A. Searle - The King's sword

It had been a long time since Ronan had eaten such a meal. The aroma of fried meat had roused him from bed and brought a rumble from his stomach that clearly spoke that it had been neglected such luxury. Breakfast usually consisted of cold bread and lukewarm milk. He’d made sure to tell her twice what good food it was and complimented her on the seasoning. At first she’d seemed shocked, but by the end of the meal, she only smiled at his efforts to show appreciation.

If Keegan was impressed, he said nothing. Instead, he sat down and began piling food on his plate. Ronan imagined from the size of him, he would demolish a good bit of what was left. He was thankful. Ronan was never one who approved of waste.

“Since none of you have ever been to Merisgale, I feel obligated to tell you this will not be an easy trek,” Keegan spoke around a mouthful of boar. “There are places of magic that we must pass through or near. You must always be on guard. And then there is Sledgewood and River Blanch.”

“River Blanch,” Ula echoed in a whisper that trembled through the air like a hollowing note in a winter wind. “I’ve been that way before. Many years ago. I’d hoped I’d never have to walk that way again.”

“Why?” Arien leaned toward the witch when she sat down heavily at the table. Her fingers held a stone that she ran her thumb back and forth over. Ronan wondered if it was a nervous movement or another secret spell.

“Not much frightens me. That water scared me so I felt I would die.” Ula bowed her head causing Ronan to frown. Maybe that was before she knew of rat feet and mule manure.

“It is one of most difficult parts of the journey.” Keegan nodded in agreement. “It only takes fifteen minutes to cross but it feels like…”

“Eternity,” Ula finished in a low voice.

“How do you mean?” Arien pressed.

“Imagine reliving your worst memory for fifteen minutes from the eyes of someone who hates you.” Ula looked at the boy. “Now multiply that by ten.” Arien paled and fell silent, clearly frightened of her explanation.

“When will we pass through that way?” Ronan asked.

“If we are lucky we’ll be past it in eight days.” Keegan looked at Ronan. “Have you never been anywhere outside of this place?”

“I am a blacksmith. People come to me,” Ronan answered pointedly. “I have been places but nowhere that has the magic of the likes which she describes. Is there no way around this River Blanch?”

“No.”

“What is Sledgewood? Is it just as scary?” Arien asked.

“It isn’t if you do not disturb the trees. They are guarded by Sledgers…well, that’s what they’ve been called.” Keegan shoveled more food into his mouth. “If you keep to their good side, they won’t bother you. Do wrong…well, let’s just say that pain can do a lot to a person and the Sledgers are experts about making you realize that fact.”

“I rather like the idea of the river better.” Ronan glanced at Ula when she shook her head as she shivered. Maybe her rat foot wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“I’ve traveled this road many times. You shall make it to Merisgale alive,” Keegan said when he glanced up at Ronan. “It was wise that you asked for someone to lead you. You may have died before you got half way. There are many dangers to be aware of. I know them all by heart.”

Ronan nodded, for once in agreement with the horseman and thankful now that the man was going with them.

Ronan lifted his eyes to a sun that had no mercy on the morning. Only four hours upon the horse, and his body was already silently cursing at him for the unfamiliar strain. He shifted in an attempt to ease some of the soreness in his legs and back. He was not soft but he was no rider.

Glancing at Arien and the witch, he found them visibly as uncomfortable as he felt. Keegan was the only one of them that seemed at ease upon the great beasts. He frowned. The man had sneered at the difficulty Ronan had suffered when mounting. He would not give the horseman the satisfaction of knowing he was having trouble again. Instead he would wait for one of the others to call for a break.

The heat did nothing to ease his discomfort. In fact, it made it worse. The strong smell of the animal seemed to intensify beneath the smoldering rays. Stinking, sweaty, and sore, Ronan’s mood darkened with every miserable moment. When Keegan began to whistle ahead of them, Ronan felt like running him through with the damnable sword he carried.

“Do you think the horses may need to stop? They might need water in this heat?” Arien was the first to break and Ronan let out a breath, for once thankful to hear that uneven pitch in the boy’s voice.

“Not Dulcet horses. They can go for many more hours without stopping,” Keegan called back without turning. Ronan considered asking Ula to throw her Mule rock at the back of Keegan’s big red head.

“Many of my customers purchase Dulcets when traveling the yellow sands of Golythia,” Keegan continued. “There are miles there with no place to stop and drink.”

“We are not Dulcet Horses and apparently they can also hold their water a little longer than some of us,” Ula snapped and Ronan grinned when Keegan looked back and sighed heavily with irritation. Nevertheless, he called for the horses to stop.

Ronan waited until the others dismounted and Ula was well into the trees before finally swinging down from Sorcha’s back. He forced himself not to groan with the relief he felt in his leg muscles. Instead, he checked the pack secured to Sorcha’s saddle, pretending interest in its integrity.

“She likes you, Culley.” Keegan stepped toward him and Ronan looked up, raising a brow. “You can tell by how still she stands. If she didn’t like you, she would have moved away once you were on the ground.”

“She has good taste.” Ronan gave the horse’s head a pat. Only after he turned to face the horseman did she wander off to the patch of grass where Ahearn and Dermot were grazing. All three bent their heads close as they nibbled at the green.

“Looks like they are talking to one another,” Ronan observed, wondering what Sorcha would say about him. He remembered what Keegan had said about them sensing things about their riders. He imagined they were probably snickering over the aches their riders would have that night.

“Some call it whispering grass when they do that,” Keegan told him, then faced Arien. “How are you doing, boy?”

“I hurt all over,” Arien answered, and then straightened when his gaze darted to Ronan. “But I am young and strong. I adapt well.” As if to prove his words as the truth, he turned and walked toward the woods with no expression.

“He cares what you think of him.” Keegan faced Ronan again. “He is a good apprentice?”

“Yes.” Ronan smiled. “He works hard and does what he is told. His mistakes have been minor and he learns from them quickly.”

“Damn.” Keegan glanced toward the trees where Arien disappeared. “I wish he’d stumbled onto the ranch. I’m always looking for young men who are willing to work.” Ronan stood a little taller, feeling a bit of pride that it had been his stable that Arien had decided to sleep in.

“Next one I come across I’ll send your way.” Ronan saw Keegan’s gaze slant at him. Slowly his lips twisted.

“The boy and woman cannot see. Stretch your legs. It will be a long day’s ride,” the horseman advised and Ronan wanted to hit him.

“What do you mean?”

“Anyone unaccustomed to riding is sore for the first couple of days.” Keegan’s grin widened. “I expected you to fold hours ago. I’d seen you before when I would travel the road past your place. I admit I wondered at what kind of man you were. You’ve got grit on your spine. I’ll give you that.”