A. Searle - The King's sword

“If it can be done then it would ease our worries,” Yarrow said. “You are a unique individual, Ronan. The centaur said you would be speaking on his behalf to the great wizard too. Do you try to help everyone you meet?”

“No more than anyone else, I imagine.” Ronan shrugged.

“You are an asset to the Johran people. Until now we’ve never had anyone of our kind who did great deeds. You are our adventurer and hope for our future.”

Ronan did not respond. The words embarrassed him and made him fearful in the same moment. He was just a blacksmith. He didn’t want to be more than that to anyone.

“Why did you agree so quickly to allow me to join the tribe? You could not know I wasn’t lying.” Ronan said after a moment.

“I could if I were looking for the truth. It is not easy to spot someone who means to do harm. But it is much easier to spot a man who does not. Your soul is clean. It was even before you ate of the flesh.” Yarro clapped him on the shoulder. “You proved me right when you had your sorceress feed our people and again when you commanded those you traveled with to offer wisdom for us to survive.”

Ronan sighed heavily. “Your words are kind.”

“My words are honest,” he argued.

Ronan spoke again after a few moments of comfortable silence stretched between them. “I want to leave at dawn.”

“So soon? Can you not stay longer?” Yarro’s disappointment was apparent.

“The sword must be taken to Merisgale quickly. Too many work against me to linger in one place for very long.” Ronan turned to Yarro. “I give you my word that I will return. If Robusk refuses to help me then I shall find a way to dig the river myself.”

Yarro smiled and shook his head. “You do not need to try and convince me, Ronan.”

“It is important to me that you know,” Ronan insisted. “I will not forget.”

“Nor will I.” Yarro held out his hand and Ronan took it. He blinked when Yarro leaned in and embraced him.

“I will walk you to the border of Johran tomorrow,” Yarro said before releasing Ronan. “I will see you on your way.”

“That means a lot to me and I appreciate it.” Ronan nodded and turned to look out at the others again. For the first time in a very long time, and in the oddest kind of place, Ronan felt an overwhelming sense of finally being somewhere he could call home.

Monty breathed in the air deeply. It was going to rain, he thought with relief and rose to his full height, stretching his legs. His green eyes slid across the moors to his brothers. They were playing with their children and Monty smiled. Two rains in one week had lightened the mood of many in his family.

His gaze drifted to the landscape. Food had become sparse. The Dragols had been forced to hunt outside the moors. He didn’t like it, preying upon those that inhabited other places. But if they did not, their kind would die out and he could not allow that.

His eyes drifted back to the youngest of his brother’s children. If the Dragols were to survive, those little ones had to be given a chance. They must be fed. He had appealed to Merisgale on the rare occasion that he was allowed an audience with the council of the wizards.

Monty scowled. He’d asked that the Dragols be given another place of residence. The only reason those few times had been granted was because man feared dragons. So Monty had been allowed to speak but they’d made their decisions before they ever heard his plea. And always he was denied.

Man had no need of dragons anymore. They did not care if the species disappeared completely. They ruled Meris. Centuries ago it was the Dragols who granted audience to man. But those days were long gone and the wisdom of the Dragols was forgotten.

A sudden sound caused Monty to snap from his thoughts and his head to jerk around. His spine stiffened as he sensed someone and his large nose found their scent easily. Yarro. His trained eyes searched the horizon then rested on the tribesman that appeared in the distance.

Monty crouched then took a running start. He leapt into the air, wings flapping powerfully around him, silver scales glinting brightly in the sunlight as he flew higher and then dipped toward the man who he recognized as the leader of the Johran people. But he was not alone.

Monty’s eyes narrowed on the man that stood ahead of the others at Yarro’s side. And then to his surprise the man lifted his eyes and looked directly at Monty. He lifted a hand and pointed at him.

Curious now, Monty dipped lower and landed, legs pumping in a run. He slowed and then stopped completely before those that stood at the edge of Johran land. Six cowered behind with wide, fearful eyes but Yarro and this man who was obviously a leader as well did not even flinch.

“Who are these that you bring here, Yarro? What is the meaning of this?” Monty demanded in a voice that vibrated through the air.

“This is my brother, The Stone Wizard Ronan of Johran,” Yarro introduced and turned to the man. “And this is Dragol Montecu.”

“Explain yourself!” Monty raised his voice, causing the earth to tremble beneath their feet. Yarro winced but the one he called a wizard did not. Interesting. Either he was very brave or very stupid.

“I am here to bring peace between the Dragols and the Johran.” It was the wizard that spoke. “Peace comes in the form of a river that will twist through the moors and empty into a lake in the Johran Hills.”

“A river?” Monty snorted loudly. “A river would take decades to dig.” He studied the man. Tall, solid build, dark hair and eyes. His hand rested on the hilt of sheathed sword. Surely he did not think that such a simple weapon would save him if Monty had it in his head to make a meal of him.

A dragon’s scales were as hard as the most solid stone. The blade of a man’s sword would bounce off of a dragon’s back easily. That was the only reason man had not turned their back on Dragols completely. Because they knew to fight the Dragols, even just the small number left, would mean a great many deaths to their own.

“I am going to Merisgale and will speak to the great wizard Robusk. With his magic, he can dig the river in only moments.”

“Robusk?” Monty cocked his silver head to the side. “Have you not heard? The wizard Robusk is missing.”

“Missing?” One of the women, the younger one Monty observed, stepped forward forgetting her fear of him. “What do you mean missing? When did this happen?”

“Weeks ago.” Monty used his magic and made himself smaller, shrinking down to the size of the centaur. “You are those carrying the sword to Merisgale.” The realization hit Monty hard and he almost took a step backward. That was not just a mere sword on the wizard’s hip. That was the King’s Sword.

“Yes,” the wizard answered, his brow pulling with a frown. “Is he missing or was he taken?”

Monty’s eyes narrowed. “He was taken but how did you guess that?”

“I had a dream several nights ago. Someone was pleading with me to hurry, to save Merisgale. I could not see him but somehow I knew it was the great wizard. He was in a dark place, chained to the wall. There was but one door and it was locked,” he supplied.

Monty sniffed. “You wizards do communicate between one another like that. I suppose it is natural. So without Robusk, you can give us no river.”

“He has given his word that he will do it even if Robusk does not help,” Yarro said quickly and then surprised Monty by stepping over the boundary between their lands. “I believe him. He has joined the Johran tribe and has worked with our people to grow food. Look into his eyes, Monty. He does not bring us lies.”

Monty’s green eyes slid back to the wizard. Yarro was no fool. He would not trust so easily. And this wizard didn’t have the look of a wizard at all. Wizards were cocky by nature, proud because of their power. No this one, this Stone Wizard, was a different breed and perhaps the only hope for saving both the Johran and Dragols from starvation.