A. Searle - The King's sword

He jerked his head toward the trees. “Made those other two ride an agonizing wait but they did it. You didn’t seem much of a leader type to me, but there have been occasions when I’ve been wrong before.”

“I’m no leader. I’m a blacksmith. And I didn’t say anything because you are a smug bastard with a big mouth,” Ronan snapped, angry that his pride was so easily injured by Keegan. He’d hoped the horseman wouldn’t guess of his pains.

“Blacksmith or not, that boy wouldn’t have opened his mouth again if it wasn’t for the woman and she would not have at all had her bladder been younger.” Keegan didn’t seem offended at Ronan’s insult. “They were following you.”

“I didn’t ask them to.” Ronan finally gave in and bent sideways, stretching the tight muscles of his back. The movement sparked a new pain, one he welcomed that stretched and released the tension that had formed in his body.

“A true leader doesn’t have to ask.” Keegan shrugged his large shoulders. Ronan had to think about that. They saw him as a leader? He supposed out of the three, he was the most likely to lead, but still he wasn’t certain he liked the responsibility that came with that. It seemed that with each passing moment the King’s Sword brought more and more complicated obligations to his otherwise simple life.

“You would follow me?” Ronan bent to the other side and allowed himself one low groan of relief.

“As long as you were riding one of my horses I would.” Keegan’s grin parted, revealing his uneven white teeth. “I’m not a follower though. I’m a man of business and make my own way.”

Ronan grunted an answer as he straightened, eyes moving to Ula as she stepped from the trees with Arien.

“So how did you come to be a blacksmith? It would seem someone who has leadership qualities would have been sent to Merisgale to train as a guard,” Keegan wondered aloud.

“Training takes money that my family did not have. My father died when I was young. Smithing came very natural to me. I’ve always enjoyed working with metals, crafting fine weaponry for those more fortunate than my family. And it put food in mine and my mother’s stomach.” Ronan glanced down at the hard leather boots that Keegan wore. “Those boots alone are worth more than we had to live on in a year.”

Keegan’s eyes widened slightly. “I cannot be blamed for doing well for myself.”

Ronan winced guiltily and shook his head. “No, you cannot,” he agreed. “And you? You have always been a horseman?” Ronan watched as Ula offered the boy some of the dried meat she’d brought along. Her fingers combed at his unruly hair but he did not seem bothered by her fuss.

“Not always. For only the last ten years,” Keegan told him.

“And before that?”

“Those horses saved me from the man I was before that.” The horseman turned, offering no more explanation than that, and headed back toward his own mount. Ronan studied the man as he walked away. It had been easy to hate Keegan Yore when he thought of the wealthy rancher with a suspicious, greedy nature. Seeing him now as more man than ogre, Ronan felt some of the hard edge he’d built up start to chip away.

“Hungry?” Ula was suddenly at his side, offering a couple of strips of dried meat. Ronan took the food and bit into it, eyes dropping to Ula when the flavor of the seasoned meat hit his taste buds. She was waiting for his approval he realized.

“It’s good. How did you cook this?” Ronan asked. “It’s not another piece of that unfortunate rat is it?”

Ula’s mouth curled, creating new wrinkles around her lips. “You wouldn’t know the difference if it was. It’s cow. The secret is to season it with herbs before its dried. I used lavender, salt, and Tesser root.” He raised a brow with surprise and took another bite. He wouldn’t have even have thought of seasoning anything with Tesser root. The smell alone when digging the root was enough to make a man gag.

“I have never known much of preparing food except to throw it over the fire until it was black. I appreciate your knowing a bit more than I,” he told her.

“I have a bad feeling.” Ula leaned closer, her face suddenly serious. “It’s gnawing in my guts. Be careful of whom you trust.” Then she turned and bustled back toward Arien.

Ronan glanced at Keegan, wondering if the warning should be taken seriously.

That night, Keegan had them set up camp in the trees, just deep enough that the road was still visible. Ronan, despite the witch’s warning, had no choice but to trust the horseman’s decision. He did, however, station himself directly across from Keegan just in case the man meant to do any of them harm. It would be easier to keep an eye on him that way.

Ula, as before, went off in search of food to prepare, leaving the men to build a fire and tend the horses. She returned within thirty minutes to Ronan’s surprise with a few rabbits. He wondered at what kind of hunting technique she used but forgot to ask as he watched her begin to clean and prepare the beasts for food.

She pulled a tiny blade from a pocket of her dress just large enough to slip beneath the animal’s skin but sharp enough to cut a clean line in the fur. The witch then, using fingers and knife, began peeling back the skin, exposing the muscle and fat of the small beast.

Ronan shook his head as she continued stripping the skin away. She was every man’s dream woman wrapped in the ugliest body possible and given a sharp tongue that could make him almost hate her. In moments, she was placing the rabbits on a spit over the flames and the aroma of meat cooking filled the air around them.

“Maybe after this is all over, we can keep her on,” Arien suggested, his eyes following her every movement as she starting shaking her bag of herbs over the meat. “I could grow used to her cooking.”

“What good would a fat apprentice be to me?” Ronan slanted a gaze at Arien and smiled. The boy had taken to Ula as quickly as he had the blacksmith. Ronan suspected without any family that it was natural for Arien to seek those kinds of relationships with whomever he could. Ronan already felt somewhat like a father to the boy. And the way Ula had watched after Arien during the day, he could easily tell that she was feeling some parental responsibility for him too.

“Besides, I have no interest in waking each morning with a rat toe in my face.” Ronan saw Ula’s head turn slightly so she could look back at him. He’d quickly grown accustomed to her odd ways and it unnerved him a bit at how easy it had been to poke fun at her. He’d noticed that she did not take offense and almost seemed to enjoy his light jabs. Perhaps, like Arien, the woman was searching for a place to fit in.

Ronan glanced at the horseman to find him watching the three of them. Keegan Yore was one who never had to worry of fitting in anywhere. He was the kind people would make a place for. Ronan guessed him close to his own age, but Keegan had a more worldly air about him that sparked jealousy within Ronan. He didn’t like it.

“Someone’s on the road.” Keegan interrupted Ronan’s observations causing him to glance at Ahearn. The horse’s head was up, his eyes alert and cast toward the road. Without thinking, Ronan’s hand touched the leather that wrapped the King’s Sword.

“Be still,” Keegan hissed as if the blacksmith had no sense. Ronan frowned at the commanding tone that the horseman used. He might only be a blacksmith, and perhaps not a leader, but he wasn’t a follower either. Ronan stood, refusing to cower from whatever lurked in the growing shadows of the trees.

“Keep close to the sword, protect it at all costs,” Ronan threw over his shoulder at Ula and Arien. They both hurried forward. Ronan looked back at them when Ula planted her body atop the wrapped weapon, folding her arms. He smiled, imagining it would take an army to move her. Arien remained standing at her side.