Chapter Fourteen
The grand hall fell into a stunned silence. Nobody moved a muscle. Valsigian stared at the blade now held to his throat. He had never seen it this closely before. For the first time, he recognized how closely it matched the symbol on his shoulder. It had been fashioned to mimic the style of sword represented on Eldrienâs breast as well as the one on his shoulder, down to the split running down the fuller from the point to halfway down the blade. He could feel the energy pulsing through the metal, almost like a heartbeat. It felt similar to how Tyr responded when he touched it with the Aureate.
His eyes traced up the length of the blade to the man holding his life in his highly trained sword hand. He tried to calm his nerves as he found the face of the man whom he had always considered a friend. He found no compassion in those eyes, only steely determination. There was no malice in his stare, just the look of a man fulfilling his sworn duty. âI donât suppose you could tell me how Iâm supposed to do that, could you?â he said quietly, trying to move his neck muscles as little as possible. He tried to give Eldrien a smile to ease the tension, but as soon as the corners of his mouth started moving upward, he felt his skin slide a little under the edge of the blade. Eldrien didnât move, didnât acknowledge his words whatsoever. A moment later, he noticed his blood slowly running past the split and began flowing down the solid part of the fuller.
Valsigian closed his eyes. He didnât know what to do. He felt almost hopeless in this moment. Fear began to creep into his psyche. He was being thrust into a world he didnât prepare for, something he didnât understand. He considered the last words Eldrien had spoken to him. The words echoed in his mind, âIf you are a Knight Aureate, you will tell me the name of this blade.â The Aureate, the answer must be hidden in his connection to it. He turned his focus inward, searching for that now familiar sensation in his core. It seemed that finding that infinite well of power within him became easier each time he reached for it. It was always there now, beckoning his touch, but not demanding. This time he didnât surrender to it, didnât just barely touch it; he embraced it.
The world came alive in that instant, the colors, the sounds, the sensations⦠all of it, so magnified⦠so gloriously enhanced. This wasnât what it felt like when he surrendered to it before. This⦠this was magnificent! This was like being born anew into a world of rapturous sensations. Everything felt so alive, so vivid, so pleasurable. He didnât think he would ever be able to let go of the Aureate again. The way it made him feel was indescribable; never had he experienced anything that he could even remotely compare to what he was seeing, feeling, and sensing.
His attention was immediately drawn away from Eldrien at the sound of Toveâs gasp. He found her staring at him with amazement. Both hands covered her mouth; her eyes opened wide not in fear or shock, but in astonishment. Then he felt it. The love that she held for him was unmistakable. He not only felt it, he could see it. His bond to the Aureate allowed him to see emotion; he didnât know how, he didnât know why, and he didnât care. The fine golden threads linked them together, man to woman, heart to heart, and soul to soul. His heart was now, and forever, linked to hers. The golden threads of the Aureate thickened at pulsed at his recognition, somehow relishing the strengthening of this connection.
The moment he noticed this strengthening, Tove gasped again, dropping her hands from her mouth to cover her heart. Her eyes revealed shock at first, like she had felt the change, but didnât know why. He sent his love for her back in equal measure along this ethereal connection that only he could see. Her sudden realization of what she was feeling finally dawned on her. Her hands moved back to cover her mouth as her eyes began to well with tears once again. This time, the tears were not from fear, but from the understanding that he loved her, just as much as she loved him. This connection was not just overwhelming; it was overpowering.
The emotional weight of this moment, the incapacity that it caused, is what made Valsigian understand the danger inherent in embracing the Aureate for too long. The Aureate, or the intelligence that was within it, or was part of it, agreed. It seemed pleased that he had learned this lesson, pleased that he was growing so quickly.
Since he dared not move his head to look around, he could only see Thorvald, Eldrien, Tove, and Rakin in his direct line of sight. Toveâs reaction to his embrace of the Aureate was one thing; they were connected in a way that none of the others shared. He began to notice his connection to the others in the room through the Aureate as well. The golden threads connecting him to the others that he could see varied widely. Oddly, the next strongest connection he could see and feel was to Eldrien. The emotions carried along those threads betrayed his outward appearance. While there was an overriding sense of duty, there was also fear. There was no indifference to the situation; there was only deep-seated hope. Valsigian was amazed at the outward control Eldrien had over his visage. Only one well-practiced in the arts of deception could hide their true feelings as masterfully as he had.
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The astonishment was plain to see on the remaining faces as well. It made him wonder what they were so captivated by. A thought occurred to him: the tales told around campfires during field exercises. The stories of the Knights Aureate, told by the grizzled old veterans, were intended to fascinate and mystify the young pages and squires. He raised his left arm into his visual field of view. It was surrounded by a golden glow, plain as the sun in the sky. âThe golden glow, the hallmark of the Knights Aureate, Iâm⦠glowing!â His heart skipped more than a few beats as he realized what this meant. âItâs true, the old stories are true.â his mind began to spin at the possibilities that he couldnât even comprehend.
The consciousness within the Aureate nudged him back to the present moment. It didnât communicate in words, but in subtle cues of emotion. It guided but didnât demand, encouraged but didnât insist. Valsigian inherently understood the intent, the guidance offered. He sought an answer to the question posed by Eldrien. âWhat is the name of this blade?â he queried the Aureate. The answer came in images, in runes emblazoned in his mind. He saw the rune that meant âwatching or vigilance.â, âTirithâ was the correct pronunciation. Next was the rune for âgreatness or nobilityâ, pronounced âarâ. Last, he saw the rune for âdescendant heir or championâ, spoken as âionâ. His mind raced to combine the runes in the proper sequence. âTirith⦠ar⦠ion⦠Tiritharion.â
A sense of overwhelming calm suddenly embraced him as he looked back into Eldrienâs eyes. His voice took on an ethereal but commanding tone as he spoke, âThe blade is called Tiritharion, and you are its keeper, Eldrien, Son of the Noble Watch.â The sword seemed to come alive at the mention of its name. Golden runes, matching the ones Valsigian saw in his mind's eye, burst into life along the blade. Confirmation that its name had been spoken true by a wielder of the Aureate.
Eldrienâs posture immediately relaxed, his eyes softened, and his lips revealed a relieved smile. He withdrew Tiritharion from his neck and dropped to a knee, head bowed. âKnight Aureate,â he began. âPlease forgive me for requiring the Right of Naming.â He lifted Tiritharion in his supinated palms above his head, offering the blade to Valsigian. âMy life is now sworn to your will, Valsigian Hunterson, Knight Aureate. I am yours to command. You may take my sword and my life as punishment for my actions on this day.â
Valsigian turned to look at his King, still embracing the Aureate. He raised his right hand towards the ceiling. Tyr appeared to dislodge itself from the massive beam it had been embedded in and streaked towards his outstretched hand. The moment the hilt of the great sword was firmly in his grasp, the runes he had seen on the blade during its descent towards his neck re-ignited. The name of the sword was clear for all to see. Tyr was only the first rune emblazoned on its blade, meaning âLaw and Justiceâ. The next rune matched the symbol on Valsigianâs shoulder minus the light eating circle, which he now understood to mean âKnight Aureateâ. The last rune meant âLeader or Rulerâ.
The full name of the sword, known as Tyr for well over two thousand years, had been lost to time. Its full name was âTyrvalaurion.â It was meant to be wielded by the Archon of the Knights Aureate. Only someone with the ability to embrace the Aureate could unlock the blade's true potential. Valsigian held Tyrvalaurion aloft, his sword arm held high. The light from the runes shone brightly as the golden aura that surrounded him, as he slowly lowered the blade. Rotating the massive great sword with his wrist so that the blade rested in his open left palm, he offered it back to Thorvald as he released the Aureate.
The runes on the blade continued to glow even after he had released his embrace of that intoxicating power. The golden aura around him faded to nothingness as his senses returned to normal. He felt a great sense of loss in its release, but he could still feel the Aureate where it was before. At his core, and in the back of his mind, just out of sight, but ready to answer his call at any moment.
King Stormson hesitated at first, not knowing what would happen when he reclaimed Tyrvalaurion from Valsigianâs hands. He was grateful that his sword had been retrieved from its lofty heights, but he was unsure how the still glowing sword would respond to his touch. He decided it was better to find out here, among his most trusted advisors, than it would be in any other setting. He wrapped his right hand around the hilt of the sword that he thought he knew so well. He was surprised that it felt so much lighter than usual, almost as if he were holding a feather. Soon after he had reclaimed his birthright, the runes faded from the blade, and the familiar weight returned. He looked to Rakin for the semblance of an answer. The old priest simply nodded and smiled politely, as if he had known all along what would happen when he reclaimed his sword.