The Forgotten Hero Index

I will gather the 4 links that make up the story in this post, and add this index to the "Story Index" on the left, for ease of use.

The Forgotten Hero, part 1 of 4

The Forgotten Hero, part 2 of 4

The Forgotten Hero, part 3 of 4

The Forgotten Hero, part 4 of 4

Enjoy your reading!

* The Blood Rose, Entry 3: Act 1, part 2

Mid Mayelo, 1382 OC

The spring grasses were nearly all golden now; the season had finally passed. Kaylli walked through them on her late morning rounds, lost in thought.

In the trees beside the grass-lined path she walked, she heard children laughing. She stopped and looked, shading her eyes from the midmorning sun. With a mother's perception, she’d heard Leydon's voice among the other young voices. When her eyes adjusted, she saw village children playing a kind of 'tag' with sticks. One of them saw her, and called to Leydon. He bounced out of the tree line, and saluted her with his stick.

She stopped in shock when she saw him clearly. He was wearing one of the soldier's cast-off jerkins, instead of his usual green tunic. The stick he held had been whittled straight and smooth by a careful hand. A notch had been cut in that allowed a cross piece to be firmly lashed a hand's length from the blunt pommel. There was no denying the intent behind the making of it; it was a wooden sword. A chill crept up her back at the sight of him. He seemed to like the soldiers entirely too much for her comfort.

"How's Corporal Dunning?" he asked her brightly, his face flushed from his play.

"He's better, Leydon," she answered, smiling to hiding her dismay. "He can join the billet rotation, now." She looked at the angle of the sun shining through the trees. "Isn't it time for your chores?" she asked.

"Aw, mama!" he complained, while smiling back at her. "See you, chums!" he shouted back at the other children, and ran back to the village center.

Kaylli turned to follow him, more sedately. Dunning was the most seriously wounded soldier of the company from the fracas with the Greycats, which meant he'd enjoyed being billeted longer than any of them. The corporal was due to spend some time at the well-appointed camp that the soldiers had built nearby.

Before they had come to Redford, Kaylli had learned, the Fifth Dragon Company had fought an extended campaign with a neighboring lord's forces. The nobility was always squabbling over something, it seemed. Lord Zamnes of Greyford was known for hating their Lord Kannith, and trying to acquire his lands. It made no sense to the peasantry, because by their standards the Malkar Lords already had everything anyone could want or need. The Homans just tried to stay out of the way.

The dirt path she walked turned to the old cobbled road of the village proper. At the heart of the community was a large well, and her home was near to it. On the well's far side, and on the other side of the road, was Jannil's smithy. She could hear the ringing clang of his hammer, as the sound echoed off the half-timbered buildings along the way.

She sat down on the knee-high wall that surrounded his work areas as a boundary. As always, she was fascinated by the magic he worked. To be able to turn various rocks into useful tools was a wonderful skill. His heat reddened back ran with sweat as he pounded the metal on his anvil into submission. She watched as it surrendered to his will. He picked his crafting up with heavy tongs, and inspected it closely, narrowing his eyes against its sullen glow. Satisfied, he quenched it in a bucket, turning his face from the burst of steam.

Jannil wiped the moisture from his brow with a rag, and turned to his cistern. He grinned at the sight of her, and she approached to draw a ladle of fresh water for him that he drank thirstily as she held the scoop. Gently, he took the ladle from her and poured a scoopful over his dark hair, to splash on his head and shoulders.

"Thank you, Kaylli," he said in his deep rumble. "The water is ever sweeter when you hold it for me." He chuckled at her sudden blush. Of all the men in the village, Jannil had shown the most interest in the widowed healer. "Can you sit and talk awhile, milady?" he asked her. "There's some Dragon thing going on at the Camp tonight. Would you, ...um, would you and your boy come with me to watch it?"

"They want observers?" she said, puzzled. "That's unusual." They both knew those in the Army usually kept their ceremonies to themselves.

"It's a Naming for Private Robaire," Jannil said. "The Captain said we could come, because it's you and I who have trained him to be a farrier. As if a little horseshoing and beast healing are that difficult to learn."

"Those are valuable skills to have when they campaign, Jannil," she said. "Learning them advances his career in the army."

"Just seems like a lot of fuss over such a little thing," the smith grumbled.

Kaylli put a hand on his muscular arm, "Do you remember your Naming?"

Jannil ducked his head, abashed. He did remember the time he had been named a Master of his craft, and it still meant something special to him after all these years.

"I think that Robaire will do well as a farrier," she said. "He was already the Duocorn handler's apprentice."

The big smith frowned. "It's a good thing he's changing crafts," he said. "At least his new charges won't try to eat him on a bad day. I don't like those creatures."

"They seem like horses," Kaylli said. She really didn't like them herself, and tended to avoid them when they were unmounted.

"What other large predator do we treat like that?" he asked. "Beasts like wolves and lions we sensibly stay clear of, but what do we do with the largest meat-eater to be found in the land? Nobles and officers use them for riding!" He shook his head with a snort "They don't look that much like horses," he added. "Horses don't have horns, fangs and claws. Nor do they have stiff manes, lion tails, and bloody-red stripes over them."

"You've convinced me," she said, laughing. "I'll never ride one. What has you so upset about them?"

"The handler borrowed my metal rasps," Jannil said. "He said the claws and horns need to be blunted when they're not on campaign, or the studs would kill each other when they fight. He also said that they never have to dispose of any horses they lose, if you know what I mean. Horseflesh is their main reward for battle."

The healer gave a shudder, and changed the subject. "When is the Naming tonight?"

"Just at sunset," Jannil said, "and the Captain said the camp would entertain us for dinner." "That would certainly be a nice change," Kaylli said with a wry smile. "I suppose I should, Redford asked me to invite some of the soldiers to the Consigning tomorrow. Oh, won't Leydon just love this? He gets to eat with the soldiers."

"He likes 'em, eh?" the smith said.

"He likes them too much," she said, her frustration showing.

Jannil hesitated, then reached out and took her in his arms. He held her gently for a minute, then just as gently let her go.

"Thanks, Jannil," she said, smiling her gently.

"My pleasure," he rumbled. "Come by when you're ready, and we'll ride over in my wain."

"Thanks again, Jannil," she said. Turning to go home, she wondered why the smith's arms had roused no passion in her. He was a good enough man, but he felt like a friend, not a lover. Opening her door, she saw that Leydon was sweeping the floors, looking suddenly much busier, when he saw her come in.

"Finish that quickly, Leydon," she said. "We've been invited to a Naming at the camp tonight."

"Really?" the boy said. His enthusiasm to finish at that almost ruined the broom. Kaylli went into his room and picked out some nice clothes for him, and then did the same for herself. While they ate a light midday meal, Leydon said, "Are Namings more important to the Malks than they are to us?"

"It seems so, dear," Kaylli answered. "And remember that it's 'Malkar', always. They never use anything but 'identity' names, and they change them far more frequently than we do. From what I've heard, they hold a formal Naming every time they change it. We Homans only have a Naming when it's important to us. It's an old Malkar custom that we only adopted when we settled in their lands, generations ago."

Leydon frowned as he picked at a chunk of bread. "So, how many names have you had, mama? And how many Namings?"

Kaylli thought for a bit, and said, "My pop was an Army Medic, so as his child and dependant, my last name was 'Medics'. When I married Donis, your father, my name was changed at the wedding to 'Healers'. So I was called just the same as you when he lived. It showed that he was responsible for me, as he was for you, and as I am responsible for you, now."

"But then you learned to be a Healer, yourself," Leydon interrupted.

"That's right," Kaylli said. "That's when I had my formal Naming. When I learned Healing well enough to join the craft, Donis sponsored me to the Village as a woman with her own trade. It was a grand Gathering." She smiled, remembering the event. Having a healer is important to a village, but having two was even better.

"I don't remember," Leydon said, cleaning his dish.

"You were still very little," Kaylli said. "Now go clean up." She could hear him singing songs he'd learned from the soldiers while he bathed. She could still hear him as she washed herself afterwards.

They spent a few hours working on his lessons, after. He was fidgeting and distracted when Kaylli sighed and told him to put his books away.

Before he went into his room to change clothes, he stopped and asked her another question. "If the Homans didn't use Namings before they came here, how did they do it?"

Kaylli playfully pushed him to his room, and answered from her own room. "To get a good answer, you should ask Redford, he's who told me about this. It seems that our ancestors weren't named by what they did, but often by what their ancestors did, or where they forebears came from. Their second name usually didn't have anything to do with them, but was just passed down to them from their families."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"If your name was set by your ancestors, you could have a man named Smith who was a baker by trade, for example. Also you could be named for a place that your family hadn't been to in generations. Redford told me his old family name was 'Whitecliff', from someplace across the sea where they lived before the migration.

"That's silly," Leydon said. "There aren't any white cliffs around here."

"There doesn't have to be," she said. "Those names only matter when they are made, and then are passed down through the family. All the children of the family inherit the name, no matter what their trade is."

Leydon was quiet for a bit as he readied himself. "So how does the Army do Namings?" he asked. "It'd be kind of hard to tell ‘em apart if all their names ended with 'Soldier'." He giggled at his joke.

"I don't know," Kaylli said, suddenly regretting that she had agreed to go to this Naming. "Let's get over to Jannil's now," she said. "He probably has the wagon ready for us."

Just before the sunset, the smith's buckboard pulled to a stop at the camp. She and Leydon had ridden in the front with Jannil to keep their good clothing clean. She looked over at Jannil's strong profile. She had been surprised at how nice the smith looked when the smithy's grime was cleaned off him.

A soldier came up and took hold of the mule's harness, and led the team to the side. Jannil stepped to the ground and gave Kaylli his hand to assist her down. Leydon hopped off the other side of the bench, looking around him eagerly. The three civilians were greeted by many of the soldiers as they went to pay their respects to the Captain.

* * *