Patrulha.
What did Stellan’s transformation and disappearance mean to her? Why did Gretchen say nothing of her daughter’s decision to leave, especially at a time when the castle needed her protection the most? Clarysa raised her head and glanced around. Hunter and the other men sat huddled together, talking quietly. A dark figure sat separate, amid a group of large boulders many yards away.
Patrulha.
Clarysa rolled over. Thoughts continued to flood her brain as sleep eluded her. There were too many questions without answers. She and Patrulha both had Stellan’s best interests at heart, yet they were unnecessarily at odds with each other. Clarysa had to at least attempt to clear the air between them.
She walked to the boulders. She said nothing at first, only watched Patrulha through sidelong glances. The Captain of the Guard sat on a flat rock. She had lit a small, separate fire for herself. A naked sword blade lay across her knees, and she sharpened it with measured force. Occasionally, she swallowed something from a nearby flask. Clarysa could smell the alcohol in the air.
She inched closer. Against the fire’s light, Patrulha looked like one of the legendary warriors in the tapestries back home, a fierce, noble creature from some exotic land. The flame danced off the blade’s surface, yielding a prismatic glow about the giantess before her. Attempting to appear nonchalant, Clarysa ambled forward.
Patrulha abruptly paused in her task and looked up. “Can I help you with something?” Her voice was as cold as the wastes behind them. “Or would that interfere with your spying?”
Clarysa winced at the surly tone. “I…couldn’t sleep.”
No reaction came aside from the quiet crackling of the fire.
Clarysa found the silence disconcerting. “Lots of thoughts were going through my head. Questions, you know?”
“Like?”
“Well, I was wondering…what happened to your eye, for one thing?”
There it was, hanging in the air–a question asked that could not be brought back, a thought that could not be undone. Ugh. Could you have been any less subtle?
Patrulha resumed her sharpening. “Ask Stellan when we find him.”
“But I’m asking you!”
The Captain snorted. “Well, I guess you are, then.” She pursed her lips. “Very well.”
Clarysa sat on a nearby rock, hands folded in her lap.
Patrulha stared at the ground, utterly silent. Then she slowly raised her head and began her tale. “Once upon a time, there were two warriors, a man and a woman, who were exploring the local countryside. After much ground had been covered with nothing extraordinary to report, they happened to come upon a rather odd man in his shop. He was furiously banging away and bending metal before a roaring fire. This man, with a fat, red face all covered in sweat and a shiny bald head, ceased his work upon their entrance. He demanded to know what business the pair had with him.”
She took another swig from her flask. “Well, the man and woman didn’t know the proper response except to comment on how they admired the man’s handiwork–with one sword in particular standing out from the many displayed on a back wall. The man took it down and swung it about in the air to test its balance. This was all it took to confirm the pair’s suspicions–it was a magick sword, one with the power to deflect and shatter all manner of spells. ‘This is an extremely rare weapon,’ said the man to the woman, which of course caused the woman to desire it by her side. ‘How much?’ she inquired to the queer man before her. But the man laughed and shook his head.
“This only caused the woman to desire it even more, so she asked again, ‘How much do you want for this fine blade of yours?” Once again, he rebuffed her. ‘More than you can afford, young ragamuffin.’ Well, this put the woman beside herself. Now she had to have the weapon at all costs, despite the man’s insistence that she forget it.
“The swordsmith then pointed to many other fine blades he would willingly sell, ‘for a fair bargain,’ he said. But even this would not do.” Patrulha paused for another swig.
“‘No,’ said the woman, ‘I want this sword–no other!’ Well, the man with the red face and balding head stared at her for a long time. ‘All right,’ he finally declared, ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll sell you this sword then, but not for coin.’
‘Excellent,’ said the woman in her arrogance. Inwardly she was laughing, thinking he would want her body in trade for a few nights, or maybe a week. The sword was easily worth the price, probably more so. Her companion wouldn’t have been pleased, but he had made no claim on her, so she stuck out her chin and planted her hands proudly on her hips. ‘Name your price,’ she said.
‘Your right eye,’ he stated.
The woman snorted in disbelief. ‘You jest.’
‘No,’ he said quietly, turning his back on the pair. ‘Now be out of here! I told you, you couldn’t afford it.’
“Well, what do you think the woman did? For pride flowed through her veins, and lust for a sword she would surely never see the likes of again. But there was one other prize to win, or so the woman thought. She believed her companion would reject her cowardice if she backed down and reward her with his undying devotion if she did not.”
Patrulha stopped sharpening the sword and hurled it into the earth near Clarysa’s feet. “So, I got my sword. End of story.”
Clarysa sat before her in astonished silence. She didn’t know
