Page 89 of Swordheart
“The great god be praised! Halla, I know you’re laughing, you don’t have to strangle yourself trying to hide it.”
“I’m laughingwithyou… mostly… and you’re not actually laughing…”
Zale snickered, then sobered. “I have been contemplating how the magic maintains itself,” they explained. “The power to fuel the sword must come from somewhere. The power to fuel a normal body comes from the food we eat, whether we are horses or humans or rats, but the process is… not efficient, let us say. I suspect that your process is far more efficient, in its way.”
“It’s magic,” said Sarkis.
“Yes, but even magic does not last forever. It wears away eventually, through use and time.”
“You mean eventually the sword might run out?” asked Halla, her voice rising with concern.
Zale leaned back against the wagon seat. “In the normal course of events, I would have expected it to do so long since. Few wonderworkers have a power that outlasts their death. I know of very few that might outlast centuries. Whoever your sorcerer-smith was, Sarkis, she was either unimaginably gifted, or she knew how to bend her talent to her will.”
“She was as mad as the mist and snow,” said Sarkis, then paused, as if suddenly tasting the words on his tongue.
Zale looked unconcerned. “As are a great many people,” they said. “Many madmen walk among the sane, and the lines are blurred beyond all recognition. And many people who we would consider sane wreak unimaginable harm in the world, so people call them mad.”
Sarkis grunted, but inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Fair enough.”
“Humans use the wrong words,” said Brindle unexpectedly. “Saycrazywhen they meanhead-sick.Crazy meanscrazy.”
“It is a difficult word to translate,” admitted Zale. “The Temple of the Many-Armed God wrote the definitive treatise on gnole language. I fear that Brindle has a much more extensive vocabulary than we do for this, and we are but fumbling in comparison.”
“Eh. Humans can’t smell,” muttered Brindle, with the air of one making allowances.
“Zeth,” said Sarkis.
“Beg pardon?”
“Zeth.Damn, Brindle’s right. Your language is wrong.”
“Told you, sword-man.” The gnole nodded to him.
“Can you explain?” asked Halla.
“Look, I’m speaking your language now. I know it quite well, because of the magic. If Halla stops wielding me, though, I’llstop knowing it. It’s in my head, and most of the words translate automatically, but some don’t, and some are trying to, but they’re the wrong words. Shit, this is coming out wrong.” He scowled. “Zeth.It’s a word in my language, but not in yours, except yours is trying to make it a word, but I don’t think it’s the right word.”
“I’m with you so far,” said Halla. “What’szethmean? Or can you not put a word on it?”
“Ah… a type of wickedness. Your language wants to use ‘insane’ but that’s not right. To gozethis to lose all conscience, butzethpeople still have all their reason.” He raised his hands, let them drop. “A madman should not be punished for being mad, and may still feel horror and guilt at what they do, but thezethknow better, they simply don’t care.”
Halla rolled the word around on her tongue. “So it’s like evil.”
“Well… yes. Except that you can do something evil and know it’s evil and care that it’s evil and do it anyway and feel guilt for it. If you’rezeth,you just do it and the fact it’s evil doesn’t bother you. But you’re still sane. If it is a sickness, it is of the soul, not of the mind that houses it.”
Halla frowned, but Zale was nodding. “Yes,” they said. “That is the sort I spoke of earlier. They do great evil in the world, those people.”
“And was your sorcerer-smithzeth?” asked Halla.
Hearing a word from the Weeping Lands on her tongue made him smile, even such a word as that. “Perhaps. It is easy for me to say so, now. Who could possibly prove me wrong? But it has been so long, and I knew her for only a day, so I cannot say for certain.”
The conversation was veering toward dangerous places. Sarkis knew that he would eventually have to tell Halla all the truth about the sword and how he came to be in it, but it did not seem like the time.
After she is safe. After she has her inheritance and her own place again, and she can spurn you if she wishes. To do so now would eitherforce her to forgive you when she should not or abandon you when she dares not, and neither option is fair.
And you’re afraid. If she does abandon you, even if it is no more than you deserve, you will lose her.
She looked over at him and smiled, and Sarkis wondered what he would promise her, to keep her from abandoning him, and did not know the answer.
