Dark Armor: The Spear of the First

Tybben was waiting at the top of the spiral stair when Pallian finally came staggering back up. "Tybben?" He'd never imagined that the dog-faced man would come all the way down here.

Tybben swallowed. "She sent me a wisp," he said. "I didn't even know that was possible. I thought you just set them and left them behind."

"Well... good," Pallian said, trying to focus. "I think I might need some help getting back. Definitely a guide."

Tybben smiled. "My prince, I can definitely provide that. Back to your suite?"

Pallian thought about the Spear of the First, and his own current condition in the wake of whatever the Grandmother had done. "Yes. Please."

Tybben smiled, and it looked like a snarl. "My prince does not have to offer courtesies to me... but I appreciate and admire your condescension."

Half an hour later, Pallian was in his bed and snoring. 

Seven hours after that, he was awake again. He felt wrung out, but whole. There was another silver chalice on his bedside table, and Pallian swallowed down its contents without a hint of hesitation. He lay back, and let the liquid work its way through him, carrying the things his body needed to restore itself. He still wanted food, but this was enough for now; he could face the Spear of the First, bind it to his service. 

If Amedin checked his initiations again, Pallian was going to have to destroy the half-dead immediately, and deal with the consequences afterwards. 

The Spear still hung in its place in the vault. Pallian studied it for a long moment, then approached and wrapped a hand around it. 

It tried to lunge for him immediately, but he held it flat against the wall and extended his awareness. Come on, then. Fight me. It lurched again, but he got his other arm up in time to catch the haft on his forearm. He could feel it pressing back, trying to force him to release it, and then trying to force him to take it up and submit to its will. 

Its will was bloodthirsty and relentless. 

You know me, he reminded it. You stabbed me, and I lived. 

It screamed into his mind, furious at his escape, and whipped around and around in his hand. He rode with the movements, keeping his grip, asserting his will. I am Pallian, of the House of Teres and the nation of Teregor. I place my claim on you by right of conquest. You are mine. 

It tried to turn his wrist, but he held strong. It tried to turn his mind, but he held stronger there. Finally it settled, not loyal but at least acquiescent. It would require far more than this to truly bind the weapon to him, but they were acquainted now. 

He let it go and stepped back, refusing to let himself sag with the sudden rush of exhaustion. The spear remained in its cradle, waiting for the time when it would finally go to war once again. 

Pallian hoped that time would not be soon, but feared that it very well might be.