Demon(#Wattys2017 Entry)

Chapter 36:Departure

Many people had gathered near the gates to see them off. Guiltare crossed her arms, observing as a few men with wagons brought their pay out, chests stacked upon each other and pulled by oxen.

Vas'Tirren walked over to stand beside her, nodding."I trust this is to your liking?"

She nodded grudgingly."The families of my men who died will appreciate it, I'm sure." She said, careful to hide her grief.

They had lost forty men on this job, the highest casualties for a single battle Black Grifin had had in a very long time.

Even Gem, normally resigned to the fact that men had to die in wars, had gone off to sulk. Egral had succumbed to his wounds and perished, after five years of being her subordinate, training partner, translator, and friend.

Guiltare had tried to speak with her earlier, but she had simply shrugged it off, changing the subject to her new scars before rushing off.

Vas sighed."...I am sorry for your losses...many of my people perished as well. So many we may never know, if I'm being honest. And don't get me started on the destruction of our buildings...Any worse, and it'd be Pyrinza all over again." They both stared at the approaching carts in silence for a moment, each reflecting on the costs of the war.

He hesitated, then gestured to one of his men."...I felt somewhat bad for the damage to your sword...any chance of it being repaired?"

She shook her head."The magic in those blades damaged the steel. A blacksmiths attempt to repair it resulted in it crumbling away." She replied.

He smiled as the soldier presented a new sword to her."Well...with this, you will no longer have to worry about such issues."He said.

She held up the sword and looked over it, seeing it as a near-perfect replica of her own.

Vas'Tirren continued."It has our magic in it, you see. Our swords are made to last as long as we do, and never break in their owners hands...that enchantment, unfortunately, is what kept all of my soldiers from simply overrunning Pol in the palace."

She nodded."I see...and what of Pol's sword? It broke, did it not?" She asked.

He smiled."That was my sword, stolen by Pol when he was banished to the villages. He was not its true owner, and thus, it did not feel the need to stay intact for him."

She looked at him curiously from beneath the mask."You make it sound as though they are alive."

He pat his own blade in a loving manner."To Deena, and to any true warrior who wields them, they are."

She looked at the blade with mixed feelings. True, as the leader, she would need a new blade, for no leader could simply walk about unarmed. But, she had been a bit relieved when her old blade broke. It had belonged to her father, and she felt sickened to be carrying a relic of his deeds.

And now, as though by the cruel joke of some god, here she held a replica of that blade, a replica of the evil her father had used in battle, made to last as long as she which, as she was a near-immortal Eisen, promised to be a very, very long time.

But, as leader of the people and Queen of a fledgeling nation, she could not afford to be rude to the leader of that most militant of races. Instead, she only removed her mask to let him see her smile and nodded in approval, giving a few experimental swings of the blade."...Very nice. This gift pleases me."