Disclaimer: This is not the final version as it will be available from the usual e-book sellers and eventually, bookstores. Rather, it should be seen as an (almost) final draft. If you are interested in becoming a beta reader, or you have any comments, suggestions or thoughts that you feel I should consider before publishing please drop me a line using the contact form.
Aubree’s Gift
With housekeeping for Bernard and for Aubree, militia practice, helping on the horse farms and the extra hour or two of weapons training Bernard gave her and a few other promising militia members at his house almost every day, she was suddenly very busy. She had little time left over to wander around the woods except at night, when she could steal a few hours that humans needed to sleep. Still, she was enjoying it and things could have gone on like that for a long time as far as she was concerned. She was learning new things and in with the militia’s riders she slowly won respect from the others for her skill, dedication and drive.
Just two years later, during the winter, Aubree died from a lung infection. It was tragic and it hurt Ala deeply, evoking a grief she hadn’t felt since Palady passed away. Aubree died much younger than Palady, who had lived an uncommonly long life. It made the pain even more acute as it was that much more unexpected. Aubree and Bernard had found love together over that last two years of her life. Ala was thankful for that, they’d been happy together, even if had just been for a little while. Just before she died, Aubree called Alagariel to her and whispered to her as well as her rasping lungs allowed.
“Ala…. Go to the attic…” Aubree managed to whisper, “look for a long bundle of dark cloth. You’ll find it’s behind… that old loom, you… know… the one…”
Ala soon found what Aubree had described and was at her side again a few minutes later.
“Yes… that’s it.”
“I’ve found it, please don’t try to talk to much!” Ala put her hand on Aubree’s soldier willing her to stop talking as it was causing her such distress. She wasn’t having it though.
“That… found by.. the Bull… on your attackers…”
“This is from before I came to Thetwick?” Ala was shocked. She’d had no idea any artefacts had come with her when she was brought to the town.
Aubree nodded, out of breath again.
“There’s… a note…”
Als inspected the bundle. It was more a roll of cloth, tied shut with hemp string. Between one of the outer folds, a note was tucked into it. The note was fragile, but Ala recognised Palady’s poor handwriting. She’d barely been able to write, Ala knew.
“Here it is. Should I read it out?”
Aubree nodded in agreement, rather than speaking again.
“Alright, here goes,
Dear Ala,
I’m not sure when we should give this to you, but I have given it thought and decided it should not be before you are old enough. I don’t have much experience of your kind, so I don’t know when that might be, but it may be well after my time has past. I don’t know much about this sword and blanket except that they were with the few things I received when the soldiers brought you.
The Bull meant for you to have it, entrusting it to my husband, Jack. Jack told me that the Bull said that it was yours by right. I don’t know if he meant it as plunder, some sort of compensation for how you and yours were wronged. Rightly, I don’t know that it truly has anything to do with you or your kin. Still, the Bull had a reason to bid me give it to you. Should you ever want to find out who you are and where you come from, I hope that maybe it will help somehow. The only other thing that might help is that there is a family living in Thetwick that might have more information. The descendants of William ‘The Bull’ of Thetwick, might know something more. The Bull was with the patrol that found you. He’s long gone of course, killed far away in the Duke’s service, but it can’t hurt to ask his kin. The farm’s to the east of the town, I’m certain you know the place. I’m sorry dear Ala, that really is all I have to tell you about yourself.
I hope with all my heart that you are able to find love and happiness somewhere in your incredibly long life.
I am so happy that I took you in, dear Ala.
Love always, Palady.
there’s more,” Ala said, “there’s some more lines scribbled at the bottom. It looks like they were added later,
I’ve asked Aubree to pass these things to you, as I’ve come to understand you will only come of age long after I am gone. Love, P.“
Ala sat for a while, with her hands holding Aubree’s. Both of them cried together for a while, before Aubree gestured that she should look inside the bundle. She unrolled the rough cloth, revealing a long, thin, irregular, blackened object. It was the sword Palady had described, or what was left of it. It had been long and slender and straight once, but it had been in a searing hot fire or the like, probably while still in its scabbard, which was still caked around it in irregular pieces of what appeared to be charred leather. Most of the blade was obscured by the caked on residue. The sword’s pommel was melted, hand grip burnt and malformed, and the cross guard was damaged though it was still serviceable. It was wrapped again in the ‘blanket’ Palady had mention, with was also damaged in the same way. It was, upon closer inspection, the remains of a cloak that had once been of incredibly fine quality, with intricate designs worked into the stitching and backed with what she thought must be silk.
Just a few hours later, Aubree died with Bernard and Ala beside her. Ala was heart broken. She couldn’t really seem to stop crying. She wouldn’t have know what to do if Bernard’s solid presence hadn’t been there to ground her. Bernard was also distraught, though his means of coping was to focus his grief on looking after Ala.
Ala spent the rest of the day as if in a trance. The morning found her sitting at the kitchen table, where she’d been since she’d come back before sunrise from wandering aimlessly through the forest all night. Bernard appeared not long after dawn, looking rather the worse for wear too.
“Mornin’ Ala,” he said, “sleep any?”
She shook her head.
“Wandered around the forest a bit…”
He frowned. He knew she was in the habit of going out at night, though he wasn’t aware of how often and how long she was usually gone. He didn’t really disapprove of it, but it did worry him.
“Suppose that could clear the head a little.”
“Maybe a little. I miss her so much already.”
“Me too, Ala.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Same as always, I expect. What the living always do, when a dear one passes. We go on and remember them.”
She nodded. She’d come to the same conclusion when Palady passed away and even before that when Emma had been abducted.
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Best if you move in here. I still need a housekeeper, no point in keeping on Aubree’s house. Aside from the backwards laws that mean I’d have to rent it for you. Unless you really want me too, then I will, of course.”
She’d never expected to be able to hold on to Aubree’s house, just as she hadn’t been able to live in Palady’s after the woman passed. There was no real sense in it and it wouldn’t feel right to make Bernard pay for it.
“It all… seems so inconsequential… without her.”
“Aye. I feel the same way. Probably will do for a time. It’s what we do though. We take a few days of mourning and say our goodbyes. Then we bury her near her husband and Palady.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Nah. She told me she loved that man, too. It’s only right that she be lay down near him. Though, I suppose I’d like to be near too when I go in the ground.”
“Oh Bernard, please, let’s not think of that now.”
“Sorry. I understand. Just makes a man think a little.”
“I know. It’s different for me, I guess.” No human currently alive in Thetwick was likely to survive as long as she would, barring misadventure.
“I suppose it is. Look, we have some work to do, getting the burial in order, but perhaps we ought to start with some food. I’m told the living need some of that, now and again. It’ll take out mind of things a bit, eh?”
Ala nodded. He was right of course, so she rose and went to the hearth, putting some logs on the fire that she instantly set ablaze. It was still not something she often did while Bernard was watching.
“Still incredible, that,” he mumbled, seemingly to himself.
It took her a moment to realise he was talking about her calling the fire. She just shrugged. Even that seemed mundane today.
The next day she moved the bundle and her few belongings into the attic at Bernard’s house. The last months she’d mostly had her and Aubree’s house to herself, as Aubree had been spending most of her time at Bernard’s. She came into Bernard’s home, with her things still distraught. Bernard got up to pour her a cup of tea, something that was normally her job. On the way back he put some more logs on the fire which was so low that it was near to going out, as if the flames themselves had decided to leave a world without Aubree in it. At that moment she didn’t care that he saw she could make the fire grow from across the room and caused them to ignite and burst instantly into flames. He stared at the fire for a few seconds again before shaking it off, glancing at her as if he was judging the distance at which she had done it.
“You don’t even have to be close?”
She shook her head. She saw he now noticed the bundle too, but didn’t ask. Ala saw him looking. She tried to explain where it had come from, through the sobbing and found that the distraction helped. She eventually just passed him the scrap of parchment with Palady’s note.
“Can I have a look?” He asked her as he passed the note back. She nodded.
“It’s a sword blade, that’s obvious enough. Can’t see much of it between the damage and owing to that it’s still in its scabbard. Almost like it was in a fire. Odd fire that does things quite like that though. But then, there’s many kinds, eh? You might know a bit more about that.”
Ala was drawn to it, though she didn’t know what to say. Bernard continued.
“Looks like… it’s a sort of black crust? Strange, I don’t know how that might form. Looks like it was once a very ornate weapon. Let’s have a proper look at it tomorrow with some daylight eh?”
She packed the blade away in her large chest in the attic and put it out of her mind. There were things to organise for Aubree’s funeral.
Aubree’s house had been rented from one of the richer families in the village, the same one that had rented out Palady’s house too. She and Aubree really hadn’t had very much. Some of the more valuable items had been sold to pay for her funeral, though Bernard told her not to worry about it. It was something Ala wanted to to for Aubree. She’d always been proud that she and Ala had managed to get by without any charity after her husband’s passing. There was even a little money left, which had been left to Ala. The Constable had tried to have it deposited in the village’s coffers on the basis that she wasn’t a person and therefore you couldn’t leave money to her any more than you could to a sheep or a cow. Bernard had stepped in and broke the man’s nose for that. There were no more objections after that incident. She got the money. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that it might get you through a winter in a pinch.
They buried Aubree the following day, with much of the village in attendance. The priestesses of Ceres conducted the ceremony and Bernard spoke a few words. Bernard asked Ala beforehand if she wished to speak but she declined. Aubree’s relationship with Ala had always been a personal one and she really didn’t know what to say to the villagers about her, so she left it to Bernard. What would she have spoke about? What it was like when Aubree had been born or what she’d been like as a little girl?It would have been awkward for everyone. After the funeral and the clearing out of the last things in Aubree’s house, she and Bernard sat down for a cup of tea, both feeling numb.
“Well, there we are Ala. Time to go on.”
She nodded, unable to summon any enthusiasm.
“Why don’t you bring that sword of yours down? Now’s as good a time as any to look at it a little more closely.”
It was better than sitting there wallowing, she decided to she fetched the bundle and unrolled it. Bernard looked it over once more.
“Ala, we’re going to have to break what’s left of the scabbard off of it. With this much heat I think the steel’s properties are probably damaged, but we won’t know for sure until we free the blade.”
“Will that damage it more, do you think?”
“I’ll be honest. I know a sword is exciting Ala, especially for someone as passionate about swordplay as you.”
She had to admit that even after the days events she felt intrigued by the weapon. Bernard continued.
“I’m afraid this one’s tempering will be all gone, it’s seen too much heat and will have cooled slowly and unevenly. Also, it was a fine, delicate blade. A master sword smith might be able to restore the temper without causing it to warp, but even that is unlikely with such a fine, delicate steel. Even then it would never be as good as when it was forged.”
“There is really no way it might be repaired?” She asked, feeling deflated again.
“Perhaps there is an elven smith somewhere that might manage it, they’re said to use magic in their forging. Or perhaps some of the great dwarven smiths. Maybe, your gift with fire might even make such thing possible though you’d have to know exactly what you were doing. With some luck, we’ll be able to have a new sword forged from the steel though. Nothing we do to it now is likely to make its condition any worse, I don’t think.”
“It doesn’t look much good to anyone the way it is. But it might be able to tell me something about where I am from or who my parents are? Smiths all have a maker’s mark don’t they?”
“Yes, any worth their salt do. He will probably be long dead though… unless he was elven or half elven I suppose. But, let’s go see Gerry in the morning after practice, he’ll let us use his smithy, I’m sure. If we clean it up, who knows, we may learn something about this sword… maybe even about you.”
They had become regular callers at the smith’s workshop because of the militia. Bernard was a fair hand with all sorts of weapons repair himself, and even had some experience forging things like arrow heads and simple repairs. He wasn’t a smith, but he had spent his share of hours in a forge. The Thetwick smith, a man named Gerry Kettle had been having to re-learn the art of forging weapons since the militia was seeing regular training. His business had flourished since Bernard had arrived to reinvigorate the militia with the Duke’s money. Gerry’s smithy had been expanded in stone to be able to cope with the extra work and he had even taken on an extra apprentice. The arms Gerry made were passable, though not of the same quality as the weapons Bernard had brought to Thetwick when he came. Ala was always allowed to use one of Bernard’s lighter spare blades when she practised, though she’d often practised with other weapons that were made by Gerry too. Bernard was of the firm opinion that you should be able to familiarise yourself quickly with any weapon.
“Gerry, you mind if we mess around in the back for a bit?” Called Bernard.
“Go ahead, careful though, there’s a few horseshoes just out, cooling.”
They went into the back of the workshop and she used a chisel and a hammer to work the scabbard free as carefully as possible. Ala did the work herself, Bernard had long since determined her patience with such tasks was legendary, far more than his. Bernard had time to exchange gossip with Gerry while she worked. As the residue and remains of the scabbard came free, the blade was revealed to be long, straight and elegant. It was much like any other light one handed sword, though she saw that the grip had been long enough to just about accommodate a second hand if you needed to. Its lines were delicate and the blade was very light, reminiscent of, but not quite, a rapier without the basket hilt. The blade itself was covered in a black crust, presumably of whatever material had been on the inside of the scabbard. Bernard came back in when she had the blade free of all the larger chunks.
He bent over the blade, peering at it, nodding approvingly to himself, “that was an expensive scabbard too, you don’t generally have material on the inside and this looks to have been lined with something exotic. I have no idea what manner of creature these leathers might have come from. Now, to know if it’s damaged we’d have to check the tempering.”
Ala nodded as Bernard continued.
“You should understand that such a test could break the blade, if it’s heat damaged, which it almost certainly is… though it’s awfully straight for something that’s been in a intense fire. But there’s not really another way to tell other than trying it.”
Gerry had come to take a look too.
“Ya know, if you clean it and polish it, you should be able to see where the heat has affected it. Might need etching before you really see it, but it’s worth tryin’ I’d say. Very unlikely that we can fix it though. Restoring a temper on a blade as delicate as that would take smiths like the Ulfberhts to achieve, I’d bet. Out of my league, I’m sorry to say.”
Ala was mesmerised by the blade, “I really want to find out as much as possible about it. Maybe there’s markings on the blade? Should I take it home and clean and polish it before we do something that might damage any inscriptions? I can see that there’s some decorations here… everywhere I look really. I’ll take the pieces of the scabbard too, I’ll clean it all off at home, see if I can find anything out. I want to find out as much as possible about it.”
“Alright, little lass. We’ll take it home. There’s no rush. You’re right, we should take our time, learn what we can.”
Gerry looked it over again, as they left.
“That was a mighty fine design once. Would’ve been light enough for you too Ala. Damn shame it’s ruined, damn shame.”
Ala spent a long time carefully cleaning and polishing the blade. She used the very gentlest of abrasives, eventually asking the man who passed as the town’s jeweller what he used for polishing gold. From under the crust of black a hypnotic pattern appeared. It was only visible if you tilted the blade just so. It was a swirling pattern of light and dark lines, kind of like tree branches. Other than that, there were no marks whatsoever on the blade, no maker’s mark, nothing. Days later, when it was fully clean, finally completely polished to a mirror finish she took it in to show to Bernard.
“That looks quite good actually. No heat discolouration anywhere. Amazing really. Beautifully polished too, Ala. I suppose there’s something to be said for taking one’s time to do it right.”
“There’s a sort of pattern, when you tilt it, like this, can you see? Does that mean it’s… broken?”
Bernard’s eyes went wide.
“Oh Wotan, girl. I think… it must be… but… May I?” She gave him the blade.
She had the sensation of a crackle as he touched it, but when she blinked she saw nothing.
“Ooh… static, I think. Like a little shock. Strange. It’s not even particularly dry out,” he said, a look of puzzlement on Bernard’s face.
He bent the blade with his huge hands. His face went red with the exertion. It went to right angles and sprang straight again when he released it.
“That fire doesn’t seem to have done the tempering any harm whatsoever. Incredible. Not a trace of damage. This pattern in the steel… it’s the same over the entire length. Never seen anything like it. Remarkably tough for such a thin blade too. Hmm, that’s funny, I’m bleeding.
“He inspected the cut while Ala got some things to bandage it.
“That’s quite deep actually.” Ala looked at the sword.
“Look over here. This must have been where you cut yourself.”
She touched it where the drop of blood was visible. It didn’t feel all that sharp to her. She grabbed the rough material that blade had been rolled up in, intending to quench Bernard’s bleeding. In the process she wanted to move it from the far side of the blade towards his hand. As she moved the piece of cloth, one end of it was dragged along the blade and it was cut clean through. She gingerly felt the spot that had cut the cloth, but again, it didn’t feel all that sharp to her. It was puzzling. Bernard was looking at her with a thoughtful, suspicious look. She decided that seeing to Bernard’s wound had priority over investigating the blade’s curious properties. Bernard took the cloth from her wrapping them around his hands a great many times as protection and he repeated the bend. With absolutely all his strength he curled the blade round until the tip touched what was left of the pommel. It went completely straight again when he released it. Ala looked at the rags he had used. He had been lucky, the many layers of cloth he had had between the blade and his hands had almost all been severed by the sword’s cutting edge, almost cutting him again. When she felt the blade where he had held it, it still felt quite blunt to her. A few more experiments made it even more puzzling. No matter how gently she ran a piece of cloth along the edge of the blade, it cut it cleanly in two, but whenever she felt the blades edge with her fingers it felt quite blunt. She could even run her fingers along the cutting edge with some pressure without it cutting her. She showed Bernard her discovery. He repeated the test with a bit of string. It too cut clean through. However when he touched the spot where she had determined it was blunt he immediately cut the tip of his index finger again. She again felt the same spot. Once more, it felt quite blunt to her and she didn’t even cut herself when she pushed her fingertips on it quite forcefully. Bernard studied her experiments while he ws waiting for his finger to stop bleeding.
“You know Ala, you’re slowly becoming more and more of a mystery. I think… no… I’m certain… this sword is an elf blade.”
“An elf blade? What does that mean?”
“It’s a weapon warriors across Taldyr whisper and tell stories about, mythical qualities are ascribed to them. I’ve never even seen a real one before. It couldn’t be anything else, not with these characteristics. See the pattern in the blade? It’s called a dendritic pattern, like the branches of a tree, see?”
Ala looked carefully at the pattern. It was indeed like intertwined tree branches.
“There’s several ways to achieve a dendritic effect,” continued Bernard. “Most smiths do it by twisting multiple kinds of steel and iron together before they forge a blade out. If you’re very meticulous about how you do it, you can make striking patterns and excellent blades that way too.”
“Are those just a coveted?”
“No. Apparently elf blades are better in almost every way. It’s said that the process employed to make them is completely different. I knew a man who said that it had something to do with using a specific type of ore and then cooling the blade according to a highly specific technique. If the smith knows exactly what he’s doing, apparently some sort of crystalline structure forms, making these weapons sharper, harder and more flexible than any other blades, even dwarven ones. On top of that, the elves add magic.”
“This is a magical blade?”
“I imagine so, though I have no idea how that might manifest itself… other than that it doesn’t cut you, that is. Oh and it’s razor sharp for everyone else of course… after what? A century? More?”
“About that, yes. Do all elves have swords like this?”
“Not the ones I have met anyway. My friend doubted that the technique was still practised anywhere. Most of these swords, at least all the ones that he had heard of, are said to be thousands of years old and are reputed to be unbreakable. They are all in the hands of ancient elven warriors, nobles and kings. He had good cause to know a lot about elven blades, so I have no reason to doubt him. What I just did with it, coil it in a circle?”
Ala just nodded, she was two awed to speak now.
“It’s one of the tests of an elf blade that he told me about. He thought it was nonsense. You can’t do that with a normal steel blade, even the very best ones, thought they say an Ulfberht sword goes nearly as far.”
“Have you tried it with yours?”
“I’ve never really had the heart to try. But this fact that it doesn’t cut you? I don’t know about that. Never heard of anything like that. Maybe it’s because of your elven heritage? Maybe it even has something to do with this blade actually being your family’s? It would have to be at least a bit magical for that. I don’t know much about those kinds of things.”
“It is awfully mysterious.”
“Just like you, then. Most importantly though, do not let anyone know you have that. It’s incredibly valuable. Bad people would be round looking for it hoping to make some quick gold. We’ll clean it up, see if we can’t fashion a new pommel and grip for it. You can learn to use it properly. You’re going to need to if we don’t want anyone taking it away from you.”
If you wish to receive the weekly installment to this story in your inbox, please subscribe to the newsletter below.
