Role

Chapter 11

As they left the Bahiyaa Gate, Wrukesht's eyes could not be wider. She swore she would
miss nothing, not one thing, no matter how small. Despite the fast pace of thei riding,
she was able to see so much. They took a quick stop at an oasis, and a brief detour for
Jaragh to show her the spot where he fought three evil Shadows (reminder: ask Old Man
who they were, it didn't sound like he was talking about shadows), killing two and making
the third run away. Sooner than she would have thought possible, they entered Galadon's
East Gate, and all other thoughts fled like carrion beetles in sunlight. Jaragh slowed
deliberately, giving Wrukesht at least a little time to take it all in. She was agog.

One thing she did notice was how even here, in this most cosmopolitan of cities, Jaragh
was famous. She saw people whisper, saw them elbow their companions, saw them all watch
him as he walked among them. He seemed oblivious to it, but she was shocked. Of course
everyone knew him in Balator, but this? She had no idea.

Soon enough they came to a weaponsmith shop and Jaragh ushered her in. "Can I go to that
baker over there and maybe buy a pie or two, Old Man? Please??" "No, Wrukesht, you need
to come with me." "Awwww." Pouting, Wrukesht entered with Jaragh into the shop, her
eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. In the back she could see the glow of the forge, but
they were far enough away not to feel any heat. All around her were millions (it
it seemed) of weapons: axes, maces, swords, daggers, flails, spears, even things she had
no idea what they were. Without pause, Jaragh went right up to the owner, clasping arms
and smiling as they greeted. "My friend, I have come for my special purchase! You said
you were able to make it just as I would remember?" "Indeed, Jaragh. It's right here."

Stepping behind the counter he bent over and pulled out a wrapped bundle from the shelf.
Laying it on top, he unwrapped the cloth coverings, carefully moving slowly. In a moment
the weapon was revealed. "That's very short for a sword, Old Man. Is that what you used??"
Smiling, Jaragh said, "No, my girl. It's not. It's a dagger. And... it's for you. Happy
holiday, my dear."

Stunned for the second time in as many days, Wrukesht was immobile. This was for her??
The dagger was as beautiful as it was lethal. She stared it, the blade gleaming in the
ray of sunlight reaching in through the door. It was a straight dagger, its edges two
perfect lines, reaching perhaps six inches out from the handle. And the handle! From
where she stood it looked like pure ivory. But it couldn't be ivory, right? How cold
anyone, even the Old Man, spend so much as to buy her something ivory?? The whole thing
gleamed and shimmered, almost as though wet.