The night's rain was followed by a bright day and the village streets were bustling with people hurrying to and fro. Luckily none of them seemed interested in the dark stains on Fyen’s dress as she snuck through the crowd. Reaching the unlocked door of her home she found that nothing had changed while she had been gone. Even the broken bowl and the cake dough were still on the floor.
Fyen ignored them and headed straight into her room and opened the wardrobe. The only black two-legged garment she could find were a pair of loose, black pants which she hadn’t worn in years. Fyen felt a pang at leaving behind her dresses but relaxed pants were just far more practical than any dress. Especially if she was planning on becoming a swordswoman.
After a quick wash with cold water she took on the task of going through the rest of her clothes in search of the two black tunics she was supposed to have stashed somewhere, sown to her by her mother ages ago. The girl heaved a relieved sigh when she found both garments still intact, neither fallen prey to moth larvae. She cast one last look at the several colorful dresses she owned and used to love, all of them made by Ayleth. They would all have to be left behind not only because of their impracticality but because they just didn’t fit the new Fyen, not anymore. She only regretted that her linen undergarments weren’t black as well.
After changing into the pants and tunic, she rummaged around the kitchen and eventually found what she was looking for: a pouch of money, some dried meat, and dried rye bread. She also took some dried fruit and then stepped outside. After locking the door she turned to face the village and sighed.
This is it, then. No turning back. Fyen headed straight to Bess, who looked uncertain as she noticed the girl.
Before the old woman could speak, Fyen greeted her. "Hi Bess. Listen, I'm in a hurry. Would you like to buy my house? Mum said she paid 5000 silvers for it but I'll sell it to you for 1000, I need the money now."
Bess seemed confused. "Fyen, wait, what? What about—"
"I am in a hurry, dear Bess, will you please accept my offer?"
Their eyes met and the old woman seemed to understand an unspoken message for she nodded and spoke in a different tone. "I do, Fyen, but I haven't got that much money on me. I only have my savings which are about 500 silvers."
The girl shrugged. "Consider it as a down payment, you can pay me the rest when we... when I get back. If you run out of money because of this you can sell the house on for at least 4000 silvers."
Bess waved her hand. "No, no, I'll be all right, I have enough supplies to last me a week and still leave goods to sell here." The woman bent down to grab something from behind a table. "Take this, should be a little over 500 silvers last I counted it," she said as she handed a heavy pouch to Fyen. "Please take good care of yourself, Fyen, it's what your mother would have wanted."
The girl didn't smile but nodded. "You take care too, Bess. Look after the house and avoid the priests."
"I will. Please come back soon, Fyen."
It was as if the old woman had sensed what the girl was about to do, what she was going through. Of course she does, she's two years older than water and probably has seen more life than I ever will. It felt good to know there were still at least a few good people around. The next stop was the seamstress. Fyen walked into the familiar small shop and greeted a woman in her early thirties. Immediately she dropped a pincushion she had been holding and hurried to the girl.
"Oh, you poor thing! How are you holding up, Fyen?" the woman asked and caught the girl in a tight hug.
Fyen smiled. It was nice to get to meet the good people of the village one last time. ”I'm all right, Fryswyde, in a bit of a hurry though. And, uh, I need a favor of sorts."
The woman pulled back and peered at the girl, still holding her by the shoulders. "You know Ayleth and I were like sisters, Fyen. If I can help you, I will."
Fyen smiled and blushed a little. "Well, could you make me a gambeson? Of course I'll pay whatever you ask for it but I'm in a hurry, really."
Fryswyde looked at the girl and frowned. "A gambeson? Are you sure?"
"Yes and I need it quickly."
Her eyes growing wide, the woman shook her head. "You're not going to go look for her, are you? Fyen, that's too dangerous!"
Fyen didn’t waver and kept her voice calm. "I have to. Besides, she was also your business partner."
Fryswyde started sobbing quietly. "If you wish, I will sell this shop and you will receive half of whatever I—"
"Oh shut up," Fyen breathed, on the brink of tears as well, trying her utmost to keep herself from crying. "You know I'd never do that. This is your shop just as much as it's mum's." Try as she might, the girl couldn't prevent a few renegade tears. "I just need the gambeson. Please, Fryswyde."
"Oh Fyen!" the woman burst into tears and grabbed the girl back into a tight hug.
Her head against Fryswyde's shoulder, the lump in Fyen's throat became unbearable and she too started sobbing. "I just miss her so much," she cried. "I have to go after her, I must because no one else will."
After having exhausted their tears, the woman finally stepped back, dried her eyes, sighed, and shook her head. "I know, Fyen, and I miss her too. And I know it's not my place to question your decisions but just take care of yourself, all right? I can make you a gambeson of course," she muttered, sounding more professional now, "but I think I also have one... I'm sure I could resize it to fit you if you need it quickly."
The woman stepped into a backroom and soon came back holding a black gambeson. It had vertical stripes of such dark grey that it looked almost wholly black. Fyen fell in love with the piece immediately.
"Excellent!" she exclaimed.
Fryswyde nodded, a friendly smile on her face, her eyes and nose still red from the earlier bout of tears. "I need to take your measures," she sniffed. "Come back in a couple of hours and I'll have it ready by then, promise." Her smile faltered and she turned to reach for something. The woman held up a black garment and presented it to Fyen. “I also made these to match the gambeson. If you need a spare pair of hose, these are good for riding, you know…”
Fyen’s face lit up. “Those would be great! I’m not sure how well these old things will last on the road,” she said and waved a hand casually at the looser pants she was now wearing. Then the girl stepped forward to the woman and raised her arms to the side. "How much for the gambeson, the resizing, and the hose?"
Fryswyde was already busy with the measure. "Oh, shush, it's the least I can do for you and Ayleth."
Fyen raised her eyebrows but was still smiling. "Really? You sure? Thanks, Fryswyde… I mean it."
Her next stop was the village smithy. I'm going to need weapons and armor where I'm going. I'll need a— Fyen's thoughts were interrupted when she arrived to the blacksmith's forge. There were a few horseshoes and a strangely tiny spade hanging on the back wall. The blacksmith himself was a small, skinny man, his face hidden behind an enormous bushy beard.
"Whatcha need, lassie?" he asked with a wheezy voice.
"Er..." The girl hesitated. "Um, excuse me but, uh… you got, like, any swords or armor… maybe?"
The man let out a barking laugh. "Why would a humble blacksmith of a small village have weapons and armors? Who'd buy them? Farmers?"
Fyen scratched her head. "Well, now that you put it that way..." Then she looked up. "You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find such items?"
The blacksmith eyed her suspiciously but kept smiling. “You know, the Sons of the Sun put out a new decree that only licensed blacksmiths are allowed to make weapons."
The girl felt a sudden chill. “Uh, they did?" Oh what do I care? I just want to go find them and kill as many I can before I'm struck down. To hell with it! She sighed and looked straight into the blacksmith's gray eyes. “I think that's a little… strange. But you wouldn't know where I'd find such a... licensed blacksmith?"
The man's smile widened into a grin. "It's right out stupid, that's what it is! But the law's the law and all that. Anyway, I'd say your best bet would be Coilea, there's a ‘licensed' weapons smith over there. I hear the bastard even has some arrangement with the local tanner and they make and sell leather brigandines too. If you're after chainmail and plate armor... well, I've no idea where you'd get any of that stuff, probably only from the Sons' own armory. Besides, they cost a fortune and I'm not even kidding." The blacksmith spat on the ground. “Not that they'd even sell you any of those. They reserve the best equipment only to the Sun troops."
The girl nodded in contemplation. "Well, thank you for the information. I'll have to see what I'll do. Bye!"
She stepped into a narrow side street, sat down on an overturned bucket, and put her head in her hands. How the hell am I supposed to find a sword now? I don't know where the damn town is and even if I got a sword, I wouldn't know how to wield it! For the moment her plans seemed to have been snuffed out before she even took the first step towards the citadel. This is something I'm supposed to do alone, right? It's basically suicide by castle guard anyway so I can't take anyone with me, it wouldn't be right.
She didn't even know the first thing about horses, she had never ridden one. Her mother had grown up around horses but they hadn't needed one since they had moved into the village after Fyen’s birth. What about survival in the wilderness? It's not village after village out there. Where will I sleep if I get lost in a forest? What about making a fire? Gods! I don't know anything! How have I led such an over-sheltered life for so long! I should’ve been out there learning fencing and riding and stuff like that instead of using up all my free time on spells! I'm just a useless girl and the only thing going for me is this seething hate!
All right, fine, I can ask Mirlín about horses, maybe she'll even teach me the basics and Reynaer can tell me which weapons and armor to buy and where. They both can probably give some pointers on how to live on the road. Yes, I'll just ask for their advice and that'll be it, I can be on my way to Coilea before nightfall!
With that she strode back to the inn, headed straight upstairs, and knocked on the room's door.
Reynaer opened it. "There you are! We thought you'd left town already."
Fyen was surprised that their guess had been so close to the truth but she tried not to show it. "Nah, I just went for some stuff." She stepped into the room and noticed immediately that Desiderius was staring at her, mouth open.
"Nice pants, Miss," he mumbled.
The girl smiled a little awkwardly but didn't reply. Instead she turned to Reynaer. "Say, could I try your sword?"
"Huh?"
"I'd like to buy a sword, could I try yours? You know, for reference?"
The man laughed. "Sure thing, kid, catch!"
He slid the sheathed sword off his belt and tossed it to Fyen. She caught it with both hands but stumbled backwards and the tip of the scabbard hit the floor. The girl felt her cheeks go red but she drew the sword despite her shaking hands. The blade had scratches on it and it simmered with violence. It wasn't a pretty decoration but a tool, its craft carving open live human flesh. Fyen felt like something dark was seething into her hand from the sword, spreading into her whole body, her whole being. A speck of light of several that still burned in her soul dimmed and then died away. This wasn't a game anymore.
As she held the sword, just as she had imagined herself doing several times in her childhood when her mother had told her tales about knights and other heroes slaying dragons and evil tyrants, she noticed that suddenly all the brave tales of chivalry and shining blades seemed shallow and stupid, thought up by people who had never tasted their own blood.
"Give it a swing, then," Mirlín, who had been mending her bow, urged.
Fyen looked at the woman and for the first time saw hardness in her eyes that had probably been there all along but she just hadn't seen it before. How did I miss it? She has that look in her eyes... Reynaer's got it too. Her respect towards Mirlín grew tenfold in a second. Wondering just how many things she was still unable to see because of her inexperience, the girl took a deep breath and focused on ignoring the curious stares of the three others.
Fyen braced herself and tried to swing the sword from right to left. It glided through the air with surprising ease. Gaining confidence, she swung it around, this way and that, completely surprised at how light the weapon was. It's just that... it's long... well, what did you expect, it's a longsword, idiot. But how many bottles will I break walking through a regular tavern with that thing hoisted on my—
"Heavens!" she exclaimed as she knocked down a flowerpot with the blade. Where did that come from? I swear that wasn't there before!
The young man, looking intrigued, stepped forward and held out his dagger, hilt towards Fyen. "Here, try this."
The girl handed the sword back to Reynaer who sheathed and belted it and then stepped back, leaned on a wall, and looked on as if watching an amusing play. Fyen took the dagger and held it in her hands. It handled easy and she felt comfortable with it but she was going to face men with swords. Well, it feels a bit too small. Best not to say it out loud, it might hurt his feelings.
She shrugged as she handed it back to the boy. "Maybe something in-between? Maybe both? I don't know!" Fyen blurted, feeling confused and frustrated. Then she turned to the woman. "Mirlín, what’s your weapon of choice?"
"Well, as you can see, I have a longsword," she patted the weapon which was leaning against a nearby wall, “but I prefer my bow and arrows. However, it usually takes a lot of practice for them to be of any use. Besides, I'm on horseback most of the time so it's convenient for me because I can kil... uh, defend myself from a distance."
Fyen was even more confused than she had previously been. "What if someone surprises you up close, you know, jumps out of a bush or something?"
Mirlín shrugged. "If I don't have time or space to shoot an arrow at them or draw my sword, I either ride over them... er, or kick them in the face. But I do carry a knife too so sometimes, I guess, I stab them in the face."
The young man looked at the woman as if she was a swamp monster of some sort. Reynaer walked to where some of his gear was lying and grabbed another longsword, a couple of inches shorter than the one he was carrying on his belt.
"Well, why don't you try this one for size?"
He handed it over to the girl, hilt first. Fyen took the sword and although the weight was about the same, she felt more comfortable with the slightly shorter length.
"Wow, this one feels nice! Could I... maybe like... buy it?" she asked timidly.
Reynaer shrugged. "It's yours. I didn't pay for it so why should you? Besides, I got this other sword which I'm thinking of selling to some dimwit along the way so just take that one and make sure you put it to good use, all right, kid? And by ‘good use' I mean ‘don't get yourself killed’."
Mirlín was looking at the two extra swords with a curious, amused expression on her face.
Fyen was holding the naked sword in her hand, admiring the blade. "Thanks, Reyn! Thank you so much!" Her eyes were locked on the tool.
Reynaer tossed the other extra-blade on his sack. "Don't mention it. Less crap for me to carry."
Finally the girl sheathed the blade and looked up at the tall man. "I was wondering... could you teach me some basics? You know, of swords...manship?"
Reynaer shrugged. "All in good time. This much I can tell you already: fighting's always dirty simple but all the things that can go wrong, usually do, so it's best not to make it any harder for yourself than it—" he burped, "—already is."
Fyen nodded, already deep in thought, and belted her new weapon.
"Fyen,” Mirlín started, seeking the girl’s eyes. “You do realize we're coming with you?"
The raven girl almost fell over. “Huh?"
“Well, since you're starting to gather an armory... I kind of got this impression that you're not going to continue your quiet country life and at least I don't like the idea of a young girl like you traveling all by herself." The woman looked up in thought. “And I suppose these gentlemen won't let two women travel the cold, cruel world all by themselves—"
"No, definitely not," Reynaer nodded.
"—so since all four of us are gonna travel now, there's one more thing you'll need," Mirlín finished, a smile wavering on her lips.
Fyen looked up with an enthusiastic smile. "Nifty boots?"
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