At length, Sage noticed the child and looked up. The boy started to move away, but Sage spoke. “Hullo. Who are you?”
“Martin.” the child answered bashfully. Sage would guess that Martin was no more than ten years of age.
“And what are you curious about, Martin?” Sage asked, putting away his spellbook.
Martin’s eyes flickered to Sage’s sword. “Are you a mage knight?”
Sage smiled. “I am. What of it?”
Martin bit his lip. “Can I see your sword?”
Sage drew his sword, laying it flat across his knees. Martin came forward in fascination, staring at the runes carved into the blade’s surface.
“This is the sword of a mage knight.” Sage explained softly. “Unlike normal swords, a mage knight’s blade is forged out of sunsteel or moonsteel, and shaped, molded, and sharpened by the mage knight who is to use it. No two blades are ever the same.”
“Wow.” Martin said, staring with wide eyes.
“My blade is forged out of moonsteel.” Sage continued. “And each mage knight gives his sword a name that defines both the blade, and himself. My blade is Siarnor.” At the mention of its name, the blade kindled to life with blue fire, causing Martin to jump back. “In the language of the Wolven, Siarnor is the Blade of the New Moon.”
“Is that what those symbols say?” Martin asked, pointing at the runes on the Siarnor’s blade.
“Ah, these?” Sage said. “The runes along the blade’s flat are the promise written on the swords of all mage knights.” he explained, balancing his sword. “This promise gives the sword its power.”