Not Another Hero

There was no way to know whether the blood and sword were from the attackers or defenders of the wagon. It didn't take a medical professional to tell that the blood was fairly fresh, though.

I picked up the sword.



My father considered swordplay to be beneath the ruler of the realm, and so the only weapons I'd ever lifted were wooden toys. Despite its size, the blade was astonishingly light. Long and thin, with a wide crossbar, this was the weapon of a duelist. The patina on the metal made it appear old and poorly cared-for, but it fell off like dust when I took a swing. The edge was razor sharp. I found an empty socket where the pommel should have been, but the lack of it did not appear to negatively affect the weapon's balance.

No one seemed to mind that I'd claimed the weapon, likely because I was the least armed member of our party.

Confident that this was the work of pixies, I nodded briefly to Francine. I thought it best to leave it up to her to come up with a plan and break the news to her people.

"We work in shifts starting now," she bellowed at her crew gathering nervously at the head of the convoy. "We don't stop until we reach Eddanar.