The sun woke Sam. He opened his eyes and blinked at the sudden assault of light. Raising his arm to cover his face, he rolled to his left and stood up. Looking down at himself, Sam realized just how bad a condition he was in. His clothes had many rips and tears in them, and his shoes had several new holes. He was covered in ash, blood, and sweat, with his hair clumped together, stuck through with leaves and branches. The sword, despite having rested in ash all night, looked absolutely pristine.
Having been satisfied that his current appearance would scare anyone he met; Sam squinted up at the detested hole. Sunlight streamed through it, which likely meant that it was noon outside. Stooping down to pick up the sword, Sam pondered how he was supposed to get out, when every method he could think had failed.
If only I could fly. Then I could get out of this deathtrap without a second thought.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw the gems in the sword glow, and there was a soft click, like a key in a lock. A sense of weightlessness overcame Sam, and he glanced up to see the ceiling approaching. Letting out a startled cry, Sam looked down and beheld the rather terrifying sight of the ground falling away from him. Waving his arms and legs had no effect, and Sam let out a soft grunt of pain as his head slammed into the stone ceiling.
He stopped, hanging in the air, unable to move in any direction unless . . . putting his left hand against the stone, Sam was able to slide forward, inch by inch, until he was just outside of the hole. Taking a deep breath, Sam pushed himself forward and out.
He flew upwards immediately, moving too quickly to grab onto anything. Shooting into the sky, Sam closed his eyes, not wanting to see the ground beneath him. For a second, there was nothing, but then he felt something grabbing at him. Opening his eyes, he found himself rising through the branches of a tree, which were slowing him down slightly. Not wasting a moment, he clutched at the limbs, clinging to them like his life depended on it, which it very well might.
As Sam frantically grasped at branches, he inadvertently let go of the sword. The moment he did, all feeling of weight returned. The branches sagged as Sam suddenly began to fall, not rise, and he found himself dangling from the branches as the sword landed with a thump below him.
Looking down at the ground about eight feet below, Sam judged it was safe then dropped, landing lightly on both feet. He was about to pick up the sword, but then he paused. Was that really the wisest course of action. The sword had sent him shooting up into the air without cause, and it could do so again. Sam might be safer if he tossed the sword back down the hole and went on his way.
On the other hand, Sam didn’t want to cast the sword away. It might have killed him, yes, but it had also gotten him out of that room. In addition, holding the sword felt right to Sam, like this was how things were meant to be. He felt connected to it in a way he couldn’t understand, but ran deeper than conscious thought.
Picking up the sword, Sam swung it around. It moved like liquid, light as a feather. Sam whirled in circle then lunged at an imaginary opponent. The sword seemed to move like an extension of his arm, responding instantly to his commands. He cut back and forth, then tossed the sword to from his left hand to his right. The sword seemed to leap from one hand to the other in its eagerness to oblige.
Sam hadn’t been trained in the art of swordplay, so he knew any warrior would laugh at him, but it felt good to swing and chop like he did, the sword flowing smoothly with his every movement.
Coming to a halt, Sam lifted the sword overhead. It caught the light and threw it in all directions, shining like a second sun. Sam laughed, and in that moment, he knew he couldn’t let the sword go. It was his.
Having made his decision, Sam held the sword loosely at his side, letting it dangle as he scoured the clearing for any sign of the chase from the night before. It wasn’t long before he spotted several broken branches, and from there, it was easy to follow the trail back to his cart.
Ducking under some broken branches, Sam could just see the clearing where the halflings had attacked, and for a moment he paused. What if other halflings had come, or bandits? He could find nothing but a smoking ruin where his wares used to be.
Cautiously, Sam crept behind a tree. Slowly, he peeked his head out to look, and almost collapsed with relief. Everything was just as he’d left it. A little untidy due to the halfling’s attack, but all seemed to be accounted for. Just to make sure, Sam went to the wagon and started counting its contents. He found not a single item missing.
Sam tossed the sword into the wagon and pulled on his gloves, ready to pick up the wagon and start going, when he realized he didn’t know where he was headed. He had set out to go to the capital, and he could still do that. But on the other hand, he was bloody and sore and looked like a madman, so was there really any point in going on. His family would understand if he came back.
No. I cannot. They are depending on me to do something only I can do. If I go back, I won’t leave again, not until next year. We can’t survive that.
His resolve set, Sam pulled to cart to the edge of the trees and covered it as best he could. After a moment’s hesitation, he removed the sword from the back of the cart. He didn’t want to lose it, and it would be safer with him. He sat still and listened for the sound of water, and, finding it, hurried off into the trees. The day was already over half gone, and he still had a long way to go.
Finding the stream, Sam saw that it was not particularly wide, but it was deep. Pausing only to set the sword down carefully on the banks. He then jumped in, not bothering to take off his clothes. They were as dirty as he was, and if he didn’t want to be thrown out of the city, he had to look neat. Not wealthy, but neat. As long as he could pass for a respectable citizen, the guards would let him by. After scrubbing himself and his clothes as best he could, Sam climbed out of the river, shivering slightly. Looking up, he realized the sun was starting to descend over the treetops. Sighing, he picked up his sword and started back to the wagon. He obviously wasn’t getting to the castle tonight, and it would be dangerous to travel in the dark.
More dangerous, anyways.
When he reached the wagon. Sam glanced up at the sun again. He reckoned he had about three hours before it became too dark to properly see. Not enough time to start traveling, but enough time to sew his clothes back together. All of Sam’s family had learned how to sew at a very early age, and it had come in useful more times than Sam could remember. He still didn’t like doing it, but he never complained.
Sitting down on the most comfortable stump he could find; Sam began to work. It had been a while since he had last taken up the art of sewing, and he fumbled with the needle for several seconds. It was not very long, however, before he remembered the natural rhythm that he had used frequently in the past, and soon his needle flowed swiftly, from one end of the cloth to the next.
By the time the sun went down, Sam hadn’t gotten all of the rips and tears his clothes acquired, but he had patched up the majority. Sam allowed himself a brief moment to admire his work, but then his stomach rumbled at him. With a start, Sam realized he hadn’t eaten for nearly a day. He quickly opened his sack, grateful that the woodcutters had seen fit to give him some of their rations, otherwise he would be running short. Still wary of prowling beast, he avoided lighting a fire, instead settling for cold meat and bread. It was a poor substitute, but it quieted down his stomach.
Casting his gaze about the clearing one last time, Sam lay down on the ground. He had placed his blankets in the wagon, not wanting to get tangled up again in case of another attack. He closed his eyes, then opened them again as a thought occurred to him. Getting to his feet, he hurried to the wagon and removed the sword.
Laying down again, Sam felt comforted. Just having the sword nearby made everything feel better. He closed his eyes and drifted away, his mind lingering for a moment, as if it didn’t want to depart just yet. With an effort of will, he forced it away and for a time remembered no more.
When Sam woke, he didn’t waste any time. He’d already lost an entire day, and he wasn’t eager to lose anything else. He took only a few seconds to grab a couple handfuls of bread and stuff them in his mouth before his gloves were on and he was off.
Sam moved as quickly as he could, but he had spent the last couple days doing almost nothing more than running, walking, jumping, and sleeping. That would take a toll on anyone, and while Sam was fit, he hadn’t been trained for this sort of work. He forced himself to keep going, and he managed a pretty good pace for the first half of the day.
It was after lunch that the trouble started. Sam had sat down to eat, and though it couldn’t have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes, he leg muscles had already stiffened. He kept going, but it was impossible to keep up the speed he’d had that morning.
The day seemed to drag on endlessly, the only change being the light that filtered down through the trees.
Evening was nearing when Sam finally emerged from the forest, Arandvi at last in sight. The forest used to be much closer, but centuries of civilization had cleared out the wood in the immediate area.
Sam looked ahead and gritted his teeth. It was going to be close; he could tell. The guards closed the gate at sunset, and that was not now far off. He still had a few hours, but he was tired, and Arandvi looked so far off. Lowering his head so he didn’t have to look at his target, only the road in front of him, Sam began to drag his weary body and heavy load forward once more