take long to create
and are exceptional weapons. The culmination of an elite swordsmith’s skills
honed over decades.”
“And the last? These true swords. How are they more
true a sword than the others?”
Maddock’s smile twitched, a suppression of a broader
grin. “These are the swords of legend. I’m sure you’ve heard many of the
songs and tales about them. A true sword has a life of its own and no
swordsmith, however skillful, can set out to create one. In fact, it is very
lucky if any swordsmith out of an entire generation ever creates one.”
With a snort, Marik asked, “If they can’t be created
then how can they exist?” He recalled tales heard from minstrels in Puarri’s
tavern. Marik had never been able to convince himself such weapons could
exist, or ever had.
Maddock remained calm in the face of his skepticism.
“A swordsmith sets out to create a sword. If he’s lucky, he will create a true
sword instead of what he had intended, and then he will only do so if he realizes he is creating a true sword during the forging process. A true sword is the
result of everything the smith has ever learned and every skill he has honed
throughout his life. As such, no two true swords are ever the same.” Marik’s
skepticism persisted. It must have shown. “This is the truth. So much as a
single missed stroke with the hammer will be enough to ruin the true sword
during the forging and leave the smith with nothing but a regular blade.”
“The stories I remember say the swords were
gifts from the gods.”
“They could be correct in that a god involves himself
in the forging process, but I do not know the truth of such.”
“I would think,” Marik commented with a sarcastic
edge, “that these true swords would still be around. Every song I’ve ever
heard tells of the ancient past. What happened to these magnificent weapons?”
“They are still around,” Maddock stated
authoritatively. At Marik’s raised eyebrows he continued. “Think if the town
council of Tattersfield had one in its possession. Every bandit in the entire
kingdom would attack the town in hopes of obtaining it for their own uses.
Even the king, I am certain, would demand it be turned over to the throne.
Whoever has the keeping of the true swords these days must go to great lengths
to keep them a secret.”
“I suppose…” Marik was still unconvinced. “On the
theory that I accept their existence, exactly how are they so much better than
the others? The only passages I know go along the lines of ‘ and he smote
the legions of his foes as they took up arms against him ’. That’s not very
informative.”
“As I said, no two are entirely alike. From what I
know, any true sword is able to slice through metal like a dagger slicing into
a pad of butter. They also shared one other property. They had a unique
reflective quality. Like this.” Maddock unhooked the axe from his pack and
held it in the sunlight. He tilted it slightly a few times so Marik could see
the silver sheen which crossed the axe from top to bottom when light reflected
off its surface. “Their sheen was not silver, but instead shone in different
colors as when oil floats on water; like a rain arch. Other than that, their
properties differed from blade to blade. I heard tell of one that anytime it
was drawn from its sheath, the blade was wet, as if it had been wielded in the
rain. Swinging the blade would send a spray of water droplets through the
air.”
“A magic sword? But only mages can wield such!” Marik
exclaimed with profound distaste.
“No, they are not weapons created by magic. They
might seem magical in nature, but they are not. No blade created through the
use of magic can match the power of a true sword. I think that’s enough for
the time being. Let us stop for lunch while you think on what we have
discussed. Later, we will speak further.”
As if on
and are exceptional weapons. The culmination of an elite swordsmith’s skills
honed over decades.”
“And the last? These true swords. How are they more
true a sword than the others?”
Maddock’s smile twitched, a suppression of a broader
grin. “These are the swords of legend. I’m sure you’ve heard many of the
songs and tales about them. A true sword has a life of its own and no
swordsmith, however skillful, can set out to create one. In fact, it is very
lucky if any swordsmith out of an entire generation ever creates one.”
With a snort, Marik asked, “If they can’t be created
then how can they exist?” He recalled tales heard from minstrels in Puarri’s
tavern. Marik had never been able to convince himself such weapons could
exist, or ever had.
Maddock remained calm in the face of his skepticism.
“A swordsmith sets out to create a sword. If he’s lucky, he will create a true
sword instead of what he had intended, and then he will only do so if he realizes he is creating a true sword during the forging process. A true sword is the
result of everything the smith has ever learned and every skill he has honed
throughout his life. As such, no two true swords are ever the same.” Marik’s
skepticism persisted. It must have shown. “This is the truth. So much as a
single missed stroke with the hammer will be enough to ruin the true sword
during the forging and leave the smith with nothing but a regular blade.”
“The stories I remember say the swords were
gifts from the gods.”
“They could be correct in that a god involves himself
in the forging process, but I do not know the truth of such.”
“I would think,” Marik commented with a sarcastic
edge, “that these true swords would still be around. Every song I’ve ever
heard tells of the ancient past. What happened to these magnificent weapons?”
“They are still around,” Maddock stated
authoritatively. At Marik’s raised eyebrows he continued. “Think if the town
council of Tattersfield had one in its possession. Every bandit in the entire
kingdom would attack the town in hopes of obtaining it for their own uses.
Even the king, I am certain, would demand it be turned over to the throne.
Whoever has the keeping of the true swords these days must go to great lengths
to keep them a secret.”
“I suppose…” Marik was still unconvinced. “On the
theory that I accept their existence, exactly how are they so much better than
the others? The only passages I know go along the lines of ‘ and he smote
the legions of his foes as they took up arms against him ’. That’s not very
informative.”
“As I said, no two are entirely alike. From what I
know, any true sword is able to slice through metal like a dagger slicing into
a pad of butter. They also shared one other property. They had a unique
reflective quality. Like this.” Maddock unhooked the axe from his pack and
held it in the sunlight. He tilted it slightly a few times so Marik could see
the silver sheen which crossed the axe from top to bottom when light reflected
off its surface. “Their sheen was not silver, but instead shone in different
colors as when oil floats on water; like a rain arch. Other than that, their
properties differed from blade to blade. I heard tell of one that anytime it
was drawn from its sheath, the blade was wet, as if it had been wielded in the
rain. Swinging the blade would send a spray of water droplets through the
air.”
“A magic sword? But only mages can wield such!” Marik
exclaimed with profound distaste.
“No, they are not weapons created by magic. They
might seem magical in nature, but they are not. No blade created through the
use of magic can match the power of a true sword. I think that’s enough for
the time being. Let us stop for lunch while you think on what we have
discussed. Later, we will speak further.”
As if on
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