It was already down when at last Kael emerged out of the forgeon.
It was not raining anymore and the breeze carried the aroma of wet rock and rust. His hands had blisters, his arms were heavy, and all the time his heart was saying something.
The sword hung on his back wrapped in cloth.
Neither height of form nor bred. It breathed.
Kael could sense it (yet faint and constant, like a sleeping beast had a heart beat) Not without feeling bloody to himself every time, however, he touched the hilt. When he shut his eyes he even heard it whisper.
"Master…"
It was more a girlish, almost childish, voice. Neither was it loud, in the forge way of loud. It was.. alive..
Kael stepped over shards of glass along the ruins of Ironfall. He felt he was different His stomach still pained with the hunger in it, his body still ached, but, yet, he had something more important than his means of survival.
He was in power. In the square he halted at a tumbled fountain. The basin was desolately dry, weedy, bare of pebbles. A bit of statue face looked up at him out of the mud.
He drew a long breath, and unfolded the sword.
The sword was shiny in the late rays of the sun, the runes fluorescing along the blade. The eyes of light that were formed of the two narrower slits opened once and then were fully open.
Kael clamped the hilt tighter.
OK, then… show me what you can do.
He lashed the sword about
Whoosh!
Even the air itself tore aside, and there was a slight cracking sound. It was the best-balanced blade, its edge the cleanest cut ever known to his hand.
He cut at the fallen image now. Crack! The head of stone parted right in two, like butter. Kael stared. His tongue cleaved to his jaws.
What had been a chipped, half-rusted sword had been converted into this?
The sword whispered in his thoughts.
Is this good? Did I serve good Master?
Kael froze. His chest caught suddenly at a breath of unexpectedness
The voice was not haughty, nor arrogant. It was… enthusiastic about.. Needed to be liked. He swallowed.
You did.
Shot.
The blade grew warm; it was a sort of smile.
Kael gazed at it a good long time and his thoughts churned.
And if one mutilated knife had turned to this... what other things might the smithy effect?
Yet ere he was able to think farther, something on the move drew his attention.
Boots moved in the shadows between burnt out dwellings
Kael instinctively retreated, his hand gripped the blade of the sword.
There was somebody watching him. Not very far away there was a crouching man in the shattered belfry of a deserted church. His garments were tattered, his beard untrimmed, his eyes were keen. A scavenger.
The whole day he had followed Kael, wondering what a former soldier might be doing in Ironfall.
He had witnessed an incredible thing now.
A sword, which flared. It was a sword which tore stone like paper.
The lips of the scavenger were curled in a grin.
"That will bring a fortune…" he said.
He passed across, uneasily, stealing into the ruins.
Kael slipped the sword in its scabbard hastily. He hadn't lived through the war without learning when he was under observation.
He looked around but whoever it had been had disappeared.
"Trouble," he said.
The voice of the forge still echoed in his brain, but now as a faint murmur as he was outside.
"Power cannot be kept a secret at all times When you hammer, men hear you."
Kael clenched his jaws. He did not take any shine to that. He did not expect attention. The focus was upon death
Deep in his heart… he felt that it was too late. The flame had roused him: The sword was there. The world would be, whether he liked, or not.
Even by the following morning, news of it had filtered out of Ironfall.
In an inn in a township two miles away, two-drunken mercenaries slumped over tables.
It is said some beggar in the ruins made a sword of breathing touch.
"Nonsense. Who temper-mongers still? Smiths are available only to Permeters."
"I saw it with displayed! Crack a statue away like it was trash." Connor had an idea of what he was driving at.
"By in a caravan the merchants are talking scared."
"Assuming that it is, one of nobles will give anything to hear it."
"Not nobles, they will not. They will murder him and have it."
Up in the capital city, in a rich chamber, a fleshy lord had his servant on his knees.
"Dare never died, my lord, my lady. To be created in the havoc."
The eyes of the noble flashed back. "Bring to me."
And thousands and thousands of miles, off in a cave in blackness, a clad form with glittering eyes laughed aloud.
"Then are awakened again the tremulous flame."
In Ironfall Kael made an attempt to disregard it all.
All through the day he picked at food in collapsed houses, bit at crusty bread that he found in a closed cellar. He also exercised with the sword, he tried it to the point.
However, at night something went wrong.
Hoofbeats were heard in the ruins.
Kael crept low, and peered behind a ruinous wall.
A party of horsemen rode in--six men, in steel armor and with drawn swords, and holding torches. Their horses snorted in the shattered silence.
Upon that they rode a man with a scar across his jaw. His armor shone, the blade of his sword flashed.
Kael knew this symbol on his chest.
The logo of Lord Veynar.
One of the aristocrats who had led forces in the war. Cruel. Ambitious. The type of man who would torch villages in order to collect taxes.
The man scarred by war held up his torch above his head and his voice rang through the ruins.
"Kael Thane! Veteran of the Black Iron Legion! We know, I say you are here!
Kael chilled in blood.
They were acquainted with his name. The fellow grinned.
"Blacksmith, the word travels quickly. A sword to smite the stone? A breathing weapon? Our lord demands that it."
He stretched himself in his saddle and his voice came out sharp.
"Give it over, and we might possibly spare your life."
Kael set his own teeth. He had thought of trouble later... not so soon yet
Slowly he pulled out the sword The eyes of the blade opened, and glowed faintly. It is the voice talking again, just a hoarse whisper now, but determined.
"Master. Shall I combat?"
Kael grinned with a gross smile.
"Seems we have no choice. Then.... shall we start?"
At the sight of the glowing blade the scarred man grinned wider.
"There it lies… beautiful boys, go kill him. Bring me the sword."
The horsemen were flung off their horses, steel-cringing in the firelight.
Kael firming his hold. His heart was beating.
That was not war. But no companion of his in arms, No shield in emblem told.
This was himself Alone.
Him.. and the sword.
The initial rider reared in charge, with his blade high.
Kael exhaled.
The sword vibrated in his hand.
We, Master, jointly.
Kael moved.
And the ruins of Ironfall echoed with the first screams of blood.