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Glen

The Witch’s dagger

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There, Glen thought, tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth and moved in for the ‘kill’. He made one step forward, sword coming down like a cleaver at the same time, but Emerson kicked his instep before it touched the ground and send his foot right back, tripping him up. Glen’s swing went wild and the grizzly knight parried it away, lashing again before the young man could recover.

“Arggh! You fucker!” Glen groaned mightily, dropping to his knees and clasping at his torn sleeve, more scared than injured. Emerson neared him, his jaw clenched in disapproval and smacked him once upside the head.

“Pick that sword up.”

“What was that for?” Glen complained, rubbing the sore spot with a hand.

“For language unbecomin’ a noble scion.”

“You cut me!”

“Does it bleed?” Emerson asked, pulling back.

“No? But this… is ruined. That’s my only coat!”

“You’ll mend it. Pick that sword up, we ain’t finished yet.”

“Great.” Glen murmured, getting up. His pants were covered in mud and he saw a couple of workers snickering at him.

“Do you favor helping, to carry ‘em rocks back from the quarry?” Emerson asked, noticing the face he made. “Because ye complained about it plenty, yesterday.”

Glen licked his lips, thinking about it. Wiped his hands and pushed a wayward curl out of his forehead, thinking about it some more.

“Well?” Emerson inquired, seeing him stalling.

“How about hunting? I could go with Jinx tomorrow, instead of Soren,” He suggested picking the sword from where he’d dropped it. “He’s plenty strong. I would say, the man is built for lifting large stones.”

He thought it a solid argument.

Emerson smacked his lips, looking at him.

“Ever hunted anything before?”

“How hard could it be?”

“Harder than ye finishing your lessons,” Emerson replied. “So that is a no on ye going huntin’ as well. Now let me look at that blade.”

Glen puffed out disappointed, but offered him the blade.

“That was a good opening ye had there, but you announced it too early,” Emerson said, while examining his ‘father’s’ sword. “Ye keep using it like a club, ruining the edge… look at this,” He sighed and showed him the nicks at the edge, “This is… Uher helps us, this weapon needs sharpening.”

Anything to avoid getting cut, or smacked again, Glen thought, his decision made.

“Can we do it now?” Glen asked eagerly.

“Well, sure… there’s a belted grinding wheel, inside the castle,” Emerson said, still examining the gouges on the blade. “Might as well, go right now. I have seen wood axes lookin’ better than this.”

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Inside the yard, Glen stared fascinated at the sparks the grinding stone produced, every time the Knight pressed the blade to it. “Always work on the same side evenly. Roughly at a thirty degree angle,” Emerson explained, his eyes focused on the blade. “When we finish, we’ll use a bit of fine honing oil, I saw some neatsfoot back there and that whetstone, I gave ye.”

“Are all blades that sensitive?” Glen asked.

“More or less, if you use ‘em poorly. So you don’t.”

“What about Netherscourge?” That was the famed sword Reinut had given to the Order of the Golden Spears. Almost everyone knew about it.

“That’s made of Wetull steel, it’s different,” Emerson explained, stopping to check on the sharpness of the blade.

“How?”

“The… Zilan, had their way wit metals,” He glanced his way, then at Lith. She was inspecting a part of the wall they had rebuilt the previous month from the inside. Not completely, but almost three meters in height. On an unrelated note, Glen hadn’t managed to catch the elusive dwarf despite his efforts. He’d appeared sporadically, but at very inopportune times for him.

“You think… she might know how to make one?”

Their Lith was Glen’s meaning.

“I don’t think so. Maybe ye ask her, see what she says,” Emerson replied.

“So what then? Is the recipe lost, or something?” Glen asked, returning his attention on the Knight, finishing up on the grinding wheel.

“I don’t know. Some say their secret hides in the melting process, or perhaps some other element they were using, we don’t know about,” He shrugged his shoulders getting up. “A blacksmith would gush more about it, I reckon. In the end, it doesn’t matter to us. We will work wit the tools at hand.”

“Are there a lot of them left?”

“King Alistair has Endariel, I think. Some more, may lurk about. Why the interest? Are ye fixing on getting’ one for yerself?” Emerson asked.

I don’t see why the fuck not, Glen thought greedily.

“I don’t see how I could,” He answered instead.

“You could steal one, I suppose,” The Knight jested.

That’s actually not a half-bad idea.

“Hah, no way it will be easy though, right?” Glen guffawed, a smile on his face.

Emerson grunted, not as amused as the young thief. “Fetch me the honing oil, lad.” He said in a non-nonsense kind of way, ending their conversation on ancient named swords.

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Half an hour later, with the hard-working men, tiredly heading for a lunch break, Emerson stopped to discuss with Spurius Habitus and Sergeant Rolas Pontus, the man in charge of Hellfort’s normally stationed guard, easily discerned from those Lord Reeves had sent by their more worn out armor and uniforms. The topic was where they were in their repairs. Glen had to force himself to follow their conversation, his mind set on talking with Lith as soon as it was possible.

“Don’t rebuild anymore of the outer wall,” The knight suggested. “Leave that part and fix the rest of the wooden barracks inside the yard.”

“The tower’s staircase is finished, the first floor as well,” Spurius said, keeping his hands tied behind his back.

“We won’t stay in the tower for the winter, nor will we finish it in time,” Emerson grunted. “So leave that too.”

Spurius glanced towards Glen, but the young man just scratched the side of his nose without speaking. He’d nothing to offer in reality, but the ex-centurion took it as him agreeing with the Knight.

“Fine,” He relented. “What do you want to do?”

Emerson pointed at the mouth of the cleft between the escarpments, splitting the Northwall Heights mountain range in two. What the locals simply called the Hellfort Pass.

“You fear they will come still, why?” Spurius asked.

Emerson looked at the slowly watching them sergeant.

“How long since the last caravan came through?”

Rolas blinked, not expecting the question.

“Since before you came Sir Lennox,” He replied tensely.

“Relax sergeant. I just want information. You told me not many come down this road the other day.”

“That is correct Sir,” Rolas blurted, Emerson cracked a half-smile that went away as soon as it appeared. “One or two per week, less in the winter. Mostly those not wanting to pay the heavy tolls in Rida.”

The cheap bastards, Glen thought with a grin.

“Do you charge them at all?”

The sergeant blushed, which was funny as all hells Glen decided, greatly enjoying this part of the conversation.

“Not all the times.”

Hah, that’s a nice turn of phrase!

“Right,” Emerson grimaced. “So that makes it more than a month, since someone came through.”

Spurius cleared his throat.

“What are you thinking?” He asked the knight.

“I’m thinking we might want to close it for the winter.”

The old centurion blinked. “Close the pass.”

“Ye heard me right. Can you built a wall?”

“That’s more than a hundred meters from east to west,” Spurius pointed.

“Not much more,” Emerson countered.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“It depends on the wall,” His old friend haggled.

“Stone would be great.”

“We only have enough stockpiled for the foundation,” Spurius replied. “Unless you want us to bring down half the quarry in a month.”

“How about wood? Lots of redwood on the other side of the river.”

Spurius nodded. “Wood we can manage. Don’t expect the walls of Yepehir, but we can manage a three-four meter barricade. Perhaps we’ll put beams every five meters, leave parapets, if we have the time.”

“How much time?”

Spurius Habitus frowned, glanced at Glen, who stared back at him with the calm assurance befitting a lord and sighed. “A month… if we hurry.”

“Will the winter be a problem?” Emerson inquired.

“It will be cold and windy, but it rarely snows this side of the mountains. I hope the Gods keep it the same this year.” Spurius replied.

“Then that’s what we will do, right young lord?” The knight was looking at him and Glen froze for a moment, unsure what had happened. Fortunately he snapped out of it fast.

“It’s… ahm, a great plan, Sir Lennox. I approve it,” Glen said formally, under the amused stare of Emerson.

“What if we don’t hold them?” Rolas asked and Glen frowned. This was a legitimately important question.

“We retreat,’ Emerson replied and turning to the old Centurion asked. “Can you spike the bridge?”

“As in bring it down?” Spurius probed.

Glen perked up at that. Bring the bridge down? What madness was this?

“If need be.”

“I can remove some of the piers, weaken the floor beams, while leaving enough to use it sparingly.”

How about safely? Glen thought with a glare at the old engineer.

“We must be able to collapse it quickly,” Emerson insisted, set firm on destruction.

“It can be done. All you need is a couple of men with sledgehammers pounding exactly where I tell them,” Spurius explained with a shrug, as if it was nothing.

“Alright. If the worst happens, we can evacuate most of our people through the bridge, bring it down after to delay the Cofols for…” He trailed after the last word unsure.

“A week?” Spurius suggested.

Upon a second examination, Glen found their plan fantastic.

“Some will need to stay and defend Hellfort,” Emerson added, always set on hanging on the details.

“You mean trapped in there,” Spurius said. “With no way to escape.”

“How about through the mines?” Emerson probed.

“They’ll still be trapped.” Spurius countered. “But in the dark. You’re set on holding Hellfort?”

“Aye, they won’t leave a castle on their back,” Emerson explained. “It will buy our people time.”

“What about those that will remain in the castle?” Glen asked understandably worried for his person and not satisfied with the knight’s answer.

“The important thing is to keep you safe milord,” Spurius answered, with a knowing stare. You? What in the slovenly fuck is this buffoon saying? Glen thought perplexed at first.

Ah.

Me.

Yes.

YES!

It was the right thing to do.

“We can’t have you fall into their hands. Not in case of war.” Spurius continued and Glen nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly.

“We can surrender after they make it across,” Emerson said and Spurius scoffed at that, although Glen thought it was the rational thing to do.

“You assume they’ll take prisoners my friend.” The old centurion shook his head tiredly.

“What does this mean?” Glen asked.

“Nothing, we’ll deal wit it, when it’s proper,” Emerson replied brusquely, putting an end to their meeting.

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Lith had finished staring at the rebuilt part of the wall and Glen tackled her before she could disappear again into thin air. She did that frequently.

“What do you seek Glenavon?” She asked in her singsong voice.

“We were discussing various plans,” Glen started, looking around the hooded female for the elusive dwarf.

“You will defend the pass,” Lith said, before he’d time to finish.

“Basically yes. If it comes to that.”

“Is there time to build a stone wall?”

“Nope, but we will go with wood, so yes,” Glen said, not liking her disapproving pout.

“It will not hold.”

“We have a plan for that too.”

Lith stared back towards the river, more than a kilometer away.

“A horse can outrun any man,” The Zilan announced simply, as if he didn’t know that!

“Right,” Glen blinked once, under her intense stare. Her eyes had turned a bluish silver and it was very distracting. “Where is the dwarf?”

“What do you want with him?” She inquired annoyingly.

“Nothing. You don’t have to worry, I can keep a secret.”

“I don’t believe you can.”

What?

“Of course… listen, this is ridiculous, I haven’t outed you, have I?” Glen said a little frustrated.

“Not for lack of trying.”

Right.

For a long moment, he stared at his dirty boots not sure how to answer that. Lith broke the silence first.

“You’ll need armour, Glenavon.”

“Yeah,” Glen replied, scratching the back of his head.

“One of the soldiers has an old set. He agreed to give it to you after lunch, for a silver,” The Zilan said.

“That sounds… cheap.”

“It’s a leather armour, studded. It might stop a blade.”

Still sounds cheap.

“Thanks, I guess,” He looked at his sword belt, the sheath worn on his left side to accommodate the dagger. “I may need a better sword as well.”

“What’s wrong with this one?” Lith asked calmly.

“Nothing. Well, the old man roughed it up somewhat. We fixed it, but still…”

“A better blade,” Lith said, looking in his eyes hypnotically.

“A Wetull blade,” Glen droned. “Heard, it holds up better.”

Lith crossed her arms over her chest.

“Imperial steel is superior, Glenavon.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’ girl.”

Lith hissed at the term. “Where will you find it?”

“I was hoping you had the recipe.”

“You want me…” She sighed. “It was a guild secret. You need an Imperial blacksmith for that.”

“Anyone around these days?” Glen asked with a grin.

“Very few survived the Fall.”

“And I guess they all died by now.”

Lith said nothing.

“No kids to pass down the secrets? Some forgotten text wit instructions?” Glen smacked his lips disappointed. “Did anything of note survived at all? Like Netherscourge?”

Lith looked around them, spotted Jinx returning from her hunt, large leather bag on her back and sporting a visible limp. Soren was right behind her, a little banged up as well, the carcass of a giant Stag laden on a cart, pulled by both their horses.

Wow, Glen thought impressed. That’s quite a bloody find!

“The leader of the Queen’s guard carried Netherscourge,” Lith whispered her voice haunted. He had to strain his ears to hear her. “The brave Velanoris. Reinut looted it from his dead body.”

Glen took a step back.

“Ahm, sorry about that.”

Lith shrugged her shoulders. “It’s in the past.”

“A story you heard?”

“All stories are out there, Glenavon,” Lith replied. “All you have to do is listen.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that before,” Glen said. “Are there any more?”

“Most Imperial steel blades were looted the same way,” Lith explained. “Those that have them, will not part with them willingly.” The last she delivered in a warning tone.

Glen sighed, seeing there weren’t going anywhere. His stomach growled. Lith actually smiled at that. It made his knees weaken a bit, but he overcame it quickly.

“You said most.”

“I did,” Lith replied that smile gone.

“Where are the rest?” The young thief asked.

Lith turned her head and looked at what was the south. It was remarkable she could get her bearings so fast, he thought impressed.

“Still where they were dropped,” She rejoined sadly.

“And no one looks for them?” Glen pressed on, overcome by greed.

“They do.”

“Wait, they are not in the blasted lands?”

“They are,” She droned.

Luthos weathered cock!

“Lith,” Glen started, trying to calm himself down. “No one goes there.”

“Many do, every year,” The Zilan replied coolly. “In search of named blades, and all kinds of treasures.”

“They do? The market would… have been flooded with artifacts!”

The black market was his meaning.

Lith shrugged her shoulders indifferently.

“Almost no one returns.”

“But some do. I mean I did, right?” Glen said and looking down, he got the ancient dagger out. “How about this?”

“This is not Wetull steel, as you call it, Glenavon,” Lith pointed, staring at the black blade, as if it was alive. “It wasn’t made by a blacksmith. Be warry of its influence.”

“Who made it?”

“No one knows for sure,” Lith said in common. “And it wasn’t made per se. It is difficult to explain it plainly. Some say a witch willed it, using dark magic. It was created as a gift. Reinut wielded it last.”

Glen snorted in frustration. He was unable to understand what she was saying. Her words coming out jumbled.

“So no one knows?” That was the only thing he’d gotten from her gibberish.

Lith raised a thin eyebrow.

“I just told you.”

“Yes, I got it. You don’t know what it is. To me it looks like some kind of glassy rock.”

Lith chuckled softly. It was a beautiful sound.

“No, it is not,” She said this time in the old tongue.

“What is it then?” A frustrated Glen asked, fingers tight on the dagger’s handle and the Zilan told him.

“It’s an Aniculo Nappa.”

Glen gawked at her numbly. Lith looked at the dagger still in his hands and sighed a bit frustrated.

“It won’t let you understand,” She explained, although Glen felt even more confused. “You must order it. Ask Glenavon and it will obey.”

“Ask what?” A confused Glen queried.

“Say you want to know.”

“I want to know,” Glen droned and Lith repeated her words again.

This time, he understood her just fine.

“It’s a Wyvern’s talon.”

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