Terce, Eleventh Day Before Kalends of May

Underground Tunnels of Garret, Tarrin, Drum

As Logan walked down the hallway towards his employer Garret’s office, only a few dared to glance at his way. All else looked away and pretended to busy themselves.

So they all knew, thought Logan.

He reached the end of the hallway, where there was a large black door with ornate golden bas-reliefs that twisted and turned into the shape of a golden double-edged spear, the weapon that Helion himself had supposedly wielded. The guard had seen Logan approaching and had already fled. Logan kicked the door open, breaking its golden lock.

The room was small and poorly lit, containing only a minute desk piled high with paperwork. It smelled oppressively of Grayan tobacco. A large, bearlike man, about fifty or so years old, with a full, grizzly beard, sat hunched behind this desk, making the desk look all the more dinky and ridiculous. He was hastily scribbling something, and held out an impossibly large palm towards Logan, signalling him to wait. When he was done he looked up and met Logan’s eye. He gave Logan a devilish grin.

“I heard of what happened,” said Garret. “I apologise on behalf of my men.”

Logan stood, motionless, staring at Garret without a word.

“I assume they are dead,” said Garret. “Alfred, he was a clever young man. To think he would be foolish enough for something like this… Greed blinds all men. Perhaps it cannot be helped, as your bounty easily exceeds one year’s wages.”

“Did you know,” said Logan.

“No,” said Garret.

“Do you know who paid him.”

“I do not know of anything like that,” said Garret. “But this is my responsibility and I must pay for it. I cannot surrender my life passively, however. That would not be honourable, since the livelihoods of many men depend on me. But I would willingly face you if you were to make an attempt at my life, and no doubt you will be successful. Before that, however, I must give you this.”

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Garret reached under his feet and produced an incredibly long fauchard.

“I made this for you personally,” said Garret, stepping forward from behind the desk. “At first I wanted to give you a spear, but since you’ve wielded a sword all your life the transition may be too abrupt. Think of this as an intermediary step. You need to be a spear-wielder. Striking manoeuvres augment your Connexion more than slicing manoeuvres. Do you understand what I mean?”

Logan did not reply, taken aback.

“Take it,” said Garret.

Logan took it. The spear was light to the point of making him uneasy. Not only the blade, but the shaft also was forged of metal, allowing the whole weapon to conduct Logan’s lightning. Logan loosened his Connexion with his Body and his Mind explored the weapon with new, tentative Connexions. It was always exhilarating exploring a new weapon like this, Sensing all its edges and continuities. Then he placed his left hand on the hilt of his sword. Connexions that had formed from its many swings, including from the massacre earlier in the day, made his Mind surge.”

Garret reached his arms around Logan and fastened a leather strap on his back. Logan slid the fauchard into the strap. He turned his body left and right and found that the fauchard was fixed to his back without the slightest discomfort.

“You never cease to amaze me,” said Logan.

“I could say the same to you,” said Garret. “Now, challenge me into a duel, if you wish.”

“You know I would not do that,” said Logan.

Garret smiled. “A good gift can save a life.”

“I did not come here to kill you,” said Logan. “I came here to say my farewells.”

He held out a hand to Garret.

Without shaking it, Garret said, “and there is no possibility of you remaining. “

“No,” said Logan.

“You must work,” said Garret. “To work is the reason all of us were born. Without work there is nothing. In that alone there is inconceivable value in work.”

“Yes,” said Logan uneasily.

“So I ask once more,” said Garret. “Stay with me.”

“I cannot,” said Logan. “I cannot afford to kill any more of your men.”

Garret nodded. He seemed to think deeply about something for a moment, then shook Logan’s still outstretched hand and gave him a strange little smile. “If your fauchard breaks, you know where to find me again,” he said.

“I know that it will never break,” said Logan, smiling back.

After a moment’s hesitation, taking in the bittersweet moment of a farewell, Logan turned and left. He did not look back, out of respect.