The sound of steel sliding across leather woke Shane from a light sleep and caused him to roll off his bed to the floor of his room, looking about for attackers.

"Shane, it's only us!" And indeed, it was his younger brothers, Conn holding the sheath and Calen gripping the hilt of Kil'Mannin, the Star Sword.

Shane sighed, climbed back to sit atop his bed and stare at the twins. "What in blazes are you doing with my sword?" He held out a hand and waited for Calen to pass the now sheathed blade to him. "You could have hurt yourselves. Worse, Ma could have caught you with bare steel in her house."

"We wanted to see, didn't we Conn?" Calen looked at his twin. "We wanted to see if the stain was smaller."

Conn nodded. "Yeah, you must have done something to clean the stain by now!"

"Well, I haven't."

A perplexed look passed between the younger boys. Conn frowned. "What's taking you so long?"

"Just lazy, I guess." Shane answered as he shook his head .As if he'd had time for grand adventures of late what with his lessons and helping Uncle Ashe with the Bardic Hall. He yawned.

"Don't you go back to sleep! Tell us a story, Shane!" Calen jounced on the foot of the bed, joined instantly by Conn. " A story about Kil'Mannin."

"Let me sleep, can't you? I don't know any stories about Kil'Mannin." Shane lay back in his bed, sword firmly grasped in his right hand to prevent the twins grabbing it away.

"That's a lie! It's a Named Sword! Of course it has stories about it!" Calen poked him in the side with a finger. "Tell us one, and we'll leave you lone."

"Promise?"
Twin heads bobbed as one.
Shane sighed, then propped himself up on his left elbow, and began.
"Long and long ago…"

**********

"Long and Long ago, after the passing of Kil'Mannin's first owner, Berenvakilseren, and House Kilseren's merger with House Thallion, the sword Kil'Mannin languished unused in the armory. Indeed, it had been nearly a century since it had last been drawn from its sheathe, and its existence had faded into legend. Then came a new surge of the cycle of wars between elves and human kind, and House Silver Rose found itself beset by many enemies. This was in the days when they dwelled together on one continent, before the elves withdrew across the sea to escape the Children of the Flame.

The Heir of Thallion at that time was the Lady Gunedda, young in years, but skilled in arms. On a grey autumn day, she stalked into the armory seeking a sword, having had her old weapon shatter in combat the day before. She stared at the racks of sheathed swords along the side of the room and her eyes fell upon a plain leather scabbard.

"What's this one?" She pointed it out to the weapons master, who shook his head in ignorance. She reached out to take hold of it, and drew the weapon free. "By the Goddess! What is this?"

She held the blood red blade aloft, then swung it several times, smiling at the way the hilt seemed to have been fashioned for her hand.

The weapons master watched pale faced as she sheathed the sword and looked for a sword belt. "Milady, I cannot be certain, but that blood red steel…I think that is the Star Sword!"

And Gunedda smiled, for she knew the tale of Beren. "Goddess grant that it is, for we need such a sword now to save our folk." So despite the soldier's earnest pleas, she would not change her mind, and took Kil'Mannin for her own. Indeed, it seemed the Goddess had heard the wish of the Princess, for with Kil'Mannin in hand, Gunedda won a series of victories over the next few months that turned the tide of the war. The human armies came to recognize her and called her Craulann, the Blood Sword, and made her seem the second coming of Beren himself.

Yet Gunedda had taken the story of her ancestor to heart, and found no joy in slaughter. Wounded and captured humans were treated with courtesy, and the dead decently buried, and looting was punished. After every battle, Gunedda would inspect Kil'Mannin to see if her actions had lessened the stain and finding the blade unchanged, set it aside.

"Perhaps, Lady, you cannot cleanse it quickly?" Bleddig her shield bearer asked one night as he helped her out of her armor in her tent. "Perhaps Beren's sin is too great to be set aright in a few battles." He was older than she, and quite serious in nature for an elf. He took the blade from her, knowing all too well that although he might clean it of the blood stains of this day's combat, the red would still remain.

Gunedda sat on her cot and rubbed tiredly at her face. "I don't understand. I've fought with honor and tried to deal fairly with those I've defeated. What more can I do?" She lay back and Bleddig tugged her boots off, then covered her with a blanket.

Bleddig settled himself comfortably on the ground just inside the entrance to the tent to guard against intruders. He looked over at the Princess. "What more, indeed?"

"What do you mean, Bleddig?"

"You've defeated the Children of the Flame time and time again. For now at least, they no longer are a threat to our folk. Yet you fight on." Bleddig wrapped his cloak about himself for warmth. "Why? To protect the Clans, or perhaps something else? Is cleansing Kil'Mannin more important than peace?" He waited an answer that didn't come. Thinking the princess had fallen asleep from exhaustion, he closed his own eyes.

But Gunedda was not asleep, and lay there thinking on her friend's question long into the night.

© 09/2003


Kil'mannin: First Cleansing - part 2

When morning came, Gunedda had Bleddig bring the highest-ranking human captives to her tent. They were a mix of defiant and sullen faces, all except for one man, the oldest among them, who met Gunedda's eyes with calm acceptance of his fate.

"You are all free. Take what men you have left, bury your dead and go home."

The humans stared at Gunedda unmoving for several moments before the meaning of her words struck home. The oldest looked at her intently. "What is it you expect of us in return for your mercy, Lady Craulann?"

Gunedda grimaced at the name, but nodded. "Aye, you have the right of it. What I expect is for you to act as my messengers to your leaders. Tell them the Blood Sword offers peace."

"Peace at what price, elf?" someone asked.

"We will discuss that, your leaders and I, when we meet. Tell them I ask for a flag of truce and a meeting, two days hence, at the Swift River Ford. Each may bring two men to serve as guards and witnesses to the terms of the treaty. But think on this: could the price of peace be anymore dear than what the cost of war has been for both our peoples? How many more lives can you afford to lose?"

When the humans had left her tent, she turned to Bleddig. "Where is my father?"

"A day's ride to the north, chasing enemy cavalry. Here." He pointed to a spot on the map spread atop a table.

Gunedda nodded. "Send riders with a message about the meeting. If father starts back right away, he should be able to attend with us."

"Very well, milady." He hesitated before going on. "Why are you doing this, Gunedda? We've beaten them. One more battle and it could take generations for the humans to recover."

"And then what, Bleddig? You and I ride out to face their grandchildren? When does the cycle stop, my friend, if no one tries to put a stop to it?"

Two days later, the two sides met at the appointed place at midday. Lord Thallion had not arrived in time, and although Gunedda had delayed as long as she could, in the end she, Bleddig, and another noble of the clan rode to the ford to meet the leaders of the Children of the Flame. When the name Tiren of East Shire was called out by a herald, the elder who had stood so calmly in her tent stepped forward to bow with a slight smile. For some reason, this brought hope to the elven princess as they sat down and began to talk. Perhaps terms could be arrived at before her father's arrival.

The day wore on, and finally all agreed to withdrawals back to their original borders and an exchange of any prisoners still held on either side. A yearly meeting of the two races would be held back at Swift River Ford to iron out any disputes. The terms were written out by some scribes, and one by one, the humans set their marks upon the parchment.

Still, the Lord of the Silver Rose had not arrived. Finally, Gunedda added her name to the treaty as the Heir, and it was done.

A few moments later, as the humans and elves drank a toast to the new peace, riders were seen approaching from the elven lines.

"Treachery!" some hothead shouted, but Tiren bade his companions be silent until the purpose of the newcomers could be learned. There were six elven warriors, one leading a horse bearing a body, and one holding the reins to another mount with a human rider whose hands were bound. Tiren gave a groan of dismay.

Gunedda stepped forwards as the riders halted before the assembly. :"What is the meaning of this? Where is my father?"

The lead rider dismounted, and the bow he gave to Gunedda was that given the Lord of a clan, and she knew. She looked over at the body and recognized the cloak that covered it.

"How did it happen?"

"Your father died in battle, Lady. This one, " he pointed at the captive, "was the one who killed him."

Her father's killer was little more than a boy, and Gunedda saw how he looked calmly at her. She turned to Tiren, who nodded.

"Aye. This is my son."

Gunedda wanted nothing more than to draw Kil'mannin. Her fingers flexed as she looked at Tiren' s son. "Was it fair combat? Did you meet my father face to face?"

It was the leader of the elven riders who answered. "Bravely done on both sides, milady. Our force outnumbered theirs two to one, but they nearly won free. Only this one lived, and we brought him here to face your vengeance."

And so silence fell, as the humans waited for the woman they called the Blood Sword to claim the life of the young man who had killed her father.

Gunedda turned to Tiren, whose face was pale. "How many of those with your son were your bloodkin?"

"All, milady. One was my other son." His voice shook.

"Then I think we've both paid more than enough. Don't you?" She ordered the boy released, and then rode back to camp, and that night, sent her father to the Summerlands on wings of flame.

It was not until a few days later that she had cause to draw Kil'mannin from its sheath, Bleddig found her sitting under a tree by the side of the road, the blood blade across her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks. She pointed wordlessly at the sword, and her shield bearer looked.

There at the tip was a hand's width of pure steel, shining brightly in the sun.

*********

"And such was the first cleansing of Kil'Mannin, the Star Sword."
Calen made a disgusted sound. "That's all? She let him free?"
Shane nodded. "Aye, she did."
"That's a dumb story! Why would she do that?"
Conn nodded in agreement with Calen. "We want another story! Wyss at the Walls of Malarossa, let's hear that!"
Shane frowned. "I told you a story, and you promised to leave me alone if I did."
"Didn't promise, just said we would if you did. Now…"

Arista swooped into the room and took each twin by the hand. "Now you will leave our bardling brother alone to sleep and keep your word as good knights should." She winked at Shane, then moved her younger brothers towards the bedroom door. "Besides Mother and Cook have made sweet rolls for breakfast."

"Thanks, Ari!" Shane gave his sister a grateful smile and then lay back to close his eyes.

A wonderful aroma lingered on after his sister, and suddenly Shane's stomach rumbled in hunger. His eyes opened. "Sweet rolls?"

He jumped out of bed, grabbed a robe, and ran downstairs for breakfast.

© 10/2003