This was a rare day indeed.
The sun was warm, and spring was in air. Callin rested in the saddle as his war horse feasted on the grass of the field. The crown prince Roland ran around playfully, swinging his wooden toy sword back and forth as the cool wind tossed his hair.
That morning I had decided against practicing the advanced nature magicks that I had taken to studying in my semi-retirement. I simply didn't have the urge to tackle the complexities of traveling the root network or opening a natural gate. Instead, I wanted to work on inventory for my armor shop (the Adventurers Outfitter III), so I had jumped on my horse and headed to Folkestone Hall. Now within the Hall’s shadow, I knew I probably wouldn't even bother entering the musty leather workshop in the Hall’s basement. The day was just too enjoyable.
This was a rare day indeed.
As I rode over to Callin, I sensed something was different. Nothing in a foreboding sense, just different. I couldn't place what it was, but Callin himself was altered in some way. He sat relaxed in the saddle, even as his eyes scanned the treeline at the edge of the field. “Always the warrior," I thought to myself, although I understood completely since he was driven by concern for his son. Though I approached from the side, I knew he was well aware that I was coming.
“Haven’t seen you in a while," he commented to me.
"I'm here often enough," I countered, “using the shop to make inventory. It's you guys who’re never around. Seems like Marcus is the only one who sleeps here consistently anymore."
“Yeah, hmmm, why is that?" Callin asked sarcastically. “I'll bet it has something to do with the war against Wrake. Seriously, Dec, we could use your help on some of those excursions."
I looked away, out over the field to Prince Roland, who was walking around, slashing at the low grass with his toy sword. “He’s getting bigger," I commented.
“I know," said Callin.
“How’s she doing?" I asked. He knew who I meant.
“I haven’t heard from her," he answered. His voice was thick with sadness, but he was unwavering as he continued. “As far as I know, no one’s heard a word from Fae since the Luthrien Orb was smashed at last year’s Queen of Hearts Tournament."
“What does that mean? Is that a coincidence‘? Is the gate at Chimeron still even open to Fae?" I asked.
“I don’t know if anyone has even checked," he said.
“Well, let’s go check it then! It’s just past noon. We can start for Chimeron right now," I offered.
‘“No," he snapped abruptly. He wasn’t looking at me. He continued to look out at his son in the field. “She knows where to find me," he continued. “After all, I’m not the one who left."
All at once, my chest felt heavy. It could’ve seemed like his last comment hurt me more than it did him, but I knew better. Callin and I had spent endless hours in conversation during the bygone years, when the gold team was still green. It was still easy to remember those times, from the fight against Gloryhair and the battle against the False King of Valehaven to the war maneuvers at the Castle Rrathchllwyn. Callin and I had traveled as a team to those gatherings, together and alone, and we got to know a lot about each other. I wasn’t there when he initially fell for Queen Meg, but I had enjoyed watching their love for each other blossom and grow.
Now she was gone, probably forever. Callin no longer even wore her favor. I began to feel very very tired, and very very old. But Callin, even older than I, hadn't slowed with age. His experienced eyes still raked the treeline, his persistent vigilance belying his weathered face. He seemed like he would never surrender to age.
“When are you going back out to help against Wrake?" I asked, still trying to figure out what was different about him.
"Too soon," he replied as he shared a smile and a wave with his son, who was now walking back.
“Why don’t you do what I did? Jarrod doesn't seem to have a problem with my semi- retired position in Folkestone," I said.
“What would I do? You've got your armor making, the store, and your studies to keep you busy. What’ve I got?"
I nodded toward the prince. “He could use a full time dad."
“He’s what keeps me going," Callin said. “Everything I do now is for him."
The Crown Prince had gotten back to our position, so Callin dropped a hand and hoisted the little one into the saddle in front of him.
“He’s got his mother’s eyes," I noticed, seeing the two side-by-side.
I looked quickly at Callin’s face, and saw a little moisture in his eyes. Damn, I shouldn’t’ve said that.
“Yes, he does," Callin responded somberly.
“You won’t even think about retiring?" I pressed.
“No,” he replied, and slowly wheeled his horse to head back to Folkestone Hall.
I didn’t follow, but instead watched them ride back. Seeing his retreat, though, I now knew what about him had struck me as odd. Gerta, his five-foot longsword, wasn't strapped to his back, or anywhere to be seen for that matter. There was no question in my mind that he had one or two shorter swords in his saddlebags, ready to be pulled at a moment's notice, but seeing him without Gerta was exceptionally significant.
So Callin was spending the day with his son, I mused, not with his sword. He probably wouldn't touch Gerta for the whole day.
This was a rare day indeed.
Originally published in The View From Valehaven, 2nd Ed, Vol. 2, Issue 5: May 2005
Art and Writing Contest Winner