First, the sharp blow, that drives you to your knees,
with strength to pierce through every vital part,
but leaves you living still, with beating heart,
a broken thing that speaks and hears and sees.

Then comes the pain that grows by slow degrees:
a dull and bitter aching at the start,
but soon a stabbing like a poisoned dart,
that neither sleep nor stillness can appease.

Who would have thought a wound would go so deep?
Like breath or heartbeat, not to be denied,
it throbs and throbs, and brings the strongest low,
and like the rising and the falling tide
that drowns the swimmer with its ebb and flow,
it leaves no strength to cry aloud or weep.

I wrote the following for Mina Katin and for Flaming Destiny, the flaming broadsword she once carried.


I am the sword called Flaming Destiny.
A young enchanter took me in his hand
and named me thus, within a war-torn land.
'Twas by my fire he made the demons flee
and evil creatures, burning, cease to be.
From southern swamp to northern desert sand
he fought the dark, till he was called to stand
in Cory's brilliant light eternally.

Then I was lost, till from those halls of light
the goddess Xia heard a fervent prayer
and to a grieving sister gave my flame,
engraven with a brother's valiant name,
once more to burn in battle everywhere.
Though now outgrown, I still am burning bright.


Topaz

When Wyf Broadskull put away the Ethucan sword he named Fiend Scourge, I wrote this for him and for the sword:


Fiend Scourge am I. The fire of Ethucan
forged me for battle, finely crafted.
The Sly one gave me with generous hand
to a warrior-woman who wielded me,
then set me aside, her strength increasing.
She took to the temple a tall warrior,
battle-berserker, bold beast-slayer,
and in his hand I hewed demons,
slew them shrieking, a scourge indeed.
Dark was my edge with demons' blood.
He too outgrew me, the grim sword-bearer
who gave me name. Now I am at rest,
awaiting a warrior to wield me once more.


Topaz