Paul Thompson - The Middle of Nowhere

“Well, carry some steel for me then!” Raika protested. She tried to manage five bars, but one slipped out of her arms and fell ringing on the floor.

In the end she loaded her horse and the pack animal with ten ingots, two hundred pounds of steel. Each bar bore the stamp of the mining guild, certifying its purity and hardness. When Raika returned to her island home, she wouldn’t have enough to buy the office of Grand Mariner, but she would have enough to purchase and outfit her own ship. She would be a captain at last.

By early afternoon they were back on the trail, riding down the ravine to the plain. Robien, who hadn’t asked before, queried Howland about Ezu.

“He left. You know Ezu,” he said. “He did leave you a parting gift.” Reaching into his saddlebag, Howland brought out the saffron spectacles. “Ezu wanted you to have these.”

The elf would not take them. “I must rely on my own skills, the ancient ways of my people, and not a conjurer’s tricks.”

Howland shook his head. “They’re a tool, like any other. You carry a steel sword, which your forebears did not know. Would you give up steel to be more like your ancestors?”

They argued good-naturedly for some time, and Robien finally accepted Ezu’s spectacles.

On level ground, Howland stopped his horse. Already Robien had turned his mount south, toward the forest lands of his birth, while Raika faced north, toward the distant sea. Howland faced dead ahead, due west.

“This is where we part,” he said.

“Come to Saifhum,” Raika urged. “A man of courage and wits can do well there.”

“Ride south, if you wish,” countered Robien. “In the forest, all are free.”

Howland thanked them, but declined both offers. “The time is right for me to return to Solamnia, the land of my long-ago youth. I’ve cleansed my soul of the stain of collaboration. The steel in my saddlebags will buy me a small homestead, and there I will live out my remaining years. I shall till my own field,” he said, “and raise the food I eat.”

“You, sergeant? A farmer?” asked Raika ironically.

“It’s an honest life.”

He shook hands with Robien and wished the elf success. Robien managed a cryptic smile, saying, “Only one bounty has ever escaped me.”

“Amergin?” Howland said.

“He died in the battle,” Raika added unnecessarily.

“Yes. The Brotherhood of Quen will be very disappointed.”

The old soldier said, “Everyone needs one failure in their life. It keeps you humble.”

With a final wave, Robien galloped away. Following the lowest contour of the land, he soon disappeared in the distance.

“Farewell, old man,” Raika said. She put a strong hand behind his neck and pulled him roughly to her. She kissed him on his stubbled cheek.

“Farewell, sailor. I didn’t think we could do it, but we did.”

She wrapped the reins of her mount and the pack horse around her fist. Patting the bars of steel in her saddlebags, Raika said, “Next time you go recruiting, leave me out, will you? The pay was good, but the hours were terrible!”

She moved off at a stately walk, unwilling to tired her burdened animals. It took a long time for the Saifhumi woman to pass out of view, but Howland remained where he was until he was alone on the plain.

The setting sun stabbed at his eyes. Hitching the brim of his old felt hat down low, Howland started for home.