A VOW SWORN IN BLOOD

Dawn had broken when Tal finally awoke, and for the briefest moment on opening his eyes, he wondered why his bed was so hard, and why he hadn't drawn his curtains. Then reality struck.

The warrior in the spiked black armour.

Gorion.

The ambush on the road.

And he squeezed his eyes closed again, but not before he once again saw Gorion spitted on that huge sword. A harsh sob escaped him. From somewhere off to his right he heard movement.

'You're awake.' It was the elf.

Tal reopened his eyes and glanced around, quickly locating the other. He was sat at the edge of the clearing, his sword held in one delicate hand, a shimmering cloth in the other. A look to his left revealed Imoen. The young woman still slept, flat on her back with one arm flung over her eyes. It wasn't a surprising sight, Imoen always slept like the dead whenever she was upset. He sat up and stretched, careful to keep the elf in sight.

'Who are you?'

'The name is Coran,' the other replied, rubbing the length of his sword with the cloth. 'And you, my young friend, are lucky that I was on the road behind you last night.'

It was the truth, they'd likely both be dead if he hadn't have happened along. But what would the elf, Coran, demand in payment for that? Tal was no fool, he might have been raised in a sheltered world, but he knew that most people who roamed the world didn't put their lives in danger without a reason. The question was, could he pay the price the other might demand when the time arose?

'Thank you,' Tal replied simply, reaching out to take hold of the blade that he'd laid next to him when he fell asleep. The other smirked at the movement.

'Young one, if I wished you dead, you would not have woken from your sleep.' He slid the now gleaming sword into a scabbard and placed it in front of him. 'Indeed, if I wished you dead, I would have just left you for those ogres.'

'Why did you intervene?' It was one of many questions that had followed him into sleep. 'You don't know us, or owe us anything.'

'Maybe it was my sense of fair play. I do hate uneven odds.' He grinned, showing white teeth. Tal sensed that was the only answer he'd get, for now. 'Now, it's your turn. Tell me, who are you? And why did that one in the spiky armour want your life?'

'I'm Tal, that's my sister Imoen.' He pointed unnecessarily at the sleeping woman. 'We were travelling north with our father when they attacked us. But I don't know why, I've never seen any of them in my life before.' The elf raised a disbelieving eyebrow. 'It's the truth,' Tal insisted, stung by the fact that this stranger thought he was lying. 'I don't know who they were, or why they wanted me.' He gripped his sword tight and stared the other dead in the eye. 'But I mean to find out.'

'As do I,' Imoen said, startling them both.

'No Im, you're not coming,' Tal responded with some heat.

'Oh, and who's going to stop me, you?' She rolled over and sat up in front of him, prodding a single finger into his chest. 'Gorion might not have been the father to me that he was to you, but I loved him just the same.'

'It's too dangerous,' he protested.

'I know it's dangerous, you idiot.' She prodded him again, harder.

'Children, please, arguments are so unseemly, especially in the morning, and especially between siblings.' Coran was on his feet, a pack and his sword strapped to his back. 'Your brother is right, you should go home, the road is a dangerous place for one so young.' She opened her mouth to protest, but he just waggled a finger at her and kept on talking. 'But the decision is yours, not your brothers, not mine, so do what you will.'

'Im, please,' Tal begged, after casting the elf a poisonous look.

'No Tal,' she said, and he saw in her eyes that there would be no dissuading her. 'I'm not leaving you to go off on your own, not when you're all I have left.'

That was that argument over. Not that Tal was overly surprised, not really, because Imoen had always had a habit of getting her own way, even with some of the stricter monks in Candlekeep. She just had that way about her. And really, despite everything he'd said, he was secretly glad she'd won the argument, because he wanted her with him, because he didn't want to face the world without his sister and best friend by his side. But he'd never tell her that.

'A word to the wise, my young friend,' Coran murmured, startling Tal who'd not even heard the elf come close. 'Never argue with a lady, it's an unwinnable war for any man.' He clapped a hand on Tal's shoulder. 'Now, you said you were heading north?' Both of them nodded in unison. 'Well, I can guide you to the Friendly Arm Inn, if you wish me to.'

Tal and Imoen shared a look, each of them remembering that that was where Gorion had told them to meet his friends. Deciding to let him guide them was an easy decision to make.

'Thank you, we would appreciate that.' He turned to face the direction he thought the road lay. 'But there is one thing I have to do first.'

Gorion lay sprawled on his back, and from a distance it looked like he might just be sleeping, albeit in a highly unusual place. It was only when they drew closer that they spotted the terrible wound to his chest, and the pool of blood he lay in. Imoen cried out once and ducked behind Tal, shielding herself from the sight of the mages stricken body. Tal only wished he could do the same, but he'd insisted on coming back here, because of a need to see him. Coming to the fallen body, he dropped to his knees, and took one of Gorion's cold hands in his own. Imoen hovered behind him, sobbing quietly. Striding past them, Coran reached the crossroads and took a long look in every direction.

'Do what you must do, friend,' he called back. 'But hurry, The Fist patrol these roads, and I would not like for them to find me near this scene of carnage.'

Tal barely heard him, too engrossed was he with not staring his dead father in the face. He had reason for that, that reason being he did not want to look in Gorion's eyes, did not want to see the accusation he was sure was the only thing that now lived in them. His father was dead because of him, that was an undisputable fact, the armoured man had wanted him, and if Gorion had just stood aside then he'd still be alive. Kneeling there, holding his dead father's hand, Tal knew he'd never be able to forgive himself.

'You should have let them take me,' he whispered, his voice breaking. 'You shouldn't have died for me, I don't deserve that.'

'Tal, it wasn't your fault.' Imoen slid her arms around his neck, hugging him tight from behind. 'You're not responsible, you didn't kill him.'

'But I am responsible, Im.' His hands rose to clutch hers, taking a comfort he didn't deserve. 'He died because of me, and I don't know why.'

'We'll figure it out,' she whispered fiercely in his ear. 'I promise you big brother, we'll find who did this and they'll answer for it.' He felt her head shift. 'Hey, what's that in his pocket?'

Feeling like he was robbing the dead, Tal let go of Imoen's hands and reached inside the pocket of Gorion's robes. The thing Imoen had seen was a roll of parchment, with a broken seal. Unrolling it partially, he saw it was a letter, written in small, spidery handwriting. He unrolled it fully, letting his eyes roam quickly over the text.

My friend Gorion.

Please forgive the abruptness with which I now write, but time is short and there is much to be done. What we have long feared may soon come to pass, though not in the manner foretold, and certainly not in the proper timeframe. As we both know, forecasting these events has proved increasingly difficult, leaving little option other than a leap of faith. We have done what we can for those in your care, but the time nears when we must step back and let matters take what course they will. We have, perhaps, been a touch to sheltering to this point.

Despite my desire to remain neutral in this matter, I could not, in good conscience, let events proceed without some word of warning. The other side will move very soon, and I urge you to leave Candlekeep soon, the very day you receive this if possible. The darkness may seem equally threatening, but a moving target is much harder to hit, regardless of how sparse the cover. A fighting chance is all that can be asked for at this point.

I do not need to remind you that it is still a dangerous land, even without our current concerns, and a group is stronger than an individual in all respects. I have asked Khalid and Jaheira to meet with you at the Friendly Arm Inn, if their duties permit. They only know some of what has past, but they are ever your friends and will no doubt help if they are able.

Luck be with us all.

I'm getting too old for this.

E.

Tal's vision blurred with unshed tears, and he clutched the letter to his chest with one hand, while with the other he groped blindly at Gorion's belt for the dagger he'd always kept there, pulling it free and slipping it into a pocket of his tunic. He shuddered as sobs silently wracked his body, and the memory of his father's murder once more tore through his mind.

Without thinking of what he was doing, Tal rolled up his right sleeve, drew his blade from its scabbard, and scored a deep slash across his wrist with its bitter edge. Imoen gasped in his ear as the blood welled up, but he paid her no more mind than he did the returning elf, this was his promise and vow to the fallen.

'I swear to you, Father, with my own blood, that you will be avenged.' He held the open wound over Gorion's chest and watched as his own blood dripped down to mingle with the dead man's own. 'I will not rest until I hold the heart of the one who murdered you in my hands.'

He didn't know how he'd do that, not yet, didn't know how to even find the man responsible, but he'd made his vow in blood, and he would keep it.

'Are you finished, Tal?' It was the first time Coran had called him by name.

'With this part of my life, yes.' He climbed slowly to his feet, and from there he gazed on the world with new eyes. 'We can go now.'

'That's an interesting sword you have there.'

They'd been on the road most of the morning, and Coran had finally called a halt, stating that he needed a rest. He was lying about that, the real reason he'd called the halt was because Imoen was struggling to keep pace, but as he'd whispered to Tal beforehand, he didn't want to hurt the woman's pride, and Tal was grateful to him for that. Imoen hadn't really been fooled, though she said nothing as she sank gratefully down at the base of a tree. It was then, once everyone had had a drink and a bite, that Coran joined him, his eyes curious.

'It was a present from my father five years ago, on the day I saw my fifteenth year.' Tal slid the blade free and balanced it across his thighs, letting the elf take a good look at it.

As far as instruments of death went, the blade was a work of art, a beautiful tool made for the ugliest of purposes. And as it lay there across his legs, Tal let his mind drift back to the day Gorion had presented him with it.

He sat at the small desk in his chambers, a slim tome open in front of him, but currently not reading as he had his eyes closed, letting the warm sunlight bathe his face. He was dozing like that, not a care in the world, when there was a sudden sharp rap at his door. Before he could respond to that knock, the door was opened without warning.

'Neglecting your studies again, Tal?'

His eyes snapped open and he turned his head sharply to see his father framed in the doorway, a long, slim package held in one hand.

'No Father,' he protested, knowing he wouldn't be believed. 'I was just taking a moment to rest my eyes.'

And I should just believe that, should I?' Gorion stepped into the room and pulled the door closed behind him, his brow furrowed. 'You forget Tal, I know when you are not telling me the truth.'

'But I am this time.' And he was, having just closed his eyes moments before his father had knocked. 'I swear.'

'Calm yourself my son.' He was smiling now, actually looking amused. 'I am not here to lecture you, not today of all days.' In a few quick steps he'd crossed the room to stand by the desk., that package held out for Tal to take. 'I have come to give you this.'

Reaching across with his left hand, Tal took the offered gift. He'd had an idea what it was the instant he'd seen it in Gorion's hand but had not known it was meant for him.

'Thank you,' he said, his voice little more than a stunned whisper.

'It was not my intention to gift you a sword as a present,' Gorion carried on, as if he'd not heard Tal's thanks. 'In fact, I'd have rather you had expressed an interest in the arcane arts.' The note of disappointment in his voice was hard to miss, and for a brief moment he felt a stab of guilt that he and his father couldn't share that one thing together. But it was only a brief moment, because magic held no interest for him in the slightest. 'But if the sword is what you love, then you will carry the finest of blades. Open it.'

Without needing to be told twice, Tal untied the string that held his present closed, and pulled free a sword from a carved wooden scabbard. His mouth dropped open in wonder. The sword was easily one of the most beautiful objects he'd ever set his eyes on, and he fell in love with it right there at first sight. It was as long as a regular longsword, but the weight of it was far less, meaning he'd be able to wield it just as easily with one hand as two. The hilt was long, midnight black, and fit perfectly in his hand. The crossguard was of silver and shone brilliantly in the suns light, its only decoration was a single onyx stone. Midnight black was also the colour of the blade, which was slender, slightly curved, and possessed an edge that looked sharp enough to split a single strand of hair. Down one side of the blade were a series of blood-red glyphs, elvish script he thought.

'Those spell out your name,' Gorion explained. 'The other side is blank, just waiting for you to choose the right name.'

He grinned then, teeth flashing white in his black beard, because he knew as well as anyone in the keep about Tal's fascination for named weapons.

'Where did you get this from?' Tal had known that his father had travelled extensively as a younger man, and assumed he must have found it in a dragon's hoard, or something similar. The answer surprised him.

'I had it commissioned several months ago, specially for you.' Gorion sat down on the edge of Tal's bed and gestured for him to hand the sword back. 'This blade will never need to be sharpened, it will never be damaged in any way, and there is an enchantment laid upon it so that only you can wield it. Others might carry it, but they will never be able to use it as the weapon it is.'

To prove what he was saying was the truth, Gorion lifted the sword and attempted a quick cut with it. It was if an anvil had suddenly been attached to the blade. He was able to raise it easily enough, but the instant he tried a swing, it dropped to the stone floor with a ringing, musical clash, narrowly missing chopping off his foot, which caused him to utter a series of colourful curses.

'I think I see what you mean,' Tal said, fighting off a smirk.

'Hmph, less of the sarcasm if you please, Young Talessin,' he grumped. 'Now, why don't you think of a name for this sword, so I can add it to the blade.'

However, Tal didn't need to think of a name, one had already come to him the moment he set eyes on it. It was perfect as well, encompassing the colour and the purpose for why such a weapon would be forged.

'Nightblood,' he said, almost reverently. 'Its name is Nightblood.'

'You know,' Tal said, reluctantly leaving the comfort of memory. When my father first gave me this sword, I used to dream about adventuring with it, doing the sort of heroic deeds that would have the bards singing about me and my legendary blade.' He rose smoothly to his feet and sheathed Nightblood once more. 'Now the only deed I want to be known for, is using this sword to take the head of my father's murderer.' He slung his pack over his shoulders. 'I think we're rested now.'