Page 205 of Of Empires and Dust
He lifted the cup to his nose and breathed deeply. All his life he’d only ever drunk Belduaran wine. Trade was a crucial part of Belduar’s survival, and imported wine was low on the list of essential goods. That wine had been light and fruity, sweetalmost. The wine he held in his hand was an entirely different beast. It was deep, dark, and bold. It left his mouth dry, and the flavours seemed to change and shift as the liquid sat on his tongue. He turned to Vaeril, who stood beside him with his own cup. Vaeril had not offered the bottle to anyone else, and Tarmon had a feeling it was slightly more special than the elf was letting on. “Where did you say this was from?”
“A vineyard in the western section of Aravell. Though the grapes come from a place long dead. It was a gift from Queen Tessara.” Vaeril watched the others dance and sing, his head tilted slightly to the side. Something that wasn’t quite a smile brought warmth to his features as he watched Lyrei, Dann, and Erik twirling about with the others. He looked back at Tarmon. “Thurivîr will neither forget nor forgive what you said earlier.”
“Good. I meant it. We’re all on the same side of this war. Elves of all three kingdoms are pledged to Calen, wear his sigil, fight in his name. I don’t care who that snot-nosed golden prick is, but I’ve not time for his shit.”
Vaeril gave a half-smile, touching the rim of the wooden cup to his lips and laughing.
“What?”
“I’ve just never heard one of the Ephorí referred to as a ‘snot-nosed golden prick’.”
Tarmon laughed at that himself. “Fuck.”
Vaeril raised an eyebrow.
“I think Dann’s rubbing off on me.”
They both guffawed at that, but Vaeril’s laughter quickly died as a group of five elves approached and bowed deeply. They spoke words in the Old Tongue, bowed again, then moved on to join the drinking and dancing.
Vaeril’s mood soured after that.
“May I ask a question of the heart?” Tarmon wasn’t sure if he’d said the words correctly, particularly given the surprise on Vaeril’s face.
The elf allowed himself a smile once more, one that broke into a soft laugh. “You’re learning quickly.”
Tarmon shook his head. “I’ve had a good teacher.”
Vaeril laughed softly, sipping at his wine. “Ask your question.”
“Ever since Tessara gifted you that sword—” Tarmon gestured at the star-pommelled sword strapped to Vaeril’s hip “—you’ve been different. Darker. Why?”
Vaeril looked down at the sword, his lips thinning. He drained his cup, then refilled it from the glass bottle resting on the satchel at his feet. “As you’ve seen, my people love to play games. To twist and manipulate. To work with strings in the shadows. This sword is nothing more than another string, another piece on their board. On the surface, it is the highest of honours, but in truth, it is a chain around my neck. A chain that ties me to Tessara and her to Calen through me.”
Vaeril set his wine cup down and unbuckled his belt, then handed the sword and scabbard to Tarmon.
The scabbard alone was a work of art. The body was black leather marked with stars and coiling tree branches. Both the locket and the chape were worked from polished silver. The pommel was shaped into a silver star and looked as though it would smash through a skull with little effort.
“This blade, Ünviril, is the most legendary weapon in my people’s history. I am as deserving of it as I am of a crown. Not two years past I had barely been raised to full ranger, and now I am the Champion of Vaelen? Do you know what Elyin Shadvír did with this blade to earn that title? He forged Vaelen from a High House into a kingdom. He single-handedly turned the tide of a war. He altered the relationship between our peoplesbeyond measure. He was not simply a hero, he was a true legend, almost a myth. I was told stories of his deeds when I was but a child. I am not fit to bear Ünviril, never mind wield it, and I’m not the only one who knows it. It’s a two-edged blade, honour and shame both. And I’m trapped between the two. Every elf that sees me wear this weapon at my hip knows that it was given to me solely because of my connection to Calen, that I do not deserve it.”
“It’s a funny thing about legends,” Tarmon said as he ran his finger along the silver pommel. “They’re only legends after the fact. At the time, they’re nothing more than people.”
He handed the sword back to Vaeril, who took it hesitantly.
“Wield that blade beside these warriors in battle. Guard their lives with it, carve the path forward with it. You’ll soon find yourself worthy. Legends aren’t passed down, Vaeril. They’re forged. Nobody is worthy until they are.”
Vaeril strapped the scabbard back around his hip, then picked up his cup and tapped it against Tarmon’s.
“We’ve come a long way, you and I.” Tarmon sipped at his wine, thinking back.
“I’d never even left Aravell before meeting Calen.”
“I’d not even have survived Belduar if not for you.” Tarmon subconsciously fingered at the scar on his stomach. “First you pulled the arrow from my stomach, then you dragged me from the wreckage of the Wind Runner. You kept your calm in the tunnels, guided us down the side of Mount Helmund. Were it not for you, the N’aka would be picking our corpses clean in the Burnt Lands. Void, I figure we’d all be dead a dozen times over if you’d not been there. Whatever that sword means, whether you think you deserve it or not, I’m proud to call you brother.”
Vaeril returned Tarmon’s stare, then once again tapped his cup against Tarmon’s. “Vandasera, akar.”
Tarmon knew those words.Oathsworn, brother.He repeated them, then drank deeply.
After a while, Dann came twirling from the song and dance, releasing Lyrei, who spun away and grabbed Erik’s arm and carried on.
