“You are not to use it, unless it is to preserve your life, or to maintain possession of the blade.” The priest softened his serious look. “But always remember that your life is more important than the sword.”
Mikahl looked at the priest with furrowed brows. This was the deadliest of burdens for him to carry and he knew it.
“To use it would attract men to me like carrion to a carcass,” he said. “How am I to—?”
“We!” Father Petri snapped, raising a hand to halt Mikahl’s protests. His voice was harsh and the man looked distressed to say the least.
“We do not have to understand the tasks we are given, Squire.”
The use of Mikahl’s meager title, and the reference it implied as to the origin of his orders, permeated the priest’s words.
“We have to do as we are told, Mikahl, and do it the best we can.”
Mikahl swallowed hard. He felt the need to be on his way. Prince Glendar, soon-to-be King Glendar, would most likely want Ironspike immediately. Once the sword was found to be missing, Glendar’s cronies, and his wizard, Pael, would be after it. Mikahl could see it now: a dozen lords and all of their men would be hunting him, a huge price on his head; bounty men and trackers, coming from all reaches of the realm to try to claim the reward that King Glendar would surely offer. Suddenly, the Giant Mountains seemed like the safest place for him to be, and with each passing moment, he found more and more reasons to reach them quickly.
After a brief goodbye, Father Petri cranked open the great door and Mikahl eased out into the night. A glance up at Lakeside Castle put a twist in Mikahl’s guts and a lump in his throat. He had lived there most of his life. His mother had been a kitchen hand, and he himself had been in the service of the kingdom in one way or another since he could walk. At first, he had been a message runner and a candle-snuffer. Then, he was a stable hand and even a scribe’s aide for a while. As he grew older, he began training with the soldiers, and had excelled with his skills on the weapons yard to the point of notice. Lord Gregory had taken him on as a squire, and he had spent almost three years down at Lake Bottom Stronghold learning the proper ways to behave while in the service of royalty. Other than the not so distant traveling he’d done with the king as his squire, he had never been away from this place. Now, he was leaving his home, and he doubted that he would ever be able to return.
Because his mother had died, he didn’t have any real family here, but both King Balton and Lord Gregory had become father figures to him. He had never known who his real father was, but he had never really been without guidance until now. Now, he was alone.
Knowing that his possession of Ironspike was a secret known only to a dying king, and his loyal priest, Mikahl realized that he would soon be branded a thief of the highest order, or worse, a murderer. Ruddy, the stableman, would tell everyone about Mikahl’s late night preparations. Being the King’s squire meant that he would have had full access to the King’s private armory. Not only would he be blamed for poisoning the king, he would most likely be blamed for taking the sword as well. These things were forgotten, though, as he looked back at his home. He was on a journey to meet a giant he didn’t know, with an entire kingdom soon to be on his tail. He couldn’t imagine being any more alone than he felt at that moment. He took a deep breath and sighed at the sheer enormity of it all.
The castle no longer looked inviting or homey. Its looming, massive gray bulk, with the half-dozen squat towers, and the few taller, narrower spires, suddenly seemed like a dark upthrust of teeth. Would he ever be able to come back? He took a few minutes to say goodbye silently to his mother, and then he wiped the tears from his cheeks. King Balton’s voice came to him gently and reassuringly. “Think, then act,” it said in his mind. It was one of the King’s favorite sayings. When indecision halted the progress of a situation, or things came to an impasse, he would say, “Think, then act.”
Think, then act. Mikahl repeated the mantra to himself.
Reluctantly, he spurred Windfoot away from the stinking discharge stream and went deeper into the Northwood. He rode like that for a while, until he was sure that Castleview, the city that grew from the base of Lakeside Castle’s outer wall, was far behind him. It was dark, and he was surrounded by the thick of the forest, but he thought he knew exactly where he was. Now, all he had to do was figure out a way to reach his destination, without being caught.