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

“Letter,” Berd said, holding it out.

“Did you read it?” Tiler asked.

Snickering, Berd nodded. “Yeah. Is Key in?”

Tiler led an arm out. “Of course.”

They pushed the door open and peered into the dark where the air was warmer. The light of the fire and two hanging lamps were the only sources of light, though they gave plenty of heat. Key hardly looked up, inspecting the sword he was working on instead.

“What is it?”

They blinked, trying to adjust their eyes to the darkness, especially after being out in the blinding white of the snow.

“It’s a letter for you from Lady Sadena,” Berd said.

“Did you read it?” Key asked, setting the rough sword on the anvil again and taking up his hammer.

Berd sighed. “Yes.”

This time Key did look up. “Then put it on the table over there and tell me what it says. I’ll read it later myself.”

He then started to hammer again.

Berd and Polan shared a look.

“I’m listening,” Key said as he hammered, his eyes fixed on the steel.

“Are you sure?” Berd asked, feeling uncomfortable. Each bang shook his nerves, his own teeth going on edge.

Hammering rhythmically, Key nodded. “Yeah. Just tell me what it says.”

Bang, bang, bang…. And the air was hot, obviously hotter than Berd liked considering he was wrapped up in a heavy coat also. Though, he wet his lips and started to explain the contents of the letter anyway. He winced with each bang of the hammer on the steel, trying to sort out what he had read despite how hard it was to concentrate.

“She…[bang] Sadena wrote that…[bang] uh…[bang] she needs you to evacuate the…[bang] the refugees from Sundri from…[bang] from Sundri to…[bang] into Wingsley…[bang] the Winglsey tunnels. Key…[bang] could you please just stop. [Bang] I can’t think when you hammer. [Bang] It’s giving me a headache.”

Key paused. He looked up then tossed down the hammer, dipping the heated metal of the sword into the nearby barrel of water. “Fine. You said that Sadena wants me to evacuate the Sundri people into the Wingsley tunnels. Did she say why I had to do it? That is on the other side of the mountains.”

Seeing that he was willing to listen, Berd was immediately relieved. He nodded and passed over the letter to Key rather than putting it on the table. “She says why in the letter. But mostly it is because the patriarch of Sundri still feels guilty for not doing what he agreed in trade for your swords. She feels he will be much more hasty and cooperative with you than with anyone else. Especially since his wizard is not around to help him out.”

“Lanona hasn’t returned?” Key picked up the hammer and set it neater on the table.

Berd shrugged. “I think she’s out on task also. I heard she was sent to the coastal factories to sort out our spies there. Your wizard friend, what’s his name, has gone back to the Kirting Mountain area.”

“The Southwest Corner,” Key murmured. He leaned against his worktable, thinking for a moment. Then he glanced up to see his fellows from the Herra Hills still staring at him. “What?”

Berd glanced to Polan, then said, “Uh, nothing. But, I…well, we were wondering why you’ve holed yourself up in here for so long.”

“I make swords,” Key said, his voice revealing a certain bite. “That’s what I do. It’s all I’m good for.”

“Well that’s not true,” Berd muttered, watching Key grab that sword again and roughly stick the blade back into the fire to heat it up.

“Yeah?” Key plucked out one of the other swords he had been working on and snatched the whetstone, spitting into it to sharpen the blade. The design on the flat side was magnificent, much more like the sea fog. It had a hilt that had a sharp fin look to it, giving it a unique Stiltson appearance. Key had made about five of these for the Sea Fisher’s crew. He planned on making more.

“Well,” Key said while scraping along the blade, “You didn’t see me freeze out there when General Winstrong came along all by himself. If I had been of any use at all, I would have realized that no other Sky Child was around. No Sky Child would have seen me. I could have killed him then. It was an opportunity, and I didn’t see it because I was so terrified.”

“Those other two didn’t kill him either,” Polan replied.

Tiler leaned in the doorway to the smithy, looking at Key’s face as it contorted with personal disgust.

“Telerd tried. While Loid was just trying to keep me standing.” Key scraped up the blade. “I was so pathetic.”

“So this is what has been eating at you,” Tiler at last said. He walked inside and shut the door to keep the cold out.

“No.” Key set down the sword to look at him. “Lanona had said it. I’m a walking target out there. A liability.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that,” Tiler retorted.

Key shook his head as he scraped up the sword again. “I’m sure she did.”

They were silent. Key scraped up the sword once more. Then again.

“You know, I kissed her. And she just…stared at me as if I were some kind of fungus.” He scraped up the sword.

“Ah! That is what’s really eating you!” Tiler slapped the tabletop. “Key! She wasn’t thinking that at all.”

“I was so stupid,” Key muttered, not hearing him.

“Key.” Tiler crouched down, resting his hand on Key’s shoulder. “Key! Listen to me. I was there after you jumped into that hole and ran off. Lanona wasn’t staring at you like a fungus. She likes you. She was just surprised that you had feelings for her.”

Turning his head, Key gave him a dry look. “No more games, Tiler. You guys can’t use her anymore to manipulate me. I’m not going to see the Cordrils now. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m a liability. I get it. You all just need me to read a bunch of maps and make my swords. I get it. And a man ought to do what he is good at.”

Groaning, Tiler grabbed the hilt of the sword Key had been sharpening. He set it back on the table. “That’s it. Outside. You can’t stay in here anymore. It’s dark and depressing. It’s like you’re wearing those leg irons again the way you’ve been dragging your feet.”

“Tiler, leave me alone.” Key turned from him, searching for another sword to sharpen.

“No.” The Herra man grabbed him by the arm and nodded for Polan and Berd to take Key’s other side. “You needs some fresh air, and I need a good fight. Grab a stick. We’re practicing.”

Key did not struggle against them, but he did not walk willingly either. They had to drag him outside into the snow. The threesome hauled Key into a light clearing between the trees of the hills where the snow was a little beaten down and muddy. Those in the camp roundabout perked up their heads.

Tiler broke from the group and took up the scabbard to his sword, setting his sword aside as he nodded to the others to do the same for Key. Berd handed Key his scabbard, giving him a nod. Key halfheartedly held it, sighing as if he didn’t care for fresh air and certainly not a fight in the cold. When the two Herra men backed off, Key did not even stand at the ready. He gazed at Tiler with an exhausted expression.

“Come on, get on guard,” Tiler said, lifting up his scabbard.

Key made a face and barely lifted up the scabbard in his hand. “This is stupid. You and I both know I don’t have the killer instinct. I’m a sword maker not a sword fighter.”

But Tiler came at him, swiping Key across the face.

Key dropped back, staggering.

Reaching up, he felt the scratch on his cheek near his nose. He peered hard at the Herra man, as Tiler was now bouncing on the balls of his feet, laughing smartly.

“Come on! Coward! Quit with that stupid talk and come at me!” Tiler then hopped back, prepared for the fight. “Where’s that dance you used to do?”

Wiping the trickle of blood off his cheek, Key glowered. “It’s not a dance. It’s a style.”

Snorting, Tiler got ready. “Well all you have been doing is dancing with it. I was just saying you don’t have a killer instinct to make you mad. What kind of man are you anyway? Don’t you have any sense of dignity?”

He then struck out at Key again. This time Key blocked it, shoving him off.

“That’s better,” Tiler said, his mocking laugher riling Key up. “But you’re still a weakling coward. Why else do I have to watch your back?”

Key clenched his teeth. Setting his feet apart, he got into the first stance of the Bekir-style fighting. “You are the one that chooses to watch my back. I didn’t ask for a bodyguard.”

Tiler went in to strike.

Key met him hard, whipping back again in the way that he used to, though this time he acted sharper as if the dance had gained a quicker beat.

The Herra man fought back, striking without any of their former childish playfulness. If no one had known them to be friends, one would have easily taken them for fierce enemies.

In fact, as Edman the witch trudged into the camp through the thick snow and caught sight of them sparring. He jogged over to make sure it was really those two he was seeing and not something else.

Berd and Polan had backed off as several others in the camp gathered nearer. Some of them looked ready to break in to stop the fight, though most hung back, watching both men as if taking wagers.

“Come on, you idiot! What are you afraid of?” Tiler shouted, striking at Key. One of his knees was bleeding, scraped where his pants were torn. There was bruise on his face, his lip split. Key also looked battered. His right arm had a bruise, and the scratch on his face had dripped blood down to his neck and onto his shirt. Both of them panted hard. Their breaths puffed up around them.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Key shouted back, swinging to block. He swiped to knock Tiler off of his feet.

Jumping over the scabbard, Tiler climbed over a stump as he went backwards. “And what makes you think that you can hurt me?”

His face twisted with anger. Key charged in, his body arched like a heron diving for its catch, the scabbard stabbing down. Tiler swung to knock it away, but Key spun around and whipped up Tiler’s leg, flipping his friend off his feet and onto his back. Tiler landed with a hard thud. Then in a pounce, Key jumped down, holding his scabbard to Tiler’s throat. He pressed his knee on Tiler’s chest.

Both were panting. Though, Tiler cracked a smile gasping as he laughed in the muddy snow.

Key glared at him hard, regaining his breath. The cold stung his lungs, going down into his chest like knives. He was still angry yet watching Tiler’s reaction he grew puzzled. He rose, lifting the scabbard from his friend’s neck.

“You’re not going to kill me?” Tiler still laughed.

Key threw the scabbard back at Berd and trudged back to his smithy. “Shut up. You got your exercise. Leave me alone.”

But Tiler sat up. He shook off the snow and called after him. “How about round two? I was just getting started.”

Everyone stared at him.

But Key stopped with the face of a completely peeved man. “What do you want from me?”

Hopping to his feet to shake off the rest of the snow, Tiler examine his torn pants. That’s when he noticed Edman and smiled. But he went on to Key. He stepped in front of Key’s way back to the smithy. “I want you to quit sulking inside that place. Come out once in a while. Look at the sky and breathe the air, and realize that you are worth