Part Seventeen

Jesse wiggled with impatience; the smell of meat pastries eroding his manners. He had tried beseeching looks and soft whimpers, but his boy made no move to fetch the treats from the high place where they had been set. There was not even the excuse that he was talking, for his boy had not spoken since the woman had brought in the tray.

As his boy continued to ignore his increasingly obvious pleas, the dog began to cast worried looks at the table. He did not like it when his boy sat looking at that strange metal object. It did not smell right. Jesse was certain it was a BAD thing, and always tried to stop his boy from touching it.

Dog's boy did not like it either. Jesse could tell by the way the boy talked about it to Dog. Jesse whimpered again. His boy had talked to him about it when he first found it, telling Jesse how everyone would know that he had been the one to find it and what he would do with all the money he got for it. Jesse was not certain what money was, but he had liked the happy sound of his boy's voice. His voice was not happy now. In fact, he did not speak much at all anymore.

Growling at the table, Jesse thought of taking the metal thing and burying it where his boy would never find it.

Estev stared miserably at his hands. He had disgraced himself in front of everyone. The sight of the dagger after three days of separation had been more than he could stand. He just wanted to hold it again. To trace the outline of the serpent with his fingertips and to experience again the slight chill that always seemed to linger on the metal. Rubbing his fingers together, he chided himself again for crying over something that was not his.

'But it should be.' A sibilant voice in his head whispered. 'And they mean to take it for themselves.'

His fists clenched and he pounded his thigh. How dare they take what was his.

"No!" shouted Estev. Pushing Jesse's head off his knee, he stood. "I won't let you take it."

"Estev, sit down!" directed Gemthir, stepping between the boy and the table.

Rolfe and Shaymur moved to take Estev's arms and pull him back to his seat, but he twisted away from them to protest, "But Master, he's not going to destroy it. He just wants it. He'll keep it for himself, and then he will have it for his own." Estev's voice dropped away, "You can't let him do that."

Uncertain eyes fastened on the dark man. Was that his plan? To take the blade for himself?

"I swear upon the honor of my House that such is not the truth," Ahmose proclaimed and stood with hand on breast and head bowed. "Young one, you are deceived by the voice of the blade."

"You can't believe him." Estev's face twisted into a startling snarl. "He's one of them. One of the Enemies of Gondor and the Mark. How can you think of giving him such a weapon?"

"Who then should I give it to?" asked Gemthir. The hand the tutor placed lightly on the boy's shoulder was angrily shaken off.

"Give it to me. It's mine."

The dogs howled as Estev lunged with his hand outstretched to take possession of the dagger. Only Rolfe's quick grasp prevented the boy from achieving his goal. Ferlan gasped and pointed at the table where the Blade of Nuphar no longer rested peacefully. The eyes of the serpent glowed, staining the blade red; and as they watched, it began to writhe. Coiling and uncoiling in a dance designed to entrap the eye. A hissing began and grew steadily louder, burrowing into the brain like maggots infesting living flesh.

"Close your eyes!" Shaymur ordered, pulling at Karston who had taken a step toward the knife, "Turn your back on it."

Curthan grabbed Ferlan's shoulders and spun him around. "Don't listen, little man. Those are lies it's telling."

"No, no! It's the truth," Estev insisted, struggling to escape Rolfe's hold on him.

"Nay, it is the voice of evil speaking. Making promises it can not fulfill." Features twisted with pain, the dark man stretched a hand toward the table to draw it back with great effort. The desire to claim the blade for himself grew stronger with each moment.

"Don't you touch it. It's mine!"

In a frenzy, the young Rohirrim flung himself to the floor carrying Rolfe with him. Twisting and cursing, Estev rolled free only to find himself suddenly pinned by the combined weight of Dog and Jesse. Barking and growling, but careful not to bite the boy, they struggled to prevent him from throwing them aside.

Driven to his knees by the pain slicing into his head, Gemthir cried, "Keep it out of his reach!"

"Estev, it's not yours. You can't take it." Rolfe panted, straining to regain his hold on his foster brother. "You gave your word. Share and share alike."

Estev paused in his struggle to escape for barely a heartbeat. "I don't care. It wants me."

The dark man appeared on Estev's other side and captured the boy's chin between firm fingers and forced him to turn his gaze away from the glowing dagger. The hissing grew more demanding as Ahmose stared into the pale blue of the young boy's eyes. They were no longer filled with honesty and curiosity, but with the light of madness the Southron recognized far too well. His fears had proven true. There was but one path left to take.

Briefly touching the medallion upon his breast in silent plea for the forgiveness of his master, the Haradrim demanded, "Will you cast aside your family and friends and give yourself over to its will? Is this what you want?"

"Yes." Estev strained once more toward the table. "It's mine. Give it to me!"

"No!" shouted Rolfe as the stone walls again rang with howls and the younger boy suddenly sagged against him.

The dancing of the serpent ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Silence, blessed silence, filled the room.

Then Karston passed a grimy sleeve across his forehead and shook his head as if to remove the high-pitched hissing from his ears. Curthan pushed a visibly shaken Ferlan onto a bench and assisted Master Gemthir as he climbed awkwardly to his feet. Finding that he was unable to move his head without a sharp shooting pain, the man turned his whole body to survey the room.

Assuring himself that the boys appeared unharmed and controlling the desire to moan, the Gondorian shuffled around to face the Haradrim slumped with his back against one of the benches. A trickle of blood ran from the man's lip and from his posture Gemthir was convinced that the drums pounding in his head were beating in the Southron's as well.

"Are you injured, sir?"

Ahmose began to shake his head, then winced and said faintly. "Save for my head, which a mûmak has stepped on, I am in the best of health."

"Then you feel better than I do." Mindful of his throbbing head, Gemthir lowered himself into his chair and fixed the other man with a steely glare. "Why did you ask him if he wanted the blade?"

"The boy had twice claimed the blade as his own," Ahmose paused, dark eyes unfathomable.

"He didn't mean it. He'd never keep that thing," Rolfe interjected and looked down at Estev who lay, eyes closed and head tilted, as if listening to words that none but himself could hear. Rolfe turned angry eyes on the Haradrim. "You tricked him."

"Your brother withstood the temptations far longer than many would believe possible," said Ahmose, dabbing at the trickle of blood that continued to seep from his lip.

Though deserving of the truth, how much could the young ones accept? He did not believe they realized the path the young Rohirrim had set upon by claiming the blade for his own.

Rolfe frowned. Was it more important that Estev had held off for a day or for ten days; or that in the end he had given in?

"You said he had shields against evil." Rolfe turned accusing eyes on the gaunt-faced tutor. "That we were his shields. Did we fail him?"

"Never think that. We all, especially Estev, did the best we could against a force greater than any of us."

"So what now?" Shaymur said, kneeling beside Rolfe.

When the Haradrim hesitated, Rolfe hissed, "The truth, blast you. Don't you think Estev has paid enough for it?"

"Such a payment should never have been asked from one so young." Ahmose met the boy's anger, but could not find the heart to say that the payment was not yet complete.

"What hope is there of destroying it?" Gemthir pointed a finger at the dagger.

"Three other such gifts have been reclaimed and returned to their Houses. They have been destroyed." Ahmose saw that the scholar had begun to suspect the truth of the situation. With careful words he sought a way to guide the young ones to the unpleasant knowledge. "The blades seek ever to sow evil thoughts. Some men are fertile soil, others are stony ground. Over time, the honor of even the strongest is worn away, but in the beginning it is possible for some to turn their backs."

"In the past, rejection of the blade's claim resulted in a meaningless death. For a new owner would soon be found. Only with the destruction of the blade itself would the oath be broken and no force or spell that we possessed had any effect." Ahmose paused. When he continued, those who heard could not tell if his words were spoken with hope or grief. "Until the defeat of the Dark Lord. Since his passing, if the one who claimed the weapon can find the strength to renounce the power offered, the blade will shatter. It is to be hoped that the young one possesses the strength to reject its call."

"The owners die?" asked Rolfe, the shadow of understanding darkened his eyes.

"Yes, young master," Ahmose bowed his head in weariness, "Vast is my sorrow at telling you this for great has been your service to the House of Tharan."

Desperately Rolfe turned to his teacher, but found no solace in the pain filled eyes of the Gondorian. Rejecting the tutor's placating words, the boy shook his head in disbelief and surged to his feet.

"No! There must be some other way. I'll not let you have him."

Slowly the dark man rose to his full height and lay a hand upon the shoulder of the boy challenging him. "There is no turning from this path now. Your brother claimed the blade for his own. If he finds the strength to renounce it, he will rid the world of its evil forever."

With a slashing motion of his hand, Rolfe rejected the Southron's statement. "And if he can't, will you kill him and find someone else to try?" The truth of this was in the sad eyes that stared down upon him. "And if he succeeds, he's dead anyway?"

"I fear that is so. No other means has been found to destroy the blades."

Rolfe brushed the gentle hand from his shoulder and backed away. He allowed himself only a moment to wish that this evil had never been found before he folded his arms across his chest and said stubbornly, "You'll have to look again. You will not get my brother."