“The very best,” Delyah says and gives me a mysterious smile. “I think I know just the man. We’ll kill two dactyls with one bolt.”
6
- Brank’ox -
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
My words hang in the air while Chief Brax’tan grinds a burr off a new blade with a grey stone. His smithy is dim, but almost unbearably hot, and we’re both sweating. In my old tribe, we did our forging out in the open. But it was rare for anyone to do any smithing there, unless someone’s sword broke. In this tribe, the men forge one blade after another, as well as many other objects that are useful in their daily lives. They need forges that can be used in rain, so they have walls and roofs. Perhaps they should make these huts with roofs that can be slid open and let the scorching air out.
Brax’tan sights along the edge of the blade, holding it with tongs. It has a very strange shape, curved and thick. “But I do. You’re the best swordmaster we have. And yet you are too focused on the things that have gone wrong. Nobody blames you for the events that seem to bother you so much. Except yourself.”
“Someone should blame me for it.”
The chief puts the blade back on the anvil and gives it several hard hits with a hammer, making sparks fly. “You became a swordmaster at a young age. That is both good and less so. Quick success makes you brittle, too perfect in your own eyes. Nobody’s perfect, Brank’ox. But those who try to be are often those who create problems in a real battle, where there is no such thing as perfection or elegance. I can’t afford to take that risk with you. I need you to accept your own imperfections and to regain your confidence.”
I take a deep breath. “I will obey, Chief. But I still think someone else would be better. I have failed at this exact thing twice before.”
Brax’tan grips the blade with tongs again, then plunges it into a large pot of water. The red-hot iron hisses furiously. “Then your mission is to make sure that there is not a third. This is a curious thing I’m making, Brank’ox. It’s not a blade, as one might think. It is for cutting into the ground and making furrows where seeds may be planted. It’s called a plough.”
“Very interesting,” I reply, not interested at all in that strange object. “And if there is a third time?”
He lifts the now gray iron out of the water again and once more sights along the edge. “Apparently, someone must pull the plough through the ground. Delyah has asked us to be on the lookout for Bigs that are strong, but not so wild that they can’t be tamed. It’s impossible, of course. I have never seen such a Big. Still, I said we would look. Swordmaster Brank’ox, if there is a third time, then don’t come back. But I have full confidence in you. You leave tomorrow at sunrise. Bring her back by nightfall. Carry things if she needs you to. But not so much that you can’t protect her.”
I sigh. “Yes, Chief.”
The air outside seems cold, and the stars glitter above the trees. There is jungle all around the village, dark and dangerous, full of dragons and death. Dolly has already been sought by one dragon. He will try again, without doubt. If I told Brax’tan about that, he would certainly cancel the mission. But Dolly asked me not to, and I understand her. While my shame is public, I’ll make sure hers is not.
Very well, I will do my best. It is only one day. And then I will have some time to work on my plan, to gather more of the treasure, to prepare for saving the tribe once and for all.
I smile tightly. It will be very soon now.
- - -
“There you are!”
Dolly climbs through the low fence and gives me a radiant smile. Her hair is artfully braided and hangs down her back. She’s wearing the same type of garment as last time, but this time the color is a brighter green, the same as many plants. I approve – she will be harder to spot among the plants and bushes. She has no weapon that I can see, but she’s carrying a stack of pots with lids.