Hawkridge

Chapter 2

Colt sat on the cave floor, leaning against the wall. The cool stone felt refreshing against his hot back. He'd washed off the goblin's blood and the refuse he'd picked up from collapsing to the ground in the stream and had reluctantly pulled the new corpse from the water. Much as he didn't want to touch the body, if any of the cave goblins were still out there he didn't want to give them any clue where he hiding. He still hadn't checked. He needed to. How else was he supposed to know if it was safe to leave the cave and warn the manor?

"The dead cannot hurt you," Aephyr said. "You should take his weapon, perhaps his armor too. Who knows what he might have in his pockets."

Colt glared at the naked woman.

"It was a dead man's gold that drew you here, was it not?" she said. "How is this any different?"

He glanced at the first corpse, bloated with water and mold. The heavy coins in his pocket jingled as he shifted his weight and he was once again reminded of the pile of gold waiting for him beneath the waterfall. The twelve coins, now in his pockets, had been found spread throughout a small stream, not taken from a dead man. Knowing where the gold came from, could he still take it?

"What happened to him?" he asked.

"Poisoned arrow," Aephyr answered. She stood beside him, leaning against the wall seemingly unaware of the way it made her nude form twist, subtly emphasizing her heavy breasts. "I can afford the wielder of my sword some protection, but it is not infinite."

"What happened to my skin earlier; that was you?"

She nodded.

"And the sword movin' on its own? How'd you do that?"

She only grinned at him and gave him an appraising eye. "You're a pitiful swordsmen. Well-conditioned, though. If it wasn't for your physical prowess I'd give up on you right now. It's almost as if you've never held a weapon before."

"I haven't," Colt exclaimed. "There is somethin' seriously wrong with you, you know that?"

Aephyr's eyes widened and her grin fell. The crazy naked woman finally looked less smug. He suddenly realized he was looking at her again, and instead turned his attention to the sword, ears burning.

"This thing looks like it was made from orewood," he said after a moment.

But who would waste orewood on a standard arming sword? He'd heard of some nobles possessing orewood dueling swords, the lighter weight lending itself to their fast-draw fighting style. But though the wood was strong as steel, it was notoriously difficult to shape, and expensive. Nothing about this sword's design suggested that it was anything other than a simple soldier's tool beyond the odd coloration.

"It is orewood," Aephyr said absently. "Crafted from the heart of my tree after some enterprising woodsman chopped me down."

She'd said something like that before, hadn't she? Colt's eyes widened. "You're a dryad!"

Aephyr smirked. "Of course."

An orewood dryad. He knew the nature spirits inhabited all sorts of trees, their life force tied to them, it stood to reason that even the rare orewood tree might serve as one's home. But...he held up the sword. "I thought cutting down a dryad's tree killed her."

"Usually." She shrugged. "I was both fortunate and unfortunate. That sword was carved—forged—from the heart of my tree."

So...magic sword with a dryad living inside of it. "That was all you earlier."

"I had a bit to work with," she said, bending over to run a hand over his arm. "Not much, but better than nothing. I've worked with worse. At least you don't have any bad habits we'll need to overcome."