The King's sword

to call for them to be silent several times while he inspected the horses. Ronan left him to it, following Fiona when someone started to lead her away from the crowd.

“Who is Smellir?” Ronan asked lowly at her side.

“He is the leader over this village,” Fiona answered. “It is a sign of respect if you request an audience with him when passing through the village on important business.”

“I see.”

Fiona glanced at Ronan. “He may help us if the centaur comes this way.” Ronan glanced back at the crowd. He wasn’t sure how, unless they mobbed Bryan and worshipped him to death.

The one that led them stepped aside when they approached the doorway of a small thatched house. Ronan stepped inside behind Fiona, eyes sweeping the interior. A cot, small table, and a few clay pots hanging in the corners. Nothing more. And seated at the table was a short man with a very round middle.

Smellir. He had white hair that was balding and a nose that seemed too small for his fleshy face. But when he smiled, his smile reached the light blue of his eyes.

“Fiona!” He greeted warmly with wide arms. He embraced her and then stepped back, gaze flicking curiously at Ronan.

“Smellir, this is the wizard Ronan…Ronan Culley. We take the King’s Sword to Merisgale.” She told him and his blue eyes rounded. “We need your help.”

“My help?” His chest puffed up as his gaze slid back to Fiona.

“There are some who mean to stop us,” Fiona told him. “One in particular may follow us through your village. A centaur who goes by the name of Bryan.”

“Consider him dead,” Smellir said simply but Ronan stiffened.

“No.”

Smellir’s head snapped around and he stared at Ronan, “No?”

“I don’t want him to die. He is not evil nor of the dark forces. He means well and does not deserve death.” Ronan glanced at Fiona when she frowned.

“Ronan, this is no time to start feeling sorry for…” she began.

“Detain him. Anyway that you can. But he must not die.” Ronan interrupted, dismissing Fiona’s warning as he watched Smellir scratch his bare top of head. “I have plans for him once I reach Merisgale and deliver the sword.”

“Plans?” Fiona stared at him.

“Yes.” Ronan nodded.

Smellir thought a moment. “We could detain him. For how long, Wihr?” Ronan blinked at the title that Smellir offered easily.

“Just a few days, maybe a week,” Ronan answered. Smellir nodded again and then clapped his hands.

“Fiona, you look well. You stay away too long. I do not get to see you enough.” He slipped a pudgy arm around her waist and indicated they walk outside into the sunshine. “That man has given you no more problems?”

“What man?” Ronan asked, looking away when Fiona’s eyes darted toward him.

“The man she was seeing many months ago. He was a rotten kind. Treated her poorly. She should have hugged him more.” Smellir grinned when Fiona looked down at him with confusion. “She could have squeezed him to death.”

Fiona’s laughter lifted around them and Ronan smiled at the sound as he added, “Or given him a deadly kiss.” Smellir’s grin widened.

“This wizard is your new man? He will be better for you. You can see it in his eyes,” Smellir continued, causing Ronan to look away again.

“I am only here to help him get the sword to Merisgale,” Fiona explained.

“Stay the night here. We’ll have a celebration,” Smellir suggested.

“A celebration of what?” Fiona chuckled when Smellir rolled his eyes skyward, obviously thinking of a reason to celebrate. He snapped his fingers and smiled.

“We will celebrate the call to service we are granted. It is not often Jobi is held in such high regard that they are asked to help a wizard.” Smellir’s smile was smug, satisfied with his answer.

“And Jobi will be remembered when I deliver the sword,” Ronan promised causing Smellir’s chest to puff out anymore. Fiona just rolled her eyes.

“We shall stay the one night but we will leave at first light. I don’t want to give that centaur a chance to catch up with us,” Ronan agreed.

“Once you are gone, he will not catch up. We will make certain of it,” Smellir promised.

“No death,” Ronan reminded him.

“There are a great many things other than death than can stop someone from continuing.” Smellir nodded. “As you wish. No death.”

Eleven

“Danger!” A cry erupted the stillness of the night and Ronan was on his feet and wide awake in an instant. He looked down, surprised to find the King’s Sword drawn and glittering.

“Danger! Danger!” The voice screeched moments before the small figure leapt into the dimming firelight. Mikel the Hort. Ronan breathed out and placed the sword back in the sheath as Mikel made a mad dash toward the blacksmith.

“Whoa.” Ronan reached out to grasp the changeling’s shoulders before he bounded into him. “What’s this?”

“Don’t kill me! I bring news! Danger!” Mikel gasped for air, sweat sticking his white hair to his face. “Terrible danger comes for you.” Ronan’s body stiffened as the others roused from slumber, each becoming alert to Mikel’s words.

“What kind of danger?”

Mikel’s small chest labored and his hands shook. “I…I reached Merisgale. I overheard a man speaking of taking the sword from you, of killing you with it. He was of the dark forces.” Mikel glanced behind him as if half expecting the man he spoke of to come crashing across the moor behind him.

“Who was it? What was his name?” Ronan demanded feeling anger building inside of him. Someone wanted to sabotage him, and when he’d come so far.

“I…I don’t know. He said that he knew your every step…your every move. Like he was here with you.” Mikel drew closer, voice lowering. “He laughed. It was a scary laugh. He said you were stupid and trusted too easily. He said you’d made it easy for him.”

Ronan’s eyes lifted from the changeling to scrutinize each of those that had risen and were standing about him. Someone is not who they seem. Ula’s words now haunted him.

“Did you take this news to the wizard Thestian?” Ronan let his gaze fall back to the changeling. Ironic, he thought coldly, the one I can trust is a thief.

“There was no time. I was on my way to see him myself but got sidetracked when I came across this beauty.” Mikel produced a small dagger with an emerald in the hilt. “I was just about to slip away when I heard the two men talking.”

“What business does a thief have with the wizard?” Fiona stepped forward.

“The same that I have with this one. I’m little. I hear things.” Mikel the Hort shrank away from the serpentine warrior and Ronan frowned. Even the thief changeling had guessed that he was a wizard.

“I am familiar with many at Merisgale,” Fiona said, stepping forward. “What did this man look like?”

“It was dark and I couldn’t see his face.” Mikel shook his head.

“The dagger you stole. Did it belong to him?” Fiona’s eyes dropped to the weapon he held.

“Yes. He didn’t even know I was there. I was so clever.” Mikel beamed as he held out the dagger. Fiona’s face blanched.

“What is it?” Ronan asked when she lifted a hand to her mouth.