The Portal Problem Episode 4: A Sword

2. A Sword

"And you're just a good samaritan returning him to his mum?" the archer asked, laughing loudly at the end of it. More laughs burst out from the trees.

        Draessellor bristled at the few sneers about ransom and accusations of abduction that whispered loudly along the river bank. Aston heard scales shifting inside armor and the creak of a gauntlet stretching taut as the mercenary's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword.

        "Draessellor is as near to me as family," the Low Prince announced as he stepped from behind the big Reptilian. "I was lucky he was located close enough to find me where I'd been lost. He's been my protector, guide and mentor while returning me home."

        Aston felt... he didn't know. He'd thought he'd felt angry each of the very few times anyone had laughed at the old lizard since they'd begun traveling together, but this anger vibrated inside him. The laughter and jests silencing at his declaration was satisfying, but having his sword hand empty as he spoke left him hollow. Speaking with the tenor and command in his voice that he remembered hearing whenever his older brother spoke while leading their country's army gave him a surge of pride, but an unwelcome thought hung in his mind and asked what exactly he expected his voice to sound like if not that...?

        The archer came back to a position of attack slowly, warily, their aim uncertain and split between the Human and the Reptilian. "So which country has your support?" they asked, repeating the question from earlier.

        "Neither of those concerned with the disputed border we're standing on," Aston answered. "Our destination is far to the south. Send someone to accompany us as far as you wish, but our journey continues to the coast."

        Draessellor's nearest eye snapped down to stare at the top of Aston's head. Honestly, the Low Prince didn't know how he'd known about the disputed border either so wouldn't have been able to answer even if the old lizard asked him about it.

        Slowly, Draessellor's head tilted forward and he stared at the stones around his feet, then he turned enough to look with both eyes at the young prince entrusted to his care. Aston didn't even notice the examination as he was still focused on the archer. The person in the color-shifting cloak had decided to keep their aim at the Human and Aston didn't want to receive an arrow.

        "Crinsol!" There was a crackling among the trees upstream and the owner of the first voice to have spoken stepped out onto the riverbank. They were wearing the same style of cloak as the archer, but theirs wasn't changing color as they moved forward. "I order you back into ranks!"

        "Oh, please, Droffer," the archer said with disdain. "If not for your father you wouldn't even command your reflection. You two" – Crinsol, the archer, gestured with the tip of his arrow at Draessellor and Aston – "are coming back to camp for further questioning."

        "Why?" Aston challenged. The breeze changed direction, blowing cool air into his face and chilling him all over again due to being completely soaked. He saw Draessellor's tongue flicking out to catch any scents from the new air.

        "Because your lies sound exactly like the words of spies," Crinsol said.

        Aston was about to respond, but Draessellor's hand enveloped his shoulder as a physical restraint. "Some of their armor smells of Dwarven oils," the old lizard murmured. Aston glanced up at him with a silent question. "The best smiths from the desert to the coast are the Dwarves in these mountains," Draessellor explained. His gaze turned down to the water at his feet and then back to holding eye contact with Aston meaningfully.

        "You mean I can pick up the...?" Aston asked quickly, eagerly, pointing down.

        The old lizard released his shoulder and took two steps toward the bank where Crinsol and Droffer were arguing between each other, his tail wrapping close to his legs and clear of the sword in the water. "We accept your peaceful offer of hospitality," Draessellor announced as he dried his sword. The argument stopped and they both stared at him. Aston could hear Shyla snickering in the sudden silence, otherwise only broken by Draessellor sheathing his heavy blade.