“That is very kind of you,” Ing replied gratefully. What was all this talk about choices, Ing wondered? When he was sat down at a table, he looked at the menu Bin had given him and wasn’t sure what to get, but he didn’t want to offend the owner who had been so friendly.
“I will get some of our water for you to drink,” said Bin Goodman. “It comes straight from the mountainside and is very fresh. You will love it I have no doubt. Take a look over the menu in the meantime. There are many good dishes to choose from.”
“I appreciate it,” said Ing. He continued to look over the menu.
Pasta of the Sea
Famous Noodles (noodles cooked in red sauce and mixed with herbs for flavoring)
Meat Trio
Red Water
Those were a few of the items to name, but there were many more besides.
“I’m not really sure what to get,” he muttered when Bin returned. “There are so many choices.”
“Not a problem. Just wait here and I’ll bring some to you,” said Bin.
Several moments later Ing saw the owner coming over with various pasta dishes. “Here you are, sir,” he said, setting them down upon the table. “You’ve got crabgrass root—that’s a favorite around here—oceanic delight, and our special for the day. Enjoy.”
“Thank you very much,” said Ing, eyeing the food.
“I hope you enjoy your stay in Dharma,” said Bin, walking away.
Ing started off eating the crabgrass root. With one bite he almost retched it back up, but as he continued to eat the taste grew on him and he found he could stomach it. Ing had never been very fond of things related to the vegetable family. Then he moved on to the oceanic delight. It certainly had an ocean type of taste to it, but it was better than the crabgrass root. Lastly, he moved on to the special which was undoubtedly the best of the three. Within a matter of minutes, all three dishes were empty and his stomach was now satisfied. He washed it all down with the water that Bin had given him which was lovely tasting indeed.
Afterwards, Ing made his way over to where he was told Bartock lived. He knocked loudly on his door. He wanted his sword back that instant. A certain fury had grown inside him since his departure with the sword that was crafted for him by Horwin, the blacksmith—a fury that seemed to grow the more he thought about it. What right did the chief have to take his only weapon from him? Horwin gave the weapon to me, Ing Roan, not Bartock Faith.
“I have come for my sword,” said Ing eagerly through the door.
The door opened and out came the chief. “I have decided,” said Bartock, “that I want you to show me your skills. Only then can you have it back. Does this sound reasonable?”
“Yes,” said Ing, against his will.
“Good,” said the chief. “Follow me to the training grounds.”
Ing forced himself to follow Bartock as they made their way onto a field that sprawled for at least two miles. Archers were busy firing at targets, and swordsmen were in heated battles with one another. The archers wore armor of studded leather and snakeskin, and the swordsmen wore armor crafted from various ores collected around the mountain.
Ing and Bartock walked over to an area where they could battle without crashing into someone.
“Catch,” said Bartock, as he expertly threw Ing’s sword in the air as easily as if it were a pebble.
Ing was getting nervous; he didn’t know how good of a swordsman Bartock was, but he had to get his sword back. Ing failed to catch his weapon, and it came clattering to the ground. Perhaps it was because of the pressure put on him by the simple word, ‘catch’, said by the chief. Am I to look so clumsy with a sword even after all of Erste's teachings? Bartock must think I have learned nothing. I must show him otherwise.
“Didn’t catch your weapon? Not a good start. If you do not pass my test, then you will have to stay in Dharma and train,” said Bartock firmly.
“Don’t judge so early,” said Ing in a somewhat cocky tone.
Bartock charged forward and knocked Ing to the ground with a powerful blow from a wooden sword he was wielding. “This does not look good,” said the chief.
In a second, Ing was back on his feet swinging wildly. He would not let this man get the best of him. Bartock blocked his blows left and right. Remember what Erste taught you, he said to himself. You are better than this.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Bartock said in the midst of the battle.
Swiftly, Ing rolled behind him and brought his sword crashing down, but Bartock swung his sword backwards just in time to parry it. At this point, Ing was breathing heavily; he swore he would not get knocked down again. Bartock had not even broken a sweat.
The chief swung at Ing’s feet, but he jumped out of its way and into the air. He lifted one leg high up and slammed his foot into his opponent’s face. Bartock stumbled backwards, dropping his weapon.
Had he won? Would he get his sword back now or would the battle continue? What if he was stuck in Dharma?
“Not the most honorable of hits, but I’ll give it to you,” said Bartock. “You may leave in the morning if you wish.”
“That is good to hear, Bartock,” said Ing, panting. He had a smile on his face. “I will do so.”
“You may
