Lund didn’t waste much time talking, and Isa didn’t waste much breath asking questions. Lund kept an easy pace, which Isa knew was prudent. She wanted to get to Mery quickly, but she’d had no sleep and little food over the last 24 hours, so what little reserves she had needed to be banked for later.

“It’s not 2 hours from here,” Lund said. “So eat. My old captain used to say ‘Meat for your feet, bread for your battle.’”

“You were a soldier?” Isa ripped into a sausage and chewed.

“For awhile.”

The sun rose as they traveled, and Isa resisted the urge to look at her notebook every 10 minutes to check the time. They had plenty of time, Lund assured her. They would get to the house with about 20 hours to spare.

“Which is a good thing,” he said. “We’re not charging in, swords swinging.”

“Right,” Isa said although that’s what she’d expected to do. What other options were there?

She had plenty of time to think about strategy and to worry about what they might find when they finally arrived at the house. But sooner than she’d expected Lund stopped and turned to Isa. “It’s up there,” he pointed to a distant speck.

On a ridge sat a house - at least the outline of a house. From this distance it was hard for Isa to be certain about any details.

“That’s still so far away. Are you sure? I mean what did Anne say exactly?”

“Enough. Enough for me to know that’s the place.” He shrugged off his pack and pulled out a whetstone. “Now we rest and prepare.” He sat cross legged and sharpened his greatsword.

Isa pulled a piece of bread from one of the rounds, more to have something to do with her hands than for hunger. “Do I need to do that?” She pointed at the whetstone.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Yeah. Rapiers, they’re for stabbing, but you can cut a man with a sharp tip. Don’t I know it!” He patted the ground beside him. “Lesson 1. Watch my hands. Smooth, long strokes.” He passed his hand along the edge of his sword. “Like you’re petting a cat, yeah?”

Isa pulled her rapier from its scabbard and sat beside him. She laid her weapon across her lap, mimicking Lund.

“You’ll need a stone. Where’d you go for the blade, Gimble? Little bastard should have given you one.” Lund shook his head. “When we get back, we’ll stop by there. Every fighter needs a stone. Gotta be able to keep your tools at the ready.”

He showed Isa how to run the stone along the top part of the rapier’s blade, and soon she felt confident in her motions. The scrape of the stone on metal was somehow soothing instead of grating.

“I like to think while I sharpen,” Lund said softly. “I kinda miss this part. The pre-fight quiet. Me, my blade, my thoughts.”

“Why’d you retire,” Isa asked. Maybe that was rude, too prying, too personal, but she kept her eyes on her hand and the motion of the stone, and finally Lund said, “There’s only so much blood a man can spill before it changes him.” Isa felt him shift beside her. “I felt it,” he went on. “I felt my brain changing, my thoughts, so I laid it down.”

Isa nodded. “I feel it, too. Already I feel that. Lund, I-- I killed a couple of people in Hanchen. I did spare one guy, maybe I shouldn’t have. But I did it. I killed them. I took life away. Days ago I was cleaning people’s teeth, and today I’m planning to spill blood, more blood. Not because I want to! I feel like I have to. You know?” She turned toward Lund. “I’m not, like thirsty for blood or vengeance. I just - somehow Mery asked for my help. I still don’t get that, but it’s there in my quest log, and I--”

Lund laid a hand on Isa’s shoulder. “Be still. Breathe.”

Isa let out a long jagged breath.

“In this land,” said Lund, “sometimes you have to do hard things.” He shrugged. “Doing hard things can make you hard, but it doesn’t have to. You get to choose. No one else. You.”

For a moment there was only the sound of the wind in the trees.

Lund took the whetstone from Isa’s hand. “Life is a whetstone. Things that happen - do they dull you or keen you?”

With that he stood and slipped the whetstone into a little pouch at his side. “Let’s take a closer look.”