“A likely story.” Her words laced with sarcasm so thick it should have choked her. It brought Ronan’s narrowed gaze up from the dead man. Who was this woman to accuse him?
“I did not kill this man.” Ronan crossed his large arms. It was a trick he’d learned years ago for making himself appear larger than he really was. Instantly, it worked and Arien took a step away from him but the witch would not be intimidated.
“Hmm.” She looked as if she wasn’t certain if she could believe him. “No chance that perhaps you wanted the sword for yourself?”
“Why would I want it? I couldn’t use it.” Ronan was growing more irritated with the woman by the moment.
“Don’t be a fool. Anyone can use the King’s Sword. But it has to be used only against Sleagan’s dark forces.
Arien gave a startled cry, his eyes widening at the easiness in which the healer had spoken the name. Ronan just stared at the woman.
“It is just a name.” She looked at the boy. “It’s not the name you have to be afraid of.”
Ronan began to grow suspicious. “How is it you came to be so close by?”
She eyed him steadily, and then shrugged her thin shoulders. “I have a gift of knowing where and when I am needed. I had a feeling this morning and began walking in this direction. Unfortunately, that gift doesn’t account for old age slowing me down. It seems I’m too late to save this man.”
Ronan made a quick decision not to accuse her of anything. “Even if I wanted the sword I would know nothing of using one against anyone. I just make the weapons. The business of what is done with them belongs to others.”
“So you are a blacksmith.” Her gaze dropped to his feet and slowly traveled up the entire length of him.
Ronan’s frown deepened. He didn’t like her scrutiny or the judgment that was obvious in her eyes. “There is nothing for you to do here, healer. As you said, he is dead. You may go,” he said when her gaze settled on his face. She slanted a glance back to the guard.
“So you may do away with this man and keep the sword?”
“I have no reason to keep the damned sword,” Ronan snapped. “It has proven more burden than privilege. His last words were that it was my responsibility to take the sword to Merisgale. I cannot complete his request. I have work here that must be done.”
“He made you a guard?” Arien said with shock. “You are a royal guard?”
“I am a blacksmith,” Ronan corrected.
“You cannot reject a summons of service,” the witch argued. “If you do, you won’t be much of a smith when you are thrown into a prison for the rest of your life.” She looked at him as if he was stupid and it irritated him.
“Why are you still here?” Ronan snapped.
“My interest is in the new king. If that sword falls into the wrong hands or is used by the wrong person, it could damn us all to the will of the dark forces.” She glanced at the boy, then back at Ronan. “If you are taking this sword anywhere, I’m coming with you.”
“Besides,” she added when he opened his mouth to argue, “I have a feeling I will be needed.”
“Maybe, she’s right.” Arien touched Ronan’s arm. “She did say she had a gift of knowing those kinds of things. And maybe she knows the way to Merisgale.”
“I do not,” the witch answered.
“Nor do I.” Ronan ran a large hand over his face, and then scratched at his beard. “Surely if we wait long enough, they will send someone else to collect it.” The hopefulness in his voice sounded silly even to him. He felt like a child trying to think his way out of an unfavorable chore.
“To collect the sword and you.” The witch nodded.
“I don’t even have a horse, just a pack mule.” Ronan exhaled heavily. He didn’t want this. He didn’t like getting involved in these kinds of things. He minded his own business and allowed others to mind theirs. It had worked well for him…until now.
“Keegan Yore has many horses,” Arien piped. “And I’d bet he knows the way.”
Ronan cut him a silencing glare, but immediately felt guilty when he saw the boy’s deflated expression. Arien was only trying to help. It wasn’t his fault that this damned guard had dropped the burden in his lap. “Yore isn’t a very generous man and I haven’t the money he would ask for three horses.” Ronan didn’t add that he barely had enough to purchase one.
“It is Merisgale business. You will not have to pay. He is obligated to provide you and those with you with whatever is needed,” the witch countered.
“You just have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Ronan growled.
“Those who think usually do.” She smirked.
“And what do you call yourself, witch? Since you are set upon coming with me, I will know your name.” Ronan waited for Arien to step aside so he could move from the room. It was starting to feel a little too crowded, mostly by death.
“Ula Bane,” the healer answered as he finally nudged Arien toward the door.
Ronan had never really met Keegan Yore. He’d only seen the hulking, red haired man once or twice on the road when the horse rancher took his horses to the city of Fullerk. Up close Ronan could see the man’s blue eyes were as hard as his body.
“What makes you think I will just hand over three of my horses? That’s a lot of money to lose on a story like the one you’re telling.” Keegan didn’t rise from behind his desk. Instead he leaned back in his chair and eyeing the three with a steady gaze.
“The King’s business does not require that we give you any money. But it does require your cooperation.” Ula spoke before Ronan could answer. He shot her a silencing glare. If she saw it, she gave no indication of acknowledgment.
“I know the laws of Meris.” Keegan’s attention remained on Ronan. “But I’d rather be thrown into a prison than lose the money that those three horses would cost me. And I don’t have horses that run cheap.”
“Maybe one of your men could come with us,” Arien suggested, “to be certain they are returned to you safely.”
Ronan gritted his teeth, wishing the two beside him would keep quiet and let him handle Keegan Yore. He understood the man. He was a businessman like himself. Skill for money. It was simple.
“Where’s the sword?” Keegan asked. Ronan hesitated, then turned and pulled out the leather bundle. The blacksmith carefully unfolded the thick material from around the sword. The white metal seemed to glow and Keegan whistled when Ronan held it up.
“The King’s Sword made of Hadenla metal.” Ronan gave the weapon a swing, enjoying the feel of the weight that commanded the muscles of his hand and arm. “So you see I am no liar. And I mean to take the sword to Merisgale Castle so I am not a cheat either. But we need horses and someone who knows the way.”
Keegan nodded as he watched Ronan slide the weapon back into the leather and cover it. “Alright. I shall give you the use of horses but you shall owe me, Culley.”
“Sir Culley,” Arien corrected. “He is a royal guard now.”
Keegan grunted in response, clearly unimpressed. Neither was Ronan. He’d not considered that he was now a royal guard. A part of him swelled with pride while another part cursed at the extra responsibility that the title included even if it was only temporary.
“And you will send someone with us who knows the way?” Ronan pressed, deciding to contemplate the title of guard later.
“I’ll go myself,” Keegan told him. “I will feel better if I am there to tend the horses, and because I don’t trust the three of you and am still not sure I believe your story. When do we leave?”
Ronan stifled the urge to pull the sword back out and slice off the man’s large head. “First light.”
Ronan watched the woman shake something that looked like a dried up foot at him. Ula had insisted that they do some kind of preparation ritual the night before they were to leave. Ronan wanted no part of it but the woman was unrelenting and Ronan finally gave in just to cease her rattling.