Masques (Sianim #1)(26)

She had the children sit in a semicircle around her. Before she began she looked at their faces to help her select a story. Her information source, Stanis, had told her that most of them hadn't been there much over a month. None of them had any family at the camp and, judging by Astrid's tears, they were all feeling lost.

She sat cross-legged and began a Rethian folk tale that most of them would be familiar with. "Once upon a time, when the old gods walked the earth and interested themselves with the affairs of men, there lived a smith in a small, isolated village. The smith was a craftsman of great skill and his name was known far and wide. Although he was a gentle man, he lived in a time of war and so spent most of his day shoeing the great warhorses of the nobility, mending their weapons, and creating and repairing their armor. These things he did so that he would have money to live, for food was scarce and dear. At night, in the privacy of the forge, he created works of marvelous grace and beauty to take his mind off the ugliness that war brings.

"It came to pass that Temris, the god of war, had broken a favorite sword in battle. He heard of the smith's skill and so came to the village one night and knocked upon the smithy door.

"The smith had been working on a piece of singular beauty - a small, intricately wrought tree of silver, bearing upon each branch a single, golden fruit. Temris saw it and coveted it and, as was the custom of the gods when they wanted something from a mortal, demanded it.

"The smith, who had seen the devastation that war had caused those that he loved, refused, saying that he who was the creator of the ugliness of war could not demand the beauty of peace. The smith cast the statue to the ground, and such was the strength of his anger, he shattered it into a thousand thousand pieces.

"Temris was angered and he spoke then to the smith. 'I say now, smith, that you will forge only three more pieces and these will be weapons of destruction such as the world has never seen.'" Aralorn let her voice drop dramatically and was rewarded by a gasp from someone in her audience.

"The smith was horrified, and for many days he sat alone in the forge, not daring to work for fear of Temris's words. During this time he prayed to Mehan, the god of love, asking that he not be forced to build the instruments of another man's destruction. It may be that his prayer was answered, for he was seized by a fit of energy that left all the village amazed. For three fortnights he labored, day and night, neither eating nor sleeping until his work was done.

"The weapons he created could only be used by humans, and would only harm those who preyed upon mankind. He built Nekris, the Flame, which was a lance made of a strange material: a red metal that shimmered like fire. It was Nekris that King Taris used to drive the sea monster back into the depths when it would have destroyed his city.

"The second weapon was the mace, Sothris, the Black. The weapon that, according to legend, was responsible for one of the nine deaths of Temris himself. It was used during the Wizard Wars to destroy some of the abominations created in the desperate final days.

"The last weapon was the sword, Ambris, called also the Golden Rose. There are no stories about Ambris. Some say that it was lost or that the gods hid it away for fear of the weapon. But I think that it was hidden until a time of great need when it will appear to slay a great monster."

"Donkey warts!" exclaimed Stanis in approval. "Do you know any other stories? Ones about swords an' gods an' stuff? I like 'em with blood an' fight'n, but Tobin says that it might scare the young' uns."

Aralorn grinned and started to reply, but noticed that Wolf was waiting nearby. "It looks like I'll have to wait and tell you a story another time. I've got one about a boy, his dog and a monster named Taddy." She organized a game of hide the stone and sent the children oil running.

"Did you ever realize how closely the traditional description of Ambris resembles your sword?" Wolf commented, walking toward her when the children were gone.

She laughed and shook her head, saying in mock seriousness, "Talor has a black mace, and there was a bronze ceremonial lance on the wall of the Red Lance Inn in Sianim. I guess we don't have to worry about the ae'Magi. We'll just take the Smith's Weapons and destroy him." Then she gave him a sheepish smile. "I will admit, though, that when I found it in the old weapons hall at Lambshold, one reason I took it with me was its resemblance to Ambris."

She drew the sword and held it up for his inspection. It gleamed pinkish gold in the sunlight, but aside from the admittedly unusual color it was plain and unadorned. "It was probably made for a woman or a young boy; see how slender it is?" She turned the blade edgewise. "The color is probably the result of a smith mixing metals to make it strong enough not to break even if it is small enough for a woman. Even the metal handle isn't unusual; before it was understood how common magic-users are there were many swords made with a metal grip. It has only been in the last two hundred years that metal grips have become unusual."

"There might be no magic in her, but ..." - Aralorn executed a few quick moves - "she's light and well balanced and takes a good edge. Who can ask anything more than that? I don't need a sword for anything else, so she suits my purposes. I don't use a sword when a knife or staff will do, so I don't have to worry about accidentally killing a magician." She resheathed the sword with a final pat.

"I brought Edom back with me." Wolf indicated me tall boy running with the smaller figures. "He was pleased to resume his duties."