A Sword Named Sorrow by Kara Dalkey

Author:Kara Dalkey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eerie River Publishing
Published: 2021-11-05T00:55:50+00:00

Chapter 13

The sun was setting between the spires of the Cathedral de Los Mesanjeros, to the west behind them, when Filipo and Agente Palabo rode wearily up to the adobe gate of the Presidio, the great fort built to protect the city of Los Mesanjeros.

Filipo noticed that the soldiers on guard duty barely glanced up from their boot polishing as he and the vigilero walked their horses in. A strange mixture of anxiety and nostalgia washed over Filipo as they entered the Presidio’s large courtyard and smelled the horses, leather, iron, and sweat.

His father had brought Filipo there when he was only eight years old. Filipo had been impressed by the uniformed officers in their polished helmets and boots and admired the rough-riding soldiers in their leather vests and hats. He had briefly wanted to run away and join the army then and there. But his father had needed Filipo to help him in fishing, and Filipo had grown strong hauling nets and dexterous in repairing them. Only a predilection for sea-sickness had kept Filipo from following his father’s vocation. And a sensitivity and tolerance for magic, plus the connection of a-friend-of-a-friend to Señor Del Utherio, had gotten Filipo the fortunate position as Salamago’s apprentice at the age of thirteen.

Salamago had been an impressive, almost frightening man, with great muscles, wild hair, and a smile that promised secret knowledge, practical wisdom, and the chance he’d knock you flat on the floor if you crossed him. Once established in his service, Filipo felt with great pride that he would never be anything else but a blacksmith..

So now, Filipo would rather die at gunpoint than become a soldier, and he watched the men around him with narrowed eyes. But he saw no one who was involved in the fight at the tavern. Those soldiers who looked up to watch them pass mainly stared at Agente Palabo with curiosity. Though the daylight was dimming, Filipo could see that the walls of the garrison were in poor repair, adobe flaking, wood rotting, bricks broken. There was a strange unease in the fort, quite unlike the atmosphere of his childhood visit.

The Agente led the way across the yard to a large wood outbuilding with a tiled roof. Farmers in their straw hats, women in plain-woven skirts, and workmen in leather trousers sat by the steps at the building doorway. Some watched the door with hopeful eyes; some sat downcast, dejected. Palabo dismounted, and Filipo followed his lead. The vigilero pulled the leather sheath holding Coraza’s sword out of his bedroll and strapped it across his back.

A sergeant’s boy ran up to take their horses’ reins. At first, Filipo resisted, but Palabo waved his hand to indicate it would be all right. “If we are not safe here, then we are safe nowhere,” he murmured. The Agente gave the boy a coin, and Filipo reluctantly let the boy lead Tulio off to the fort stables.

As Agente Palabo ascended, the poor folk on the steps around him

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