“In between doing research, writing, and teaching, I try to have fun, too. I also enjoy the work a lot. It’s less a job and more a calling.” Raum answered easily.
“The book about the Dainsleif sword.”
“Yes, that’s the one. Its origins are from Scandinavian folklore and mythology. I’m focusing on the Dainsleif and its appearances in both history and myth and the correlations between them.”
“Wouldn’t Saemund have first-hand knowledge of the sword, if that’s the same family line, and he’s as old as I am assuming he is?”
“Sort of,” Raum said. “Grandpa Saemund was once known as Álf, later known as Finnálf, a bastard son of King Raum Nórsson and an affair partner, Queen Bergdís. She was actually a High Court Sidhe. According to family lore, the sword stayed with the main branch of the descendants of King Raum through Bergdís. The sword eventually went to Saemund’s brother, Brandr. Grandpa Saemund said he lost track of the sword after it was passed down through many generations in the human line of the family, eventually getting lost about a thousand years ago when its wielder died in battle.”
Ezra blinked at Raum, trying to wrap his head around that explanation. “That’s pretty complicated.”
“Easiest way to explain it is that a long-ago cousin lost the sword when he lost his life, and it’s either at the bottom of a lake somewhere, or in a private collection gathering dust.” Raum sighed. “I shudder to think that a divinely forged weapon that never fails to kill is sitting in a vault somewhere, waiting to take the life of anyone who wields it.”
“That’s right—it will kill anyone who isn’t your family, if they fail to take a life with the sword.”
Raum nodded. “Yes. Grandpa Saemund says the sword is as lethal as the myths say it is, and he regrets losing track of it. That side of the family eventually died out. There’s no one left of Brandr’s line. Just Saemund’s.”
“So there’s no one left who can safely wield the sword, except the three of you? Saemund, your father, and you?” Ezra asked.
“Grandpa tracked the family lines extensively and every one was a dead end, literally. We’re the last.”
“That’s why you’re writing about the Dainsleif. It’s your family legacy.”
“I love how much you know about it.”
Ezra grinned and shrugged one shoulder. Artifacts weren’t just his career, but one of his passions.
“It’s my favorite cursed object out there. And cursed objects in general are my passion. The history, the origins, who made them and why, even the naturally occurring artifacts, accidentally made ones too, all different kinds. There’s so much variety to magic when it comes to artifacts that I’ve never really seen the same thing twice. There’s never a dull moment with this job. Cursed objects and artifacts aren’t just a job, but a hobby. I love them, even when I’m burning them to a crisp.”
“If you had the Dainsleif, what would you do with it?” Raum asked, and Ezra answered, excited to talk about it with someone who knew as much, if not more, than he did.
“I’d love to examine it, see how it was built, what makes it tick. Is it really possessed? Is it actually cursed, or was this the intent behind its crafting to begin with? Was it really made by a god? What does divine magic look like for this particular god—is it discernible by mortal senses, or is it incomprehensible? Will I even understand how it works?” Ezra took a breath and kept going. “What’s the mechanism behind the Dainsleif—does it really demand a life once drawn from the scabbard? Is the scabbard an artifact as well, is it a dampening field to keep the sword from constantly working on people around it, or will any sheath or scabbard work? I’d really just love to stare at it for as long as I could, see how many questions I can get the answers to. There’s so much I’d love to know. First, is it an artifact, a cursed object, a holy relic, or all three?”
Raum stared at him with wide eyes and something of a half-smile, bemused and a bit alarmed. Ezra snapped his mouth shut and fought back a blush summoned by his rapid-fire rambling.
“Sorry, I got a bit excited. I tend to nerd-out pretty hard on topics I enjoy.” Ezra grimaced. “Sorry.”
Raum shook his head and reached out a hand, touching Ezra on the arm. “Don’t be sorry. I love the enthusiasm. And I love the fact that none of that focused on using the sword. It’s a powerfulweapon—lots of people would consider using it for nefarious reasons.”
“Oh hells no, I’d never want to use it. Aside from the fact that I don’t want to kill anyone, everything I know about the sword points to it corrupting the wielder the longer it’s in their proximity, but only if the sword is drawn from the scabbard. If whoever has it leaves it sheathed, the magic is dampened and concealed. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to prevent the curse from affecting me, or someone else. And if saving myself or someone else from it means destroying it, that would break my heart, but I would do it.”
Raum smiled at him, a tiny lifting of his lips, full of something Ezra had trouble understanding, but it wasn’t annoyance or scorn, so he’d take it. Usually when he got this excited about a topic and no one stopped him, he annoyed people and drove them away. Raum didn’t appear to be annoyed at all, so Ezra took that as a win.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RAUM
It made a ton of sense that Ezra knew about the Dainsleif—it was a powerful object, and it acted like it was cursed. The sword’s legend was of Scandinavian origin, with a singular myth about its creation. Magic swords were a dime a dozen—they had been a popular and common artifact made in dozens of cultures and civilizations throughout recorded history, but the Dainsleif was never conflated with another sword, and the dwarf god Dain was always attributed as its creator and first wielder. As a comparison, Excalibur had multiple origins, creators, and tales about its exploits and even its current locations, and the Dainsleif had only a few legends about it, with little variation.
“Isit an artifact do you think, or a cursed object, or a holy relic?” Raum asked Ezra, insatiably curious.
“That’s my question, and I’d only be able to answer it if I got to lay eyes on it and had some time to examine it. Which I would love to do.”
An artifact was an object created in and by magic to do a specific magical action or to serve a specific purpose. A cursed object was typically something mundane that was then imbued with magic that was either inimical from the start, or the magic was corrupted by time or outside forces, and then becamedangerous. The less common objects were magical artifacts that then became cursed. Raum suspected that was the Dainsleif.
And a holy relic was any magical object made by a deity, and they were exceedingly rare.
“Well, to get us back on track, that’s what I’m working on when I’m not helping handsome curse-breakers do research,” Raum said with a rueful smile, realizing that they’d spent a big chunk of time talking about Raum’s work and none about why they were there in the library to begin with—especially since they had something of a time crunch, too.
