Chapter 5: Escape from the Sunken Keep

There came a yelp as the Sword hit something that yielded slightly, and after my still moving body had made a pirouette I discovered that I was alive as well as unhurt. The Fork-tongue lay on his back a few feet away, massaging his shoulder. There was no wound to be seen on him, no blood on his clothes, but now I could clearly see some black flames licking the blade of the Sword.

I raised the weapon again and roared, ready to stab the bastard.

"Well done! You may leave." He did not seem afraid at all, just smiled at me. The smile was one of mirth, and it looked more real than the sycophancy he had shown earlier.

"Quaila!" I shouted at him.

"She's fine. You passed the test. Sword is yours. Take it and go."

"No!" I had been dazed and confused too many times today to accept this happening to me. Was this Fork-tongue not one after all. "What is this madness about?"

"You are a Questor, right? Chosen by the forces of Good themselves to be in the forefront of the struggle against evil and nastiness in general."

"Maybe so, but-"

"Maybe indeed! You, Logarth, are the laziest, least eager Page the Legion has ever seen, are you not? For the Sword of Black Flame to let one such as you become its Master ... Well, you will have to prove yourself. Sacrificing yourself to save another is a good start."

"Sword of what? This rusty old spanner?" I felt like I was made a fool of. Which I was.

"Fits your fighting skills, I should say. Have you ever shown the proper care of a blade? Have you ever learned to master a blade? Have you ever earned the loyalty of a blade, of any blade; much less this one? When you do you will maybe see a different weapon all together. No, not when. If."

"Huh? I didn't do that right now? What about the test and all, sacrifice and stuff?"

"You did what ever other decent man would do. Congratulations, you are a decent fellow. In time you might become a decent swordsman, or even a decent Questor."

"Who the filth are you, then?" I snarled at him. "So high and noble, lying and cheating and pretending to be a demon and playing some sick game with me. I was worried half to death about Quaila, and-"

"Me? I am the nice guy who warns you that now that you have the Sword, there is no need for the Spirit of Ulir to prevent this ancient Keep from caving in anymore." He grinned evilly at me. "I'm so nice as to give you some good advice, even: Run."

The slabs that made up the ceiling began to made ominous grating noises. I ran.

As I came out the door I felt something lap against the soles of my boots. The river. The slowly collapsing ceiling must have blocked the outlet. Water sloshed to all sides as I hauled the cursed sword towards the great hall. Bronze? Yeah, sure. It had to be made of lead to be this heavy, despite being four feet long. And hadn't I heard somewhere that bronze didn't rust?

Still, there was no time to waste. As I entered the hall I could see Quaila still alive inside the hall, her hands tied together as the water rose around her, while her face looked horror-struck from side to side. Then she saw me. There was no panic in her large, black eyes. No hate for what I had done to her. There was just a silent plea for help.

At the lower end of the hall the water level was so high that I almost had to swim, and the going was slow. Quaila mouthed my name silently.

"Coming!" I shouted, swallowing water in the process, cursing the damned heavy blade and wishing fervently that I could just let go of it.