Dark Blade

by Tony Roberts

  “Thank you, Blademaster,” she said awkwardly, standing with her hands behind her back before him.

  He sat behind a large desk. He gestured to a chair. “Please be seated.” He waited till she had settled, then sighed. “Your belongings are being placed in your room as we speak. Except of course for this,” he pointed to her sword resting in its sheath on his desk. “Faerowyn. I’ve waited sixteen years for you to turn up.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “You-you mean…”

  “Your father, Jarrodowyn, was here then. He told me of you and to expect you when you reached maturity.”

  “Oh!” tears sprang to her eyes. “He was alive!”

  Territus nodded. “It’s not often we get dark elves here in Kaltinar so they are memorable, especially when one is a refugee in a dynastic war.”

  “You – know everything?” she asked through her tears.

  Territus shrugged. “As much as anyone in my position could know, I suppose. But you, are you really Faerowyn or an imposter?”

  “What?”

  Territus leaned forward pointing at her. “Jarrodowyn warned me to be careful. We are strictly neutral here but from what he told me of the dark elf nobility war, there would be no quarter given and nothing would be spared. So, are you really who you say you are?”

  “Yes!”

  Territus produced a knife and placed it alongside the sword. “I must admit you appear to be of the right age and you are undoubtedly a half dark elf, something I have never encountered before. But there is one test that can remove all doubt.”

  “Which is?”

  Territus picked up the sword and slowly drew it from its sheath. “You know, don’t you, what this is?”

  “Yes! An elf steel sword. I’ve also been told it’s a superior make.”

  The Blademaster laughed briefly. “Superior! Superior she says.” He put the sheath down. Faer felt a burst of anger. Territus examined the sword. “You really have no idea, do you? I’m a Blademaster, one of only three in the entire world. I know swords, I have studied them, handled them, learned the folklore, their attributes, the sword makers, everything! This,” he pointed at the sword, “is one of only five ever made!”

  “Five?”

  He stood up and came round to her, sitting on the edge of his desk. “This, young lady, is a Royal Dark Elf Bloodline Sword. Nations would kill to get their hands on one of these. Whole peoples would go to war if they could possess one. The symbol on the pommel, look, it’s the Owyn symbol. That means it can only be properly wielded by one of the bloodline.” He sighed, putting his hand to his face. “Anyone cut by this whilst it is in the hand of an Owyn is drained of life essence; they become weak and vulnerable, even if the blow is not a killing one. It sucks life away from an enemy. Its blade can never be dulled. It recognises one of the bloodline.”

  “How?”

  “It’s called a bloodline sword for a good reason. It gains power through the blood of the line. If you are of the line, then it will reveal this to be so.” He turned and passed her the knife. “Cut your hand and let the blood coat the blade.”

  Faer paused, looked at him, then took a deep breath and drew the blade down her hand. It stung and she hissed in pain. Blood began to dribble down her palm. Territus held the sword out and she ran her hand along it, liberally daubing it in her blood. The blade did nothing for a moment, and her heart began to sink, then suddenly a red glow suffused it and the sword almost seemed to hum. The light grew briefly, then died away and the blade was as before, with no blood. It had been absorbed.

  Territus stood up, reverently placed the sword in her hands and dropped to one knee. “Princess Faerowyn, please forgive my doubts. I had to be sure, I hope you understand.”

  Faer couldn’t speak. Her throat tightened and she almost choked. The Blademaster handed her a cloth to bind her wound. He went back to his seat and seated himself slowly. “A princess hunted by the enemies of her bloodline. If anyone learns of your presence here I have little doubt we would be visited by a few unwelcome dark elf friends. Therefore nobody else must know who you are, and neither must they know the true identity of this sword.” He passed her the sheath. “I shall treat you as an ordinary initiate.”

  She nodded, still unable to speak. It was so overwhelming. She looked at the sword as if she’d never seen it before.

  Territus pointed to the bag of money that had been taken from her and was resting on his desk. “Your father promised you would bring your tuition fee with you, and this, I take it, is just that?”

  She nodded, swallowing and trying to find her voice. “H-He left instructions in a letter to me.”

  “Indeed. Therefore I take this with my thanks.” The bag vanished into his desk drawer. “Now, young lady, and I shall address you thus, not out of disrespect, but to keep your true identity secret, I am to train you so you can defend yourself and do your sword the honour of wielding it correctly. This I shall attempt to do, but we really needed to start with you at the age of ten or so. No matter, we shall do what we can. You have a natural affinity that goes with dark elf instincts, and we must first identify what you actually have, if any, and then we can train you to harness them and discipline yourself. Please note, though, your training will be intense and perhaps a little brutal at times.”

  “I understand.”

  “You will, however, not use your sword here until I’m satisfied you’re adept enough not to hurt anyone. I don’t want a school of drained trainees.”

  Faer nodded, sliding the blade into its sheath. Her palm throbbed. “What now, Blademaster?”

  “Address me as Master. You are an initiate. Your quarters are on the lowest level. Each time you progress you will be rehoused at a higher level. There is here, as in any school, a pecking order, so expect to be looked down on. It isn’t anything I encourage but I do know it exists. Don’t rely on me or any of the teachers to defend you – you will have to find your own way to deal with that. Only on the training ground will there be no disrespect.”

  “I see. Very well. Thank you, Master. Is there anything else?”

  “No. You may return to your quarters.”

  She stood up. “What of Markus? Is he to have a role here?”

  “You will learn that on the morrow. Good night, Faerowyn.”

  She went out of the office and the initiate greeted her again, leading her out and across the courtyard to her room. She sat on her bed looking at her sword intensely. The door opened and Markus came in. It was night time now and Faer hadn’t bothered with any candle as she could see perfectly well. “Oh, shall I light the candle?”

  “No, no,” he said, sitting down next to her in the darkness. “How did it go?”

  “Oh – he knew my father. He had been here. He-he told me he knew I was of the royal bloodline. But it’s a secret and not to go any further.”

  “Good. We don’t want to attract any attention.” He sat silently for a moment, and Faer had the impression he wanted to say something. Then he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “Goodbye Faer. Sleep well.” He left, shutting the door quietly.

  She was too stunned at the kiss to react and sat there, licking her lips slowly. Why did he do that? Why did he say goodbye? She was too emotionally tired and exhausted to question it too much and she quickly settled down to sleep, her sword alongside her in bed. Her palm stopped throbbing and now was merely a dull ache.

  The next morning she woke, performed her ablutions, dressed and went next door to see if Markus was awake. He was gone. The room was empty. She came running out and looked wildly around. Only a few people were about and they looked at her curiously as she ran to the office block. A Bladesman stopped her. “Whoa, miss, what’s the hurry?”

  “I must see the Master, my friend has vanished! I’m concerned he might be in trouble!”

  The man turned. “Well, he’s usually a busy man but we’ll see if he’s available. Come with me.” She was led up the stairs to the office level, Faer bursting to get to see him
as soon as she could. There was an interminable wait which was probably only a few moments and she was waved in.

  Territus was waiting, his expression one of patience. “Good morning, Initiate. Already demanding to see me and you’ve not been here a day?”

  “Master – what’s happened to Markus? He’s gone!”

  The Blademaster sighed and nodded. “I told him he had no place here and would be best returning to his home village. He and I spoke at length and finally he was persuaded to go.”

  “How-how could you, sir?”

  “Master.”

  “Master!” she practically screamed. “He is my friend!”

  Territus nodded. “You are young and you have not yet learned discipline. Therefore I shall excuse your behaviour. Please understand, his usefulness to you ended the moment you passed into this place. Yes, he did you a tremendous service, but now he would be best leaving you here. He would only distract you. He left you a letter. Sentimental drivel, but there you go. Here.” He passed her a folded piece of paper.

  “Did you read this?” Faer was furious.

  “I didn’t need to – he read it out to me to make sure it sounded fine. I’ve no idea why he wanted my approval of a private letter but that was his decision. You may take it to your quarters and read it, then you will follow the initiate assigned to mentor you who will show you the dining chamber. Then your lessons start.”

  As Faer stormed to the door he called her name. She turned. “Yes – Master?”

  “Don’t make a habit of coming to see me. I won’t be this approachable very often.”

  “Yes Master.” She jerked the door open and ploughed her way past the surprised guards and Bladesmen and ran down to her room, throwing herself onto her bed. Only then did she unfold the letter.

  Dearest Faer. I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye to you properly, but no doubt the Blademaster has explained why I’ve left. He didn’t need to persuade me to go that much; I thought myself that I wouldn’t fit in here. This is your place, your future. It isn’t mine. I tried to say goodbye last night, but I just couldn’t find the words. But I had to kiss you before I went. I’ll carry that with me on my journey back to the village. No matter what happens in the future to each of us, I’ll always carry part of you in my heart.

  Don’t worry that we won’t see one another again. Believe me, I know we will, just you see. You are the most beautiful woman in the world and I love you.

  Markus.

  She put the letter down and wept bitterly, pounding the bed with her fists. Her only friend – gone! She knew he had found her attractive, but – to say there that he actually loved her, it was just too much to bear. The feeling of loss engulfed her.

  She was still weeping when the initiate came for her. She reluctantly followed him to the dining room, a great chamber to one side of the accommodation block. It was another ground floor entrance, if an entrance a thousand feet above the river could be called on the ground floor. Inside there was a huge space, the roof supported by arches all round the edges and by two rows of them down the middle.

  Tables stood in the two halves of the room, while the space in between the two rows of central arches served as a walkway for anyone coming in and for the people serving the meals. At the far end servants were coming in and out of an open doorway, carrying food. The kitchen obviously was beyond.

  There must have been seating for a hundred or more there on each side, but only half of the tables were currently occupied. She was directed to one of the first tables, and heads turned in curiosity as she was pointed to an empty spot on a bench at the end. She sat down heavily and stared at the table top, a bare wooden planked construction, rough, basic but functional. There were no plates or other objects as there had been at Portris’ temple.

  “Your first day?” a voice to her side asked.

  She looked up to see a very fair skinned boy looking at her in concern and interest. She nodded and resumed her contemplation of the table top.

  “I’ve been here five years. I cried too my first day. It’s scary I know, but it’ll get better, just you see. I’m Limkel, by the way.”

  Faer bit back an angry retort; it was hardly the boy’s fault. “Faerowyn,” she said huskily. “I’m sad because my friend has gone – he came with me here but went last night. I miss him.”

  “Oh,” Limkel said. “Don’t be sad – I expect you’ll find new friends here. I did.”

  “Limkel, shut up,” another boy said opposite. “You’ll get us into trouble. Shush!”

  Faer sensed Limkel was nudged heavily from the other side because he moved suddenly towards her and then pushed back. She glanced to the person on the other side of her seating companion and saw a bigger boy with dark hair and a jutting nose. Not handsome in any way, but he looked big and strong.

  The boy who had told Limkel to shut up was slim, tanned and had smooth unmarked skin. She thought he was a good looking boy. Next to him was a smaller figure, a girl, red haired, freckled and green-eyed. She was saying nothing, but she was staring at Faer intently. It unsettled her. They all looked about the same age, a year or so younger than her.

  Suddenly all stood, not in unison, but in the rippled manner of a large gathering where some lead, having seen the entry of the masters, and the rest follow with alacrity, having been caught out. Faer looked about in surprise and was helped by Limkel taking hold of her upper arm and pulling her up. She was about to shrug his hand off when he let go and then tall figures passed her, walking towards the top table in the distance.

  She recognised the Blademaster, but not the other four. The last stopped by her side and looked at her, and she received a shock.

  An elf. A pure bloodied pale skinned elf. His violet eyes bored into her harshly and she cringed. She looked away, her heart thumping heavily in her chest. Another elf! But one of the pale-skinned race. She tried to remember what Lady Lace had told her in Gorradan. Common Elves, or what’s what she said. The other ones were Forest Elves, or something like that. The Common elves kept to themselves on their continent to the north and west. She never expected to see one here!

  The elf slowly turned away and resumed his walk.

  Limkel nudged her and whispered in her ear. “That’s Seltonas, he likes nobody. Gave you a right old look, didn’t he?”

  Faer nodded. He clearly hadn’t liked her and she wondered why. Hopefully he wouldn’t have anything to do with her while she was here.

  Then everyone was sitting down and she plunged into her seat, not wanting to be stood on her own. Her bottom ached with the impact but she felt better hiding from the top table. If only she could swap seats with Limkel then she wouldn’t be on the end and half exposed.

  A serving girl came along with a large bowl. It was full of bread. A large brown roll was placed before her and she stared at it. “It isn’t going to bite you,” the boy opposite said with humour. “You’re meant to eat it.”

  “Oh, no knife?”

  “We all got one. Haven’t you got one?” Limkel asked, frowning.

  “Uh, yes but it’s in my room.”

  The boy opposite tutted, grinning. “Well you’re no use are you? If you forget your blade in a blade school. Going to use your ears?”

  “Pappis!” Limkel snapped. “Stop that! No mocking people, remember?”

  Pappis chuckled and held Faer’s angry look. “So what you going to use then?”

  “Your sharp wit,” she retorted.

  The others chuckled, and even Pappis grinned. “Nice one. I’m Pappis,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She hesitated, then took it and they shook. “Faerowyn.”

  Limkel shook hands with her too. The other two merely nodded. “That’s Grange, the big lad here; big, strong and don’t mess with him.”

  Grange leaned forward and nodded slowly at her. Faer swallowed and looked at the green-eyed girl.

  “Quenia,” she said abruptly and popped a chunk of bread into her mouth.

  Faer tore open her l
oaf with a little difficulty, but once the crust had been breached managed to tear the rest into small pieces and eat them. It was sweet, still warm and very delicious. Her expression made the two boys nearest her grin.

  “Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it?” Pappis said. “Wait till you have the cheese.”

  “Cheese?” she asked.

  A serving boy put a jug of water down in between them and deposited five small mugs of earthenware. Grange grabbed the jug and poured himself a drink, downed it in one and then helped himself to a second measure before allowing Quenia to take it, daring the others to stop him. Faer looked at Limkel who rolled his eyes and waited patiently. Quenia passed the jug to Pappis with a smile and she stared again at Faer, trying to pass some kind of message onto her.

  Pappis passed the jug to Faer. Quenia scowled and kicked Pappis. The boy frowned and looked at his companion. She scowled again and then turned away in a huff. Limkel looked intently at Faer, who hesitated, looked at how much water was left, then passed it to Limkel without pouring any for herself.

  “What? Take some!” he said, objecting.

  “Not enough for both of us. You have what you want; I’ll have what’s left.”

  Limkel eyed the contents, then measured out two-thirds of a mug for himself and poured the remains into Faer’s. “There, we’ve got the same.”

  She grinned her thanks. Then a plate arrived with a block of some whitish-yellow object on it. Faer examined it and sniffed. It wasn’t unpleasant, but so different to what she’d ever smelt before. “What’s that?”

  “Cheese.” Out came the knives again and they sliced chunks off. Grange took the biggest and passed it to Quenia who then ignored Pappis and passed it to Limkel, giving Pappis a real hard stare. Pappis raised his eyebrows and patiently waited till Limkel had cut slices for both himself and Faer before having the last block. Faer nodded her thanks and hesitantly took a bit of the smooth block.

  The taste that swept through her mouth made her eyes widen. “Mmm!”

  “Good eh?” Limkel grinned.

  Faer nodded emphatically. “Oh my! That’s really gorgeous! What is it?”