The Sword in the Cave
"It's strange," said Gint.
"What is?" said Drea.
"They were double-file as we followed them."
"And they were double-file as they left, Gint," said Harna, a Skian they had picked up on a trip near Gazer's Isle.
"But one went into the cave and did not come out," said Gint.
"Aye, and what of it?"
"Then unless my counting's wrong, they should be one short. Yet the files seemed again equal, as before. I cannot
fathom it."
"Gint, you're a hardy fool. Spread not such nonsense among comrades. No doubt these women have a way of
walking that hides their true numbers. I've heard of such tricks before."
Gint pressed his lips together and said nothing else. A thin plume of smoke seemed to drift up from somewhere in
the mountain. Drea smelled the air in front of her and that scent came again to her, the foul smell, with no perfume
to mask it, as on the beach. Something horrid was in that cave. "Come on, she said, and left the outcropping,
kicking small bits of obsidian as she managed the rocky path. The sailors followed.
Once they got within sight of the cave, they saw the girl who had offered herself sitting on her knees just inside, her
back to them. As they got closer, they saw that she was fastened by a chain of gold to a large black stone that sat just
inside. And above the rivet that held the girl fast, a sword had been shoved in.
"How is a sword in a stone?" said Gint.
"Always with the questions," said Turlam, a northern boy from the Stone Dragons. "It's there, isn't it?"
"Aye, but..."
"So let us take it, and her, and whatever else is there." And, heartened by this blunt statement of their purpose, the
sailors of the Dread walked forward to do just that. But Drea said "Wait," and they waited for her to explain
herself. This she did not do, but instead walked forward to the mouth of the cave, and with a swift incantation,
made another ball of white light appear, casting light long against the rock inside. She laid gentle fingers along the
black stone, and found it was more obsidian, but strangely damp, almost oily. A bit of queer dark residue came off
onto her fingers.
Drea looked at the girl. She stared resolutely ahead, not deigning to recognize Drea's presence. Her eyes were calm
and her breathing betrayed no fear. Drea looked at the sword, which was carved with strange runes along the blade,
and had a simple handle with no adornment, and barely a guard. As with the stone, it seemed to have an oily sheen