A. Searle - The King's sword

Ronan blinked. “I just noticed something.”

“I have a mole.” She lifted a hand to the small beauty mark on the underside of her chin and Ronan grinned.

“No, I noticed that in Fullerk. Very cute.” He smiled when she flushed slightly. “No, I can see you.”

She giggled. “I can see you too.”

“But you are Serpentine. You are supposed to be able to see in the dark,” Ronan argued.

She stared at him blankly.

“I can see you as clearly as I could this morning. I wonder…”

“You don’t think that by…the Johran ritual allowed you to take on some of my changeling characteristics?”

“Perhaps. How else would I be able to see as I do? I pray I won’t have to do that shedding bit.” Ronan cocked his head to the side. “What is something else that you can do that others cannot?”

“My sense of smell is more acute,” Fiona offered. “Do you smell anything?”

“No.” Ronan shook his head.

“Stick out your tongue.” Fiona instructed.

Ronan laughed, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious.”

“It is how I can smell danger.” Her tongue whipped out, flicked, and then disappeared again.

Feeling very much like an idiot Ronan stuck out his tongue. It didn’t turn into a snake tongue but he did suddenly feel very aware of his environment.

“That dragon called Montecu is near,” Ronan said after a moment. “He’s watching us.”

“Yes, I sense him too.” Fiona nodded, her eyes suddenly glittering. “Remarkable. So if you bit Ula Baen, you might be able to gain some of her magic.”

Ronan chuckled at the devilment in Fiona’s eyes. “She would cut out my tongue if I tried to bite her.” Ronan looked around them, smiling at the night world of the moors. “This is an interesting change.” He stuck out his tongue again and after a moment Fiona giggled at him. “I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Ronan grinned.

“No…well perhaps a bit.” She giggled again. “At least it has lightened your mood. A few moments ago it would not have surprised me if you had bit Ula with the way that you were barking at her.”

“This wizard business frustrates me,” Ronan said, his eyes catching the glint of silver in the distance. So that’s where that dragon was. He lifted a hand and waved, chuckling when the dragon lifted his head and stared at him before turning to retreat farther away.

“In her defense, she was only trying to help.” Fiona brought his gaze back to her.

“I know,” Ronan groaned. “But she knows I’m not really angry with her. I do not need to explain myself to her.”

“I’ve noticed,” Fiona murmured looking away from him.

“What’s this?” He reached forward to catch her chin so he could turn her face back toward him. “You are jealous?”

“I’m not the only one.” Fiona lifted her chin then jerked her head back toward the campsite. “Everyone notices the bond you have with her. Arien is constantly in competition for your attention.”

“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” Ronan smiled. “And you? Are you in competition for my attention?”

Fiona met his gaze then shrugged. “Perhaps a bit.”

“What kind of attention?” Ronan pressed.

“Whatever you can spare, I imagine.” She shrugged again, appearing a bit embarrassed.

“Ah, I’m sorry Fiona. So that I know the next time, what do you do to win my attention?” Ronan asked softly and then blinked when she lifted her hand, revealing the two small nubs that were growing into new fingers. He tried not to smile and failed considerably, then gave in and laughed.

“Perhaps I’m a bit daft,” he admitted.

“Just a bit,” she retorted.

“I’ll try to do better. Spread my attention equally among the six of you,” Ronan vowed and Fiona smiled as she let her hand drop back to his arm. “I’ll not have my band of odd companions feel neglected.”

“Odd?” Fiona echoed and Ronan laughed again.

“A serpentine, sorceress, thief changeling, centaur, and sarcastic rancher isn’t exactly what I would immediately think of when hearing that a group was carrying The King’s Sword to Merisgale.” Ronan grinned.

“Don’t forget the stone wizard cannibal,” she said pointedly. “Claiming only to be a blacksmith the entire way.”

“I am a blacksmith. A very good one,” Ronan defended himself. “The rest is a bit harder to digest.”

“Than what? My fingers?” She raised a brow. “It is a wonderful thing to be a wizard. I don’t understand why it frightens you so much.”

“It’s the magic,” Ronan said after a moment. “When I was very young my father said that anything magic was evil. My mother and I never told him of the gifts we discovered I had. We kept it a secret and I never practiced any kind of magic in the house.”

“Oh, Ronan,” Fiona breathed.

“I had a friend, a changeling, that my father forbade me to see. He caught us fishing one morning when I was twelve. He beat us both and sent my friend home. Egle never spoke to me again.” Ronan closed his eyes. “My mother told me that he would be dangerous if he ever found out that I was a wizard. She made me swear never to use my magic again. Though I did perform little tricks as a teenager I never did anything that looked like I was using more than a magician’s illusion.”

Fiona said nothing but kept her hand on his arm.

“I let her die. She would not let me use my magic to even save her life. She starved to death after my father died. We had no one to provide for us and I wasn’t a very good blacksmith at seventeen.” Ronan swallowed loudly past the lump in his throat as he recalled his mother’s death. “She died in that room. Just withered away.”

“Ronan,” Fiona’s whisper was filled with compassion as she leaned forward and embraced him. She held him gently and for a moment he resisted her comfort. But slowly he relaxed and lowered his head to her shoulder. He allowed her to console him. No one had ever done so before. When his mother died he was left alone with no one to let him speak his misery. He’d swallowed it and buried himself in his work, vowing to become the best blacksmith possible.

“The River Blanch opened that wound. Ula held my hand when it did. Something happened that day between she and I. There was an understanding between us. Somehow she knew my pain and although I can’t recall having seen what the river showed her, I know hers.” Ronan spoke against her shoulder, tears stinging his eyes. “That is why we have such a bond.” He prayed desperately that Ula was not the one who betrayed him.

“She is doing what she does best.” Fiona’s voice was filled with realization. “She is healing you.” Ronan lifted his face and stared at Fiona.

“Little by little, I suppose she is,” he said feeling suddenly free. “And so have you. By just letting me put the pain into words.”

“Not just words,” Fiona corrected, stoking the hair of his head. “We joined, Ronan. You defied your father’s wishes and did not have to face his wrath.”

Ronan blinked. He hadn’t even considered that. Lowering his head to her shoulder again, he sighed.

Perhaps, he could be a blacksmith and a wizard.

Making the Johran huts disappear proved a much more difficult task than manifesting them. After several attempts, Ronan’s frustration showed itself in his magic, leaving the three small huts in shambles. He frowned at the mounds of earth, wood, and dry grass.

“I know!” Arien snapped his fingers. “Maybe you could make the ground just swallow up the huts now!” Ronan clamped his mouth closed to keep from snapping at the boy. He was only trying to help. Mikel the Hort rolled his eyes and shook his head.