A Sense of Destiny

This is a story I have been wanting to write for ages and I really wish that I had started this before Max Damage.  The concept of the swords, the 6 sword names and powers belong to Fred Saberhagan, a great author who captured my love of the swords and their stories from the first chapter of the first of his books I read. Since his death in 2007 and my first forays into writing this was always a story I wanted to put down and I hope that anyone who has read Fred’s books will understand the love I have for them in the stories I will write and anyone who hasn’t read them will go out and find them and enjoy them as well.

The Gods must have some twisted sense of humour he decided.  Sam was clambering across the rocks away from the volcano where he had spent the last 6 weeks, the heat here would have cooked the flesh off a normal human, but to him it felt almost pleasant.  The time spent in the caves had been arduous and only the power of the gods had allowed him to survive in the toxic atmosphere, he had been made to work hard, gathering rocks which the Gods had identified, never questioning why they couldn’t use their own powers to gather them faster than he could.  The effect of the work  had toned his body and now there appeared to be no excess fat on him and he was now a significantly more muscular and chiseled form.  The strength in his frame was clear to any who looked and the way he moved through the boulder field with the burden he carried proved his stamina.

Sam  was dressed in a rough smock, his previous clothes had worn quickly and the Gods had been only willing to provide him rudimentary clothing.  The smock was held in place by the belt at his waist, however the contrast between the belt and smock could not be more marked.  The belt was made of the finest leather and 4 inches wide, 6 scabbards hung from the belt and in each sat a short sword.  The swords swung as he moved, each seemingly attempting to trip him up and send him to the floor however given their length the most that they were able to do was to make him stumble.

He could not understand why the Gods made him leave with the swords, 6 of the Gods, 4 of the Lesser Gods and 2 of the Greater had been with him in the cave for the 6 weeks, each had contributed something to a sword he had seen the glow flash across each blade as the power was transferred he had memorised the words that each God had told him.  Yet at the end of the 6 weeks the Gods presented him with the belt and once it was buckled round his waist had placed each sword in it’s scabbard. He did not understand why they would give him these priceless swords any more so than the fact that each of the 6 swords had quite clearly been a long-sword when forged, yet each slid snugly into a sword sword sized scabbard barely half the length of the sword when drawn.  They had pushed him out of the cave so suddenly, he had felt like a guest who had suddenly over stayed his welcome, he turned around to say something yet where the cave entrance had been there was now a rock face that was as solid as it appeared.  He had no idea exactly where he was, his transport to the cave in the first place had been by magical means and he had no idea which direction to head to find any town or village.  In the end he simply turned his back towards the wall where the cave entrance had been and began to put one foot in front of the other.

That had been an hour ago and he was only now coming to the end of the rock covered crater.  His instincts had apparently been correct as directly in front of him a set of rude steps had been carved into the rock face, as far as he could tell, looking left and right, this was the only route up the short wall of the crater and he suspected they had been created just for him.  His new muscular legs made short work of the steps and he now stood at the top of an incline looking down towards a large wooded area.   He could see no signs of human life, except for a small plume of smoke some miles away, drifting up through the trees and into the sky.  He could tell from the landscape that nothing was familiar and whilst he was relatively untraveled prior to this event, he knew the area surrounding the village and farm he lived in and this meant he would have to travel long distances to get back to the life he had known if he could even complete the task he had been given.

The only son of a farmer his early life had revolved around avoiding his parents and the long list of jobs they always seemed to have for him and playing with the other children in the village.  He was always in the middle of any trouble going on and this eventually led his parents to put many restrictions on his activities and to put more and more jobs on his shoulders.  He spent time apprenticing with many of the workmen in the village as well as working on the farm, he could turn his hand to ploughing, milling and baking as well as a number of other trades, however it was his experiences with the Blacksmith that he was most fond of. Time spent  in the forge beating metal into shapes, for a village Blacksmith this was not the warrior tools of swords, shields and daggers, but scythes, horse shoes and other metal work that the local people required.  When the Blacksmith had an accident and died, Sam was the one person the village as a whole turned to and he went from working on his fathers farm one day to owning a Forge and working for himself.  If was the making of Sam and the responsibility changed his outlook on life, his days of gallivanting around dodging as much work were behind him and the villagers became used to Sam being at the forge before many people were up and about and still working away long after most other workers were retiring for dinner.

He enjoyed life and was not averse to the pleasures of food, drink and young women, as a man of some means, now he owned the forge, a number of fathers were allowing him to court their daughters, something which mere months before would have been the last thing on the fathers mind if Sam had come calling for their daughters.

It was late one evening shortly after the mid-summer celebrations and Sam had been just closing up the forge when a stranger approached him and asked if he was available for some work.  Sam looked at the fire in the forge that he had been about to rake out for the night and said “Yes” to the stranger, as he turned back around to question the Stranger about the manner of the work, the world seemed to shimmer around him, his forge had disappeared, yet the smell of fire and heat of the furnace began to overwhelm him.  He fell to his knees struggling to breath as the fumes began to burn his throat.  A hand dropped to his shoulder and suddenly the heat seemed to fade and he was able to catch his breath, his lungs filled with fresh air and he rose from his hands and knees.  He looked around him at the 5 figures before him and the stranger who had spoken to him at his forge now released his shoulder and helped him stand.  “My son” the tallest figure said “we have need of you help and require you as a witness.  The world has fallen and the old ways of peace and unity are lost, a new power for good must be forged and you are the key.” Sam fell back to his knees, the voice echoed through his body and soul and he had no doubts that he was in the presence of a number of the Gods.

In the weeks ahead it became clear that ,Bane and Cabal, the 2 Gods of Chaos, as normal people had termed them had begun taking a direct hand in the affairs of man, causing wars and famine across the land.  The 2 remaining Greater Gods along with the 4 Lesser gods were un-willing to face their brothers directly, but were willing to pass to the humans they deemed worth tools to help them defeat the agents of the Chaos gods.

Sam now carried those tools around his waist, he had some idea of the capabilities of some of the swords from the names and words spoken by the God, Coinspinner, Farslayer, Shieldbreaker, Townsaver, Wayfinder and Woundhealer were the names and as his mind rolled over the names he realised that now was the right time to use one of them.  He reached down and ran his hands over the hilt of the first sword on his right and moved his hand round, he didn’t need Farslayer at this time.  His hand passed over Townsaver and Woundhealer before he reached Wayfinder and drew the sword out into the light.  Like it’s brothers the blade was flawless, even though the gods had tested the blades against other normal weapons, not a mark appeared on their surface. The only distinguishing mark was a small symbol at the hilt which in the case of Farslayer was a white arrow, Sam confirmed this by finally looking down at the sword in his hand, the first time he had even looked at the sword since he had seen the smoke rising.  He still was not sure how he managed it but he could identify any of the swords by touch alone even just a brush of a hand over the hilt would be enough for him.  Sam thought about the task the Gods had given him and slowly swung the sword across in front of him.  Nothing happened until the end of the sword pointed towards the smoke and then the blade began to tremble.  Sam continued to swing the sword past the smoke and the trembling stopped.  He made a complete circle and only when the sword again pointed towards the smoke did the trembling begin again.

“Oh well” though Sam, “that’s pretty conclusive”.  He returned Wayfinder to her scabbard and taking a final look behind him at the volcanic lava field began the walk down the hill and into the forest.