The King's sword

misery, Ronan. You couldn’t do it before but you are a man now. You can do it.” His mother smiled weakly and gave him a nod. He looked at their hands again. His fingers were large, calloused. Years of smithing had hardened him. Don’t listen.

“Be silent,” Ronan growled. It isn’t real. But his mother was smiling at him. She wasn’t crying the way she had when she had died before. She’d been crying and her eyes had reflected her disappointment in him. She’d begged him to end her suffering but he couldn’t.

“I will do it this time, Mother. I will not make you suffer.” Ronan felt tears on his cheeks, running into his beard. “I swear it. I can save you.”

“No, Ronan. Just end it. You can do it. You love me enough now. If you ever loved me, you can do it.”

Ronan stood and took a step backward. Someone was holding him, trying to still him. He would not fail her this time. He would not. He released the invisible hand he had been holding and heard someone shout in the distance but he ignored it. The hilt of a sword was suddenly in his palm. He looked at the sword. It was the best he had ever made.

A sound brought his eyes to the window. Outside Ahearn stood at the road, staring at him. It isn’t real. He turned away from those dark eyes. It was real enough for Ronan. It was real enough he could make it right this time. No! Yes.

More hands pulled at him, grabbed his arm when he raised it, but his mother was smiling at him. She didn’t look sick any more. Starvation hadn’t claimed her body. And he wasn’t a skinny boy. He was a man. She nodded for him to set her free. Ronan knew what he had to do. He shrugged at the hands but they held him fast. He struggled, and his mother’s face began to wither again.

“No!” His voice bellowed shook the world around him. “Mother, wait! I can do it!” This wasn’t real. Ahearn was right. But it felt real. He had to make it stop. The river was sucking him in. Light exploded and the hands that held him dropped away instantly. He was alone.

“Don’t let me die like this again! Ronan, please…”

The images rippled and Ronan fought to return to her but he was back at the river, laying face down on the raft. The rough wood timbers irritated the cut above his brow. He had the taste of the river on his lips, the water sloshing up through the planks and dampening his face.

“Sir Culley?” Arien’s voice sounded uncertain and Ronan turned, looked up at those gathered about him. He coughed and sat up with embarrassment. No one reached to help him when he rose to his feet. Instead, they all moved out of his way.

He shook the memory that the river had made raw from his mind. The river preyed on old wounds, reopened them and made them bleed anew. But Ronan had relived his nightmares on his own. He could walk away from this one too.

“Are we across?” He looked out to find that they were indeed at the other side of the river. It had felt like days had passed rather than minutes and Ronan had a desperate urge to tell the man to push him off into the waters again.

“You were right, Ula.” Ronan reached back for Sorcha’s reins and stepped from the platform. “That river is dangerous.”

She didn’t answer and he looked back. No one else had moved. They were still staring at him as if he’d grown an extra head. He looked down. The King’s Sword was gripped in his hand.

“Mikel the Hort, you wanted to see this sword. Here it is.” Ronan watched the little man cautiously step forward, curiosity obviously overriding whatever fear he had.

“It’s beautiful,” Mikel whispered, reaching to touch the metal but then his eyes lifted and his hand froze, waiting to see if Ronan would give him permission to touch the weapon.

“Don’t. He could be someone trying to use it for darkness,” Keegan called. Ronan looked down at the changeling for a long moment then turned the hilt toward him. Mikel’s eyes widened.

Ronan looked at Keegan when the horseman took a step forward, hand dropping to his own sword. He shook his head as Mikel gripped the leather bound hilt and Ronan released it to him. The tip hit the ground heavily.

“It still feels warm.” Mikel looked back at the other without blinking, expression filled with amazement. “You can feel the magic’s heat.” Ronan frowned. What was he talking about? What magic?

“Thank you, Sir Culley. I…I’m just a little guy. I would have never known what it was like to hold such a fine instrument.” The changeling held the sword back for Ronan to take. Ronan heard Keegan and Arien breathe out. But he’d known that little Mikel really didn’t mean any harm. He was a thief and not a very dangerous one.

One by one the others rode their horses from the platform. Ahearn was cutting his eyes at Ronan as he passed and the blacksmith sent him a little wink. Tucking the sword away, he swung atop Sorcha’s back and then held down his hand. Mikel the Hort looked at it for a second before allowing Ronan to lift him to sit behind him.

“You are not bringing him too?” Keegan interjected, staring at Ronan.

“He paid our fare.” Ronan nodded. “And I believe him when he says it was not he that told the centaurs of the sword.” Keegan’s eyes narrowed on the changeling that peeked around Ronan’s shoulder.

“I’m not worried about his mouth. It’s his fingers that concern me most. He is a self proclaimed thief.” Keegan dropped his gaze to the leather wrapped weapon.

“He couldn’t even lift it. How could he steal it?” Ronan argued.

Keegan looked at Mikel, pointing a finger at him. “I’m watching you. One step in the wrong direction and I will chop off your head,” Keegan warned. The changeling nodded and ducked behind Ronan.

“The let us get going. I want to reach Fullerk before nightfall.” Ronan kicked his horse forward.

Keegan glanced at Ronan several times, and then finally rode his horse alongside Sorcha. “How do you feel? Are you well?”

It was an odd question but Ronan just shrugged. “I feel fine. I’ll feel better once there is some distance between us and the centaurs.” Keegan nodded and did not press. Ronan watched him ride ahead with Arien.

“You don’t remember do you, Sir?” Mikel whispered from behind him. “And they are too afraid to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Bryan waited for the old man to come back across the river with his raft. The centaur had remained in the trees until he heard the blacksmith’s shout. It had been filled with agony. The River Blanch had gotten into his head and Bryan could only imagine what memory had made that sound of anguish find the man.

He’d continued to shout until they’d almost reached the other side. The bright light had come down from the sky and those around the blacksmith had parted.

It had scared Bryan. He’d thought the witch had cast some curse and without thinking had galloped right out into the water. It taken all Bryan was made of to fight the water’s power. But he kept his eyes locked on the blacksmith, wishing he could see more of what was going on.

For a moment the power of the river ceased and had changed colors. Then the blacksmith collapsed and the water recharged angrily, forcing Bryan back to the shore.

When the old man brought the raft back, Bryan stepped aboard ignoring the scowl from the man. “No beasts this way.”

“The bridge is out. There is no other way.”

“Then build a new bridge,” Grayson snapped.

“You will take me across or I shall kick the life from your head,” Bryan threatened menacingly. “And do not attempt to swindle me as you did that changeling. He paid you enough that my fare should be waived.” Grayson’s jaw tightened but he nodded and pushed off again, obviously wanting no trouble from the half-beast. Bryan smirked. Some good came out of being discriminated against. Ignorance bred fear.

“What happened to that blacksmith?” Bryan gritted his teeth against the ache that began to throb again in his temples. But it wasn’t nearly as forceful as it had been when he’d waded out into it. And he’d traveled across the river many times, usually by bridge. It would have been an easier crossing. He could do it at a run. Now he had to wait while the old man pushed them across with his long stick.

“Used that sword to calm the water. Never saw anything like that before and I’ve been doing this for many years,” Grayson said quietly.

Bryan frowned. “Used the sword?”

“Only a wizard could have done what he did. He was lost in the magic of the water. Then he called the sun