Page 48 of This Midsummer Heart
Like wrestlers, we hook arms behind each other’s necks, the rest of our bodies far apart we fight to break free from one another. I am eye to eye with him, and for a moment, his widen in surprise. He sees something in mine that he doesn’t understand.
That dagger does not belong to him.I am your king,I tell the blade, as if warning it will do any good.I am the one worthy to wield your dark magic. Bow to me, and me alone!
“Give it to me,” I grind out. “You are unworthy of the mark of kings.”
“Never,” is all Vargus manages as he yanks the Blade of Hedril from my shoulder.
Suddenly, he stumbles, and practically falls into the edge of my broadsword. I step back just in time, fearing the bite of my father’s dagger.
I needn’t have worried. It sits in his chest now, buried to the hilt as his eyes bulge. Tendrils of magic like black smoke swarm the blade, then true smoke as it begins to burn. Vargus drops to his knees, bellowing in agony.
I yank the dagger from his chest before it can torture him further. Vargus’s eyes turn cloudy, his face slackening.
I am just as surprised. The dark magic of the Blade of Hedril has slept for more than three centuries. Now it sits in my hand, wreathed in darkness that exerts pressure in the air, nearly popping my ears.
The bandit falls, his eyes closing for the final time.
Daegris’s sword still in one hand, I wipe the blade of my father’s dagger clean on the grass rather than his clothes, to honor my worthy opponent.
When I am through, I search for Titaine, only to find she is already behind me with Giselda. As the soldiers and remaining bandits slowly rise from the ground, she reaches for the Blade of Hedril’s scabbard. She unfastens it quickly, as if afraid to touch our fallen enemy.
Maybe she is. Dark magic still seeps from his wound.
Alarm tightens her face as she stands, sheath in hand. Her eyes dart between me and the blade.
“Auberon,” she says slowly, carefully, “do you know how to stop that?”
At first, I don’t know what she means. Shock and battle fury numb my mind, leaving me slow to notice anything outside the fight. I barely even register that the soldiers not affected by Titaine’s magic are rounding up the surviving bandits who have not already fled, that the rest of the battle is through. My heart beats even faster when I see just what it is that Titaine wishes me to stop.
Dark tendrils swarm me like the chaos magic overtaking Nerania Wood, pulsing erratically with the power of untamed magic. But this isn’t the enchantment forged into the Blade of Hedril—though that is here, too.
It’smymagic.
I could float away from the shock. The era of Duskhold was supposed to herald the end of magic. Instead, it’s the dawning of elven magic’s rebirth.Darkelven magic. Natural chaos magic.
I’ve never had a day of real magical training in my life, except for how to use enchanted weapons—I was never good enough to warrant further lessons. This particular enchanted blade, however, proves easy to master. I am able to quell the dark flames of the Blade of Hedril with a thought.
Quieting my own magic is much harder. I’ve never had it before. Yet it feels like it’s always been there—and like I don’t know how to make it stop. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately seeking an answer.
“It’s alright,” Titaine says, her voice soothing and close. “Just listen to me.”
I listen. I’ve never listened to anyone harder.
“There is a well inside you, one so deep it reaches all the way to the sea, then beyond it, to fire, to sea again, all the way to the stars. Lean over that well. Look inside. Look for the stars.”
“There are no stars.” I can feel my body heating by the moment, as if this magic will burn me, too.
“Then seek the darkness between them. Look for where the light doesn’t shine.”
“I can’t—”
But I can. I can do this. How many times did I engage in visual exercise as part of my warrior’s training? I think of one favored by my old master.
The arrow that flies forever, that looses in a perfect line, where no tree, no being, no animal, nor wind nor rain, will ever stop it. The arrow flies forever, everlasting, a bit of our strength that cannot ever be quenched.
Slowly, my body cools.
“Good,” Titaine says, her voice laced with relief. “Good.”
