A Story of Swords, Part 7

Currently in Earphones: George Fenton's score to Deep Blue

Well now, it's certainly been a while since this old chestnut has been wheeled out, hasn't it?

I finally dug back into my documents and found that I indeed had written full drafts of the final two chapters in my old fanfic, and figured I might as well post them in all their clunky and unrefined glory. I mentioned in a previous post concerning this little yarn that I was writing an interstitial character chapter, but I found that I simply couldn't make a full run of it on the single handful of dialog I'd come up with. As such, Chapter 3.5 will probably never see the light of day, so you can check that off your lists.

In any case, here is the final portion of the duel and the aftermath, in this seventh installment (sixth chapter) of my Story of Swords...



Chapter 6: Chance and Doom

The two young men gave themselves over to the power of their swords, swinging at each other without reserve and letting the magical knowledge and ability of the blades take over. Like tides did the powers of the swords flow against each other.

Coinspinner would press the offense, finding a lucky opening and wounding its opponent in a flash of disbelief. However, the Sword of Chance could not defend against the savage backstroke of Doomgiver, and where the power of Coinspinner receded, the Sword of Justice flowed forward, hurling back the injuries from whence they came. Whenever Touchstone lost the small shred of concentration in his reckless abandon, however, his blade would over-extend in its desire to right the wrong and wound his opponent, which then was reflected back at him by the selfsame power.

There was still a savage grace to their swordplay, their attacks and defenses becoming wide and exaggerated as their energy began to be depleted. Small wounds appeared on each swordsman as one of the swords, then the other temporarily gained the upper hand. After a particularly fierce exchange, the two opponents staggered backward and stopped, both hunched forward and breathing hard with the effort.

“Why!” panted the young lord, “Why is Doomgiver not ending me?”

“You hold the Sword of Chance, and I the Sword of Justice,” rasped Touchstone, “Either your luck is stronger than you think, or Doomgiver recognizes our feud as having no clear victim, or maybe both are true. All I know is that I see no end to this.”

“I’ll end this now!” grated Helmrune, and charged at Touchstone with his sword raised in both hands, aiming a savage downward cut at his opponents head. The young fool had time to bring his sword up and slash down at a slight angle to intercept the young Lord’s blade. The two god-forged swords clashed and locked, the two combatants snarling wordlessly over the clenched blades. Then, in pure luck, Touchstone lost his footing and tumbled backwards, landing flat on his back. As he fell, he noticed Helmrune had, in a stroke of justice, tripped in a similar fashion and likewise landed supine. Both men lay there, exhausted with the effort and accumulated wounds of their duel.

“Foolishness!”

Both young men heard the grunted word, half-spoken aloud and half-spoken softly. Each turned their head towards its origin and found Lord and Lady Ginndem standing nearby with Esther looking on from within her mother’s embrace. The Fool and the young Lord had been so absorbed in their duel that they had hardly noticed their approach.

“Foolishness!” repeated Lord Ginndem, “to see two young idiots hacking madly at each other with perhaps the most dangerous weapons to ever grace this land.”

“But…I…didn’t….” began Touchstone weakly, but was interrupted by another grunt for the Lord.

“Fah! Whatever you did or did not do doesn’t change the recklessness I saw you two wallowing in.” The young Fool thought he caught pity softening Lord Ginndem’s eyes as he approached the two fallen combatants and looked at them in turn, but it was gone in a flash. The Lord’s mouth was set in a hard line and a mixture of annoyance and anger radiated from his features.

Seeing enough, Lady Ginndem released Esther and moved forward. She appraised both of the young men and turned toward her husband, “Your displeasure notwithstanding, My Lord, these young men need rest and care. Though they have made some foolish choices, have they lost the opportunity to recover in our halls once more?”

Lord Ginndem sighed, but nodded and replied, “They haven’t, but I fear that they need to leave and grow more before they can receive a warm welcome again.” He turned to return to the Keep, while Esther and Lady Ginndem took turns in setting Helmrune and Touchstone on their feet.

Esther came to the young Fool first, but she only wordlessly bound his more major wounds with strips of cloth torn from her outer garments. He didn’t try to explain the circumstances of the duel, knowing that he would look more the fool if he did, but merely kept his eyes on the ground in shame, at both Lord Ginndem’s words and the uncomfortable silence that emanated from Esther. The one time he did look up to meet her gaze, he saw tears glistening in the corner of her eyes, and a blend of fear and sympathy widened her eyes and drew her eyebrows together. She moved away to tend to Helmrune, and Touchstone was almost relieved to hear the soothing litany of reassurances that poured forth from Lady Ginndem.

“Don’t you mind what the Lord said there; you’re not the first boy I’ve seen do foolish things when a girl is concerned. And give my daughter some time to recover: she’s never seen how dangerous such confrontations can be. Oh, these wounds are nothing serious, you’ll recover quickly, very lucky of you and the young Lord to get by with only minor cuts and punctures. We’ll need to sew a few of them up, but you’ll be back on your feet in no time. Though my husband might take a while to warm up to you again, and you would probably do well to find another place of lodging, I have seen that you’re good at heart. You’ll always get warm food and a clean bed from me if or when you return. But don’t worry about all that now, you need rest and time to heal, let’s get you back to the Keep.”

Touchstone stood with the help of Lady Ginndem, and sheathed Doomgiver into the scabbard on his left side. He turned to look at Helmrune, who was likewise being helped up by Esther, and who groped around to find Coinspinner. Finding that the blade had disappeared from his hand, bitter tears began to streak down the young Lord’s face. Esther, her sympathy winning over her fear that she likewise had for him, threw her arms around Helmrune, but he remained oblivious as he leaned against her for support. Touchstone barely had the energy to ponder his loss as he was helped to the Keep, and only had time to appreciate the circularity of being placed in the same bed that he recovered in when he had first arrived, for he knew that this was the last night he would be spending with the Ginndem Clan.

He didn’t see any of Esther as he was attended during the evening by Lady Ginndem, who washed his wounds and brought him food. Doomgiver had done a good job of countering Coinspinner, as the wounds he received were small and healed quickly. As he lay in bed, he could imagine how Helmrune and Esther were most likely being drawn closer together through the aftermath, he in his grief finally opening up to her and she thus finding out his good qualities. The young Lord was a good man, Touchstone finally admitted to himself, although bitterly, and Esther would make a good choice in choosing him.


Enough, More Later.
- James

You got some of your '80s in my Fantasy flick!

Currently in Earphones: Brian Tyler's score for Timeline


Well, I finally saw the first Highlander movie last night, courtesy of Sophia, and after watching it, I can see why there has been so much follow up in the form of sequels, TV miniseries and comic books. While the plot may not exactly be high concept, it opens up a huge realm of storytelling possibilities.

I won't bother to dive into the whole Highlander universe, but I do have a piece to say concerning it's first incarnation in '86. The movie is basically a whole lot of cool with a couple of pieces of giant suck in it. However, the cool is so cool that it wins out over the crap more often than not, but every once and while I just have to cringe.

First, the awesome. The cinematography is absolutely amazing. In a time when any sort of CG simply did not exist, there are beautiful establishing shots and impressive group shots that work very well and that I can only wonder at the logistics of their construction. The camera work should be a touchstone for all action movies, as it was dynamic enough to liven up otherwise static scenes, but not so over the top as to fall into parody. Also, although the special effects (done optically or hand animated, which are quite a feat) may look a little old, they work very very effectively. To top it all off, it has sword fights, which are always awesome in my book.

So what's the bad? How could anything detract from the neat stuff mentioned above? Well, part of it may be prejudice for me, but I really don't like pop, especially during that decade. And of course, it comprises a good amount of the score. There is something about that trademark '80s synth that just oozes cheese, and says more to me about the time the film was made than transporting me in the story. Thankfully, Michael Kamen provides a decent symphonic score to fill in the gaps, but I had to stop my ears whenever The Kurgan hopped into his car and rode around, as it was always accompanied by lame '80s rock.

And as the crowning jewel of what nearly broke this movie, some really horrendous dialogue and the love story that felt like it was being shoehorned in with a sledgehammer. Well, actually, it was all the dialogue within the love story that sucked, because the rest of it was all right. The stately Scottish diction of Sean Connery lent some gravitas to the more flowery Villa-Lobos, and Christopher Lambert pulls off a reliable mix of accents that actually serves the tale. But my god, any scene between the characters of Conner and Brenda roll along like a square wheel. The scene in the bar and the "It's late in the movie and we haven't had any nudity yet" sex scene are absolutely groan inducing, clunky dialogue and virtually no chemistry completely detached me from the movie.

The poor points aside, the sword fights are decent, if a little slow by today's standards, and the dynamic camera makes up for the few more mundane "slash left, slash right, rinse, repeat" shots. Thankfully they have the right to be anachronistic with Immortal humans, so seeing a katana in Scotland isn't particularly head scratching.

So aside from the bad, Highlander is decent and fun movie, well worth it in my opinion, even if it's '80's-tastic.


Enough, More Later.
- James

A Story of Swords, Part 6

Currently in Earphones: Whiskey Supper by The Wicked Tinkers

Sorry, I lied last post. I was too wiped by the end of Thursday to post the next installment of my short story. Then Friday in all of it's tough glory came around. Here's how it went down...

On Wednesday I realized for the first time that the concert conflicted with my work schedule, seeing that I had to play at noon and usually work from 9am-1pm. No big deal, I think, I'll make up the extra hours the next day. The only problem was that my only free hours were between classes during my only break, so my Friday schedule looked a little something like this:

9am - 10am - Music 10 (with listening quiz)
10am - 11am - Classics 1
11am - 1pm - Work
1pm - 2pm - Latin 110N: Ovid
2pm - 3pm - Cicero

Yup, on campus for six hours straight and no sign of a break. I managed to snag a few snacks during work, but I was laggin' pretty bad by the time I got out of Cicero. I spent the next hour at home going "God! Why am I so depressed? And why am I so tired?" Of course, when I finally lurched into the kitchen for a sandwich and got something in my stomach, I felt so much better.

As for this weekend, I'm going to drag myself to the library for some initial research on my Classics 190 paper, then study for two midterms, one in the previously mentioned and one in Classics 1. Thankfully I'm off the hook for Ovid, seeing that I translated twice as much as we went over on Friday: luckily our Prof assigned up to the line where I originally stopped for Monday, so I can coast for the time being.

And now, without much further ado, the next chapter of my Story of Swords. Despite the fact that I initially skipped writing the chapter before this because I wanted to write this one so bad, I'm not sure I'm entirely satisfied with it as it currently stands, even after some initial editing. I will be going over the chapters again later on, but here it is for the time being.

(Oh, and for those of you wondering what the hell Helmrune is talking about when he first speaks in this chapter, I've begun to draft a Chapter 3.5 that delves more into some interaction between him and Touchstone. It'll all make sense in the end, but for now, enjoy the swordplay!)


Chapter 6: Steel and Sweat

The small figure that strode toward Touchstone gradually resolved itself into the figure of Helmrune, the black-hilt of Coinspinner prominent on his hip. Touchstone took a deep breath and released it, loosening Doomgiver and readying himself for what was to come.

The young Lord stopped a few paces from Touchstone and regarded him coldly. “You have a habit of making things difficult, Master Fool. You tell me one thing, and then do another. You make life difficult for Esther. I wonder if it not be better that you leave.”

“I think you’ll find that these complications are more than just my influence, friend,” Touchstone replied, “Besides, there is more to this world than what is within the walls of the Keep.”

Bitterness crept into Helmrune’s voice, “And you would be the one to turn me out? To point me outwards under the guise of wise advice, to turn me away from something I finally found that matters to me?”

“This is not the end of your life, nor should you think it so,” said Touchstone, struggling to find words to appease the young Lord, “Perhaps it would be better to leave things be here, perhaps it would be beneficial to start anew, to find something less complicated.”

“Spare me your sermonizing!” Helmrune cried, ripping Coinspinner out of its scabbard. The meteoric steel rang harshly in tune with his shout. “Too long have I stood silent, fearful of failing. Too long have I let good things pass me by; I will not simply stand and watch while happiness is taken from me again!”

Touchstone grimly drew Doomgiver, the cold sound of the blade sounding an uncomfortable dissonance with the fading ringing of Coinspinner. His anger at the young Lord was paralleled with a great swell of pity, aroused by Helmrune’s pained speech that had so often echoed through Touchstone’s own head.

With that feeling of fellowship strong in his mind, the young Fool didn’t believe the words that came through his mouth. He felt a similar righteous outrage at the doctrine of near-endless patience he was wont to believe in as the young Lord as he said, “We still have time to discover new things. Hastiness can only bring conflict.”

“Fortune favors the brave, my lord,” growled Helmrune, coiling himself to strike, “And I no longer fear to be brave with luck on my side. Luck that your sniveling ‘Justice’ would do well to note!” And with that, the young Lord sprang at Touchstone, Coinspinner at the ready. The last thing Touchstone remembered before Doomgiver cleared his mind for the oncoming fight was that he rather agreed with his opponent, though steel would have to be tested before words could once again be of use.

The Sword of Chance came at him in a simple, but savage, thrust, which he parried to his outside. Touchstone’s mind was ready for the next action, when the young Lord’s momentum accidentally carried him further forward, Coinspinner’s point angling toward his arm. Before he could react, Doomgiver acted for him, extending the parry further outward while the offending point slid harmlessly past Touchstone’s body. Both men, stunned by the swords influence, leaped back out of range. Each regarded the other for a moment, and Touchstone knew that the young Lord, immediately charging at him again, understood The Sword of Chance’s power. If he faltered, even for a moment, the advantage would leave him. In order to have a chance of winning against such a force as Doomgiver, he would need to press his luck.

Helmrune charged again, Coinspinner extended in the same savage thrust. Touchstone knew it to be something more as the point rushed toward his body, and he made as if to parry it in the same manner as before. As he had thought, Helmrune disengaged, circling the tip of Coinspinner around the oncoming edge of Doomgiver, and into the unprotected hole above his moving arm, straight at his chest. Almost as a reflexive afterthought, Touchstone retreated back a step, moving in time with Helmrune’s blade and keeping it a few inches from his chest, simultaneously moving his hand back across his body. Touchstone’s training made him fast, but not fast enough to counter the luck of the Sword of Chance. As the two swordsman moved as one, the young Fool backwards and the young Lord forwards, the tip of Coinspinner grazed Touchstone’s upper arm as he moved his opponent’s blade to his right, away from further harm.

Grimacing, Touchstone planted his feet, preparing for the impact of Helmrune’s charge. Glaring at his opponent, he snapped the wrist of is sword hand down into a more comfortable pronated parry, shoving Coinspinner aside and firmly away from him. Using his momentum as before, the young Lord barreled into the young Fool, knocking his opponent onto his rear despite his good footing. Helmrune had remained standing, and Touchstone watched in horror as he began to lift Coinspinner for a final blow.

However, as the young Lord began to heft his sword into the air, he let out a cry of pain and dropped the point to the ground. At first amazed, but then with growing understanding, Touchstone saw blood bloom on the same part of Helmrune’s arm as his, where Coinspinner had made a lucky cut earlier. Looking down at his own arm, the young Fool saw only rosy flesh, and no cut or scar marred the place where Coinspinner had passed earlier. Doomgiver had delivered justice, as it was wont to.

More out of reflexes than anything else, Touchstone sprang to his feet and lunged, angling the point of Doomgiver low, toward Helmrune’s leg. The young Lord, also reflexively, retreated back a step and parried from the draw, his hand and arm at chest level and his sword pointing straight down, almost locking the young Fool’s blade out. At the last moment, Touchstone circled his sword underneath Helmrune’s defense and angled his blade upward, avoiding the defending sword and catching the young Lord’s left arm with Doomgiver’s point.

They both leapt backwards and paused, recovering breath. Touchstone smiled ruefully at his successful attack, only to realize that the same twisting smile was growing on Helmrune’s face. The young Fool noticed a growing pain in his left arm, and looked down to see that the same wound he had inflicted on the young Lord had appeared on his arm as well. Looking back at Helmrune, Touchstone saw that the spot on his left arm where the Sword of Justice had inflicted a wound was clear and healthy. Doomgiver truly did not discriminate, and the swords wielder realized with growing fear that there was no way to harm his opponent without harming himself. Though he could play a defensive game, he would need to work hard not to counterattack so that the Sword of Justice couldn’t work against him. And if it was blood that Helmrune wanted to quench his anger, he would not get any of Touchstone’s

Whether such a realization concerning the interaction of the sword’s power had occurred to Helmrune, Touchstone couldn’t tell, he only just had time to parry to his inside once again as Coinspinner came edge-wise at his wounded left arm. Stepping forward and moving the two blades away to lock out his opponent, Touchstone grabbed the wrist of Helmrune’s right hand to further prevent him from attacking, and Helmrune did the same to the young Fool’s sword arm.

So locked, Touchstone spoke, breathing heavily, “All is not what it seems, my friend.”

Helmrune, emboldened by Doomgiver’s impartiality and Coinspinner’s luck, laughed. “You hide behind your words as you hide behind your Sword of Power. I wonder if you were not in my position once. Did you hide then as you did now, letting what mattered to you slip away on account of your weak philosophy? Know that I will not make the same mistake.”

“Fool!” Shouted Touchstone, enraged at the young Lords biting insight and mockery, “What do you know of pain? What do you know of denying your own happiness for someone else’s?”

Each young man’s rage feeding his opponents anger, Helmrune bared his teeth and bellowed, “EVERYTHING!”

In unison, they drew back their heads, then slammed them forward, meeting forehead-to-forehead with tremendous force. Stunned, they reeled, releasing their hold on each others hands and staggering backwards.

Recovering, they shared a look that said much. There was respect and new found brotherhood as each began to grasp their similarities on a subject that meant much to them. At the same time, anger still burned for the apparent contempt that each young man had shown for the other, and relishing the refreshing rage that boiled within, they abandoned themselves to their swords and charged at each other anew.

To be continued in Chapter 7

Enough, More Later.
- James

A Story of Swords, Part 5

Currently in Earphones: The Ususal Suspects soundtrack by John Ottman

Wow, big burst of creativity has got me through the initial drafts of the next two chapters of my Story of Swords. You will only get to see the first of them for the time being, as I wrote the second one (and am writing this) through a haze of fatigue. As such, here's chapter 5.


Chapter 5: Conflict

Touchstone’s gaze wandered toward the Keep, from which he saw a lone figure emerge in the distance. It wouldn’t be long until it and the sword it wore would confront him on the small hillock. The young Fool began to recall the past few weeks that had led up to this coming moment…

Touchstone and Esther were sitting side by side on the hearth of the great hall, their backs to the warmth of the dying fire. The winter was moving away from its most bitter, and they both had a large blanket thrown about them. They had been talking quietly about many things, their hands intertwined with each other under the warmth of the cloth. During lulls in the conversation, Esther would lean her head against Touchstone’s shoulder and he would rest his scruffy chin on the top of her head. Lady Ginndem bustled about the hall, making sure that every speck of dust was removed from the various tapestries, her watchful glances toward the young couple belying her real reason for lingering in the great room. Touchstone, catching her watchful gaze, was relieved to see the Lady smile approvingly every now and then, and he continued to talk without fear of reprobation.

The young man and woman had finished a spirited talk concerning the properties of medicinal herbs when Esther quieted and adopted a look of worry.

“What is it?” asked Touchstone.

“Well, it’s both you and Helmrune. I’m so glad we have become good friends over the last month, and I enjoy spending time with you and him. It’s flattering to have two young men vying for your attention," she paused, adopting a more pensive look, "but you both confuse me.”

“I know I have been less than straightforward with you,” admitted the young Fool, “But Helmrune’s intentions are easily seen. He’s quite taken with you.”

“I suppose, but he goes back and forth. I start to talk with him about this subject and that subject, to learn what he thinks and who he is, but I don’t learn very much. Other times he writes me poems and proclaims his love for me, but all I can do is to tell him that I need to know him better if I am to give him a similarly straight response.”

“A solid rock, that one,” Touchstone wryly commented. Esther smiled briefly, and then continued.

“With you, it’s the other way. I know so much about you, you’re almost like a brother to me. I feel comfortable talking of anything and everything with you. I do admit,” and she blushed slightly, squeezing his hand, “I enjoy being with you. But with you, I don’t really know what you want. You did finally tell me about your ring, and that much I know.”

“Oh, yes. That dramatic tale,” the young Fool said dryly, and felt the silver band encircling his finger, something he’d of late grown so used to as to forget about.

“But what do you want for the future?” she continued. “You like me well enough, but we don’t talk much of such things beyond that.”

Touchstone became more serious and sighed quietly. “I still am not too sure myself. As you say, I like you very much, and you fill a hole in me that has been empty for too long. I am content as I haven’t been in a long while, but I don’t think this is the end of my journey. I still have more things to do, things I need to return to and resolve. It will be a long while yet before my story has ended.”

They were quiet for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only noise, and the occasional soft footstep of Lady Ginndem. He then continued, “But, until then, I would desire to stay with you, as it were: if you would have me and know that, eventually, I would go.”

Esther’s hand loosened in his. “I would, for the most part,” she replied “But I wonder if the pain of your eventual leaving would be lessened if we parted sooner.”

Her words echoed in Touchstone’s mind, stirring old memories. He let go of her hand and fingered his silver ring. “Perhaps it would be better,” he said, “I’ve not had such things go well before.” He turned to look at her and found her eyes full of concern.

“Her?” she said simply, and he understood who Esther was referring to.

“Yes” he replied, and started to look away, but found her hand cradling his cheek. He looked back into her eyes as she turned his face back towards her own. He drank deep of her green eyes as she drew his face towards hers, and for the moment let all care fall away as they shared a kiss. He could have spent eternity in such a comfort, but they were both startled by approaching footsteps.

They sheepishly broke away from each other and turned toward the noise. Touchstone was surprised to see not Lady Ginndem striding forward, as he expected, but the young Lord, carrying a sword and scabbard in his hand. The young Fool stared at the black hilt, wondering at first if Helmrune had taken Doomgiver from his room, but upon catching sight of the twin white dice upon the handle realized that Coinspinner had found its way to the Keep.

Helmrune’s eyes betrayed an undercurrent of jealousy as he approached, and Touchstone realized that the young Lord had seen more than simple conversation go on between Esther and himself.

“It came to me,” said Helmrune, his voice half filled with wonder and half with approving, “The Sword of Chance.”

“It could not have found a better recipient,” said Touchstone, “But a sword such Coinspinner…I would still argue caution in its use.”

Helmrune’s face became less animate, scorn mixing with the jealousy behind his eyes. “I believe I know enough about this sword too keep myself from harm, Master Fool,” he replied, and then shifted his gaze to Esther, his expression softening, and spoke to her, “With this blade, I could become someone. I could find a place to settle into, perhaps become a metal smith, and start a good life.” His eyes betrayed the final, unsaid phrase, with you.

Esther, catching what wasn’t said, glanced at Touchstone and then looked back at Helmrune, “Perhaps so, but I agree that you should consider its abilities further before acting. Touchstone is not wrong in urging caution.”

Surprise and hurt flickered across Helmrune’s face, quickly replaced by unmistakable anger. He narrowed his eyes at Touchstone and said “Perhaps if things were a little more…simpler, things would be for the better.” With that, he whirled about and stalked off.

After the young Lord had left, Esther turned to Touchstone, saying “I’ll talk with him after he calms down. I hope he doesn’t do anything rash on account of Coinspinner, and me.” The two said their goodbyes for the time being and retreated to the comfort of their own rooms.

Later, Touchstone encountered Esther in a hallway on his way to the kitchens. She had been to Helmrune’s room in order to talk with him, but found his door locked and he unresponsive to her attempts to enter. Upon visiting the kitchens, the young Fool learned from the head cook that Helmrune had entered earlier and taken food to his room in place of joining the Ginndems for dinner. Touchstone returned to his room full of unease at the continuation of events, and felt his worry deepen at the sight of a small, handwritten note on his bed.

Picking it up, he noticed that it was in Helmrune’s hand, and stated, simply, “Meet me on the drumlin hills outside of the Keep an hour after midday meal tomorrow. Come armed. Tell nothing to Esther. All will be settled.”

The young Fool heaved a sigh, it looked to be that this would be finished the way most conflicts are finished by foolish men; by the sword. While combat was not the solution that he would have liked, Touchstone had confidence in his ability to keep both himself and Helmrune out of most harm and subdue his opponent without bloodshed. Things would be settled in one way or another, and though he would not admit it to himself, the young Fool secretly relished the thought of ending the conflict quickly with steel; avoiding the long, tedious and uncomfortable process of bandying words, accustomed to such a thing as he was.

He slept.

To Be Continued in Chapter 6

Enough, More Later.
- James

A Story of Swords, Part 1 (Revised)

Currently in Earphones: "The Venture Departs" from the King Kong Soundtrack, composed by James Newton Howard.

Righty, then, here's a second go round of Chapter 1 of my Story of Swords. Let me know what you all think!


Chapter 1: Justice (Revised)

From his perch on the grassy knoll, Touchstone could see far over the rolling hills into the distance. It was the beginning of spring, the chill winter colds having gradually been driven away and replaced with a balmy warm. It felt good to finally sit outside in the cool morning air while watching the sun rise, after months of being cooped up in the keep. The recent freedom wasn’t going to last, he reflected, conflict had been slowly brewing almost since the snows began to fall, and he was no less involved in the culmination that would come to the surface later on in the day.

The young Fool was a good friend of Ginndem clan, in whose keep he had been resident for the past winter. Having lost a life in one of the principates farther south, he had fled north with a single possession. A Sword, looking to be exactly a meter long, its black hilt un-mistakable: The white circle embedded in the smooth black had been a comfort as he had traveled north, its simple design soothing in comparison to the life he left behind.

Touchstone now fingered the midnight hilt, the cool morning wind rustling through his brown hair as he remembered how it had come into his possession. During his flight those many months ago, he had come upon a magician and his apprentice, the former a dark and wiry man. He had worn a strip of cloth tied about his eyes, and it was the sword at his side that had taken the young Fool’s attention.

“Who’s there?” said magician, as Touchstone had approached the fire.

“I….seek safety,” The young Fool stammered, his voice raspy with disuse, “may I rest here?”

The magicians’ eyebrows met together in a frown over the strip of cloth, and he rested his hand lightly on the black hilt at his side. Touchstone, though too tired even to ready himself for combat, thought he saw the sword vibrate ever so slightly. He blinked, and the effect was gone. The frown disappeared from the wiry man’s forehead and he relaxed, “Come, boy, there’s room around the fire for another, and we have enough food for three, do we not, Lo-Yang?”

The other man nodded, and though suspicion still was evident on his face, he began filling a third wooden bowl with stew from the small cauldron they had on the fire. Handing it to Touchstone, the three sat equidistant from each other and ate.

The meal was carried on in silence, and Lo-Yang gradually relaxed as it became clear that the young Fool really was seeking only shelter and not conflict. As they finished, the blind magician turned to Touchstone.

“My name is Keyes. Normally I wouldn’t be so open, but the Sword of Justice here is amply named. Its reaction tells me you are in a bad way, and I don’t need Doomgiver here to tell me you mean us no harm.”

“I’m Touchstone,” said the young Fool, “But…Sword of Justice? What do you mean?”

Keyes scoffed, “You haven’t heard? After we told that loudmouthed Bard about our little misadventure I figured the whole country would be filled with talk of the Swords.” At Touchstone’s confused look, he continued, “Here is what has come to pass…”

He told the young fool of the Twelve Swords of power, forged by the Gods as a game amongst them, and how he and Lo-Yang had thwarted the divine use of them and how the blades had scattered across the world. He also told of how Doomgiver had protected him further after their adventure with the Gods and as his eyes healed; a result of his experimentation with it. Touchstone asked many questions and clarifications along the way, and Keyes became impressed with the young Fools attentiveness, becoming more talkative and relaxed as the conversation continued.

When the story was finished, Touchstone asked, “If Doomgiver deals in justice, would it ever work against the user if his or her intentions were less than savory?”

Keyes smiled, “An apt question, but one I’ve not yet tested. I do know, however, that it won’t protect you from acts of stupidity. Though it kept me safe if my intention was to travel without the use of my eyes, it wouldn’t save me if I intentionally tried to walk off a cliff.”

“Indeed, master,” said Lo-Yang, one side of his mouth curving wryly upward, “had I not been around your experimentation with the blade might have fallen rather short.”

Keyes’ smile twisted to mimic his apprentices now mischievous grin and, addressing Touchstone more than Lo-Yang, said, “I’m glad my apprentice has only recently decided to become thick-headed, otherwise my story might have ended sooner than that, say at the mercy of Mars in that forsaken cave.” Lo-Yang chuckled and Touchstone smiled in spite of himself.

“Stonecutter is simple enough,” said the young Fool, looking towards the two black-hilted swords strapped to Keyes’ load beast, “But the Tyrant’s Blade…it would seem that that should be destroyed as quickly as possible, or given into wiser hands.”

Keyes nodded, “My thoughts exactly. I don’t plan to possess that Sword for much longer.” He then stirred the fire with the toe of his boot, and continued, “But what of you, lad? What exactly is it that you’ve left behind?”

Touchstone became more somber, pulling his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t suppose I need to illustrate much when I say it was an affair of the heart.” The two men nodded in agreement, and the young Fool continued, “I lost something…someone…very dear to me. I don’t know if I will ever see her again. That element being gone, I had no real reason to stay where I was, and so you see me as I am now.”

“Such stories find their way into every man’s life,” said Lo-Yang, who then looked sheepish. “I would have been a Bard myself, if my Master hadn’t been the man he is. I’m afraid it was mostly my doing that the Song of Swords now exists.”

“Now that it is mentioned, I do recall hearing a verse of two of this Song of yours,” said the young Fool, eager to talk of other subjects, “I shatter swords and splinter spears, / None stands to Shieldbreaker…?”

“…My point’s is the fount of orphans’ tears, / My edge the widowmaker,” finished Lo-Yang, “Yes, that is the one.”

“And a particularly dangerous one, at that,” said Keyes, gruffly, “The Sword of Force is one to be reckoned with.”

“Could it destroy another Sword of Power?” asked Touchstone.

“In theory, yes, though once again we haven’t been able to experiment with it,” Keyes replied, and a thoughtful look began to cross his face, “but what do you think, boy? Which Swords pose the most threat, or the least?”

Touchstone thought for a moment, and then replied “Shieldbreaker, followed by Soulcutter and the Mindsword as the most dangerous. Shieldbreaker trumps all, while one could decimate many people with the Tyrants Blade or gain great power with the Sword of Glory. On the other hand, Stonecutter doesn’t have much of an effect on mortal mind or body, and Dragonslicer only works on those great beasts, so those two could be the least dangerous.”

Keyes leaned back, a satisfied smile growing on his face, “And what of Doomgiver?”

“Well, if it draws from Justice, then little would matter of its wielder. If the bearer were a good person, he could be in possession of the blade with little detriment, and if the bearer used it maliciously, I imagine it would turn back on him and deal Justice as it saw fit.”

Keyes nodded, and said, “Since that seems the case, it would matter little who was in possession of it. I’ve sensed you looking at this blade, lad, you like it?”

“I’ve loved swords since I was little,” Touchstone admitted, “And its power intrigues me.”

“Then perhaps you would like to have it,” Keyes concluded, and he held up a hand to quiet an objection coming from Lo-Yang, “You’ve got a good mind for this knowledge, and from what I’ve seen of you, you have good qualities enough for being the Swords bearer.”

Keyes undid the scabbard from his belt and held out the sword in both hands. Awestruck, Touchstone received it. When his hand touched the black hilt, he felt the slightest thrum travel through the blade, and a small part of him suddenly felt lighter.

“I imagine you’re now feeling a bit calmer,” said Keyes, “Doomgiver does indeed balance the pans. Though the extent of that power may yet be discovered, I believe it is safe in your hands.”

Belting the Sword to his side, Touchstone could only find a few words for the magician, “Thank you, for everything.”

Keyes bowed his head, and said enigmatically “May Demeter’s caution protect you.”

The sun had just started to crest a line of hills in the east when Touchstone said his last goodbyes to the two men. Without their company, his own situation had once again weighed heavy on his heart, but he had set out with new hope and the Sword at his side. After a week of traveling northward, he had reached the gates of Ginndem Keep.

To Be (eventually) Continued in Chapter 2 (Revised)

Enough, More Later.
- James

A Story of Swords, Part 4

Currently in Earphones: Casino Royale soundtrack by David Arnold

(Note about the change in the title of my Blog: I knew for a while that I wasn't using good latin in it, and it needed changing. I finally went back to my dictionary and found the right vocab and put it in the right form, but I'm still fuzzy on whether or not I can make up a modified praenomen as I did or if that form is a no-no. I like it though, so foo on the rest.)

Phew, my papers are finally all over with. I've got a bit of a breather between now and finals, and I've taken full advantage of the fact by vegging out and putting a bit more time into my Story of Swords. Having a boatload of time on your hands that you don't need to devote schoolwork to is a neat thing.

I went back over Part 1 and realized its in bad need of a re-write. I was basically trying to write a prologue to set everything up and include any pertinent information, so I was writing to get to the beginning and not nessecarily to set up anything secondary. My first task is to make Keyes a bit more believable in his motives for simply handing a sword over, and although I'd rather not make our protagonist a Mary Sue, I might have to emphasize his good qualities a tad more to accomplish it. Secondly, to expand the amount of time in order to really show that these men spent 8-10 hours with each other and didn't just meet in passing. My sticking point for fantasy is that the material reality of such stories can be anything you'd like, but there still needs to exist a human reality for things to hold an element of believability.

I've also noticed that my chapters tend to be about 3 pages long (that is, in a Word document), and part 1 falls short by about half a page. If I'm ever worried about my writing, I feel better taking the long way around to set things up and illustrate aspects of the story in more detail, so it's good to know that I have some wiggle room if I want to keep this stuff uniform. As an example, I originally intended for this story to be only a few pages long, but then I realized that I wanted to make these characters to be more three-dimensional and to have the readers care about them. In order to do that, I needed to make my story longer, and thus do you see it as it is coming along now.

And now, without further ado, Part 4.

Chapter 4: Pastimes

The Sun beat down from its apex and Touchstone wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Feeling sufficiently limber, he sheathed Doomgiver, but kept it loose in the scabbard. Though the current situation weighed heavy on his heart, he began to recall the good times that had preceded the conflict.

During the middle of winter, both Touchstone and Helmrune were restless, and decided to sweep the snow from the practice yard in order to spar. Though they were chided by the arms master for attempting such a fruitless task, they would fence for a good part of the day. However, after a set of two or three bouts they had to continually clear away the newest layer of snow, for it was falling near constantly.

The yard would often have four occupants during the days that followed: The young Fool, the young Lord, Esther, usually wrapped in warm furs, and despite his grumpiness, the arms master himself. The only sounds that emanated from the yard, muffled by the falling snow, were the occasional clash of wood-on-wood, or the even more rare sound of steel-on-steel, encouragement or corrections from the master, and shouts of triumph or defeat from the young men.

During those times, Touchstone would lose himself in the dance of swords: The slow circling, the testing of defenses, the foiled attacks and the hasty defenses. Time was spent more in calm alertness and calculation, looking for the clear winning blow, than in actual action. Energy was still spent in maintaining an ever changing defense, feinting here and there, and constantly moving, though more than once the young Fool imagined that his sparring with Helmrune must have looked terribly boring. Regardless of his thoughts, Esther seemed constantly captivated by the two young men in their combat, and even learned a fair amount of swordplay herself. Touchstone enjoyed the atmosphere, the quiet of the snow like a soft cloth muffling his ears, and the cold weather that kept him alert and ready.

After a particularly fierce bout, which Touchstone had won (more by luck than anything else, he thought), Esther had run to meet the men from the small alcove in which she usually watched. Coming lightly toward him, she placed a small kiss on Touchstone’s cheek, and he smiled in spite of himself. As he turned back to congratulate his opponent on a well fought match, he saw jealousy in his eyes. It was an emotion familiar to the young Fool, and to see such green loathing caused pity to well in his heart for the young Lord. As he was thinking this, Helmrune said aloud, “Would that I had your luck.” He then closed his mouth quickly, looking somewhat ashamed of himself.

Touchstone smiled, approached the young Lord and clapped him on the shoulder. “I suspect if you had my luck, you’d feel differently.”

“And why would you?” said Esther, coming towards them, “You have an amazing skill with a sword, among other good qualities as well.”

Helmrune blushed slightly at Esther’s praise, and Touchstone noticed his face soften and warmth enter into his eyes as he chuckled, “I suppose I do.”

“Indeed,” Touchstone wryly quipped, “my 7 losing bouts out of 11 and a body full of bruises attest it. Let’s get something to eat, though, I’m starving.” The three, friends once again, left for the kitchens.

Warming themselves by the large fires, they helped themselves to a pile of warm breads that the cook had set aside for them, for the castle had grown used to the two visitor’s peculiar sparring habits. After they had eaten their fill, Esther pulled a sprig of round leaves from one of her pockets.

“It’s a new plant I’ve been working on,” she explained, “People are fond of the Quickleaf, which they either brew or chew on to recover themselves, as you two know.” She held up a leaf, which had the same shape as the plant she mentioned, but had a webbed pattern uncharacteristic of its usual smooth surface. “I’ve tried crossing one with Mint, to counteract the naturally bitter taste. I think it’s a moderate success.” She gave a few leaves to each young man, and each looked at them with equal parts wonder and skepticism.

Touchstone looked at Helmrune and gave him a mock-frightened gasp, “But what if this strange plant turns us into rabbits?”

The young Lord grinned, a fleeting appreciation of the young Fools odd humor that Touchstone found kinship in, and said, “Not that it would change much, anyway.” Touchstone shrugged and the two young men chewed on the leaves. The young Fool was pleasantly surprised to find the cool taste of the mint dulling the bitter tang of the Quickleaf, but he stifled a slight grimace at the potency of the latter.

Before he could prepare a fitting complement, Esther had caught their reactions and said “I know, I’m working on lessening the taste. I just need to find a milder form of Quickleaf…”

“It’s certainly effective,” said Helmrune, “I feel like I could spar with Touchstone for another day. It’s amazing what you’ve done with your plants, and to think about all you could do with your knowledge.”

Esther smiled shyly at his praise, looking up through her lashes at the young Lord, and said “Thanks, I’m glad you liked it.”

Touchstone, thankful for the ease that was settling into Helmrunes manner and replacing the stiff formality that had been there earlier, heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “If you two are finished, I have yet to finish telling you one of my stories. I believe there are a good fire and a good audience out in the great hall.”

“And will this be as good as your ‘Blind Mans Blade’?” teased Esther, “I’m not sure if anything else can measure up to the Swords of Power.” One of the first stories Touchstone had told by firelight was that of Keyes and the Swords, so popular had it been that only after a few days the whole keep could recite the verses of the Song by heart.

“All stories have merit,” responded the young Fool, “simply because some happen to be more fantastic then others shouldn’t lessen the value of the more mundane.” Helmrune nodded in agreement and offered Esther his arm. She took it, smiling, and they all began to make their way to the great hall.

At the threshold of the hall, a kitchen boy came running after the young Fool. “Touchstone!” he called out, familiarly, and the young man knelt to be at his eye level.

“Well, m’lad!” said the young Fool, “what have we here?” The boy’s eyes gleamed, as if holding a barely contained secret, a knowing grin on his face.

“It’s Coinspinner! It’s here! In the North country!”

The eyes of the young Lord and Esther widened, and Touchstone responded, “What? How?”

“There’ve been stories going around,” said the boy, breathlessly, “that a strange sword has been appearing and disappearing through the various Houses. Miraculous and strange things have been happening, but everyone says that, in some way, luck has been shifting around. It’s Coinspinner! How can’t it be?”

“You be careful with that story, lad,” said Touchstone, “Such things have an odd way of spreading to all sorts of ears, and not good ones like yours or mine.” The boy grinned mischievously, triumphant that he had drawn the same conclusion as the young Fool, but seeing Touchstone’ serious expression and unsmiling eyes, the expression fell from his face.

The young man’s face softened at the boy’s penitent expression and he ruffled the hair on his small head. “It’s not you I’m worried about, lad, it’s those Swords. Now run along.” The little one scampered off, leaving the three to ponder the situation.

“Coinspinner…” said Helmrune, his eyes unfocused, as if surveying the horizon for possibilities, “I wonder at what those stories have been like.”

“With the Sword of Chance as a force, they could be anything,” mused the young Fool.

“Well,” said Esther, with finality, “unless it arrives on our doorstep, there’s little good in worrying or thinking about it. Don’t you still owe us a tale yourself, good Sir Fool?”

Touchstone nodded, and, the dark mood dissipated, the three continued toward the great hall.

To Be Continued in Chapter 5

Enough, More Later.
- James

A Story of Swords, Part 3

Currently in Earphones: Danny the Dog by Massive Attack

A few quick things before the next installation of my Swords story. The first, I've re-enabled comments for anyone on this blog, seeing as I've been paranoid long enough. I do warn the potential flamers out there, all comments will be sent to me for clearance before they are posted, so don't try anything funny.

Secondly, I consider this tale as a work in progress. I fully expect to get input on how people think the story is and what could be improved. Everything that's going up is basically a rough draft, formed well enough to have people see but in no way finished. Let me know what y'all think!

Thirdly, I got to see Casino Royale a week back, and I loved the heck out of it. Le Chiffre is probably my favorite Bond villain of them all: I don't know if this was an invention of the script-writers, but to have him be asthmatic was friggin awesome. The funny thing, as I was telling Patrick a few days ago, was that for all the sucking on the Albuteral that the villain did, he was very rarely out of breath. Anyway, everyone go watch it, if you haven't already.

And away we go!

Chapter 3: Friendship

The sun had climbed slightly closer to it’s apex since Touchstone had last checked, and he stood up on the knoll in order to stretch his legs. Since he still had quite some time until the meeting was to occur, he unsheathed Doomgiver and began to practice his footwork on the gently sloping hill. After he had found his footing, his body naturally settled into the familiar sets of parry drills. His mind free, he continued to think about his recovery in Ginndem Keep.

Although he didn’t see Esther again after that first encounter, he was looked after by the matronly Lady Ginndem. She had clucked and fussed over the young Fool’s thin and lanky frame, bringing him hearty stews, meats, and breads for his meals. Touchstone was only too happy to oblige, though he was also weak enough to not be able to refuse. Lady Ginndem reminded him of his own mother; the round and solid frame, the quiet voice, and the care in everything she did. Under her care, Ginndem Keep began to feel like a second home.

A week after his arrival, he was up and walking again, if not quickly, and he had begun to explore the keep with Esther. The practice yard caught his interest, being a man of the sword, yet she was quick to point out that no-one used it during the winter, the weather being too harsh. They visited Esther’s sunroom as well, and Touchstone was fascinated by the system of oiled animal-skins that both let in sunlight yet maintained a pleasantly warm temperature within. There was also a small fire-pit in the middle of the room, “Mainly to keep me warm in the colder months,” she had explained, “most of these plants can survive the cold, but there are a few that I can lose if I’m not careful.” Touchstone felt a certain comfort resting in the sunroom, the green surrounding him lightened his thoughts and his heart, and he found himself spending many a time conversing with Esther among the plants.

Another week passed, and the young Fool felt strength returning. He found himself spending more and more time in Esther’s company, her friendship was invaluable, but he also felt the thrill of knowing that there may be more to their simple desire to wile away the hours with each other. Whenever they accidentally bumped into each other, whenever their hands brushed as each passed by, Touchstone felt a desire that he had not felt since his days of courting in the southern lands. He wanted to become involved with Esther because it filled the hole in his heart, but at the same time he did not want to, and when he felt the latter he would become quiet and twist the silver ring around his finger.

He was saved the trouble of dealing with his feelings when a new visitor arrived at Ginndem Keep. A young man, of similar stature as Touchstone, approached and kneeled before Lord Ginndem, while the young Fool and Esther watched from the side. “I am the Lord of Helmrune, sir,” the young man stated.

Lord Ginndem sat back in his throne, waiting for some further explanation. When none came, he asked “And what brings you to Ginndem Keep?”

Helmrune’s face, maintaining a blank passivity, said “My father wishes that I leave and explore the world, now that I have received Lordship.” Touchstone felt somewhat disquieted by the lack of animation on the young Lord’s face, and whether or not Lord Ginndem felt the same way, he could not tell, for he was busy smoothing his mustache out, much as he had the day Touchstone had arrived.

“I’m curious, boy,” said Lord Ginndem, and if Helmrune took offence at the diminutive, his face showed no sign, “Why here? Ginndem Keep isn’t full of any court intrigue, and combat or military training can be had better and more easily with some our neighbors.”

A shadow of thought passed over Helmrune’s face, but it came and left so quickly that Touchstone thought he might have imagined it. The young Lord took a breath, “It is the first step on my journey.”

Lord Ginndem paused, digesting this small piece of information, and then smiled at Helmrune. It was a friendly smile, but it lacked the warmth that Touchstone remembered from his own experience. “Very well. I daresay you’ll have some good company, what with another wanderer staying with us as well.” Lord Ginndem looked toward the place where Touchstone and Esther were standing, and Helmrune followed his gaze. The eyes of the two young men met, and the young Fool felt a clash of emotion. He saw in Helmrune many qualities of himself, which would otherwise inspire a growing desire to become friends. Yet, for almost the same reasons, he was repulsed, perhaps because he also saw his failings, perhaps for some other, unknown, reason.

Ignoring his opposing thoughts, Touchstone strode forward and introduced himself, warmly shaking the newcomer’s hand. Helmrune’s face remained impassive, but the greeting was returned with no less cordiality. The young Fool found himself having a hard time looking at the young Lords face as pleasantries were exchanged, and was embarrassed that he could neither meet his gaze nor hold it for very long. It was simply a feeling of dislike, but founded on no reason that the young Fool could think of. Upon Lord Ginndem’s suggestion, Esther led Helmrune to a room he could stay in, and Touchstone was left alone to mull over the new arrival.

Lord Ginndem had sat back down on his throne as Touchstone approached. The young Fool rubbed his stubbly chin, thinking, while in the Lords field of view, both of the current situation and his distaste for shaving. “What troubles you, lad?” said the Lord.

“I don’t know,” replied the Fool, “There’s something about Helmrune I find disquieting.”

“While he is decidedly less…animate, he seems to possess the same sincerity that I see in you.”

“That is the crux: I see no reason why I should feel so off balance.”

“You’ll find, lad, that there are people in the world who will make you feel that way,” said the Lord, “Sometimes, it’s as you say: there seems to be no reason for it. If you think time away from him would be best for you, the Keep is large.”

“I don’t know,” replied the young Fool, “I’ll have to see how this all plays out.”

Another week then passed, and the young Fool and the young Lord met each other sporadically. Touchstone would often join Esther and Helmrune at the hearth of the great hall, and the young Lord sometimes sat with the others in the Sunroom. Each man began to learn of each other as the three passed the time in conversation. Touchstone would tell of great myths and legends of old, bringing smiles to Esther’s and even Helmrune’s stoic face. The young Lord himself would tell of his life in the East, and the others would listen attentively, asking questions and relating similar tales of their own. Esther, by far, told the best stories, both of her life in the Keep and her knowledge of things that grow. Each of the young men devoured her words with hungry ears, and all would laugh or be silent as one when she held the conversation.

Though friendship grew between the three, Touchstone never quite became comfortable with the young Lord. Even during times when they felt like brothers, there was an odd detachment in the young Fool’s mind. Perhaps it was Helmrune’s inscrutability, the lack of response that would tell the young Fool how the other regarded him in his turn. Eventually it faded to the back of his mind and became a natural part of his life with the Keep.

While that situation eased into a sense of normalcy, Touchstone’s relationship with Esther remained mostly unchanged. Though the two shared time together, perhaps a few quiet words on the parapets at night, a few moments sharing each others warmth under the cold night sky, the young Fool couldn’t bring himself to fully explain his situation to her, or to fully begin to court her. As much as he desired change, he also felt the pull of the past, and the chance that he had to go back.

In addition to his own uncertainty on the matter, Esther also was spending more time with Helmrune. Whether in friendship or flirtation was something that Touchstone couldn’t tell, but he believed that his own reticence was most likely contributing to the whole situation. Such things became background occurrences to the cameraderie that they all shared, however, and life continued to go on within the stone walls.

To Be Continued in Chapter 4

Enough. More Later,
- James

A Story of Swords, Part 2

Currently in Earphones: Chocolat Soundtrack by Rachel Portman

The next chapter of my story feels fairly ready. I'm at a point where I've touched on all the places I want to, but I'm unsure if I want to add any more bits and pieces. I'll post it as it is now, and if I come up with any other ideas or additions, I'll add them later.

By the way, Lord Ginndem's line about goodness and humility is from Robert Louis Stevenson, taken from his excellent book Kidnapped. Just wanting to cite my sources.

Chapter 2: Safety

Shaking his head, Touchstone brought himself back to the grassy knoll and out of the reverie that he was usually wont to fall into. He still had time before the confrontation would occur, and thinking about it only made him think back as to how the whole mess came together. He found himself remembering the first time he had arrived at the Keep.

It had been a cold day, and the first snows of winter were beginning to fall. Having lived in the south all his life, snow was a novelty, and in spite of the burden on his heart, he found himself enjoying the simple pleasures of tasting the falling flakes. He was, however, near starving as well. His foolish pride made him only eat little from the few houses he stayed in during the last few days of his travel. Whether this fasting was caused by bravado or reduced sense of self-worth, he was near collapsing as he trudged the last few paces toward the drawbridge of Ginndem Keep.

The commoners in the area had informed him of the character of Lord Ginndem: a stern man, but also generous and good-hearted. Since the Fool had come from a good family, if not well known, his name if not his upright bearing would no doubt vouchsafe him with the Lord. Touchstone could barely stand as he was announced and brought before him. While kneeling and delivering salutations, he thought it better to stay on one leg as he explained his situation, fearful that he would faint and end up in the dungeon, much less a room, before his position was known.

After the initial greetings and when the young fool had given as much truth as he thought pertinent, Lord Ginndem smoothed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger: “Some time away from home, eh lad? I’m no stranger myself to needing time to collect ones’ thoughts.” Pausing, he heaved a sigh. “The snows are coming, however, and much of my people winter in the keep.”

Understanding, Touchstone quickly explained “If I am too much of a burden, I need not stay long. I will work and make myself useful, if it pleases you, and keep to myself. I don’t wish to be unwanted, and I would rather be of use than idle.”

Smiling, as if the young Fool had passed a test, the Lord rose from his throne and moved towards him with surprising grace for a man of his girth. “There are two things,” he said, his eyes still smiling though his mouth had adopted a more serious set, “that man should never tire of: goodness and humility; we get none too much of them in this rough world and among cold, proud people. You, my boy, seem to possess both, and for that, you are welcome here.” Touchstone bowed his head in thanks, and the Lord made a dismissive noise and clapped him on the shoulder. As Touchstone looked back up at the Lord, his vision sparkled with fatigue.

Lord Ginndem continued; “I daresay things will be more interesting about the keep now that we have a new visitor. My family often gets restless after they have met with their old friends, and I’m sure my daughters wouldn’t mind a young man to give their attentions to.” Although the boy caught the mischievousness in the old man’s voice, vision and hearing alike were becoming hazy, and he managed to look around the Lord’s shoulder to a new figure approaching the room.

She was a young woman, of middle height, with raven black hair and a pleasantly round face. Obviously one of the Lord’s daughters, judging by her dress, and the last thing Touchstone remembered was seeing her eyes widen as she caught sight of him kneeling in front of her father. At the end of his strength, he crumpled to the side and knew no more.

The next he remembered, he was lying in a soft bed with warm covers. A fire was crackling and snapping pleasantly in the nearby fireplace, and his clothes had been washed and folded on a chair next to him. To his relief, the black hilt of Doomgiver was visible over the chairs back, the scabbard and belt draped over the side. He idly rubbed his thumb over the side of his forefinger, and he felt the same comfort of seeing the sword as finding the small silver ring in its usual place. A simple knot design adorned it, and remembering that it had a twin to the south brought back his melancholy. The feeling was dull, however; his new situation and surroundings taking the majority of his interest. If he was to continue on, he mused, he couldn’t let the past shackle him.

As he was alternately marveling at the quality of the room and mulling over his thoughts, the Lord’s daughter whom he had seen earlier entered the room with a tray of simple food. Approaching the bed, she said “I’ve brought you some food, my lord.”

“Please,” said he, “I’m no lord. You may call me Touchstone.”

“A fool’s name?” she asked as she set the tray on the bed stand.

“For a Fool I am,” he replied. “If you don’t mind,” he added sheepishly, “I’m quite hungry…”

“Oh, of course!” and helped him sit up before placing the tray in his lap, for he was still weak with fatigue. As he munched on the warm meat and bread, she sat down in a chair next to the bed, “I heard your story from father. You’re from the lands to the south?”

“Indeed I am.” He paused, wanting to qualify his answer, but also anxious of saying too much. “I was in need of a change of scenery.”

She looked pensive, then laughed and said “Why did you really leave?”

Caught off guard at her frankness and insight, he thought for a moment. “I suppose you could say that things changed. Complications arose. I could no longer find my footing, and I needed to continue moving. So, in a sense, I really did need a change of scenery, if not for simply being bored.”

Smiling and seemingly satisfied at the further, if not clearer, explanation, she started and said, “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Esther, Lord Ginndem’s eldest.”

“A pleasure,” said Touchstone, then added wryly “and have you any equally obscure past?”

She shrugged, “I’ve lived here and around here all my life. There was a time when I wished to be somewhere, anywhere, else than here, but I found new friends and new activities to keep me occupied. The local naturalist taught me of plants and creatures a long time ago, and I’ve been fascinated by such things ever since. Father even let me keep a sunroom for growing herbs and the like.” She giggled and continued, “I daresay he can’t get by now without a little Rosemary seasoning his food, he loves the taste so much.”

Touchstone nodded. Since he had left the southern lands he had run into few young women, but he found their vapidity unappealing. Esther’s interest in things beyond court gossip and such things was refreshing, and even attractive.

As his heart stirred, old memories also came to the surface, and he began to twist the silver ring around his finger. Catching sight of this, Esther asked, “What is that?”

Collecting his wits, he replied, “A memento,” then added, almost without thinking, “of something, perhaps, long gone.”

Seeing the simple design, she tilted her head. “Perhaps…it’s closer than you think.”

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Touchstone could only manage a small chuckle, even though her statement made him think harder. His eyes were partly on the ring and partly on Esther as she moved toward the door. “By the way,” she said, pausing under the lintel, “You talk in your sleep.” Startled by the remark, Touchstone lifted his eyes to see Esther closing the door, but still looking at him with an enigmatic smile on her face.

He was then alone, with only some food, the ring, Doomgiver, and his thoughts.

To be continued in Chapter 3

Enough. More Later,
- James

A Story of Swords, Part 1

Currently in Earphones: Caledonia's Hardy Sons, by Silly Wizard

I don't know how many of you all are familiar with Fred Saberhagen's Sword series, but I reccomend that you all go read them when you get the chance. Though I find most fan fiction to be somewhat repulsive, I'm trying my hand at writing a story of my own within the Swords universe. I've gotten the first chapter done, in a rough form at least. I'm still working on a title, but here's what I think can be shown for the time being.

Note: This story assumes you have some basic knolwedge of the Swords universe. I reccomend those who are unfamiliar to check out the above link and at least get info on the swords themselves. The characters of Keyes and Lo-Yang are from the short story Blind Man's Blade, written by Saberhagen and included in a book of short stories called An Armory of Swords, which would also be useful to peruse if any of the events hinted at in this chapter are unclear.


Chapter 1: Justice

From his perch on the grassy knoll, Touchstone could see far over the rolling hills into the distance. It was the beginning of spring, the chill winter colds having gradually been driven away and replaced with a balmy warm. It felt good to finally sit outside, after months of being cooped up in the keep. The recent freedom wasn’t going to last, he reflected, hearts and minds had been warring, almost since the snows began to fall, within the walls, and his own were no less involved in the conflict that would surely come to the surface as the days warmed.

The young Fool was a good friend of Ginndem clan, in whose keep he had been resident for the past winter. Having lost a life in one of the principates farther south, he had fled north with a single possession. A Sword, looking to be exactly a meter long, its black hilt un-mistakable: The white circle embedded in the smooth black had been a comfort as he had traveled north, its simple design soothing in comparison to the complicated life he left behind.

Touchstone now fingered the midnight hilt, the warm spring wind rustling through his brown hair as he remembered how it had come into his possession. During his flight he had come upon a magician and his apprentice, the former a dark and wiry man by the name of Keyes. He had worn a strip of cloth tied about his eyes, yet had walked as any seeing man did. It was the sword at his side that had taken the young Fool’s attention, the very one that was in his possession now.

Though Touchstone had still been numb with grief, Keyes had been kind in sharing some of the stew that his apprentice, Lo-Yang, had been cooking when the three had met. The warm firelight was comforting to the young fool, and the quiet companionship of the two men eased his mind. After they had eaten, the young man could only stare in wonder at the magician’s sightless vision.

“You’re probably wondering about my eyes,” said Keyes, with a small smile, “When I acquired Doomgiver, here, I temporarily lost my sight. Thinking this blade to be the Sword of Mercy, I tried to heal myself, but to no avail.” As if sensing Touchstone’s confusion, he laughed aloud and said “Have you not heard of the Twelve Swords of Power, forged by the Gods themselves? Then I shall tell you of them…”

That night, the young fool learned of Keyes’ research and of the Swords and their powers. Lo-Yang told of a traveling bard to whom they related their adventure with three of the great weapons, and the resulting song the bard composed concerning the Twelve Swords had spread like wildfire through the land. Despite of his melancholy, Touchstone, familiar with the song, quickly learned the verses he didn’t know and contributed his soft but true voice to a recitation of it. He even told the two men of his own plight, and neglected little detail, so safe he felt in their company.

After they had spoken for a while and they had become familiar with each other’s stories, the young fool asked of Keyes, “If your blindness was of magical origins and lifted by the Sword of Justice, then why do you still bind your eyes?” Keyes rubbed his forehead and responded “We never did get our hands on Woundhealer, and it was better to let my lids heal while closed. I experimented with Doomgiver further after our escape, and found that it kept me safe if I was merely traveling without the aid of my eyes. Lo-Yang can tell you: If I tried to make a purposeful attempt on my life, as I tried to walk off a cliff during my experimentation, the Sword of Justice recognized my foolhardiness and would not intervene.”

Lo-Yang, who appeared to have once been meek and servile, chuckled and remarked “I doubt you would have lasted half as long had you not me to fix your foolish errors.” With a wry smile, Keyes turned back to the young fool.

“I’m glad my apprentice has only recently decided to become thick-headed, I imagine I’d be in a much worse position if he had done so while I was in the cave.” The Master and the student shared a laugh at the goodhearted jibe. “In any case,” he continued, “Doomgiver continues to keep me safe from harm as it seems to know that I am, genuinely, unable to see until I heal. I trusted and continue to trust in the Swords power, and thus have I been able to function as you see me now.”

“A Sword that balances the pans…” Touchstone half-recited.

“Indeed,” replied Keyes, “the Blind Man’s Blade.” The young man found himself liking Keyes’ epithet for the sword, and aside from the obvious connotation, wondered why it felt so fitting. Keyes took a deep breath and untied the blindfold, blinked in the firelight a few times, then looked at his new companion. “It appears I no longer need it,” he remarked, fingering the cloth, “and it also appears that I no longer need the Sword of Justice.” Both Lo-Yang and the young Fool started as if one person.

“But why?” asked the apprentice, “Surely Doomgiver would keep us safe as we continued to look for the other swords.”

“I’ve had it long enough, and it looks like it would eventually find its way to someone else more in need of balance than I. No doubt that if I had it long enough, I could misuse it, and its power would surely turn back on me. Besides, it seems our young companion here could benefit from it." He turned back to the young Fool, "I like you, boy. You’ve got a good mind for knowledge and have more honesty than I’ve seen in a great while. You grasp what the Swords can do, and I believe such a power would be safe in your hands.” Lo-Yang, who had joked and laughed with Touchstone as the night had worn on, nodded in agreement as he grasped his master’s intentions.

Amazed and humbled, the young man took the sword and sheath from Keyes’ outstretched hands, which had deftly unbuckled them from his belt. After donning it, and feeling a new sense of belonging even with these near strangers, Touchstone clasped Keyes hand in thanks, and embraced him in spite of himself. Keyes smiled and gave the boy a friendly clap on the shoulder. “I will live up to your trust,” said the young Fool, “thank you for everything.”

“I believe you shall,” said Keyes, and added, enigmatically, “May Demeter’s caution protect you.”

The sun had just started to crest a line of hills in the east when Touchstone said his last goodbyes to the two men. Without their company, his own situation had once again weighed heavy on his heart, but he had set out with new hope and the Sword at his side. After a week of traveling northward, he had reached the gates of Ginndem Keep.

To Be Continued in Chapter 2

Enough, More Later,
- James