As they trudged along, weary from days of travel, Emanresu and Resua each adjusted their burdens. Emanresu shifted the bulky leaden pack from one shoulder to the other, then watched as Resua readjusted his higher on his back, redistributing the weight a bit. The heft of his grandfather’s legacy weighed heavily on Emanresu as they continued on the impromptu journey to his ancestral homeland, Rinewood Gulf, a small village near where Emanresu had been told his family was originated.

As they walked, Emanresu reminisced about his long and storied history with Resua. They had been inseparable friends since they were small children, “Well, when I, myself, was a small child,” Emanresu grinned at the thought of anyone calling Resua small. Ever.

When time allowed, the two could always be found together. “I wonder if we would still be friends had it not been that we were the only two our age in the village,” Emanresu mused to himself. He dared not say it out loud, as Resua was a sensitive sort, belying his towering stature and stout girth.

Though Resua literally stood head and shoulders above Emanresu and Emanresu was half a head taller than most, the large man was timid and preferred not to get into altercations. Back in Rintha, the village they grew up in, when they were children of no more than 10 or 11 mains, Emanresu had seen Resua hit a man in the chest. The man flew across the dusty, wind-blown street and lay on the other side in the weed-filled ditch. Distraught with his impulsive deed, Emanresu watched as Resua, furious at the man, his anger tempered by the realization of what he had done. Alternately cringing in guilt and fuming in anger, he could only say, “He shouldn’t have said that about Mother; she was a good woman! May the Dance keep her!”.

The impertinent man lived but took two full moons to recover from the devastating blow from the ten-main old Resua.

They entered the dense growth of Rosewood Forest and were steadily advancing into the deepening shadows, following the dirt road on the way to Erzt and then on to the Gulf. The sunlight was streaming purposefully through the foliage, attempting to illuminate the ground in patches of random luminance.

As they continued deeper into the forest, Emanresu could hear the scratching of Resua’s quill on his journal, map, or whatever he wanted to call the homemade, leather-bound pages he was constantly scribbling on. The natural quietness of the woods, a calm to soothe the soul, was only disturbed by the occasional animal that peeped or squeaked as it hurriedly scurried away.

After a time, having fallen behind, Resua hurried to Emanresu’s side. He reached out and took hold of Emanresu’s shoulder, bringing them to a halt. The two stood along the side of the dirt path.

“Listen to this,” Resua grinned. He held his journal before him as he read the words he had scribbled there. “The sky, a bright blue that faded into purples, reds, and yellows, peeked through only in patches amidst the foliage while sunlight struggled to stream through the leaves of the canopy created by the forest. The unending glowing patchwork of sunlight fell to the ground and lay there illuminating…” Wait, he scribbled quickly in his journal, then continued, “…lay there silently illuminating the road, sparsely it lay, here and there, the bulk of the road hidden in a ragged cloak of blackest shade. The forlorn trees murmured quietly in the whispering wind as they stretched their boughs eagerly across the furrowed road. The dirt rutted and gouged unevenly, filled with gashes from the wheels of many a cart and wagon. The stark and stoic road, soft as freshly kneaded dough from the recent soft sprinkling of rain, had the musty smells of life that permeated the stillness of the wild wooded area. The wisps of wind, struggling to pass, were held at bay by the staunch blockade of trees guarding the passage of man.”

“What do you think, Eman? Pretty awesome, right?” he questioned.

“Well,” Emanresu replied, “I suppose if that is how you see it, then you should write what you feel. I admire your ability to put things in a flowery manner but try as I might, I can’t. I enjoy your way of describing things; it’s just not the way I see things.”

As the two continued, Emanresu noticed Resua veering closer to the middle of the road. He reached out and grabbed the flowing side of Resua’s tunic and pulled on him lightly, steering him back to the side of the road. “The ruts could easily catch a boot and twist an ankle,” Emanresu told him. “Best to stick to the side of the road.”

“Ah,” said Resua, and he paused slightly and scribbled something in his papers. “Hmm… wheel-plowed ruts scraped from the road and deposited…”

Resua stopped walking and jotted down a couple more thoughts before his feet moved his large bulk again. Looking over at Emanresu, Resua smiled and focused on the road, and the way seemed lighter and faster because of his renewed focus on the journey rather than his journal.

Emanresu smiled at Resua. “I cannot recall when you were not speaking in long, grandiose terms or staring at this or that, coming up with some decidedly descriptive story. Even as a child, when we played fox and hound. I had to be the fox, for when I played the hound, I would just walk up behind you and tag you as you stood or sat engrossed in some insect or plant.”

“You remember when I knocked you on the head while you were engrossed with the berry plant? You fell headlong into the briars,” Emanresu smiled and chuckled slightly. “I must have apologized for a score of times before you stopped being mad at me,” said Emanresu.

“The berry patch silently laid in wait, whispering to the wind and swaying gently back and forth in anticipation. Eagerly, they scratched and clawed at the boy as he fell headlong into their naked talons, pulling him further in the more he struggled,” Resua grinned, “Yes, I recall it vividly!”

“That was a few days before I plowed that insolent ruffian mid of his chest, drove the wind out of him, and broke four of his ribs,” Resua frowned as he recalled. “I still have chills when I think about that! I thought I had killed him! I was so mad, but he had no right to say that about my mother; she was a kind and compassionate soul. May the Dance keep her safe and entertained.”

“That was, what, nine mains ago?” inquired Resua.

“Ten mains, almost eleven,” came the reply, “I recall it well, as that was the year the Festival of the Dance was held up the road in Tothis.”

Emanresu mulled over the plans for his life, “Or rather, the lack of them,” he mumbled to himself.

“Twenty harvestmains and still unwed, no real direction for my life, and with each passing main, I fear more and more I will grow old without adventure or excitement like my father,” Emanresu thought as he kicked at the leaves and dust on the edge of the road. “One thing is certain: I don’t want to be a baker; they lead such dull and unimportant lives. I am eager for more, something, anything more… even a traveling delivery man would be better than the monotonous life my father led.”

His father had always told stories of the shield and sword which Emanresu now carried. They were passed down from generation to generation, father to son. The stories were also handed down, told repeatedly, each generation adding more life and history to the storied pair. Until his father passed on, and all of the possessions that had belonged to him were tossed out into the street. The entirety of one man’s life and history, tossed outside of the mud and brick hovel his father had rented. Until then, he had never seen these storied items up close.

Emanresu’s thoughts drifted as they walked, and he recalled seeing them for the first time up close as he gathered the tattered remains of his father’s life from the muck and mire. He came across the time-encrusted shield and sword, and both appeared to be in deplorable condition, which, he imagined, was due to his father’s disregard for his past and ancestry. His father shunned his ancestry for the sweet smell and warm comfort of baked goods. His father was a fair baker, not great, mind you, but he had delved into the anxiety-less baking profession mostly to spite his father and the carnage of his lineage. Thus, as his father passed, the belongings became Emanresu’s burden.

Resua immediately gave them legendary status, coming up with dozens of reasons for their poor state and half a dozen reasons that my father had acquired them. All the stories were fantastical and bigger than life, of which my father was neither.

His introspection was broken by Resua, stomping his feet heavily as he played at being the giant. He had done so for mains and had gotten quite good at mimicking the aggressive behavior attributed to most huge men. “So, son, if you have never met them, why would you want to make the long, tedious trek across Alaeon to the Gulf? Just to introduce yourself?” Resua bellowed the question in the rumbling voice he reserved for his heroic alter-ego. “We could have sold the shield and sword and lived grand lives for a few moons, maybe even a main, well… maybe not a main.”

Emanresu did not answer; he just stopped and looked at Resua until they both cracked a smile and returned to the road.

“Curiosity, I guess,” Emanresu finally replied. “The shield and sword, it seems, MUST have some history. Not the history or stories YOU come up with, but father was always telling tales and, I guess, it would be nice to know if grandfather was as great and crazy as he said.”

Continuing to walk, their discussion wound deftly around the places and people they might meet.

As the eve slowly descended upon them, Emanresu reached out to the sun, aligning his fist with the horizon, placing one hand atop the other to judge the time. “Barely a hand and a half until dusk,” he told Resua.

Resua did the same, reached out his arm to the sun, aligned his fist with the horizon, and staunchly declared, “Well, sire, I see barely a hand until the dawn is upon us,” he remarked, a smile sneaking onto his serious and otherwise immobile face.

“And if I had melons for fists, we would judge the time with either of ours; however, one of us is a little bigger than most, and your time skills have never aligned with the general village. So, with that in mind, SIRE, you may now cease your jest and start looking for a good place to bed for the night,” he winked at his towering friend.

They began searching for an appropriate resting place. Emanresu’s feet throbbed, and the fire in his legs was a testament to their long journey. This thought made Emanresu realize how lengthy this journey would be. Though his shoulders drooped and his back knotted in the pain of unaccustomed work, they sought a likely spot a fair distance away from the road. Resua seemed unaffected by the travels, seeming as spry as ever. “Well,” Emanresu thought, “as spry as a man his size could be.” He smiled to himself.

Resua spied a small clearing and pointed it out; it was flat and open, with a large rock outcropping off to one side. The top of the rock was barely a head shorter than he was but twice his height from one side to the other. The wildlife was sparse, and they had seen naught a living soul as they journeyed. Searching, they found a suitable spot near the rock and began making camp for the night.

Wearily, Emanresu let the pack slide from his back to the ground with an audible thump. The searing pain in his back as he did so forced a grunt from him as he stifled the need to cry out. Slowly, he knelt down, enduring the fiery pain in his legs. He surveyed the area and noticed that Resua was not within view. “Ho!” Emanresu called out. “Where did you go, my tiny little giant?”

“I be here, on the other side of the rock, engaged in the creation of a magnificent bed. Rearranging the castle and the not-insubstantial and varied items I had carted in. The accommodations are well suited to a knight such as I,” Resua let the words flow from his mouth. “He should take up a musical instrument,” Emanresu thought, grinning, “a way with words as good as any bard or minstrel I have ever seen. Though he is practically the only one I have ever seen.”

“Sire, we shall need a fire hot and ready. In all your knighthood, do you think you can deem it not beneath you to start one?” came the backhanded query. “If you don’t, then thrice I shall slap you on the belly while you rest!”

“You, sire, are in resplendently little shape to be making such threats, and if you would like to follow me to yon bushes and assist me in relieving my bladder and bowels to water and fertilize the lands, then up and make haste,” Resua remarked in a humorous tone that reverberated throughout the little clearing.

“Well, go then; I shall attempt to unpack my own little cart to match the great and fanciful abode that you have made,” Emanresu retorted.

Resua’s somber tone came quickly, “You’re getting better, Eman! We shall make a magnificent wordsmith of you, yet. And soon, you will be veritably pounding out remarkably solid and usable sentences. But… alas… that day is not today!” he jokingly responded.

The sound of crumpling leaves and rocks tinkling across the stones came to Emanresu as Resua was indeed off to the bush.

“My brain hurts from trying to think up words to satisfy the big man’s desire to mold me in his verbal image,” thought Emanresu. The memory of the many times Resua had accosted him with verbal sparring ran through his mind. From a young age, the mountain of a man had spun words like… like… well, like a weaver on a weaver’s loom.

Emanresu unpacked his bedroll, within which the sword had been wrapped securely, scabbard and all. Emanresu was anxious to know more about this mysterious sword and the shield his father had hidden away. Seeing as he only brought it out in the still of the night, there must be something interesting about it! Emanresu took hold of the hilt and drew the sword from the scabbard; the excitement as he did was fresh and seemed to renew him with the thoughts of family and legacy. The pains and aches subsided as the joy of what might be filled his thoughts.

As he held the sword, Emanresu had a flash of distinctly uneasiness, as if an impending doom was upon them. He looked around intently as he stood holding the sword, but nothing seemed out of sorts, and the air was still and quiet. He swung the sword a couple of times to get the feel of it. “It always seems to take its own direction, and someday I shall learn to use one, saving the weak and righteous,” Emanresu grinned to himself.

He reached down and untied the shield from the pack where it had been attached. He slipped his hand through the straps and felt the heft of it. Holding the shield, he swung the sword, attacking the imaginary foe before him. His skills belied his imagination, and as he flourished the blade, he fought for a control he did not yet possess. He swung the sword wildly about, and it got away from him, seemingly with a mind of its own. He nearly lost an ear to his antics as he jerked his head to the side. Luckily, his ear remained intact as the blade flew by so close the rush of the air caused his heart to race. “This poor tarnished weapon seems awkward and useless in my inexperienced hands,” Emanresu mused.

A cold and icy feeling crept up his spine, slowly like the climb to the top of a treacherous mountain. It climbed steadily until, finally, the chill sat at the base of his neck. He shuddered briefly as if a chill wind had swept up his spine, though the still air was warm.

Emanresu felt renewed and energized, almost excited, holding the sword and shield, ready to take on the world. He felt as if he could be the magnificent, towering legend his father had always described his grandfather to be. “The Bleak,” Father had called him. “Hmmm… doesn’t seem like much of a name to strike terror into the hearts of one’s enemies.” He grinned at the absurd thought. “It is not the words that you use, but the deads behind them that make a name a legend,” Emanresu said softly in almost a whisper.

As he stood, the excitement streaming through his veins, he felt the weariness and pain melt into the background of nature surrounding him. He hefted the shield, placed it in what he imagined was a defensive position, and took a couple more swipes with the sword. Effortless and fluid, he felt as if his entire body was renewed.

He stopped and looked at the sorry mess these implements of war were in, though as he stood there examining them, in his renewed and invigorated condition, they seemed a bit brighter, a bit cleaner than when he had packed them up to make the trip.

He heard Resua crunching through the twigs and rocks as he returned from the bush, but there was something else. His ears strained to detect what he imagined he heard, and as Resua came into view, Emanresu saw the surprise on Resua’s face; simultaneously, there was a distinct snap of a small twig behind him. He quickly swung around, his arm extended, just in time to divert the man’s axe from its course. The axe barely missed his skull as it traveled narrowly past.

The direness of his situation instantly became apparent as he turned another swipe of the axe’s blade. The axe shaved a layer of skin from his arm, causing blood to seep to the surface of the wound. The knife blade in the man’s other had insisted he ignore the wound and focus on more pressing matters as it followed the axe, hiding until the last possible moment. His luck held, and he slammed the shield’s edge into the man’s forearm; the blade flew from the man’s hand and clattered across the rocks.

Emanresu turned quickly to run, but his body, encumbered with the sword and shield, felt cumbersome, and he twisted a bit too far. He dropped to a knee as the backswing of the axe, once again, whistled past. He could feel the air tug at the bits of hair as it traveled, but that was insignificant because he had twisted too far and was still turning as his knee hit the rocky ground. His hand, still holding tightly to the sword, was flung wide as he spiraled out of control.   He only kept from falling by steadying himself with the shield; he had slammed the edge of it into the earth, but the long arc of the sword cutting a wide swath kept traveling as he twisted.

To his chagrin, the sword’s arc had continued past the attacker, “well, no,” came his realization as his chagrin turned to an odd mixture of horror and relief, “not past… through…”

As the visage in front of him unfolded, Emanresu was intensely aware of his surroundings, the fading of the sun’s rays as it dipped steadily below the horizon, marching quickly to the inviting dark of night. He detected nature’s heavy, musty aroma, the reeking of mosses and peats, and a hooting owl’s deep, echoing tones in the distance. There was a crunch of leaves and twigs under Resua’s feet, and the rocks skittered away from the large man as he quickly neared.

All of this he caught in a split-second as he watched the confidence on the man’s face melt into one of disbelief. The axe-wielding attacker looked down at the large furrow traversing his midsection. The man dropped to his knees, his hands struggling to preserve what life he had in defiance against his forgone fate. Emanresu watched the man as all of his strength flowed out with his vitals, and finally, he slumped into a pile of what could have been.

Emanresu, acutely aware now and with renewed vigor, scanned their meager little camp, fully expecting others to be lying in wait. None but Resua were forthcoming, and as he started to relax just a tad, he realized what had just happened. From the wolf on the man’s hand and the bear on his neck, he knew this man was a robber of sorts and part of a band known to be vicious and unrepentant in their desire to acquire that which was not theirs.

Resua slowly approached, his jaw slightly ajar, and Emanresu was looking down at the tools of the bandit’s demise; he finally laid down the sword and shield, the energy he had felt in the heat of the moment drained, suddenly he was shaking and almost devoid of strength. However, Emanresu knew that if he left this man where he was, he would invite creatures to come and investigate this free meal.

“Resua, I…” he began unsteadily, “there may be more, but we must at the least remove this man from our camp so as not to attract all manner of beasts looking for a free meal.”

Resua looked at his friend, his jaw agape, this time not in unexpected concern but excitement and awe. “Don’t get me wrong, Eman, I am not a supporter of violence, but you still live and… well, that was intensely amazing to watch, and since he attacked you, you only defended yourself,” Resua seemed to be talking more to convince himself than to reassure Emanresu.

They both took in deep breaths and let the excitement drain from them.

Emanresu grabbed a length of cloth and, with Resua’s help, trussed the man together to carry the body to another location away from the camp.

Resua stepped away briefly twice, his body shaking with the attempt to expel anything left in his stomach, of which there was almost none. Twice, he heaved, and once his constitution settled down, he returned and did as Emanresu bade him.

Resua grabbed the man’s upper body under the arms, and with Emanresu at the man’s feet, they lifted and carried him several hundred strides away. A quick prayer to the Dragon and the Phoenix, at which point Emanresu noticed the small leather pouch on the man’s belt and the knife in his boot. He took both, used his foot to push the man to the edge, and, with a shove of his boot, let him fall into the ragged ravine. The two companions, numb with the day’s activities, returned to the welcoming camp. Weary from the excitement and day’s travels, yet unable to relax, they paid close attention to the sounds of the wildlife, and, hearing only the expected activity unbroken by any pauses or silence, they relaxed only a little.

As they strode back to camp, they kept an eye out for any companions of the self-assured bandit. “A self-assurance that was his undoing,” thought Emanresu.

Wrapped up in the search for others and his own thoughts, Emanresu never noticed that Resua was quiet, mumbling to himself, “…a swift swing of the blade… slid down…”

Emanresu surveyed the camp’s perimeter slowly, expecting to hear more men. His imagination placed bandits behind every tree and rock as they crept upon him and his friend, but he was relieved not to.

Returning to his bedroll, Emanresu sat for some time, his mind as numb as his weary body, and thought of nothing except “the blind luck bestowed on him this night.” Resua had moved his little “castle” to the same side Emanresu was on and now sat there, scribbling in his book, making notes of this and that. As the final usable light extinguished itself, the two reposed for the night, and Emanresu reached out to reassure himself that the shield and the sword were well at hand as he finally drifted off.

The misty dream of cosmic powers flowed round and round in him as he slept, in a dance of unimaginable proportions, encompassing the beginning and the end of all, engulfing him in the eternity of life. As he woke, his hand still on the shield, he felt invigorated to live another day, especially after the excitement of the previous eve.