The Path of the Sword by Remi Michaud

later.”
    Their conversation was idle and meaningless; just two friends filling up the spaces. But it was also distracted conversation, weighted by thoughts of the day. In Daved's case, weighted by thoughts of a truth that had yet to be told.
    “What's eating you, Dave?” Galbin asked as though reading his thoughts. “You're not your usual self.”
    Daved heaved a sigh, and chuckled sourly into his cup, replaying in his mind the admission his son had made by the well earlier that evening.
    “I guess now's as good a time as any to tell you about my boy's lack of sense.”
    But instead of continuing, he trailed off, taking another sip of his brandy to hide his discomfort. Jurel was a good lad and he did not want Galbin to think any worse of him.
    “Well, out with it man,” Galbin growled and rolled his eyes in mock severity. “What happened?”
    Sheepishly—not a tone that suited Daved at all—he recounted Jurel's admission in ruining Valik's shirt.
    “I suppose he figured it would make a suitable rag,” he growled.
    It irked him that his son would act so even as he chided himself for thinking that way. Jurel was, after all, a ten year old boy. Boys did things like that. It would seem almost a crime against nature if a boy existed who never pulled a foolish prank at least once in a while. He himself had pulled many as a child, much to his parents's chagrin. He still remembered the snake he had slipped into his sister's bed. Boy, had she shrieked that night. So had he when his father had switched him for it. In a strange way, a part of him was glad that Jurel showed some propensity for mischief. He was always so stolid, so serious. So... proper.
    Galbin gaped at him, mouth hanging open, completely in disbelief that Jurel would commit such an act. Then as though a flood gate cracked open, roaring laughter bubbled from the very depths of his bulging belly.
    “Jurel did that? Your Jurel? Why that little scamp,” he chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “Ingirt was some put out with Valik about it. And he came out and told you all about it, did he?”
    “Aye, that he did. Out by the well when we were coming over earlier tonight. I should have known something was up when I first saw him. He was so preoccupied. So serious—even more so than normal. Even his chores were poorly done. I never minded him going out and playing before getting his work done because he always did it well before I got home. But tonight...I should have seen it.”
    “Ah but you were preoccupied yourself. My Ingirt was not exactly flattering of your lad before you left to get him.”
    “Aye. Maybe that's it,” Daved responded but he was not totally convinced. “Anyhow, I'll pay to clean or replace the shirt as you see fit, of course.”
    Galbin was shaking his head before he even finished. “No, put it from your mind, Dave. I think I'll keep this between us. As I said, Ingirt was quite put out with him. She dotes on him too much, I think, and perhaps it will do Valik some good to see that his mother is capable of being vexed with him.” He laughed again and shook his head. “Though I must admit, I really didn't think your boy had it in him.”
    “And I'll make sure he doesn't keep it in him,” Daved muttered darkly. Boyish nature or not, ruining property was an entirely dishonorable thing to do.
    “Don't be too hard on him, Dave.” Again, he seemed to read Daved's mind when he continued, “Boys will be boys after all.”
    “Of course, but I would have preferred it if he had stood toe to toe with Valik and vented his grievance to his face instead of sneaking around like a thief. He's a good boy, but he'd too damned timid. I don't want him to be a bully-”
    “Like Valik,” Galbin muttered.
    “Aye. Like Valik. But I don't want him to be afraid to stand up and fight if the situation warrants.”
    More dark thoughts intruded. Memories of a past life. Flashes of sword and ax. Sprays of blood. Screams of dying men. Soot billowing from