Martin Hengst - The Last Swordmage

“Clan women aren’t permitted steel weapons or tools,” Tiadaria replied, her voice dripping with contempt. “Steel is too valuable for a woman’s hand.”

Royce snorted, but maintained his cool regard. They sat that way long enough for Tiadaria to find herself unsettled by the intensity of his gaze. She felt as if she was being judged on more than just her clumsiness.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“Tiadaria,” she replied with haughty pride. “And I'm not a little girl, Sir. I'll pass my seventeenth name-day three months hence.”

“Then you're a little one compared to me, aren't you?”

“I suppose, Sir.”

“My name is Royce. I had another name at some point. A family name, an honorable name. It’s been gone from me for many years. Now I'm simply known as Royce. Not that you'll ever call me anything other than Captain, or Sir…but you had the right to know who owns you now.”

“A name doesn't tell me who you are, Sir.”

“Fair enough,” he said, pausing to tug again at his lower lip. Then he smiled, the first full-smile she had seen from him, revealing perfect teeth that seemed out-of-place for such a rugged man. “I am Royce, former Knight of the Flame, and Sergeant-at-Arms to the One True King. I lead the Grand Army of the Human Imperium for nearly thirty years.”

“Which means, Sir?”

“Which means that I’ve forgotten more about how to wield the blade you dropped on your foot then you will ever know? Watch your tongue, little one. You enjoy a certain amount of freedom here, but if you think I won't beat you for insolence, you're mistaken.”

“Yes Sir,” Tiadaria replied sullenly. Wrapped in a warm fur by the fire, it was easy to imagine she was back at camp, listening to yarns spun by the old men. A place where she wasn't an equal, but neither was she a slave. Tiadaria and the old soldier watched the fire burn, its shifting weight sending sparks dancing up the chimney.

They spent many an evening that way. During the day, he would require her to attend things around the cottage while he went about his duties as Constable. She was expected to cook and clean and see to the domestic chores. In return, they would share the evenings and he would teach her about battles fought long ago. He helped her learn how to read with more proficiency than she had arrived with. He instructed her in the basics of strategy and tactics.

Playing chess against each other in the evenings became a common pastime. The Captain said it was a royal game and excellent for teaching basic military strategy. Tiadaria found that she was often confused by the words he used, but that she was often able to figure out his meaning through inference, or through some chance turn of phrase he had used before.

It was during one of these evenings together that Tiadaria discovered, much to her surprise, that her drive and desire to escape had waned, if even just a bit. It wasn’t uncommon for her to pause in their duties to ask why he had purchased her and what her purpose was. It was a question that he always dismissed without answer.

They had just finished their evening meal and were lounging in the chairs by the hearth when he made his confession. It was as unexpected as it was sobering.

“I'm dying,” he began, his voice soft and rough. “I don’t expect you to mourn. Nor do I tell you this to garner any sort of sympathy or compassion. It is a simple and inevitable truth. I tell you this because in order for you to know why you are here, it is an important detail.”

“You once asked me who I am. I was the highest decorated soldier in the Imperium for nearly thirty-years. My influence and power were second only to the King himself. I fought in every major engagement, every battle, and every skirmish. Any time a sword was drawn, I was there. Any time a banner was planted, I was there. I survived every conflict, major, minor, and everything in between. I've seen things that no one should ever need to see, but such are the perils of war.”

“That's not a complaint. It’s an honor. I was proud to serve, as my father was before me, as his father was before him. The difference is I ran out of time. My father proudly served, and retired, and had a wife and children. As did his father before him. I thought I had more time.”

The Captain chuckled ruefully. He took the poker from the hearth and prodded at the fire for a while before he continued.

“I never took a wife, never had any children. I'm the last of the line. The last that knows the secrets of my family and the unique skills we bring to the battlefield. The secrets that have kept every male child of my family alive and employed for as far back as anyone can remember.”

“I still don't understand,” Tiadaria said candidly. Then remembered her place and added “Sir”.

“I am the last swordmage, little one. A fighter who carries steel and can wield magic, just like the Quintessentialists, the mages and priests.”

Tiadaria laughed and then caught herself. The corner of Royce's mouth twitched with a small smile.

“Impossible, you think?”

“Steel and iron inhibit the nature of the Quintessential Sphere,” Tiadaria replied. “So it has been, so it always shall be.”

“Letter perfect,” Royce remarked. “Just as it has been taught in the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences for hundreds of years. I guess the clans aren't as far removed from their origins as they'd like to believe.”

Tiadaria kept her mouth shut, not trusting herself to reply. Royce nodded.

“You're stubborn. I like that. You remind me of me. I made my father prove it too.” He laughed. A real genuine laugh. “He was so angry. I kept making him show me over and over and over. Very well, a demonstration then.”

Royce took a dagger down off the wall. It was the same one that she had once dropped on her foot. Taking an apple from a basket, he tossed it to Tiadaria

“I'm going to turn my back,” he said. “I want you to toss the apple into the air when you're ready. Don't give me any warning. Just do it when it pleases you.”

He turned away from her and Tiadaria stared at him thoughtfully. Was he mocking her, or did he actually believe the nonsense he was speaking? She weighed the apple in her hand and found her curiosity getting the better of her. She tossed the apple underhand.

Royce whirled, his hand a blur of motion in the air. He reached out with his free hand, snatching the apple before it hit the floor. He was fast, incredibly fast, but his speed had come at a price. The apple he held still appeared whole, which meant that he had missed his target. Hardly the impressive show that he had obviously wanted to put on for her.

“You missed, Sir.”

“Not hardly, little one,” Royce said with a snort. “I don't miss.”

He handed her the apple and Tiadaria saw for the first time that the core was missing and that the fruit was sliced into eight neatly-interlocking sections. She turned it over in her hand, inspecting it from every angle, refusing to believe what her eyes had seen and her hands now felt. She looked up at the Captain. He tossed her the core.

“Show me again? Please, Sir?”

The Captain handed her another apple and they repeated the demonstration. It was obviously no trick. He simply moved with a speed that couldn’t be accounted for in any way but with magic.

“You’re a rogue mage,” she finally said, torn between astonishment and horror.

“To some extent,” Royce agreed. “I never trained at the Academy. I was never given the Quintessential Trials. All I know I learned from my father, who learned from his father before him.”

“That’s impossible,” Tiadaria said flatly, shaking her head. “Steel inhibits the flow of magic. Quintessentialists can’t even wear steel rings and be able to cast. What makes you so special?”