Sianim 01 - Masques

that the gods hid it away for fear of its power. But others, and I think they are right, say it was hidden until a time of great need.”
    “Donkey warts!” exclaimed Stanis wide-eyed. “Your sword is a rosy color and kind of gold.”
    She raised her eyebrows and pulled it out so all the children could see it. “Well, so it is.”
    “It’s kinda puny, though,” said one young boy a year or two older than Stanis, after careful inspection.
    She nodded seriously. “I think you’re right. Ambris is big enough that only a strong warrior could hold her. This sword was built for a small person—like me or you.”
    The boy gave her a little grin of solidarity.
    “A big strong warrior like our King Myr?” asked someone else.
    She sheathed her sword before someone decided to touch it and got cut. “Exactly like our King Myr.”
    Stanis, evidently deciding the topic of Ambris had been covered enough, said, “Do you know any other stories? Other ones about swords an’ gods an’ stuff? I like ’em with blood an’ fight’n, but Tobin says that it might scare the young’uns.”
    Aralorn grinned and started to reply, but noticed that Wolf was waiting nearby. Beside him was Edom. “It looks like I’ll have to wait and tell you a story another time. Remind me to tell you the one about a boy, his dog, and a monster named Taddy.”
    Edom came up to her. “Thank you for the break,” he said with a short bow. “I am most grateful. But Wolf says he needs you more than Myr needs another hand at the trenches.”
    “Watching the children is better than digging?” she asked.
    He grinned. “Absolutely. Hey, Stanis, how about you help me get a game of Hide the Stone going?”
    And a moment later they were all running for the bushes to search for just the right stone.
    “So you wield Ambris now?” Wolf commented, walking toward her when Edom and the children were gone.
    She hopped to her feet. “Of course. I am Aralorn, Hero of Sianim and Reth, didn’t you know?”
    “No.” She heard the smile in his voice. “I hadn’t heard.”
    She shook her head and started for the caves. “You need to get out more, have a few drinks in a tavern, and catch up on the news.”
    “I think,” he said, “even as isolated as we are here, I should have heard of the woman who wields Ambris.”
    Aralorn laughed. “Half the young men in Sianim paint their maces black. And at the Red Lance Inn of the Fortieth’s favor, just a few blocks from the government building, there’s a bronze ceremonial lance on the wall that the innkeeper swears is Nekris. I guess we don’t have to worry about the ae’Magi, you and I. We’ll just take Nekris and Ambris to destroy him.”
    After a few silent steps, she said, “I will admit, though, that when I found it in the old weapons hall at Lambshold, when I was a kid not much older than these, I used to pretend I’d found Ambris.”
    She drew the sword and held it up for his inspection. It gleamed pinkish gold in the sunlight, but aside from the admittedly unusual color, it was plain and unadorned. “It was probably made for a woman or young boy, see how slender it is?” She turned the blade edgewise. “The color is probably the result of a smith mixing metals to make it strong enough not to break even if it is small enough for a woman. Even the metal hilt isn’t unusual. Before the population of magic-users began to recover from the Wizard Wars, there were many swords made with a metal grip. It has only been in the last two hundred years that metal hilts have become rare.” As if he needed her to tell him that. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “That’s what happens when I’ve been storytelling to the children.”
    “How long did you pretend she was Ambris?” asked Wolf.
    “Not long,” she said. “No magic in her. Not human, not green, not any. And I was forced to concede that the Smith’s Weapons would be rife with magic.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Not to mention bigger, as is fitting for a weapon built to slay gods.”
    “She might not be Ambris, but”—Aralorn executed a few quick moves—“she’s light and well balanced and takes a good edge. Who can ask anything more than that? I don’t need a sword for anything else, so she suits my purposes. I don’t use a sword when a knife or staff will do, so I don’t have to worry about accidentally killing a magician.” She sheathed the sword and gave it a fond pat.

    The route that they took from the cave mouth to