Unbeknownst to the young girl, Alma, Erste Roan had been tracking these three Illusionists through the dead of night. He peered through the streets of Koridge looking for those who he pursued. Foul creatures of the forest, he thought. They are up to some mischief here so close to my home. I will not have this night be stained with blood. In a few stretches he came upon the figures of Adam and Alice. I am too late. But it may be that I can still do some good. The night is not yet out.
On the edge of the horizon, just within his viewing distance, he could see the shape of a young child. What is this madness? Is the child lost? Did she come out of her house when she heard the sound of battle? Or could my fears be realized? Yes, she is no doubt the child of these two people. I must protect her. If she is a girl. It's hard to tell from this distance. The rain bites at me and obscures my vision. But I am not so old yet. And so it came to be that Erste Roan sheltered the young girl from the storm.
For four days and four nights, Horwin worked hard inside the forge; finally, the seemingly ceaseless banging inside stopped and Horwin came out with a powerful looking sword, to the delight of Ing. The blade itself was cast in brilliant silver, the hilt black as charcoal, but without the rough quality.
“It is ready,” he said, holding it out towards Ing. The blacksmith seemed to look upon his craft-work with an air of pride—which was understandable for his skill was easily noticeable in his handiwork.
“It’s amazing, Horwin. I don’t know how to thank you enough,” Ing said, grabbing his new weapon. The sword was very heavy, and he almost lost his footing under its weight. It felt clumsy in his grip. He had never held a sword before and he supposed it took some getting used to. In front of Alma, he felt foolish; to a skillful archer such as herself, he must have seemed silly.
Alma proceeded to break the silence.
“We must leave, Horwin.” She smiled sheepishly, not showing her teeth. “It was good to see you again,” she said and held out her hand for him to shake it.
“Now, wait just a minute, my dear,” said the blacksmith. “I have made a mighty fine sheath as well. A warrior is nothing without its guardian. Here it is,” he said, presenting his second gift to Ing. “It’s made of the finest material there is. It will not fail you on your travels, or Elwin’s blood does not run in my veins.”
The sheath was just as brilliant as the sword. It was made of a blue, velvety material, with several gems placed upon it.
Ing strapped the sheath onto his belt on the left side of his waist, and placed the sword inside. With the sword resting at his waist, he felt a little more able in his quest. It seemed to instill a confidence in him that he had never before felt. He knew it would hang at his side at all times. He rested his hands upon it, its presence giving him a feeling of ease.
Horwin said farewell to the two companions, and they went on their way. The sound of the brook began to fade from their ears as they marched onward and away from the blacksmith’s humble home. Both companions now carried weapons. If they encountered any more Illusionists, Ing would now be able to fight at Alma’s side, and he would be able to defend himself from any other dangers that might come their way. Their journey through Eclestia was just beginning.
Night began to fall upon the land, and the two companions were growing tired.
“There should be a town nearby, where we can rest,” Alma stated.
“Let’s hope so,” Ing replied. He didn’t want to have to walk another five feet unless it was absolutely necessary.
Something in the dark sky that hovered over their heads caught his eye. “What’s with the stars?” The twinkling specks above were mysteriously shifting around, creating some sort of pattern, or so it appeared. A peculiar feeling overcame Ing, similar to when he encountered the illusion just before meeting Roan and when he encountered the Illusionist that Alma slayed.
Ing’s hand started to drift to the sword that was fastened to the newly created sheath that lay by his side. His hand rested on the hilt.
As Ing and Alma stared up at the sky, a fireball blasted through the clearing, striking Alma in the chest. Alma screamed out in pain, and toppled to the ground.
“An illusion!” shouted Ing. As he said this, he noticed an Illusionist running toward him. It blasted another fireball out of its rod. Ing quickly rolled out of the way, and knocked his foe to the ground with a kick of his feet. The Illusionist’s rod flew out of its hands. It struggled to get a hold of its weapon. Before it could do so, Ing drove his sword through the magician’s chest. Horwin’s gift had come to him just in time.
Breathing heavily from the exertion, he ran over to Alma, who lied with her face to the brown earth. “Are you okay?” he asked, turning her over to her back.
“It’s a mere flesh wound. I’m fine, Ing,” she said. “I just need some rest.”
“You don’t need to be so concealed. It’s fine to show your weaknesses.”
Ing regretted saying this because Alma responded by saying, “You may have weaknesses, but I do not.” A sudden change had come over her voice, and Ing felt a gap form between them. It was the second time that he had tried to comfort her, but to no avail.
Ing found a tavern in a town called Alanhom, not
