Brian Anderson - The Sword of Truth

“Why would you say that?” Gewey asked nervously.

“You’re not a servant,” he replied. “You’re not a warrior. And your friends take special care when anything to do with you comes up.” He leaned back in his chair, evaluating Gewey. “You’re young-too young to be on such a dangerous journey by all accounts, and yet you carry yourself as a man ten years your senior. Whatever your reason for being here, I would have you as well protected as I can make you. That sword will never break nor dull, and it has never been drawn from its scabbard; once drawn, only the person who drew it will be able to wield it, and no other. More than that, I do not know, but it is certainly a special weapon. Besides, I’ve always used the sword passed down to me by my father; I have no use for another.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” said Gewey, looking the sword up and down.

“Now that’s a kingly gift,” Lee remarked as he and the others walked in. “May I see it?”

“Please do not unsheathe it,” Broin requested. “As I told your young friend, once drawn, it will only serve one master-or so I was told.”

Lee raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Then by all means, Gewey, draw your sword.”

Gewey hesitated for a moment, and then drew the sword. It slid easily from the scabbard, as if it had just been oiled. The blade glimmered brightly, touched by the light through the windows. Suddenly he felt his hand grow warm, and the hilt began to throb. He wanted to throw the sword down, but he found himself unable to let it go. He gasped in shock, nearly knocking over the chair beside him. Then, as quickly as the sensation began, it was gone.

“What happened?” Gewey exclaimed. “Why did it do that?”

“Do what?” Lee asked, concerned. “What did you feel?” Gewey described what happened.

“I know what you experienced,” Dina announced, stepping forward. “Hand Lee the sword, but be careful not to lose your own grip on it.”

Gewey held out the sword, holding the tip of the hilt in one hand and cradling the blade in the other. Lee touched the flat side of the blade and instantly drew back, wincing in pain.

“You’ve seen such a thing before,” she said, referring to her medallion. “But I’ve never heard of a sword being forged like this.”

“So what the King told me was true,” Broin said, satisfied. “The Order of Amon Dahl would love to see this.” Dina froze and stared at him.

“My dear,” he chuckled. “I suspected at least one of you must be of the Order the moment I heard Lee’s story last night. I guess now I know which one.”

“Does anyone else suspect?” she whispered.

“Not likely,” he replied. “Your lot is pretty secretive, and not too many people read as much as I do-no one I can think of, in fact. But every time I’ve ever run across stories about the Sword of Truth, the name Amon Dahl follows right behind. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t certain until just now. Only someone of that order, or maybe an elf, would have seen a material like this being used. But don’t fret; it’s just another in a long line of secrets that will keep me company when I die.” He smiled pleasantly at Dina.

“But enough chit-chat.” He turned to Maybell. “Angus will take you to the Temple District whenever you’re ready, Sister.”

“Thank you,” she said, sitting down to eat.

“I’ll be accompanying her as well,” Lee added.

“Of course,” he replied. “As for the rest of you, I assume you don’t want to be spotted by unfriendly eyes, so please tell me if there is anything you need and I will see that you have it.”

“A lifetime supply of orange juice,” Gewey blurted, before he could stop himself.

Broin chuckled loudly, nearly doubling over with his laughter. “A lifetime supply might be more than I can provide, but you will not want for it while you’re here. It’s a favorite of mine too, so I keep plenty.”

Gewey turned red and thanked him.

Once everyone had finished breakfast, Angus showed Maybell and Lee to a waiting carriage and climbed up with the driver. Gewey and Kaylia sat in the parlor with Lord Ganflin as he showed them a popular card game from Althetas. An entire pitcher of orange juice sat on the table beside Gewey.

Millet busied himself with preparations for his journey. After a short but fierce debate with Lee the night before, Millet decided to venture out alone to purchase horses and provisions for the ride to Hazrah. Broin offered to accompany him, but Millet insisted he would rather be alone.

Dina, Malstisos, and Broin went to the study. Dina had planned to reveal her heritage to the elf, but apparently, Prustos had already done so. Malstisos offered to explain the elven code of honor to her, and Broin insisted on joining them, not wanting to miss an opportunity to expand his knowledge.

After lunch, they all gathered together in the parlor to exchange tales and sing songs. Gewey noticed that many of the stories were just slightly different versions of some of the ones he had heard back home. The names and places were different, but the themes were the same. He had no voice for song, so he left the singing to Dina and Kaylia, who he thought had far more beautiful voices than he did.

Broin and Ganflin recited poems, but when it came Gewey’s turn, he could think of nothing to share.

“Come now,” Broin encouraged him. “Surely you know a song from your home, or at least a story told to you as a child.”

“Yes,” Malstisos said, grinning merrily. “I weary of these lofty tales, spun by men of learning. I would rather hear a simple tale told by simple folk.” Everyone cheered him on until it was clear they would not be satisfied until Gewey took a turn.

Gewey took a deep breath and tried not to be too aware of all the eyes looking at him. “Long ago,” he began, “there were two brothers named Bernard and Kyle who were the sons of a farmer. The farmer owned two large pieces of land: one in the fertile lowlands, and one in the rocky hills. When he passed away, he left the brothers all his land and possessions. Bernard loved his brother very much, so when his brother came to him and asked to be given the rich lowlands so that he would have the means to marry his love, Bernard agreed, even though this meant he couldn’t afford to start a family of his own. Kyle swore that one day, he would buy Bernard a farm next to his and share all that he had with his brother.

“Years passed, and Bernard waited as his brother took his wife and had three fine sons. He hoped that his brother would honor their agreement, but as the time wore on, he never did. Finally, Bernard became too old and weak to work his land, and because of his brother’s betrayal, he had no sons to work in his stead. Kyle had become rich and bought up all of the lowland farms in the county, but because he was selfish, he never did anything to help his poor brother.

“One day a great storm came and the rivers overflowed. With nowhere else to go, Kyle went to the high hills with his family to take refuge. But because he was ashamed, he did not go to his brother for shelter. Instead, he sat with his family in the pouring rain atop a high hill and watched as all their crops were swept away by the flood.

“The next day, the youngest of Kyle’s sons became very ill, and in his desperation he took the boy to his brother’s house.

“Bernard greeted his brother with joy and helped him nurse his son back to health. ‘Why do you help me?’ Kyle asked. ‘I have wronged you and broken my promise, and because of that you have no sons.’

“‘You have wronged me, brother,’ Bernard replied. ‘You have left me alone here on this rocky hill. Your shame has kept you from me. But that does not change that I love you. And though I have no sons, what has been worse is having no brother.’ Bernard’s words held no hatred; instead, he wept with joy at the sight of the brother he had missed so much. Kyle vowed that when the water receded, Bernard could come live with him and his family.