The knock on his chamber door was soft, polite, almost tentative. He knew it to be her. "Come in, Ariadne."

  She entered with a stunted, timid step, but spoke plainly.

  "Father, I wish for the Swordsman to teach me the sword instead of Lord Kerras. Can you make the time for him to do so?"

  "Why the sudden interest in the Swordsman, Dear one?" A slight smile played on his lips before he squashed it.

  "He is the strongest among you, even stronger than you, Father. Who better to learn from?"

  "Perhaps. Though, in truth, those with greatest skill do not tend to be the greatest teachers."

  Ariadne wiped her face furiously and stood erect before responding, "It's true, he taught a rough lesson, but... I cannot help but think that he was right."

  "And what did he teach you?"

  "That a swordsman must have the will to kill..."

  "A hard lesson indeed." The King pondered for a while, his own treatment with Zimossa coming in scattered images. Zimossa was never one to teach how to kill for killing's sake, but he knew its import.

  "What is a sword, Ariadne?"

  Ariadne looked at him in a quizzical manner. "It is a weapon, Father. Lord Kerras has more than once asked me the same question."

  "A weapon. Yes, it is that..." Theon paused long, letting the silence bloom between them as he stared at his daughter. She really has grown up. And she looks so like her mother. Oh, Zara, give me the wisdom to protect her.

  "Father, you don't seem convinced." Ariadne ventured to break his musings.

  "It is a simple truth, but not the whole one I think. I will set aside some time for you to work with the Swordsman on one condition."

  "Yes, Father, name it."

  The King let out a laugh, "An apt reply, since my request is that you help me come up with a fitting name for the Swordsman. I have been too long remiss in that duty. It is difficult to give a name. There is the colour of destiny in a name."

  Ariadne seemed delighted by the prospect, "Yes, but it is a joy as well. If a name is to be a destiny, let us give him a name that promises a bright one!"

  #

  "I have told your father of my brief time as a slave, but I will tell you a bit today as well in hopes of making you understand the way of the sword." The Swordsman began. “When I was a slave, I found the whippings the easiest part to endure. Every lash sent waves of simple clarity to my mind, the pain searing dull senses into burning bright memory. It brought moments of lucidity amid the torrents of madness that normally engulfed my thoughts. Therein lay my greatest difficulty, the haunting madness of a broken mind recollected.

  How long has it been? How many moons, how many crossing of stars and blazing suns have passed since I found my way out, fought my way out, the source of my salvation in the shape of a rusted shortsword?” The Swordsman began to lose himself in the remembrance, his mind playing the trickster, flickering the time between longevity and immediacy, but he finally continued.

  “It all seems forever removed from me yet here and now at once. We truly are eternal beings. A glimpse caught in the way our will can warp the world in an infinite second of pain or an instantaneous passing of pleasure."

  "I don't quite understand, Teacher." Ariadne's thoughts were spinning as she thought of this young man being tortured as a slave.

  "Of course you don't comprehend. Of course the wakefulness of a controlled mind cannot fathom the omniscience of madness. Yet I allow myself to be led away from the center. I was speaking of the way of the sword."

  The Swordsman cradled a tattered blade in both hands staring at it with a look of intense longing, like a lover might do. It was tattered almost beyond recognition as a weapon of war, yet he held it as if it possessed the very heart of his being.

  "The grip of this sword in my hand coaxed my broken mind back to the land of sane reflection. The exertion of swinging it, the leather and cloth wrapping molding to my flesh, the singing of the blade through empty air, all transformed me. Only with a blade in my hand am I free, free as man was made to be, free beyond the ken of human kind. I felt powerful, brave, strong, even when I was not. The blade awakened me, and I the blade until it sprang to life in my hand – a partner with a bond stronger than life, death, and love combined."

  "Your love of the sword is admirable." Ariadne said. She too had felt the draw of its power, the irrevocable pull of strength and force and confidence that came from having a blade in her hand, though a much different blade. "I think I understand a little."

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  "Yes, Princess, a little, perhaps. But you will not know the sword, nor yourself until you know what a sword is. So let me ask you again, a question I know your previous teacher has asked, one that I have asked, but perhaps not so forcefully, what is a sword?"

  She pondered for a moment, and then answered with strong certainty. "A Sword is a weapon used to defend or attack.”

  The Swordsman let out a steady breath, and then drew another in, holding it for a moment as he closed his eyes. "You are not wrong, neither before or now, but still it is incomplete. Your thoughts stick to the beaten paths. What makes my swordsmanship different from, say, your Father's? You have seen us spar many times, with practice swords, wooden, and with our own true blades. What is different?"

  "You are more skilled, he more brutish, but you both have a particular style I suppose."

  "Go on then, Princess Ariadne, what is a sword?"

  "It is a tool for war. Both to you and to him, I do not understand what you desire for me to say. Do you ask what makes its essence so keenly in a sword? What more can I say than it is a weapon?"

  "Ok then, let us continue with your vein of thought and mine it until it is dry. What is a weapon?"

  "A weapon is a tool crafted for the purpose of war."

  "What then is a tool?"

  "An object that aids in a certain work or purpose."

  "These are simple enough answers, but what do any of them have to do with your swordsmanship, or mine, or the King's for that matter?"

  "Perhaps a sword is a conduit of sorts."

  "There’s an interesting thought, a conduit to what, or from what, Princess?"

  Ariadne paused for a moment, her mind tracing over the conversation, "To mastery perhaps. It strengthens the wielder in some way."

  "Ah a wielder. So, the sword is a conduit, and you merely a wielder? What then, makes the difference between mere wielders of weapons and true warriors?"

  "I am a warrior!"

  "Yet you called yourself a wielder, as if the sword has the power and the strength, and you merely aim it. So, what is the difference?"

  "Maybe a sword is freedom.”

  The swordsman smiled, a mix of wry amusement and a little sorrow as was his wont. "That is a pretty reply, Princess. Though I tend to think of it one step shy of that, though it leads to freedom. A warrior knows that the sword is neither weapon nor tool, it is a key. A sword unlocks the Swordsman; a bow, the Marksman; a harp, the Musician; a pen, the Poet; a brush, the Painter. All such objects are keys, and all men are imbued with a series of locked rooms wherein lie magnificent treasures of who and what they are and have yet to become."

  "A conduit then, to freedom. I seem to have stumbled on an answer after all, Swordsman.”

  "Indeed you have. I’ll have to think on this. A conduit channels power in a way a key does not. Perhaps your description is more refined than my own. But for me, it is a key. You are the weapon. The sword freed you from your cage and carved you into a warrior, Princess, whether you have the key or not. The sword unleashes that which is within you." The swordsman took the rusty shortsword and laid it with utmost care upon the table in the corner of the training room, and then turned to address the Princess anew. "Now, My Lady, it is time to begin your training in earnest. Take your stance!"

  And the princess drew her blade, and sunk into a wide stance, twisting her hand forward and heightening her focus. By all rights she looked as a lioness ready to pounce, and, in the pride of lions, it is always the lioness who is the hunter.

  "Good, Princess, that is a good look in your eye. How many paces are you from me?"

  "Your paces or mine?"

  A smile crossed the Swordsman's face, "You are learning. Why does it matter?"

  "You are taller, perhaps a full pace, maybe two closer by your standard than by mine. If you are to attack, knowing your distance is different from knowing mine in attacking you."

  "Well done, Princess. Then, tell me both!" With a rapid push, the Swordsman closed the distance between them.

  Ariadne tried to count, "Six. No three." She stuttered, the count totally lost in her head as she barely stepped back far enough to allow the Swordsman's wooden practice sword to rest gentle on the corner of her neck.

  "Too slow, My Lady."

  In a rush of frustration, Ariadne turned her body and stepped forward, swinging her knee to drive for the Swordsman's gut. In surprise he sidestepped, narrowly missing a devastating blow, and dipped his blade to the level of her shoulder as she pirouetted to gain the proper distance and re-engage with a harsh thrust of her wooden rapier.

  Still, she was not fast enough. The Swordsman's graceful step placed him back in perfect range to parry the blow in front of his face, leaving Ariadne overextended as he closed to deliver a blow, in the form of a light tap, to her ribcage before grasping her sword arm, delivering a kick to her forward leg, and tugging her off her feet, twisting just enough for her to drop her weapon in the grass as he dropped his own and sunk down to catch her, inches from hitting the ground.

  There the two remained, in strange embrace, face-to-face, his arm cradling her head, when Lord Kerras entered, an instant look of indignation spreading wild across his face.

  "Swordsman!" Kerras exclaimed, his hand grasping the hilt of his longsword on instinct.

  The Swordsman blushed, but otherwise stood and helped lift Ariadne to her feet, setting her down with utmost care. Her protestations were confused, "No, Lord Kerras... he... we just. I lost my balance, and he caught me. He was... protecting me."

  His grip did not weaken, "Step away from the Princess."

  The Swordsman spoke, with measured tone, apologetically. "I confess, the throw was intentional, but the manner of our final positioning was an..." here his face grew a deeper crimson, "accident. You may take out what wrath upon me as you have, but I assure you, I have no ill intentions, Lord Kerras."

  Kerras clenched his jaw, the red of his knuckles bursting in white, "You are a dangerous man."

  "Yes, Lord Kerras, dangerous to my enemies. None of whom reside in this castle, to my knowledge."

  "Lord Kerras," the Princess' voice was punctuated with unaffected authority, "stand down!"

  As if under a spell, Kerras obeyed, his movements jolting and mechanized as he released the hilt and stood erect, eyes wide with unaffected confusion.

  "Now leave us." The force of her command struck him as if it were the voice of the POET himself, and he turned haltingy toward the door, opened it mechanically, and departed. "Now, teacher, shall we continue?"

  The swordsman gawked, retrieved his practice sword from the ground and gave a slow, methodical nod. At your command, Princess.