“Is that because you know me so well? You love a man you think you know. Every day I learn more and more about who I really am and something here just feels off to me. It is as though there is a huge piece of me missing. No. Actually, it is like there are two pieces of me missing. Tell me, you saw me fight the first group of bandits. Was there anything of note about me?”
Corilon thought back to that terrifying day and remembered Argentoe cutting a dashing figure as he chopped down one bandit after another with the aid of a glowing sword with white flames running the length of the blade. He was outnumbered and in full control. She realized she loved him from that moment onward.
“So was there anything you can think of to help me?” Argentoe repeated.
Corilon pulled the blanket to her chin and answered quietly, “You were a great warrior. The number of opponents left you unfazed. There was not much to tell, really.”
She rolled away and showed him her back as she hid tears forming in her eyes. Corilon knew there was a high probability Argentoe’s memory might come back if he were given his sack of possessions. She knew it was the right thing to do. It might even save his life. Yet Corilon wept in silence and did not move. She could not bring herself to take the chance of losing her husband.
Argentoe was preoccupied trying to determine how he knew so much about their enemy and yet nothing about how he came upon the information. He held the sword straight out in front of him and looked down the blade again.
“Take this sword. It is straight and was hammered out by a weapon smith with considerable skill. The blade is tapered perfectly and was sharpened by someone with knowledge of such craft. The handle is weighted right for thrusting and pummeling. In battle you can switch from one attack to another without moving your grip. The pommel is rounded out nicely for sudden blows to the skull.”
He stabilized it on his finger and watched as the sword never dipped. “It is perfectly balanced and is made of a fine steel alloy only a talented craftsman could forge. This is an excellent blade and anyone carrying it into battle should be proud to have it by their side.”
Argentoe tossed it to the corner of the room like a piece of refuse. “I know this much. It is not my sword. This is going to sound strange, but my sword is somehow…alive. I realize that makes no sense, but it is like an old friend or companion whom I trust with my life and has saved me countless times. It is that friend I need now, in my head, in my hand, waiting to jump into the abyss. Where did it and all my other things go? I cannot remember seeing them since I was lying in the wagon so long ago.”
Corilon could not think of a clever way to avoid the question so she outright lied. “I have not seen any of your things. It has been so long now they could have been lost or accidentally buried with the bandit bodies along the way. The matter is of little consequence. Those items didn’t spark any memories before. There is no reason to think they would now.”
“You may be right,” Argentoe said with disappointment. “But I know my sword would have cleared up some of my thoughts or at least given me a better chance in the coming battle.” Corilon was silent and simply nodded.
“When all my plans are said and done, you and I know this fight will be as your father said. It will come down to me against them. I can plan and scheme, but no one is going to sacrifice themselves to help me in this battle. And that is exactly what this would be, a sacrifice. One Trogoandras can kill every one of you. A pack of ten or twelve would devastate the farm.