The Polished Sword

This is a possible beginning to a new fantasy novel.

The Polished Sword

Honor's back was sore, her butt was raw and her teeth chattered each time the fierce wind blew down from the face of the mountain and down the steep, rocky road. Honor clung to the horse's back and then looked down the mountain where she saw those 4 men in red uniforms leading their horses over a snowbank. Honor moaned.

“Keep going girl,” Honor said, patting the mare. “It won't be long girl.”

But Honor didn't know where she was going. She regretted now choosing the road that went higher into the wintery mountain. She thought the soldiers would be discouraged. Ten of them have turned around. Only these four maniacs are still following me.

Honor thought back to the strange events of the night before. The bloody bodies, the accusations, the mysterious horse that was already saddled, reined and shod as if prepared for her. Honor pulled her thin robe closer across her shoulders and shivered again. Her cheeks were growing numb and her ears were white as the snow around her. She put her hands under her arm pits and felt ice on the side of her body. It felt good to her hands, but she shivered violently.

Looking back again, Honor saw that one man had stumbled. Or his horse had. Either way, only three remained. Honor looked ahead through the swirling snow and storm. The light of the sun was barely visible but it all seemed blue and gray. But then what was that yellow light? Was it her imagination? Whatever it was, it was gone. Honor looked back and saw two horsemen going back down the mountain. Only one left. He looked stocky with thick, taut arms and brown hair flapping around his face. Honor looked ahead.

The road became a narrow path and the rocks became loose and slippery. Honor's mare trudged around a narrow bend, almost slipping down the steep side. After the bend, the road widened again. Honor looked back. If she stayed here, she would catch the man and his horse broadside. Honor's fingers were clumsy as she tried to untie the rawhide ropes holding her saddle bag shut. She finally got it open and pulled out a long dart and a blow tube.

“Thank you Rose,” Honor thought and with a chuckle, “You said this could save me from a jealous suitor.”

Honor could hear cracking and thunking rocks; shifting and falling gravel. Honor saw the long face of the horse with its glinting brass cover. Honor hastily placed the dart in the blow tube and brought the tube to her mouth. Honor sucked up as much of the cold air as she could without coughing. The man looked up and his eyes went wide as Honor shot the dart into the flank of his horse. The horse reared and both man and horse fell down the side of the mountain.

The horse fell far. Honor smiled a flash of a smile and then grimaced. The loss of her pursuers didn't make her situation much less difficult. She pondered going back to town, but only saw her neck in a noose for doing so. She turned her horse back up the path, hoping that the legends were true: that the old god of the mountain, Corius, was a benevolent god. The horse began to plod onward again, but suddenly Honor pulled her to a stop. What was that? she thought. A voice?

Honor squinted down the mountain and saw a glint of red and brass between a scraggily gray tree. She could barely make out the word, “help.” Honor's stinging hands and ears as well as her gasping lungs begged her to forget about him. It's not my fault if he dies... Squaring her jaw, Honor turned back around and led her horse to that narrow bend. She put her hands in her armpits again for a moment and then opened her saddlebag again. Inside she found a long rope. She dismounted and tied the rope around the thick neck of her mare, using the rabbit-trap knot that Tiberius, (that simple helpful farm boy) had shown her. Honor tied the other end around her waist. She spelunked.

The rope wasn't long enough to get all the way to the tree. But Honor was close enough to see the man twisted in the branches of the tree. One leg was particularly twisted, but its twistedness had saved him from joining his horse's bones far below.

“Can you climb up to me?” Honor yelled down to him.

“No! It's too much... It hurts...”

“You have to try. Don't you want to live?” Honor saw the man's eyes narrow and he clenched his jaw. Grabbing onto a branch he screamed and ripped his twisted leg out of the branches it was folded up in. Using the branch and various rocks, the man hobbled on his good leg up the steep mountain. He reached Honor and tenderly, with frozen hands, limply grasped the rope around her midsection. Honor felt his fingers on her back and side like fresh fish shoved into her dress. As he shifted his weight from his good foot to his grip on the rope, Honor felt the rope becoming limp in her hands; her horse was slipping. Quickly Honor braced her feet on the mountainside, straining to hold herself and the soldier on her weary legs.

“My horse can't hold our combined weight,” she said to the man.

“Then leave me. I wouldn't make it very far anyway,” the man groaned.

Honor considered it.

“No. I will put it around you and the horse will pull you up. Then you will send the rope back down to me and I'll come up.”

“That's an awful lot of trust you have in a soldier that was recently seeking your life.”

“Corius will avenge me if you let me perish after saving yours!”

“I will send the rope back down to you.” Honor made to remove the rope from her midsection. But suddenly the rope became taut again and with almost violent force, Honor and the man were dragged up the mountainside. How did that tired horse get so much strength? Honor wondered. Maybe she was spooked by a rattle snake? No, a snake would not be out in this weather.

When Honor and the soldier crested the edge of the path, they saw Honor's mare and next to it a huge draft horse pulling the rope. A man with a long white beard was pulling on the reins of the draft. He looked down the path at the two. Honor saw the snowflakes, slightly whiter than his beard, clinging to his long hair. He approached them. Smiling at Honor, he gingerly, delicately, removed the soldier's bluish hands from the rope. He then picked up the man and threw him over his shoulders. Honor couldn't see how he did it; his arms were not very big.

After setting the soldier, stomach down, onto the draft, the man returned to Honor. She was shivering and exhausted. She felt tense shame when she said, “Will you take care of me?” and burst into tears.

“My dear, what do you think I am doing?”

“Don't give me to the soldiers!”

The man smiled as he lifted her. “I don't get along with the soldiers. You will be safe.” Honor wept like a little girl.