Legend of the Swords: War Read Online Free Page A

the one that sent you here.”
    “A shock similar to the disease that almost killed me?” They stood in silence for a moment until Matthew grinned again. Somehow his grin, his crinkled light blue eyes, had the power to banish worry from the room.
    “Well,” he said to the Awakened, “there are other things to worry about—and to be happy about! You must choose a name today, for tomorrow you will leave and try to find a new way in the world.” He glanced over toward the door before exclaiming, “Oh! And I brought your sword. Sister Joan spent quite a lot of time on it, and wished for you to know that she enjoyed the work. She seemed to think that it had a nearly perfect blade, before it became rusty.” He shook his head, clearly in awe of what the Sister had done. “She truly has a talent with metal.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded toward the package he had put near the door. “Why don’t you take a look at her handiwork?”
    The Awakened stood and approached the bag, made of red felt. He opened the drawstring and drew a broad-bladed bastard sword out of the bag. Its new sheath was made of thick leather, embossed with representations of knot-like patterns all down its length, along with a collar of carved steel depicting two dragons chasing each other around the blade’s entrance. The hilt was long, and was wrapped with silver wire, made of lighter gauge wires twisted together. Strangely, there was no pommel, and the slightly rounded cross guard was steel polished so that it shone. There was a small blue stone inset in the middle of the cross guard, with matching stones on the ends.
    He tossed the bag onto the bed, and drew the sword from its sheath. The blade glinted and gleamed as if it held light within itself. It seemed flawless, as if no rust had ever touched it. He tested the edge with his thumb; he could feel each ridge of his fingerprint catching on its sharpness. The metal of the sword seemed to have been carefully forged: its surface was mirror-smooth and deep, as if it had been hot liquid metal one moment, then somehow frozen in time and space. The symbols reflected light strangely, their dark corners almost absorbing light.
    There were markings on the flat of the blade, but in a language he did not know. He brought the blade close to his eyes, examining the runes closely. Cold seemed to flow off of the blade, making his eyes water. He turned towards Matthew and raised his eyebrows.
    “As I said the other day, we do not know what language the markings are in,” Matthew said to his unasked question. “The only thing we know for certain is that if we have not studied the language here, it is a very old language indeed.”
    The awakened nodded and turned back to his sword. He hefted it into the air and swung it. It made a satisfying whoosh , but he found himself off balance, and had to reach out to the wall to keep from falling. Without a pommel, the sword was blade heavy.
    “Where is the pommel?” he asked.
    Matthew scratched under his ear. “We don’t know. It appears to have a narrow socket, but the screw-hole is threaded too finely for any sword-maker we have ever seen. No one we know can make threads that fine.” He shrugged. “You’ll just have to get used to it, or improvise something.”
    The Awakened took some more swings with it, but although his muscles seemed to feel at home with the sword, he couldn’t find his balance. It was clearly going to be difficult to get used to.
    “It is a very fine sword," he said, nodding to Matthew. “Will I be able to thank Sister Joan in person? I had hoped that she would give me the sword so that I could thank her for her care.”
    Matthew put his hands out to the side. “Alas, she has already left. She will be happy to hear of your gratitude, but she has set out for the Kingdom of Mathrekesh. They have been performing the arts of the blacksmith far longer than we have, and she hopes to find some knowledge of the markings on the