Something new..

The bedraggled man stumbled down the dimly lit street. He was an average-looking street thug, about 20 years of age. He had dark brown hair, drenched in the deluge of pouring rain. He was about five feet and ten inches, but at the moment our brute was doubled over, clutching a bleeding side. His brown eyes were bloodshot and hazy with fever, his breathing haggard. The thug collapsed against the nearest wall on the shop lined street.
I'm such a fool," he whispered with his last breath. With that, his tired bloodshot eyes closed in a semblance of terrorized sleep.

The eyes opened slowly to a dark silhouette, framed by bright, blurry lights. The injured brute started to rise, but the silhouette solidified into a dark haired woman with blue eyes and rosy cheeks. "No, no, Mister. We can't have you trying to be up and about just yet." She smiled happily as she pushed the patient back onto the bed.
"Where am I?" he asked, wearily raising his hand tp to feel his bandaged crown.
The nurse-lady gently seized his wrist and easily forced his arm back to his side before drawing the covers up to the patient's chin. "You took quite a nasty blow to your head," she replied, obviously ignoring the man's question. "You'll have to remain here for a few days, I'm afraid. Where are you from?" She smiled so brightly her eyes crinkled up and almost disappeared. "Can you remember anything?"
The man simply stared at her, then closed his eyes as if in pain. "Blustovia. I'm from Blustovia. Where am I now?"
"Well that can't be true! You have the look of a Lystrian about you. Now how can you claim to be Blustovian? Everyone knows that Blustovian men all have beards and brown weathered skin from the harsh weather conditions. No, surely not," she chattered on. "You must be Lystrian. Your skin is so fair and soft. And your face shows no signs of a beard! Now how can anyone claim to be Blustovian if they don't have a beard?"
That was it. He'd had enough. The injured -- and now more than slightly frustrated -- man sat up so quickly that he started the nattering nurse off her stool. "Don't you ever shut up, you blabbering fool? I'm an injured man who just survived a near death experience and all you can think to do is tell me why I can't be Blustovian? By the gods, woman! What kind of an idiot are you? You won't even tell me where I am! Is there anything in that thick skull of yours other than nonsense!"
The nurse was on the floor cowering now, tears leaking from her eyes and her hand brought up as if to shield herself from her patient's cruel words. The patient was also feeling light-headed after his outburst. Perhaps he should have listened to the fool woman's nattering and staying lying down?
The man sighed and looked at his empty hands now lying in his lap. He looked over at the still cowering nurse. "Look," he begam more gently than before. "I'm sorry I frightened you, but could you please tell me where I am and what day it is?"
"It's the 24th of March. And you're in Cratanya's House of Healing," a new, stronger and sterner voice answered from the doorway. It belonged to a middle-aged woman in white healer's robes. She was very formidable-looking, and not one to be trifled with. "If you ever frighten one of my staff again I will take it out of your hide after healing you and then send you out into the streets with nothing but the clothes on your back. Maybe not even that much. You should be grateful Talia has been caring for you. She found you almost dead and dragged you here herself in the dead of night. She's even using her own pay to take care of you!"
The man was stunned. He looked at the nurse on the floor, not cowering anymore, but looking more than a little embarrassed. Then he looked back at the woman standing in the doorway. His gaze shifted between them a few times before lowering his eyes down to his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbled in a quiet voice. "I owe you women my life, and I have not treated you kindly. You have taken very good care of me, but I have returned your kindness with cruelty and impatience. Please forgive me."
Silence.
"It's -- it's alright," Talia began. "You've had a terrible accident, or lost in a fight. Of course you'd be disoriented. I can't help talking so much. Does your head hurt -- from hearing my babble?"
Talia looked at the man with such pure eyes that he could not refuse to smile and please her.
"No, I feel fine. Thank you."
"Well!" harrumphed the white-robed woman. "At least you havesome manners. I am Tinka, and I run this establishment. What is your name?"
"Kanal. My name is Kanal Westpoint."

Trent ch 4

Chapter Four

The rhythmic sound of hammer striking metal rang through the forge. The hard rain drops plopping on the roof muffled the monotonous clanging slightly, but if you stood right by the walls you could hear it clearly.
Trent was busy at the forge, making new swords for her shop. There hadn’t been any special orders lately, but since she enjoyed making swords most of all, she would always make one when there was free time. This one would be rather plain looking, but one of her strongest. Using one of her spells for metal strengthening and a special way of heating the metal, Trent would make sure this sword would never break, or chip, or lose its edge. She was still deciding what to do about the cross-guard—if she should fashion an ornamental one out of iron, gold, or silver, or if she should just make a plain guard. Perhaps just a plain one—to emphasize the plain appearance. But she would definitely have to make an inscription, with runes, Yaman, or Scanran. No. Maybe that would be too much.
“Oi! Miss Trent!” a young, uncouth voice hissed outside Trent’s windows. “I needs to speak to ya.”
Trent’s thoughts and her hammer abruptly stopped in mid-swing. “Who’s there?” She looked up from her work and scanned the room quickly with her eyes. There! At the near window. There was a tiny bit of movement. With this heavy rain and it being this late already, too late for people to be calling, it only meant one thing.
Thieves.
She put down hammer, tongs, and sword blade, and walked softly towards the back window. She pushed it open, ignoring the cold wind and wet that sprayed onto her face and leather apron and that chilled her bare limbs after the forge blaze’s heat, to see who was calling.
She thrust the window open so swiftly that she startled the boy outside. He jumped at least a foot—he was so skinny, it was no wonder he could jump so high, light as he was—at least a foot back out into the pouring rain. He gulped. “It’s me, Miss. Rat,” he said as he stepped quickly back under the roof’s cover from the rain.
“What do you want Rat? I’ve a sword I need to finish before it’s ruined, and I can’t have your kind around here too long or I’ll start losin’ customers,” she said gruffly.
“It’s real impor’ent. Honest, Miss.”
Trent studied him with a scrutinizing eye. Rat was around ten or twelve years old, with red hair, at least when it wasn’t as muddy as it is now. His clothes were also muddy, and torn; there was blood trickling down one of his knees, from his nose, and his eye was blackened as well. From at least a day ago, she guessed. Something must be amiss. Normally, when Rat was surprised—and that wasn’t often—he would scowl, then grumble as he trotted forward to his former stance. But he hadn’t this time. He seemed, humble. Begging almost. But she still had to be wary of him. Not only was Rat one of the best pick-pockets of the entire Rogue, he was also the best Player and could act like a professional.
“The last time you said that, Rat,” she finally, “it was a cat that you had found and didn’t know how to get rid of. And then I had to take it into my shop, bathe it—”
“It’s the King, Miss. He’s sick.”
That stopped Trent in mid-word. “How long?”
“Three days. No change a’ tall, and our own mages can’t find what’s wrong.”
Trent stood there for about a minute, thinking, while Rat shifted nervously from foot to foot in the pouring rain.
She knew he was telling the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Trent could tell easily whenever people were lying to her, no matter how well they could act, or how long she had known them. But if he is battered this much, and it’s been three days, something must be wrong in the Rogue as well. The Rogue’s mages were very good healers, able to cure the common cold easily, as well as dealing with pestilence often enough to keep plagues from starting in the sewers. But if they couldn’t find any natural reason for the Rogue King’s sickness, there was only one thing left: poison.
The Rogue’s mages were almost as good as the palace healers, actually. And so it wouldn’t take them three days, even if it was a poison they’d never encountered before. They must have fought whether or not to ask for help, after finding they couldn’t cure it themselves. It looks like Rat’s side lost, but he came anyway.
Finally she answered him: “Wait.”
“Ivan!” she called, poking her head into the store where he was closing up. “I have to go out. There’s a rat problem again.”
Ivan looked up from the fireplace he had just smothered. He heard her emphasis on ‘rat’ and nodded without a blinking, immediately understanding where she needed to go, and that she’d be gone for a while. “I’ll take care of things here for a while. Until you come back, Lass. Send someone if you need anything, and I’ll send whatever it is you need back with him. I don’t want to know where they live, but I’ll help if you’re helping.”
“Thanks, Ivan.” She turned to go back into the workshop and up the stairs when she remembered her promise to her uncles. “Ivan. Will you explain to Neal and Merric if I’m not back by lunch tomorrow?”
“Of course, Lass. I’ll take care of it.”
She nodded briefly, then ran up the stairs.

After fifteen minutes of winding their way through the busy rainy streets, Trent finally pulled Rat up short by the collar.
“Rat. I already know the way into the Court of Thieves. All this is doing is costing your king precious time to live. So I suggest we stop going in circles and go to the court. Now.”
Rat gulped and nodded. He turned back to the city and looked around at the lampposts. “The quickest entrance is over here,” he said, and walked into the nearest tavern.
It was a clean and orderly sort of inn—not the kind you would expect to find the King of the Rogue hiding in. But this is where Trent had come before—on accident, actually—on her way home from the market one time when the weather had turned bad. The rain had turned to hail, and wasn’t going to stop anytime soon, so Trent got a room for the night. Everything was going fine until one of the normal customers tried to get friendly with her while attempting to steal her money purse.
She retaliated, of course, slicing him across the chest with one of her many hidden daggers, then pressed the blade to his neck. The only problem was the man’s unexpected armsmen. Unfortunately, the man she was threatening was the King of Thieves.
Lucky for Trent, he took the whole fiasco as a joke! He introduced himself, and his men that had been holding swords to her throat, and invited her to sup with him. He even offered to pay for her rent as well! She refused of course, but when she got home the next day she found all the money she had paid for room and food in neat stacks on her dresser.
Since that day the King of the Rogue and Trent became fast friends. She would never help him in his crimes and he knew that. And as long as his schemes didn’t affect her, she felt no reason to alert the authorities.

Trent ch 3

Chapter Three

I sent that boy on his way home, Trent.” Ivan called to Trent. He had just closed the shop for midday meal, and was standing in the doorway watching Trent as she labored on another sword—this one for Haven. She would come and visit when their brother Domi—whom they called their ‘cousin’ to keep their parent’s marriage a secret—when Domi took the Fourth-year Page Examinations. They’d seen each other only once since Haven joined the Shang, and it was only by coincidence. The Shang were on another round through the various kingdoms, looking for likely warriors willing to join their numbers. Haven, having left before the other three started to change their appearance, looked unchanged—the only original copy of the four girls.
Trent’s version of the charm wasn’t too far off from the original, but it was hard to tell when she was at work in the forge and covered in sweat. She was wearing her usual blacksmith garb: tight black breeches, soft-soled knee-high boots, no shirt, and a full-length leather work-apron. Trent loved the heat, and liked to expose as much of her body to it as possible. Ivan, on the other hand, was in full garb. He wore dark brown breeches, mid-calf soft-soled shoes, a white shirt, and a light brown vest with the Armoury’s emblem of a snowy white owl on the right breast. Trent had copied the owl from her mother’s first shield.
“Thank you, Ivan,” she called back, not turning from her work. She knew he had been standing there for a while. He always did that, ever since he started training her as an apprentice. But she hadn’t known that until the day she burned her hand and he came running over with an ice-cold cloth from the ever-present icebox and rescued her finger. After that, Trent always looked over her shoulder when she thought she was alone in the forge only to discover that she was wrong. Most times, Ivan would be at another work place doing something with his hands, and watching her—just to make sure that she was safe. On one occasion Trent commented that he was acting like a mother hen. He was indignant, and denied ever watching her, but they both knew better. Ivan was a mother hen, and thought of her as his niece. He protected her, and comforted her when she cried—albeit awkwardly at first, but now that Trent rarely cried, he listened to her vent frustrations instead of offer his shoulder. It looked like some venting would happen soon.
“He walked right by me, and didn’t recognize me,” Trent went on in a bitter voice. “They’re all so prejudiced.” She wrinkled her nose in disdain.
He was afraid of this. Trent hated to be the center of attention, but at the same time she hated it when she was dismissed, overlooked, or not taken seriously. But that’s not what scared Ivan: Trent was starting to vent, but Ivan knew that his reply could only lead to a touchier and over-fought subject, which would take them to the painful past. His shirt was bound to get wet. Ivan thought his answer over carefully. “He wanted to thank you. He was probably so focused on finding you the same way he saw you the night before, that he didn’t recognize you at the forge. He’s not as prejudiced as you think he is.” He hesitated. What he had to say next would bring on the storm of tears, but it had to be said. It always did. He took a deep breath and plunged on. “From what I can see, the only one prejudiced is you.”
Trent stopped her hammer in mid-swing. She lowered it slowly and turned to look at him with hurt eyes. “That’s not fair, Ivan. You know why I don’t trust nobles.” She completely forgot her former complaint, and focused on the insult. “You know what they did to—.” Her eyes started to well up with tears.
“Yes, Lass. I know—I know why you hate nobles.” He walked over to her and wrapped her up in a giant hug. She clung to him, her eyes now spilling over. “I’m as sorry as you are to bring the subject up again, but you have to let it all go, Trent. Put the past behind you and move on.” He kissed her on the head, and released her. “You’re a smart woman, Trent. It’s about time you started acting like one.” Trent nodded.
“I suppose you’re right. But—. It’s hard to forget. When you’ve been hurt so many times, it kinda leaves a lasting impression on you.” She turned back to her work before it was too late for her to finish.
“I know it’s hard, Trent. But please try. Don’t let the past get in the way of a new beginning.” He walked back to the door of the store. “By the way. How much sleep-poison did you give him?” he asked changing the subject.
“It’s called sleep-weed. And I think I gave him too much. He slept all day yesterday without waking up even once, but he was able to heal almost completely during that time,” she assured Ivan. “Besides,” she smiled to herself, “he was cute to look at. Almost peaceful when he slept.”
“You’re going soft, girl,” Ivan growled. Trent just laughed.
“No. Not really. He was just a little different somehow. Like I’ve met him before or something. Or someone very much like him. Hmm,” she mused. “I wonder if I have met him before, a very long time ago. Perhaps when I was just a babe.”
“Didn’t you just call him prejudiced not two minutes ago? I wish you’d make up your mind, Lass! Either fall in love with the boy or hate him! Stop floundering in between, or you’ll get me confused!” he teased her.
“I am not falling in love with anyone, Ivan. He just reminds me of someone that I know. Someone who was, or maybe still, is very important in my life.” Trent stopped her work again, this time to gaze into the flames of her forge.
“I think you’d better get that boy out of your head before you ruin that sword that you’re supposed to be working on for your sister.” Trent’s head snapped back down to her work, and she immediately started moving again. Leave it to Ivan to embarrass you and bring you back to reality all in one swift move. “You have that day-dreaming look on your face that only innocent, swooning, foolish maidens get when they see a man with a cute face and broad shoulders.”
Trent glared at him. “He’s not distracting me! And besides, I can probably concentrate on the smithy a lot better than he’ll be able to concentrate on anything for a few days! You wouldn’t believe how he stared at me! He was still delirious while I was about to re-open his wound and he complimented my on my eyes! My eyes! When he was delirious! How many other men have liked my eyes, and not been able to even walk straight for a week?”
“I’ve lost count. After the first month, I didn’t think it was worth it, all those boys walking into my shop with a mission and a list of what they needed, only to suddenly go mute or dumb when they saw you.” Ivan grinned at her wolfishly. She stuck her tongue back out at him. “Great. Glad you’re back to your normal, cranky self. Now finish that sword so we can eat!”
“Yes sir!” Trent attacked her work with renewed vigor.

I can’t believe it.” Neal and Merric were still in Neal’s rooms after Nathaniel was sent off. He was still a little weak, but he was practically healed completely. There would hardly even be a scar left over!
“Neither can I,” Neal agreed.
“She’s actually here. I haven’t seen her since she was tiny!” Merric was dazed. He had been there for the quads’ birth, and had helped raise them until they were about seven. But that was the last he had seen of Trinity. Haven left to join the Shang Warriors when they were all four. She was the earliest to leave. Hope and Dry left when they were ten to go to the University in Carthak and to go to the convent to become a lady, but he had not seen that. And Trinity, as far as Merric and Neal knew, had stayed with her mother in Scanra. They had no idea what she had made of herself, but if she was working in an armoury—. There was almost no doubt that she was her mother’s daughter.
“We have to go see her.”
“I fully agree, Merric, but what about Domi. They’re family, you know. Does he even know that she’s here?”
“I don’t know Neal. But surely she’d have sent word if she wanted people to know she was here. Wouldn’t she?”
“We don’t really know that Merric. Remember, we haven’t seen her since she was five! And she was very determined, and Raoul knew her the best. And besides, if she’s working in an armoury she could be trying to blend in with the commoners, to be known as a noble. I can’t imagine why she would do that though.”
“We can ask her that when we see her, but for now, we’ve got to find her!”

Trent was in the middle of forging a sword, when she had special visitors come to call. “Hello? Trinity? Are you here?” Neal called.
“Ivan! I’m a little busy right now. Can you deal with them?” Trent called from the forge behind the store.
“No problem, Lass.” He put down his whetstone and stood up from behind the desk to greet the visitors. “Hello, good sirs. I am Ivan von Dreger, Trent’s master. How may I help you?
“I am Sir Nealan of Queenscove, and this is Sir Merric of Hollyrose. We’re old friends of—Trent.”
“Ah! So you’re the ones! I’ve heard a lot about you both from Trent. It’s a pleasure to meet you finally.” Neal and Merric each took Ivan’s outstretched hand in turn and shook it firmly.
“Trent, eh?” Merric began. “Not—.”
“No. She gave up that name years ago. When she first came to study under me, actually. She wanted a normal, common name—so she could fit into society better and avoid the pesky court nobles at the same time,” he winked, and they laughed nervously at his joke, not really understanding. When Ivan noticed, he said, “You don’t know, do you. About the court, the men there.” They shook their heads, dumbfounded.
“What do you mean by ‘the men there’? Was she harmed in any way?” Merric asked.
“Who? I’ll kill him! I don’t care if it’s the king’s son, I’ll kill him!” Neal declared hotly.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—keep your noble shirts on. No! It’s not like that, not like what you’re thinking. Well, not exactly. She was mistreated, yes, but nothing permanently damaging. She just holds a grudge now. Which is why I thought it was a miracle that she helped that lad from—.”
Ivan stopped talking when Neal and Merric grinned at each other wickedly. “You know the boy?”
“Oh yes. And so does Trini—I mean Trent. But she was very small. Just a babe when they met.”
“Tell me, has Trent been able to concentrate on—wait. When did she start to work under you? And in what?”
“You don’t know? She wrote you every week. But she didn’t tell you? I’m surprised,” he laughed to himself. “Trent has been learning the trade of a blacksmith since she was seven. She’s very good at it, actually. She’s a journeywoman now, and almost ready to be a Master. I’m just here to make sure she doesn’t start any fights, or be rude to too many nobles. And I don’t live with her,” he assured them. “She’s like a niece or daughter to me and I’d never try to take advantage of her. I live down the street. A couple blocks, actually. The girl is very independent—she likes it that way—and I let her have her privacy.”
“Well, I can see that she’s been in good hands,” Neal said.
“This shop then, it’s hers?” Merric asked. “Since you live two blocks down the road, I mean.”
“Yes, sir. She picked the spot herself, actually. Bought it last time we were here, in fact—so she’d already have a place to set up shop if she ever decided to return to Tortall to stay. She designed the whole place too. Wanted the store in the front, where people could see all the wares, and the forge in the back where it’s hottest. She likes it that way. The heat helps her concentrate, and it gives better quality metal, too.”
“I see,” Merric said.
“Uncle Merric! Uncle Neal!” It was then that Trinity—Trent—emerged from the forge, carrying her newest creation. It was marvelous, handcrafted steel. Almost blue, like the Tyran kind. The blade was sinuous, curving ever so slightly, giving it a deadlier look. The blade was razor sharp, and perfectly balanced with the handle. She laid it down on her desk—almost nonchalantly!—and ran into Neal’s and Merric’s outstretched arms to be enveloped in a giant bear hug. “Oh! I’ve missed you so much!”
“We’ve missed you, too. How are you?”
“You’ve grown so much!” Merric said staring at her in disbelief.
“I’m well. Very well,” she smiled. “As you can see, I have my own store, with Ivan to look after me, and it’s doing quite well. But how did you know I was here?”
“It’s a long story. Trent. So why don’t you let us treat you to lunch, and we’ll talk more about it there?” She thought about it for a while.
“Ivan?” she began sweetly.
“Yes, lass?”
“Would you be so very kind as to watch my store for me?” She blinked her eyes winsomely at him.
“Of course! How can a man say no to those eyes!” he laughed. “Where would you like me to put your latest work?” he asked, hefting the magnificent sword.
“In the safe box, please. It’s a gift; not for sale.”
“As you wish, lass.”
“Thank you, Ivan.” And with that, the three nobles walked out of the store, with Trent betwixt the two taller men.
They walked in constant chatter, all the way to the Grapevine, a prosperous inn, where many knights frequented. Trent tried to object, but they insisted. They wanted to treat her to a special meal, since they had not seen her in years. And besides, it had the best food in Corus. Trent found it hard to object.
The food was delicious! And the company could not be better. Trent had not seen her adoptive uncles since she was five! That was a long time ago. If not for their constant correspondence by letter, she would not have remembered them. They sent her portraits of themselves and of loved ones, and she sent them portraits in return.
But two years ago, she stopped sending her letters. Her uncles didn’t know why, and frankly, neither did Trent. She didn’t want to go back to Tortall then, and had thought it best to cut off all communication with that part of her childhood. But she couldn’t shut the door forever. That was part of the reason why she had decided to come back: family. Extended, real, and adopted. There were so many people here in Tortall who loved her, had cared for her as a babe during the war, and had missed her while she was away. Trent finally admitted that she couldn’t turn her back on them all. It would be like cutting off her arms, her arms that enabled her to be a blacksmith, to live amongst the commoners. Trent couldn’t give that up either.
“So,” Uncle Neal began. “Have you been able to concentrate properly on your work?”
“Of course. Didn’t you see that sword that I just forged?” she defended herself.
“Well, not really. You hid it quickly,” Uncle Merric objected.
“Oh. Sorry. Why do you ask, Uncle Neal?” she asked, interested in their peculiarities.
“Oh, no reason in particular. Do you remember that young man whom you sheltered the other day?” Uncle Merric asked innocently.
“Yes, why?”
“You saved his life.” Coming from Uncle Neal, it couldn’t be denied. He was the only one who was able to recognize Trent’s magic, but only after a few days and if he was in close proximity to the one effected.
“Yes. I only let him in my store after closing hours because he was practically dead on his feet!”
“You’ve gone hard, Trent,” Merric said. “There was a day when you would have opened your hospitable arms to any man who knocked at your door.”
“That was before the Scanran court,” Trent said, taking a deep drink of her slightly alcoholic fruit juice. She never drank alcohol straight. “Why do you ask about the lordling? Was he the king’s grandson or something?”
“Close, but not that close. It’s actually quite amusing,” Uncle Neal said smiling. “Would you like to hear?”
“I suppose.” Trent stretched. “I’ve got nothing better to do at the moment,” she said, trying to hide her excitement. She loved Uncle Neal’s stories. He was such a jester, and he could always make her laugh.
“Well, he was over a week late and we were all getting worried. It was very unlike him to be so late! So we woke up at dawn, all of us ready to go charging out the gates on a reckless search for the poor boy! But of course, we had to make plans, and as we all had our own ideas, and not the strategic abilities of your mother, it took us half the morning! Eventually, we were ready to go. We gathered at the stables an hour before noon and set out towards the gate, and whichever strange plan that we had come up with. Well, we got to the gate as it was opening, and who do you think we saw coming up the hill at full gallop?
“No! Not—!” Trent was on the edge of her seat. She loved Uncle Neal’s exaggerations of real life situations.
“It was the little lordling! Tired and battered from a day and two nights spent in an armoury’s storehouse! We didn’t even recognize him in such poor clothing!” Uncle Neal teased, knowing full well that Trent would never clothe anyone in anything less than the best quality of material.
She took the joke well. “His clothes were infected from his wound and the fever, Uncle Neal, so I had to get them away from him before they started to infect my whole store. And those clothes were the largest ones I had.”
“That’s as may be, but he looked terrible!”
“Now, you know that’s not true, Neal. You didn’t even notice he was missing!”
“That’s beside the point, Merric. He’s not my squire. And who’s telling the story here? You or me?” Uncle Merric gave up the floor.
“As I was saying, we were about to charge out the gates when we saw your little lordling stagger half-dead through the gates! Sir Wallace was furious!”
“He almost got the bucket,” Merric took over. “That is, until Neal came in. He must have sensed your healing work, because he was the only one who believed the boy when he said that he had been waylaid by bandits.”
“Basically, I checked his temperature, his practically-healed wound—you did a very good job on that, might I add. I’m going to have to get more attuned to your powers!—and declared that he was telling the truth because he was in perfect health.”
“Which only confused Sir Wallace more.”
“We tried to explain—to an extent. More so that he would stop asking questions than understand what we were saying, which was impossible for him.”
“You two are evil, Uncle Neal!”
“I know,” Uncle Merric said humbly.
“We try,” Uncle Neal added in kind. “Well anyway. The boy is fine, and he’s dying to know your name.”
“You don’t mean to tell me that—d?”
“That he’s in love with you?” Uncle Neal finished on top of her.
“That he can’t concentrate on anything anymore because he’s fallen under the spell of your dazzling eyes?” Uncle Merric added.
“Very funny you too.”
“We’re serious, Trent! The boy starts day-dreaming at just the mention of your armoury!”
“It reminds me of puppy love, actually.”
“And of course you’d know all about puppy love, Neal. Since you had it more than anyone else in history who has ever gained knighthood.”
“Very funny, Merric. If I were you, I’d keep that tongue between your teeth before I chop it out!”
The rest of the meal was uneventful, and they returned Trent to her store with more stories on the way of Uncle Neal’s and Uncle Merric’s adventures with her mother. They were about to leave, but Trent insisted that they look around her store first. She was a girl to the core, and couldn’t help but want to show off what she had accomplished. Trent showed them about the store and her forge, telling them about her work there in Corus, showing them her latest masterpieces, her first works at the forge, and the plans that she still had for the store and the forge. Her uncles were amazed.
“Wow. You’re really moving up in the world. Of course, it’s not who you really are, Trent. You know that, right? You could have it so much easier if you just told the people who you really are.”
“But I don’t want it easier, Uncle Neal. I like the way I live. I love the smithy. And I don’t want to be known as one of the nobles. It closes so many doors, and locks so many people’s hearts. And that’s precisely why I’m disclaiming my inheritance. I love my parents and my family, and you all, but I hated court. I hate nobles, and I would hate to live as one when it’s so much more fulfilling in life to live as I do now.”
“What happened to you, Trinity?” Merric asked, on the verge of wrapping Trent in another hug.
“I’d really rather not talk about it, Uncle Merric,” she said quietly, her eyes pleading.
Silence.
“Do you know the name of the boy you saved?”
“No, and I don’t want to know, Uncle Neal.”
“Are you sure? He’s dying to know your name. He can’t hardly think of anything but you.”
“Stop teasing me, you two! I don’t have time for a husband! I have work to do! A business to run, things to make! You really expect me to go searching for a lover?”
“I just thought you’d be interested to know. He’s my squire, by the way.”
“Really? What year?” Trent’s interest was piqued. Knightly matters always did that. It was all because of her mother’s stories of when she was studying to be a knight. Trent loved her stories of how she and her friends had gotten into scrapes, fought bandits and spidrens and centaurs.
“He’s a third-year squire. He’s about your age, too, I think. He started a few years late. Aren’t you eighteen thereabouts?” Sir Merric asked innocently.
“Yes, I’m eighteen. What are you hinting at, Uncle Merric?” Trent was suspicious now. Her uncles had never acted this way before.
“Oh, nothing. I just think that you and my squire have a lot in common. Why don’t I properly introduce you sometime? He keeps asking me your name.”
“No. I want nothing to do with nobles and the palace and the court. I hate it!”
“So. You won’t even come to the palace for your brother’s birthday? He’s turning fifteen, you know. And he hasn’t seen you in years. Do you even have a gift for him?”
“He’d love for you to be there,” Neal finished.
“Of course I have a gift for my cousin! What do you think that sword I made earlier was for? To sell!” She turned her nose up at the very thought. “I’d never sell such a magnificent sword. To a commoner, or a noble.”
“Well, why don’t you attend his party?”
“He’s having a party?” she asked suspiciously.
“Yes, he is. In the evening. We’ve asked for one of the spare small ballrooms. It’s a private party, mainly other squires, and a few pages and knights. Most of them might be a little young for you, but some of them have started late, so they’re about your age. You might like to meet them.”
“Why should I believe anything you’re telling me right now?” Trent asked them pointedly. “You’ve both just been trying to set me up with that lordling puppy that I rescued, and now you’re convincing me to attend my cousin’s private party! Is it because the lordling will be there?”
“Well, he might be there. He’s a third-year squire, whereas your—cousin—is a first-year. But I do believe that they know each other, so the lordling could probably be there.”
“But that’s not the point, Trent,” Uncle Merric continued. “The point is that you haven’t seen your bro—I mean cousin, in a long time. And this is a wonderful opportunity for a reunion. Who cares who else will be there! No one will guess the real connection between you two.”
Trent thought about it for a minute. “Introduce me to the palace blacksmiths, and I’ll come. And in a dress, too!”
“Done then!” Uncle Neal exclaimed, holding his hand out. Trent shook it, sealing the deal, and did the same with her Uncle Merric. “We’ll pick you up at lunch, show you around, let you hide out wherever you want, and then it’ll be time for your cousin’s party.”
“Bye, then. Take care, Trent.”
“You old goons!” Trent teased them as she pushed them out her doorway.

Trent ch 2

Chapter Two

When next the traveler woke, it was a bright, clear, and cloudless morning morning. There was not a cloud in the sky. Nathaniel loved it when the sky did that after a storm. It was so peaceful that if one did not look at the mud he was trudging through, he would forget that there was a storm the night before. This was one such morning. The woman had set out a breakfast for him in the room that he slept in, but he never saw her. It was as if she had disappeared. He came down the stairs and noticed a tall, skinny lad working in the forge, but no breath-taking woman. He was surprised to find customers already crowding the store that early in the morning, but the man in charge, Ivan—he said his name was—had helped him get on his way after tending to a few customers.
The only testimony of last night\'s storm was the muddy ground. So muddy that Nathaniel would need another bath when he got back to the palace. And his borrowed clothes would have to be washed as well before he could return them. If he could ever remember the way. A small boy led Nathaniel on his horse through numerous, unrecognizable alley-ways and streets before Nathaniel saw something of Corus that he recognized. Truly, he had never traversed this part of the city before today. If it weren’t for the boy, he would surely get lost, and then be in even more trouble when he arrived at the palace.
The palace!
He was supposed to have been back at the palace two days ago! But he had gotten waylaid by roadway bandits, and then last night he was sheltered in the armoury near the gate, but there was no way that he could possibly find his way back there.
The armoury. Owl’s Armoury, he remembered it to be called. But who was the master there? Surely not the woman. Who ever heard of a female blacksmith? But then again, Aunt Alanna and Aunt Kel were lady knights, and there were more female pages and squires in training because of their success. It wouldn’t be all that unlikely for the woman to at least be the owner of the store, if not the blacksmith herself.
Why would she not give me her name, even though I tried to reveal my own identity first. And I swore by the gods that I meant her no harm. Even then, she wouldn’t give me her name. She doesn’t seem to trust easily. And yet, she helped me. She took me in and sheltered me during the storm. Mithros! She even fed and clothed me!
Why did she not trust me then? Perhaps she had a few bad experiences with nobles before; but maybe she just didn’t meet the right nobles. I could fix that, he thought, But I don’t know when I’ll be able to leave the palace again, what with my doubtless punishment to come. “Excuse me, boy. But could we go any faster? You see I’m late, and I don’t want to get in too much trouble with my master.”
Nathaniel was a young man of nineteen, with black hair like his mother’s, but wavy like his father’s. He also had the blue eyes, broad back and shoulders, height, and command of his father. But his temperament was more like that of his mother’s. As he rode his horse towards the center of Corus, and then on towards the palace gates, the crowd silently moved aside. Nathaniel may not be a crown prince, but his father was very high up in the ranks, and all the common people knew a noble in a hurry when they saw one.
Nonetheless, Nathaniel galloped the long ride up the hill to the palace with a storm over his head, despite the clear skies. What kind of punishment would he receive this time? Last time, he wasn’t allowed to leave the palace for over a month. Maybe, if he explained his case well enough, or got someone else to, he’d get a lesser punishment. But how was he to explain his case without appearing rude? Or insane! Perhaps his knight master, Sir Merric of Hollyrose would come to his aid—if only he could speak to him before Sir Wallace found out.
Nathaniel’s plans came crashing down around his ears when he walked through the palace gates. There he saw Sir Merric, Sir Owen, Sir Alanna, and Sir Wallace, preparing to ride out the gates at a charge. To find him.
“Squire Golden Lake!” Sir Wallace yelled. “Where in the nine hells have you been?”
Here comes the tirade for about an hour, Nathaniel thought, and then the punishment: no trips to the market. Which means no chance to find out more about the woman. Gods! Why wouldn’t she tell me her name!

You were waylaid by bandits? How long ago? You were expected to return a week ago. How do you expect us to believe your story when you look fit as a fiddle!” Sir Wallace was furious. They had been talking for over an hour already. And still no headway. Nathaniel had been waylaid by bandits somewhere off the Great Road from Port Legayn and Corus, but he could not for the life of him remember how long ago that was. He was sure that he was only a few days late, not a whole week! That wound in his side must have been worse than he thought, if he had lost track of that much time! But, how then, was the woman able to heal him so well? Was she a hedgewitch as well as weaponry-store owner? No. Impossible.
“Nathaniel?”
No answer.
Nathaniel had completely forgotten where he was. His mind had gone back to last night. The woman was leaning over him, stitching up his middle. She had beautiful eyes. Deep, dark blue and green eyes that danced their way into his soul. Her lips were red and full, almost pouting for a kiss. Her nose was small and delicate, but her chin was stubborn. That was alright—Nathaniel liked that in girls. Her hair was dark brown, and soft. He had felt it when it fell out of its braid to brush his cheek while she was stitching, And he felt it again when she had ordered him to rest his arm on her small head while she wrapped cloth around him. Her arms were so slender; her hands gentle, but strong. She was like the woman Nathaniel only heard of in dreams or fairy tales! She was—
“Nathaniel!” He was jerked back into reality. “Where is your head, boy? Have you been day-dreaming all this time? Now tell us just where you have been and what you have been doing that made you a week late?”
“This is serious, Nathaniel. You could lose your place as my squire and go back to being a page if you went gallivanting off on your own while on a mission for the crown.” Sir Merric’s eyes were serious. Nathaniel was still trying to reorient himself in the present. The woman kept intruding upon his thoughts. His eyes glazed over again.
“Nathaniel? Are you alright?” Sir Merric was worried now. This was not like him.
There was a knock at the door.
“Yes? Who is it?” Sir Wallace asked. A middle-aged man entered Sir Wallace’s study. He had green eyes and brown finger-combed wavy hair. He was tall, but not as tall as the Giantkiller, Nathaniel’s father. But he was strong in the Gift, a magnificent healer, and one to be reckoned with.
“Excuse me, but I think I should take a look at him.” Sir Nealan of Queenscove didn’t wait for an invitation to come in. He just did.
“Neal! What’s the meaning of this?”
“That’s exactly my question. What do you think you are doing, interrupting us? This is not time for one of your childish jokes.” Sir Wallace was getting more furious by the second.
“Hmm? Oh, sorry. What is he in trouble for?” Sir Neal asked absently checking Nathaniel’s temperature by feeling Nathaniel’s forehead.
“He was due back here at the palace from his courier mission over a week ago! He claims to have been waylaid by bandits, but that is impossible, since he seems to be in perfect health.”
“So you right away suggest lying? Did the thought never occur to you that he could have found a healer or hedge witch along the way and rested up there before continuing on?” Neal’s eyes were innocent, but piercing. Sir Wallace was not nearly as frightening as Sir Wyldon. But that had not stopped Neal from standing up to Sir Wyldon before as a page—and getting stable duty for it.
Sir Wallace stopped and took a deep breath to clear his thoughts. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared up at the ceiling. At last he spoke. “Forgive me, Nathaniel. I spoke in haste. Now, if you please, tell us if you stopped to see a healer on your way home.”
“I—uh. I didn’t stop to see a healer. I didn’t have time. I tried to get back as quickly as possible.” He seemed to be coming back to his senses. “But I arrived in town just last night! I swear it!”
“Where did you stay?” Sir Merric asked.
“At an—.” He stopped. Would they really believe him if he said he stayed at an armoury?
“Where?” Sir Neal persisted. “This is very important, if you still want to keep your position as Sir Merric’s squire.”
“It was late. I didn’t know what store I had walked into. But—.”
“Yes? Go on.” Sir Neal’s eyes were on fire!
“It was an—armoury,” he stammered. “And there was a woman—.”
“A woman!” Sir Merric and Sir Wallace yelled at the same time.
“You stayed one more night to bed some strange woman in an armoury!” Sir Wallace yelled.
“No! I didn’t say that! There was a storm, my mare was hurt, and I was tired and sick. She took me in, fed me, put me up for the night, and even lent me clothes because mine were torn and bloodied. I’d never do such a thing to a woman.” Nathaniel defended himself, rising from his chair.
“Sit down, boy. I believe you, even if these fools don’t,” Sir Neal said, pushing the lad gently back into his chair. “It was a tall woman, wasn’t she? Dark brown hair, blue-green eyes?” He was starting to smile.
“Yes. Yes! Do you know her?” Nathaniel was getting excited. Maybe Sir Nealan knew the woman’s name!
“If it’s who I think she is, then yes. But there is just one more thing to verify it: how beautiful was she?” Sir Neal’s eyes were glittering with mischief. Sir Merric was beginning to understand what Neal was saying, too.
Nathaniel hesitated. “She was more beautiful than anyone I’d ever met before. I’ve never known beauty before I met her,” he breathed at last.
Sir Nealan and Sir Merric burst out laughing. Sirs Merric and Wallace simply stared open-mouthed at him. Nathaniel was puzzled by Sir Nealan’s outburst of laughter. Oh my, yes. I know her. Her name, her family, her up-bringing, everything! But I’m not telling you. If she didn’t give you her name herself, it’d be rude of me to disregard her wishes.”
“You don’t think that it could be—her? Do you, Neal?”
Sir Neal finally caught his breath. “Without a doubt, it’s her!” He wiped tears from his eyes.
“Gods! I haven’t seen her in years,” Sir Merric breathed.
“What in the world are you two talking about!” Sir Wallace demanded to know.
That’s what I’d like to know, Nathaniel thought. How do Sirs Merric and Nealan know the woman? She said the store was new.
“It’s a long story, Sir Wallace, but don’t worry. Nathaniel here is telling the truth, assuredly—without a doubt.”
“I can’t believe that she’s actually here! I thought she was in Scanra with her mother?” Sir Merric exclaimed.
“Well, she’s here now. And it is her! If she hadn’t shielded herself, I’d have found her earlier. But I guess this is the first time that she’s used it, or she let herself slip.”
“I’d still like to know what you two are so excited about,” Sir Wallace was almost pouting with annoyance.
“It’s quite alright, Sir Wallace. We’ll tell you all about it. Some other time. It’s a very funny story, but known to only a select few. You almost had to have been there at their birth. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Just trust me for now that the boy is telling the truth. There is no reason to demote him. I still would like to examine him though—to make sure that there is no infection.”
“Infection? Where?” He opened his mouth to reply, but Sir Wallace held up his hand instead. “No. Nevermind. On second thought I don’t want to know. I think it will just make me more confused. Do as you will. If you say that he’s telling the truth, and you know the woman that he is referring to, then I’ll believe you.”
“Alright then. You hear that, boy? You’re off the hook! It’s not your fault at all that you’re over a week late, and you fell head over heels in love with a beautiful woman that you\'ve never seen before. But the storm was two nights ago, not last night. You must have slept in that armoury straight through that night, the next day, and last night as well! She must have given you some powerful medicine. And you must have been very near death for her to have taken you in and given you such a strong dosage.”
Nathaniel’s eyes grew wide. He had no idea! That woman had saved his life? But how? He wasn’t delirious or anything! But then again... He didn’t remember much from that night. Only the sword that he wielded in there, and her beautiful eyes.
“Well, come along my boy. Let’s get you to my quarters, where I’ll take a look at you, see if there’s anything left to be healed, and then send you on your way.”
It was strange. Nathaniel had known these two knights practically all of his life, and he had never once heard them talk of her before. Sir Neal was a something of a legend. The only squire that Aunt Alanna had ever taken on, he was very prestigious amongst the mages. And he had disobeyed orders and gone with Aunt Kel into Scanra to kill the mage who had been making the Killing Machines. Sir Merric wanted to go as well, but he had been too injured in the initial attack. Still, as one of Aunt Kel’s friends and comrades-in-arms, he had a little bit of fame as well.
But how had Nathaniel missed this? They knew the woman that was now filling his mind, and yet he had never heard them speak of her?
“Why won’t you tell me her name, Sir Nealan?” Nathaniel asked as they started down the hall.
“She refused to give you her name?” Sir Nealan turned to face him.
“Not in so many words,” he evaded
“Hmm. I wonder what happened to her in Scanra,” he mused.
“Shh! He’s not supposed to know about that, Neal. No one is.”
“Hm? Oh! Right. Come on my boy. And you’ll never get her name from me. It’d be healthier for you, actually, to forget everything about her.” He paused, looked at him carefully, then said, “But I don’t think you ever will.” He laughed. “You’ve fallen under her spell. Along with every other man who has ever laid eyes on her! Now you’ll never be able to concentrate on being Sir Merric’s squire.” They continued on down the hall towards Sir Nealan’s room in silence.

Something old. Aka: Trent

Prologue

I don’t want to be a knight! Why can’t we just let Domi go?” It was late at night, and the young girl had a bad temper. It was the evening of her 7th birthday, and she did not enjoy the latest news from her parents.
“Why don’t you want to go to the palace, Trin? I thought you wanted to follow your mother’s footsteps,” her father asked. He had dark brown hair, and blue eyes. A retired sergeant from the Second Company of the King’s Own, he was a large man, with a body of finely toned muscles. His name was Domitan of Masbole and Protector’s Hill, a title gained from his marriage.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love Mother and I love the changes that have come about because of her knighthood, but—. It’s not what I want to do.”
“Then what do you want to do, Sweetie?” Domitan’s wife was a tall woman, well-muscled, but beautiful. She had mid-length plain brown hair, and brilliant green eyes. She was the Protector of the Small, Lady Knight Keladry of Masbole and Protector’s Hill.
“I—I want to be a blacksmith.”
“A blacksmith!”

Chapter One

It was cold and raining. Trinity hated the rain; it made her work harder. It was only after her work was finished that she welcomed the cold, but while she labored she’d prefer to have her furnace as hot as possible in order to maximize the speed and quality of her craftsmanship—especially when she was making swords.
She was a young lass of almost nineteen years. But she looked to be twenty-one. Trinity was almost six feet tall, her shoulders broad and, her slender arms hid hard muscles, toned from working all day in the forge. She had dark brown hair braided to below her waist, tanned skin, and her eyes were deep pools of blue and green. A heart-stopping-beauty, and born to Keladry of Mindelan and to Domitan of Masbole during the Scanran War, somewhat illegitimately. Her parents were married secretly a month after the War, so it didn’t matter all that much. Most people didn’t even know that Trinity—or her three identical sisters—even existed. Trinity was the youngest of a set of quads, identical from birth, and blessed with the Gift—and a little extra something. Somehow, the four girls were able to utilize their Gift and yet hide it from other Gift wielders. Because of such an advantage, they used their masked-Gift to alter their appearance without being detected. Trinity\'s sisters, Dree, Hope, and Haven, played a diabolical joke on Trinity, making her the prettiest of them all. But Trinity had no intentions of ever catching a man.
Presently, Trinity was living under the façade of a common blacksmith in the city of Corus. But no one knew her by that name in Corus. They all called her Trent Masdlan—a name taken from a combination of both her parents’ former titles before they wed. After three months already, no one, not even the nobles who raised her, knew that she was there.
Before Corus, Trent lived in Scanra for the last thirteen years . Ten of these years were spent learning to be a blacksmith. Upon Trent’s arrival and her family’s introduction to the Court of Scanra, no one had taken any mind to her and her sisters, so Trent spent most of her time alone with her sisters Dree and Hope, both of which would be leaving in five years for the university and the convent. Their eldest sister Haven had left to join the Shang Warriors just before they left for Scanra. Trent was the only one left who didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life.
But then, one fateful, rainy day, before her 7th birthday, she, her sisters, and their maid took shelter in a smithy while they waited for the ongoing storm to abate. To many people in town it was simply the warmest place during the rains, but to Trent, it was a new world. On that very day, she fell in love with the smithy, the blacksmith’s work, and weapons. Trent knew she was born for the forge. She finally knew what she wanted. And lucky for her, her parents understood! The the day after their birthday, her parents took Trent\\ back to the smithy and asked the master there to take Trent on as an apprentice. The smith complied and signed a contract.
By this time, Trent had already spent two years immersed in the Scanran Court. She knew what the weakness was of every man there: pretty eyes. Trent had dazzling blue-green eyes and was therefore preyed upon by all the men there since the day she turned eleven and her badges started bulging. They trapped her in dark rooms, cornered her in empty hallways; anything to get where they could be alone and have their way with her. She was not interested in boys, lovers, or sweethearts, and now Trent hated noblemen with a vengeance. She had no respect for any of them at all, and distrusted them more than anyone else. It was lucky for her, though, that her master got wind of her mistreatment right away. He came to her rescue more than once during those few months of her living hell.
His name was Ivan von Dreggor. He was gray haired and scarred—scars gained at the forge or in a fight. Not only did Ivan make the best swords, axes, arrows, maces in all of Scanra, he was an expert in using them. But he did not fight in the Scanran War like the other skilled men. It wasn’t as if Ivan hated violence—he just hated the warlord. When the first signs of the War broke out, Ivan fled to the mountains and he continued his trade there. There were not many buyers, of course, but Ivan was able to perfect his skill, both as a blacksmith and as a fighter. As soon as the War ended, he returned to civilization and started up his shop again. He had lived quite prosperously for three years until Trent first walked into his forge and changed his life forever.
After a few months of trying to protect Trent, and not always succeeding for lack of proximity, Ivan requested of her parents that she come and live with him in the forge. He assured them that he meant no harm to her, and was only concerned for her well-being. He couldn’t protect her very easily while she lived in the palace and he in the town. The nobles wouldn’t dream of going into a smith’s shop and taking advantage of the apprentice while she lived under his roof.
Thus, Trent came to live with Ivan, and the two became ‘thick as thieves.’ It was shaky at first. Ivan knew next to nothing about girls, and here was this seven year old who was already more beautiful than any creature he had set eyes on—and she wanted to be a blacksmith! Who had put that idea into her head? Might as well try to be a lady knight! After they got to know one another, everything went smoothly. Ivan looked after her, taught her the trade, and also taught her how to fight with everything he had her make. Trent loved it.
The noblemen who preyed upon her before feebly attempted to get alone with Trent again, but were thwarted by Ivan and his swordsmanship easily. They soon gave up. The smithy had become a refuge for Trent, and her master became a well of wisdom and knowledge about the world. He taught her everything he knew, and treated her as his niece that he had lost before the War.
As to training her as a blacksmith, Ivan was at first surprised by Trent. He wasn’t sure at the onset whether she was determined or not, but it was only a week before he knew the truth. Trent was persistent, and she would not slow down or give up just because the task was hard. She was not a spoiled little girl like the other nobles’ daughters. She learned quickly, listened well, and was wiser than she appeared. He taught her everything he knew about the smithy, and how to use everything she would make: from everyday nails to majestic sabers.
Not only did Trent receive blacksmithing lessons from Ivan, she also had lessons from her parents whenever she visited—which was once a week. Her lessons were of jousting, fencing, hand-to-hand fighting, knife fighting and throwing, archery, diplomacy, leadership, and delegation. Everything a knight would need to know, and more. That was probably part of the reason why Trent never changed her mind about being a knight. She was already learning in Scanra everything her brother Domi was learning at ‘knight-school’ in Corus! Who needed an Ordeal to protect people? Let Domi go through all that. Now Trent could defend herself, or someone else, the next time some noble tried to get friendly.
After ten years as an apprentice in Scanra, Trent was finally a journey woman-blacksmith. A month after receiving her certification, Trent had decided to go back to Tortall. Two of her sisters, Dree and Haven, were there already. Corus was the best place to see them again. Besides, it would provide her a base of operations, a home, and old friends of her parents who still lived there. After only three months’ business, her place was already very popular with the commoners. The nobility would have been interested too, if they ever walked farther than Raven’s Armoury, which was down the hill and around the corner from the palace. Most nobles were not like her parents, though, and would have up-turned noses at Trent’s place because it was not Raven’s. Trent preferred it that way. She didn’t charge as much as Raven’s, even though the quality of her work was as good as Raven\'s, and it was easy to find for commoners and travelers. She still disliked nobles, of any country, and any court.
On this particular rainy day, however, a traveler wandered in to Trent’s armoury. His clothes were muddy and tattered, he held his horse’s reins in his hand, and the horse’s saddle was as muddy as he was, with the packs close to empty. He had been on the road for a while. His rations were dangerously low. His eyes were tired and delirious, his lips slack, and his face ashen. Truth be told the young traveler was dying on his feet.
“Hello?” the traveler called. He walked inside and stared with bleary eyes at the walls. There were swords everywhere! Broad swords, short swords, fencing swords, long swords—he had never seen so many in one shop before!—All good enough quality to rival Raven’s Armoury even! If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that he was in Raven’s Armoury, except that he knew what Raven’s interior looked like, and this was not it. Yes, the walls were covered with weapons, there were glass-covered tables with more equipment on display, and towards the back of the room where the money was transacted, and another door leading to another room, but there was one corner that looked like a family room! There was a fire place, with chairs and a couch in a semi-circle with a small table in the middle. This place must get a lot of business for there to be a waiting area, the traveler thought.
He shook his head to clear his mind, and continued to study the weapons on the walls. There were more than just swords. There were axes, for battle and everyday-use, knives, daggers, riding gloves, gauntlets, arm guards, and bows and arrows even! The traveler was amazed to find such a place on the outskirts of Corus. He must be dreaming.
He was startled from his inspection of a particularly grand sword when a woman walked out of the back room, wiping her hands on a leather work-apron. He clumsily jumped back from the wall and began to explain why a stranger was now standing in her living room/shop.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but it’s cold and wet outside, and the door was open,” he explained in slurred speech. “Is your father at home? Or perhaps your brother?”
“I live here alone. I’m sorry, but the store is closed for the day. And you can let yourself out the same way you let yourself in.” She answered firmly, thinking he was another woman-predator, and trying to get him out.
“I assure you, I mean you no harm or disrespect. All I need is information: Do you know where I might find the nearest inn?” He considered just renting a room from the tenant, but seeing that the woman lived there alone, his staying the night would surely ruin her reputation, whatever it was.
The woman merely stared at him. He claims to only want information, but with all that blood on his tunic, he\'s lying. He\'s--
He interrupted her thoughts. “Begging your pardon, Miss—and I don’t mean to offend—but are you sure that it’s quite safe for you to be living here alone? This is the outskirts of Corus.” There was concern in his voice, and respect. The woman chuckled to herself, smiling a little. A noble. I should have guessed. No one else would put on such a show of concern for an apparently common and defenseless woman. Perhaps not a predator, but still, I must be careful.
“I can take care of myself, thank you,” she finally answered. “Much better than you can, from what I can see.” She smiled even more, trying to alleviate the pressure and calm him down some by pointing out the joke.
He accepted her teasing. He couldn’t not. Her voice was sweet to the ear, honeyed, seductive, but it didn’t appear that she was trying to seduce him. She was just standing there, looking him full in the face, and smiling as if the sun came from her eyes.
She was looking him full in the face, but she was also scrutinizing him. She looked him over, taking in every tear in his clothes, every mud stain, every twig, and every drop and smear of blood. Definitely not a predator; he was more like a wounded puppy than a hungry wolf. His face was pale, almost feverish. He was also sick with pneumonia.
“It’s raining outside, you’d best come in and warm yourself,” she gave in. “This storm won’t pass soon. I’ll start the fire and you can drape your cloak near it to dry. And please sit down while I get you something hot to drink, and tend to your horse.”
“Thank you. But that’s alright, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself over me. I’ll just go find an inn somewhere. Where did you say it was?” he said, already backing to the door.
“No, you won’t,” she said, starting up a fire. “You’ll stop right there, take off your coat, sit down, and wait here until I come back.” Her tone was one that tolerated no nonsense; the traveler, startled at her peremptory order, complied with her wishes. She disappeared into the back room, and returned shortly with the promised drink.
“Here. Drink this slowly—it’s hot. We wouldn’t want the little lordling to burn his tongue.” She started towards the front door—to fetch his horse to the stables out back, most likely.
“How did you know I was a noble?” the traveling noble asked, after choking on the strangely numbing, yet delicious, hot herbal tea. Perhaps there was peppermint in it. “I gave you no name; there is no insignia on my clothing, and I’m so travel-stained that even if I was wearing my house’s colors, you wouldn’t be able to tell through the mud.” He seemed to be thinking a little more clearly now. Perhaps it was the tea.
The woman was halfway out the door when she looked over her shoulder at him and answered. “Nobles have a way of carrying themselves, and of treating others. Some try to never give offense, while some go out of their way to give it. You’re one of the former. The words ‘rich, high-class noble’ are written all over your face, despite the mud and grit. Other than that, it’s the way you walk—and talk. With your nose up in the air, as if everyone below it doesn’t exist.” She faced forward again and continued on her way outside to tend to the lordling’s mount, leaving him in confusion.
It was a magnificent creature. A spirited painted mare, white mane and tail, beautiful red and white coat with white legs. The woman whispered compliments to the pinto as she walked it through the rain to her stables behind the forge. It was a small but well equipped stables, with only five stalls and two horses. It occasionally held more when there were customers from out of town, like tonight. The woman unsaddled and unbridled the mare, then picked up some straw and rubbed her down while she ate from the feeding trough that was there. That done, she led the mare into one of the stalls with extra hay, and inspected her hooves.
She had noticed a slight limp when walking the horse to the stables around back, and her worries were confirmed. The mare had sprained her left foreleg, and wouldn’t be up for any hard riding for at least a month. Unless she had anything to do about it.
After tending to the horse, and checking on her own two beauties—a large gelding and a dainty mare—the woman returned back to the store. The traveler had finished his tea and was studying the walls again. She went behind the desk at the back of the room and pulled out a knife and a polishing cloth. Neither spoke for a time; each were content to simply listen to the traveler\'s soft footfalls, and the woman\'s cloth running over silver metal. The man did not just study the wall, however. He studied her as well. She looked intent on her work—surprising that a common woman would find such joy in weapons cleaning. Or is she just trying to concentrate on her work so that I will ignore her? I must set her mind at ease.
“I’m sorry, but I think you’re misjudging me,” he said suddenly, completely dropping his perusal of the walls. Obviously he hadn\'t forgotten what she said before she tended to his mount. When she didn’t reply, or even look up from the knife that she was polishing, he walked closer and continued. “You don’t even know my name, my family, or where I’m from. Why do you expect me to be like everyone else?”
“Because every noble that I’ve met has been the same: stuck-up, stupid, proud, and a greedy predator,” she claimed before he could take a breath. “Why do you think I work in a shop that most nobles have never even heard of, much less entered?”
“Forgive me again, but not all nobles are the same. You said so yourself, there’s more than one kind. Yes, there are many who are idiots, but I am not one. My father is—.”
“I don’t need to know who your father is, or your mother,” she cut him off. “They’re nobles, and that’s all that matters. You do have a very fine animal, though.”
“Thank you. He was a gift from a very close friend of my father’s.” He paused. “You’re very prejudiced, did you know that?”
“Yes, my parents used to tell me that all the time.” Neither spoke. The woman’s tone of voice had hinted that they had come to a delicate or painful subject for her, and dropped the matter. He returned to perusing the walls, shelves, and tables.
He was amazed at their quality. Once he got a closer look at the merchandise, he admitted that their quality was better than that of Raven’s Armoury. At least they looked better.
“Excuse me, may I handle one of these swords?” he asked, his hands hovering over a particularly magnificent sword. “I’d just like to get the feel of one of them.”
A light had come into the woman’s eyes. Something about this shop excited her. “Of course,” she said. The man could hear her struggling to control her excitement. “Pick any one you like. Lift it, swing it around, do a few practice-steps. See how she handles, and tell me if she’s better than Raven’s.”
He could see that her eyes were intense, but she never looked up from her work. Not that he could tell. Again, he was surprised at her passion for weapons. He lifted the sword off of its hooks on the wall. It felt wonderful in his hands. Like it was made for him. He slid into defense, holding his sword low, with the tip just above his head. It felt so right! He moved to block an imaginary over-head attack, letting the invisible sword slide off the one in his hands. Quickly, he lunged at his invisible opponent, piercing his gut. Tearing the sword out, he turned to slash an on-coming opponent from the right. Cut in two! On to the next victim.
Trent watched from beneath her long eyelashes as she continued to polish the knife in her hands. He was magnificent! A squire at least! He had lifted the sword with experienced hands, run his fingers along its length with longing. His stance was perfect! He swung the sword with perfection, aim, and precision—as if he was fighting an opponent in real battle! He—
“Are you alright?” Trent leapt up from her seat, dropping knife and cloth in a clatter to the desk, forgotten, and ran around the desk to his side. He was in the middle of another lunge when his knees had given way and he collapsed.
“I’m fine. Just a little winded.” He tried to brush her off, but she persisted. Trent felt his brow, and drew it back with a hiss. Idiot! You saw earlier that he was sick, but you let your anger cloud your mind! Why didn’t you treat him right away? He’s almost dead now!
“You’re running a fever,” Trent said calmly so as not to alarm him. She put her hand under his shirt of his bloodier side, where it looked like he had tried to clean it out and failed. She felt something warm and wet start to leak from his side. She pressed a little to try to stop the small flow. He gasped and pressed his hand on top of hers. She hesitated, welcoming the warmth from his hands, but then pulled her hand out from under his. “And you’re bleeding. Lie back down.” After he had, she tore open his shirt to reveal the ugly gash in his side. It looked like he had tried to cauterize it with a hot knife. Badly. And it smelt of cheap wine or brandy. He must have stopped at an inn or a pub to buy some spirits and just splashed it on his side. It needed to be washed better before she could properly tend it. Well, he needed a bath anyway. It\'d be easier for him to wash, then for her to clean his side.
“Come with me,” she started to haul him back to his feet.
“The sword—.” He started to say. “I need to put it away.” He still held it in his hand. A warrior, Trent thought. Maybe he’s not like every other noble. Still, he’s just as stubbornly stupid!
“Leave her, lordling. She won’t run away, or have her feelings hurt if you put her down. Just let go.” She tried to pry his hand from the sword.
“You sound like my mother, or my Aunt Alanna,” the man chuckled weakly.
“Good. That means you’ll do exactly as I say, won’t you.” It was not a question. The lordling looked up into her serious, bright blue-green eyes. “Now let go.” They were captivating. Just looking into her eyes made him want to do anything that she asked of him. A strange feeling to be having when you’re blood is beginning to spill from your side.
“Yes, ma’am.” He dropped the sword.
“That’s a good little lordling.” She helped him to his feet, draped his arm over her shoulders and supported him with her arm about his waist, pressing his bleeding side, and led him through the back door into the forge. It was still hot inside. But who was the smith? She continued to lead him through the forge, past a small kitchen, to a flight of stairs. They took those twenty steps slowly and carefully. The man was practically dead on his feet! On the second floor was a hallway with doors on either side. She took him to the second door on the right, which was right above the shop. Inside was a large copper tub, with soap and shampoo on a stool beside. “Can you stand on your own?” He nodded. “Good, strip, and get in the tub. I’ll be back with towels and lots of water. Then I want you to wash, and be careful of your side. Understand?”
“Yes, mother.”
“That’s a good, little lordling,” she said again, almost fondly.

An hour later, the man limped out of the bath room feeling refreshed, but still weak. After filling the copper tub in the back room with hot water, she had left him to wash. But before he finished, she returned one last time to place a set of clothes on the stool for him. When he came out into the store, he found a platter of food and another hot drink n the table in the far corner with the fire place. But the woman was nowhere in sight.
The man sat down beside the table and ate voraciously. It seemed like he had never tasted food so delicious before in all his life! By the time he was half-way through his meal, a dark, cloaked figure entered through the front doors. He half stood up, ready to fight the intruder. But there was no need. It was the woman! Why had she gone out at this time of night, and in this storm?
“Good, you’ve almost finished eating. As soon as you’re done, I’ll stitch up your side properly,” she said as she removed her cloak and hung it by the door to drip-dry. She was carrying a small fishnet basket. She placed it on her desk, then went through the forge to the kitchen and returned with a mug of her own.
“How are you feeling?” She leaned forward and felt his forehead. It was still warm. Or maybe her hand was still cold from being outside in the rain. No, she had been holding a hot mug of cider. He still had a moderately high fever. “Hmm. You’re Just a little bit warm, now,” she lied. “And this storm is only getting worse. You’ll sleep here tonight after I dress your wound. Are you finished yet?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man said, wiping his mouth. He had gone back to eating as soon as he had seen that it was her coming in. “Wait,” he said, suddenly remembering. “My horse was hurt in coming here. Something with her left or right front hoof. Do you know any doctor who—?”
“Your mare is fine. I saw to her while you were bathing and eating. I rubbed her down, treated her leg, and fed her. She’ll definitely last the night. Which is less than I can say for you, if you don’t take off that shirt and lie down on that mat over there. I still need to see to your wound.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He quietly got up and walked to the mat he had not seen when he first came in, blood- and mud-stained and weary. He removed his borrowed shirt as he walked, and lay down on the mat. Meanwhile, Trent walked over to her desk and opened the bottom drawer. Inside was a white box that was spelled for cleanliness and healing; she took it out and closed the drawer and locked it. Then she grabbed the fishnet bag off her desk. It had herbs and potions for healing as well. She brought it over to where the man was lying down, taking out needles, thread, cotton swabs, cleaning ointments, and a very small, unlabeled packet that contained an unknown powder. She set it all down on the ground beside the man and next fetched her own mug from the desk. She took one last long drink, then poured the contents of the small packet into the still-hot liquid. She swirled it around, then proffered it to the man. He looked at her questioningly, but drank it after being assured that it would help. Immediately, he felt as he had when he first entered the store: dizzy, out of sorts, and incoherent. “Wha—What was that?”
“Just something to numb you for a while. I have to re-open your wound—to clean it properly. Then I’ll stitch you back up. You won’t fall asleep, but you won’t feel any pain this way. So just relax.” She paused. “It helps if you fix your mind on something. Something that you can see usually works better than something in your mind, so take your pick.”
“Very well.” The man started to search the room with his eyes, but stopped, looking at the woman. “You have—beautiful eyes.” He said suddenly.
Trent gave him a small smile, and almost blushed. “Just focus on my eyes then. And you’ll be fine, my little lordling.”
Thirty minutes and many stitches later, Trent leaned back from the traveling noble, scrutinizing her work. It was a little bit last-minute quality, but it would do until he saw a proper healer at the palace. That is, if he would still need one then. He should be fine by morning. The fever should be gone, his color back, and his side half-healed at least. And the thread that she used to stitch him up should be ready to come out. “Can you sit up? I just need to wrap your middle to keep the bandage in place.”
The traveling noble sat up, and lifted his arms so Trent wouldn’t have to worry about tangling the cloth in his arms. His abdominals were solid muscles. His chest wasn’t much different. The only nobles that Trent had known to be this well-built were the ones that tried to bed her. “Ju—just rest your arm on my head. It won’t bother me, and it will ease your side.” His arms were strong too. This man looked heart-stopping without a shirt on. “How are you feeling?” she asked, trying to get her mind back to her work.
“I think whatever you put in that drink is still affecting me. I still don’t feel any pain, but I know I should. I’ve had stitches before, and honestly I lost count around fifteen or twenty. But the room is clearing up now—no more fuzzy.”
“That’s good. It will last for about five more minutes now. And when your feeling comes back, you’ll feel most of the pain from the re-opening and stitching. But only about half. That will still be a lot, though. Probably worse than when the sword actually sliced into you. So you better rest your arm on my head like I told you to, instead of stretching your already torn muscles.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The traveling noble rested his arm on Trent’s head as she finished wrapping his middle. She tied it off with a strong knot, and gently removed his arm. “I’ll get you some more tea for the pain. And this time it will help you sleep as well.” She hesitated. “You can put your shirt back on, if you’d like. I’ll set up a cot for you in one of the rooms upstairs. I won’t be far if you wake up in the middle of the night and it hurts, so you can just call me, and I’ll come.”
She started to stand up but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. “Wait,” he said. “You never told me your name.”
“And I never will.” With that, Trent got up and went about her work while the man put his borrowed shirt back on.