Heirot

Tenara stumbled again, the table behind her catching her balance. The next strike was coming, and she rolled, the sword clattering into the wood. Her eyes widened, and she glanced at Sinead. But, before she could plead her case for a rest, the sword master was turning up the heat again. Her arms were almost too tired to lift the sword, and each half-hearted attempt to block became worst and worst.

"Wait," she said. "Look. I'm done..."

Yeo frowned as the girl gave up the fight. "Your Grace?"

Sinead was looking at Havitharon now, even as she spoke to Yeo. "No. Continue."

The swordsmith prepared to lunge at her again.

Havitharon's eyes narrowed to angry slits. He'd been in her position, too tired to move, required to keep fighting, but in those times it had been a matter of survival. Why push a sparring match so far? He could feel each blow as it shook through the sword, feel her small frame struggling to support it. To support him. He wanted to be lighter. Faster. To push the swordsmith back across the room and corner him with his own middling attacks.

The weapon in Tenele's hands suddenly changed weight. Yeo's attack was coming in from above, and a subconscious impulse drove her to swing up and block it. The sword moved fast and light as a whip through the air. Yeo's eyes widened, and he took a step back to study what had just changed in his opponent. Tenele's feet and sword repositioned to mirror his. It wasn't that something was forcing her legs, or moving them 'for her'. It was more like they simply knew where to move, and could do so near-effortlessly.

Tenara wasn't certain what had happened, but the lightened weight in her hands was a blessed relief. She almost sighed, giving in to the feel spreading through her—the ease of sharing the burden of the sword. She smirked. "Continue," she said, and advanced on the swordmaster.

Havitharon smiled darkly as she pushed back, and succeeded. Perhaps this man was a master smith, but Havitharon had watched, and fought, more duels than he could readily count. He noticed every twitch, every shifting of weight, and read her opponent like a book. His smile widened fiercely as Tenara stopped countering attacks and instead went on the offensive. Her movements looked graceful as a dance as she forced her much larger opponent to yield ground, foot by foot, until he was pinned to a bookshelf with no room left to maneuver. Tenara's sword stopped at his throat.

Panting in astonishment, Yeo slowly raised his hands and dropped his sword. "I yield," he said, looking impressed.

Tenara was panting herself, a sheen of sweat having gathered on her skin. She smoothed the back of her hand across her brow, wiping sweat and sticky silver hair from her skin. She placed the sword on the table and fell into one of Sinead's armchairs. "Did you get enough information from that?" she asked. She deflated into the cushions, sighing with a pleased smile. Then, the weariness in her arms settled back in, the strength she'd gained from the sword bleeding out of her. The smile soured.

Havitharon let his focus break the moment the match was over, slipping back into his own thoughts again. For a few moments, his own skin and flesh felt odd to him, as if he'd forgotten they even existed. For the past few minutes, he'd been the sword, or at least inside it, or perhaps he'd been the battle itself. When he raised his eyes, he tensed as he noticed Sinead looking straight at him. He returned her gaze with a wary frown.

"I have never seen fighting like that," Yeo said to Tenara now that the match had ended. "Were you holding back strength? Or was that some kind of second wind?"

Tenara shook her head, still breathing like she’d run a mile. “I don’t know. It felt… Well, it didn’t even feel like me. Not entirely. I knew what to do but… it wasn’t something I should know to do.” She didn’t think that made any sense at all.

"Thank you, Mr. Yeo. Your expertise was a great help. I've seen enough, for now," Sinead said.

"It is I who should thank you for the opportunity," Yeo said amicably. He glanced over his blade, admiring the nicks and dents their bout had brought upon the edge. They hadn't been sparring gently. Not toward the end, anyway. "It was an enlightening match, indeed. Should you require any repairs, lady Tenara, I am at your service."

Tenara glanced down at the sword leaning against her chair. It appeared in perfect condition, much better than the sword master's. "I will," she said. "Thank you for the kind offer."

When he was gone, Tenara looked to her grandmother. "How does beating the hell out of your guest help figure out what's going on with us?" She tried not to be cocky. Though it did feel nice to get the upper hand on such a skilled swordsman, she suspected it wasn't wholly her parent's training that helped her do so.

Sinead smiled. At moments like this, Tenara's tenacity reminded her so much of Tenele. "I wanted you to spar so I could get an understanding of the energy between you, Havitharon, and the sword. I have little doubt now that the sword is our interplanar guest's Tether. It is the object that holds his soul to this world. It's not the first time I've ever heard of a spirit sword, but it's the first that remains sentient. The weapon would normally house the essence of the creature sacrificed to form it... instincts, lingering desires, raw power. This one has somehow retained a sense of self. I suspect your own power is to thank for that."

Havitharon interrupted. "Are you trying to say I'm just a shade? That I'm dead?

Sinead observed his angry features without much expression. "It is very likely. A soul requires a vessel, and soul and vessel are not easily parted. To uproot one, you must destroy the original."

"That doesn't make sense. I am clearly alive right now."

"You are sentient in that form because Tenara wishes you to be. For now."

Tenara frowned. "To uproot one, you must destroy the other? Does that mean he has no body in his world? That... it is dead and he can't return to it?" Her gaze drifted to Havitharon, sympathy tugging at her heart.

Sinead nodded. She knew she wasn't speaking with much tact, but tact had never been one of her natural traits, especially toward those she had no particular fondness for. "Yes." She pulled out the spellbook they'd loaned her to study, and opened it to the ritual that had been used on Tenara. "This language is forbidden, even among sorcerers, but I have seen enough to understand some. These sigils signify battle, and what I just saw confirms my suspicions. Using you to channel him into this weapon, they captured not just Havitharon's power, but the entirety of his wisdom and experience with combat. If your own magic were to amplify that combat skill, there's no telling what such a weapon could be capable of. It also makes it all the more important that you learn to master and protect it from falling into the wrong hands."

Tenara stood slowly, shaking out the ache in her arms. "Okay. He said practice. You say practice. So... we'll practice. I just... I don't want to do it anywhere people are. The last time I used my magic, if you don't count all the times since losing my bind a week ago, I was seven and destroyed an entire city block, killing nearly a hundred people."

Sinead nodded. "Control is paramount. There's a good chance that your powers are what's stabilizing Havitharon's existence right now. The sword as a tether will only bind his soul to this plane. It won't stop his mind and body from degrading. His existence here goes against the natural law; it could drive him mad in short order. Your powers are stabilizing him for now, but it's placing a strain on you. If you insist on preserving him, the best thing for you both is for you to master how to meter out your power. No more blood magic. It may be effective, but it places a traumatic strain on you both. You may as well be feeding a kitten with a fire hose."

Havitharon's expression was dour. He looked at the door, longing to leave, but he really couldn't think of where he would try to go even if he could. He felt trapped, without any good options.

She frowned. "I... don't know how to call it without... cutting," she said, looking away. She glanced to Havitharon. He didn't seem comfortable, and why would he? They were talking about him as if he weren't there, and he was, and he was only there—only sane—because of her. "It used to come out when I showed any slight emotion of fear or anger, and now it doesn't seem to come unless I..." She glanced at the criss-crossing, shimmering scars on her hands and arms. Practice. She just needed practice.