The Nightstone (7 page)

“It’s beautiful,” Pantros said. He reached for the hilt. James hand closed over Pateros’s wrist.

“Hold up there,” James said. “This here is not even a normal Abvi sword. It’s got, um...I’m not sure how to say this…”

“Is it cursed?” Pantros asked, pulling his hand away.

“No, that’s not what I’d call it, but perhaps some would.” James reached into the box and gently lifted the sword by the scabbard. He seemed to carefully avoid touching the hilt or bell. “I don’t know what you know of Abvi, but when they die, they don’t really die. They transcend this world, taking their bodies with them. But that only works for Abvi that live out their full lives. When one dies early, they actually die and their souls wither and fade unless something is done to preserve it. One way to preserve it is to contain the soul in a magnificent work of art. This sword is such a work of art.”

“You’re saying the sword is possessed?” Pantros asked. He was not so eager to take the blade and set his hands on the table.

James nodded. “The sword is alive. It’s not able to fight on its own, but it can offer advice. I’ve never spoken to it, but it’s supposed to be the soul of a veteran warrior killed in battle. It’s dormant right now, asleep. It will wake up when drawn and it will bond to whoever pulls it from the scabbard.

“I don’t think I want to draw it if it’s sentient. I can’t take on another responsibility right now.” Pantros said.

“The thing is that I’ve had this sword for two centuries and my father for a few before that. We’ve never really felt right with the idea of selling it. But it needs to be drawn and have the opportunity to complete its life journey. Ideally, some day the soul will complete and it will transcend as it was meant to in life. If you’re not going to draw it, at least take it with you and give it to a worthy Abvi in Melnith. I will say that it’s one fine weapon and would not have any difficulty penetrating the thick hide of those hellhounds.

Pantros thought about it a moment. “I can take it with me to Melnith. I hope I don’t have to draw it on the way.”

Tara spoke for the first time since Pantros had sat at the table, “I hope so too. I’m sure you think you’re good with weapons, Pan, but the best way to avoid getting hurt in a fight is not to get in one.”

Pantros stood and took the rapier, and emulating James’ care not to touch the hilt or bell, he buckled it onto his belt.
“C’mon, sis.
We need to get going.”

Tara stood up and glanced around the empty room. “I know.”

CHAPTER 6: CHARLES

The village of Dragon’s Tear was little more than a large inn on the western shore of Dragon’s Tear Lake. The trail up to the inn had taken Charles and Heather three hours to climb. During that time they were passed by several carriages. When they arrived at the inn, Charles wondered if the climb had been in vain. By the look, the inn catered to the extremely wealthy and with only his sword and a blanket, Charles had no wealth.

Heather had only an ill fitting dress which she’d taken from the mining camp since her explosion had destroyed her own.

“The road stops here,” Heather said. “I’ve never heard of an Inn as a destination, just stops along the way to somewhere else.”

“I’m not sure this is the place to seek food we don’t have to forage,” Charles said. “I don’t think they’d let us in the front door.” From a distance the inn had looked large but modest; up close Charles could see the extremely detailed carvings in the trim surrounding every opening on the building.

“You’re probably right about that,” A woman’s voice said, approaching them from one of the few small houses of the village. The woman wore an apron and had several utensils hanging from its straps. “The menu in the Inn of the Dragon’s Breath is usually simple but the prices start at several silver coins. By the looks of you, you haven’t had a decent meal in a week, and your wardrobe is worse off than you.”

“Would you believe we were attacked by a dragon?” Heather asked.

“Just by your appearance, I would,” the woman answered. “But dragons aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t attack a man carrying a sword. There’s not enough meat on a man to make it worth the risk. Cows on the other hand are plenty of meat without much risk of being run through. This is one of the few places south of the great range where dragons can be found, but I’ve never heard of one attacking a person.”

Charles stepped up to the woman and offered his hand in greeting. “We’re from a little mining town up north, Blackstone. There was an explosion and most of the town was destroyed. My name is Charles and this is Heather.”

“I’m Amanda,” the woman said. “I do all the cooking at the inn. I might be able to get you a meal or two, but I’d feel better about it if you could offer something in return.”

“We’re blacksmiths,” Charles said. “If you have need of that kind of work, we could offer a trade.”

Amanda pointed to a building at the edge of town with a trail of black smoke pouring from the chimney. “We have a blacksmith, a young lad who just became a master, not much older than you. But I do have smithy work if you’re the right kind of iron worker.”

“What kind would that be?” Charles asked. “Iron is iron, heat it, hammer it, and cool it. We can make just about anything if we could borrow your smith’s tools and shop.”

“Gus’s is good at making things do exactly what they’re supposed to do,” Amanda said. “He has no sense for the aesthetic. I need a couple iron dragons to hang by the front door; they should look like they’re breathing fire. I keep asking Gus, but he’s not giving the job any priority since he can’t understand the purpose of them.”

“Sure we could do that,” Charles said. “Are you looking for cast or wrought iron?”

“Wrought,” Amanda said. “I just think it would look better from a distance. They should be this tall each.” She held her hand out at her shoulder level.

“Should we head to the forge then?” Heather asked.

“Let’s get you some food first,” Amanda said. “Follow me around to the side door.” As she started to walk, she added, “Occasionally guests leave some things behind. I’ll have to go through that stuff and see if there are any clothes that would fit you two.”

§

After a lunch of bread and some kind of lettuce that grew in the shallows of the lake, Charles and Heather headed to the blacksmith shop. Amanda had given them clothing that might have been some nobles’ hunting attire.
 
The green and gray materials were soft leathers and heavy, layered, linen.

“I don’t think I could get used to wearing such tight pants,” Heather said. “We might have to venture into civilization to get some proper clothes in proper colors. I like the green, but the gray and brown are not pleasing.”

“I’m just happy to not be wearing a blanket,” Charles said.

Gus’s shop was small and tidy with piles of iron sitting behind it in a small open barn. A young man was drawing something at a desk on the opposite side of the workshop from the forge. Charles guessed it would be Gus and called out the name.

“Yes?” The man answered, setting his charcoal down. He walked over to Charles and Heather. “I’m the inn’s smith, any work you need should be requested through the barkeep, stable boy or innkeeper.”

Gus wore a red leather apron over a sooty white shirt and canvas pants. He had a lithe frame like a man who hadn’t yet reached twenty. Charles, though only twenty, had a thicker body. Perhaps Gus spent more time planning and less time swinging the hammer, Charles reasoned.

“Amanda sent us over to help you get those decorative dragons done,” Heather said.

Gus looked at Charles and nodded, “You look like a blacksmith. As long as you know what you’re doing and stay out of my way when I need to be at the anvil, have at it. The iron’s out back. I only use iron from the Red Clans, so don’t waste it.” Gus appraised them again, then, without another word, went back to his desk and picked up his charcoal.

“What did he mean that you look like a blacksmith?” Heather asked as they walked around back to pick out some iron from the barn. “You look like Charles to me.”

Charles pointed to the back of his wrist. “Strong muscles here mean that I’m either a blacksmith or a carpenter. He pointed to a different part of his hand, here would mean I’m a swordsman.”

“I guess the muscular shoulders don’t hurt,” Heather said. “Only Gus isn’t as muscular as you, I wouldn’t have noticed the same muscles on him.”

“Maybe maintaining an inn takes less smithy work than maintaining a coal mine.” Charles ventured.

Gus had a few long rods of iron among his stock so Charles picked half a dozen of them and headed back inside. The coals were barely warm, so he stirred them up and started pumping the bellows. He showed Heather how to pull the rope quick enough to speed the heating but not so fast as to burn away the coal closest to the bellows. He didn’t need to explain the whys to her; he’d done that several times in the past.

While the forge heated up, he stepped over to a rack of tools and looked for the right tongs, hammers and cutting chisels. A thick layer of dust covered the tool rack as he leaned over to blow the dust off, he paused.

“Heather, come here,” he said.

She left the bellows and stepped beside him. “What?”

“The tools,” Charles said. “Look.”

“Gus needs a maid,” Heather said.

“It’s not about what he needs,” Charles said. “It’s about what he doesn’t need.”

Heather looked at him like she didn’t want to play the guessing game.

“Something wrong?”
Gus asked. He’d stepped over to the forge and pumped the bellows a couple times. “I should have two pairs of round stock tongs.”

“Oh!” Heather said. She elbowed Charles. She then said to Gus, “But you’re not sure?” With barely a pause she continued, “You’re not sure because you don’t use your tools.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply.” Gus seemed nervous. Charles understood why.

“I’m implying you can do this,” Heather grabbed one of the iron rods and heated it to a red glow.”

“Of course I can,” Gus said. “Why didn’t you answer the Wizard call?”

“Wizard call?”
Heather asked.

“You don’t know,” Gus said. “Well you should. When I said I only use Red Clan stock, you are supposed to respond, ‘Well, it is the hottest.’ That’s how we know we’re both Wizards. The red apron is a hint to ask about the Red Clan iron too.”

“I didn’t know,” Heather said. “I thought I was the only one.”

“You need to be trained,” Gus said. “You need to get to Melnith or Grabarden and seek one of the schools.”

“There are schools?” Heather asked. “I thought Wizards were extinct.”

“There are two, and they’re very secretive.” Gus put a finger to his lips. “Find a Wizard in one of those cities using the phrase I taught you and they’ll take you to the school.”

“I will,” Heather said.

“Do it soon,” Gus said. “More often than not, when a Wizard is untrained, they explode, usually killing themselves and sometimes blowing their homes apart, killing their families too.

“We might be too late for that,” Charles said. “Only when Heather had her incident, she destroyed a town.”

“And she survived?” Gus said. “Lady, you have too much power. Get trained and until you do, find some trollswart. It’s a relaxing herb that will help keep you calm.” He walked over to the tools and shook his head. “I guess the dust is a bit suspicious.”

“And your muscles are too small,” Charles said. “I see you keep your forge burning as a ruse, but you should do some of your work manually to help with the charade. It will build your muscles up a bit, which would also help.”

“Can you teach me anything?” Heather asked.

“I could,” Gus said. “But, without the proper training you will be dangerous with anything I’d show you. Training starts with several seasons of emotion control exercises, I really don’t want an untrained Wizard around me that long, especially not one that took down a town. You can get those dragons finished, but after that, get yourself to a school.”

CHAPTER 7: PANTROS

The sun had just set when Pantros and Tara crossed the bridge over the Backflow River into the town of Stonewall. By the smell, Pantros could tell it was a fishing town. The largest building in the town was also the only Inn. The Backwards Trout drowned out the smell of rotting fish with the smell of cooked fish and mulled wine. As he expected, Sheillene was sitting on a chair atop a table by the hearth, strumming her mandolin. The gathered crowd was far sparser than a night at the Hedgehog and Pantros and Tara had no difficulty finding a table close to the makeshift stage.

Sheillene silenced her instrument and stepped down from the table, apologizing to the crowd for cutting her first set short. She walked over and sat beside Tara. “I would not have expected to see you outside of your Inn, let alone this far west.”

“It’s only a day’s travel west,” Tara said. “But, I’ve never been here before. We’ve had something happen. Or maybe I should say Pantros got himself in a bit of trouble.”

“Someone finally caught you and you’re on the run?” Sheillene asked.

Pantros laughed. “I didn’t get caught.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Tara said. “You got caught, but more as in caught in a trap than caught misbehaving.”

“This sounds sticky,” Sheillene said. “Is there a story in it? I’m always looking for fresh stories to tell.”

“It’s not much of a story yet,” Pantros said. “But, if you let us travel with you as you head west, I am sure there will be more stories.”

“I can make the trek alone because I can avoid danger. But I can’t make that promise for three of us.” Sheillene’s glance fell on Pantros, her eyes narrowed and she nodded. “I could take Pantros alone. I know enough about what he can do to trust him to not be in the way of danger.”

“I’m not leaving my brother alone,” Tara said. “With my parents gone, he’s all I have.”

Sheillene took a deep breath then let out a long sigh. “I do know a safe route, but it will take six days longer than my usual path. I can take you along, but you’d have to cover my missed wages. I’m sorry to say I need the money. My mother and sister are living alone on a small farm and its good enough for food, but they need me to buy
them
clothes and tools.”

Pantros pulled a handful of coins from a pouch and splashed them on the table. Gold and silver glistened in the candle light. A few coins rolled to the floor. “I don’t know what a bard makes, but I suspect this should be enough.”

As every eye in the taproom turned to their table, Sheillene covered the pile of coins with her body.
“Pan!
You can’t show that much money, even in a quiet town like this.” She gathered the coins under her and pulled them into the skirt of her dress. “You’ve just bought my service as a guide for the next year, probably longer. My first advice is to keep your money hidden. Never let anyone know you can afford to throw a handful of gold around like that.
Never.”

A man in an apron approached the table, stopping briefly to bend over and pick a few coins of the floor. He placed three of the five coins he picked up on the table. Pantros noticed his clumsy attempt to hide that he kept the others in his hand. “Lady Sheillene,” the man said, “My patrons were expecting entertainment…”

Sheillene interrupted him, saying, “I know, I’ll get back on the stage.”

The barkeep put a hand on her shoulder. “Actually, you seem busy here. If you’d prefer to pay for your stay, I do have a young pair of performers from the village who would like the stage if you’re not using it.”

“That’s fine,” Sheillene said. “How much is a room? It’s been half a century since I paid for a room.”

“Two rooms,” Pantros said. “I happen to know the going rates for Inn rooms fairly well. I’m sure it would be far less
than the two gold you hold in your hand for both rooms and meals for the three of us
.”

The barkeep nodded and peered into his hand. “Yes, of course.” He set one of the coins back on the table. “I promise the service and food will be excellent. I’m not so sure about the entertainment but the boys have made three trips here in the past season and they’re actually quite good, though they don’t draw your crowd. Since your crowd is already here, they might benefit from a large audience.”

Sheillene winced. “You mean we’re going to have to put up with amateurs? Maybe I could return to the stage.”

“No,
Sheillene,
let them play,” Tara said. “There are things we need to tell you about -- things that happened this morning after you left that make our journey a necessity.”

Sheillene looked up at the barkeep, “Fine, Ned, let them have the stage.”

The barkeep walked to another table where two men sat. The two men picked up guitars and headed to the table Sheillene had used as a stage. One of the men was larger than any man Pantros had ever seen. Pantros best friend Bryan had been a head taller than Bouncer and that musician looked more than a head taller than Bryan. The other man looked normal, even somewhat familiar.

“Thomas?” Tara asked, barely loud enough for Pantros to hear her across the table.

“That does look like him,” Sheillene said. “But his clothing is not of the quality I’d expect of my mentor, and Thomas never wore his hair that long. I spent some time learning the trade from Thomas a decade ago. Like anyone else, I haven’t seen him in eight years, and that does look a lot like him, but it can’t be him. I’d know.”

“I knew Thomas better than you, Sheillene.” Tara said. “That’s him.”

“I spent every night for almost a year on the same stage with Thomas Boncanta. Thomas wouldn’t go on stage without his lucky hat or with such a poorly made guitar.”

“That stage was my stage.
The stage where he left his guitar when he disappeared.
I spent every night for two years in the same bed with Thomas,” Tara said. “I’d know my husband’s face.”

Pantros vaguely remembered a bard named Thomas that spent a lot of time at the Hedgehog when Pantros was a boy. He didn’t know his sister had been married.

“You were married to Thomas?” Sheillene asked. “When he ran off, he was your husband?”

Tara nodded. “And I’m going to go find out where he went.” Tara nudged Sheillene, but the bard didn’t get up.

She continued to block Tara’s egress from the booth. “Let him play, then we’ll know for sure.”

“I do know,” Tara said. Her voice seethed. “I love him, how could he just leave me like that?” Tara struggled to push Sheillene out of the way.

“Wait.” Sheillene’s voice was stern and even. She grabbed Tara by the arms. “Thomas Boncanta was the greatest bard ever to travel the lands. We don’t even know this boy’s name.”

“My name is Thomas Miller.” The small man with the guitar announced, sitting in the chair on the table. “This is my friend Marc.” Marc stood beside the table.

“That’s my Thomas; he’s so dead if he doesn’t have a good explanation for disappearing on me.” Tara tried started to climb onto the table, but Sheillene held her back.

“Let him sing,” she said. “No one I’ve ever seen could enthrall an audience like Thomas. In his performance we will know him if he’s Thomas Boncanta. He said his name is Thomas Miller and you and I both know that Thomas Boncanta cannot speak untruth.”

“But Thomas…” Tara started, but was cut off when Thomas started to sing. His first song was a silly romantic romp. Pantros found the bard far more interesting than any other performer he’d seen at the Hedgehog or anywhere else. About a dozen songs later, Thomas set his guitar down and reached for a jug of mead.

Tara scrambled over the table, but Sheillene caught her by the shirt before she could take two steps toward the stage. Tara took a ring from her finger and turned back to Sheillene. “Thomas’ real name is Miller. It’s the name we used when we were married.” She handed the ring to Sheillene. “Read the inside.”

Sheillene read aloud, “Tara and Thomas Miller, Spring First.” She let go of Tara’s dress.

Pantros’ sister nearly ran to the stage. She stepped up and slapped Thomas.

“Ma’am,” Thomas said. “I’ve never encountered an angry member of my audience before. Did something I sing offend you?”

“You know who I am,” Tara seethed. “Where did you go? Why didn’t you come back?”

Thomas’ large partner slunk back from the argument and headed to the bar.

The other patrons at the Inn seemed to suddenly remember their drinks as well and most of them headed to refill. Pantros just watched the argument on the stage.

“Miss, I’ve never met you,” Thomas said. “I don’t know who you are.”

Tara stumbled back and Pantros could see her expression fall from anger to
shattered
. “You,” Tara stammered, “You can lie now?”

“I am not lying?” Thomas said. “But, why would you think I could not lie?”

“I’m your wife. I know everything about you.” Tara’s voice was quiet, unsure. Then with more conviction she said. “You cannot speak an untruth. Tell me I’m not your wife.”

Thomas nodded. “I’m…” he seemed lost for words. His brow furrowed.
Three more times he opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t speak.”

“I don’t remember having a wife,” he finally managed to say. Then very slowly, each word came out with clear effort, he said, “But, something is telling me I do and you are she. I don’t understand. I need more mead.” He picked up his jug and took several gulps.

“You forgot me?” Tara slapped Thomas again. “You’ve been around for thousands of years and can remember the words to ten times that many songs but you can’t remember your wife from ten years ago?”

“This is my Hundred and Thirtieth summer,” Thomas said. “I haven’t married anyone yet, but somehow I believe your story to be truth and that I am, somehow, your husband.”

“Now I don’t understand.” Tara said.

“Excuse me,” The barkeep approached the stage with a small ornate box in one hand.

“I’ll get back to playing soon,” Thomas said.

“Thank you,” The barkeep said, “But I just remembered that I had something for you. Several years ago you gave me this box and asked that I return it to you when I saw you get slapped on stage. I didn’t understand, but you paid me to do it, so I kept the box.” He handed Thomas the ornately carved golden box.

Thomas opened it. Pantros couldn’t see what was in the box from as far from the stage as he was, but he didn’t have to guess long. Thomas pulled up a ring that matched Tara’s. Pantros had seen that ring on his sister every day for as long as he could remember. He should have recognized it as a wedding ring, but he had no reason to think his sister was married.

“I think that I need to think,” Thomas said. “And I think best while I’m performing. Now, Tara, I assume that’s your name written inside this ring, I think we should talk after the show.”

Tara glared at Thomas a moment then said, “If you try to run again, you won’t get far. I have the best tracker in the world with me.” She pointed to the table where Pantros sat. Sheillene waved at Tara and Thomas.

“I won’t run,” Thomas said. “I am curious as to how this was done.”

“Ready?” Marc asked, handing Thomas his guitar.

Tara left the makeshift stage and made it back to the booth before the next set started. Sheillene slid to the inside, letting Tara sit by the edge.

“Are you as confused as I am?” Tara asked Sheillene. She picked her own ring off the table and after reading the inside again, placed it back on her finger.

“More so.”
Sheillene said.

Then the music started again. Pantros fell into the songs and stories coming from the stage. When the hours had passed and the music stopped, Pantros left his sister to talk to her Thomas, and found their guest room. He secured the window and the door and placed brass coins on them so, were either opened, a coin would fall to the floor and alert him.