It was the day after the dire wolves had attacked our campsite. Though the only serious injury was quickly healed by Bella, the group was noticeably more subdued. Once or twice, I caught my father’s hands edging to his sword whenever a sudden noise happened, or an animal rustled a bush. Noises that the previous day we would have ignored became magnified and the tension put everyone on edge.

One thing put a smile on everyone’s face, though. My father had profusely thanked me for saving his life during the fight with the wolves, and mother was very impressed with the strength of my wind magic.

“Lucina would have been impressed, too,” mom said. “I’m sure of it.”

I looked over at the wind mage, who was quietly sleeping on the wagon bench. “Will she be alright, mom?” I asked with concern.

Mother patted me on the head. “Of course, Gil. We’re going to have to rest for a few days before crossing the Liru river, but she’ll be healthy as a horse after a few days rest. Now, make sure to be quiet and don’t bother her rest,” she warned.

We sat in silence for a while, then we started to hear some whispering outside. I leaned closer to the wagon entrance, trying to decipher what the hunters outside were saying.

“I’m telling you, Frank, this one’s better! It’s perfect for his size!” My father’s urgent whispers grew louder and louder as he spoke.

“Michel, how many times must I tell you? Your swords are simply too small! I’m just looking out for your son, man. A big blade gets all the ladies.” I could feel Frank’s eyebrows wagging on the last line, though for what reason I still did not know.

Mother rolled her eyes, then poked her head out the wagon. “You gentlemen done talking yet? Just show Gilan the gift already, won’t you?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Ahem. Gilan,” my father began. “It occurred to us that, if we ever run into a problem again, it would be prudent to at least give you a weapon to defend yourself with.”

He pulled out a wrapped bundle about two thirds the length of his longsword and held it out to me.

“We were going to give this to you once you learned the basics of swordsmanship with the Knightly Bards,” dad explained. “But it’s more important that you’re safe.”

I took the bundle in my hands, eyes widening at the weight. Unwrapping the bundle, I gazed at the dull red sheathe and the simple leather hilt. Though it didn’t look fancy, one look was enough to tell me that this was made by a master craftsman. Not that I wanted a fancy sword, anyways. Father always said that the only thing an expensive looking sword did was attract bad attention. “Can I unsheathe it?” I asked.

My father nodded. “Go ahead. Careful, though. Don’t cut anyone’s head off,” he said with a grin.

As I slid the blade out from the scabbard, my eyes widened in surprise. The heavy weight, which had dragged down on my wrists, suddenly fell away. I could feel a sense of mass at the tip of the sword, but as I lightly swung the tip of the sword through the air, it felt as light as a feather.

“It’s all in the sword’s balancing,” Frank explained. “A good sword’s hard to come by, and that blade in your hand’s quite a good one. “

Looking at the blade gleaming in the sunlight, I suddenly remembered Frank fighting last night, sword ablaze. On impulse, I willed a bit of mana into the sword, and then commanded it to ignite. A wisp of smoke rose from the base of the blade, and then a tiny flame, barely larger than a match, ignited on the steel.

Frank suddenly understood what I intended to do, and immediately burst into laughter. “You’re still a bit off from igniting your sword, yeah? Don’t worry, Gilan. I’m sure you’ll get there one day, but for now, leave the fireworks to the professionals, OK?”

At the word professionals, mother rolled her eyes but otherwise remained silent, assenting to Frank’s assertions. She patted my back. “Alright now, put the blade back into the scabbard before you hurt yourself,” she said. “You’ll learn the basics with your dad and Frank, and then you can worry about enhancing it with magic.”

Sighing, I slid the sword back into the sheathe, clipping it onto my belt. The weight felt just right, as if I had finally found something I didn’t even know I was missing.

In the driver’s seat, Ajax raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for arrival. We’re almost at Dunby’s Ford.”

The Liru river spread as far out in both directions as the eye could see, so wide the docks on the other banks were hazy from the distance. Dunby’s Ford sprawled across the East bank, a thriving city built off the profitable business of ferrying travelers across the ever-widening Liru. According to father, Dunby’s Ford was founded centuries ago, back when the river narrowed at this point and allowed travelers to, well, ford the river. Back then, Dunby’s Ford was just a small town with a single inn where the occasional traveler could stop and rest.

Then, a massive tectonic shift had changed the landscape entirely, widening the river to where it was today. Unwilling to just abandon their homes, the villagers set to rebuilding their little town, earning great profit by ferrying travelers across. As more and more people came for the ferry service, the town slowly but steadily grew until it reached the bustling city it is today.

Clattering to a halt, our wagon stopped in front of a three-storied building with a swan icon hung out front. Looking closer, I made out the words “White Swan Inn” right above the door. While the rest of the group took the horses and wagon into the stable next door to the inn, mother beckoned me to follow her inside to sort out the rooms for the next few nights.

Opening the door, a wave of heat and sound flooded out of the taproom. The hubbub of conversations dulled slightly as a few patrons turned to look at us with mild curiosity, but seeing a mother and her child, they turned back to their drinks and conversations. Mother and I walked up to the bar, where the innkeeper was polishing off a glass with a dirty cloth hung off his belt. He looked up at us and, seeing my mother, ran his fingers through his greasy hair. “What can I do for you, fine madam? Perhaps a cup of ale?” He held up the glass in his hand.

Mother’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Nothing that comes in that filthy cup,” she said.

“Nary a stain on the glass, I tell you” the innkeeper grumbled. “It’s a damn clean glass. Well, if you aren’t here for a drink, what else do you want?” He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows. “If you’re looking for a suitable bachelor, the kid’s gotta go. I ain’t trying to raise some snot-nosed brat.”

Mom snorted. “As if I’d stoop to your level. We need three rooms for a few days.”

Without missing a beat, the innkeepers eyes widened into saucers. “Three days?” he gasped. “In this busy season?” He gestured at the bar, full of patrons.

One of the drinkers held up an empty pitcher and roared “Barkeep! Another pitcher of ale!”

“Hold your horses, Bert!” the innkeeper bellowed back, gesturing at one of the serving girls to go serve the table that had called for more ale. He glared at the servers, muttering under his breath about how lazy and incompetent the people he hired were.

The serving girl weaved her way around the crowded taproom, making her way towards Bert’s table. As she arrived, she set down her tray, and put down two pitchers brimming with ale. Clearly drunk, one of the men at the table grabbed her wrist.

“Hold on. I want you to pour my beer for me.” The rest of the table laughed nastily and chorused their agreement. Raising his glass, the man glared at the girl. “Well?” he demanded. “What are you waiting for? POUR THE BEER!” he roared at her. With a flinch, the serving girl looked over at the innkeeper, who was watching the exchange with an amused look on his face. Seeing his apathy, she turned around and resignedly began pouring the men their ale.

The innkeeper turned his attention back to us. “Three rooms, you say?” He sucked in air through his teeth, then let it out in a sigh of mock resignation. “I think I can squeeze out three rooms, but it’ll cost you” he began. “Lets see… how about 1 gold piece per night for all three rooms? I’ll even throw in a free meal each night per person as well as hay for the horses.”

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard. One silver piece per night?”

The innkeeper laughed. “No, sweetie, one gold. You want three rooms? Its gonna cost you.”

“You want us to pay enough money to buy a thoroughbred warhorse for three rooms?” mother asked, shock evident in her voice. I understood where her surprise came from. One gold piece was equal to one hundred silver, each worth one hundred gold. In a smaller city like Dunby’s Ford, you could eat for an entire day off of a few copper coins. For an entire gold piece, even a stay in a baron’s mansion wouldn’t be worth the money. Furthermore, even if the taproom looked busy, only a tiny fraction would be actually staying in the rooms. Laborers and migrants didn’t have many choices for supper, and those who wanted to sit down and enjoy some drinks along with their meal would naturally gravitate towards a welcoming inn like this one.

The innkeeper continued in a smarmy voice. “But, I could give you a little discount for a couple of services,” he said. “A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t be out alone anyways. Why don’t we-“

He was cut off by a scream from the serving girl. The casual harassment had escalated, as one of the drunks had grabbed a hold of the girl and was trying to feel her up. My mother, who’s temper was already at a boiling point, whipped around to see the man’s arms wrapped around the terrified girl. With a snarl, she drew her dagger, cocked back her arm, and sent it flying across the room with deadly speed.

Thud!

The dagger embedded itself on the wall, the man’s loose sleeves pinned down by the blade. The bar fell completely silent as the rest of the table looked at my mom. Then, slowly, the bearded man the innkeeper had called Bert rose from his table, drawing a vicious looking knife from his belt.

“Who the hell do you think you are, bitch?” he snarled, advancing towards us. “I’m gonna teach you and your little brat a lesson to not mess with real men.”