Spellscribed Tales: First Refrain (6 page)

Leona put a hand on his aching chest. "You didn't fail, son. I failed you. I forged that sword for you years ago and I used mediocre materials. I should have performed a more thorough inspection before I gave it-"

Daelen put a hand on her shoulder. "Leona. Enough." he said. She wiped tears from her eyes and face before they froze. "The weapon itself was perfect, but
 failed because he was too strong for the sword you made for him. He's already strong enough to use the axe."

Leona paled. "You don't mean..."

"No, I don't intend on giving it to him." Daelen replied. "I expect you to make him a new weapon. A better sword for his height and strength. Plan for him to get stronger than he is now." Daelen looked down at him. "As I expect you to get. Do not take this loss lying down."

Joven glanced around. "Does this mean I need to get up?"

"What? No. Rest." Daelen replied, confused.

"Gods."
Talen blurted. "You just told him to not lay down."

Daelen tapped his own forehead with the heel of his hand. "You know what I mean. Just... don't give up. The eclipse isn't for several years, and something might change in the meantime."

"Yeah." Talen replied. "Maybe someone else will be king by then."

Balen scoffed. "Hardly." he refuted. "Did you see Gurn's arm strength? I'm sure he's stronger than me on my best day."

"Bullshit." Talen replied. "I saw you kick one of those Bloodfrost guys like fifteen feet!"

Balen chuckled. "Oh yeah, that was great." he shook his head. "No, it was more like ten, and Gurn's something different. He was carrying that greatsword with one hand, and I've heard tell from some of the officers in the army that they've seen him use it that way too."

"There's always someone better than you." Daelen replied.

"He's stronger, not better." Talen snapped. He took a steadying breath, rubbing a hand over his bald head. Ever since the Bloodfrost rebellion just under two years back, he had taken to shaving his head entirely. He had been temporarily captured during the five day long siege of Balator, but he had managed to free himself and wipe out a small portion of the Bloodfrost command structure on his way out. The act had earned him some glory and redeemed his honor in the public eye. He claimed that they had caught him by grabbing his hair, and he shaved his head daily because of it.

"Either way, Joven lost. Are you still going to insist he be a guardian?" Talen asked. "Guardian of what? Nothing?"

"Talen!"
Leona exclaimed.

"Talen's right." Balen spoke, interrupting Leona. "We're done. We did what we needed to, and he should put his effort into rising in the military. There's still great glory to be earned in the army. We could use you, brother."

"We can discuss this later!" Daelen snapped, interrupting what was likely to become a heated conversation. "Let's get Joven home to rest. He can choose for himself what he wants to do when he recovers."

The two brothers nodded and Leona helped Joven to his feet. The walk home would take awhile with him hobbling on an injured leg, but it felt even longer in Joven's mind. All that time and effort to prepare, and in the end, he’d failed at the last possible moment. He was no guardian.

* * * *

Joven slept fitfully that night. The fight playing over and over again in his head, and he was plagued with doubt. Perhaps he had been too easy on his rival. He shouldn't have hesitated when he’d had the chance. Maybe he’d needed to go all out in the beginning, like Korvos had.

He awoke to the sound of his bedroom door opening. In the dark, he couldn't see anyone, but he heard breathing and his aching body tensed.

"You awake?" Talen’s voice echoed quietly in the darkness.

Joven's head fell back onto his pillow. "Am now." he responded. "What's going on?"

Talen stepped inside and closed the door. He heard his brother quickly and efficiently
light a lantern, the flickering light blossoming throughout the room.

"I'm sorry you lost." Talen said, hanging the lantern on an iron
 wall hook. "I know it was really important to you."

Joven sat up in bed, sighing. "Thanks."

Talen appeared pensive in the flickering lantern light.

"Talen."
Joven stated. "What's bothering you?"

"You know it's not your fault, right?" Talen answered. "You didn't fail because you were weak."

"I know, brother." Joven replied. "My sword broke."

Talen frowned.
"Yeah. It broke." he said, distracted.

Joven studied his brother. This behavior was grossly out of character for him. "Are... you all right?" Joven asked.

Talen glanced up from the floor to look him in the eyes. "Yeah." he said, weakly waving the question away with a hand. "I'm fine. Just... tired."

"Well, that's what happens when you're slinking about in the middle of the night." Joven quipped.

Talen weakly smiled. "True. I just wanted a chance to see you in private before... well, before everything changes."

"Everything changes?"

"You know, before you start whatever it is you're going to do."

"Right."

Talen tapped the broken sword on the night stand. "Sorry about your sword." he said. Talen stood, blew out the lantern, and left. Joven sat in the darkness, trying to figure out what the conversation meant.

"The
hells was that?" he muttered, flopping back down into bed. He wasn't an idiot, but analyzing a conversation like that was not a skill he possessed. He sighed and drifted back off to sleep.

Talen was gone when he woke up that morning. Not just out of the house, but completely gone. Most of his personal effects and property had been packed up and he’d slipped out in the middle of the night. He had left no warnings with anyone else, but some of his behavior now made a little more sense.

"I don't get it." Balen said, sitting at the family dining table. "This is our family home. We've held it for hundreds of years. Why would he leave?"

Daelen and Leona were quietly arguing in the hall on the other side of the hearth fire. Joven shook his head and sighed. "I don't know." he said. "He didn't tell me he was leaving last night."

Balen growled. "I'm going to find him." he stated. "And smack him into next week."

"I didn't know you were into the business of holding back." Joven replied with a grin. "If you really tried, you could probably land him somewhere into next season.

 Balen shrugged. "He's family. He pisses me off, but both my brothers do that."

"Hey!" Joven replied. "I'm not even trying."

Balen looked at Joven and tapped the side of his own nose. "You should straighten that before it sets all the way. I've seen what happens to men when their nose isn't fixed before it heals."

Joven gingerly touched his broken nose. "Yeah, I was kinda hoping it looked all right this way."

Balen laughed heartily. "Oh yeah. If you're a goblin."

"Fine."
Joven said, tentatively prodding at his nose. "Tell me what to do."

"Oh hells no!" Balen replied. "If you want medical help, ask mom. She's been patching dad up for years!"

Balen rose. "Anyway, I've got to go. There's been some soldiers in need of a barracks inspection and you know who the officers want on that, right?"

"Me?" Joven asked, feigning innocence.

Balen shook his head, grumbling. "Unless you suddenly joined the army and became a unit commander before me."

"Nope."

"Then it's still me."

"Going to whip them into shape?"

"Naw, I already put them in shape. Just routine."  Balen replied.

As Balen left, Joven heard him say something to his parents. He would be able to get his nose fixed, but more concerning than the swelling and pain was his brother Talen's actions. What was he up to, and why did he leave?

Leona entered the room and walked up to Joven. He looked up at her from his seat at the table. "I was just going to talk to you..." he hesitated as she placed one hand on his forehead, gripping it tight. With no warning, she caught his nose between the knuckles of her other hand and brusquely set it back into place with a crack. Joven grunted, both eyes going cross-eyed and watering intensely.

She pulled out a small cloth and tossed it on the table in front of him. "Blow out your nose. Get the clots out."

He did so without complaint, his eyes still watering from the sudden abuse. He blew his nose as hard as he could manage, and was able to feel that it was, at least mostly, straight. She checked him over one more time before taking the cloth away and tossing it in the hearth fire.

"You fought bravely, but your weapon failed." She began. "I want to make you a new weapon, but it will take some time. I need to take measurements of your hands, and make some estimates. I'll also need to look at the old weapon."

"Okay?"

"It's going to take a few weeks to get it right. I might even need to make it a few times. So I want you to pick a sword from the armory to stand in for now."

Joven shrugged. "All right. I should probably carry more than one weapon. You know, in case I need a second, or a backup."

Leona nodded absentmindedly, thinking about the weapon design.
"Sure, sure. Black iron?"

"Got any in red?"

Leona rolled her eyes. "If ever I should find some, I'll let you know."

"Yeah, black iron's fine." Joven stood. "I'll go look at the armory now."

On the way to the armory, he thought of what Talen had said to him. He couldn't figure out the purpose of the conversation, other than his apologies over his sword.

At the armory, a room near the bedchambers, Joven perused the accumulated weapons crafted throughout eight hundred years. While only a small sampling of weapons, because many of his ancestors were buried with their arms, it was still one of the biggest rooms in their home. Sixty feet in diameter, the circular room was crafted with weapon storage in mind. The center of the room was a five foot high rise in stone ten feet across. The stone had recesses for weapon racks to be mounted, and every one of them was full of weapons of various sorts.

Joven knew from childhood that almost any manner of weapon could be found there. Swords, daggers, axes, spears, hammers, bows, throwing weapons, chains – pretty much any kind of weapon. Most of them were generic in design; they had been made just for usage in the armory, in case they were needed. The line of Rothel had a tendency to craft more personalized weapons for each guardian, but because of their personal nature, they tended to get buried with them.

As Joven walked among hundreds of years of his family's history, he could easily see from any point in the room the only weapon that did not follow that rule. In the back of the room, opposite of the entryway, was the Inheritance.

The bipennis axe was given to the Guardians by the first Spengur himself. Though his name was lost to time, the weapon had developed the tradition of being named after the last one to die wielding it, but simply referred to as the Inheritance by others. The haft was crafted of dark wood, stained from pommel to head with blood so many times, it seemed black in the dim light. The handle was wrapped in thick leather straps carved with ancient barbarian letters. The axe head was some kind of milky white steel, whose crafting technique was unknown to any member of the family. The face of one side of the axe head was carved in a relief of a hundred barbarian warriors at the ready, while the other bore the same one hundred warriors lying dead of terrible wounds. A white steel spike adorned the top of the axe head, making it a weapon of many talents.

Joven had grown up hearing stories about the things that someone could do with that axe. He’d heard of warriors cleaving through men in plate armor, chopping through dragon scales, and shattering any weapon that got in their way. He’d also been told about the dangers of the axe. While
powerful, the owner was in no way invincible. In fact, every single wielder of the Inheritance had inevitably died in battle holding it.

Joven was brave, but he was not yet brave enough to take up the Inheritance. Besides, his father had taken it up a few times during the Bloodfrost rebellion. And his mother would outright murder him for trying to walk out of the house with it.

Joven ended up collecting a battle axe, mace, shortsword, several throwing knives, since they were more portable, and a number of other weapons with varying degrees of utility. He decided against a long blade, and stopped at his room to bring the broken pieces of his old weapon to his mother..

Joven walked back into the kitchen and handed it over to her. Leona
 started looking over his old broken bastard sword. The blade still attached to the handle was barely 4 inches long, snapped near the dull portion of the edge. 

"Joven."
She said, focused on the broken edges of the sword. "Did you lock blades with him during the match?"

She was referring to when two swordsmen would push against each other by locking their swords together by the guard. Joven thought back. "No." He replied. There were a few moments when we pushed off each other's swords, but it never slid into a lock."