Kingmaker's Sword (Rune Blades of Celi) (46 page)

On the side of the mountain rising above the palace, surrounded by twelve oaks hung with strands of ivy, the shrine of the Duality serenely overlooked the village and the harbour. Beyond the shrine stood a small stone circle, a dance of seven menhirs, each three times the height of a man, one for each of the gods and goddesses.

Below the palace between the village and the pier, men and boys trained with swords, spears and bows, some of them bare to the waist and sweating despite the late winter chill. The voices of the weaponsmasters rang clearly in the still air. Among the dozen or so small boys training with the Swordmaster, the bright red-gold hair of Keylan, Prince of Skai, stood out vividly in contrast with the dark gold or black hair of the others. At nearly five, and tall and sturdy for his age, the young prince demonstrated a marked aptitude, a grace and skill more common in older, more experienced boys.

Two men stood at the edge of the trampled snow defining the practice field, watching the boys practice. Red Kian of Skai, father and Regent to the young prince, stood taller and broader than the man beside him, his red hair glowing in the early afternoon sun. Jorddyn ap Tiernyn, Captain of the Company and Kian’s kin-father, watched the boy thoughtfully, critically appraising the prince’s skill.

“One day soon, he’ll be as proficient as you,” he said, relaxing and smiling as he watched his the child.

“As good as my uncle Cullin was,” Kian replied.

A horse and rider hurtled down the track from the palace, heedless of the slushy surface in their haste. Kian frowned at the recklessness, then stiffened as the rider brought the horse to a skidding halt only a bare metre away from the two men. The rider slid from the saddle in one smooth, skilful motion, and dropped to one knee in the snow.

“My lord Regent,” the boy said breathlessly, “I am sent to tell you the lady Kerridwen has been brought to bed early with the child and has need of you.”

Kian paled and glanced up at the palace behind him. “It’s still a fortnight ‘til Imbolc,” he said. “It’s too early--”

Jorddyn put his hand to Kian’s shoulder. “Go to her,” he said. “She’ll be all right, but best you go now.”

“I lost one wife to early childbed...”

Jorddyn smiled. “A fortnight early is not unusual for a first birth,” he said reassuringly. “Kerri herself was earlier than that, and both she and her mother came through it splendidly. Go now. I’ll bring Keylan and follow shortly.”

Kian ran for the horses tethered behind him and sprang to the saddle of his mount. He put heels to the horse’s flanks and bent low over the saddle as the horse leapt to a gallop.

***

People thronged the outer chamber of the apartment the Regent and his wife shared. Women hurried back and forth purposefully, faces set into harried and intent expressions. Kian shouldered his way through to the inner door. The midwife met him as he stepped through into the bedchamber.

“The lady Kerridwen does well,” she said briskly, anticipating his question. “And you have two fine sons.”

Kian glanced over her shoulder at the bed. Kerridwen lay with her eyes closed, a small weary smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Her hands lay folded peacefully across her flat belly. Kian looked back to the midwife.

“Two sons?” he asked, eyes widening in shock and surprise. “Two?”

The midwife laughed. “Twins, my lord Regent. Both healthy and strong. Beautiful children.”

But Kian wasn’t listening to her. He went quickly to the bed and fell to his knees, taking Kerri’s hand in his and pressing it to his lips. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. They had no need of words with each other.

The midwife placed the babies on the bed within the circle of Kerri’s arms. Kian looked down at them in awed silence. Finally, he said, “They have no hair.”

Kerri glared at him, then laughed and shook her head in fond resignation. “Of course they do,” she said softly. She reached out and stroked first one small head, then the other. “It’s so fine you can hardly see it, that’s all. In a fortnight or two, it will thicken.”

Kian looked doubtful, but he nodded. “What will you name them?” he asked.

“I thought we might call the eldest Tiernyn, for my grandfather,” she said. “And I’d like to call the younger Donaugh.”

He smiled. “It’s a good name,” he said. “They’re both good names.”

***

A silver crescent of moon tossed amongst the clouds above the crest of the mountains as Kian stood over the cradle where his newborn sons lay sleeping. He held his sword in both hands, one hand grasping the hilt, the flat of the blade against the palm of his other hand. Kingmaker, the sword was named. He had carried it for eleven years—seven years not knowing its purpose, and for the balance of that time, waiting for it to declare its true owner.

The sword glowed with a soft, lambent gleam, and a low musical note, like bell and harp together, sang quietly in the room. Slowly he knelt and held the blade above the tiny, sleeping form of first one child, then the other. As he held it over Tiernyn, the eldest, the glow brightened and the musical note became a joyous chord.

He climbed to his feet and took the sword to the window. Slowly, he traced the line of runes on one side of the blade.
Take up the Strength of Celi
. He looked at the words for a long time, then turned the blade over. The runes engraved into the blade on the other side glittered in the combined light of the moon and the glow of the blade. He reached out one finger and thoughtfully traced the words—the words he had never before been able to read.

Now lay me aside.

Ann Marston has worked as a teacher, a flight instructor, an airline pilot, airport manager and literacy coordinator, and several other odd and assorted careers in between. While maintaining this weird schedule, she has also been writing most of her adult life.

Together with her friend Barb Galler-Smith, she teaches writing fantasy at Grant McEwan University in Edmonton, and mentors up-and-coming writers in a writers’ group that grew out of the writing classes. She lives in Edmonton with her daughter and their floppy eared dog.

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