Ascent of the Holy Blade

Chapter 7

        It had been several hours since Sir Olan and his father had come and quietly woke Galen. Orin had placed his finger to his mouth, hushing a loudly protesting Galen, and pointed to his mother’s room.  Galen had stopped complaining immediately realizing that his father’s actions had suggested secrecy.  As the three men made their way out to the barn, Galen noticed that hisfather was carrying a large, lumpy bundle.  When questioned about the bundle his only response had been, “Patience, my son. Patience.”  Galen knew better than to press the issue, but he gave the bundle more than one passing look as they loaded the horses.

         The snowstorm had dissipated throughout the early hours of the morning, allowing the rays from the rising sun to sparkle across the snow covered farm in a kaleidoscope of colors. The orderly farmstead had been cut from the southern edge of the Blood Forest in a large arc so the towering pines would shelter the Stoutheart’s land from the harsh northern winds. The solid story and a half log home centered the farm with the hewn plank-walled barn on the east and a well maintained corral for their small flock of sheep and two dairy cows on the west flank. The clean, fluffy snow from the night before painted the structures in an enchanting, cozy feel.

         A single-cart lane, only recognizable by its sunken tracks of snow, ran south for half a league from the farm till it joined the High Forest Road. The two-cart path was only slightly better than the lane to the Stoutheart’s homestead as most merchants and travellers chose to use the King’s March, a well maintained and stone paved road that ran from the capital of Avolund all the way to the dwarven trading town, Peddler’s Palace in the Blackstone Mountains. The High Forest Road ran a rough path along the edge of the Blood Forest from the Monastery of Everwatch through the frontier towns till it disappeared into the tangled depths of the Bentwood.

         The rooster crowed from his precarious perch atop the barn, informing the inhabitants of the farm it was time to begin the day.  Inside the barn, Galen chuckled to himself as he heard Old Red’s proud call. The old rooster would swell up and pout when he realized someone had gotten up without his help.

         “Before you saddle Mercury, Galen,” said Orin bringing Galen from his amusement.  “There’s a few things I’d like to give you.”

         Galen’s father sat down on a nearby bale of straw and untied the bindings of the bundle. Galen’s eyes widened into milk saucers as his father pulled out a shiny tunic of chain mail and a pair of thick leather bracers.

         “Place the tunic over your shirt and under your coat.  The mail will keep most glancing blows from hurting you, but it won’t stop an arrow or axe blade.  Wear the bracers over your gloves.   Go ahead and put them on.”  Said Orin as he tossed the armor at Galen, who staggered slightly at its weight.

         Removing his coat Galen then slid into the heavy mail, and as it settled across his broad shoulders, the weight spread itself out.  Galen made a few wide circles with his arms and was shocked that the mail didn’t hamper him or slow him down.

         “What is this stuff, father?”  Questioned Galen as he examined the shiny material.

         “It’s adamantite.”  Answered Orin as he reached back into the bag.  “I found it in a crag wurm’s den, along with this,”  finished the ranger as he drew forth a broadsword and scabbard.

         “It’s nothing fancy, but it is well made,”  Orin stated as Galen drew the shining blade from the scabbard.  “I’ve been saving them for you for when you set out on your own.  It’s important for a young man to learn how to wield a sword, and the disciplines that go with it--and no one is better on either account than your uncle.