Chapter 15

“Have you had Arthur assess my class?” Mei asked.

“No,” the sword said, puzzled.

“Typical,” Mei breathed. “You really were an object weren’t you? It’s not a metaphor.”

“I don’t really use a lot of metaphors,” the sword said.

“No, you don’t,” Mei agreed. “Well, I will try to be clear then. Although I will ask you to swear to secrecy first. You seem like someone who keeps their word.”

The sword swore on the [Goddess of Corn].

“I’m not…I was never a [Hero]. I was a princess. I can still remember…it was always cold there. It felt like it never stopped snowing. And the throne was placed over one of the great furnaces. It was so hot in there.”

“I was a princess. But there were four other princesses. And it wasn’t…the point was that there wasn’t a clear heir. That’s how they did things there. It was so cold you know. So dark. They thought…it made sense then, they thought you had to fight for it, if you wanted to be queen. If you wanted to stand against the dark.”

“I didn’t really want to be queen. But I…you don’t really have a choice.”

“I’m a [Monarch].”

The sword waited. He had met a few [Monarch]s, mostly he had killed them. But occasionally he had been wielded by someone close to a [Monarch], a brother, or a wife sometimes.

Then he understood what she was saying.

“Oh I see, you’re class locked,” he said. “Just like Arthur. Are [Monarchs] also only able to use whips and scepters? Why didn’t you just say that earlier?” He supposed the scepters made sense, but the whips didn’t seem very royal to him. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen a [Monarch] use a weapon before.

“No, Nick, I’m not class locked,” Mei said. “Do you not know what [Monarchs] do?”

“Sure,” the sword said. “They rule.”

“They command,” Mei said, her voice harsh. “Ruling only happens later. If you win. Trust me, I know the difference.

“That beer you so clearly detested? If I hadn’t been stripped of all of my skills, I could force you to drink the barrell and then ask for more.”

“I could make you attack Arthur.”

“I could make you take Alice as a wielder, despite your obvious distaste for her.”

“Even now, with none of my higher authorities, I could make you walk to class naked without even questioning it.”

Her voice cracked at the end. She sounded angry. Upset.

The sword, for his part, was puzzled.

“I don’t understand the problem,” he said. “If you were my wielder, I would do those things even without being commanded.”

He could hear her struggling against her bonds, the rustle of cloth against rope. Was she trying to look at him?

“…Really?”

“Of course,” the sword said. “That’s the point. What use is a sword that cannot be wielded?”

She fell silent again, which the sword thought meant she was thinking deeply.

Then she laughed, a completely undignified chuckle from the belly, totally unlike her otherwise composed words.

“You,” she said after she’d regained her breath, “you are kind of screwed up. Has anyone told you that?”

The sword sighed, thinking of Arthur. “Yes,” he said, “all the time.”

“But,” he added, as something occurred to him, “If you won’t be my wielder. Can you still use command?”

“I won’t use it,” Mei said immediately. “I’ll die first.”

The sword felt there was perhaps no clearer answer than that. Still, he didn’t really understand, and he found that he wanted to. But he didn’t have time to ask more questions, as the lizardmen returned, three of them this time, all guards, no medic.

“You will come with us now. The Captain will speak with you. Refrain from violence, or you will be hurt.”

The sword’s ropes were loosened, and he was pulled to his feet. He found his legs strangely unsteady after being unused for so long, or perhaps it was an after effect of whatever gas the lizardmen had used.

He was unexpectedly angry. There was such an obvious solution to their situation. All Mei had to do was act. Why wouldn’t she? What made humans behave in ways that were so clearly ridiculous? He had never understood it. He would never understand it.

The guards shoved them together, one behind two, on either side, and marched them out of the tent.

It was still dark outside, but the light was beginning to return, a crack of yellow at the edge of the horizon. They were standing in a lane created by two neat rows of tents, as organized as the rest of this squad had been.

At one end was open ground and a fire pit, where two lizardmen, clearly on guard duty, sat, heads drooping but not at rest.

At the other was a tent larger than the others, lit brightly by many lamps, with two guards standing at its entrance. The captain’s tent.

They were marched towards it, shoved together side by side.

Mei’s skin was cold. She was shivering, even under the thick coat of her uniform.

The sword considered his own temperature, he was cold yes, but not as cold as Mei, who was not just shivering, but shaking as they walked.

Shaking.

He remembered shaking.

He remembered an old man, standing in his doorway, his stance correct despite the weight of his years, using both hands to keep the sword steady as the goblins charged.

He remembered two young women, two of his favorites, tossing the sword between them, laughing even as they quaked in their boots, as the dragon kin descended.

He remembered the elf, taking up the sword despite her lack of training, staggering under his weight. Nearly falling over, as she raised the sword high and saluted her opponent. Saluted her death.

Humans were impossible to understand.

But he did know what it meant, when wielders shook.

Mei Huang was afraid.

The sword stopped where he was, seizing Mei’s shaking hand in his own.

He looked at her, his head tilted, looked at her smooth skin, her enormous amber eyes, her muddied and torn uniform, the tightness of her lips, the pale beneath her brown skin.

Why was she afraid?

“Keep moving,” the guards said. “Or we will hurt you.”

Mei tugged at him, trying to get them moving, she said something that the sword did not bother to hear. He pulled her close. It wasn’t just her hands, her whole body was trembling.

“I don’t understand,” the sword said.

“Move!”

“I don’t understand, but you don’t have to be afraid,” he said to Mei. “This is a battle. If we live, you’re doing it right.”

One of the guards hit him, the sword stumbled.

Mei’s hand shot out, she pulled him back to his feet. She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. She pulled at him, making him start to walk once more.

Three more tents to the Captain’s.

“Was that supposed to be comforting?” Mei asked.

“It was the truth,” the sword said.

“Be silent,” the guard said, drawing his sword.

“Stop.” Mei’s voice deepend, echoing, and it seemed as if there were two of her speaking in different tones, harmonizing.

Both guards stopped, although almost at once they started to twitch, struggling against Mei’s skill.

“Free us,” she said, “Silently.”

One of the guards made a choking sound, but they complied. The ropes that bound the sword fell to his feet. He flexed his arms, grimacing. He’d rather enjoyed that bounded feeling.

“Stay where you are,” Mei said, and then she seized the sword, and hurried down one of the rows of tents. They made a series of rapid turns until they were out of sight of their guards, and then she pulled the sword into the shadow of a larger tent, lit from the inside by many lanterns.

From the noises and the smells, different but similar to the ones of the dining hall, the sword would have guessed it was a cook tent.

“Well done,” the sword told her. And it had been. Clean, decisive. He raised his assessment of her, she would be superior even to the other two candidates.

“That basic command won’t hold them for long,” Mei said, her voice calm, though her hand, still gripping the sword’s left wrist, was trembling. “We have to get out of here. Find Night Patrol.”

The sword hesitated. He wanted to follow her direction. Clear. Decisive.

This was what he had been looking for. He was so much more comfortable here in the middle of this war camp with someone telling him what to do, than he had been, really at any other time, since he’d returned to Earth.

“You should do that,” he said. “I will go find Arthur.”

“We don’t have time,” Mei said. “We have to go before they can stop us from leaving.”

“Then you should run,” the sword agreed. “But I will find Arthur.”

Mei tugged at his arm, but when the sword didn’t move, she let it go.

“Don’t you understand?” She said quietly. “Arthur wasn’t with us. That probably means he betrayed us. This happens all the time, even with people who aren’t [Demon Lords]. They probably gave him something he wanted, something the school couldn’t give him. Like a corpse.”

The sword cocked his head. The thought had truly not occurred to him. It was true, [Demon Lords] almost by definition had no alliances they upheld, no oaths they would, or even really could, follow.

Mei Huang understood people much better than he did.

He should weight her opinion above his own.

Yet she seemed clearly not to understand the sword very well.

It was just as likely she didn’t understand Arthur.

And without Arthur, who was he going to serve food with in the dining hall?

“Nah,” he said, “he probably just got himself into even more trouble. It’s because he talks too much.”

He ducked away without another word, back into the sea of tents. Looking for one with even more security. That would be where Arthur would be held.