“The Prophecy of Eyre states that all of the Souelian will be swallowed by darkness, an invader will sweep across the lands; and, if left unchecked, it will consume the world—or something like that. I was never very good with poetry, and of course, prophecies are always told by poets. Or maybe we only remember the prophecies that rhyme. Anyway, it goes on to say that a great king of Gendishen will lead an empire in the fight against the evil. We will know him because he will bear a magical sword, the flaming Sword of Eyre, that will burn with the cleansing power of the Maker. Again, I am paraphrasing. There is supposedly more to the prophecy, but it has either been lost or the Gendishen have been spectacular at keeping the secret.
“The problem is we cannot enchant blades to bear fire. The elemental powers are earth, fire, water, and air. A fifth power is life, but we do not generally refer to it as an element. I do not know why. Ah, that is not important right now. The point is we cannot force one element to power another element. Earth and fire are often in confluence, but they both exist separately in their interactions or combine to form something new. If we add fire to metal, it gets hot, becomes soft, and then melts. The metal’s form is not sustained. To preserve the blade, we would have to add a protective shield, which would keep the metal and fire separate.”
Tam nodded vigorously. “The blade would be surrounded by fire, but the fire would not be in the blade. Wouldn’t that satisfy the prophecy?”
Wesson shook his head. “No, because the metal cannot power the fire. They are two different elements, and they would be separated by the shield anyway. So what would power the fire?”
“The wielder?” Tam said.
Wesson nodded. “It would have to be, but there are a few problems with that. First, it would mean the sword itself is not enchanted; second, none of the kings of Gendishen are mages; and third, the wielder would have to be a mage with a significant affinity for fire. I am such a mage, so I know how difficult it would be. Creating fire can be sloppy—a quick light of a candle flame is easy, but you could just as easily burn down a forest. Igniting a sword, maintaining the shape, controlling the size and extent of the flame, fueling the flame—would all require extreme focus. Plus, you must avoid setting yourself on fire. Just because we generate the fire does not mean we are immune to it. We must integrate wards into the fire spells to shield ourselves. Plus, to generate fire, you are using a lot of vimara, and the well is not infinite. I am an extremely powerful fire mage, and even I would only be able to maintain all those spells for a brief time. It would last a few minutes at most.”
“Is that not long enough?” said Tam.
“No, it is clear from the prophecy that the sword will burn for the duration of the war. I am telling you, it is not possible to enchant a fire sword. If it were, every swordsman would have one. They would burn down the kingdom.”
“But, it is a prophecy! It must come true.”
Rezkin handed Tam a cup of water. He said, “You are getting worked up over nothing, Tam. I have read many so-called prophecies, and I have yet to find one that came true. They are spoken by charlatans to earn fame or reward.”
Tam was crestfallen. “Then why look for the sword?”
Rezkin shook his head. “It is what Privoth wants. The Gendishen are fanatical about the prophecy. I am sure you can understand why. Somehow Gendishen gains an empire and saves the world. It is a fantasy tale.”
“Then, at least let me go with you,” Tam pleaded. “So what if the sword is a fraud. It will be an adventure, nonetheless.”
“This task is too dangerous, and you already have the attention of too many who might wish you harm. Besides, I need you here.”
Tam’s face screwed up in anger, he balled his fists, and then he lurched to his feet before proceeding to pace rapidly in front of the table. “No. No! You were undefeated in the King’s Tournament. You have met with two foreign kings. You saved a princess. You claimed an ancient palace of legend. You have dead elven wraiths bowing to you. Now, you are being sent on a quest to retrieve a magical sword of prophecy.” He spread his hands and stared at Rezkin. “Where was I? You said I could join you in your adventures, but you leave me out every time!”
Rezkin frowned. “I had no intention of leaving you out of anything. You have been at my side for most of those events.”
“No, I wasn’t at your side. I was being safe on the ship or being safe in the stands or being safe in the warehouse.”
Rezkin shook his head. “Perhaps you misunderstand my motives. I have not set out to have adventures. I am only carrying out tasks needed to fight a war against tyranny to make sure you all are safe.”
“Exactly!” Tam said. “You are out saving people and fighting wars while I am stuck drowning in piss ale in musty taverns.”
“Tam, your role here is not insignificant. Uthrel is a major shipping port, and with the current political climate, it is probably the most significant on the Souelian. How is your Gendishen?”
Tam paused with the abrupt change in subject. “It’s fine. I mean, I’m doing okay. I don’t sound like a native, and I can understand a lot more than I can speak, but I do okay. The mages sped up my learning, but it left me with a terrible, persistent headache. They said it’ll go away, eventually. You had this planned since Skutton, didn’t you? Everyone else was mourning Palis’s death or gossiping about their troubles, but I was learning Gendishen.”
Tam glanced down as drops of blood dripped onto his pants. He pulled a blood-stained kerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose. “I think I need to see a healer. These nosebleeds are coming more frequently.”
Rezkin glanced at Wesson. The mage said, “How often?”
“Oh, about every other day. What do you think it is? Is something wrong with me?”
“It is probably just the weather,” Rezkin said, and Wesson slid him a dissatisfied glance. “How about—”
“No, wait,” Tam said. “You’re keeping something from me. What is it? Does this have to do with the headaches?”
“You will be fine,” Rezkin said.
“Rezkin,” Tam snapped.
Rezkin sighed and leaned against the desk. “What the mages did to help you learn more quickly is not exactly … healthy.”
Wesson frowned at Rezkin. “What he means is that it is dangerous and banned by the mage academy.”
“What? You mean you’re damaging my mind?”
Rezkin said, “Well, yes, but only a little. If it was safe, everyone would do it, and everyone would be experts in everything. The mages had to open a path into your mind, to your memory, which allows information to flow in unfiltered and become trapped there. The mind is not meant to work like that. In a few weeks, Healer Jespia and Mage Ondrus will visit to close the window and repair most of the damage.”
“Most of the damage?”
“The body is resilient,” said Rezkin.
“So, I have a magical hole in my head, and I was stuck in Uthrel while you were off fighting monsters and meeting with the king. I thought that if you did anything important in Gendishen, I would get to go with you, but no. Now you’re off to … where are you going? Let me guess. You are going to fight a dragon or make a deal with the Fae Queen.”
“The fae do not have a queen. They are led by the Ancients.”
Tam scowled at him. “That wasn’t the point. Where are you going?”
“Ferélle.”
“What’s in Ferélle?
Rezkin glanced at the strikers and said, “The Adana’Ro.”
“Alright,” Tam said with a huff as he plopped into a chair. “What’s that?”
“It is they, and they are why you cannot go with me. The Adana’Ro are a guild of assassins.”
“Another assassin’s guild?”
Their attention piqued, Kai and Farson both looked at Rezkin quizzically. He ignored them.
“They are not strictly assassins,” Rezkin said. “More like a political movement. In Ferélli, adana means warrior, and ro roughly translates to the innocent. They have an unusual definition of innocent, however. To them, there are people who understand the world, how it really works, people who have encountered death and murder and corruption. They are called the ruk. They are people who know how to swindle, lie, and cheat—the kind of people who know about assassins’ guilds. People who know the darkness.”
With less confidence, Tam said, “People like you.”
Rezkin tilted his head. “Yes, people like me. People like them,” he said with a nod toward the strikers. “But the Adana’Ro recognize a different kind of people—the ro, the people of light. People like you and Frisha, the Jebais, and Tieran.”