A Promise of Iron Brandon McCoy (howl and other poems TXT) 📖

motivations of a brilliant mind, I know that children have, at times, an irrational influence on their parents.” He looked to Crylwin. “Perhaps he saw the coming war and did what he did to protect the mother and the child. Perhaps he did it for coin and the promise of a comfortable life when it was all over. It’s unclear why, but what is clear is that he was not just helping the Empire craft its deception; he was leading their efforts.”

He placed a long finger on the cover of the book, tracing the Illyrian script. “His deception extends to many other works, many concerning the ancient Illyrians.” He leaned forward and sipped at his tea, letting out a contented sigh. “This is not the only original text I have acquired.”

“Wow,” I said. “It’s hard to believe. Ruks talk about Tomas as a hero of the resistance.”

Monroe smiled. “If only the Circle knew that its founding father was a secret Cyllian conspirator.”

“So why help create the resistance if he was working with the Cyllians all along?”

Monroe shrugged. “Another mystery. Perhaps he had a change of heart. Everything at this point would be speculation. As you know, it can be difficult to know where loyalties lie.”

His comment, like a well-aimed arrow, landed dangerously close to a question I was not prepared to answer. I bounced my leg nervously, glad I had hidden the iron ring away. “May I?” I asked, gesturing to the book and changing the subject.

Monroe swept his arm over the book. “I would be honored,”

I opened the cover. Names of warrior-kings and sword-singers lined the page in vertical Court Illyrian. I turned to the first entry. To the left was a painting of a truesilver blade, single-edged, with a curving design and hooked cross hilt. The contour of its metal rippled like flowing blue water even when captured on a page. To the right was a list of those who previously held the blade, as well as the name of the blade itself, Sah’Sekan.

“This is amazing, my lord,” I said, “What page is Nahdril on?”

Monroe shook his head.

“You haven’t found it?” I asked, “Well, we don’t know what the pommel looked like before; perhaps it is pictured differently than it is now?”

Monroe shook his head again. “Quill has researched this tome quite extensively.” He leaned forward, placing a hand on the Illyrian tome. “There are three hundred thirty two blades of truesilver described in these pages. Not the two hundred thirty seven listed in the official Cyllian version.”

He sipped his tea. “Your sword cannot be found in either of them.”

I frowned. “I thought you said my sword proves that Tomas and the Cyllians altered the text?”

“I did,” he said, “only not in the way you might think. Omission from the text, either direct or indirect, is one thing, but it is the implication behind each that is most important.”

I scratched my head. “I don’t follow, my lord. If my sword wasn’t in the original, what does it matter if it was in the copy? The lack of proof proves nothing.”

“It proves something far more valuable, my boy,” Monroe said. “Don’t you see? Your sword exists in neither copy. Which means…”

“There are more out there,” Crylwin added.

Monroe placed his finger to the tip of his nose. “Many more perhaps. More than the Imperials claim to know, and more importantly, more than they think they know.” He closed the cover of the book and placed the white linen over it.

“That’s a likely assumption, my lord,” I replied. “But what’s the difference between one hundred missing swords and two hundred? They’re still missing.”

“Quite true,” he said with a smile. “But not all are missing. We know of at least one that’s been found. Think of what effect that might have on your people.”

“Truesilver has always been a hallmark of this land,” I said. “Its return would be a good omen for my people, something to restore some dignity and pride.”

“You and your people have never been short on pride,” Monroe said with a grin. “But the truth? Think of what impact this truth might have on them.”

“Of Cyllians rewriting history? That’s hardly a secret. After the Old Library was burned, we lost everything. I think most that read anything coming from the South do so with one eye closed. Nahdril’s existence proves that there is more truesilver out there, but one missing blade is hardly a barrow hoard.”

“Not missing blades, blades that were never found. There is a distinct difference between the two.” He made this point with a declarative finger.

“Okay, blades that were never found. It still doesn’t matter if—”

“Have you ever guessed as to why the blades were taken in the first place?” Monroe asked, his probing gaze returning once more.

“I don’t have to guess, my lord,” I said, “I know why they were taken. I saw it for myself in Cyllia.”

His eyebrows raised, “Then, by all means, tell us.”

“They sought the secret of silver,” I said confidently.

He placed a finger to his lips, considering. “Perhaps they hoped to find it, but that was not the reason they were stripped from these lands. If it was, do you think they would have been so careless and destructive in the efforts?”

“I thought them fools like the boy in Elil’s Tales.” I laughed. “Drowning in the river while pulling at root iron.”

“This is no nursery rhyme,” Edwin said seriously. “It went beyond their desire for truesilver; it was about depriving you of it.”

“Well, obviously, but what is so important about—”

“Because you Ruks fought them even when you were bare-knuckled and broken,” Crylwin added. “You bloodied their nose and gave them the first real fight they had seen in a century. You, a backward people with a backward religion. You scared ‘em, and they don’t like being scared.”

“My son is correct,” Edwin added. “And Cyllia has feared the power of a united Rukland ever since. They feared your strength, your identity, your past. So they took it all away. The killed your