Bacorium Legacy (62 page)

The other villagers who were with the blacksmith helped him to his feet, while others had knives out and took a few brave steps towards the armed Sendorai. The blades remained sheathed, but Luca could see that they were trained warriors, and could draw those scimitars in a second if need be.

Someone pushed their way through the crowd and ran up to the agitated parties. It took Luca only a moment to realise it was Brand.

“What is he doing?!” Luca said under his breath.

“They are his kinsmen,” Jared said to him. “He grew up in Sendora, remember?”

“That fool is going to get himself killed,” Ash muttered.

“We can't leave him,” Luca said, starting towards the inn. “C'mon.”

They made their way through the small crowd to the stand-off. The entire town's population of a hundred or so must have come out to see the event of the day. Several parents were holding their children close, watching the Sendorai in fear.

Brand now stood in the middle of the two groups, his arms crossed.

“Move, traveller!” the blacksmith shouted at him. “This is no concern of yours!”

“I am a traveller, the same as them,” Brand said to him. “They have the same right to safe passage through your town as I do.”

“You would defend these things?” asked someone in the blacksmith's group. “Why would you take their side over ours?”

“Because whatever fears you have of them are unfounded,” Brand told them all. “They will not harm you, but if you come and threaten them, they will defend themselves, just as anyone else would.”

“We don't want them here!” the blacksmith shouted. “How can we sleep at night with them around? How can we be sure that they won't abduct our children in the night to devour them!”

“As I just said, those stories are just false rumours.”

“I've heard they eat their own dead,” someone else said.

Brand hesitated, and the two Sendorai glanced at him for the briefest of instants. Still, he shook his head, and said, “also lies.”

“But they leave behind corpses!” the blacksmith said, his expression a confident sneer now that he'd found some ground in his argument. “Human beings ascend to the spiritual realm when we die. We don't leave behind meat to rot.”

“That is enough, Ardin,” said a new voice. Everyone turned to look at the newcomer. It was a man, tall and heavy, but old and wise. He had a long beard that was braided through. Despite his heavy build, he walked with a limp, and leaned on a cane with each step.

“Village Elder,” the blacksmith said with both respect and annoyance. “These lizards have come to see the sword. They want to stay at the inn, and sleep under a roof my brother helped build.”

The two armed Sendorai glared at the comment, but the robed one said nothing.

The elder looked at both parties, his eyes lingering for a moment on the dark-haired boy standing between them. “So they do. I don't see why this is cause for violence.”

“Elder, all these travellers who have come here to see the sword are one thing, but...” the blacksmith was beginning to hesitate. “I cannot let my brother's legacy be tainted by letting a lizard sleep under his roof - by letting them be served by his widow and children.”

“Your brother was a good man,” the elder said. “Do you think he would turn away travellers who have come to stay at his inn? Or for that matter, do you think that his wife and children would? Have you even asked them?”

The blacksmith's eyes glanced over at the entrance, past where the Sendorai stood, where a woman and two children, a boy and a girl, stood at the doorway.

“I cannot trust them,” the blacksmith declared, ignoring the elder's arguments. “When my brother died, he asked me to protect his family. I cannot wager my oath on the word of three lizards.”

“I see,” the elder said with a heavy sigh. “In that case, the Sendorans will stay in my home, with me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Elder!”

The crowd protested, dozens of voices speaking in unison. The Elder silenced them with a raised hand.

“I will not force you to risk your oath, Ardin, but as the elder of Eccador, I will not turn away travellers who seek our refuge. I forbid you all to harm or harass the Sendorans while they are within these walls. Keep to yourselves, and they will do the same.”

There were murmurs of disagreement, but it was clear enough that the argument was done. The villagers clearly took the elder's word seriously. The crowd began to disperse. Eventually, even the blacksmith and his group turned and walked away, leaving the Sendorai, Luca's group, and the elder alone.

“I apologise for that display,” the elder said to the Sendorai. “It was not how you should have been welcomed, but I fear that centuries of tradition give us both our most admirable traits and our least. The xenophobia is one that I am trying to change, but it is a slow, uphill battle.”

“Thank you nonetheless,” said the robed Sendorai, speaking for the first time. “I am called Softclaw.”

“I am Powell, son of Puelle,” said the elder, stepping forward and offering his hand to the Sendorai. They shook. The elder turned to Brand. “And I thank you as well. Had you not intervened, things might have gotten ugly.”

Brand turned to the Sendorai, a nostalgic look in his eyes. “I grew up in Sendora. They are my kinsmen.”

“So you know of our way?” Softclaw asked.

“
The
way,” Brand corrected him. “It is as much mine as yours.”
 

“Ah. So you knew, and yet you lied for us.”

Brand frowned. “Had I not, they likely would have attacked and killed you.”

Luca glanced at Emila. She met his gaze but said nothing. Ash had an unreadable expression on his face. The others were similarly silent.

Brand seemed to pick up on their silence, because he turned to them and explained. “It is a custom of theirs, from old days when times were tough. There culture is different. It does not make them savages.”

Softclaw gave Brand a long look. Powell turned his attention to the others. “And who is the leader of your group?”

Luca glanced at Selphie, but she said nothing. Her head was bowed and she refused to meet his gaze. Luca noticed that the others were looking to her as well, which only served to make Selphie even more withdrawn. A tense few seconds passed with no indication of her speaking up, which told Luca that she had no intention to.

After a moment's hesitation, Luca stepped up to the front of the group and answered, “I am.”

“I see,” Powell said. “Well, there's little other reason for anyone to bother coming to our town. I take it you're here to see the object of the rumours?”

“The Rixeor Fragment,” Luca said.

“Indeed,” Powell said, a knowing glint in his eye. “I will take you to it. Both of you. But first, let us rest at my home for a bit. I'm sure you're weary after your long journey.”

Luca considered for a moment, then nodded.

“If you'll follow me,” Powell said, starting off. The Sendorai followed right behind him, the two with the blades keeping close at Softclaw's sides. Luca's group - which it was in all but name at that point - followed after them.

They came upon the elder's home, which was a small but homely wooden house near the centre of the village. Despite it's size, the living room was spacious and had many chairs set around a table - it was clear he had company often.

“If everyone could find their seats, I'll make some tea,” Powell said before disappearing into another room.

The three Sendorai sat at one side of the table, and Luca's group sat at the other. Softclaw looked to Brand, a strange expression on his reptilian features.

“What is it, kinsman?” Brand asked him.

“I believe I might have seen you from afar some years ago,” Softclaw said. “But forgive me if I was mistaken. I hate to say it, but I have trouble discerning one human from another.”

“I have changed a lot since I lived in Sendor,” Brand said with a sigh. “It has been five years since my master found me in the city and took me to Allma Temple. I barely resemble the Brand of back then. I doubt the boy you saw was me.”

Softclaw considered, frowning and scratching his chin with the claw of his index finger. “Hmm - perhaps I was mistaken. There are other human boys in Sendor City, after all. What are the odds that I would happen to see the same one twice? Especially as I do not often spend my time in the city. Ariath is my home.”

“Your robes mark you as a scholar,” Brand said to him. “I had figured you were from Ariath.”

“Very knowledgeable of you,” Softclaw said with a nod. “Indeed, you are a kinsman.”

Luca noticed a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned just in time to see the door from which they had entered closing shut. There were now two vacant seats at the table. Selphie and Jared were gone. The others were now noticing the absence as well - the only person who did not react was Ash.

“Where are they going?”

“To the inn, she said,” Ash said without so much as glancing up from his sullenness. “She wants to pay for our rooms ahead of time.”

Luca wondered if that was the real reason at all.

Softclaw's eyes gleamed with unspoken interest. Something about the Sendorai bothered Luca. He couldn't bring himself to trust him.

“If I might ask, why have you come to Eccador?” Brand asked, resuming the conversation. “As a scholar, you must have sworn a vow of peace, but the only thing to see here is the Rixeor Fragment. What interest could you have in blades?”

“Quite a bit of interest actually,” Softclaw said, leaning forward and grinning. “For it is the blade that I have come to study.”

Brand's eyes widened. Clearly he had not expected this answer.

“This chance is one I have been waiting my whole life for, and I may not get the same opportunity again. My field of study is in the Fragments, and the legends of the sacred sword Rixeor itself. But though I have read every book in the Sendor library on them, I have yet to see one up close, and touch it with my own hands.”

“What about Dragontooth?” Brand asked.

“I have made many requests to examine it,” Softclaw said sadly. “The king has denied them all.”

“What a strange choice,” Brand said. “I never could have imagined a scholar, having taken a vow of peace, to dedicate his life to the study of weapons.”

“It would appear ironic, to some,” said Softclaw. “But the Rixeor Fragments are not the weapons of warfare and destruction that the stories make them out to be. They are what the wielder makes them. They give strength to what is already within oneself.”

Luca frowned. Dori had once said something similar to that...

“So you know a lot about the Rixeor Fragments, then?” Luca asked.

Softclaw looked to him now, considering his answer. “I can humbly say that I do not know everything about them. The blades are wrapped in mystery, and only a few are accounted for. But I have spent more than three decades studying them, and I can recite the legends by heart. Why, do you have questions?”

“Many,” Luca said.

The sound of footsteps alerted them to Powell's return. He walked into the living room, carrying a tray with a large pitcher on it. “I hope this is enough for nine people,” he said.

Powell walked around the table, setting down cups in front of each of his guests and pouring a dark gold tea. As he made his way around them, Softclaw looked intently into Luca, as though trying to see through him. The Sendorai's large green eyes were alien to Luca - they unnerved him.

“There are many legends,” Softclaw said. “A few contradictory, as legends tend to be, but there are consistencies, and these are taken to be facts. There are nine Fragments in this world - and each was once a piece of a single blade. This blade was called Rixeor, and it was used by the legendary swordsman Uro to strike down the demon Ekkei and seal it in the realm between realms.

“Rixeor was unstoppable in Uro's hands - he was a god among men. He knew this power was too much, even for him, so he split the great sword into nine smaller blades and scattered them across the world, keeping only one of them for himself.

“Only three are known and accounted for. One is Altair, the sword of the royal family of Saeticia. Another is Dragontooth, the blade of Sendora's royal family. And the third is carried by the king of Acaria, Zinoro. I do not know the name of this blade, nor how he came by it.”

Softclaw grinned. “But today, that number becomes four. And it is I who will record the first information about this fourth Fragment.”

He continued, “The Fragments are not like ordinary weapons. They will never chip, nor dull, nor rust, and nothing can break their steel, not even another Fragment. When mana is channelled through one, the blade is wrapped in a fire the colour of the wielder's mana-form. This magick is called manaflame, and is the greatest power of the Fragments.

“They are made with an ancient magick, and they appear to have some degree of sentience. They choose a master, and will only allow that person to wield them. Anyone else who tries to touch them will be faced with an impossibly heavy burden, and a touch that burns like white-hot iron.

“The new master is traditionally the person who manages to slay the previous wielder. This must be done in honourable combat. The Fragment knows when it is taken dishonourably, and it will remember.

“A wielder may name a successor, but if the blade is claimed by another, it might choose whoever it feels is stronger. If the circumstances of the succession are particularly uncertain, the blade may go to sleep.”

“Go to sleep?” Luca asked.

“
The sleeping shard carried at your side
,” Softclaw recited. “
Know it not from a blade of steel
.
The sleeping shard will awaken at the time of it's choosing
.
And not a moment before
.
 

“It's a rough translation from an ancient Sujin poem,” Softclaw said. He chuckled, and added, “This is one aspect where the legends are fuzzy. I, for one, would relish the chance to see a 'sleeping' Rixeor Fragment, if only to know what it truly means.”

“So what does it take to claim a Rixeor Fragment?” Luca asked.