A month had passed since Swordfall and the unification of the kingdom, and the death of Asahel.
The royal coronation had still not occurred. The giants were ruining that.
Joab was still not at his post, and could be hung or executed for abandoning it.
But all knew they should give him space.
Joab wiped the sweat from his brow.
He looked at the beautiful field of his father which now belonged to Abishai and him.
The small but exquisite dwelling was the end of the property, built into the hillside.
I wish we had spent more time here. It was always blood and war.
Joab felt bad about leaving his men, and was readying to return.
His anger for Abner had not subsided. It grew.
But Joab himself had cooled. Waiting for the moment.
Joab looked at the field he plowed and his animals.
He reached for a cup of water from the well his father built.
Asahel loved to play at that well.
Where is my sword?
Right as Joab was thinking of that, he felt the wind move, and knew there were some amongst him.
He slowly turned and two Messengers were before him.
The Messengers of the king, a tribe of their own, were not just stealthy and able to find anyone.
They could kill as well.
And Joab knew it.
He nodded at the two, respectfully.
"Joab," one Messenger quietly acknowledged under his hood.
"Yes?"
"Your King demands your presence. Did you forget your king? The one you served so faithfully and bled and fought for?"
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"He forgot me," Joab answered politely.
"He has not," the other Messenger. "The King requests your presence. Just you."
"When?" Joab asked.
"Immediately," both Messengers replied.
Joab nodded that he would would obey.
"And clean yourself up. Your brother is getting married."
The creek flowed through the base of the trees. It was always dark there, even in midday.
And it was always cool, and the fish could be seen hiding under the rocks.
The fisherman was older than the rest of the heroes of that time, but he looked younger than all of them.
He had seen more and done more, but to some, he looked like he was their son.
His long hair whipped into a bun. He wore a small torn shirt that went to his thighs with a belt wrapped around his waist that his father made.
His shirt torn almost all the way to the belt. His wrists had bracelets and bands, and necklaces went into his torn shirt.
Those who didn't know him thought he was a good looking wanderer or mage or thief.
Little did they know he was a warrior of warriors.
But now he was fishing and humming.
His small wooden pole was just a show. He could catch the fish with his hands.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Alive.
As he opened his eyes, Beniah appeared before him, across the creek.
He should've startled, but he didn't really care.
The fisherman chuckled.
"Beniah. Do you come to kill me?"
"Quite the opposite," Beniah said, walking forward, his reputation as assassin going wide.
"Why were the Messengers not sent?"
"Because you would kill them."
"Eh. Only if they annoyed me," the fisherman went back to fishing.
"I need you to come with me," Beniah asked.
The good looking man looked up at Beniah with a serious look in his eyes.
"You are one of the few to serve both kings and live to tell of it," Beniah said as he walked closer to the edge of the river. "They call Abishai the giant killer, but some have forgotten you."
"Good," the man stared back into the river, noticing the fish he wanted to get.
"Do you still have the sword?"
"Maybe. That thing is not to be trifled with."
Beniah waited for the man to move.
"Elhanan," Beniah's voice rose. "We need you."
Elhanan looked up.
"Want to fight over it?"
"No. You are coming. That is all."