The Vorpal Sword: Sharp Eyes

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     Iron clamped down on Alistair’s shoulder and he flinched. Blue eyes sharper than the edge of a knife stared at

him over his shoulder, supported by a skinny, trembling arm on the back of the chair. 

“Uh-why don’t you sit down mister?” He helped the old man into the chair, but those eyes never left him, and the hoary eyebrows above furrowed. 

“How are you going to defeat the Queen?” the old croaking voice surprised Alistair with its strength, but he felt his heart do that quavering thing it had done before. He turned back to the porch rail. “I don’t know.” 

Hands clasped at his shirt again and dragged him around to face the furrowed old face. “Know. She must die.” 

“I-okay.” He gently undid the hands on his shirt and led the old man back to his chair. The intensity in his voice frightened him; it ran even deeper and clearer than Leo’s. He turned again to the railing and looked out over the Señorita’s field. There was silence, but he could feel blue on him and he finally turned. The old man’s eyes were fixed on the Vorpal Sword. 

He reached out, and Alistair came forward instinctively at the pitiful look on his face. The old man gently traced the hilt as Alistair leaned down. 

“Heavy. It was so heavy.” His hand dropped, and a hundred extra pounds seemed to drop on his head with it. “Do not fail it. Kill her as soon as you are able” 

He turned his head away and Alistair swallowed. 

“I’m scared.” The words were out of his mouth and he wasn’t sure if he wanted them back in or not. 

The eyes flicked back to him, face tired. “And so?” 

“I don’t think I can do it.” Alistair’s tongue felt dry. Anger flickered across the old face and Alistair’s mouth felt even drier. 

The old man wrapped a gnarled hand around the Sword’s hilt and pulled Alistair close. “You must not fail the mantle that comes with this sword.” His eyes seemed to be trying to drill the words into Alistair by sheer force of gaze. “You have been given a responsibility; do not dare to think of shaking it off.” He pushed the boy away and slowly, shakily, got to his feet. 

Alistair rolled his knuckles and turned back to the railing as the old man hobbled his slow way inside, mouth still dry.

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