Hang on, who the fuck are you?
Some people might find the idea of a speaking sword odd.
Not me.
After looping the same day over and over again, energy-beam-throwing wizards, farting dragons, and Qi-infused WWE moves, this barely warranted a raised eyebrow. I mean, when the sword swivelled in my hand to point its edge towards my face in a way I instinctively knew meant it was looking at me, I might have had a slight moment.
But the speaking? Cool beans.
Where’s Rhydderch?
“Who?”
Rhydderch.
“Nope. You can keep saying the same thing over and over again if you want, but that’s not going to help me, I’m afraid.”
Do you think you’re funny?
“Yes. I’m afraid I do.”
The sword twisted in my grip as if looking around the cave.
Oh, for fuck’s sake! We’re in a hoard, aren’t we? The dragon got us, didn’t it? I told him this would happen. I said, ‘fighting fire with fire’ is a cautionary tale, not a fucking assault strategy. But he wouldn’t listen, would he? He always knew best. That’s Rhydderch for you. Or was, I suppose.
“Sorry, what do you mean, ‘fight fire with fire?’”
The sword burst into flames. I mean, I did ask.
I’m Dyrnwyn, the Sword of Rhydderch Hael. Fire is kind of my thing.
“Thanks for clarifying. Could you, you know, stop?”
The fire went out, but the sword kept swinging about in my grip, clearly looking around at the hoard.
Fucking dragons. No sense of organisational framework. Look at all this stuff. It’s got a bloody Scroll of Resurrection mixed in with old copies of ‘Teeth and Tails’ over there. You will want to grab that, love. It twisted again to ‘look’ up at me. Whatever the fuck you are. Who did you say you were again?
“I’m Morgan Le Fay.”
Like fuck you are. The things Morgan would do for hair and skin like yours would make your teeth fall out in shock. She’s five foot nothing and built like an especially fat fucking barrel. And she knows who Rhydderch is. Try again.
“Okay. Look, it’s going to be a long story. Can I put you down whilst we talk? Doing it like this is uncomfortable.”
You can stick me up your arse if you want, love. My previous bearer is an ash heap, and you’re wearing my scabbard. So, I’m your sword now. Whatever the fuck you are.
“Oh, goody.”
*
I was starting to look back at my time with Merlin as a golden age of wit and sophistication. Drynwyn, although a lively conversationalist, was not quite what I was looking for when I told the wizard I wanted to see other people.
For a start, there was the swearing. I’m no shrinking violet, but I like to think I have somewhat of a varied vocabulary range.
The sword, not so much.
You’re telling me you’re a fucking cultivator? Fuck me. I thought Merlin fucked over those fuckers years back.
I shrugged. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
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You ripped the fucking head off a dragon that cooked Rhydderch Hael. They don’t name fucking swords after you because you’re a lovely chap. He was a fucking legend. A stone-cold, fucking nightmare on two legs. He had stones you could grind walnuts with. There was a brief pause as the sword seemed to be considering. Although, I’m not sure why he kept doing that, to be honest. Bit odd, now I think about it. And all that stuff with the baby oil...
When it didn’t speak again for a while, I started to look a bit more at the hoard. From the hints I’d picked up from Drynwyn so far, there was some good stuff mixed in with an awful lot of crap.
For example, the armour I was wearing didn’t have a proper name or anything, but according to the sword I could use it to store my Qi. It’s just your standard cultivator armour. Force some of your stuff into it, which’ll make it tougher. The better sets can hold fuckloads of your swirly stuff. Rhydderch never bothered with any of that, though. He was a loincloth and tassels kind of guy.
I was starting to get an impression of my sword’s previous owner.
My search of the hoard was proving fruitful. There were all sorts of rings, necklaces and pendants lying around in different bags that I figured had to have some useful properties. According to Drynwyn, I wanted to sort out any with the same colour stones as my Qi. But don’t put anything on until I have a look at it. There’s some nasty shit in here, and the last thing I need is for you to get fucked up with a curse. That’d be just my luck. Freed from a dragon’s hoard one moment to get saddled with an adventurer cursed to seek out ever increasingly complex sexual positions. Don’t want to go through that again.
“Again?“
I’d made quite a pile of amethyst-embedded jewellery before the sword snapped out of reconsidering its memories of what sounded to me like the kinkiest barbarian warrior since Red Sonja.
That’s quite a nice haul, actually. Purple Qi? Unusual. But then, who knows what the fuck is going to be usual for you. You definitely want the one on the left. That’s an entirely unique Mystic Gem. Irreplaceable. Unlimited power. No, my left. Left. Fuck’s sake. That one. That ONE!
The sword shot up into the air and landed on the ring it had identified. Unfortunately, in doing so, it also sheared that ring in half.
Fuck’s sake.
*
It took us most of the rest of the afternoon, but at the end of things, we were able to properly gear me up with all sorts of useful bits and pieces. The sword was the only true treasure, closely followed by my armour, but I was now wearing several seriously decent quality-of-life things that I was sure would be helpful down the road.
But by far the most helpful bit of advice was when Drynwyn wondered, ever so politely as I’m sure you can imagine, why I wasn’t hoovering up all the gold coins.
“My armour doesn’t have pockets” was apparently not an acceptable answer.
You’re a fucking cultivator. Stick it all in your soul space.
“My what?”
If you were any wetter behind the ears, my previous bearer could have used you as a lubricant. Your soul space. You know, where you keep all your important shit.
It took a while, and some expletive-loaded explanations, for me to realise that I could ‘add a page’ to the book which housed my artist’s studio and the Vitruvian-me.
Once you’ve done that, call it something like ‘Fucking Loot’ and just sweep the gold in there.
I’d like to say there was more to it as I was desperately clinging to the idea that the laws of Physics existed in some way in this world, but apparently not.
If I held a bag of money and...willed it onto the page, it vanished and reappeared there. It even helpfully added up for me how much I had. It was utter bollocks, to be honest, and shook me more than when I tore a wolf in half.
As you become stronger, you’ll be able to hold more in that space, so don’t be worried if you’re quickly as tight as a nun’s woozy. Just grab as much gold as possible - having a few coins to hand is always helpful.
I was up to my twentieth bag before Drynwyn cleared its throat and asked how much of my page was still empty.
“There’s just one bag in the top left-hand corner filling up with each addition. There’s nothing else showing in there.
Fucking hell. Change of plan. Swipe everything you can. Fill her up, as the bard said to the shaman.
The sun was just starting to go down when we’d finished looting everything my sword thought had any value whatsoever.
Apparently, I’d made out like a bandit.
Rhydderch had arrived to face the dragon with an entire support network of porters, wagons and merchants to pick over the aftermath once he’d done the slaying business.
He’d expected to be here for weeks whilst they sorted through it all. He’d even had the Exotic Dancer’s Guild send him fifty of their best guys to keep him entertained. You’re probably holding enough in your soul space to pay Uther himself to give you a lap dance.
We were making our way to the top of the path, just where it passed through the ruined castle gatehouse. I could understand Drynwyn just fine when he was in his scabbard, so I slung it around my shoulders with the sword hanging down my back in a way that made me feel all Henry Cavill.
Drynwyn was reminiscing happily about all the times he and Rhydderch had fucked over this or that warrior. I was starting to think we had a different interpretation of the meaning of that verb.
Then I stopped abruptly.
What the fuck?
I swore myself then. Because, there in front of me, was a familiar-looking group of blue spearmen complete with two Dicks out front and... Yes. A wizard that could throw Qi with his hands.
“Fuckadoodledo,” I whispered, stepping back into the castle’s shadows.