mine. “Kadmus?” I look into his deep friendly eyes. “What do you want?”
I’m confused by his question. “What?”
“What do you want?” he repeats.
“I want to be a good blacksmith like you.”
“So how do you want to do that?”
“Uh…” I think for a moment. “The same way you did.”
“And what do you think that is?”
I think for another moment and give him an exaggerated shrug.
“I became a good blacksmith because I worked at it. I worked and worked in the forge until my steel was the best.”
“So I need to work?”
“Exactly. You won’t be a good blacksmith overnight, Kadmus. It will take some time. And you’ll have to pound that hammer extra hard.” He smiles at me. “Do you want to try again?”
“Yes, father.”
The memory brings tears to my eyes, but I blink quickly and they leave before they fall. I notice that the rocky dirt path we are following curves up to the head of the waterfall.
“What was your second request, Kadmus?” the Jarl had said.
“I have come to partially take you up on your offer.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I don’t want the authority of captain. But if you will take me, I will serve as a soldier in your army.”
“Accepted,” he had said immediately. “But,” continued the Jarl, “I do want to know what changed your mind.”
The path narrows slightly and the cliff to the right becomes more sheer. Finally we reach the mouth of the cavern from which the water flows, and see an ox grazing on the other side of the falls. His cart lies parked just inside, and his owner sits on a rock next to him, rubbing his back. The man waves to us as we pass inside.
The river flows from crevices deep in the mountain. It takes up most of the width of the cavern, though there’s a path large enough for us on either side. The paths are natural, made from dark soil and rocks.
Lit torches hang on either side of the cavern. Evidently someone has been here, probably to build the barrow.
After a moment of hesitation, to the Jarl’s question I had responded, “Because I am not the only one feeling what I feel. Sadness. Greif. Anger. Revenge.” I wait a moment and continue, “No one should have this forced upon them by war. By the evil people and their evil doings. I want to join your army to stop them. Though I hate it, it must be done, and I will fight to destroy all of those who do to people what they did to me and my father. I fight to find vengeance on those who took his life. I fight to kill Lord Jarl Swordbreaker.”
The cavern turns to the right, and the opening goes out of sight. We only walk for a little farther, and then stop. Here, the river flows from under an impenetrable wall of rock. We cannot go farther.
To our left, however, a room has been carved out by the river, but now lies dry for whatever reason. It’s wide enough for three caskets to lie lengthwise on the floor and long enough for one to lie lengthwise along the wall. The ceiling lies about three feet above my head. In the center of the room sits a rectangular stone box, just larger than the casket. Its height is about to my waist, though it is only about a foot and a half deep. Intricate carvings make their way across the top and bottom edges of the sides, but otherwise the sides are blank and smooth. It’s cemented to the floor, and the lid leans on the opposite side of the box.
We set the wooden coffin inside the stone. It fits perfectly.
Bownan and Gunther take out the poles we had used to carry it, and the wooden box settles into the slightly larger stone one. Father’s broadsword is still lying on it, tied to the top. Torchlight flickers across it and it glints like it did in the Keep.
“Is this suitable?” the Jarl asks me quietly. “It would have taken more time and effort to build a barrow, but to simply transport this stone was much easier.”
“Of course,” I respond. “It’s perfect.” Hralfar walks to the other side of the stone, skirting the lid leaning on the stone coffin. I look down at the casket, take a deep breath, and remove the wooden lid.
He is serene. Though paled and slightly sunken by death, his laugh lines are still visible and his beard is still just as