Blade of Erogrund

“Draw a sword,” Saracyir ordered gently as she trudged past the rack of weapons, stepping onto the eerily empty Arena. The wind blew off the sea and over the walls in gentle breezes that carried a reassuring warmth coupled with mild saltiness. With every gust a fine layer of dirt and dust blew in small clouds across the stone ground, occasionally spinning into miniature dust storms.

Mira struggled to step onto the Arena, her legs aching even more with every step. Already they felt like staffs of iron or timber, refusing to move or scarcely even bend. The sun had broken the horizon of the tall wall that virtually encircled the training grounds to usher in the morning but it offered no consolation to her.

“Must I? I haven’t slept in two days...”

“True,” Saracyir said, leaning the sword she had drawn against her hip while she hastily tied her long hair back in a messy knot. “Two long days at that. But I feel that it is most important to further explore this.... Well, whatever this skill you possess is.”

“And could we not do so just as well after a long rest?” Mira inquired, smiling wearily at the elf and lifting one of the impressive swords that stood beside her.

“What is that saying you Men have?” Saracyir murmured. “‘You can sleep when you’re dead?’ If you are so weary as to feel you can no longer exist then you prepare yourself for a long sleep. Else you have the strength to work with me for a moment or two.”

Mira felt herself laugh at the sentiment for in her muddled state it made no sense. “If you say so...” Her gaze drifted from the elf who stood resolutely across from her to the iron blade that stood out from her fist that held it. “Horrible things, blades. I told Godric that, but...” Her voice faded at the thought of their time by the river when he held her so close. For a moment the wind seemed to contort into the bubbling of Breaker’s Bend and she could hear his voice murmuring reassuring words in her ear. She could feel his arms, strengthened by pushing the plow for so long, wrapping her in an embrace that promised security and safety.

“I should disagree,” Saracyir stated resolutely.

“Hmm?” Mira replied, her thoughts interrupted.

The elf smiled, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the morning sun. “I should disagree that blades are horrible. Many manner of beasts are equipped with finer weapons than those made by the smithy. Teeth, claws, and most of all a treacherous intellect. What would dissuade these if not for the forgemaster’s sword?”

To this Mira again had no response so instead she gathered her hair and drew it over her shoulder to let the sun shine upon her gore-smeared face. “I suppose you’re right.” She hefted the sword in her hand, feeling the balance in her arm. “So what have you brought me here for?”

Saracyir smiled again. This time it reached her eyes until they glowed with the sunlight that shown around her. “You speak as though I have a dark plot at hand.”

“For all I know, you do,” Mira countered.

“Then let us remove those thoughts. Close your eyes.”

A thought of protest crossed Mira’s weary mind but it was soon blown away like the salty breeze as soon as she remembered who it was that had given her the order.

“Good,” said Saracyir. Mira could vaguely hear her soft steps on the stone of the Arena. “Now focus on the Voice. Tell me what it speaks to you.”

“I thought you warned me to use it as little as possible?” Mira protested.

“Without an understanding of it, yes. But if it can be understood and used it may be a great power. Therefore we seek understanding.”

“What if it’s something that should not be understood? What if learning more will make me more attached to it?”

Saracyir was quiet for a moment. “You have stumbled upon a great inquiry that wise minds will no doubt argue for centuries. Is the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s sake a worthy venture? But I console you that this is not what we seek. To have understanding of this power may grant you control of it which will reap far greater benefits than simple knowledge of its existence. It is for this reason that I recommend we discover as much as we can about it. Does this sound reasonable to you?”

Mira was touched by the whisper of consolation in Saracyir’s smooth voice and nodded. She felt herself take a deep breath and sought out the Voice in her mind, which had since gone silent.

Several minutes passed before she shook her head. “Nothing. It’s as though it doesn’t exist.”

Saracyir’s eyes narrowed. “Yet you said it roared to be used only this last night?” The elf did not wait for a response, instead bending own to pick up a pebble from the stone floor. “You may open your eyes. Now you said that this Voice has granted a wide variety of powers?”

“Yes,” Mira answered hesitantly. “I can heal, hurt, change thoughts...”

The elf nodded. “Then perhaps it is silent until the chance to be used. Try to lift this pebble from my palm.”

Again Mira closed her eyes, picturing the small round stone. Every curve and speck of dust on its dull grey surface appeared in her mind. Wherever you are, lift the stone, she ordered. The Voice was silent.

“Still nothing.”

“Focus,” the elf counselled. “Do not request but command.”

Gritting her teeth, Mira continued to force herself to image the Voice as though it stood before her as she nearly shouted at it within her mind. Finally a murmur flickered through her thoughts.

Foolishness.Never.

“What?” Saracyir questioned, seeing the change in countenance on the still gory face of the girl.

“It says.... It’s refusing,” Mira answered, confused. “It says it’s foolish.”

“Order it anyway,” the elf quietly commanded.

“I... I can’t.”

Saracyir frowned intently. Only the whispering of the wind and the distant clanging of blacksmiths’ hammers interrupted the scene as Saracyir held the stone before her and watched Mira struggle, her eyes closed.

Finally the elf tossed the pebble aside. “No matter. The task itself is perhaps too futile.” The elf spread her slender stance and raised her arms with bent elbows until her sword was positioned across her chest in a sharp diagonal line. ” Attack me.”

Mira’s eyes snapped open. She could only gape. “Attack you? Why?”

Saracyir only shook her head.

The girl’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she bent her arm with the sword until it was arranged as she had seen the warriors carry them only the night before. Taking a deep breath she found herself darting forward, swinging the sword with her as she came upon Saracyir.

Without hesitation the elf lifted her own sword and allowed her knees to bend, absorbing the strength of the swing until the blades remained locked against one another after the initial ring of metal to metal.

From where she stood Mira practically loomed over the normally taller elf who now crouched with her sword above her chest. The girl felt her teeth grit again as she fought to overpower the elf’s iron guard.

“Come,” Saracyir ordered calmly, “overpower me. Force me to release my sword.”

Mira threw herself on the arm that carried her sword, struggling to force the elf’s sharp blade to waver even a little. Her mind cried out to the Voice for the strength it had lent her only hours previous but to no avail. Her thoughts remained blank save the desperation she felt to break the sword-lock.

Before she succeeded Mira felt the elf’s sword surge upward, throwing her off her balance and onto on the stone.

Saracyir rose and offered the girl a hand.

“My apologies, I did not mean to push you back so hard.”

Pushing away her sword Mira gratefully accepted the offered hand and pulled herself up.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a dart of movement as her hair brushed aside followed by the flash of Saracyir’s sword edge hurtling toward her head.

The mere sight of the blade ignited a flame deep in the girl. Power surged from her chest to your arms and hands, consuming her will like a roaring lion. The Voice screamed inside her, awoken by the impending iron edge. Before could even blink her hands seized the blade. The metal burned as though it had been sitting in a Dwarven forge of old and shattered in her hands, leaving her palms miraculously untouched. The shards flew in a dazzling arc carried by the wind that would have pierced Saracyir a hundredfold had she not dove to the ground.

The following moment was broken only by soft fall of metal shards against the stone floor and the heavy panting of Mira as the Voice subsided. Saracyir glanced upward cautiously beneath the tangle of hair that had come undone over her face during her violent dive.

“I’m... I’m so sorry,” Mira whispered. “I didn’t mean to.”

The elf cautiously smiled and stood, wary of the tiny iron daggers of metal that covered the floor around them.

“There is no need to be sorry, Iäneur. That was quite enough for one day, perhaps. Now a rest is appropriate.”