The Saga of the Swords
Part 2: Explanations and Complications
By
The Sword Maker
The_sword_maker_lives@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Gargoyles is © Buena Vista Television/The Walt Disney Company. No infringement of these rights is intended and I seek no monetary gain through this story. Fred Saberhagen created the Twelve Swords and their abilities. The Poem on the Swords and their powers is ripped right out of the first few pages of "The Book of Swords," written by the previously mentioned Saberhagen. Mark, Jord, and the names of the Gods in question are all shamelessly ripped from the pages Saberhagen's works as well. The final fate of the Swords is different in the books, as are a few details in the forging of the Swords - for instance, I kill all the humans that were used, while in the books, Jord does survive the forging - and the creation of the "Guardian" is all my idea.
Thanks: I should have been putting these in from the beginning, but thanks much to Kimberly Towle who very graciously agreed to beta-read my stuff, and to Denigoddess for her encouragement and ideas (which have helped me past some really sticky parts in this series), and all you nice people who read my stuff! Thanks again!
Now that all that's said, let's get on to the fic, shall we? ::grins::
Previously:
The figure was gigantic. The humans gathered at its feet barely reached to its waist. On an anvil as huge as a bus, twelve glowing lengths of some otherworldly metal lay. Owen and the Puck struggled to get a better view, and found themselves gliding forward.
A dozen swords were lying there, finished but for the quenching.
The smith reached out with tongs, and lifted the first sword from the anvil. One of the humans walked jerkily forward, as though he was a puppet being controlled. Seconds later, the two observers realized why. The smith lifted the cherry-red blade and shoved it down through the man's head along his body's length.
Even though they were not really there, the stench of seared flesh assaulted their nose. Owen wanted to retch, even as the Puck came to the realization that they were seeing something that had been done in the dim past; a bit of history shrouded by the passage of uncounted eons.
The giant being removed the quenched sword from the now dead man and gripped it in his hand, cutting himself on the blade, and allowing his own blood to permeate the blade. In a huge voice, he suddenly roared a name.
Returning the finished weapon to the anvil, the smith picked up the next sword. Puck and Owen watched, in horrified fascination, as each blade was quenched in human blood and named.
"This is only one of twelve such weapons. And they're waking up from a sleep that has encompassed eons. If the Swords awake and are not controlled, there won't be a planet left to live on."
- Elisa
Part 2: Explanations and Complications
Elisa paced the stones in the castle's Great Hall. At a faint growl of protest from Brooklyn, she halted and fixed him with a glare. "We're waiting," she growled, her voice clearly showing that she would allow no arguments.
Gathered in the Hall was the entire clan. Xanatos and Fox were over by the doors, speaking in quiet tones. Broadway sat with Angela at the large table that had been set up in preparation for one of the parties that Xanatos occasionally had in the castle. Goliath, looking no less irritated at the wait than Brooklyn, paced his own circle a short distance from where Lex, Hudson, and Bronx were standing.
All motion ceased when the doors opened and Owen walked in, two large winged forms right behind him. Both were heavily muscled, and of a height with Goliath. The first one behind Owen had a panther's black fur and face. Right behind him was a striped beast, vaguely reminiscent of a tiger. Elisa stepped up quickly to thank them for coming, though no one missed the obvious tension and mistrust that burned in the eyes of the two mutates as Talon and Claw caught sight of Xanatos.
"I'm only here cause you asked me to come, sis," growled the panther-like mutate who had once been Derek Maza. "And as soon as we're done, I'm leaving." Claw, having been left mute from his transformation, merely nodded in agreement.
"I know. But where's Maggie?" Elisa asked.
Talon chuckled faintly. "She's teaching the clones tonight. We take turns working with them to increase their vocabulary."
Elisa nodded in understanding, then motioned to some empty chairs. "Please," Elisa said, "sit. This will take a little while."
Following Elisa's invitation, everyone in the Hall took seats at the table. It came as no surprise to anyone when Talon and Claw settled themselves as far from Xanatos and Fox as they could. Though he'd given the gargoyles their home and guarded them, the mutates didn't want anything to do with the man who'd manipulated them into becoming the creatures they now were.
The next two hours (all they had before sunrise) saw the unveiling of an intricate story. The gathered gargoyles, mutates, and humans sat in near spellbound silence, listening as Elisa told them the tale that she had read in the journal.
In the dawn of time, powerful beings that styled themselves "gods" had enjoyed great sport with the mortal humans whose world they shared. In furtherance of their amusement, they had ordered one of their number to create twelve swords for the humans to fight over. Each sword was to be imbued with great power, which would draw all those power-hungry to seek the god-forged weaponry, and force those who desired peace and prosperity to seek the swords as well, to foil the plans of tyrants.
It was not long before the gods realized the error of their ways. Their smith had done his work far too well. When a furious mortal, driven by insane grief, seized one of the swords and lunged for the god who'd been tormenting him for some time, no one was more surprised than the god to find that he was dying. After that, word spread quickly, and many humans sought the swords not to protect the peace or seize kingdoms, but to kill the gods who had tormented them with such strife for centuries.
When the last god had fallen, the humans turned on each other. In the cataclysmic war that followed, each sword was brought to bear. When the dust settled, barely two thousand people were still alive, and many of them were grievously injured.
"It was at this point," said Elisa, "that the Emperor made an actual appearance."
"Emperor?" questioned Xanatos. "One of the human rulers survived the whole mess?"
Elisa shook her head. "The Emperor is mentioned throughout the account, but always in a roundabout way. Plus, there's the fact that according to Mark, the man who wrote this account, the Emperor had been around for a couple of centuries himself."
"Would this "Emperor" be one of the gods that Mark mentions, then?" came Hudson's deep voice.
All eyes found their way to Elisa as she fielded that one. "Mark hated the gods, and that's everywhere in this record. But he always refers to the Emperor with respect, and even writes that he himself was styled as a "Child of the Emperor." Whether the Emperor was a god or not, he survived the war, and then did something that I think shows he was more than the gods – he sealed the powers of all twelve blades. Mark writes that the Emperor told him that should certain of the swords ever come into direct opposition, then the world itself would most likely be slain by the collision of power." The raven-haired detective scowled. "Mark didn't write which ones, but he did write that the Emperor warned him that the sealing would be temporary, at best. Since all but two of the swords were scattered across a battlefield that seems to have been the size of North America, Mark and his descendants devoted themselves to studying the swords they had left, trying to find a way to safely destroy them."
"If they were working on ways to destroy them…" began Broadway.
"…Then why hasn't it been done?" broke in Talon. The panther mutate slammed his fist onto the table. "They were working on ways to destroy them, right?"
Elisa sighed. "The only swords they had were Coinspinner and Wayfinder. Then there's the fact that after about five centuries of trying, and failing, to understand how the swords worked, they stopped trying. And despite the sealing the Emperor laid on the blades, enough of Coinspinner's most annoying power remained to leave them with only one blade."
Elisa began to flip through the pages of the book, ignoring the questions flying at her for a moment. Finding what she was looking for, she held up a hand, and then read from the record.
"Who holds Coinspinner knows good odds
"Whichever move he make
"But the Sword of Chance, to please the gods,
"Slips from him like a snake."
She looked up to the confused stares of humans and non-humans alike. "Coinspinner would leave its bearer in the middle of a fight. It's the only sword I've seen in Mark's account that seems to be really sentient. He records that it slipped right out of his hands two days after the sealing and vanished into the ground. He never saw it again."
"Much as we need to know of this," Goliath interrupted as he rose, "the sun comes."
The gargoyles all followed their leader's example, rising and making for the battlements for the day. Talon and Claw stood as well, and walked over to Elisa. Giving Xanatos all the attention that he would a slime mold, Talon gripped his sister's shoulder. "Should you find anything that we need to know, come on down to the Labyrinth. I really don't like this place," he finished, faint electric sparks flickering in his eyes when Xanatos stood.
With no further words, the two mutates made for the door and vanished into the early dawn sky. Elisa favored Xanatos with a level gaze as she also hauled herself to her feet. In her head a debate raged. Common sense won, however.
"Would you have Owen and Alexander look over Wayfinder?" she asked as she slipped the journal into her coat pocket.
After he'd retrieved his jaw from the floor, and popped his eyes back into their sockets, Xanatos gave her a level stare of his own. "Why?" His voice was blunt, having decided that this time, straightforwardness would be a better approach than innuendo and double-talk.
Elisa yawned, then started to walk toward the door. "Owen's alter ego might be able to ferret out some more meaning from his visions through an examination of the blade. Besides, I don't carry a license to tote big swords all over the city." The detective cut loose with a sardonic laugh and paused just before exiting. "I'm in enough trouble with the captain over the fact that I have the habit of trading in squashed sidearms." The woman vanished out the door without another word, leaving behind some rather surprised people.
Xanatos turned to Owen. "I think you're due for a day off, Mr. Burnett. Take today." David took Fox's arm and vanished out the door after Elisa.
Owen turned to the sword, still in its sheath on the table. Let's get this over with, growled the Puck uncharacteristically. Owen silently agreed, and gingerly lifted the blade from the table and headed to the nursery. If Alex was awake, they could get started right away.
The buzzing of her alarm woke Elisa from a beautiful dream of gliding with Goliath when she was gargoyle. Groaning, she slammed the snooze button and tried to slip back into dreaming. Cagney, though, obviously had other ideas. With the inexplicable instinct of all felines, he was well aware that his human was now nearly awake enough to feed him. And that was all it took to send twelve pounds of warm cat burrowing under covers to place his cold, wet nose right at the base of his human's spine.
Elisa nearly jerked herself into a complicated knot trying to get away from that cold touch. Fixing her cat with a frigid stare and muttering assurances that yes, she would feed him and soon, she abandoned all hope of ten more minutes of peaceful rest.
Staggering to her feet, she stretched. After nearly overbalancing, she glared at the clock, which was cheerfully proclaiming the time as 4:15 p.m. Stripping off her nightgown and underwear, she stumbled into the shower to try and wake herself fully.
Forty minutes later, dressed in her customary jeans and black t-shirt, Elisa padded out to her kitchen (being careful to avoid stepping on Cagney's tail) and started preparing some breakfast. Deciding to skip cereal, she started warming up the waffle griddle. While waiting for that, she quickly beat up some instant waffle mix and filled Cagney's bowl with some chicken liver, then took a seat at her computer. Noting the Internet searches on the Swords she'd left running all day had turned up nothing, she killed her connection with a mild curse. Nearly nine hours of searching and it had turned up absolutely diddly-squat.
She opened up her word processor and stared at the most recent file she'd worked on. When she'd arrived home that morning, she'd spent about an hour typing most of what she'd found in Mark's record into her computer. She'd completed the history, gotten a poem that had circulated about the swords, and managed to get down some information on the powers of a few of the swords. Sheer exhaustion had claimed her about that point, so she'd saved what she had and went to bed. She grabbed a blank mini-disc and quickly burned the small file to it. After stuffing the disk into her pocket, she turned back to the kitchen and started cooking her waffles.
Across the street, from the rooftop of another apartment building, a man in non-descript clothing stared through some binoculars. On the ground beside him lay a large hammer. With a smile of triumph, he grabbed his radio and called in.
"Hammer 1 to Base, Hammer 1 to Base," he said, still staring through the binoculars at the raven-haired woman now sitting down at the table with a plate of waffles. "I have visual confirmation of the target."
"This is Castaway," crackled the speaker. The man nearly dropped the radio in shock. "You were supposed to be in position well before dawn so that we could ensure that the target would not have gargoyle support when we attacked as happened last time." The voice was suddenly soft. "Where were you at dawn?"
"I – I –I was as-s-sleep," stammered the man. "I failed in my duty."
"If the target leaves, notify us at once," ordered Castaway. "I'm on my way with two squads." Then the radio went dead.
The man placed the radio back on the ground and turned his attention back to the target. Was it his fault that he'd been unable to stay awake after being up since noon of the day previous? With a shudder, the man forced himself to remain focused on the woman. Hopefully, he wouldn't be disciplined too severely for his error.
Elisa glanced at Cagney as the feline settled himself onto her lap. Shrugging him out of her mind, she focused on a far more important task: getting a piece of maple syrup-soaked waffle into her mouth without decorating her Levis. Her efforts very nearly died a swift death when Cagney, with no warning, suddenly bristled and shot down from her lap, leaving claw marks in her skin with his haste. She put her fork down and stood. Before she could take a step, however, her skylight suddenly darkened. Her eyes flashed up just in time to see a hooded figure jump over her skylight.
Even as the skylight shattered under her unexpected visitor, several figures in similar garb smashed through the windows to her balcony. Eyes wide, Elisa jumped back as her first visitor swung out a hammer. She barely noticed a furry streak that was her cat exiting though her window in an attempt to escape the strangers invading his turf.
She quickly sized up the situation. She could see at least six Quarrymen in her apartment already, and shifting forms outside told her to expect more. All had hammers. With a mental curse that she wasn't carrying her gun, she improvised.
Grabbing her chair, she smashed her first guest. Even as he fell, she snatched up his hammer and energized it with a swift motion. Holding it firmly before her, she glared at her uninvited guests. They traded a few glances, then energized their own hammers. Elisa was just about to make a break for the door to get out of there when she caught sight of something: on the other side of the room, on top of her computer, lay the journal. With a brief prayer to whoever might be listening, she lunged for the first Quarryman.
Her suicidal-seeming rush caught the entire group by surprise, and was the only reason that three energized hammers didn't smash her at the same time. Her first target was knocked back, the electric shock sending his muscles into spasms. By that time, though, the others had recovered. She barely dodged the first swing and parried, driving her attacker back into his comrades. Darting quickly through the opening thus created, she grabbed the book and backpedaled swiftly for the door.
Holding the journal in one hand, however, left her with a clumsy grip at best on her hammer. Noting her poor defense, an eager Quarryman took a swing. She managed to bring up her own hammer in time to deflect the strike, but the force of the blow knocked the hammer from her grasp, and the electric shock that slammed through her sent the book flying.
"No!" she cried even as she pivoted on her leg to drive one foot solidly into the groin of her attacker. Her muscles screaming in protest, she actually managed to catch his hammer when his hands moved to more important territory.
"That book must be pretty important, Detective," drawled a voice that froze her in her tracks. Looking over to the owner of that voice, she saw a well-built man in the same blue hood as the other Quarrymen.
"Castaway," she whispered. "But you're…"
"Behind bars?" laughed the Quarrymen leader. "My loyal men broke me out early this morning. I couldn't very well exterminate those monsters while in jail, now could I?"
Elisa gave the situation another quick look. There were now a dozen Quarrymen in her apartment. Two were down for the moment, but their friends were too many for her to handle. Gritting her teeth in fury, she turned and smashed open her own door with the hammer and sprinted out into the hallway.
When several of the Quarrymen moved to pursue, Castaway held up a hand to stop them. "No, she knows this building well, I am sure. Go down to the garage and find her car – it's a red and white Fairlane. She'll probably use it to get away." When no one moved, he glared at them. "Move!"
Elisa ducked through the one of the rear fire doors. Behind her, she heard the distinctive sound of the alarm that sounded when one of those doors was opened. Her car would be the next thing that the Quarrymen would go after, she knew. After sprinting down the alley to the opposite street, she flagged down a cab.
"23rd precinct, and step on it!" she barked, looking anxiously out the back window as the cabbie pulled away.
As he weaved expertly through the early evening traffic, the cabbie shook his head in disgust. Two really weird fares in as many days. This may be New York, but it was still ridiculous.
"What do you mean you lost her?' snarled Castaway. "How did you lose her?"
"She never went for her car, sir," answered one of the men smartly.
Castaway ripped his hood off and smashed his fist into his desk. He'd retreated to this new base shortly after dispatching his men to follow the traitor. And now they'd lost her. Dismissing the man, Castaway picked up the strange book he'd gotten from Maza's home and took a seat. It truly was a strange tale that was written on these pages, and though it seemed impossible, there was something that made Castaway really think.
For nearly two hundred years starting back in the mid-1300's, the histories of the Canmore clan indicated that they'd lost the demon's trail. Not to be caught off-guard when they finally located it again, they'd become a wealthy family, some of them even reaching knighthood. One of these knights, named Gregory, had been almost unnaturally skilled with the sword. Though he fought in many battles with thieves and soldiers in a small war or two, he'd never been injured, and his armor had only been nicked once or twice.
Castaway remembered his father telling him bedtime stories about Gregory, and how if they had found the demon during those times, Gregory surely would have slain the beast. Now, though, two things had combined to give the man born as John Canmore new insight into his ancestor: the record in his hands spoke of magical swords, one of which, called Shieldbreaker, had a white hammer engraved on the pommel. And in the armory of the Canmore family seat in England hung Gregory's sword. John had drawn it once, when he was much younger. It had a strangely mottled-seeming blade, a silver crosspiece with black leather wrapped around the hilt…and a white hammer engraved on the pommel.
Having read what this Mark had known of Shieldbreaker's powers, the legend of Gregory who was never injured in battle made more sense. The sealing that Mark mentioned was only supposed to be temporary, fading over time. Castaway grinned. Even if it had been bound somewhat during his ancestor's use of it, it was bound no longer. The Emperor had indicated as much, when he'd told Mark that the sealing would slowly fade over time, and be completely destroyed should men touch the moon.
With a widening smile, Castaway made a call to a friend in England. He needed a package sent, via International Priority Mail.
Morgan stepped into the precinct office, blowing the steam from his cup of coffee. He nodded his welcome to several of his fellow beat cops and made his way up the stairs to where Bluestone worked. Sadly, he had nothing to report on where the Quarrymen might have holed up. And with what they'd done to Maza's place…
Her voice rang clearly through the place as Elisa vented her fury. Even from where he stood in the door to the large room, Morgan could clearly pick out what she was saying.
"…and so they all just pop into my apartment!" Elisa's voice suddenly went too quiet to emerge from Captain Chavez's office, but Morgan knew she was probably demanding to know why she hadn't been notified the moment of Castaway's escape. Making his way over to where Matt Bluestone sat, and noting the glum expression of a man who knew he was about to die, Morgan set his coffee down on Matt's desk.
"That's the best coffee you'll find in Manhattan. Drink up," the beat cop ordered.
Matt glanced up at the big black man, seemingly surprised to find anyone there. With quick thanks, Matt snatched up the cup and gulped half of it down. "She's been in there for the last half hour. When she's done with the captain, I'm next."
"Why would she want to rip strips out of your hide, Matt?" asked Morgan, feeling rather confused. Matt's tired eyes locked with Morgan's.
"Chavez called me and told me that Castaway was out. I was supposed to find him and get him back into custody, fast, and let Elisa know that he'd gotten out so she'd be on her guard. But his boys gave me the slip. I tried calling her several times but always got a busy signal—seems she'd left her computer online—and then they're all pounding down her door." Morgan winced. "Tell me you caught one of them, at least! Or that you tracked them down to their latest base."
Morgan sighed, then passed a folder to Matt. When the call had come through that Quarrymen had swarmed Elisa's apartment, Morgan had been one of the cops near enough to go check it out almost immediately. He'd gotten there just in time to see several Quarrymen taking out their frustrations on Maza's car in a very pointed manner. With the other five officers who'd pulled up moments later, they'd managed to chase off the hammer-happy nut-balls, but they'd lost them easily enough in the Manhattan traffic. And there was the little matter of the Fairlane to consider. Morgan had taken a few shots with the Polaroid camera he carried in his squad car, and radioed Matt to let him know what had happened to her baby.
At Matt's obvious reluctance to take it, Morgan realized something. "You haven't told her, have you? She doesn't know yet, does she?"
"Know what?" snarled a voice right behind Morgan. The big beat cop immediately tried his hand at personal levitation and nearly collapsed in a heap at Elisa Maza's feet. Morgan quickly noted that fire still flared in those deep brown eyes, and decided to get out of Ground Zero. Her gaze bored a few holes in him as he beat a retreat, than focused on Matt's face. "You sent a half dozen cops to my place. What did they find?" Her tone was no less angry than it had been when she'd stormed into the station, swearing under her breath about Quarrymen breaking into her apartment. Matt took a deep breath and thanked heaven that he'd thought to put on his bulletproof vest. When Elisa found out what the Quarrymen had done to her car…
Almost back to his squad car, Morgan could almost swear that he heard an outraged voice scream "They did what?"
The sun went down, and once more, ancient magic swirled, bringing seven stone gargoyles to life. The clan found to their surprise that Elisa wasn't there to greet, them. Owen was, however.
"There have been some complications," Owen began, then faltered, as the six pairs of eyes flared with light. Complications were never good. Repressing the urge to hunch his shoulders defensively, he continued. "Elisa is in Xanatos's office right now. She has some news for you."
Goliath immediately launched himself from the battlements. The trio went right after, leaving Hudson and Angela to stare at Owen. Bronx growled irritably and wandered inside, seeking somewhere to lie down.
"What's going on, Owen?" asked Angela.
"There has been a breakout. Castaway is loose." With no further ado, Owen vanished into the castle. Angela and Hudson were gone just as fast, heading for the office where the rest of the clan was gathered.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Angela heard her father whisper to Elisa as she came in. Elisa nodded her head and squeezed Goliath's large hand in hers. Angela turned her attention to the desk, where Lex was studiously tapping away. The computer screen before him was filled with text.
Elisa looked up at the clan. "Castaway busted into my apartment. He got the journal, and all we've got now is what I managed to type up early this morning."
"Guys?" called Lex. "We all should be aware of this." Tapping a few quick keys, he put his screen onto the larger display mounted in the wall. Everyone gathered near. "What Elisa managed to get typed up last night was stuff on Wayfinder, Dragonslicer, and Soulcutter. Some of the other sword's names gives us hints as to what they can do-the poem helps out a lot there too-but these three, I'm glad she got down so we sort of know what to expect."
Elisa picked it up there; having typed it up she could remember most all of these three swords' capabilities. "Wayfinder, we already know, finds paths to what the wielder seeks. It can also be used to point a straight-line direction to what you seek so you know you're going in the right direction. It won't give you a distance, though, so what you seek could be five feet or five miles from where you stand."
"It was this…Wayfinder…that the previous guardian used to find you, right?" asked Angela.
Elisa nodded. "Michael – that was his name – only knew what was in the book. He'd never handled the sword before." The detective shrugged and focused on the task at hand. "Moving on. Soulcutter cannot be used to kill someone. Mark writes that even with a small portion of its blade bared, despair and hopelessness will overwhelm anyone nearby…eventually leading to their suicide. Dragonslicer is the one I really worry about, though."
"Because of us, right?" came Broadway's gentle voice. Elisa nodded, and ducked her head, trying to hide the sudden glimmering of tears.
Knowing that Elisa didn't feel comfortable speaking of this, Lex picked it up. "Dragonslicer was forged to slay dragons and like beasts. If that sword alone should fall into the hands of a fanatic like Castaway, no gargoyle will be safe."
Elisa shook her head and blinked rapidly to clear her eyes. "Xanatos, you have the descriptions of the swords. Find them."
The man nodded, and left the room. Behind him, the clan began to slowly file out, reeling a little from the impact of what was almost certain to happen. Lex held back a little to walk beside Elisa. The web-winged gargoyle had some ideas on what the other swords were capable of, and a way to speed the locating thereof.
The moon rose high in the sky, eventually giving way to the sun. Seven stone statues once more decorated the battlements of Wyvern. Search programs and inquiries ghosted through the Internet, automatically hunting down the swords. Using Wayfinder, Elisa and Lex had determined that most of the swords were rather far from Manhattan. Only two of the Swords had seemed to be near enough for Elisa to get a slightly different direction by moving from one side of the castle to the other.
One of the Swords had given them quite a headache. One moment, Wayfinder would be pointed northwest, and the next, due south! A suggestion that that blade was Coinspinner was the only explanation.
Since the Quarrymen had smashed everything in her apartment and turned her beloved red Fairlane into paperweight – Elisa herself wasn't sure which made her madder, the loss of all the irreplaceable mementos in her apartment or the destruction of her car – the detective was sleeping in one of the guest rooms.
At three that afternoon, Elisa found herself drifting in a dream that echoed the vision she'd received that first time touching Wayfinder. The warrior with the hammer-marked blade was once more devastating the enemy. The dream turned nightmarish suddenly when the enemy soldiers in her dream suddenly turned into the clan. In horror, she watched as Goliath and Angela were cut down with a single stroke, the swords they'd been using to fight back falling to the ground.
Even as she was jerking awake in a cold sweat, across town, in an unused floor of an office building, Castaway was rubbing his hands in anticipation as a long box was placed on the table before him. Carefully opening it, he breathed a rapturous sigh at the sight that greeted his eyes. Nestled in black velvet was a sheathed sword. The silver cross guard contrasted the black hilt in a way that sent shivers down his spine. The pommel, the same silver color as the cross guard, had a hammer emblazoned thereon.
"Shieldbreaker," he whispered. "Against which no weapon or armor can stand!" He lifted the blade from its resting place and carefully buckled it onto his belt. Gripping its black hilt, he heard a distant pounding, nearly inaudible, like a smith's hammer on his anvil. With a cold smile, Castaway turned to his waiting men.
"We're part of the way there. Let's get back to work. There are eleven more swords to find." All the men saluted and left, leaving Castaway to admire his new weapon. How appropriate, he thought, that the blade I will wield against those cursed beasts is marked with the hammer!
A chuckle emerged from his throat as he sat at his desk and turned to his own searches for the swords. The monsters that had killed his family for centuries would now get their due!
To be continued…Part 3: Dragonslicer's Bite
"Run!" Goliath roared. Behind the fleeing gargoyles came Castaway, laughing as he swung a sword with a curled dragon on the pommel.
***
Castaway smiled as he walked. They'd evaded him for the moment, but the heartthrob from Dragonslicer guided him as he pursued his quarry. Glistening on the sword's bared blade was dark blood. "I'm coming for you, monsters," he hissed. "Your blood already spills. And I will spill it all!"