Prologue
This book is a work of fiction.
People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
© 2020. M H Pierson. All rights reserved.
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Prologue
‘But they don’t believe me,’ Mithel grizzled, throwing his arms in the air in despair.
’Then you are going to have to convince them Mithel, because if you can’t get them to join you on this quest, it is unlikely you will succeed, even with my help.’
The young prince dropped his head in defeat. ‘They won’t listen. They’ll think I’m being silly, but they will listen to you. You can talk to them at the fayre.’
’How many times do I have to tell you that I can’t do that?’
‘But why?’
’Because a sentinel sword can only talk to its rightful wielder, and that’s you. The only way that I can speak to anyone else is if you are dead, or you abandon me.’
’I could give you to Aingeal,’ Mithel suggested. ’The others would believe her. She’s magic, and far too serious to make up stories about talking swords.’
’Even if I was to allow you to give me away, and I won’t, it certainly would not be to a wizard.’
Mithel could have sworn he saw the magical sword shudder at the thought of being given to a mage.
’Heavens, I’d rather be owned by the bard, and that would also never happen. I am a sentinel sword,’ it said proudly. ’Most likely the only, and most certainly the greatest one in all of Caerleon. I doubt even the most loyal and brave knight is worthy of me. To be honest, I think I can do better than a lowly prince.’
’So, I guess Ciaran and Perce are out of the question then?’
’Ciaran is a possibility, but only if you fall off your donkey and break your neck at the fayre. As for Perce, perish the thought. He would most likely impale himself the first time he drew me from my scabbard, however this is all irrelevant. I am going to say this slowly and for the last time Prince Mithel. You cannot give me away, even for an instant. If you try, you will find that the magic placed on me by my creator prevents me from returning to a wielder who has forsaken me, no matter how good their reason.’
Mithel thought about what the sword said for a second, then asked, ‘So are you saying that if I was injured in battle and could no longer lift you and I gave you to a friend whose only weapon had broken and couldn’t defend them self, I still couldn’t take you back?’
’As I told you last night, yesterday morning and every day last week, no, you couldn’t.’
’I guess I have no choice then but to convince the others to follow me.’
’Correct.’
’Geeze, having a magical talking sword sure is hard work.’
