Text Key

"Audible speech."

'Directed thought, telepathic speech.'

Chapter 2 - Campfire Stories

Content Warning - Conversational Troping

We'd broken for the mainland not long after that, and were now hiding out in the Spine - the one place where Galbatorix was loath to go.

To someone more attuned to nature at its wildest… it was mostly fine. Not a place where idiots or the overconfident would thrive, that much was true, but it was no hellzone that made any form of survival an aberration against fate and all logic.

We'd found a cave high up in the rocks, above where most creatures would venture but sheltered enough from the elements to serve as… y'know. A shelter. And there, I built a fire and set to work, looking over what we had to work with.

There was Balmung, of course - which, almost predictably for a magic sword found at a nuclear ground zero, had proven to be a glow-in-the-dark blade -, and a dragon's saddle we'd found for Selby - the quality of which which made me inclined to believe it a gift from the 'Patron' rather than a natural find - but those were easy, what-you-see-is-what-you-get type stuff.

The me of this world had been scantly equipped - in terms of pure material, I had a magical foci and the clothes that had been on their back. How that had put her on Vroengard, I couldn't say - they had no clear memory of that locational transition and the answer of 'teleport' didn't work either; the spell for that in this world was both inherently explosive and a fucking nightmare to use on anything bigger than a football.

The Ra'zac had come with more; a bow and quiver of arrows - all made out of the most ominous materials possible, though I assumed there was a practical consideration to the mix at some point in the process - and two vials of seither oil, a most virulent substance that would break down any and all organic matter it came into contact with. A potent tool for murder and torture that left mostly unhealable wounds, it wasn't something I was inclined to use myself, but it wasn't the kind of thing to just leave lying around for just anyone to pick up.

But more interesting was the sword I'd taken off of the Ra'zac - because it was bronze, and not just in terms of the material. The shape itself was that of the Bronze Age; a leaf-shaped blade, of modest length and very little in terms of a handguard, though what was there was studded, ridged, and decorated as much as the low smithing quality of the era would have allowed. This wasn't even a xiphos, the more refined version polished by centuries of trial-and-error - this was the ur-sword; the first blade intended as more than a mere knife, of which there were no peaceable uses, not even that of hunting.

In effect, the Bronze age sword was the first unmistakable material threat, even without the enchantments of strength, durability, and ever sharpness that had been worked into this one as deeply as the designs on the blade.

Later swords would be the emblem of heroes - this, however, was the tool of a killer. The ancients' vision of Jason's machete.

'There's power in that,' Selby noted, studying it with a dragon's eye for treasure. 'Being the first incarnation of an idea.'

"Just like there's mana in murder," I agreed, before I remembered where that line came from. "...did I ever tell you about how I got into fantasy?"

'I assumed it was the product of your bad home life.'

"Well, besides that part. It's because I was a voracious reader and my grandma had a first edition, illustrated copy of Larry Niven's The Magic Goes Away on her shelf. I fucking read that book over and over again. First because there was a mostly naked pretty lady involved, but then I got into the actual story and the characters." I laughed as I set the sword down, changing out for Balmung. "Niven actually coined the term 'mana' as a word for 'magic energy' - but do you think everyone else that uses the word remembers that?"

'People are always forgetting the past, except for when it conveniences them or is famous enough. Even the recent past,' Selby agreed. They would know, being a natural guardian of time. 'Every bit of useful knowledge becomes unspoken muscle memory becomes lost lore.'

"Exactly. People think of Lewis and Tolkein as being the first big names in fantasy, the originators of so many concepts and themes, but so many people have added to it along the way - and so many others will be someone's intro to the genre," I continued as I polished the opaline surface of the sword. "I was brought in with Niven, continued with Paolini, Yolen, Pierce, and so many others. And you never know what's going to stick either; Heart's Blood, Alanna the Lioness, and Roze-Kattee, God of Love and Madness - you borrow bits of the dream and carry them with you."

Balmung's green glow brightened as if in response to that. Or perhaps because the fire was dying down, giving the glow-in-the-dark qualities a reason to activate harder.

"Garjzla, letta," I told the blade. It dimmed, but I had a feeling it was a temporary state of affairs. All the more motivation to make a proper sheath. "You think I can teach Thridisten here to glow specifically when there's enemies around, since we're on the subject of old-school fantasy? I mean, even if it's just lawyers, it'd still be useful."

There was a great wheeze of draconic laughter. 'You're going to call it Trinitite?'

"It's a green, pretty, but dangerous thing I found near the epicenter of the first nuclear explosion this world has ever known, do you think there's a better name? I mean, we did just have a conversation about there being power in being the first incarnation of an idea," I countered as I set the blade down with my things. "...just as a nickname. Balmung and Nothung are fine names, but using them seems like I'd be inviting the trouble of the gods, and I have no desire to get caught up in Nibelung-style drama just yet. Being in a Wagner opera is bad for your health, y'know?"

'Ha! Like that isn't the story of your life already,' Selby replied as they settled back down to rest again.

I smiled as I leaned back into Selby's scaly side, ready to fall asleep to the slow pound of a dragon's heart beat. Couldn't argue with that, I supposed.

Authors Notes

You get a cookie if you recognize any of the stories referenced - there's quite a few of them!

ALSO I KEEP COMING BACK AND FINDING MORE TYPOS, GO ME, YOU'RE SO GOOD AT THINGS.