‘I’m here.’
‘Under the bed,’ he rasped out.
‘Under the bed?’
He nodded, closing his weary eyes.
I knelt on the floor and reached under the bed to find something wrapped in cloth, though it scraped roughly across the floorboards as I pulled it out.
I fought back tears when I unraveled the cloth.The sword was perfect; the blade flawless, and the hilt impeccably balanced.Before sickness weakened his mind and body,hehad been the master swordmaker, and the blade I held proved it.
‘For Little Worm.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I whispered, running my hands over the entwined lines that formed the base of the hilt.
‘Two worms.’
‘Two worms?’I asked as I ran my fingers over the ridges.
‘Not alone,’ he said with a gasp, covering my hand with his.
What does he mean?His eyes closed once more and his breathing slowed.
I fingered the fabric Iain had wrapped the sword in.It was red but had faded in patches to a pale crimson.A few brown threads were embroidered into it.I looked closer to see a pattern of empty holes that remained.
My heart began to race.
After seeing the emblem my mother and I had been searching for in a dusty old book only recently, I knew its shape well.Is it possible the threads were once gold?
The cape had belonged to a knight, not a soldier.
‘Iain, were you a knight?Was it you who delivered me to Esma and Olaf?’
His eyes remained closed as his breathing slowed further.
‘Areyoumy father?’I whispered, tears springing to my eyes.Could he forget his own child?
I had wondered if the man in the red cape was my father, but long ago, I decided it was easier to believe he was not.I did notwish to think he had abandoned me.Instead, he had found parents to replace the ones I lost.
Was Iain a knight?He had pulled me from the river and taught me to make and wield a sword as well as any man.As I counted his last breaths, I realised that was all I needed to know about the man who had been a father to me.
We buried Iain under a large oak tree.I told Dana the cottage and horses were hers, and she could sell or keep what few possessions he had.She had grown children who lived close by, so I did not fear that I was leaving her to grieve for Iain on her own.
Without Iain, this no longer felt like my home.Losing him meant I was alone once again.
I took my time travelling back to Murus.There was only one inn between the forge and Murus, and I stopped for an ale – something I had never done before.The place was worn and smelled of desperation; patrons sat in dark corners, hoods drawn over their faces.I felt eyes on my back as I downed my warm ale.When the shifty-eyed innkeeper tried to pour me another, I shook my head, left a coin and departed, regretting ever having stopped there.The nights were getting colder, but I enjoyed the numbness it brought to my body.It was on the last night of my journey that I dreamed of a black-haired woman with feathers and talons for fingers.I could feel them tapping inside my head.
I awoke to the hoot of an owl alerting me that someone was in my camp.Nightmare was still hitched to the branch where I had placed her reins before I fell asleep, but she was tugging at them with her teeth – something she only did when she was distressed.
I stood, but before I could grab my sword, one was pointed at my chest.It was not quite dawn, so I struggled to see who my attacker was.In the shadows I could just make out two more men.
‘Well, if it isn’t the man-she who murdered my cousin.’A voice floated towards me from the shadows.‘You shouldn’t have stopped at that inn, man-she.’
As he came closer, I could make out a stocky man with greasy black hair.Boric’s cousin.
‘A woman killed Boric?’asked the man in disbelief as he pressed the sword to my chest.I eyed him angrily.It was Torgrin who killed him, but I suppose I was the reason he was dead.
‘She’s why I had to leave Murus.’
