Rise of the Blade - Charles Moffat [13]
Ignazio ignored his anger and tried to smile, albeit feebly.
"You'll do okay," Pierce said with a smile, letting the boy go and sheathing his longsword. "Keep practicing but keep in mind: Strategy is all." The connection to the d'Or family motto was obvious and Ignazio wouldn't be able to forget it now, so closely it was tied to his pride.
Very little moonlight crept through the clouds overhead and darkness once again swept over the compound, sleep taking its resident students. Except for two youths who once again had decided to forgo the warnings of Marque Draque. This time they crept into the domed amphitheatre, their way lit by Mitch's magic longsword which glowed a light blue.
Pierce sat in a dark corner of the huge domed room, waiting for them. Rich brats, dandies, he surmised as they entered. Always thinking they could get away with breaking the rules so long as their families paid for the fines and bail. He sighed and sat back to watch for awhile.
Brek drew his own blade, an elven sword, its quality obvious to Pierce's keen eyes. It too was magical, but not as much as the other. Elven steel was hard to come by at all and usually had to be a gift. Brek's father was a wealthy merchant and had ties with elves obviously.
The veteran warrior looked down at his two favourite blades, Tarrasqueslayer and Sidekick. Dwarven sabers fashioned of adamantite and then enchanted by Marque Draque. Strapped across his back, he wore his mother's longsword, which was also magical with special properties against elementals.
It was true that the first saber had killed the Tarrasque, or rather chopped its head its off. The great beast would have regenerated and returned had they not found a way to dispose of it. It was immune to fire and acid was the only other form of destroying it. There had been no lakes of acid present however and the only solution came from Marque Draque's portable hole, an extradimensional magic hole that he stored his belongings in. They had gathered up the tarrasque's regenerating remains with the aid of an air elemental, and shoved it all in the magic hole. Draque tied the hole shut and Pierce used Witter's saber, Planereacher, to destroy it.
That encounter had not been without a cost, he recalled. He reached up and plucked at his gray hair. Marque Draque's numerous spells he had cast that fateful day on him had aged him a couple years.
Forcing his mind back to his friend Witter, his mind wandered to the weapons adorning his bedchamber. Spitzer and Planereacher, two sabers of incredible magic power, yet only a portion of the power of Tarrasqueslayer and Sidekick contained. He really needed a new name for the left saber. Sidekick sounded so demeaning to a sword that was actually the more powerful of the two.
For some unknown reason he felt that the sword had feelings, an intellect of its own, yet hid its power from its master. For many years now Sidekick had become a trusted friend, the magical and psionic powers invested in it amplifying his own powers of telepathy and foresight.
His foresight interrupted his thoughts and told him that something seriously wrong was about to happen. He looked up to the two combatants. They were locked in a test of strength, trying to wear their opponent down. They broke apart suddenly and then swung back at each other, two magical blades striking in the middle ground between the two.
Pierce had risen to his feet and was in the process of hurtling seats when the two blades met. An explosion caused by breaking a magical weapon was rare indeed for the chances of breaking a magical weapon were quite slim, combined with the random effects depending on what part of their magical enchantments buckled under the strain.
"Marque Draque, where are you?" the Doctor demanded as the fiery explosion threw the two youth's apart, singing their skin and burning their eyebrows off. They collapsed to the floor, more in shock than in pain.
A relative silence followed