| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
.
| Written by Pam L. Wallace / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| Willful Steel |
“Look there, Sword.”
Startled awake by Will’s exuberant remark, Ameena almost peeked through his eyes for the source of his
enthusiasm. She caught herself just in time.
Will laid his hand on her hilt, his skin warm against her steel. She drew inward, hiding from his questing
curiosity. She’d sworn to never again reveal herself.
After a long moment, Will removed his hand, and she fancied he shrugged before continuing, “The signpost
says one more league to Stanton Crossing. By nightfall, I’ll have a pint of ale in hand and my feet drying in
front of a hot fire. Won’t that feel grand?”
Ameena couldn’t imagine anything less grand. Fire was an agonizing reminder of her forging and the day her
soul was trapped.
“Tomorrow, you and I will meet with Lord Stanton. And he’ll pay for his crime against my sister.” Will’s
normally cheerful tone bristled.
Will carried on with his patter, as he’d done almost non-stop since he’d purchased her a fortnight ago. The
weather, the smell of the swamp, the Gods-forsaken gnats and mosquitoes—nothing, it seemed, escaped his
notice, and all earned an opinion.
Ameena wished he would be quiet so she could escape to her dreams again. Awareness brought her only
painful memories. Doing her best to ignore him, she let the sun’s warmth lull her back to sleep.
She dreamed of Brychan; his calloused hand tight around her hilt. In complete rapport, they moved as one,
her blade ringing against another. Brychan’s bloodlust filled her with zeal; she sighed as flesh gave way to
her edge. Each movement was a dance; she sang as she cut through the air in the killing stroke.
“I hear you, you know.”
Will’s whisper jolted her from the dream. A chill swept down her blade. Horrified, she wondered if she’d sang
out loud in her sleep. She shriveled her awareness to a tight ball buried deep within her hilt.
“When I first held you in the shop, I felt...something. Like a humming, or a buzzing, just beneath my hearing,”
Will said. “Grandmam always said I had a special understanding.”
Ameena remembered how she’d awakened at his touch, confused for a moment into thinking Brychan had
called her. When she’d come to full awareness, the heartache had hit her strong.
“I’ve dreamed of fighting with you in my hand and hearing you sing.” Will traced the length of her handguard.
Ameena held her silence. After Brychan had died, she’d vowed to never feel such pain again. Her heart as
implacable as the steel that encased her, she passed her time mostly in dreams. Every once in a while, she
opened herself enough to listen to the world around her. She could remain below the awareness of whoever
held her as long as she didn’t look through their eyes.
Will’s voice, when he finally spoke, was wistful. “I wish you’d awaken. I could really use your help tomorrow.”
She almost reached out to him then. Once she’d been young and full of dreams. She’d been a fool, and it had
cost her everything.
Eventually Will let his breath out in a long drawn-out sigh before he continued on his way, whistling a morose
tune.
#
A cool breeze swirled through the open door of the inn’s common room. Will had been sitting at a table for
some time and his right hand had not yet left Ameena’s hilt. She sensed a tautness to him, a nervous energy
that stirred the air, impossible to ignore. His tankard landed with a hollow thud on the table.
He rose and asked someone the way to Lord Stanton’s estate. A deep male voice gave directions. It
reminded her of her father’s voice, melodic and with a slight drawl. Did this man smile as often as her father
had? Or had once, she should say, before the illness entered their house, stealing the lives of her mother and
two sisters—and Ameena’s ability to walk.
How could a man keep a farm going with no wife to help him and an invalid daughter to care for? And yet, he
had. For five long years, until his back bowed under the weight of so much work. Never once had he
complained, but the weariness colored his eyes a listless gray.
Will gripped her hilt, awakening her from her reverie. He pulled her from the scabbard. Crisp morning air, tart
with the odor of ripening apples, bit at her blade. He rapped her pommel against an oaken surface. They must
have arrived at Stanton’s home. The boy was a fool, much too green to attempt a duel. His practice sessions
had consisted of him banging the bark off a half-dozen trees. At least he’d the sense to hone her blade after.
Footsteps echoed from inside the house. The door made no noise as it opened, only a stir of air. She felt
something on that air, something sinister, like a black growth on the base of a tree, rotting it from the inside
out.
“I’m here to see Lord Stanton,” Will said.
“Indeed.” A sniff, as if the man smelled something distasteful.
The flat of her blade scraped against the closing door; her point scratched against flesh. “Indeed.” Will’s
voice, although quiet, was strong. The servant retreated, but Will followed, Ameena’s tip snug against the
man’s skin.
Ameena felt someone else approaching. A whiff of a sour smell, a taint of something evil.
“What’s this?” The voice was cultured and well-modulated, underlain with a tone of superiority.
“Lord Stanton. I demand redress in the name of my sister.” Will lowered Ameena’s blade.
“And your sister would be...?”
Will’s fingers gave an almost imperceptible jerk and his grip tightened. “You don’t know? How many young
women have you forced to your will?” Her point moved toward the man’s voice.
Steel slithered against leather and another blade slid against her own. She recoiled in shock from that touch.
She knew that blade, that malevolence, the moment his steel touched hers. And it knew her.
:Ameena.
Felt, not heard, for the blade, like her, had no mouth to speak. :Gunthor!
:What a pleasant surprise.
:You put yourself in a blade?
:It was always my intention. Eternal life.
:Eternal prison you mean! Never to smell the rain, to go where I wish, to dance—to live?
:Ameena. Such a weak, pathetic girl. I have lived—many different lives. Did you never notice the control you could
exert on your handler?
:That’s...that’s immoral! Why was she surprised? Gunthor had shown no compunction with her own life.
:But such fun, molding others to my will. And now another dream fulfilled. I’ve long wondered if we should ever
meet, blade to blade.
:The only thing I’ve longed for was the chance to watch your slow and painful death, she answered. Brychan and I
searched for you across the land.
:Sorry to disappoint you, my dear. But after Stanton and I send your friend here off to the Great Beyond, we can
become reacquainted, eh? Stanton will be well pleased to bond with two swords.
She shuddered at the thought of enduring Gunthor’s sneering presence day after day. And she’d thought her
life could get no worse.
She had only one hope, and that was to convince Will to leave. She opened herself and leapt into his
awareness. :You must stop this foolishness, she said to Will. :Turn around and go.
Will staggered back, dropping her away from Gunthor’s blade. “You truly are alive,” he said out loud.
:Yes, and I tell you that you must not fight. Now that Ameena could see through Will’s eyes, she took a long
look at both the man and the blade before her. The dark steel had been hammered into a slender blade that
seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The man was in his thirties, of middling height and build. Thick
dark hair framed a thin face with a pronounced chin. A miasma of filth surrounded both him and his sword,
unseen by the human eye, but not hidden from her senses.
Lord Stanton gave a short laugh. “It seems our blades are acquainted, pup.” His eyes narrowed as they
examined Ameena’s blade. “A high quality blade, forged by the same hand as this one.”
Ameena didn’t like the look of cunning desire in his eyes. :You cannot fight that blade. Not if you want to live,
she told Will. She unbolted the door that held her memories back and let them pour into him. She let him see
her, crippled, her father a prisoner to her needs. Gunthor had befriended them both, earning their trust and
respect. He’d begun his campaign with cunning, drawing on the guilt she felt for burdening her father.
At first, when he’d taken her to his workshop and shown her the sword, she thought he meant to bestow
upon her a quick and painless death. But when his plan became clear, she was horrified. Witchcraft, to put
her soul inside a sword? She demanded to be taken home.
Gunthor ignored her pleas.
Ameena, helpless to run away, had been imprisoned in the blade.
“Now I have a grudge not only against the owner, but against the blade, too,” Will said. “Stanton, I demand
you fight me! I’ll have justice for my sister and my sword.”
:You haven’t the skill, Ameena said to Will. What had she done? She’d meant to show him Gunthor’s
ruthlessness, not incite him to foolhardiness.
Stanton chuckled. “Oh come now. Don’t waste my time. Run away before you get yourself hurt, boy.”
:No, I fancy a fight. Here, Ameena, watch a master at work, Gunthor said.
“I fancy that sword, boy. Winner takes all.” Stanton’s voice took on a deeper timbre. “Let’s move outside. I
don’t fancy your blood staining my floor.”
Gunthor laughed. :Now, see if you can do it. Make your young pup run. Stanton will chase him down and have you
anyway.
:Snake! Hatred for Gunthor and a craving for revenge tore through Ameena. Gunthor had taken her freedom,
condemning her to a life that would never end. She would find a way to consign his black soul to the depths
of Hell.
Will was hopelessly outmatched, but she could lend him her knowledge. She and Brychan had fought together
as mercenaries for many long years while searching for Gunthor.
She shut out the pain of Brychan’s last fight, of feeling that other blade reach through an older man’s
declining defenses and slice into his lifeblood. She couldn’t afford the distraction of that memory right now.
At first, all she could manage was to lead the boy into the most rudimentary defenses, ones he’d learned
already. His trust soon grew, and their bond strengthened with a common goal. She felt him slip into
connection with her. His mind quieted and he allowed her to lead him into the more complicated guards. They
met Gunthor’s Questing Dragon attack with the Eagle’s Talon; the Crossing Lion with the Feint of a Hundred
Foxes.
Steel rang against steel. Barely had they time to complete a defensive move before another must be
launched, and yet again, over and over.
Will had not only youth and stamina on his side, but also a stronger will than she’d given him credit for. He
bled from a half-dozen nicks and cuts. Stanton’s breath grew labored. Whirling out of a defensive move, their
blades locked at the crossguards.
:Ameena, you know what happened to your father after your death? Gunthor spoke to her through their blades. :
You didn’t truly expect me to give him the bag of gold I received for your blade, did you? No, your father came home
to find your body. He was free at last. But it was already too late, you know. Even without the burden of caring for
you, he lost the farm. I heard he drank himself into an early grave.
Stunned, she dropped her guard. Stanton took advantage of the opportunity, slicing at Will’s face. Panicked,
she pulled Will into a retreat, but not soon enough—Gunthor’s edge opened a gash on Will’s forehead.
Ameena harnessed her emotions, vowing to not let Gunthor goad her into reckless action again. Will’s vision
blurred as blood streamed into his right eye. He shook his head, trying to fling away the blood clogging his
vision.
Stanton took the opportunity to close in, swinging with a powerful two-handed cutting stroke. Ameena
screamed a warning in time for Will to take Gunthor’s steel with the flat of her blade.
:Have you any idea, old man, of the lives I’ve ended? I fought with the best, and I cannot wait to see your evil shell
melt in the forge fire.
:Am I to be scared of you now?
:Did you never notice that no one else in the village ever invited you into their home, Gunthor? They didn’t believe
your posturing, your claims of wizardry.
:Why should I care what they think?
:Why should you, indeed? And yet you did. Especially what Gweyn thought.
Gunthor hissed. Lord Stanton’s lip curled into a snarl.
:I never told you? She laughed when she told me about the roses you left at her door.
A wild glare came into Stanton’s eye. He beat at her blade with a vengeance.
Ameena held Will back, guiding him into the Gryphon’s Claw. A defensive move, it was also a pose of
provocation she hoped Stanton could not refuse. A twinge in his left eye told her she’d guessed right. As he
made his lunge, she pulled Will back and then twirled in to strike. She sang out in triumph as she cut deep
into Stanton’s right shoulder. His blood was hot on her blade. It tasted sour and stank of Gunthor’s evil.
Gunthor’s blade spun away from Stanton’s nerveless fingers.
Will planted her point under Lord Stanton’s chin. Inside, the boy was a jumble of emotions, but his hand
remained steady. “For my sister, whom you forced into your bed and then tossed aside,” he said between
gritted teeth. His hand tightened on Ameena’s grip, and she readied for a deadly thrust, the zeal of battle still
raging within.
Will panted, his emotions warring for control. His hand wavered, lowered slightly. Ameena, hungering for the
taste of death on her steel, knew a moment’s disappointment.
Stanton closed his eyes and raised his chin. Ameena felt his pulse beating against her steel, but otherwise he
remained calm and silent. She was surprised he took his defeat so well.
Without the dark blade in hand, was the man’s true character shining through? Had he been only a pawn to
Gunthor’s evil appetite?
Finally Stanton opened his eyes. “Well. Do it, boy,” he growled.
Will lowered her point and backed away. “I’m not a murderer, no matter how well justified your death.”
Will’s self-control had a calming effect on Ameena. The blood-lust seeped away, replaced by a growing sense
of shame. She had acted no better than Gunthor.
“Unless I miss my guess, if you live through your injury, your arm will be maimed for the rest of your life. I’ll
take that as payment for my sister’s honor. That, and your blade,” Will said. He leaned down to pick up
Gunthor’s blade.
:Not with your bare hands, Will! His evil is insidious. I’ll not have him claim you, too.
Will grabbed Stanton’s jacket from the manservant and wrapped it around the dark blade before picking it up.
As they walked away, Gunthor whispered to Will, striving to be heard. :The gold that blade will fetch won’t buy
your sister’s honor, she said to Will.
Will shrugged. “I know. What would you see happen to the blade?”
:I’d see him dead—if he could die.
“What do you say we go visit the village blacksmith? And introduce Gunthor to his fire?”
There was much more to the lad than she’d first seen, after all. She imagined her own blade melting in the
hot fires in which she’d been forged. No longer having to witness the death of someone she held dear. Of her
soul escaping at last toward the light.
Passing under an apple tree, Will stopped to pick a ripe fruit. A morninglark sang from the meadow ahead.
Will whistled along. “Nice day, isn’t it, Sword?” he asked.
His satisfaction from the encounter with Stanton was a joy filling his chest. She gazed through his eyes at a
world full of promise and beauty.
:My name is Ameena, she said.
Startled awake by Will’s exuberant remark, Ameena almost peeked through his eyes for the source of his
enthusiasm. She caught herself just in time.
Will laid his hand on her hilt, his skin warm against her steel. She drew inward, hiding from his questing
curiosity. She’d sworn to never again reveal herself.
After a long moment, Will removed his hand, and she fancied he shrugged before continuing, “The signpost
says one more league to Stanton Crossing. By nightfall, I’ll have a pint of ale in hand and my feet drying in
front of a hot fire. Won’t that feel grand?”
Ameena couldn’t imagine anything less grand. Fire was an agonizing reminder of her forging and the day her
soul was trapped.
“Tomorrow, you and I will meet with Lord Stanton. And he’ll pay for his crime against my sister.” Will’s
normally cheerful tone bristled.
Will carried on with his patter, as he’d done almost non-stop since he’d purchased her a fortnight ago. The
weather, the smell of the swamp, the Gods-forsaken gnats and mosquitoes—nothing, it seemed, escaped his
notice, and all earned an opinion.
Ameena wished he would be quiet so she could escape to her dreams again. Awareness brought her only
painful memories. Doing her best to ignore him, she let the sun’s warmth lull her back to sleep.
She dreamed of Brychan; his calloused hand tight around her hilt. In complete rapport, they moved as one,
her blade ringing against another. Brychan’s bloodlust filled her with zeal; she sighed as flesh gave way to
her edge. Each movement was a dance; she sang as she cut through the air in the killing stroke.
“I hear you, you know.”
Will’s whisper jolted her from the dream. A chill swept down her blade. Horrified, she wondered if she’d sang
out loud in her sleep. She shriveled her awareness to a tight ball buried deep within her hilt.
“When I first held you in the shop, I felt...something. Like a humming, or a buzzing, just beneath my hearing,”
Will said. “Grandmam always said I had a special understanding.”
Ameena remembered how she’d awakened at his touch, confused for a moment into thinking Brychan had
called her. When she’d come to full awareness, the heartache had hit her strong.
“I’ve dreamed of fighting with you in my hand and hearing you sing.” Will traced the length of her handguard.
Ameena held her silence. After Brychan had died, she’d vowed to never feel such pain again. Her heart as
implacable as the steel that encased her, she passed her time mostly in dreams. Every once in a while, she
opened herself enough to listen to the world around her. She could remain below the awareness of whoever
held her as long as she didn’t look through their eyes.
Will’s voice, when he finally spoke, was wistful. “I wish you’d awaken. I could really use your help tomorrow.”
She almost reached out to him then. Once she’d been young and full of dreams. She’d been a fool, and it had
cost her everything.
Eventually Will let his breath out in a long drawn-out sigh before he continued on his way, whistling a morose
tune.
#
A cool breeze swirled through the open door of the inn’s common room. Will had been sitting at a table for
some time and his right hand had not yet left Ameena’s hilt. She sensed a tautness to him, a nervous energy
that stirred the air, impossible to ignore. His tankard landed with a hollow thud on the table.
He rose and asked someone the way to Lord Stanton’s estate. A deep male voice gave directions. It
reminded her of her father’s voice, melodic and with a slight drawl. Did this man smile as often as her father
had? Or had once, she should say, before the illness entered their house, stealing the lives of her mother and
two sisters—and Ameena’s ability to walk.
How could a man keep a farm going with no wife to help him and an invalid daughter to care for? And yet, he
had. For five long years, until his back bowed under the weight of so much work. Never once had he
complained, but the weariness colored his eyes a listless gray.
Will gripped her hilt, awakening her from her reverie. He pulled her from the scabbard. Crisp morning air, tart
with the odor of ripening apples, bit at her blade. He rapped her pommel against an oaken surface. They must
have arrived at Stanton’s home. The boy was a fool, much too green to attempt a duel. His practice sessions
had consisted of him banging the bark off a half-dozen trees. At least he’d the sense to hone her blade after.
Footsteps echoed from inside the house. The door made no noise as it opened, only a stir of air. She felt
something on that air, something sinister, like a black growth on the base of a tree, rotting it from the inside
out.
“I’m here to see Lord Stanton,” Will said.
“Indeed.” A sniff, as if the man smelled something distasteful.
The flat of her blade scraped against the closing door; her point scratched against flesh. “Indeed.” Will’s
voice, although quiet, was strong. The servant retreated, but Will followed, Ameena’s tip snug against the
man’s skin.
Ameena felt someone else approaching. A whiff of a sour smell, a taint of something evil.
“What’s this?” The voice was cultured and well-modulated, underlain with a tone of superiority.
“Lord Stanton. I demand redress in the name of my sister.” Will lowered Ameena’s blade.
“And your sister would be...?”
Will’s fingers gave an almost imperceptible jerk and his grip tightened. “You don’t know? How many young
women have you forced to your will?” Her point moved toward the man’s voice.
Steel slithered against leather and another blade slid against her own. She recoiled in shock from that touch.
She knew that blade, that malevolence, the moment his steel touched hers. And it knew her.
:Ameena.
Felt, not heard, for the blade, like her, had no mouth to speak. :Gunthor!
:What a pleasant surprise.
:You put yourself in a blade?
:It was always my intention. Eternal life.
:Eternal prison you mean! Never to smell the rain, to go where I wish, to dance—to live?
:Ameena. Such a weak, pathetic girl. I have lived—many different lives. Did you never notice the control you could
exert on your handler?
:That’s...that’s immoral! Why was she surprised? Gunthor had shown no compunction with her own life.
:But such fun, molding others to my will. And now another dream fulfilled. I’ve long wondered if we should ever
meet, blade to blade.
:The only thing I’ve longed for was the chance to watch your slow and painful death, she answered. Brychan and I
searched for you across the land.
:Sorry to disappoint you, my dear. But after Stanton and I send your friend here off to the Great Beyond, we can
become reacquainted, eh? Stanton will be well pleased to bond with two swords.
She shuddered at the thought of enduring Gunthor’s sneering presence day after day. And she’d thought her
life could get no worse.
She had only one hope, and that was to convince Will to leave. She opened herself and leapt into his
awareness. :You must stop this foolishness, she said to Will. :Turn around and go.
Will staggered back, dropping her away from Gunthor’s blade. “You truly are alive,” he said out loud.
:Yes, and I tell you that you must not fight. Now that Ameena could see through Will’s eyes, she took a long
look at both the man and the blade before her. The dark steel had been hammered into a slender blade that
seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The man was in his thirties, of middling height and build. Thick
dark hair framed a thin face with a pronounced chin. A miasma of filth surrounded both him and his sword,
unseen by the human eye, but not hidden from her senses.
Lord Stanton gave a short laugh. “It seems our blades are acquainted, pup.” His eyes narrowed as they
examined Ameena’s blade. “A high quality blade, forged by the same hand as this one.”
Ameena didn’t like the look of cunning desire in his eyes. :You cannot fight that blade. Not if you want to live,
she told Will. She unbolted the door that held her memories back and let them pour into him. She let him see
her, crippled, her father a prisoner to her needs. Gunthor had befriended them both, earning their trust and
respect. He’d begun his campaign with cunning, drawing on the guilt she felt for burdening her father.
At first, when he’d taken her to his workshop and shown her the sword, she thought he meant to bestow
upon her a quick and painless death. But when his plan became clear, she was horrified. Witchcraft, to put
her soul inside a sword? She demanded to be taken home.
Gunthor ignored her pleas.
Ameena, helpless to run away, had been imprisoned in the blade.
“Now I have a grudge not only against the owner, but against the blade, too,” Will said. “Stanton, I demand
you fight me! I’ll have justice for my sister and my sword.”
:You haven’t the skill, Ameena said to Will. What had she done? She’d meant to show him Gunthor’s
ruthlessness, not incite him to foolhardiness.
Stanton chuckled. “Oh come now. Don’t waste my time. Run away before you get yourself hurt, boy.”
:No, I fancy a fight. Here, Ameena, watch a master at work, Gunthor said.
“I fancy that sword, boy. Winner takes all.” Stanton’s voice took on a deeper timbre. “Let’s move outside. I
don’t fancy your blood staining my floor.”
Gunthor laughed. :Now, see if you can do it. Make your young pup run. Stanton will chase him down and have you
anyway.
:Snake! Hatred for Gunthor and a craving for revenge tore through Ameena. Gunthor had taken her freedom,
condemning her to a life that would never end. She would find a way to consign his black soul to the depths
of Hell.
Will was hopelessly outmatched, but she could lend him her knowledge. She and Brychan had fought together
as mercenaries for many long years while searching for Gunthor.
She shut out the pain of Brychan’s last fight, of feeling that other blade reach through an older man’s
declining defenses and slice into his lifeblood. She couldn’t afford the distraction of that memory right now.
At first, all she could manage was to lead the boy into the most rudimentary defenses, ones he’d learned
already. His trust soon grew, and their bond strengthened with a common goal. She felt him slip into
connection with her. His mind quieted and he allowed her to lead him into the more complicated guards. They
met Gunthor’s Questing Dragon attack with the Eagle’s Talon; the Crossing Lion with the Feint of a Hundred
Foxes.
Steel rang against steel. Barely had they time to complete a defensive move before another must be
launched, and yet again, over and over.
Will had not only youth and stamina on his side, but also a stronger will than she’d given him credit for. He
bled from a half-dozen nicks and cuts. Stanton’s breath grew labored. Whirling out of a defensive move, their
blades locked at the crossguards.
:Ameena, you know what happened to your father after your death? Gunthor spoke to her through their blades. :
You didn’t truly expect me to give him the bag of gold I received for your blade, did you? No, your father came home
to find your body. He was free at last. But it was already too late, you know. Even without the burden of caring for
you, he lost the farm. I heard he drank himself into an early grave.
Stunned, she dropped her guard. Stanton took advantage of the opportunity, slicing at Will’s face. Panicked,
she pulled Will into a retreat, but not soon enough—Gunthor’s edge opened a gash on Will’s forehead.
Ameena harnessed her emotions, vowing to not let Gunthor goad her into reckless action again. Will’s vision
blurred as blood streamed into his right eye. He shook his head, trying to fling away the blood clogging his
vision.
Stanton took the opportunity to close in, swinging with a powerful two-handed cutting stroke. Ameena
screamed a warning in time for Will to take Gunthor’s steel with the flat of her blade.
:Have you any idea, old man, of the lives I’ve ended? I fought with the best, and I cannot wait to see your evil shell
melt in the forge fire.
:Am I to be scared of you now?
:Did you never notice that no one else in the village ever invited you into their home, Gunthor? They didn’t believe
your posturing, your claims of wizardry.
:Why should I care what they think?
:Why should you, indeed? And yet you did. Especially what Gweyn thought.
Gunthor hissed. Lord Stanton’s lip curled into a snarl.
:I never told you? She laughed when she told me about the roses you left at her door.
A wild glare came into Stanton’s eye. He beat at her blade with a vengeance.
Ameena held Will back, guiding him into the Gryphon’s Claw. A defensive move, it was also a pose of
provocation she hoped Stanton could not refuse. A twinge in his left eye told her she’d guessed right. As he
made his lunge, she pulled Will back and then twirled in to strike. She sang out in triumph as she cut deep
into Stanton’s right shoulder. His blood was hot on her blade. It tasted sour and stank of Gunthor’s evil.
Gunthor’s blade spun away from Stanton’s nerveless fingers.
Will planted her point under Lord Stanton’s chin. Inside, the boy was a jumble of emotions, but his hand
remained steady. “For my sister, whom you forced into your bed and then tossed aside,” he said between
gritted teeth. His hand tightened on Ameena’s grip, and she readied for a deadly thrust, the zeal of battle still
raging within.
Will panted, his emotions warring for control. His hand wavered, lowered slightly. Ameena, hungering for the
taste of death on her steel, knew a moment’s disappointment.
Stanton closed his eyes and raised his chin. Ameena felt his pulse beating against her steel, but otherwise he
remained calm and silent. She was surprised he took his defeat so well.
Without the dark blade in hand, was the man’s true character shining through? Had he been only a pawn to
Gunthor’s evil appetite?
Finally Stanton opened his eyes. “Well. Do it, boy,” he growled.
Will lowered her point and backed away. “I’m not a murderer, no matter how well justified your death.”
Will’s self-control had a calming effect on Ameena. The blood-lust seeped away, replaced by a growing sense
of shame. She had acted no better than Gunthor.
“Unless I miss my guess, if you live through your injury, your arm will be maimed for the rest of your life. I’ll
take that as payment for my sister’s honor. That, and your blade,” Will said. He leaned down to pick up
Gunthor’s blade.
:Not with your bare hands, Will! His evil is insidious. I’ll not have him claim you, too.
Will grabbed Stanton’s jacket from the manservant and wrapped it around the dark blade before picking it up.
As they walked away, Gunthor whispered to Will, striving to be heard. :The gold that blade will fetch won’t buy
your sister’s honor, she said to Will.
Will shrugged. “I know. What would you see happen to the blade?”
:I’d see him dead—if he could die.
“What do you say we go visit the village blacksmith? And introduce Gunthor to his fire?”
There was much more to the lad than she’d first seen, after all. She imagined her own blade melting in the
hot fires in which she’d been forged. No longer having to witness the death of someone she held dear. Of her
soul escaping at last toward the light.
Passing under an apple tree, Will stopped to pick a ripe fruit. A morninglark sang from the meadow ahead.
Will whistled along. “Nice day, isn’t it, Sword?” he asked.
His satisfaction from the encounter with Stanton was a joy filling his chest. She gazed through his eyes at a
world full of promise and beauty.
:My name is Ameena, she said.
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