Book 3 Ch 2: Marcus’s Baggage

Feeling refreshed after a night with a bed to sleep in and a warm meal, Ollie and Michael got back on the road south. They didn’t see the mercs they’d encountered the previous night again, which was good. Michael preferred not to have to waste any time fighting them. Unlike the previous day, the sky was clear and blue, but thanks to the weather of the previous few days they still had to deal with wet and occasionally muddy roads. After a few more days they made it back to Southwind.

The town had changed since they’d last been there. All of the buildings on the outer perimeter had barriers erected between them to create a makeshift wall and there was a much larger presence of guards along with several groups of Swandians with fresh spears wearing orange clothes wrapped around their arms. Most Swandian soldiers had moved North, so it was possible that the soldiers they were seeing were some kind of militia.

Michael recognized more than one face from the outlying villages now walking through the streets, and at least one warehouse for goods seemed to have been converted to house them. So far everything was in the early stages, but Michael could see that in spite of it’s divided attention Swandia was doing all it could to mitigate the damage that the increased rift presence would do to the southern part of their country.

“I’m going to take these sketches of Davi’s down to the Rose Petal,” said Ollie, patting his pack.

“You’re sure you don’t want to have your equipment looked at? Gurndan is a great blacksmith.”

“Lemme check,” Ollie dramatically began tapping on each piece of his gear. His thick leather helmet, his titled beast coat, and his boiled leather chestplate. “Nope, none of it’s metal. I don’t think he’d be much help.”

“Well, when you’re done at the Rose could you at least visit the market for some supplies?”

“Absolutely…I may be an hour or two though.”

“Are Australian hours American minutes?”

“No, they just seem upside down to you.”

Michael shook his head. “I’ll meet you at the Human Stable.”

Ollie shook his head. “Hate that name.”

Michael shrugged. “Aelves have an odd sense of humor. Besides, it’s the best inn for the price in town.”

“Alright, meet you there.”

Michael nodded and began walking down the street toward Gurndan’s smithy. He got a number of waves and smiles as he walked and was stopped several times for quick conversations with people who he’d healed or who he’d helped before Gemini had headed north. After taking a short trip across town to help Dolores’s son with his cold, which proved that he could now heal illness as well as poison, he managed to make it inside the smithy.

Gurndan was hunched over his forge examining a piece of steaming metal before he turned around and looked at Michael. He placed down what he was working on and blinked a bit, rubbing the soot from his eyes.

“You a ghost?”

“No, just pale as one.”

“Great. Means you’ll have a pile of shit for me to patch.”

“I know, nothing’s worse than having to do your job for money at the place of business in which you do your job.”

Gurndan snorted. “Alright, bring it all over here.”

Michael nodded and placed his armor piece one at a time in front of the frowning dwarf.

“Gods below, did you fight the damned army yourself? It looks like it’s been through a wyrm’s mouth and out the other end that also has teeth for some reason.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Michael shrugged. “War’s not easy on armor.”

Gurndan looked at what was in front of him and then at Michael. “Tell me you didn’t lose your mace!?” he exclaimed, his voice suddenly full of concern.”

Michael pulled the sword from his waist and willed it to shift back into a mace.

Gurndan frowned at it. “That’s horseshit.”

Michael laughed and placed it on the counter between them.

Gurndan picked it up and began to examine it closely. He eventually held it and squinted for a moment making it shift into a sword which he also spent some time examining before shifting it back into a mace.

“How in the hell is it lighter as a sword? None of the metal is gone. The weight is the same as it was before I shifted it into the sword. That doesn’t make any sense. The steel of the sword is also a slightly different makeup of the steel of the mace, though that’s mostly the same at least.” He shook his head. “This divine of yours has no respect for the way things ought to be,” he placed the mace back in front of Michael. “At least it doesn’t need any repairs. Now that it’s titled the mace’s flanges should stay largely intact and the sword’s blade shouldn’t even need more than the occasional sharpening.”