Kingdom's Dawn (3 page)

After buying some cooking supplies at the town market, Peyton and Leinad walked their horses toward the blacksmith's shop at the end of the main thoroughfare.

“I need Gabrik to fix a shoe on Rosie here,” Peyton said as they passed by various shops in the town. Leinad noticed that any time they came to town, his father always found an opportunity to stop at the blacksmith's shop. There was an unusual bond between his father and Gabrik. Leinad could never quite understand why there was any friendship at all since Gabrik was stern and spoke very little. Although his work was superb, the townsfolk entered his shop only for business. Both Gabrik and the townsfolk were content with their business-only relationship.

“Gabrik is an awfully serious fellow, Father,” Leinad said as they neared the shop. “What's his story?”

“Why don't you ask him?” Peyton said with a slight smile.

“Are you kidding? The man is huge! I'll not risk upsetting him. Besides, every time we go to his shop, he stares at me as though I need watching.”

Peyton laughed. “Trust me, Leinad, you have never seen Gabrik upset. And as for his demeanor toward you, I think he likes you.”

Leinad stifled his own laugh and thought privately how glad he was that their encounters with Gabrik were brief and infrequent.

The familiar sound of hot steel being pounded into a usable form met his ears. Leinad tied his horse to the hitching post, and Peyton led his horse to the open door
of the shop, where a large, dark-skinned man looked up from his work.

“Gabrik, my friend … greetings!” Peyton smiled and raised a friendly hand.

Gabrik's countenance softened slightly when he saw Peyton. He nodded his greeting and doused his work in the cooling tank. Hissing white steam rose into the air around Gabrik, and the hammer came to rest on his anvil.

“Hello, Peyton.” His voice was deep and slightly accented. It was an accent that matched none other that Leinad had ever heard. Gabrik wiped the sweat from his brow and some soot from his hands with a cloth. That unsettling stare once again came to rest on Leinad.

Every time Leinad saw Gabrik, he was amazed at his size. He stood a full head taller than Peyton, and his sweat-soaked tunic did little to hide the massive muscles beneath it. His jet-black hair was short and straight. His eyes were a hazel-green mix and were set deep. Leinad could not force himself to look into those penetrating eyes for more than a brief moment.

He met Gabrik's gaze and then found a sword to study hanging on a nearby wall. Gabrik's finest work was in the swords he made. The work was of such quality that Leinad wondered why he was blacksmithing in a region of the kingdom where there was more need for plows and horseshoes than for swords. And yet, for as long as Leinad could remember, Gabrik had been the community blacksmith and swordsmith.

“What can I do for you today, Peyton?” Gabrik asked.

“Rosie needs a shoe repaired,” Peyton said.

Gabrik immediately went to work, and the shoe was fixed in short order.

“Gabrik, how is your other work coming along?”

Gabrik glanced toward Leinad. “I finished it two days ago. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes, I believe I would,” Peyton said.

Gabrik walked to the back of his shop, through a door, and into his storage room. When he returned, he was carrying an item wrapped in cloth. He set it before Peyton and Leinad on a wooden worktable.

Gabrik opened the cloth to reveal a beautiful, masterfully crafted sword. It surpassed the splendor of even Peyton's sword. Leinad's jaw dropped slightly as his eyes scanned every detail of the magnificent sword. He yearned to hold it, but his temperance forbade him. The blade was razor sharp and shined like white silver. From the hilt to midway up the blade was an ornate and intricate inlaid pattern. The handle was gold with more intricate design on the guard. The pommel contained the distinct insignia of the King, just as Peyton's sword did.

“It is absolutely splendid, Gabrik!” Peyton said as he too admired the fine work.

“The steel in the blade was folded over two hundred times,” Gabrik said without emotion or pride.

Leinad became aware of his gawk and tried to show mature restraint instead. “Who is it for?” he asked Gabrik. It was the first question Leinad had ever asked him, and it brought another gaze from
Gabrik that made Leinad wish he had stayed silent.

“I do believe this is the finest sword in all of Arrethtrae,” Peyton said, seemingly unaware that Leinad had spoken.

Gabrik looked back at Peyton. “Only one sword surpasses it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” said Peyton, “and I was fortunate enough to see that one as well. There has never been, nor will there ever be, a sword that equals that of the King!”

Gabrik nodded. “True indeed, true indeed.”

Gabrik covered the sword once again with the cloth. “The scabbard is also nearly finished. Within the next day or so, my work will be done.” He left the room to return the sword to its place of rest.

Upon Gabrik's return, Peyton thanked him and paid for the work done on Rosie's shoe. They exchanged parting courtesies and turned to leave the shop. Leinad followed his father outside, and as he neared the threshold, he heard Gabrik's bass voice.

“Leinad.” It was the first time he had spoken directly to the boy.

Leinad turned and felt his cheeks flush slightly, not knowing what verbal retribution would be added to the soul-penetrating stares he always received.

“The sword is for one who is willing to serve the King … and the people.”

For a moment, Gabrik's eyes did not cut Leinad as they had so often in the past—they searched. Leinad hesitated, nodded his appreciation, and turned to leave.

Down the street, Peyton and Leinad stopped at a shop to purchase some fresh bread, fruits, vegetables, and venison to
add some variety to their food pantry on the farm. Soon they would bring a portion of their own produce to town to sell and trade.

As they exited the shop, Leinad glanced up the street and missed a rise in the threshold, which nearly sent him to the cobblestoned pavement. The sack of food spilled onto the ground, and an apple rolled four paces to the dirty feet of a young girl who looked every bit a street orphan. Leinad quickly recovered his balance and his dignity and began to restock his bag. He kept one eye on the girl, fully expecting her to grab the fruit and bolt. Her hair was a gnarled mess, and its color was undistinguishable, although Leinad thought it might be reddish. She wore a tattered dress that was as plain as the dirt on the street. The thin cloth hung limply on her lean body. Her cheeks were soiled, but her eyes were not empty as one might expect. The spark of life was still evident in those bright blue eyes.

Leinad turned away from the girl to finish filling the sack and to provide an opportunity for the girl to escape with her booty unnoticed. He knew his father would have given the hungry girl some food anyway as he had done for many others in the past. Figuring enough time had elapsed, he turned back and nearly dropped the bag again. The girl was standing directly in front of him with her arm outstretched, apple in hand. Leinad gazed at her somewhat surprised and perplexed.

“If you's goin' ta give me the food, you needs ta say so 'cause I don't like pretendin' I's stealin',” the young girl said in a matter-of-fact way.

“It's okay,” Leinad said. “You can have it.”

“Thanks, mister!”

Peyton joined the two. “What's your name, missy?” he asked.

“Name's Tess. But it don't really matter none 'cause nobody knows it or cares much.” Her voice dropped slightly.

Leinad felt guilty for his own good life as he looked at the pathetic form of this young girl. She looked three or four years younger than he. He figured the odds were she had never seen a meal as good as he ate three times a day.

“That's not true, Tess,” Peyton said. “A person's name always matters, no matter who you are. And there are people who care. You just don't know it yet. Tell me, where are your parents?”

Tess thought for a moment. It looked to Leinad as though she was trying to remember if she'd ever had parents. “I ain't got no parents. They was killed when I was little.” The words were rather emotionless.

“Where do you stay then?” Peyton asked.

“I's a servant for Miss Wimble. I do errands an' washin' an' things, an' she lets me stay in her barn at night. Even gives me a potato an' a carrot every day,” she said with a smile that clearly affected Peyton.

Leinad saw the evidence of a broken heart in his father's eyes.

“Tess,” Peyton said, “did you know that your smile is like bright sunshine on a cloudy day?”

Tess blushed through the dirt on her cheeks and looked shyly at the ground. Leinad figured this little girl rarely, if
ever, received a compliment, and she apparently didn't know what to do with it.

“How would you like to take a ride in the country and have a hot meal?”

Tess looked back up at Peyton. “But mister, Miss Wimble won't take kindly ta me bein' late for chores. She says she owns me, an' that I'd better not run off or she'd come find me. I's already late now, an' I bet she's plenty mad.”

As if on cue, a voice screeched from down the street. “Tess! You'd better git yourself home now!”

Leinad cringed at the sound of the woman's voice as she came closer.

“I got floors need sweepin' an' clothes need washin'. If you want your meal today, you'd better git after it!”

Now we know where Tess learned her fine language skills
, Leinad thought.

The woman, her form plump and her countenance stern, ignored Peyton and Leinad as she marched up to Tess, grabbed her upper arm, and began to drag her down the street. Tess glanced over her shoulder at Peyton almost apologetically.

“Excuse me, madam.” Peyton took a few strides to cover the distance between them.

The woman stopped and faced Peyton. “What do you want?”

“I don't believe the girl wants to go with you. Are you her mother?”

The woman squinted at Peyton. “I'm the only mother she's got, so she's mine.”

“It sounds to me like you're more her master than her mother.” Peyton's stern demeanor made it clear that he would not be dealt with lightly.

“So what if she's my servant. I've fed her for years, an' I figure that makes me her owner.”

Peyton's anger was evident by his clenched jaw. “What do you figure she's worth to you?”

The woman's countenance changed to one of delight. “I figure I gotta have at least eighty shillings ta compensate for all the hassle she's caused me.”

Peyton grabbed his money bag. “Here's five pounds—twenty shillings more than you asked.” He placed the coins in the woman's hands and guided Tess away from her.

“I meant a hundred and eighty,” the woman said, hoping to further her profit with protest.

“The deal is done!”

Peyton turned to face the woman squarely. She backed off immediately and walked up the street counting her treasure. She never turned to say good-bye to Tess.

Leinad looked at Tess and felt sympathy for her. He thought he saw dread in Tess's eyes, as though she feared her new owner could be worse than Miss Wimble.

Peyton waited until Miss Wimble was long gone; then he knelt on one knee and placed a gentle hand on Tess's shoulder. In this position, Tess was taller than Peyton, and he looked up into her eyes with compassion.

“Tess,” he said softly, “the King never intended for people to be bought and sold like cattle. I did not buy you—I bought your freedom.”

She looked into his eyes and, as she later told Leinad,
she felt real love for the first time in her life. Tears came to her eyes, and she hugged Peyton's neck. Peyton gently hugged her back, and his eyes brimmed with tears.

Leinad hoped that he would be as brave as his father—brave enough to reach through the dirt, the inconvenience, and the sacrifice to care for the unloved.

Every person has a story
, he thought.
How many endure the same heartache and need the same compassion that Tess did?

“Come on, Sunshine,” Peyton said to Tess. “Let's take a ride to the country!”