hat.
Next, he removed his father’s duster, made from supple brown
leather, with a thick fur lining the inside of the coat. In one of the pockets
was a similarly worked pair of gloves. A further examination revealed that the
fur lining could be removed by undoing a series of buttons, and vents under the
arms could also be unbuttoned. As a result, the duster served to keep one warm
in the winter and cool in the summer months. After making the appropriate
adjustments, Elias pulled his father’s coat on.
There were but two items left in the chest: his father’s
badge of office and his sword. Elias’s heart quickened as he reached for the
blade and found the metal of the scabbard warm to the touch. The scabbard had
been crafted from a light but durable metal and was finished with a gleaming
crimson flecked with black. Pins and needles climbed up Elias’s arms and spread
throughout his core as he ran his fingers along the glossy surface.
He wrapped a hand around the braided leather hilt and, placing
a thumb on the ovular guard, he eased the sword from the scabbard. Characters in
a runic language foreign to him were etched into the base of the blade, and as
the sword cleared the scabbard the room echoed with sibilant whispers, seeming
to issue from all around him. Alarmed, Elias slammed the blade back into the
scabbard and lurched to his feet. He spun on his heels, examining the room,
half expecting to encounter a shade.
Much to his relief, Elias found himself alone. Nevertheless,
he remained vigilant for several heartbeats and continued to scan the room and
listen for any sign of a maleficent force. Once satisfied, his gaze returned to
the sword, which he had dropped in his alarm.
It was an alluring weapon, of that there was no doubt. Even
sheathed, it had an elegant line that curved slightly in the fashion of a
saber, but with an elongated hilt to accommodate two hands, and a unique ovular
guard, the likes of which he had never seen. The blade had evidently been
enchanted to boot. Elias decided, however, that the sword, whatever its nature,
had belonged to his father and therefore was not inherently evil.
Elias reminded himself that he was in a hurry. Gathering his
resolve, he snatched up his father’s sword, and with one fluid motion drew the
blade. If before the room echoed, it now resounded with spirant voices uttering
slippery words that stacked on one another with invisible weight, like wind
blowing through a hollow, winter wood. Elias held fast, fear pushed aside by
his need, and added his voice to the chorus, crying out against his rage and
misery.
The runes etched in the blade glowed scarlet, as if in
remembrance of the fires that had forged them. The room spun and tendrils of
force lashed at him, visible only as a distortion in the air like heat waves,
and wrapped around his limbs and torso, as insubstantial as wind but as unyielding
as steel cord.
Still, Elias refused to relinquish his hold on the sword. His
eyes could not focus for the vertigo, but he felt his right arm burning as if
on fire. Overcome, Elias grew faint.
Unconscious on his feet, he crumpled to the floor.
†
Lar urged his borrowed steed into a gallop as soon as
he cleared the gate of the doctor’s homestead. It had taken him precious time
to find a suitable horse among the doctor’s scant offerings and saddle it, as
Elias had taken his, but Lar planned on heading Elias off by plotting a course
directly for the Manor. Elias, Lar reasoned, would go home first to equip
himself for battle. Lar had agreed with Phinneas that the marauders that felled
the Duanas were likely long gone, but as he rode his stomach dropped and he realized
that he was afraid.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lar saw a blur of motion and
turned in his saddle, one hand reflexively reaching for his sword. A rider
approached on an intercept course. He was too far away to distinguish any
facial features, but he saw a shock of red hair undulating in the
Next, he removed his father’s duster, made from supple brown
leather, with a thick fur lining the inside of the coat. In one of the pockets
was a similarly worked pair of gloves. A further examination revealed that the
fur lining could be removed by undoing a series of buttons, and vents under the
arms could also be unbuttoned. As a result, the duster served to keep one warm
in the winter and cool in the summer months. After making the appropriate
adjustments, Elias pulled his father’s coat on.
There were but two items left in the chest: his father’s
badge of office and his sword. Elias’s heart quickened as he reached for the
blade and found the metal of the scabbard warm to the touch. The scabbard had
been crafted from a light but durable metal and was finished with a gleaming
crimson flecked with black. Pins and needles climbed up Elias’s arms and spread
throughout his core as he ran his fingers along the glossy surface.
He wrapped a hand around the braided leather hilt and, placing
a thumb on the ovular guard, he eased the sword from the scabbard. Characters in
a runic language foreign to him were etched into the base of the blade, and as
the sword cleared the scabbard the room echoed with sibilant whispers, seeming
to issue from all around him. Alarmed, Elias slammed the blade back into the
scabbard and lurched to his feet. He spun on his heels, examining the room,
half expecting to encounter a shade.
Much to his relief, Elias found himself alone. Nevertheless,
he remained vigilant for several heartbeats and continued to scan the room and
listen for any sign of a maleficent force. Once satisfied, his gaze returned to
the sword, which he had dropped in his alarm.
It was an alluring weapon, of that there was no doubt. Even
sheathed, it had an elegant line that curved slightly in the fashion of a
saber, but with an elongated hilt to accommodate two hands, and a unique ovular
guard, the likes of which he had never seen. The blade had evidently been
enchanted to boot. Elias decided, however, that the sword, whatever its nature,
had belonged to his father and therefore was not inherently evil.
Elias reminded himself that he was in a hurry. Gathering his
resolve, he snatched up his father’s sword, and with one fluid motion drew the
blade. If before the room echoed, it now resounded with spirant voices uttering
slippery words that stacked on one another with invisible weight, like wind
blowing through a hollow, winter wood. Elias held fast, fear pushed aside by
his need, and added his voice to the chorus, crying out against his rage and
misery.
The runes etched in the blade glowed scarlet, as if in
remembrance of the fires that had forged them. The room spun and tendrils of
force lashed at him, visible only as a distortion in the air like heat waves,
and wrapped around his limbs and torso, as insubstantial as wind but as unyielding
as steel cord.
Still, Elias refused to relinquish his hold on the sword. His
eyes could not focus for the vertigo, but he felt his right arm burning as if
on fire. Overcome, Elias grew faint.
Unconscious on his feet, he crumpled to the floor.
†
Lar urged his borrowed steed into a gallop as soon as
he cleared the gate of the doctor’s homestead. It had taken him precious time
to find a suitable horse among the doctor’s scant offerings and saddle it, as
Elias had taken his, but Lar planned on heading Elias off by plotting a course
directly for the Manor. Elias, Lar reasoned, would go home first to equip
himself for battle. Lar had agreed with Phinneas that the marauders that felled
the Duanas were likely long gone, but as he rode his stomach dropped and he realized
that he was afraid.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lar saw a blur of motion and
turned in his saddle, one hand reflexively reaching for his sword. A rider
approached on an intercept course. He was too far away to distinguish any
facial features, but he saw a shock of red hair undulating in the
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