Sword of Destiny

He was on boot polishing duty. Again. Twenty cycles, and all he’d done was shine stuff: floors; boots; crockery; cutlery; other people’s steel. He’d almost ended up shining a handful of cocks too, though he’d managed to duck that responsibility. Being a twelve-year old recipient of buggery was one thing. Taking cock in mouth at eighteen was quite another. He would have bitten the bastards off.

The Royal Guard was the self-confessed pinnacle of the Delfinian military machine, and they wore the arrogance that went with that title. They were utterly meticulous in their demonstration of marching and could switch a right angle to near mathematical perfection. Everything about the bastards was polished: their weapons; their uniforms; their facial hair. Even the abuse they handed out had a honed edge to it. The word shit could be made to sound almost divine.

But he had never lived a life of embellishment, and he would not succumb to polish. There was no substance beneath the veneer, and he hated this place. How had he ended up here?

The first cycle was probably bearable, but that was only because he was still learning. As a resident of Triosec, he’d assumed that the Fields was where the finest of the military came. Surely the Royal Guard was the pinnacle, wasn’t it?

No, it wasn’t. It turned out that anyone worth their steel was a long distance away. If you were good, then you were sent straight to the borders. To die. It seemed like madness, but such was the potent threat of the invaders that it was the only option. It had been like that for generations.

He looked back at himself in the outrageously reflective leather of the boots he was shining. He had been working on the toe for an undefined period of time, and he suspected his thoughts had dragged. This would probably mean a beating of some sort – there was usually a beating involved. It was fair to say that he wasn’t popular.

“And your father’s okay with this?”

The accent was polished, and he jumped to immediate attention. His own ill-fitting uniform looked embarrassing compared to the fine officer’s garb arrayed about the room. It was ironic that he spent so much of his time within reach of the finery, and yet he was the lowest scum on site. Still at the bottom despite his best efforts. When the second man spoke, a shot of acidic spittle burned his throat.

“It was his idea. I need to earn my wings.” It was the prince.

“You’re not a Wing. You’re a colonel of the Royal Guard.”

The prince strutted before his companion, shoulders back and eyes focused directly ahead. There was no way the bastard would see him, even less recognise him. They’d had no contact in twenty cycles, and the dull dislike for the man was turning ever sourer. It was this man’s fault he was stuck here.

And the bastard still had his sword.

“You know what I mean. My father is an embattled war veteran. I am raw. I need to taste the blood, and I need to see the horror of the Mandari war machine. How else am I to succeed as a ruler?”

They passed him, strutting by like superior peacocks. He seethed.

“Morning Kantal. I trust you are well?”

He was, quite literally, blown dumb, but he would have to speak. Not responding would be the worst thing he could do.

“Y-y-y-es, your highness.”

“Not highness, Kantal. Colonel.” The prince hadn’t looked at him once, but he didn’t need to. The companion offered a glance, the look of a man who’d just picked dog-dirt off their boots, but it didn’t matter. He had been recognised by the senior man; the heir to the Kingdom of Delfinia. He almost smiled.

“Back to work, Kantal.”

With the appreciation over, he reflected on the unexpected experience. It was fleeting, but thoroughly enjoyable. Not that it got him anywhere.

The two senior officers proceeded into an extended argument while they embellished themselves with the final immaculate touches. The prince came over and took the boots off him, complimenting him on his work. He was a clever bugger. Then he returned to his increasingly vocal companion. It was only when the junior officer’s voice got to a certain level that he could make out the detail.

“It’s madness! You can’t beat a mandahoi.”

The words of his past resonated; the words that had been scrawled in Delfin’s journal. The words of someone else, taunting her. It was an echo.

That had been a path once, until he learned the meaning of his name. Until he’d loved his name, and perhaps even his father. But every step he took down the well-trodden path had only put him back at the bottom of another pile. Bottom of the smithy, or bottom of the Fields. He had always been and would always be bottom, unless he did something remarkable. So he would. He would do something remarkable.

“Yes you can.” He would beat a mandahoi. That was a path less trodden, and for good reason. It was near-suicide.

The two officers looked in his direction, but he wouldn’t meet their eyes, preferring instead the polished marble floor. This was either bold or stupid. Most likely it was both.

“Kantal? You’ve never argued that truth before.”

The other officer threw his arms up. “Your highness, you do not talk to this filth. He had no right to speak. This boy will be―”

“Boy? He is the same age as I am. Am I a boy, captain?”

He looked at his prince then, meeting the intense gaze. Why was it that their fates were seemingly entwined? Not that he was complaining.

“You’ve never made that bold claim before, Kantal. Why would you say that now?”

“Sorry, Colonel―”

“It’s highness to you―”

“Shut up Captain. What do you have to say, Kantal?”

What could he say? It was madness; that was the only certainty here. But if it was madness, it would be his madness. He’d always been sharp, and a bit lucky with it too. If he just had the right tools…

He stared at the weapon hanging at the prince’s side and licked his lips. He had an idea.

“They die like the rest of us. Give a practised man a Mandari-edge, and with the Father in his court, he may just succeed. The mandahoi are fast, but they are human.”

The captain spat. “Pah. Mandari steel is second rate. They are freakish ghouls who have sold their souls. The Stranger touches them. That’s what makes them so potent. It’s like fighting a ghost.”

The prince stood, and smoothly removed the steel from its home. She was beautiful, and he stared longingly at the thing his hands had made. The folding in the blade reflected glorious patterns, like she was burning. It was seductive.

“Offer your fine Delfinian steel, Captain.”

The captain ticked his gaze between the two men, mouth and nose scrunched like he’d smelled a turd. Eventually the captain stood and swept out a length of dull grey steel whilst offering that same dog-dirt look. Then the captain straightened his back and tipped his head back.

“It is Gorfinian, actually.”

The prince nodded, swept his own weapon back, and then pushed it forward almost lazily. The Gorfinian steel – some of the finest metal in the world – was split clean in half. The prince smirked.

“This is Mandari steel, captain. But more than that, it was Delfinian made. And by him.” The hand rose and pointed in his direction. The captain chewed his lip.

“Sorry sir.” He was clearly at a loss for what was going on, but the destruction of his fine steel was worse. In all honesty, the fact that it had sheared like that suggested it was a fake, but he was not about to ruin the prince’s exhibition.

“Mandari steel is not the finest because it has the purest raw materials. It doesn’t. It is the finest because it is infused with a love of perfection. It is infused with the gift of time, and time, captain, is the ultimate scarce resource.”

A part of him wanted to believe that he’d read that somewhere before, but he hadn’t. It was beautiful.

And time was a scarce resource. And he was wasting his time here. That was surely why he’d claimed the impossible.

“Sir. Let me come with you.”

He didn’t even know where ‘where’ was, but anything was better than this infuriating stagnation. He’d enjoyed showing Beef up again, but that had been one exhibition almost a year back. It was not a reason to stay.

“Yes, I think you should. You seem to be wasted here.”

Yes! His relationship with the prince was ever confounding, but it seemed to yield unexpected results. Presumably the prince got something out of it too?

He gulped. Perhaps that was still to come.

“Come, Kantal. Let’s see if we can equip you for the future.”