Once their duel concluded, the few people who had been watching scattered, each going their own way. The Arbiter watched them leave as he sheathed his blade, then turned his gaze to Midhir once again.

  “Then I trust you will use the blade, highness?”

  A smile flashed across his lips as he nodded. “I will, and I’m honoured to be able to.”

  Arwen stood up and walked over to them. As she approached, the Arbiter glanced at her, then at Midhir, with a questioning look on his face.

  “This is Arwen Maloid,” he quickly introduced her. “A classmate of mine. Arwen, this is Arbiter Kaien, from Calador.”

  The young witch curtsied. “An honour, Arbiter.” Her expression remained surprisingly steady. She had gotten better at hiding her emotions.

  “The honour is mine, young lady.” The Arbiter bowed his head very slightly. “A fine collection of staves you have gathered there.”

  Arwen awkwardly chuckled. “They are all very well made weapons,” her gaze drifted towards the dozen or so staves lined up on the ground. “I don’t quite feel like any of them are meant to be mine, though…” her voice trailed off.

  “Oh, how so?” The Arbiter walked up to the weapons and crouched, inspecting them. “How is a weapon meant to be yours?”

  Arwen shrugged. “None of them quite call to me, I suppose.” She made a vague gesture. “I could choose any of them, but I would never feel like how our other classmates felt – like their weapon is a part of them.” She scowled as she sought the right words, though her explanation was clumsy at best.

  The Arbiter stood back up. “Then perhaps you ought to seek a sentient weapon as those classmates of yours clearly have.” He smiled cheerfully.

  Arwen staggered. “That’s not what I meant…” she mumbled.

  “A weapon is a weapon.” The Arbiter picked up one of the staves, then stood up. “They are created to be used. No weapon will ever call to you, no weapon will belong to you until you make it yours.” He pointed at Midhir. “He made the blade his. He accepted my gift. It will serve him well, because he will make it serve him.” He then tapped on the staff’s wooden haft. “No weapon will choose you, young lady, you must make a choice.” He smiled again, putting the staff back then turned his gaze to Midhir. “Lieutenant Chiron mentioned he had something that belonged to you, Highness. It seemed like a weapon. May I see it?”

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  He scowled. “A weapon?” His sword he had used for the last couple of years had broken beneath Bareon, and the sword-spear had been lost in the explosion near the Prancing Lion inn. Had the soldiers found that? He hardly dared hope. “I’m not aware of such a thing, but if you wish, you can accompany me to the armoury.” He glanced at Arwen too, but she shook her head. The Arbiter smiled, his eyes glimmering with curiosity.

  Upon their return to the armoury, they found Gerard working on inventory, walking around in the back with a heavy leatherbound notebook in his hands. He saw them as they entered and hurried over to the counter.

  “Your Highness, Arbiter.” He bowed. “What can I do for you?”

  “Did Chiron bring something of mine here, Gerard?”

  The other man’s eyes shot open. “Oh, yes!” He exclaimed before bending down and opening one of the boxes under the counter. He grunted as he stood back up, and placed an object wrapped in cloth on the counter. “He did mention this was yours, but there was no opportunity to give it to you.” He shot a meaningful glance at the sheathed blade Midhir was holding.

  “No harm done, friend.” Midhir smiled. “Don’t let us keep you from your tasks… and Gerard.” He called out after him as the man bowed and motioned to hurry to the back rooms. “Get some rest, would you?”

  The man smiled. “I will, your highness.” He closed the door behind him as he went back to his work.

  As soon as the door closed, Midhir pulled the object wrapped in cloth closer to himself, and carefully unwrapped it.

  The familiar surface of the sword spear peeking out of the layers of cloth gave him relief. A faint smile appeared on his lips as he fully unwrapped it.

  The metal shaft covered in inscriptions was familiar in his hands, but the weight he had gotten used to was wrong. It was lighter than it used to be.

  “A shame,” The Arbiter grimaced. “It must have been a fine weapon once.”

  The blade was broken. The sharp section had shattered, only leaving the harder and more durable spine.

  “It certainly was,” he muttered with a bitter smile. “It saved my life more than once. Served me exceptionally well.” He turned the weapon around and breathed a sigh of relief as the white crystal glimmered beneath torchlight.

  “A part of it lives on, highness.” The Arbiter pointed at the crystal.

  “It does indeed.” Midhir carefully removed the crystal. “I saw no augment on your weapon, Arbiter. Does Calador not use them?”

  The Arbiter chuckled. “It is a strength too great to ignore, highness. But not one that needs to be declared to an opponent. May I?” he pointed at the blade in Midhir’s hand.

  He pulled down the braided cloth covering the grip of the blade, revealing three small sockets hidden underneath. “It is best to hide your strength. Let your opponent underestimate you, then strike with all you have.” He narrowed his eyes. “There is no honour in the battlefield, highness. Only death and survival.”

  The chamber was empty save for the broken man and the same young woman who had helped Arwen and the Induen boy before. Their friend, or so Arwen had called her when she talked about her. She was sitting on a small stool, her hands clenched together, her eyes closed as she prayed to the daughter and the sun.

  Circe let out an audible sigh before stepping through the doorway. The things she did for her dear friend…

  Her voice startled the young woman. She started on her feet, her hand reaching for her weapon. “You!” She exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”