Westhaven by Rowan Erlking (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

Nodding, the smith waved to the newest dagger. “That one is proof enough that he has the skills. We’re practicing with knives to save iron, but I want him to start training with swords in a few weeks.”

“Swords?” Key looked up at him. “But, but, I’m still not happy with my daggers.”

“I am,” the smith said.

Nodding, Kleston had picked up the dagger and peered at it, turning it over. “This one here is perfect.”

“Not even close.” Key took it from him. “The blade is too fat. It is not balanced yet. Perfect is when nothing is wrong with it.”

“My heavens,” the magician murmured. “He even sounds like him.”

That made Key blink. “You met my father?”

“And you, though you were very young,” the magician answered with a dry grin. His eyes now sparkled like that of a doting uncle.

Key did not remember him, but then he had met a number of strangers when he was a young boy. The magician still smiled at him, though the man tugged at the white tufts of Key’s hair.

“So, you know his name?” Kleston asked.

“Key isn’t his name?” The leader looked over at him.

Kleston shook his head. “No.”

The magician shook his head also. “I’m sorry. It was many years ago, I don’t remember much more than our dear friend having a boy he was much proud of.”

The magician then looked at Key as if he was sorry. Key himself stood there staring at the sword on the table. It was obvious his father had made it. He reached up to take it.

The leader set his hand on Key’s fingers to stop him. He took the sword, sheathing it. “Not yours, boy.”

“But my father made it,” Key replied. “Can’t I—”

“No,” the man said, his expression hardening. He then turned with his hand still on the sword. “Come here, boy. If you really can read, read this.”

He pointed to a paper with writing all over it.

Walking over, Key looked at it, reached out and hesitated before taking it in his hands. The writing was in the vertical script, hand penned and looping from top to bottom in rows. It was not entirely neat, but orderly.

“Read it aloud,” the leader ordered.

Shrugging, Key squinted at the writing. It was very different from General Winstrong’s hand, which had more points and dashes.

“My beloved Lawra, It has been so long since I last looked at your beautiful eyes. I miss being in your arms. I saw a flower today that reminded me of the dress you wore when we….” Key lowered the paper what a plaintive look. “What is this?”

“He can read,” the magician snatched the letter from him. “Show him that.”

Glad to be rid of the love note, red-faced and feeling hot, Key hoped the other thing would not be so embarrassing. When he lifted his eyes, though, he noticed the smith and Kleston smothering laughs at his expense. Their leader remained stoic. He pointed to a map.

“Read that.”

Key tilted his head. “First of all, it is upside down.”

“I told you,” the magician said, “He can read.”

“Alright, alright,” the leader snapped. He turned the map so it faced north side up. “Find where we are for me.”

Peering over the large drawing not unlike the map on the military wall he used to stare at in Roan, he read the markings, searching first for the peninsula on Bekir Lake. Then he found the Herra Hills. He pointed just beyond the township of Herra.

“We should be somewhere in here,” he said.

The leader nodded. “Alright. And where would you guess your general is at?”

Feeling sick from the question, Key looked for Barnid Town in the Southwestern corner. He pointed at it. “Here.”

Glancing to the magician, the leader then asked, “Alright. Where were you when you escaped from your master?”

Key found that easy. It was not marked, but he knew the road they took north and the forest they had passed through. He tapped the top of the Semple Forest. “Somewhere around here. And there’s a village right here that we passed through to get there. They called it Wenden Village.”

“Yes,” the leader murmured. “We heard about what happened in Wenden and in Foreston. Now I want you to answer one last question.”

Key waited for it.

“Who taught you to read?”

Key froze. A sick feeling entered his throat. This leader obviously thought he was spy despite Kleston’s assurances that he wasn’t. If he lied and said he learned on his own, he was sure they would cut out his tongue. But if he told the truth, they might do the same anyway, thinking General Winstrong sent him off to find them.

“What’s wrong?” Kleston asked him.

Shaking his head, Key pulled back. “I’m not a spy.”

The magician blinked at him.

The smith rolled his eyes.

The leader’s expression remained dark though.

Only Kleston looked sympathetic. He crouched down, resting his arm on Key’s shoulder to comfort him. “We don’t think you’re a spy,”

“He does.” Key looked right at the leader.

The leader glared right back without a word.

Kleston cast the man a look then said, “He’s always cranky. Just answer the question. Who taught you to read? Was it someone in your village?”

Key shook his head. “No. General Winstrong did.”

The magician and smith both looked shocked. Kleston even appeared surprised. The leader remained the same.

“Why…why would he do that?” Kleston sucked in a sharp breath, peering at Key’s face.

Shrugging, Key replied, “He wanted me to fetch books and run errands for him. After he taught me and I was practicing, he suddenly got really angry with me because I was reading everything.”

“Angry how?” the leader asked.

Key lifted his eyes. “He beat me.”

The leader still stared coldly at him. “He beat you, how?”

Closing his eyes, Key pulled his shirt over his head. Turning, he let the leader look at his back. Then he faced front so the man could see the scars there too. Key finally returned his eyes to the man. “I don’t know his reasons. Nobody does. All I know is that he realized that teaching me to read was dangerous. If I lifted my eyes to a written word without permission, he beat me. So I didn’t look up.”

The magician covered his mouth, muttering. “But you still remember how to read.”

Key nodded, pulling his shirt back on then his bandana. “Of course I do. He made me read lots of things out loud to him. I ran errands for him all the time. I had to read the signs, and the labels, and the addresses. Sometimes I didn’t know what I was supposed to read and what I wasn’t.”

“You got beaten a lot, didn’t you?” Kleston frowned with sympathy.

Nodding again, Key took a step back from them. “You aren’t going to beat me too, are you?”

The men stared at him, speechless. Even the leader looked mildly flustered.

“No, of course not,” Kleston said, reaching out to him.

Key pulled back from his reach. “Because if you try it, I…I….”

“No one will hurt you, Key.” The magician crouched down to face him.

The boy looked away. “Just a moment ago those men—”

“I won’t allow it,” the leader said, stepping forward.

Key looked up at him, confused. “I’m not going back to the general!”

The leader shook his head. “No. What I meant was, I won’t allow the men to claim the ransom.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Kleston asked as a smile crept on his face. He put an arm around Key’s shoulders, pulling him to his side with a restraining hug.

Shrugging heavily, the leader replied, “That he’s too valuable alive, working for us. He is the only other person in this camp who can truly read besides the magician.”

“And his work with me?” the smith asked.

Nodding to him, the leader said, “He will continue it. I want him to master sword making. And if possible, I also want him to teach the other boys how to make arrowheads.”

“But what about the fist fights?” the smith asked, raising his eyebrows at Key.

The boy averted his gaze from embarrassment.

The leader glared down at Key. “Our boy here will learn to control his temper. And, we will teach the other boys not to be so lazy. Any more questions?”

Key raised his hand. They all looked at him.

“Uh.” He squirmed. “Can I have my dagger back? It’s not done.”

The leader actually laughed. He took up the unfinished dagger from off the table and handed it back to him. “Anything else?”

With another shrug, Key asked, “Can I look at my father’s sword now?”

“No.” And the leader turned, waving for them to go.

Kleston steered Key out by his shoulders.

Outside, with a gaze over the rest of the campground, he automatically marched down the hill with the smith into the camp. There the others were waiting.

Seeing some of the people gathered, Kleston lifted his head and declared, “He stays.”

Several of the men moaned. A cluster of them headed directly into the longhouse to submit their objections. The boys watching stared at Key also. But their looks were more of curiosity.

Key returned their stares, his eyes saying: ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Retirement was dull. Gailert thought all the social functions he had to attend were dull as well. There was something so wasteful, so pointless, and so shallow as meeting the cream of society in fancy halls and fine cuisine with elegant entertainment without any purpose behind it. It had a thick flowing sensation of sameness, of softness, and stifling fluffiness about it. And though he was lauded in every circle as a hero, Gailert wished that he were back in the Southwestern corner facing those rogues that would rather spit on him than praise him, because at least he was doing something to improve the world.

He hated doing nothing. In fact, even when he was doing something in Roan, it felt like a whole lot of pointless nothing. When he met with city officials almost weekly to ease his boredom, they mostly talked of beautifying the city rather than improving the battlements or adding on the newest technology. Because of this, most of his days were spent in his study reading books on philosophy and health. He had his boy sit in the study where he read, though the boy usually fell asleep. Whenever things got excruciatingly dull, Gailert would go out for walks, visiting the soldiers just to make certain they were doing their jobs correctly under Captain Welsin. The captain, as usual, was doing his job perfectly, as he had been for the past few years. In fact, the captain himself was contemplating retirement.

“Visiting again, General?” Captain Welsin asked. He nodded to his former commanding officer when Gailert entered his home for the dinner party the captain was holding.

Gailert smiled while he handed the porter his coat. “It seems all I ever do, these days. How’s the war front?”

Captain Welsin chuckled. “As usual, things are quiet south of the mountains, though we have had some trouble near Herra lately.”

Blinking, Gailert then nodded with a smirk. “Of course. Those raiders always seem to survive like cockroaches. What’s the trouble this time?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” the captain replied, waving for the general to enter the lounge where the other guests were waiting. “Small raiding parties have been attacking the rails, stealing cargo. Iron ore and coal mostly, though grain and some fruit have