Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

It is said that the great dead city beneath the Dreaming Moon is surrounded on all sides by a petrified forest, where the poisoned minerals of the soil have leeched into the living trees and slain them. I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down what I have heard of one place near the Dead River where, rather than stone, pure iron had leeched into the trees, leaving trunks of pure metal. A branch of one such tree of metal once made its way to the City of Bronze, where it was fitted with a handle and sharpened.

Now such a weapon would be impractical for combat, as it could not hope to best a steel blade and would be brittle, to say nothing of its many sharp branches. But it was highly valued as a curiosity, enough so that it was stolen from the Sultan’s personal armory by one who wished to “return” it to those poisoned shores. The Sultan informs me that he sent a party after the man, but that the single survivor spoke only of a grove where all was made iron, bearing with him a man’s severed hand made entirely of wrought metal.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down what I have learned of the Ossuary Blade. It is within the Sultan’s possession, and I was permitted to examine it but not to test it or to take a sample. The sword is quite remarkable in that it is made entirely of human bones, with the longest bone, the femur, forming a blade. Based on my measurements, the femur must have come from a man at least seven units tall, a rare but not impossible height. The bone was sharp enough to cut the paper that I had with me, which is very strange; bone can be sharpened, but not to such a razor’s edge, and certainly not one that could cut my quill as well. There also appears to be no adhesive or other mechanism holding together the other bones that make up the tang and the grip, all human as well.

The history of the sword is all oral, and the Sultan himself claims to have heard the story from his great-uncle and predecessor as sultan. They say the bones are those of a great warrior names Twoen, who was a man of unparalleled strength but also uncommonly kind. He protected his people, desert migrants, on their travels until he fell ill with fever. It is said that Town was struck by a vision of the Dreaming Moon, and a thousand voices speaking in unison, when he prayed for something to protect his people when he was gone. He relayed his vision to his tribe, which honored it. Upon his death, Twoen was left in an oasis, and scavengers picked clean his bones in a sky burial. But rather than scattering them, his people followed his instructions to create the Ossuary Blade from his remains.

It is said that it delivers the life force of an opponent to the wielder, though I could not test this for myself. As to how it came to be in his collection, the Sultan claimed his uncle said that the nomads came to live in the City of Bronze many years ago and offered up their blade as a tribute. But I had the impression he did not believe this, and that the blade had been taken by force and brought as a trophy. On the truth of that story rests the legacy of Twoen, a man who may or may not have protected his people after death.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down what I have learned of Blazebrand, the legendary fiery sword of the sands. It is said that the blade was cast down from Vloles and the Dreaming Moon, arriving in a vast explosion that created a crater of glass. Its blade crisscrossed with strange lines, Blazebrand was found by a caravan, who soon learned of its ability to absorb and project the mighty desert sun into a weapon of unparalleled heat and brightness, yet leaving the hand that wielded it untouched.

Through its power the caravanned gained much renown as a sorcerer and swordsman, but found that his influence was only as great as his reach, for he lacked the other skills that build a kingdom or an empire. After a failed attempt on the City of Brass itself, he and Blazebrand went north to trackless and frozen Harbiyyah to find their fortune. It had been his plan to easily subdue the challenges of the north with the power of heat, and so he did. But when the Long Night came, and the sun vanished for a month, so too did the power of the Blazebrand. It is said that it remains there in cold Harbiyyah within the hoard of a frost-paguro to this very day.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The blood of men has in it iron enough, for all who have seen it bled have seen it rust. But I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down what I have learned of the Bloodblade, which was forged from the iron in the blood of a thousand slain.

Stories and legends paint the culprit of a great despot, perhaps a ruler of the City of Aauin before the Dead River had turned to salt. The Bloodblade had no special properties; it was mere cold iron. But the forging of the blade, which involved the despot bleeding his enemies to death one by one before handing the blood over to be rendered into pig iron, was said to have taken years and had quite an effect on the populace.

When the blade was done, the despot wore it by his side for a year and a day before his rule was ended. It is said that an assassin came upon him in his chambers, and the Bloodblade refused to be drawn. In the aftermath of the despot’s murder, it was found to be rusted into its scabbard. Was that a last vengeance from those whose blood had boiled into the blade, or simply the result of impurities in the process and a lack of care? The answer, it seems, lies at the bottom of the Dead River.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down the tale of the Sword of Bronze, one of the city’s great heirlooms and jewels. Unlike most of the blades I have written on, it has been my pleasure to inspect the Sword of Brass with the Sultan’s permission, and I can report it to be a fine spatula of pre-Køs manufacture.

Bronze swords were, of course, common before the invention of steel, though few have survived. But the Sword of Bronze has, and it is all the more unique for another property it demonstrates: whether by some alloying unknown to those who yet live or a supernatural process, the polished surface of the sword is always a mirror shine and is never marked or dulled. I could not cause so much as a fingerprint to appear upon it, and neither chalk nor charcoal could make headway.

I was unable to confirm this fact, but the Sultan informs me that the one and only thing that can stain the Sword of Bronze is blood.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down what I know of the Silver Sword. Far from the horrors of its supposed golden cousin, the Silver Sword was said to have been simply a sword of pure silver, but somehow wright to be hard as steel and to keep a keen edge without alloying. It was said to cause wounds that would not heal to the evil and the inhuman, although what exactly falls into those categories is, in the sources I have consulted, a matter of much dispute.

What is clear is that the sword came into the hands of an inquisitor in Korton, in the ages before Køs, who planned to use it to root out heretics and evildoers by inflicting slight wounds upon them and watching to see if they healed. This endeavor was abandoned, and the sword removed from the record of history, when the inquisitor cut his own hand upon the blade, only to find that the wound would not heal.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down what I could find go the most coveted blade of all, and that which the Sultan is most keenly interested in. It is called the Midas Blade by some, after a half-forgotten fairy tale, but the Sultan always knew it as the Blade of Rule, for it is said to turn whatever it pierces into the purest gold in an instant.

Naturally, this instantly kills all living things so stabbed, but it also represents a source of untold riches. Chronicles and tales mention the blade, yes, but most repeat the same basic facts, often distorted. The clearest account seems to come from the annals of Le Gongzhi, who recorded that the blade came into the hands of a scholar with a remit to study it. Rather than being blinded by greed, as others might, the scholar tested the blade’s ability to stab things into gold. Would the sea, if stabbed, turn to gold? What of the land?

With funding from a wealthy patron, the scholar set off to a remote region to test his theories. It is said in Le’s account that some time later a great golden orb, exactly 1000 units wide, was seen sinking into a mire under its own weight. A subsequent expedition found only a great hole, but it seems that in conducting his experiments the scholar had stabbed the air around him, which had obligingly turned to gold and borne him downward in an ornate tomb that even the greatest emperor could scarcely have dreamt of.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down the story of the Scalding Blade or Steamsword. It is said that the metal of the blade would, upon immersion in water and the speaking of a certain command word, heat up to the point that it could cause water to steam and scald and boil. In response to my letter, the Archivist of Korton wrote that there is a tome in their collection detailing the blade’s many owners, all of whom used its scalding ability as a tool of war and assassination.

One man was boiled alive in his bath, the text asserts, while another was plied with water and then stabbed, causing a minor steam explosion. These owners, needless to say, met violent ends themselves. It is the final owner written of in the book that is of interest, though. It is said they were not a warrior but a village elder, and that they designed an enclosure for the blade such that it could heat the water of a small village. In so doing, contagion was removed by boiling, and the townsfolk there enjoyed hot running water until records cease.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down the story of the Filigreed, also called the Stiletto of Plenty or the Hospitable Blade. Any who owns the blade as the sun rises, having received it fairly and without trickery, is said to be rewarded with a sumptuous repast. Its story is tied up with that of its last owner, Xe Viang, who was gifted it by a favored uncle on his deathbed. Upon finding its legend to be true, and enjoying delicious food every morn, Viang is said to have become greedy and begun selling the meal, contenting herself with simpler fare of milk-sweetened rice. She found willing enough buyers, but the meal was only ever enough for one.

So Viang had a scholar from Korton draw up a contract granting ownership of the dagger jointly to every member of her clan, with the hope that a meal would appear before each of them every morning that could then be traded upon. The following dawn, something did appear of each of the blade’s new owners, but it was a hollow mockery of the prior feasts, dewormed, moldy, and inedible. That same morning, it is said, the blade wormed its way out of Viang’s grasp and into the waters of the great Seasonal River, carried downstream to be found by a more honest bearer.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down at the latter’s request a catalog of the fantastic weapons which have passed through the city in the hands of pilgrims. I start with the Ever-Waking Blade, also called the Sword of Nightmares. It is said that to strike another with the blade, even its flat or its scabbard, will deprive the one so struck of several hours of rest and instead convey them to the striker. In this way, one could in theory go without rest indefinitely.

But it is said that for every hour of rest gained in this way, another must be spent later in life, perhaps at death, and this late rest will be marked with horrifying nightmares such as make mortal men quake. One swordsman, related to me as Samuel of Norton, was said to have possessed the blade and lived as a mercenary with it. But, stricken with fever at the end of his life, he supposedly howled for days as nightmares from the dream beyond, the deepest dream, tormented him. After he died, a look of horror frozen upon his face, the blade is said to have passed to one Louis Osborn, and passes from our knowledge.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!