The Knight Marshal (The Silk & Steel Saga) Read Online Free PDF Page A

the blade held the final
damning detail, the maker’s mark, an octagon surrounding the initials OS. Orrin
Surehammer, the first smith to forge a blue steel blade. He staggered backwards,
stunned by a legend twisted to a curse.
    Baldwin returned clutching a
bloodied blanket and a length of rope. “What’s wrong?”
    “A legend twisted to an
abomination! This sword was forged for Boric.”
    Awe flooded the lad’s face, “ The
first blue steel blade!”
    “Just so,”
    “But why is it dark?”
    “It’s been corrupted, perverted by
evil.” A shiver of foreboding raced down the marshal’s back. It was said that
blue steel blades held their shape forever, never dulling, never melting,
refusing to be reforged, but somehow the Mordant had corrupted the very metal
of the sword, turning the sapphire-blue steel to darkest black. He wondered at
the power required to corrupt the very nature of steel. “Somehow the Mordant
tainted the sword with evil. An octagon-forged blade turned black, sent against
us like a curse.”
    “But Boric’s blade was lost long
ago.”
    The lad saw the truth of it. “Lost
centuries ago, yet the Mordant saved it for our time. Saved it to slay a king.”
The weapon screamed of power and planning and foul intent. A legend-forged
blade yet it lay at his feet as if cast aside by a demon, waiting for a knight
to take it up. The marshal looked away, refusing to be tempted. “The monks have
the truth of it. This blade was not meant to be wielded by men.” He used the
blanket to wrap the sword. Even through the thick wool, he could feel the
blade’s keening cold, like a malevolent force trying to suck the life from him.
Shuddering, he bound the blanket-wrapped blade with rope, fashioning a strap
for carrying across the back. Finished, he turned to the squire. “I have a task
for you, a final service to your king.”
    “Anything.”
    Seeing the eagerness in the lad’s
face, the marshal hesitated, but he had no knights to spare. “Take the sword to
Eye Lake. Get one of the fisher folk to row you out and hurl it into the
deep. Perhaps the lake can cleanse the blade of taint, or at least keep it
hidden, locked away in the watery depths.”
    Baldwin saluted. “As you command.”
    For the first time he noticed the
hint of red stubble on the lad’s chin, nearly a man grown. King Ursus had
talked of raising his squire to a knight. “You served the king well. This is a
man’s task that I ask of you.” He settled the rope strap across the young man’s
shoulders, the blanket-wrapped sword riding high across his back. “Ride swift
and hard and cast the gods-cursed blade deep into the lake. Let no one
interfere with your mission. And when you return, you’ll be raised to a knight.
The octagon has need of every sword.”
    Baldwin’s eyes blazed bright. “It
will be done.”
    They returned to the others and the
marshal saw the squire mounted on the swiftest horse. Saluting with his fist to
his chest, Baldwin set spurs to his warhorse and rode for the south, soon
swallowed by the trees.
    A hushed stillness settled on the
forest. The marshal turned to the others. “Mount up. The sooner we get to
Stonehand, the sooner we wet our blades against the enemy.” They swung into
their saddles; the healer perched bareback on one of the dray horses. Swords
held at the ready, they rode through the winter-bare woods following the ridge
till they reached a snowy knoll overlooking the valley. The marshal dismounted,
Sir Abrax at his side. The two crept forward till they gained a view of the
valley. A grim sight awaited them. The enemy army choked Raven Pass like a black pestilence, but instead of a slavering horde, they marched in disciplined
ranks.
    Beside him, Sir Abrax grunted. “I’d
not have believed it.”
    The marshal knew what he meant.
“More proof the Mordant rules with an iron gauntlet.”
    “It will make the horde harder to
defeat.”
    A hundred thousand boot prints
marred the valley below, churning