Rise Of Myth: Heir To Valor 41 Runesmith

"They are pract.i.tioners of runic magic, but not necessarily of the mage variety." Boldir was thinking carefully, trying to explain something easily taken as common knowledge.

"Runic magic as in this, right?" Val held up a palm and Feoh ignited into small flame.

Durnham inhaled sharply. "Surprises never end with you, do they?"

"What do you mean?"

"He means it's unusual for a human to practice runes. Most humans are particularly fond of Witchcraft, Sorcery, Alchemy, as opposed to Runic Arts. Most humans look down upon skills with limited flexibility, considering versatility has always been their strong point." Asha explained with a drawl.

"Aye, perhaps once upon a time it was common place, but from Aurulians to human empires of lands across the sea, few practice anything like runes anymore. Perhaps Yamato's warrior-priests across the sea, their magic would be the closest kind." Boldir shrugged, but Val found this circ.u.mstance to be strange.

"But the runes were pa.s.sed down to humans by the Aesir, what happened to those people?" Val raised an eyebrow.

"Most of those you refer to chose to forsake magic, and after the realm was divided, the few who remained a.s.similated into other cultures or became something like hermits. We dwarves are the other inheritors of the runes and have preserved much of its use. Though to be frank, many of us are not nearly as skilled as even you are with using them freely. Instead we have runesmiths, powerful enchanters who apply runes to their crafts or create strengthening enchantments for our warriors." Boldir explained, gesturing to Durnham who rolled up a sleeve, showcasing a tattoo depicting Odal.

"I noticed that, along the walls, a ma.s.sive runic formation running the entire perimeter. But this tattoo you have, it seems similar to my brand?"

"Aye, for thousands of years, our walls have stood strong. This mark is derived from the brand you hold, but nothing close to its power or complexity. This one is fairly common, when activated I could probably defend against even cannon fire." Durnham boasted with pride.

"Huh… so, where can I find this runesmith?"

"I can introduce you tomorrow, he's a tough one to deal with, but considering the work you're bringing him, it should work out. I'd imagine he might be one of only a couple dwarves bold enough to tamper with that blade. For now, you ought to get some sleep." Boldir answered with moderate concern.

Casting a sidelong glance at Asha who was trying to reach over the bar for a third helping of ale at his expense, Val nodded in agreement, getting up to drag the elf off to her quarters.

"Ah— No, I'm still fine." Asha protested with a slur.

As Val ascended to the second floor with Asha and the ravens in tow, the two dwarves could be heard continuing some discussion together.

Once they reached their room, Val dragged the tipsy elf to her bed and released her to flop face down onto it. A moment later he was staring at the ravens.

"Alright, some answers, this sword, why is it cursed and why do you not want me to restore it?" Val asked sternly.

"The reason is simple, many would kill you for it, even G.o.ds, should they know the blade exists and has its powers again." Huginn explained.

"What do you mean?"

"When Tyr fell, the sword ended up in mortal hands, warriors, kings, and even G.o.ds coveted the blade, killing each other for it. It received such a b.l.o.o.d.y reputation afterwards, so much so, that it was said any time the blade was drawn, a life would be taken. In Tyr's prime, when he wielded that blade, even the slightest cut could take weeks to heal. The sword's power would repel the effects of any healing magic on its wounds, for they would continue to burn for days or weeks." The wise old raven furrowed his brow, a somber tone coloring his recollection.

Val raised a questioning eyebrow. "It seems the dwarves are more fearful than interested in the weapon."

"Indeed, and with good reason, they do not want anyone to find out about the weapon and risk a war approaching the city, even if they can defend against one. There are other such weapons that can harm divinity, but any one of them can be reason enough to go to war, the nature of this one happens to be especially dangerous. It is worth noting that after the First Crusade, there were many resentful human empires who wished to take vengeance on the G.o.ds. I have no doubt some still remain."

"So how did Karl have the blade if it was so coveted?"

"…At no small expense he managed to retrieve it from a king, and took it with him to your world. Over time he was able to sap the power from the runes until all that was left was an exquisite longsword with incredible strength of steel." Muninn answered.

"I think I more or less get the story, but I still intend to restore it."

"If you insist, we will not stop you, but I will be returning to discuss this with my lord." Huginn said flatly.

"Actually yeah, by the time I get to this runesmith there should be enough time for Karl to give some advice. I ought to ask Valor about it actually, he might have some interesting ideas."

Huginn nodded and despite it being three in the morning, took off out the window immediately. Muninn remained, studying the blade Val had now stood against the bed with great concern.

"Is it really that big a deal to be so worried?"

"Do you know how Tyr fell?"

"Karl said he fought the wolf Fenrir till both of them fell. Did not quite die, but was not going to survive through normal means."

"Yes, but Fenrir was chained in bindings so powerful he should never have been able to break free by himself."

Val had a questioning look on his face as his mind connected the dots.

"Someone tried to kill him then."

"That is what we suspect, because when Odin arrived, Tyr's sword was gone. We believe one of his own warriors, charged with guarding Fenrir's prison, plotted to take Tyr's position for himself."

"Well, no need to worry, I have no pet wolves to be released on me." Val jested, though Muninn was not amused.

"As long as fewer people know the blade exists again, we'll be safe for some time. This is just good reason for me to train more seriously and grow stronger."

"People will learn of it eventually, and even with all the training in the world, a life on the run is torturous."

Val smirked. "Haven't we already been on the run? It's been little else but moving place to place for me since everything went crazy. Anyway, looks like Asha is pa.s.sed out, guess the fight with the wendigo was more exhausting than she let on. I'm gonna get some sleep myself." Asha was snoring softly, or mumbling incoherently, Val was not sure. She had pa.s.sed out shortly after reaching the bed, still laying face down on her stomach. He gingerly pushed her over, an awkward feeling taking hold as he regarded the elf sleeping soundly. Karl had a point about elven beauty, but Val quickly stopped himself from staring too much, hearing a snickering raven behind him.

*Hundred and eighty-three years old, hundred and eighty-three years old…*

Val moved over to a basin and a pipe protruding from the wall, working a lever he pumped some water. Removing his blood soaked armor he used a damp towel to clean the blood off his body. The armor he would have to take to Joanne, not entirely sure how to clean off bloodstains from leather and completely out of his depth mending the shredded area.

As Val lay on his bed, he soon drifted to sleep, sending his mind into the realm supported by the brand. Again he woke in the familiar fog and darkness, Valor sitting before the brazier as if expecting him.

"Yo, thanks for your help tonight." Val waived a hand.

Valor smirked. "Ha, you are welcome. Though do try not to make disembowelment a habit."

"Ugh, yeah, don't remind me, that was terrible."

"You fought reasonably well otherwise, considering you have no experience fighting beasts and monstrous creatures." Valor offered rare praise, and to Val's surprise he felt more encouraged than he felt made sense.

"Thanks. Hey I have a question."

"Tyrfing."

"What?"

"The blade you are asking about, she has a name."

"Tyrfing?" Val mulled over the name in his mind, committing it to memory.

"Yes, as to your question, I may be biased, but I support your intent to restore it. Considering you have run into a creature of unnatural strength— and I suspect it will not be the last one you encounter, you will need her power. She was forged for exactly this purpose, to put down great evil, I understand after my fall she was abused by those with twisted intentions, but there is no curse." Valor's tone rose in severity for a moment, his eyes flaring upon mention of the sword's fate after his fall.

"I see. Hey, what did Tyrfing look like, before?" Val was very familiar with the aged sword by now, but there were definite signs that time had done a significant number on the sword. The circular pommel, the broad, straight cross guard perpendicular to the blade, the only notable thing about the sword was the pattern-welded steel and the runes along the spine.
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A small smile grew on Valor's face. "In my eyes, Tyrfing was a sword more beautiful than any other, perhaps it could be rivaled by its sister blade Dainsleif, though to my knowledge that sword has never been drawn."

Valor reached to the ground, and a moment later he was drawing a familiar leather bound grip from the darkness, capped with the same rune-inscribed pommel. However when the blade followed the cross guard out, the steel gleamed with the color of fire. Where Val knew there to be faded runes, blazing ones alight with magic ran along the spine of the blade. When he was finished, Valor brandished a sword that gleamed with fire along the entire length. The blade did not ignite, or burn, but appeared ready to do so with but a single stroke, as if awaiting its master's command.

"This is but a hollow imitation, but this… This is Tyrfing as I remember it. To truly wield this blade once more is little more than a fond dream now. But I would see you do so in my stead, you are yet weak, but you are worthy of my will." Valor spoke with a sorrowful tone, but his eyes were resolute. Val himself felt awe and excitement seeing the sword. It was familiar, yet nothing like the current state of the blade that Val knew.

"Do you know what it will take to fix the sword?"

"I gather you are looking for a runesmith, the runes— they yet remain on the blade, but they have run dry. Like faded ink on a steel canvas, the blade remains, you need simply fuel the runes. The blade was forged by Dvalinn, and Durinn carved the runes while the steel was still hot. Ultimately my own blood was used to quench the sword, and the runes drank of its power, sealing the fires of valor in the steel."

"…So if the runes need to be recharged with the mana bound in your blood, it sounds like I'm at a dead end."

Valor grinned. "My power runs in *your* blood now."

Val paused, realizing the implication. "Yeah, no I've kind of given a lot of blood lately, so tell me you're joking."

Valor shrugged. "It is your choice, but if you find a runesmith who can take a look at the runes, your blood will be the most suitable fuel. It is not enough to restore it to it's full power, but will suffice to do so partially. In time as you grow stronger and more attuned to my power, you may be able to return it to its full former glory."

"I see, I'll give it some thought, maybe after I've replenished the blood I've lost. Thanks."

Val looked ready to return to sleep when he paused, noticing Valor still standing with the imitation sword.

Valor was grinning. "You have not visited in some time, and you stirred fond memories. Seems as good a time as any to check if you have kept up with your training, no?"

*f.u.c.k…*

Valor created an imitation of the worn version of Tyrfing Val was used to wielding, handing it to him before taking a stance.

In moments the two commenced the latest of their instructional duels. Valor was especially fierce this time, discussing the fabled blade had evidently stoked a fire within him. It was only after a couple hours of relentless instruction when Valor finally relented and let him return to sleep.