#eskyl

For the wonderful @heamatus who won one of the prizes in my giveaway and requested Unforged, Unforgiven. This one is for you, darling! I hope you enjoy!

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“Alethia.”

Eskyl looked up from where he was carefully mending the seam of his scabbard. It was a frequent task. His sword was sharper than the sharpest razor, and occasionally tried to escape. If he didn’t mend the scabbard, it would cut free and be difficult to contain.

The hazards of a semi-sentient curse-blade.

That name, however, was enough to break him out of his concentration. It brought with it a wall of memories, and the same deep ache that came with every reminder of the life he had, years ago.

“What did you say?” he demanded, all his focus abruptly on the young man who sat across the fire from him. Adelaide and Kia were just out of sight, bathing in the river, and Eskyl was keeping an eye on the boy until they were back. But this was an unexpected development.

“Alethia,” Trevor repeated, a little cautious, but unmoving except for the careful stirring of the stew over the fire. “It was the name of my mother’s best friend.”

“And why tell me this?” Eskyl  asked him, and set his work aside, attention firmly captured. “Unless you are more fool than I already thought, you should know not to say that name to me.”

“I said it because I’m from a town so small it doesn’t have a name on the map, in the shadow of the mountains,” Trevor told him quietly. “And about fourteen years ago, my mother’s best friend was murdered, and her husband wiped out most of the town in revenge. But not our family. He left our family safe.”

“You are Gevalia’s son.” Eskyl understood now. This was not youthful foolishness. This was something more.

He thought the boy looked familiar, although not so much as to truly catch his interest. Those old memories were less painful than many from the same time. He remembered the kind woman who lived at the next farm up from theirs, and her gentle husband who grew the best apples in the whole county. He remembered his wife laughing in their small kitchen, helping to sew a winter quilt for Gevalia’s soon-to-be-born child, while Eskyl and her husband worked to press the last apples into dark, heady cider.

Gevalia had given them most of her new son’s baby clothes when she learned of Alethia’s pregnancy, and brought them teas to help Alethia through the worst of her sickness. Their children had played together, son and daughter toddling through the warm summer garden under their mothers’ watchful eyes.

And now Gevalia’s son sat across from a warlord, counting on fond old memories to keep him safe from Eskyl’s temper.

“She sent me to find you,” Trevor said, and carefully measured a pinch of salt into the soup and kept stirring. He was an able hand with a bow, and brought down two fat wood pigeons as they walked. Eskyl was impressed despite himself. He never had a talent for the bow. “She said if anyone could teach me how to handle a sword, it would be you. She said you might be willing, even after all these years.”

“Did she tell you why?” Eskyl wanted to know if Gevalia had told him why a monster, even a retired one, might take an interest in a farm-boy. He knew, of course, although he had nearly forgotten over the years. “Why me, particularly? I am no mother’s first choice for their son’s blade-master.”

“She said you were the best to ever lift a blade,” Trevor shrugged, apparently reassured by Eskyl’s questions and his mother’s name. “And that you sent gifts sometimes, even during the Dark Times. I still have the wooden sword you sent me, even though I don’t remember you well.”

The closest Eskyl had left to a family, and even after all these years, Gevalia trusted him enough to send her son to call in a promise the boy never knew was made on his behalf. Even in the worst of his madness, he spared the woman his wife loved as dearly as a sister.

“I’m your godsfather,” Eskyl said after a while, and had the satisfaction of watching Trevor’s eyes fly open wide in shock. “Yes, you heard me right. Your mother has a long memory and more confidence in my fondness for her than is really wise.”

“My godsfather?” Trevor stammered, stew forgotten as he gaped at Eskyl. “But- I thought…. I don’t’ even know what I thought.”

Well, at least the boy could admit to his faults. That was a decent start.

“Finish the food, boy,” Eskyl advised, and picked up his mending again. If he was going to teach the young man, his scabbard would need to be whole. He certainly couldn’t spar with the boy bare-bladed. “And sleep well tonight. In the morning, we train.”

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Unforged, Unforgiven:

Fourteen years ago, Eskyl’s  wife and child were murdered. Fourteen years ago, Eskyl’s rage leveled  half the country, and left thousands running in terror. Fourteen years  ago, Eskyl vanished.

But now the heroes are dead, and the only one who can challenge a terrible new evil is one Old Monster.

Old Monster

Into the Lair

Taking out the Trash

When the Ice-Wind Blows

Under Tree, Over Blade

Flower Crowns and Dancers

Under Cover of Darkness (SUBSCRIBER-ONLY!)

Age-Old Promise

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More Stories!

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