Vajra An Elven Tale

Chapter 10

Golden eyed Swara, above;-)

Chapter ten

Aithne

Either it was his roots buried somewhere in the deep forests of Vajrateerta, where the land smelled of blood and had been nourished with many brave lives forsaken for its welfare, or simply a trait he had inherited from his warrior forefathers; Sanskar was always fascinated by blades.

Not in a violent, blood thirsty way that would drive him with the desire to sink the shinning death in to a pulsing heart, but in a more composed and artistic manner. The length and weight of a sword felt natural to his grip, the cold hilt would fit there like an extension to his arm, moving almost in an athletic, artful way with a sharp yet gentle movement of his wrist. As the edges, sharp enough to bring an instant death, cut across the air around him, in swishing motion, he would feel calmer to think and process more wisely.

For most Vajras battles were means to vent out their aggression, to this peculiar one it was a meditation that pressed the aggression deep within his mind and brought forth the much needed tranquility. It was general knowledge for the folk in Agnidyuth fortress that if you see Yuvraj practicing at the middle of the night, he is disturbed, very, very so. It would not be wise to approach him right then, even for the best of cause, unless you wish to partake in a deadly dual.

Sanskar was passionate about blades; he had mastered the art of fencing from the elven master swordsmen and refined the art by practicing with Kavita in the long lost years. In every establishment where he lived, there was a room dedicated for this purpose. With wider space, quiet surroundings and many blades hanging from the walls. Most of them were possessions of value, some for the history, some for the finesse of elven merchandise, some for the legends who owned them before they came in the hands of the young prince of Vajra.

"Aithne" or the blade of flame was one such possession. It was the only existing blade of the trio of Agni, the swords of ancient folktales of elves*. The three blades were known, Aithne, Asani and Miza, each the conqueror of the three elven kingdoms, Vajrateerta, Kaaldwaara and Akashanagara respectively. The blade was slender, made of elven steel, its hilt silver and embossed with eerie looking agates with crackles like fire reflected upon them. The blade, rested in a glass case, where the air and moisture would not touch it, nor would Sanskar's thoughts touch the certain edge of a memory that blade was capable of evoking. The blade of Vajrateerta, had not been in the hands of Vajras for several centuries. It had belonged to the Anjanis when their king had been the Vajra, and then passed down to his daughter and snatched by his son Pratula. The acts of that elf, driven by his lust for power and shortsightedness, had brought Aithne back to the hands of a Vajra, its reputation however marred with a repulsive memory.

Asanikshestra, closer to borders of Akashanagara, 31st October 2005

The fifteen year old Sanskar had never been left behind by his father before. He had been on battles, the clashes, the cuts or the blood did not frighten him. But the view of the post battle field, lying in front of his eyes, stilled his heart with a cold dread he felt rather unfounded at the moment.

Asanikshestra was literally mire land, the hooves of their stallions sinking in to the sludge as they went on, the wind fusty and blabbering against the clumps of tall weed in random places. There were pools of muddy water, strained from the layers of decayed mud, they reflected the murky sky above, and smudged themselves as they passed by. He caught his reflection in one of them, as they rode on, trying to search for their king among the perished and dying. The thought had brought the dark look in his face, the masked yet fathomless dread in his eyes. In his reflection, the two characters merged in to one frame of illusion, the composed prince handling the matter and the broken son, in search of his dying father.