Swords at Odds

The blades glittered in the moonlight, and the wielders of the blades whirled about in an intricate dance…

Clang.

The blades edges skittered along each other, both made of the sort of expertise that would never again grace another sword. Sparks flashed briefly after a particularly hard block, remnants of druid fire flaring up again after being long forgotten. The swordsmen paused and drew apart briefly, staring at the swords in shock.

One was black, deep black, blacker than the night sky, and if you peered closely a swirling pattern was visible constantly shifting in a sickly green color that reminds one of death. The edges of the blade shone, and were needle sharp and a hundred times more dangerous. This blade had been dipped in the Hadeshorn and tempered by Druid fire creating a wondrous sword. A sword of life and death…

The other appeared nobler glistening and gleaming sliver along the whole length except right near the hilt. A golden emblem lay embedded there, a hand holding forth a burning torch. Through Knowledge, Power. It had been created by an expert blacksmith, forged in heat, and the Druid fire's magic. The sword of truth…

The clearing was empty of all but the participants of the battle. The trees that ringed around the clearing were evergreens their needles muting the sounds of the night, and looking particularly sinister in the dark. The moon and stars shone brightly overhead, silent witnesses to that battle.

Seconds later, the swords flashed again moving not in playful gestures but those meant to kill. Round and round they spun as though weaving a tapestry in the air, each meeting the other like the most skillful of dancers in a dance known only to them.

Spark!

The swords glinted in the moonlight, and sparks flew once again kindling the true power of each. The silver sword ignited suddenly bright flames flickering across the surface growing brighter with each passing second. The holder flinched surprised, and the others eyes grew wide with surprise. The flaming sword illuminated the mind of the beholders and both saw their lives swirling away in perfect detail.

"Shades! What witchcraft is this you cursed Valeman?" The handler of the black sword glared at the flaming sword with a measure hatred.

"The truth will kill you, Highlander," The Valeman cried and swung the flaming sword towards the other. The highlander hesitated for a mere second but instinctively retaliated.

The blazing truth of the silver sword crashed quickly into the dark depths of the black sword. The silver blade was filled with magic and the black sword shone as it called up its own responding to the other's magic.

Light flared up blinding in its intensity. It flooded the whole clearing, lighting it up as though it was daytime. The two men cringed shading their eyes; the light was so bright it was like staring at the sun.

There was a loud rumbling sound like that of thunder and then it was joined a high ringing sound like that of a bell. The cacophony of noise pummeled their ears and then abruptly there was silence.

Blinking they watched in shock as the swords splintered just above the hilt, the tips and blades shattering into a million pieces and flying though the air glittering like snowflakes, reflecting the bright starlight in their mirror-like surfaces, imbedding themselves into the earth all around the two men.

The two men looked over at each other, eyes wide with surprise, faces and arms slightly damp with blood where some of the shards had scratched their skin. Each clutched a broken hilt in their hand… all that was left of those great swords.

It ought never to have happened…

They whirled around eyes roaming about the shadows searching for the source of the voices that seemed to emanate from the shadows, or perhaps more precisely the shards of the broken swords.

When the protector turns on those he protects…

Some of the shards imbedded in the ground began to heat up and glow, a dark glow for each of them was the same swirling black color.

We blame the lust for power.

The men held hands up to their eyes trying to shield them from some of the newly glowing pieces, and at the same time still search for the sources of the echoing voices.

When the truth corrupts, then friend shall turn on friend…

The silvery shards of the other sword began to glow also with a bright fiery light that seared into their eyes, as if they had just turned to gaze upon on the sun. It seemed that the light was not just visible but mental too for it tore through their minds calling up images of men that they had no memories of, working together… and they carried the shattered swords.

And we shall rise again, in order that the dead shall return to their final resting ground.

Shadowy shapes seemed to tear themselves away from the pieces of the swords, swirling away, dissolving into the sharp night air. The light abruptly ceased plunging the pair into complete and utter darkness. They blinked owlishly till their eyes adjusted to the surroundings, and to their astonishment the shards had disappeared.

The swords were no more.

Hazelcloud: Well? I'd love to know what people think of this little drabble. Most of the ideas in it shouldn't be to hard to figure out but if you have questions feel free to ask them in a review.