Temper

The sword Seth carried into the war was the same one he had been given as a squire, forged for him during his training. Even after all these years, he could remember the heat of the smithy, the sweat dripping down his spine as he had watched the swordsmith work. And he could remember the steely voice of his teachers.

To become a knight is to be become the king's blade.

While he had trained with wooden practice swords, he had also had to spend a part of every day watching the swordsmith work. Forging a sword was not like regular blacksmith work; it was an art.

Seth had sat cross-legged on the floor of the smithy, watching the blade be born. Some of what he saw he understood only vaguely. A mix of metals of different qualities was required to make a blade capable of cutting and thrusting, but also able to resist blows without breaking. The swordsmith worked the heated rods of iron and steel, folding the softened metals into one and forge-welding them together. But that was only the beginnings of the blade, as he had only been the beginnings of a knight.

A knight is more than a simple soldier. We train you not only in how to fight, but how to live.

The reverberating sound of the smith's hammer on the newborn sword still rang in Seth's thoughts whenever he drew it from its sheathe. So long had he sat with the smith, watching him carefully shape the blade, that the rhythm of the hammer on the red-hot steel and the anvil below it, had seemed like an echo of his own heartbeat.

And once the blade had been given shape, it had to pass a trial by fire to make it both strong and pliable. Over and over the blade was heated and the glowing metal quenched in water, letting out an angry hiss of steam as if from a small yet temperamental dragon. After that, the blade was carefully heated at low temperatures, tempering its brittleness so that it would not shatter.

Temper your anger, your passion, your rebelliousness and your restlessness. Become as the quenched blade, straight and strong. Become as the tempered blade, unwavering and unbreaking.

By and by Seth had learned these things. He had become a knight. He had become as tempered steel.

ooo

"Keep your guard up," Seth warned.

His sword slashed outward, the steel clashing against the edge of another blade, shorter, thinner, but just as well crafted. His opponent grunted at the force of his blow. Seth darted back again.

"Don't lock your elbows like that," he said.

Eirika nodded, breath coming quickly now, sweat plastering strands of hair to her brow. "I know," she gasped out between breaths. She set her jaw, raised her sword.

He waited a moment and then attacked again. She tried to parry, but he knew her style, knew how she relied on her speed. Though she was fleet of foot like a pegasus in flight, he anticipated her movements. His sword bore down on hers, forcing downward. Yet instead of breaking away, of trying to fall back, she remained still, straining to keep her sword aloft as he bore down on it with all his strength.

Seth only just caught himself, stumbling forward as Eirika's knees buckled.

He sheathed his sword and turned to the princess. "My lady, are you–"

"I'm all right." Her sword lay in the grass and she did not immediately move to retrieve it, drawing in rapid breaths.

"I'm sorry, princess. I should not have–"

"No, Seth. I need to keep learning. Surely you don't apologise to the squires you train." Though the air was cool, he could see beads of sweat glistening on her neck. Licking his lips, he forced the image from his mind.

"We should stop."

"No," she said, reaching again for her sword. "I can do this. Let's try once more."

He shook his head. "We've been sparring for nearly an hour, milady, and I fear you're becoming frustrated. That will only lead to more mistakes."

"I'm fine, Seth," she insisted, getting to her feet, sword drawn.

He sheathed his blade.

Eirika's expression left no doubt that she took affront at his actions. "I will not risk harming you by sparring when you're not fit," he announced. "One must be calm in order to train properly."

"Calm?"

"An expert swordsman must be able to temper his emotions. A knight is trained to do so." Her lips thinned to a line and he was certain that the flush in her cheeks was due to more than exertion. Eirika's nature was so gentle that it was unusual to find her out of sorts, but Seth found himself on the receiving end of a fearsome scowl. "If I've done something to anger you–"

"You've been avoiding me."

Even frowning, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, a smudge of dirt on her brow, she was lovely. His eyes hovered for a moments over her lips and he looked away. "We spoke of this already," he said softly. "You have been too close to me."

"Things are different now," she said. "Ephraim is safe. And when we retrieve the last stone from Rausten we'll finally have a chance to end the war."

"And still I will be only a knight in your service."

"Does that mean you must avoid my presence at every opportunity?" she shot back. Her tone was icy, but he could see tears brimming in her eyes. He had to fight off the urge draw closer to her.

"Lady Eirika," he said quietly, "you know–" He glanced up at her but then averted his eyes again, looking towards a spot just over her shoulder, "You know I'm far from indifferent to you." He hurried on before she could speak. "But I've been charged with your safety. How can I protect you if I allow my feelings free reign?"

"Seth–"

They both turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Seth bowed when he saw it was Princess L'Arachel. "Eirika, I've been looking all over camp for you. Really, training at this hour." She rounded on Seth. "A princess should not be worked so hard, General. Especially when she's been under such strain of late."

He flinched, knowing that he had only contributed to that strain. They knew now that her friend, Prince Lyon, was possessed by the Demon Lord, and worse still, the stone of Renais had been destroyed. He had wanted to offer a kind word, to encourage her, comfort her, but it was the very fervency of that desire that had made him hold back.

"I'm the one who asked Seth to help me train," Eirika said.

L'Arachel tutted at Eirika. "Well the general should have politely declined then."

"But–"

And before the conversation could get any further Seth bowed, saying, "If you'll excuse me..."

He turned then and walked away before Eirika could reply.

ooo

Seth cursed as they rounded a corner and the clatter of armed footfalls echoed from down the hall. He pulled Eirika with him into the previous corridor, backs against the stone wall, waiting to see if the enemy soldiers were headed in their direction.

They had hoped to find a night's reprieve in the capital of Rausten. Instead they had met Riev's army in battle in the very halls of King Mansel's palace.

The sound of Eirika's breathing seemed loud as they waited, but then so did the thrum of his pulse. The attack had come suddenly, the halls of the castle all at once swarming with enemy soldiers. Though he and Eirika had begun amidst a knot of comrades, they had become separated during the fighting, turning down a different corridor than the others in the dim light – many of the lights in the wall scones, normally kept lit by the castle servants had gone out... or been put out. The enemy knew their way through these hallways far better than they should.

The footfalls drew closer. He glanced at Eirika. She nodded.

No sooner had the enemy soldiers rounded then corner than Seth and Eirika were on them. Though there were four of them, in the narrow confines of the corridor, they could only come at them two by two. Seth cut down one man within moments, a second following quickly thereafter. All the while he listened for the sound of Eirika's duel, trusting that she could handle herself as she had through so many battles, but worrying nonetheless.

The fourth soldier was hanging back still and he darted a glance at the princess in time to see the armed man facing her slide off her sword, dead before he hit polished stone floor. Only one more, hovering there in the shadows. In the flickering light from the wall sconce, it took Seth a beat to realize that the man was not armed with a sword... but a staff.

The mage's staff was raised up already even as Seth's hand reached to his belt for a knife and loosed it. The blade struck home and a red flower blossomed on the man's pale robes. But even as he fell, magic flared from his staff.

No lightning or fire shot from the staff, but as Seth spun to face Eirika, his heart thudded against his ribs in horror. Her expression was blank, as if she were sleepwalking, but her sword was raised and her limbs tensed like a cat about to pounce on hapless mouse.

Seth raised his sword in time to fend off her first wild strike.

"Lady Eirika!" he shouted, though he knew it was pointless. There was no reasoning with someone in the thrall of a berserker staff.

Eirika slashed at him, her movements sudden and jerky, with none of the calm precision of her normal attacks, nor any of the care she displayed in their sparring matches. Under the spell of the staff, she would kill him without a thought if he gave her the chance.

Seth blocked her attack and the ones that followed in quick succession. He could not risk harming her and yet if a group of enemy soldiers came across them while she was like this, they would both be in grave danger.

"My lady, please..."

Sweat dribbled down the back of his neck, chilling him in the cool air of the draughty corridor. The flickering light cast long shadows across Eirika's face, her expression still as blank as if she wore a mask. She did not see him, did not recognise him. He knew this yet he still found himself trying to reason with her.

She slashed at him, high and then low, so that he was hard pressed to keep up while staying always on the defensive. The spell would wear off eventually, but whether that would be in five minutes or fifty, he could not know.

Her blade crashed down on his and he shoved her away, sending her stumbling back. Her face struck the wall, and in the glow of the candlelight he saw a dribble of blood on her cheek. "Eirika," he pleaded.

She came at him again, her sword moving in a wide arc, driving him back. He stumbled over the body of one of the slain men and rolled away, feeling the whoosh of air as her sword struck the space he'd occupied a moment before. Scrambling to his feet again, he raised his sword to meet hers. Her blows clanged against his blade like the smith's hammer all those years ago, again and again in a relentless rhythm.

When she struck at him next, her sword grasped two-handed, he twisted his blade, forcing hers along with it, trying to wrench it from her grasp. But under the thrall of the berserker magic, her grip was preternaturally strong and her fingers did not loosen her hold. Yet the force of the movement sent her stumbling away from him. When she righted herself she held her sword only in her right hand. Her left arm hung limply at her side. Seth's stomach turned as he realized he'd managed to dislocate her shoulder.

There was only a moment's pause and then she continued her attack, relentless, unaware of the pain of her injury.

Her strikes were more erratic now, her left arm dangling uselessly as she attacked. He blocked and fell back, striking now and then in the hopes of disarming her, but she continued to hold the hilt of her sword in a white-knuckled grasp until he was certain he would have to break her long, slender fingers to make her drop the blade.

Seth's breaths came in heaves now. There was no pause in her slashes. She did not stop to rest or catch her breath but kept coming like one possessed.

Again, he forced her away and then hurried back a few paces to give himself some room. She ran at him, blade raised. Taken off guard by the suddenness of this latest attack, he lashed out harder than he had meant to. There was a strange cadence to the blow this time as their swords met. The force of it shuddered down his arms, and he thought he felt something give, even as Eirika was sent sprawling onto the floor.

This time she did not get up.

"Eirika!"

He hurried to her side, almost dropping his sword in his haste. His heart was in his throat as he saw that her fingers had finally loosed her hilt. Sparing only a moment to knock the sword away from her, he drew closer, breath coming in short gasps. There was a terrifying moment when he thought she might not be breathing, but then she drew in a shuddering breath and her eyes sprang open.

No longer was her face a blank mask. Instead confusion flashed across her features, followed by a grimace as she sat up. She cried out, her right hand leaping to her dislocated shoulder.

"Don't move," Seth commanded. "Your shoulder is out of its socket."

"Seth, what–" She broke off as a slight movement left her grimacing in pain again, a cry leaping from her throat.

"My lady, listen to me. We're still in danger. We can't stay here like this. I'll need to set your shoulder."

She nodded once. "Can you... manage that on your own?" she asked, her voice unsteady. She was right in that the healers normally did this in twos, but it could be done with only one.

"Yes. I've done this before."

"All right."

"I need you to brace your good shoulder against the wall."

Holding her left arm, Eirika inched towards the wall. He took her injured arm from her, holding it level as she braced herself against the wall. The little gasps of pain as the joint moved made his chest clench in sympathy. She bit her lip and nodded to him.

"Hold on. It will only take a few moments."

One hand was on the top of the joint, the other one on her arm. A sound somewhere between a growl and a cry, shuddered out of Eirika as he forced the joint back into place with an audible crack.

And then it was done. She was breathing heavily but when she rolled her shoulder experimentally, it no longer caused her to cry out. Slumping back against the wall, she let out a sigh of relief. She closed her eyes for a moment. "It was a berserker staff, wasn't it?"

Seth didn't answer. There was blood smeared on her cheek and a few drops still dribbled down along the line of her jaw. He drew closer, reaching out to tilt her face, trying to see the cut, but in the dim light there was nothing but darting shadows.

"I'm sorry, Seth."

"There's nothing to apologise for."

Her eyes were fixed on him as she spoke. "I would never purposefully hurt you. Even if I were angry with you I–"

He took her face in his hands and met her gaze. "I know." She embraced him then, burying her face in his chest. Her held her tightly. "I know," he said again, stroking her hair.

After a minute or so, she drew a shuddering breath and then straightened. "I'm all right now," she said, offering a wan smile. "We should move."

No sooner had she spoken the words than they froze at the sound of footsteps echoing down the halls. Slowly, without a sound, Seth reached out to retrieve his sword.

"Evil can never defeat the forces of righteousness!" announced a shrill voice from somewhere down the hall – a blessedly familiar voice for there was certainly no mistaking Princess L'Arachel.

"Princess L'Arachel!" Seth called out.

Some moments later the princess of Rausten appeared with Dozla, Rennac, and a handful of Rausten soldiers in tow. Distress flashed over her features as she saw them. "General Seth, is Eirika–"

"I'm all right," Eirika assured, moving as if to rise, but Seth's planted his hands on her shoulders.

"Please stay still, my lady." She relented and he turned his attention to L'Arachel. "Lady Eirika is in need of your services, princess."

L'Arachel nodded. "I will tend to her, General Seth. You should return to the battle. The fighting continues on ahead."

He hesitated, his eyes turning to Eirika. She smiled again. "Go," she said. "I'll be all right."

Finally, he nodded. "Yes, milady."

It was only then as he retrieved his sword that he noticed a chip in the blade's edge as if a sliver of metal had broken off during his bout with Eirika. He touched it, the broken edge drawing a bead of blood from his fingertip.

"Seth, your sword..."

He shook his head without turning to look at Eirika. "It's only a nick. The blade will hold up in spite of it."

At least he hoped it would.

ooo

A single night was all the rest they had after the battle in Rausten Court. In the morning bustle as they prepared to depart for Darkling Woods, Seth was startled when Princess Eirika came upon him in the palace corridors, a sheathed sword clutched in her hands. "Seth, I've been looking for you."

"My lady. How fare you this morning? How is your shoulder?"

She smiled and rolled her shoulder. "Fine, if a little stiff."

He bowed his head. "I apologise for wounding you, princess. I had hoped to fend you off without injuring you, but–"

"Please, Seth," she said, raising a hand to silence him. "We're both in one piece; that's what matters. I know how hard it is to deal with someone affected by a berserker staff. It could have been much worse."

And still he could not forget her whimpers of pain or the blood that had smeared her cheek. "Was there something you wished of me, princess?"

"Your sword, Seth, may I see it?" He titled his head to one side, surprised, but he drew his sword from its sheathe. She moved to stand next to him as he held out the sword, and her eyes lingered on the chipped blade. "I'm sorry about this as well. You've had this sword forever, haven't you?"

"It isn't your fault, milady. And yes, this is the same sword I was given as a squire. It's served me all these years." He could hear the regret in his voice, and hastened to add, "But it can be mended once we return to Renais. A swordsmith can retemper it."

Eirika nodded. "You'll need another sword in the meantime, though."

"Yes. I was going to ask to borrow one from Rausten Court's armsmaster."

"That won't be necessary. I have a sword you can use."

His attention turned to the sword she'd brought with her. She held it out to him in both hands and his eyes locked on the wide, ornate crossguard and the pebble-sized ruby affixed on the hilt. "My lady, I cannot," he said, eyes wide. "That is the Audhulma, one of the Sacred Twins of Jehanna. I'm not fit to– surely Prince Joshua would prefer to..."

"Joshua wishes to fight with his own sword rather than carry it himself. I asked him before we left Jehanna." She thrust the outheld sword towards him. "You are my most loyal retainer and the finest swordsman in Renais. You are worthy of this sword, and I am asking you to wield it when we face the Demon King. Please, Seth."

His hand shook as he reached out to grasp the sheathe and then slowly draw out the blade. The ring of the sword as he unsheathed it was strange and unfamiliar to him, reverberating with magic that seemed to tingle up and down his arm.

He glanced at her uncertainly. Her eyes rested not on the wondrous sword, but on his face, her expression full of tender affection. There was no blame for what had happened yesterday, no lingering resentment. He held the sword tightly, as he wished he could hold her. "I'm at a loss, princess," he said finally. "Thank you."

"Just promise me one thing. Please... don't avoid me any longer."

"But, my lady..."

Her fingers brushed over the hand that still gripped the jewelled sword hilt. "There are things that can't be tempered, Seth... and that need not be tempered." For a moment, he thought she was speaking of his old sword, but when she smiled and squeezed his hand before turning to walk away down the corridor, he knew she meant otherwise.

The End