Dragon & Dreamer | ONC 2023 honourable mention

1 - The son of the blacksmith

The dark one—Berim—nodded. "I know. But I think the king should learn about a deadly fight so close to his realm, don't you, Melish?"

The burly man tilted his head and scrutinised Liha from head to toe. "He's just a peasant and should be on his way home. His brother probably died from an accident. Let's move on."

"Mercenaries killed him." Liha's left flew back to the hilt of his dagger and his cheeks burned in anger. "They robbed us and set fire to our hamlet."

Melish exchanged glances with Berim. All condescension had left his voice. "Where is that hamlet of yours?"

A deep breath helped Liha order his racing thoughts. Perhaps these men were the king's after all. "Diakaya. It's just a small place an hour south of Salar."

Berim muttered a curse under his breath. "Diakaya, that's the local name of Arashin's smithy. If he's right, we missed the intruders by a hair's breadth and a few days at most."

Liha frowned. "You came that way?"

"Unfortunately, we didn't. We crossed the river further east on the new road." Melish scratched his reddish beard. "When did this happen?"

"It's been half a moon. I—" Liha interrupted himself, fighting the pictures of his burning home and the cries of his sisters. He brushed a few leaves from his jacket. "My brother and I were the only survivors. Our plan was to reach the capital and join the king's men to revenge our family. Then Avish's wound festered and got worse every day."

"What about Arashin, the blacksmith? And why didn't you bring your brother to a healer?" Berim's face softened.

Liha lowered his head. "My father is dead, and I did. The woman said the injury needed shadow magic. The only other way would to be to cut off his arm, but she lacked the experience for this kind of surgery. We hoped to find a shadow mage in the city."

One of the other soldiers offered a dry laugh. It was harsh and didn't sound amused. "Shadow mages are rare, and you have to pay them for their service. Your brother might have died, anyway."

Melish nodded. "He speaks the truth, and he learned this the hard way. Sorry for your loss, young one, but we won't be able to catch up with this gang, not after half a moon. Do you remember their number? Or where they came from?"

"Avish believed they were northerners, judging by the form of their bows. And I counted twenty, maybe more. My father killed two or three before they got him with a spear, and Avish wounded at least two more." He still felt dizzy when he thought of the entrails spilling out of the stomach of his own opponent after he sliced the man's belly with his dagger. His adversary had collapsed over him and died, saving him in the process as the bandits left him for dead, covered in blood and muck.

Berim touched his elbow. "Seems you've been through a lot. I'm sorry this happened. Your father was a good man and a gifted craftworker. Do you have relatives you could go to?"

"No. My mother's sister lived in Salar, but she died last year while giving birth. Her husband left to return to Inoira with their children, and we haven't heard of them since."

"The eastern principalities aren't safe either these days, with all the unrest in the coalition." Melish raised a brow. "So you still want to travel to the capital?"

"There's nowhere else." Liha held his gaze. "I want to join the king's men."

Berim sighed. "You may have the spirit of a dragon, but you'll need more than that. War is a far dirtier business than ironwork, son of Arashin."

"And besides, we are the king's men, not boys." Melish shook his head.

"My name is Liha, and I'm not a boy." He crossed his arms.

Something in his stance or words made Melish chuckle. "Well then, pack up your stuff, Liha. We can't dawdle here any longer. It's fine if you want to come with us to Penira, but then you'll have to fend for yourself. Can you ride?"

"I will ride."

Berim nodded. "Take my spare horse. She's a placid one and won't throw you unless you hurt her."

It took only moments for Liha to collect his few belongings. The blanket he had shared with his brother the last days, the empty bag he had used to carry the food offered by friendly farmers on the way, the blackened canteen saved from the ruins of the smithy. He stowed it in the bag and slung its leather strap around his shoulder. Berim tied his rolled blanket to the horse's back and gave him a hand to mount the beast.

Liha had helped to shoe farm horses since he could remember, and he had ridden many of them. But this was different. Despite Berim's assurance, the horse was far more skittish than the ones back home. But Melish was in a hurry, and so he didn't complain.

While he rode away from his past, Liha glanced over his shoulder to take in his brother's grave one last time. Berim, riding by his side, followed his gaze.

"He will always be with you, in your heart."

Liha nodded, fighting the tears that burned in his eyes. "He will, but I want to make his murderers pay."

The soldier studied him from the side, letting his mare follow the others on her own. "Revenge is a double-edged blade, and killing always destroys something in the killer."

Liha kept silent while he remembered the fight on the homestead, the laughter of the mercenaries while they raped and killed his mother and sisters. His father's rage, unable to help them, the strong hands cramped around the shaft of the spear in his chest while bloody foam formed on his lips. He swallowed the lump of bitter bile blocking his throat.

"I know, but there is no other way for me, not anymore. The mercenaries who slaughtered my family, it was a game for them. I've never felt so helpless before. And I never want to feel as helpless again." He stopped, staring at his hands holding the reins. Berim was right, he was no warrior, and chances were he'd die before he got the revenge he sought. "I may know more about tending the fire in the forge than fighting, but I can learn."

"I'm sure you can." Berim guided his horse with ease down a steep slope and Liha was glad to let his mare follow, trying hard not to fall. When the way evened out, the older man fell back to his side. "As you said, these mercenaries play a cruel game. If you want to get back at them, there is only one way."

"Which one?" Liha hung on the warrior's lips now.

"Master the rules of the game until you can play it better than they can."

(1883 words)