to even dust. Worse, after a generation or so, you could be sold to a junk dealer by some great nephew who didn’t remember who you were. You’d be melted down as scrap. At that point, I don’t even know what becomes of you. Maybe you fade into nothingness with no weapon to hold your soul.”
He poured it on thick, but Roubris knew that this kind of treatment usually worked.
And it did. “All right,” Nivua said. “It’s hidden in a box behind a loose stone in the well behind my old house. I’ll tell you how to get there.”
“Excellent.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Roubris pushed open the massive oak doors and walked into the temple of Iomedae, goddess of valor and justice. “I’ve got another one for you, Karatha.”
The young priestess looked up from where she knelt in prayer. “Hello, Roubris,” she said in a gentle voice. She wore the traditional white robes of her order, which did nothing to conceal her broad shoulders and muscular frame. Her long brown hair was straight and pulled back behind her head. She had an angular face. Her eyes were a soft but piercing blue. Karatha Obbaros stood and approached him.
Roubris held the notched short sword in both hands. His pants were still muddy from where he’d knelt to get at the box of gold coins hidden in the well. His jerkin was likewise filthy. He probably should have cleaned up. Probably should have entered the temple more humbly and quietly. Probably should have shown a little more reverence. He had been here so many times before that he didn’t think of it. In truth, he hardly thought of the place as a temple. It was just a resource for his “business.” Roubris wasn’t a religious man, but Karatha was a friend and he respected her devotion. Besides, there were never worshipers or other clerics here at this time of day. He knew Karatha would be here alone.
His behavior didn’t seem to put off Karatha. But then, it never did. He knew that she was aware of his activities—although perhaps not the full extent of them. She knew that he got payment from the spirits trapped in old weapons, but she probably didn’t know that he sometimes extorted money from people based on the secrets he learned. At least, he hoped she didn’t. And after all, he donated some of that money to the temple so that she could perform the needed rites to see the captive souls put to rest. Not all that he earned, of course, but didn’t he deserve payment for his trouble? He had to eat like anyone else.
Karatha smiled and said, “A truly honorable thing. You do these lost, imprisoned souls a great service, Roubris.”
Roubris felt the familiar twinge of guilt when she said that. He’d become quite adept at ignoring such twinges. He wondered for a moment if Karatha said that in order to make him feel guilty, or if she really meant it.
Probably both.
∗ ∗ ∗
Roubris took advantage of the clear skies and warm temperatures to return to the battlefield he had explored earlier. As the site of a struggle between the orcs of Belkzen and the human Lastwall defenders, it offered plenty of potential opportunities to use his talents.
He spent the better part of the afternoon without success. The broken and discarded weapons left behind by previous scroungers offered not so much as a whisper when he tried to speak to them. None contained a spirit.
He sat down on the grass amid a thick patch of wildflowers to eat the lunch he had brought. From his leather satchel he took out the end of a loaf of honey-baked bread, some blue cheese, and a few slices of dried venison. He ate them slowly, enjoying the flavors, and considered where to search next. Roubris washed down the meal with cold water and felt quite content. He stood, wiped his hands on his cloth trousers—and glimpsed something metallic not far away in the grass, framed by golden blooming flowers.
He stepped forward and saw that it was a longsword, designed to be wielded by a warrior of great size. The portion of the blade remaining
He poured it on thick, but Roubris knew that this kind of treatment usually worked.
And it did. “All right,” Nivua said. “It’s hidden in a box behind a loose stone in the well behind my old house. I’ll tell you how to get there.”
“Excellent.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Roubris pushed open the massive oak doors and walked into the temple of Iomedae, goddess of valor and justice. “I’ve got another one for you, Karatha.”
The young priestess looked up from where she knelt in prayer. “Hello, Roubris,” she said in a gentle voice. She wore the traditional white robes of her order, which did nothing to conceal her broad shoulders and muscular frame. Her long brown hair was straight and pulled back behind her head. She had an angular face. Her eyes were a soft but piercing blue. Karatha Obbaros stood and approached him.
Roubris held the notched short sword in both hands. His pants were still muddy from where he’d knelt to get at the box of gold coins hidden in the well. His jerkin was likewise filthy. He probably should have cleaned up. Probably should have entered the temple more humbly and quietly. Probably should have shown a little more reverence. He had been here so many times before that he didn’t think of it. In truth, he hardly thought of the place as a temple. It was just a resource for his “business.” Roubris wasn’t a religious man, but Karatha was a friend and he respected her devotion. Besides, there were never worshipers or other clerics here at this time of day. He knew Karatha would be here alone.
His behavior didn’t seem to put off Karatha. But then, it never did. He knew that she was aware of his activities—although perhaps not the full extent of them. She knew that he got payment from the spirits trapped in old weapons, but she probably didn’t know that he sometimes extorted money from people based on the secrets he learned. At least, he hoped she didn’t. And after all, he donated some of that money to the temple so that she could perform the needed rites to see the captive souls put to rest. Not all that he earned, of course, but didn’t he deserve payment for his trouble? He had to eat like anyone else.
Karatha smiled and said, “A truly honorable thing. You do these lost, imprisoned souls a great service, Roubris.”
Roubris felt the familiar twinge of guilt when she said that. He’d become quite adept at ignoring such twinges. He wondered for a moment if Karatha said that in order to make him feel guilty, or if she really meant it.
Probably both.
∗ ∗ ∗
Roubris took advantage of the clear skies and warm temperatures to return to the battlefield he had explored earlier. As the site of a struggle between the orcs of Belkzen and the human Lastwall defenders, it offered plenty of potential opportunities to use his talents.
He spent the better part of the afternoon without success. The broken and discarded weapons left behind by previous scroungers offered not so much as a whisper when he tried to speak to them. None contained a spirit.
He sat down on the grass amid a thick patch of wildflowers to eat the lunch he had brought. From his leather satchel he took out the end of a loaf of honey-baked bread, some blue cheese, and a few slices of dried venison. He ate them slowly, enjoying the flavors, and considered where to search next. Roubris washed down the meal with cold water and felt quite content. He stood, wiped his hands on his cloth trousers—and glimpsed something metallic not far away in the grass, framed by golden blooming flowers.
He stepped forward and saw that it was a longsword, designed to be wielded by a warrior of great size. The portion of the blade remaining
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