‘I may be able to help you with what ails you.’ Teclis looked at her disbelievingly.
‘That would be a gift beyond price,’ he said.
‘Well, it is your birthday after all.’
‘Yes, it is,’ he said, surprised. He had not expected to live to reach sixteen years of age.
‘I make no promises,’ she said. ‘I will see what I can do.’
She left the room. For the first time in a very long time, Teclis felt like crying. It was odd. He had thought there were no tears left in him.
‘I have a birthday gift for you, doorkeeper,’ said Korhien. Tyrion looked at the giant warrior, not sure whether he was being mocked. He glanced around the courtyard but all of the soldiers who had come with Lady Malene were busy about their own business. If this was a joke no one could see him being the butt of it.
Korhien loosed the belt and scabbard at his waist, folded the leather strap neatly and handed the equipage over to Tyrion.
‘What do you want me to do with this?’ Tyrion asked.
‘It is yours,’ said Korhien. ‘Unsheathe the blade.’
Tyrion’s heart leapt as he obeyed the White Lion. He drew the longsword from its scabbard. It was a true elven blade, long and straight and keen edged and it glittered in the mountain sunlight. Runes were etched in the metal. A blue sunstone inscribed with a dragon glinted from the pommel. He held it easily in his hand although it was heavier than he had imagined such a thing would be.
‘I cannot take this,’ said Tyrion, although he very much wanted to keep it. He was too proud to accept such an expensive and beautiful thing from a stranger. It was a charity he did not require. He might be poor but he was of a most ancient lineage. His father had taken the time to instil that knowledge in him.
He slid the blade back into the scabbard and presented it, hilt first, scabbard held over his left forearm back to Korhien. Tyrion felt the wrongness of his words even as he said them. He knew that in some way he was insulting Korhien but at the same time he did not want to be beholden to any elf for something as important as his first sword.
Korhien seemed to understand.
‘Keep it for a season and if you do not want it, return it to me in Lothern. You are going to need it now, for how else I am going to give you a lesson with it? That will be my birthday gift to you if your pride will not allow you to accept more than a loan of the sword.’
Tyrion smiled back. It was a compromise his pride was prepared to accept and his father would too. And he really, really wanted the sword. It fitted in perfectly with his image of himself and his unspoken dreams of glory. ‘Very well. I thank you for your loan.’
‘Don’t be so quick to thank me, doorkeeper. I mean to repay you for your lessons in chess-play,’ Korhien added. ‘Your father has told me you have not been schooled with a sword.’
Tyrion shrugged. He did not want to say there were no swords in the house. It seemed shameful to admit that his father had sold them for the money needed to continue his research. ‘I know how to use a bow and a spear well enough,’ Tyrion said.
‘I am sure you do,’ said Korhien seriously. ‘But the sword is the weapon you will be called on to use in Lothern, if you have any cause to use a weapon there at all.’
Tyrion did not need to ask why. Duels were not fought between asur nobles with spear or bow, not unless the situations were very unusual.
‘So when do we begin?’ Tyrion asked.
‘No time like the present.’
Tyrion shrugged and unsheathed the sword and fell into the stance he had always imagined wielding it. Korhien looked at him puzzled.
‘I thought you told me you had no training with a sword.’
‘My father has never given me any. Swords were not his weapon when he was in the levies. He says he is more likely to cut himself with one than any enemy.’
Korhien walked around him, inspecting his stance. ‘That is nothing less than the truth. Your father was the worst sword-bearer I have ever seen. Better to have no training at all than be taught incorrectly. That said,