Late in the day, after setting up camp and consuming their ration, Bronwyn ran through his regular drills with the sword. It felt good to relieve the stress with a workout. Exerting his body made it easier to think. He glanced at Alaura, who gathered herbs near the edge of the clearing. He had seen her wield a sword; she could stand to learn more about the weapon.
“Alaura, come here for a minute.”
“What is it?”
“You’re more than generous with your knowledge and skills. I want to share mine with you.” He held the weapon in front of him. “I’ve seen you hold a sword. It looks awkward. You’re right-handed, so you should grip it like this.” Being left-handed made the position uncomfortable for him.
“I’m not a sword fighter, Bronwyn.”
“You may encounter a situation where your life depends on it. You’re the one who told me to never turn down knowledge.” He watched her consider her own advice then step forward to grasp his sword.
“It does feel better this way.” She held it straight in front of her.
He moved off to the side. “To make a firm stance, move this leg back like this…and put the other like this.” With her feet in position, Bronwyn slowly moved his hands in an exercise motion designed for her to handle the sword efficiently.
After several tries, she lowered it. “It’s heavy. Your sword is not appropriate to my body mass.”
He picked up a fair-sized stick. “What you need is a slim sword, one weighing about a pound. It looks similar to a long dagger, but you wield it in the same way as you would a sword. The next chance we get, I’ll show you what I mean. Until then,” he exchanged the stick for the sword, “you can practise the movements with this.”
“I’ve seen what you speak of.” Alaura made her stance and held the stick. She went through the motions he had shown her.
Bronwyn watched her steps. Her patterns looked good but needed improvement. “Here.” He stepped behind her, put his hands over hers, and guided her swing. He’d never before taught a swordsman using this method, but then his typical recruit didn’t look like Alaura. “Lift like this. Bend this knee.” He tapped her on the back of her leg with his knee. “That’s it. Bring it back like this, elevate and then flex your wrists. Bring it forward and follow through with your swing. Don’t watch the sword. Look at the target, and the sword will follow.” He went through three complete exercises with her before he stepped away.
She repeated the motion.
“Now you have the pattern, speed it up. Put more strength into it!”
Alaura followed his instructions. Each time she worked the pattern, she swung harder. She impressed him with the way she manipulated the sword…stick. Without warning, the stick struck him in the forehead; he dropped to the ground.
“Bronwyn!” She ran to his side. “I’m sorry. It slipped. Are you okay?” Concern filled her voice.
He felt her grasp his face. For a moment, he lay still. He wanted to rub the sting on his forehead but didn’t. When she shook him, his grin spread across his face.
The shaking stopped, and she playfully slapped him on the chest. “Oh you…rascal!”
He opened his eyes.
“You had me worried. I thought I had hurt you.”
“You did! That was no biscuit you threw at me!” He watched the anxiety return as Alaura rubbed the place of impact where a lump was already growing. “I really feel special now.” He winked. “First a water flask. Now a stick.”
Alaura giggled. “I’m sorry.” She leant forward and kissed the lump. “Let me help you up.”
Bronwyn stood and brushed the twigs and dirt from his clothes. The kiss on the forehead surprised him. It seemed the fewer expectations he placed on their relationship, the more affection she gave him. If he ignored her completely, would she shower him with love? He watched her pick up the stick to inspect it. “Did I damage it?”
Alaura smiled as she sat near the fire. “Fortunately, no. It’s a solid piece of oak. It’s stronger than many things, including your head.”
Sitting next to her, Bronwyn watched her use a knife to remove the bark. When she had it stripped, she notched an area near one end. “Making a place for your hand to grip?”
She nodded.
He watched her struggle with the strength of the wood. “Let me help.”
She handed him the knife and stick. “I want only a shallow indent to not compromise the strength of the…sword.”
Bronwyn slid the knife through the wood. His strong hands made quick work of it, and he had created an indent around the entire stick. “You can play with it to make it feel more comfortable.” He handed it back to her.
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll work a piece of leather onto it, so I won’t get splinters.” She tested the grip. “I didn’t know wood was a mighty weapon, but this little stick proved me wrong.” She eyed him impishly. “It can drop a powerful dwarf with one whack.”
Bronwyn chuckled. “Powerful, eh?” He reached over, gripped the end of the stick and drew her forward. “I think all the might came from the woman wielding the weapon.” A genuine smile graced her appearance, revealing her most beautiful face.
Later, after he had crawled into his bedroll, Bronwyn rested on his back and looked up at the stars. They shined as bright as a thousand of Alaura’s eyes staring down upon him. Somewhere under the twinkling lights, his daughter also admired them. Tomorrow—or the day after—they might overrun Keiron and rescue Isla.
He felt Alaura turn beneath her blanket beside him. When he looked, she watched him. The dim light of the crackling fire danced in her eyes. He wondered about her thoughts. Did she think about Isla, too, or Maskil or home? She seldom mentioned Petra, and when she did, she spoke in a detached manner, as if she didn’t want to think of her life there. But he had seen her joy when she lived in Petra. When they shared their memories in their life force, he saw her as a happy little girl. What had changed?
“Are you thinking of Isla?” Her soft voice startled him.
He nodded and turned on his side to face her. “You?”
“I think of what she’s experienced since her kidnapping. I wonder about where they are taking her.” Alaura paused and reached for his hand. Not wanting to bridge the Transfer Spell, she used her right hand to seek comfort. “And I worry if we’ll get her back. I’m frightened for her.”
Bronwyn swallowed hard. He heard the apprehension in her voice. In all sense of the word, she had replaced Maura as Isla’s meeme. “I worry about these things, but I’m determined to find her. I can’t think otherwise.”
“I am determined, too.”
“I know we’ll find her.”
“We will. We will.” She squeezed his hand and closed her eyes. “We have to.”
Bronwyn watched her fall asleep. He liked to believe she rested peacefully but knew otherwise. Several times through the night he woke to find her fingers gripping his hand she hadn’t released. Though he couldn’t see her face in the dark, he sensed expressions of anguish and uneasiness. He did his best to comfort her, but deep down, he also needed comforting. During the night he slid nearer and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She turned and pressed her back against him. He pulled her closer and found solace as their magical hands embraced.