Chapter 17

“So if that’s what happened, where’s all the blood?”
“Blood?”
“Yeah, there’d be blood. And the smell would just about knock you over.”
“There was blood. Lots. It just got cleaned up.”
“Right.”
The voices were unfamiliar to Prince Orin through the hazy ache that clamped down on his neck and radiated down his spine. He wasn’t in his own bed, that much he realized. Something rather annoying was poking his right shoulder blade.
“And the smell nearly did knock me over. It was horrible.”
Orin managed to open one eye and pull the view into focus. Brother Hricks was sitting next to a campfire. On the other side a boy, probably about fourteen or so sat propped up against a moss covered log. In the darkness Orin could make out a mess of dark brown hair, slender limbs and common clothing. They both held sticks roasting over the campfire. Hrick’s scroll and quill sat on one side of him, and Orin’s sword on the other.
Prince Orin sat up and regretted it immediately. Little yellow and green spots inked their way across the nightscape.
“Your Highness, you’re awake!” Brother Hricks scrambled to his feet and helped pat Orin’s pillow into a comfortable sitting position. “I was just telling him about our adventures. This is Masonae. He’s from up north.”
“Good evening, Masonae from the North. You must excuse my current condition. I believe a tree branch and I had an argument.”
The boy shrugged and continued to roast his and Hricks’s meal.
“Do you think you could eat something?” Hricks asked. Orin took a deep breath and shook his head.
“Perhaps later. What are you doing in the forest alone?”
“I’m not alone.” The boy patted the log behind him. Orin tilted his head and stared harder at the fallen tree. It had a tail.
“I’m on my way to Tamarin,” the boy continued.
“So you’re from up north, but you’re going north. Going home?”
“Not if I can help it.” He pulled the meat out of the fire and gave it a few quick pokes with his finger. Eyeing him, Hricks did the same, pulling off a bit and juggling it from hand to hand to keep from burning himself.
“So you’re on a quest, huh?”
Orin signed. A disastrous one. So far he’d nearly been eaten and killed by a tree.
“Yes. It’s quite important. The Great Mages will die if I don’t complete it.”
The boy dropped his stick in the fire, then scrambled after it. The log’s tail began to slash as Masonae straightened up and glanced around the perimeter of the campsite.
“The Great Mages? They can’t die. They’re immortal.”
“Well, the first ones died, didn’t they? If I don’t complete my quest, the new ones will die too.” A somewhat annoyed yowl sounded from behind Masonae. A head lifted up and peered haughtily at Orin. The eyes glowed golden in the firelight.
“That’s a cat, isn’t it?”
“Yes. What exactly do you have to do to save the mages?” The boy stared at him intently.
“I have to collect the seeds of the Alban tree.”
“And where is that?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“And how long do you have to find it.”
“I suppose until the Great Mages die.”
“That’s not going to happen. We’ll find it before then.”
“We?” Orin sat up, his head clearing a little.
“Who said we needed a we?”
“But that’s how quests work,” Brother Hricks added. “You travel along and collect heroes on the way.”
“I don’t need anyone else. I started out with forty.”
“And you’ve lost them already?”
“I intended to lose them. Besides, what can a boy like you have to add to my quest?”
“I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I’m good with a bow, calm in the face of danger, and I’ve got a dragon killing cat.”
Orin looked hard at the boy. Unlike the rest of the lordlings, his clothing was suited for travel. His boots were supple and reached his knee before folding down, and there wasn’t the slightest curl in the toe. His trousers were loose and a sensible brown. He wore a shirt and vest that had obviously been made with care, but were more suited to keeping a person warm than showing off expensive fabrics and intricate embroideries. He kept his bow close and hand and looked as if he were prepared to use it.
The turning point, however was not his clothing. It was his face. It was honestly earnest, and quite intent. Orin had the sudden feeling that if he turned the boy down, he’d simply follow him.
“Are you willing to face dangerous perils and even death?”
Without hesitation the boy answered. “I’d die for the Great Mages.”
Prince Orin nodded and extended his hand to Masonae. “Then I’d be pleased if you’d join me on my quest.”
Masonae’s grip was firm. He met Orin’s eye straight on and never waivered.
“Does your sword have a name?” Hricks asked.
“What?”
“I’m writing this down. What is your sword’s name?” Hricks awkwardly lifted the sword and handed it back to Orin.
“You want me to name my sword?”
“All great swords have names.”
“No one ever mentioned that fact to me.”
“Sawtooth the Dragon Slayer, Long Blade the Man Slaughterer, Pointy Steel of Death. Those are some of my favorites.”
“How about if I just call it My Sword.”
“It’s simple,” Masonae said. “Has a good ring to it.”
“But, Your Highness--”
“I hereby dub thee, My Sword.” He raised the sword and tapped it against his forehead. He immediately regretted the movement as the pain came flooding back.
“But won’t that be confusing when I write it? He took My Sword from his scabbard. My Sword sliced through the dragon scales and plunged into its gut. See. They’ll think My Sword is my sword, not your sword.”
“So I should call it Your Sword. No… that wouldn’t work either. With a long sweep of the blade, Your Sword severed the dragon’s head clean off.”
“How about just calling it The Sword,” Masonae said.
“Like it’s The Sword of Swords?” Hricks said.
“Fine, I dub thee The Sword, Sword of Swords. Are you content now?” Hricks didn’t answer. He was too busy scribbling in his book.
“Do you want me to name my bow?”
Hricks shook his head in the negative.
“I do think it’s time we slept,” Orin said placing The Sword beside him.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Masonae said.
Orin nodded. The last thing he needed was to be eaten in his sleep. He settled down and dreamed of dragons.