Rose Thorns (The Cimmerian Cycle #3)

Chapter 17 - Part 2

Evrart walked into the wardrobe and searched through the gowns that were hung up. She flicked through them with the feeling she would need something that was a little more comfortable. Her trunk had been pushed to the back so that it was out of the way and now she inched it forward so she could open the lid.

She grabbed the tunics and trousers which had been pressed and neatly folded since she had last worn them from the bottom of the trunk. She threw them over the top of the screen and began to undress.

Evrart struggled with the lace of her corset for a few minutes before she was able to breathe a sigh of relief. The metal imbued fabric fell to the floor. She kicked it aside as she lifted the final layer of the dress over the top of her hair. It pooled at her feet.

Over the top of her undergarments she pulled on the soft trousers. The silken tunic slipped onto her body easily. Then she pulled the final layer on. She quickly resecured her belt around her waist. Her dagger was on her right side that she could dual wield it when she had her sword.

The last thing she did was to kick off her indoors shoes and leave them under the pile of discarded clothes.

Her boots fit snugly and she smiled at the smell of the old leather. Her nose wrinkled at the pleasure of it. Her fingers traced the contours where her hidden blades lived. There was a spot of blood on the toe of the left boot.

Evrart went back into the sitting room to sit at the vanity. Her black hair was a mess. She pulled out the single pin that had been holding it together and watched the form collapse. Swiftly she bunched the locks together and twisted them together. She pinned it at the back of her head and was satisfied that it wouldn't get in the way.

Meanwhile Pirella had not only polished the armour briefly, but she had prepared some bags for Evrart. The armour was laid neatly on the table, reflecting the morning glow. She let it fall over her head and hang lose about her body. After readjusting her belt she lowered the helmet onto her head. It was the perfect disguise.

She saw her reflection of her shoulder in the mirror. The helmet cast a shadow over her face and hid the scar that twisted itself down her face. She bit her lip and folded her arms.

"Let's go," she turned to Pirella abruptly.

Time was ticking away faster than she could stem the flow.

Hopefully the blacksmith had kept his word and done the job that Evrart had asked of him.

No one recognised Evrart as she walked through the palace, trying to find the fastest way to get into the ground. She simply looked like another guard. Pirella jogged to keep up with her pace. Her arms had two saddle bags that were filled with food and other necessities.

Once they were out in the sunshine Evrart halted Pirella.

"Fetch my horse and bring her to the barracks. I plan to leave soon."

The girl nodded and dashed off. Evrart tore towards the blacksmith's forge. Each step was counting down to the moment when she finished what she started.

"Hullo?" she said as she peered around the forge.

The great fire was roaring away but Evrart could not find the smith. She peered into the windows of the little building that accompanied the forge but still couldn't see him. The inside was dark and dusty and void of life. She rubbed at the glass to no avail.

"Hullo?" she called again.

There was a clatter of tools and Evrart jerked away from the building. Under the heavy weight of the chainmail she tiptoed around to the back of the building. Her feet made no noise on the dirt but her chainmail sounded like the gentle rustling of wind chimes.

"Yes?" a booming voice appeared on her left and she began to fall backwards towards the forge.

A large hand grabbed the front of the chainmail and held her suspended in the air for a few seconds before she regained her balance. In the corner of her eyes she could see that she was seconds from landing in the coals and burning off the palms of her hands. She closed her eyes and felt a slight twist in her stomach.

"You should be more careful. A forge is a dangerous place to be," the smith said.

"Uh, thank you," she said as he released her. She moved so that her back was to the wall and she was in no danger of tripping into a fire, "I'll keep that in mind."

She looked around her. She had set great rivets into the sandy ground.

"Is the sword ready for me yet?" she said to the smith's silence.

"Aye."

He walked away to one of the many workbenches that filled the undercover space by the forge. Evrart felt her trousers catch on a grindstone that she accidently brushed past. She teased it away, not wanting to tear the fabric.

"I did my best. It may not be as good as a newly forged blade but it should suit you well," he said eyeing her over his shoulder.

Sitting on the table before them wrapped in a black cloth was the sword. Evrart could hardly recognise it. It was shiny and very much sharpened to a point. The edges actually looked like they would cut through flesh. The smith had done a fine job and he had even managed to fix the grip to make it more comfortable for Evrart to wield one-handed.

She lifted it gingerly. It had just the right weight. She stood back, out of the way and began to swing it slowly through the air before she sheathed it. She could not have asked for anything better for her purpose.

"It is perfect," she said.

"Glad you think so," he said roughly, "Now you get going. I have work to do. A war won't be won unless there are weapons."

He shoved her forwards and stumbled out from the forge.

With her hand gripped tightly around the hilt of the sword she marched into the training square. With the sun in hers she gazed to the sky with a feeling of confidence spreading through her.