I wanted to buy your smithy,” Hiram said.

    “Well, Hiram, no one has ever offered to pay me up front before,” Rock says, laughing.

    “Be serious Rock, I have to get going,” Hiram said.

    “Two silver pieces and two coppers should be plenty,” Rock said.

    “Where are you headed Hiram?” Rock asked him as he dug in his purse.

    “I heard there was soldier work out there escorting caravans over the Langamore Mountains,” Hiram told him.

    “I have a friend who lives near the Langamore Mountains, a town called Kettering,” Rock said.

    “I’m going to a town called Moorefield; I think it isn’t too far from Kettering but I’m not sure.  I’m not very familiar with that part of the country,” he said, handing Rock three silver pieces and three coppers.

    “Now how much do I owe you for sharpening my sword and knife?” Hiram asked.

    “No charge for that, Hiram.  Consider it a gift from my father,” Rock told him.

    “Thank you Rock,” he said as he is mounting his horse to leave, “but I’ll consider it a gift from you.  Your father had nothing to do with it.  Young Kelvin, it was a pleasure making your acquaintance.  I hope we meet again one day.”

    Kelvin and Rock stood by the smithy and watched Hiram slowly ride out the lane.