Hrafnir, the Talking Sword

 A glowing glass sphere sailed past Xander, and he threw himself to the side in a hurry. The side of his body hurt, and molten rivers of pain erupted from his already-broken arm, but that was better. He watched the sphere shatter against the cold stone tiles and explode with an ear-splitting bang. The windows exploded with the force of the explosion, raining glimmering shards of glass.

The Xander from a few months ago would be staring at the scene in horror, and be on the verge of tears. But the Xander at that moment was calm.


Well, that was a lie. He was still on the verge of tears. He just knew, by virtue of far too much experience, that wasting time by gawking would be a very bad idea. So, even as he heard the knights behind him shout at the magicians to prepare the next volley of explosion spheres, he pushed himself off the floor to keep running.


The many paintings on the walls seemed to glare down at him. He knew they weren’t truly alive, but the cold expressions of the Heads of the Hart family from previous generations caused a shiver to run down his spine. To be honest, he didn’t really know where he was going. A street rat like him would never know how to find his way in an estate as large as this one.


Thankfully, he wasn’t the one navigating. Speaking of navigators, Xander glared down at the sword in his hand. Its shiny metal blade and gold embossed hilt were a sharp contrast to his torn clothes and dirty, matted hair. But by now, most of the kingdom had heard the tale of how he had found the sword. Or, to be more precise, how it had found him.


The runes along the blade began to glow white. He felt the blade come to life in his hands, and couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.


“The Hart Head has set up wards here,” Said Hrafnir, the sword projecting its voice directly into his mind. Xander suppressed a shudder. Even after spending so much time with the mythical weapon, he couldn’t get used to its method of communication. “It took me a bit of time, but I’ve managed to break them. I’m free to help you out now.”


The sword-wielding teenager didn’t reply, but gripped the hilt firmly. Whirling around to face the veritable army behind him, he stood his ground. When Hrafnir was unable to respond, he would never have dreamed of facing off against such a horde.


But he wouldn’t be facing off against them. Swinging the blade above his shoulder, he brought it down with a mighty swing, and threw it at the crowd in the same movement. Hrafnir flew towards the knights, propelled by the throw and its own magic.


It moved so fast that he couldn’t see what had happened, and the front row of knights collapsed like puppets whose strings had been cut. The sword had only needed a few quick slashes. It would have defeated the whole army, but that would’ve used up the remaining magic that Xander had worked so hard to supply it with. Those late-night heists and life-threatening chases couldn’t be spent in a single battle.


But, it was enough. Seeing the highly-trained men collapse in front of them incited mass panic. Less experienced knights tried to flee, and only caused more of a mess. Xander happily took advantage of the distraction and fled from the scene, Hrafnir flying back into his hands.


Even as he ran as fast as his legs would take him, he felt the sword tugging him in certain directions, leading him to where he had to be. He followed its instructions, having complete trust in it. He had never been proven wrong in trusting it so far, and didn’t believe he would be in the future.


All that running had finally brought him to the entrance of the Hart Family’s office. A rather plain door, all in all, but one which hid many secrets. Including, Xander thought rather venomously, a hand tightening on his hilt, the secret of what had happened that night three months ago.


“Ready, kid?” Asked the uncharacteristically gentle voice of Hrafnir. The runes seemed to give off a comforting dim glow.


Xander nodded. “Of course. Let’s confront Hilda Hart.”

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