Baneck sat near the furnace, another day ended, another day wasted.
A book sat in front of him, containing many runes and notes.
Placed near the book, sat a couple pieces of raw orgite.
He lifted up his shirt, and looked at his Mark in the firelight. Then he rested his elbows again on the little work-table with a deep sigh. He took a small dark flask, and held it in front of him, so it caught the firelight.
“What’s that?” Honee asked, suddenly standing beside him. “Oh.”
Very quietly, she answered her own question. “Scale-flakes from that dragon.”
Even in the amber glass, the flakes sparkled.
“Don’t speak of it out loud.”
“Don’t worry, there’s no one around.”
She smoothly sat down in the opposite chair. “Do you have to be so dedicated to using it now? I know the stuff is special to you. Everyone thought it was simply your skill. And maybe some favor from Diergon.”
“It was our skill,” he said curtly, putting the flask back in the pocket of his britches. “We have a strong gift for the runes. The edge of our crafting is as good as any. We just had a good thing to add to it.”
“And now you want to make a sword for Fawnlum, and a sword for Morgy; and you’re trying to do it in a hurry. ‘Hurry up, do it now!’” She shook her hands in a parody of a little child. “You look frustrated.”
“You noticed?” He gestured to his Mark. “I look, and nothing comes to mind.”
“I thought Nepta and Powerlave gave you advice.”
“They did. So did Morgy. I understood them. But it’s not enough. It takes need to see the runes. Then I can carve it.”
“I know. I was there.”
He looked at her.
She just smiled.
He shook his head and tapped his knuckles on the table. “You’re as stealthy as the runes I wish to find on my skin.
“I feel the need. It’s the same need by which I carved the ones on Tungstil. But I can’t carve them twice. I don’t see them in the Mark anymore.”
“Why can’t you carve the same runes on Tungstil?”
“I tried that weeks ago. You know that. The copies were wrong.”
“But your ‘conquer’ rune still helps draw extra flakes out of the scales.”
“It works. I don’t know why.”
“And your latest sword turned out to be a good waste of your steel.”
Honee stretched her legs to the side, and leaned back against the wall. “Maybe you’re putting too much emphasis on yourself. Your discipline is different, but akin to mine and Fawnlum’s. We grow and get better. But in what we do, we’re serving a cause.”
“Well, I am too.”
“But you have this power.”
“It’s not my own. I’ve tried to be humble in light of its gift.”
“But you’re still doing something great. You’re thinking of the great things you’ll do with it.”
“No, I’m trying to create a good thing, not chase my own glory.”
“So why aren’t the runes coming to you now? I can’t believe the usefulness has already gone from that magical Mark.”
“What do you know of this Mark?” he snapped.
“I know it’s still new to you,” she replied, unfazed. “Are you trying so hard, because you want to do right by Fawnlum?”
He did not answer for a moment, as one stays silent after being found out. “What else can I do?” he asked.
He turned his head and looked absently at the low, dancing flames in the furnace.
“How can I show enough thankfulness? How can I ever do justice to the joy I know in this life, for having such a wonderful woman as Fawnlum, to hold and to love, and to love me as she would no other?”
He looked back at her. “With this wonderful treasure I’ve found, I know what it’s like to be without. I know what you, Sienna and Nepta are missing in your lives. I know the sacrifices you’ve made.”
He lightly tapped the side of his temple. “I know what Fawnlum needs; and I can’t give it to her.”
Honee stared into his eyes for a moment. Then in a softer voice, she slowly said to him, “I don’t think your faithfulness is lacking. Maybe you should start with something simple.”
She held up the flask of scale-flakes.
His eyes widened, and he patted his britches, wondering when she had picked his pocket.
“This dragon has given you and your family much, but what have you done in return?”
He was perplexed for a moment, then asked, “What can I do for a dead – ?”
“The same thing you can do for anyone! You’re not the type to forget a friend.”
“I can’t make known the secret of the cave.”
“So, you did find a lair.”
He pursed his lips.
Honee pressed on. “Have you done anything for her? The dragon, I mean. Have you done anything to honor her spirit, for the things she left you in her body? Instead of trying to make another weapon, why don’t you do something nice, to give her remembrance?”
He looked at her, silently prompting her to get to the point.
“A memorial totem.”
“Pfft! Remembrance is a name. I don’t know what her name was in life.”
“But you can make a totem to keep in your house – – something that says ‘this dragon did great things for us, and will be remembered for it’.”
“I don’t know what name to carve on it!”
“So find a name for her in that sprawling Mark of yours!”
“If I displayed such a thing, then everyone would know our secret,” he said, as he turned his head away dismissively.
Honee took a slow, deep breath. “Are you this dense on purpose? Nobody will be able to read it, except you, right? Oh, and also Wintermore.”
He stared back at her, and after a moment, asked, “‘Also Wintermore?’”
“If the writing comes from Wintermore, then the name will mean something to Wintermore itself, yes? Maybe your mighty Ice Queen will seek out that dragon in the after-life, and tell her, ‘this man has given you a legacy’.”
Baneck silently riveted his eyes on her, unblinking. Then he looked at the notebook. He stood up, and bent over the table, his palms on its surface, and his eyes fixed on one spot, but seeing something far away.
“Wintermore will be your honor, but what will be hers?” she asked, tightening the screws further.
He did not answer, except to slap his palm down on the table. Then he smacked it again, and again, his face scrunched in concentration.
But suddenly, he calmed, and looked up. He held Honee’s bright, inquisitive eyes, and slowly smiled. Then he stared back at the flask on the table.
“What, indeed?”
He picked up the flask, opened the cork, and sprinkled a few of the precious flakes onto the book.
He looked back at Honee, bent down, and set his hands on her shoulders. “You should have been a sage rather than a scout. If I was not already pledged to Fawnlum, I could kiss you right now.”
She blinked in surprise.
Without another word, he turned, took hold of the bellows, and started to heat up the fire again. His eyes filled with the glow of the coals, as the idea – for which he had punished the top of the table to coax it to the front of his mind – took more definite form in his thoughts. As he lost himself in his new inspiration, he did not hear Honee’s quiet comment from behind.
“Dense, indeed.”
