I'd just snuck past the sleeping bear when I came in, it was still there. Of course, the sword didn't listen to me. Over it's hollering and triumphant trumpeting I heard the bear roar in anger as it woke up, then a crash from the corridor, like a statue being knocked over by a large furry angry bear. "Oh shit," I muttered as the bear butted the vault doors open and glared at me.

The sword was nearly as big as I was, and still in its scabbard, and still making all that noise, so I backed away from the bear, fumbling for something useful. The bear spotted me moving and growled at the sword, which still wouldn't shut up. The bear stepped into the room, getting ready to charge me, it looked like, and knocked the piece of metal with its paw. There was an unpleasant crackling noise, and sparks jumped from the doorway around the bear. Electricity jumped from the doorway to the bear, whose fur stood all on end. This continued for a brief time, then the bear collapsed, smoking gently. I didn't even bother to wait and see if it was alive or dead, I got a running start, leapt onto its back and then to the floor of the corridor, and headed straight up the tunnel toward daylight.

The sword finally quit glowing and finished it's triumphant fanfare when I was almost at the surface. "Now, come, hero, we must go and return the..." it began to say to me.

"Shut up," I told it, and muffled whatever complaint it might have had by wrapping it in the cloth again and strapping it to my pack. Then I headed for the exit, studiously ignoring it.

I kept the sword wrapped up until I got back to the city. I could hear it muttering sometimes, but only because I had it right on my back. Other than that, it remained quiescent during the trip.

I took a carriage, even though buying a horse probably would have been quicker. Horses present unique difficulties when your head barely comes up to the bottom of their stomach. I.E. they're too wide to ride comfortably, and mounting is either impossible, or weirds the horse out. The innkeeper tried to persuade me to wait for a fancier, faster carriage that traveled along this route, sure to arrive any day now. "Much more suitable for an adventurer such as yourself," he claimed.

I demurred, and took the normal one. Firstly, I'm not an adventurer, I'm a thief, adventures and excitement are usually signs I screwed up. Secondly, he probably was just trying that 'cause he had some sort of deal with the owner of the carriage, get cut in for a take on business he gets them. Most importantly, though, it got me out of the town quicker. That place was DULL! I'd been in taverns whose common rooms were bigger than their town hall!

Anyway, when I got back to the city, I took the sword to my apartment and pulled the curtains tightly shut. Then I unwrapped the sword slightly and reached in to pull it out. The glow grew brighter, lighting the room much better than my lamp and in the same deep voice it'd used earlier, the sword spoke.

"Who are you that dares treat..." it began.

"Right now, none of that," I said, letting go of the handle and flipping the cloth back over it, muffling the light and voice.

When the sword was silent and dark again, I flipped the cover off and continued, "Now, let's try that again. This time, when I pull you out, let's not have any of that silly glowing; the lamp provides plenty of light. And at least try to talk in a more normal volume, trust me, some of my neighbors shouldn't be disturbed. Okay?"

The sword sat inanimately, while I waited. I got bored and decided that was probably a sort of yes, so reached for it again. The instant I touched the sword, the light flared brightly and the sword's voice rose. "You dare demand..."

Squinting against the light, I sighed and let go, flipping the cloth back over the sword. "Fine, we'll do it your way. You can wait in there until you can be reasonable. Or, I can always just find a nice deep well and...SPLASH!"

A muffled, much quieter sound came from under the sheet. "What was that?" I asked, pulling back a corner.

"You wouldn't," the sword said, faintly.

"Try me," I replied, then wrapped it up and put the bundle in a pile of junk in my closet, then went to get dinner.

After dinner, I had to take care of a few things, so it had been dark for a while when I returned. Amazing how some people try to ensure a business deal goes the way they want, it'd have been cheaper to hire me than those thugs they tried to have "convince" me probably. But, anyway, I went and got the wrapped up sword. Then I shut the curtains, AGAIN, and put the sword on the table. It seemed quiet, and only seemed to react usually when I touched it, so I got a long knife out and unwrapped the cloth from it with that.

It lay there. Overall, it was probably a hair over three feet long, in the sheath, which had made the thing awkward to carry. The sheath was plain, just old leather, preserved presumably by the cell it had been in. The hilt of the sword, on the other hand, made up for the plainness of the sheath. It was all gold, or at least gilded, studded with gems, the whole nine yards. But, the handle at least seemed like it was actually designed to be held. I couldn't see the blade, for obvious reasons, and wasn't going to try unsheathing it again yet. Chances were probably 50/50 it was either plain, but shiny as anything, or covered with runes/sigils/whatever, to look suitably impressive. Some of these things are kinda predictable.

"Well?" I asked.

The sword sat there. Hmm. It certainly reacted when I touched it, though. Maybe that was part of it, it somehow got power from people touching/being near it or something. Or a specific person, anyway. One way to prevent the bad guys from using it, I guess. I moved my hand close to the handle, but was careful not to touch. "Well, you in there?"

Nothing. I gritted my teeth. "Remember what I said!" I warned it, then lightly grabbed the hilt.

No screaming bugles, no glaring lights. The sword sort of hummed, but that was about it. "So, did you have time to think?"

"I observed some of your neighbors. They are certainly not a proper class of people to discover my presence, I agree," it replied.

I sighed mentally, but at least it was quiet, this time. "You could put it that way, I guess. So what do you want with me?"

"You discovered me! You are the chosen one! You must lead the people of Mycheria free from the repression of the evil wizard! He corrupted the empire from within and seized power for himself! He is an utter madman and must be stopped, before the people are ground into the dust! And only you, the chosen one who recovered me, Brightbringer, the scourge of evil, can do it!"

"Woah, woah, hold up here. Rescue the people of where??"

"Mycheria."

"Where's that?"

"It's the empire that spans from one sea to the other! It rules the lands from the Great Desert to the Mountains of Ice in the south!"

"Never heard of it."

"Look, shut up. This is the last museum that even lets the public in in the town, if we can't find anything here, I'm out of ideas," I said.

I was speaking to the wrapped up sword I was carting around town, I'd already tried the other collections of antiques and museums that I could think of, and none of them had had any information on this "Mycherian Empire" thing. Basically, the only reason I was doing this was because it was the only way to get the sword to shut up. And, admittedly, I was a little bit curious, too. If it was this hard to find anything about it, this "empire" had to be either really long ago, or very unremarkable. Or made up, possibly. How do you tell if an intelligent inanimate object has gotten deranged? It's not like they drool and mutter or anything.

Anyway, that's why I had spent the day looking at old beat up statues and stuff, while lugging around the sword on my back. And now, hopefully, I could be done with that for the day soon. This museum was one of the nice ones, kept up by a trust or foundation or something, set up by some noble or merchant or somebody as a sort of posthumous public relations gig. I was wearing some fancy clothes I kept for such purposes, and a bunch of gaudy jewelry, mostly fake, enough to make me look like one of the prosperous merchants who constantly aspire to be part of the aristocracy. Not people I particularly cared for, but it would fit with my story. I stuck the wrapped sword under my arm and went over to the desk.

I jumped up on a small stool by the desk, then rapped on the desk. "You there! Tell the curator I must see him at once!" I cried in the attendant's face.

I overrode him as he tried to protest to the curator's stature, and business, and how he could not possibly see anyone. "Tut tut! Don't give me any of that malarkey, he probably has a woman up there now with him, eh? Nothing all that all-fired important that he can't spare a few minutes of his time for an important visitor with a rare artifact. Now run along and tell him, eh?"

I have to admit, I do enjoy playing the arrogant bastard sometimes, it's a nice change compared to how they'd normally look at me and like beating them at their own game. Don't like when people try to pull things like it on me, which is also part of why it's fun. The clerk tried to emphasize how busy the curator was, and if I set up an appointment and came back later, it could of course all be worked out for such an important visitor. "No time for that I'm afraid, chap! I'm only in this town for the one day, and heard that this you chaps were knowledgeable. If I heard wrong and you're too busy to deal with interesting relics, I can always try your friends down the street."

This was a bit of a lie, I hadn't had any luck at the others, the one I'd actually been able to talk to didn't know anything and the religious types are a lot harder to browbeat, at least this specific way, so they weren't any help. But he didn't know that. I could see this track was having the desired effect, he could easily imagine his boss' reaction if I really did have something rare, and one of the others got it first. Warring with that was how his boss would react if it turned out to be a false lead. Finally, he said, "I'm afraid the curator is not here. However, you can speak to one of the scholars, who know a great deal about antiquities. Please wait here."

"If you want to get anything done around here, you have to complain until you're blue in the face," I muttered as he sent a page off to fetch the aforementioned scholar.

The page returned quickly, and led me behind the desk and through a locked door, finally to a study room, where he left me. I took advantage of the chance to look around the room. There was the obligatory desk in front of me, with various sheets of parchment scattered all over, boxes, dirt encrusted objects, and other types of things you expect to find on a scholar's desk. The room itself was fairly small, but a smaller door opened off the back, behind the desk. There was another table in the corner, made of sturdy wood and covered with scratches and dirt and antiquities in various stages of restoration. I took a quick look over them, but none looked at all valuable, besides, he probably knew where each was and would notice if any were missing.

"Where is this scholar?" hissed the sword, muffled under the wrappings.

"Quiet, and act non-magical," I whispered back.

Other than the tables I'd seen, the room was empty. I even peeked under the desk. Nobody there. I listened and thought I heard some mumbling and then the sound of metal on metal. It came from behind the half-open door in the back. Getting back into character, I pushed the door open sharply. "Is somebody back here, or were they just trying to get rid of me? Hello?"

The room beyond was large, and dark, windowless, and full of looming shelves. There was a single light ahead of me; over another scuffed up worktable. Silhouetted by the light was a shape that was presumably the scholar, who'd started when I pushed the door open and was now spinning around on the stool to face the door. "Who's there?" the scholar asked.

"I am the merchant Kaldor. I'm looking for a scholar who knows about old artifacts. Would that be you?"

"What? Oh, yes, that's right, the page mentioned you. Step out into the office, the light is better. I'll be with you in a moment."

I thought about saying something imperious about my valuable time, but decided I'd be better off by not alienating the scholar. So I went back out to the office, and dragged the stool from the worktable over in front of the desk, then sat on it and waited. True to his word, it hadn't been very long at all before the scholar came back out from the back room. The scholar was somewhere in the mid five foot range, average for a badger, but hunched over usually so he seemed shorter. He worse a coat with many large pockets sewn onto it, most bulging, probably with tools and things he was investigating, as far as I could tell. In normal clothes, you probably wouldn't be able to tell him from any other badger on the street. Somehow, I doubted he'd care about normal clothes, though.

He sat in his chair and leaned on the desk. He looked down, moved some papers out of the way, then sighed a little to himself and spoke. "So, what do you need to know?"

I rattled some coins in my pocket. "I can pay." He sighed again.

I pulled the sword out from under my arm and thunked it on the desk, then unwrapped it. "What can you tell me about this, and some place called 'Mycheria?'"

The scholar hmmed. "Mycheria you say? Not an era I can recall many people being curious about. Where did you happen to hear about it?"

"It was mentioned when I got this," I replied, gesturing toward the wrapped sword on the table.

The badger nodded to himself and pulled one side of the wrapping out of the way. When the sword was fully unwrapped he sat back and just looked at it for a moment. "Excellently preserved. Obviously of Mycherian origin, look at the shape of the handle and the curve of the guard. Of course, I could date it more precisely if it hadn't been cleaned," he said, with a hint of reproach.

I shrugged. "That way when I got it."

The scholar was pulling on a pair of thin gloves. "Pity," he replied, "May I?"

I nodded and he pulled the sword from the scabbard. Either it was behaving itself or maybe the sword only liked me, but there wasn't any glaring light or fanfare, just the quiet, faintly ominous sound of a sword being drawn. The blade glimmered in the light, plain silver along its length. The scholar set it down next to the scabbard and inspected it closely. Finally, he sat back. "Well, it's in remarkable condition. It even appears to have been sharpened recently, along with being cleaned. It is quite fortunate that you brought this to me, I don't believe there are any other scholars within several hundred miles who would be able to tell you about this."

I neglected to inform him that I had discovered that fact already, the hard way. He went on, "As I mentioned, it is not a very popular field of study. From what I can tell, this weapon was made shortly before the Golden Age of the Empire, when..."

"Golden Age?" I interrupted.

"Yes, when the wizard-emperor ruled."

There was an outraged squeal from the table, but it cut off almost immediately. "Did you hear something?" the scholar asked.

I shook my head and he shrugged and continued.

"As I was saying, the sword appears to date from slightly before then. Possibly it was made for some of the squabbles before then."

At my questioning look, he elaborated. "The usual. Succession disputes, rebellions, invasions, that sort of thing. From some artifacts, wall paintings, pots, and so on, most of these problems were blamed on the death of the old king and the disappearance of his heirs. There's part of a pretty typical prophecy, the whole 'And there shall arise One Who Shall be Chosen, and The One Who Is Chosen will Smite the Enemies and Reclaim His Throne...' and so on. The exact translation's back in the back somewhere, but that's the essence of it."

I winced mentally, 'cause that sounded WAY too familiar. "Wait a second, if they were as big as you said, who could have invaded them? Unless across the sea, but that's a dicey proposition."

"Well, I'm not quite sure. Archeology is a difficult task, generations of looters, graffiti artists, plowboys looking for cheap building material...It's not like opening up a history book. This is writing the history books. But, as best as I've been able to tell, the main threat was from some sort of wizard."

The sword seemed to glow a bit brighter than the sunlight should have made it, for a second, but the scholar didn't notice. "'The Conjurer from beyond the sands' he was referred to as. There's mention of him forcing a large part of the Empire under his sway. Then, somehow, he was gone. A rival, or a student, or a hero, or a mob of maddened peasants with pitchforks and torches, or some out of control summoning, who knows. But he disappeared. In fact, the only other mention of him is made at the wizard-emperor's coronation."

"Which sections of the Empire?" I asked, for obvious (well, to me) reasons.

"We don't exactly have detailed geopolitical maps of ancient history," he said, and I tried to look impressed with the big words, "But it included much of this area, a river is mentioned several times, that can only be the Risus. But the really interesting part of all this is why the Conjurer was mentioned at the coronation of the wizard-emperor who apparently brought enough of the Empire back to some semblance of normalcy to claim the title. Portions of his speech were found on a number of things, obviously, he was welcomed. The mention of the unlamented Conjurer is interesting, for he was not a very popular figure, blamed for the death and disappearance of the old royal family."

He was obviously savoring some great shocking secret that I was supposed to be utterly astounded by, so I gave him his pleasure. Leaning over conspiratorially, I asked, "So why WOULD the old boy mention an unpopular magicker the day he's being crowned?"

He smiled deviously. Or at least what he thought was a devious smile. "I didn't tell you everything. He was distancing himself from the Conjurer, because the Conjurer was his father!"

"LIES!" an all too familiar voice roared right underneath me. I tossed myself backward and threw my arm over my eyes. I heard the scholar shout, then a crash as he probably fell backwards in surprise. The room lit up with bright flashes of light, the sword damning me, the scholar, mages, spiders, rats, and history in general the whole while at the top of it's metaphorical lungs.

"Shut up!" I roared back at the sword, not that it listened.

I heard a crash from the other side of the desk, through a lull in the sword's yelling, probably the surprised badger falling backwards off his chair. I moved my arm and squinted at the table, trying to see the sword. It was bouncing around on the table, like we were having an earthquake or something, which I was fairly sure we weren't. The sword was still flashing erratically, as well as continuing to curse whatever came to mind. The scholar was still lying where he'd fallen; I couldn't tell what he was trying to do, from where I sat. I yelled "Shut up!" again at the sword, hopped onto the desk, and grabbed the handle of the sword.

Which turned out to be a mistake.

The instant I grabbed the sword, it lunged toward the scholar, dragging me after it. "Hey, wait a second!" I yelled, tripping over an extremely solid paperweight on the table, much to the detriment of my toe.

Was lucky for the scholar, at any rate, because the sword missed, cutting a groove in the floor and me ending up lying sprawling. The scholar rolled aside, under the table with all the specimens on it. The sword tried to swing upward as he rolled, but missed. I used that to roll over the opposite way, yanking the sword over above my head so I wouldn't "accidentally" get impaled on it or anything. Then I tried to get up, while the sword kept trying to impale someone, probably the scholar, but could easily have ended up being me. Since the damn thing was as big as me, although it weighed less, we kept spinning around like some demented court dance.

The scholar was taking meager cover under the table of specimens, which acquired a number of cuts. Say what you want, but magic swords are sharp. "Hey, look out!" I yelled, as the sword lopped a corner of the desk off and banged my side painfully into the desk. I managed to grab the scabbard with my free hand, though.

The scholar squeaked as the sword, which was still cursing us and denying what the scholar had said, slashed into the end of the table he was hiding under. One of the legs gave way, and the table flipped one end up, launching some kind of tablet through the window with a crash. The rest of the tablets and things landed rather heavily, and dustily, on the scholar. The sword bounced up from the floor to try and finish him. For once, I assisted it, swinging it up and across as hard as I could, then I finally managed to force my fingers to let go.

The sword twisted as I let it go, and even actually curved a bit toward the scholar, but missed by a long way and clanged off the far wall. I'd ended up banging against the scholar's fallen chair and pulled myself up. Only a few minutes had passed, but somebody had to have heard the noise. I disentangled myself from the chair and darted over to the still ranting sword. It got noisier as I approached. "Shut up," I told it, yet again, then stomped on the handle and jammed the scabbard over the blade before it could do anything.

Instantly, the volume of its litany of complaints cut to a normal level of voice. I wrapped it back up in the cloth, careful not to directly touch the handle, this time. Evidently, one of the falling tablets had hit the scholar on the head, because he was unconscious, as well as dusty and bruised. Come to think of it, I wasn't in that great shape myself. One of my wrists felt sprained, from the sword lurching every which way and dragging me after it. The rest of my injuries could wait, as very shortly, somebody was going to show up and want to know what had happened here. Telling them I'd like to know myself wouldn't help. Especially when I was carrying a muttering sword.

What I needed, was a plan. Luckily, I was good at coming up with those. Not, perhaps, in about thirty seconds, before a number of museum guards show up, bored because nobody's given them an excuse to rough them up by touching the displays. Right. When in doubt, blame somebody else. Be nice to have somebody else to blame, though. Inspiration hit me. It didn't hurt, a pleasant change after all the things that had hit me (or had me hit them) in the past few minutes. I saw the broken window. If there wasn't anybody else to blame, make somebody up.

First, I gave the unconscious scholar one of the handy concoctions I keep around to get guards out of the way, quietly, one that would make sure he was babbling incoherently when he woke up, so nobody'd believe him about the sword. Damn inconvenient magic sword, but other things to deal with first. I stuck the sword, still engaged in its quiet curses, behind the door, then staggered out into the hallway where the heavy booted feet were approaching. Considering what'd happened, it wasn't very hard to stagger convincingly.

"Quick!" I gasped, "He's getting away! Some wacko burst in and attacked the scholar! He went out the window!"

I did my best to look injured, and pointed shakily through the smashed window. One went and peered out the window, while the other ran back down the hallway, corralling another pair to go outside and look. As for me, I grabbed the sword and followed them back to the entrance. The clerk at the desk was looking very confused and upset. "I hardly expect I shall be returning, when this city has failed so much in the rule of law that ruffians can burst in and attack a harmless scholar with impudence! Why, had I not been refastening my boots outside the door, and returned to confront him, your scholar could have died! What HAD he been doing, anyway, that someone would sneak in through a rope from the roof, and try and kill him, then escape the same way when confronted? I'd best call a reputable surgeon, or one of the healing priests, if I were you."

I continued my monologue as I went to the door, keeping him off balance and distracting him hopefully long enough to leave. It would have worked, too, if not for the unfortunate circumstance of a pair of the guards returning, blocking the doorway, looking unfriendly. "We want to talk to you."

"Move aside! Is this any way to treat a reputable businessman? Especially one who has recently helped save the life of one of your own scholars, at grievous risk to life and limb, with no thought of reward! There isn't a reward, is there? Didn't think so. Now, I say, get out of my way, before I call my counsel and demand to speak to the Administrator, about your dreadful lies and hateful slander!"

The guards looked askance at the clerk, who nodded, but first asked me where they could reach me. I gave the name of an inn by one of the main city gates, where a prosperous merchant would likely stay at. Any messages sent would get to me fairly quickly, although I would almost certainly ignore them. The guards stood aside and I left, acting the snooty merchant whose pride had been insulted the whole way.

One of the guards, of course, tried to follow me, so I had to lug the damn sword all the way across the city to the inn I had named, then I sat and bought a drink. The guard came inside, looked around, spotted me, drank a water, then left. I watched out the window, to make sure he'd left. After he had, I paid up and left that inn, then returned to where I'd stashed my normal clothes, bundling the merchant ones around the elevated shoes, and wrapping the whole bundle around the still muttering sword.

Curiosity is all well and good, but the sword was just too much trouble, time to get rid of it, and make SOME profit off the whole expedition. Less because I didn't know what the sword could do, but something. The main thing was to get rid of it. Luckily for it, I didn't pass a well on the way back, or I might have carried through with my original threat.

"Sorry, I'm not touching it."

"What? Why not? You admired it yourself, and you'd normally be drooling at a chance to take something like this off the hands of somebody desperate to get rid of it," I asked Fixer.

Fixer's the best fence in the city. That is to say, he bought stolen goods, then resold them. As far as I'd known, he'd been able to shift anything that anybody brought to him. I'd never heard of him turning down anything before.

Fixer sucked air through his teeth, and actually looked embarrassed. He waved an arm to encompass his whole office, which was packed with, well, stuff. He was literally a packrat, after all. "You have any idea how much it costs to get an unidentified magic item tested and everything, so it's salable? Especially powerful ones, because then, hell, the wizard might decide he wants it for himself, and take it!

"Besides that, how do you intend to give it to me, anyway?" he went on, "It's not enough that it talks, the damn thing shocked me when I tried to touch it. And if it's as old as you say, either it's about to fall apart, or it's powerful. And you know what happens when rumors of powerful and rare items get out."

"Hey? Hello, I'm not an inanimate object here," the sword interjected.

"Yes you are. Shut up," I turned to Fixer, "That's why I'm trying to get rid of it. I've never seen you turn down a commission before."

"Well, people don't try and drop bloody thousands of year old magical artifacts on my lap normally. Look, I'd love to help you, if just for the profit margin, but the reason I'm still around is I know when to say no, and this is one of those times. I'm not touching that thing, it's just trouble."

I'd noticed. And he couldn't really hold it against me that the sword had shocked him when he tried to touch it, it hadn't done that any other time. But I could see this was getting nowhere, I'd wasted the hour, obviously. "Okay, fine. Just do me a favor, or else you probably won't be getting any commissions from me in the future, because I'll be dead. Don't mention this to anybody."

Fixer nodded. He meant it, too, at least in his own way. If somebody shelled out enough cash, he'd tell them, but hopefully nobody would have any reason to think of something like that. And hopefully by the time they did, I'd be rid of the thing. I re-sheathed the sword and wrapped it, before it could protest again, then left.

"You know, that well idea's getting more and more tempting," I commented, as I walked home. The wrapped bundle at my side emitted a muffled indignant squeak.

"You can't dump me down a well!"

"Why not?"

"You're the Chosen One! You recovered me from the hidden vault of the evil wizard! Only a true hero with the blood of worthy kings could have done so!"

I just looked blankly at the sword for a minute, then burst out laughing. It made various offended sounds during my fit, but I wasn't paying any attention. "Yeah, okay, good one. No, really, why not?" I asked, when I could breathe again.

"Only a true hero could have..." it began.

"No, only a thief could have gotten you out of there. And I know damn well I'm not qualified to be a hero, for starters, my family's alive. Well, except for kooky Uncle Lambert. At least, we think he's dead. Probably. Considering the explosions, anyway. But you never know. Anyway, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly built to run around dramatically smiting evil with magic swords, if you haven't noticed, you're as tall as I am, just about. No proper tragic past, no religious drive, no god-sent visions, none of that. Hero I ain't."

"Nevertheless, you can't be rid of me. You are the Rescuer, and so the Chosen One. You cannot escape destiny."

"Destiny. Right," I snorted, "Maybe it's your destiny to end your days slowly rusting and making sure that at least part of the population gets enough iron in their diet."

"You wouldn't!"

"Why not? All you've done is cost me a lot of work and headache, and all I've gotten out of it is a few lousy ancient coins. Not even valuable coins. So give me one good reason I shouldn't write this whole escapade off as a loss, with a satisfying splash at the end." I replied.

"You are the Chos..."

"Say that one more time, and I'll sell you to some guy with no appreciation of weapons, who'll use you for clearing weeds and trimming hooves for the next 20 years."

The sword replied, in a steely voice (yes, I know, but that's the best word), "I was created for one purpose, and I will fulfill that purpose. I was created to destroy the evil wizard..."

"Who's dead for over a thousand years," I put in.

"...to restore the rightful king..."

"Also dead for over a thousand years."

"...to the throne of the Empire of Mycheria."

"Which hasn't existed for over a thousand years. Think about it a second. Whatever happened, it happened a loooooong time ago. Nothing you can do about it, now."

"Then I shall restore the Empire to its former glories!"

"Uh...No. Try and pull that, and it's into the ocean, in a block of lead in a safe encased in cement in a crate wrapped with chains. There's quite enough power-mad nincompoops with imperial delusions around as it is, thank you very much."

"I am a magic sword," it explained slowly, like to a child, "I was created for a purpose, and I must have a purpose."

"Well," I said, "Why not take up a hobby? Like... uh... hmm... err... Use your magical vocal talents! No, wait. I think somebody already has a Singing Sword, and was going around being unpleasant to 'imitators.' Uhh... Well, okay, I'm stumped, for the moment. But you can think of something. Umm... What'd you do while you were locked up?"

"Slept."

"Besides that."

"I made up ribald poetry. This is my best, I think. 'There once was a man from Nantucket...'"

"Right," I interrupted, "Anything else?"

"Well," the sword said, sounding bizarrely shy, "I did do a bit of theoretical mathematics."

"Well, there you go."

"It's not very heroic though, is it? Besides, it's not really a Purpose."

"Oh, I dunno. Expanding the boundaries of knowledge, sounds like a fairly heroic purpose to me..." I extemporized.

"No, it just won't work. I need a Heroic Purpose."

"Can't help you then. Closest I have to anything like that is getting enough cash to avoid real work, ideally embarrassing a few stuffed up nobles or merchants with more money than sense along the way. Nothing to do with dragon slaying, princess rescuing, feuds between deities, reforming empires, or any of that sort of stuff. I've got quite enough interesting things and adventures to look at and do in the city. The wilderness gives me hives. I'm a city boy, and lifting things without getting caught provides plenty of adventures right now."

"Impossible. I have a Destiny. I must serve my Purpose."

I could hear the capital letters. And knowing the damn blade, it probably had some sort of trick to keep me from throwing it away, or at least make my life miserable unless I went along with its stupid hero stuff. How could I get rid of it, without it coming back to haunt me? Why'd I even have to find the stupid thing...

"Say..." I said slowly, "I have an idea..."

And so that's how I ended up in the rain, in a black robe, in an alley, on stilts, with the sword tucked underneath. Actually, it could almost have been fun, if it weren't raining, or if the robe had actually kept the rain out, or if the robe had not been full of smells and things I'd rather not contemplate. The sword wasn't much happier, but then, I don't think it ever had been, since I threatened to dump it down a well.

At the other end of the alley, one of the little windows on the orphanage opened, and a small figure dropped out. Well, small, relative to normal size. Same height as me, even on the silly little stilts I was wearing. The figure padded down the alley in the direction of where we were lurking. Since we'd been watching the orphanage for a several days, trying to find a suitable candidate, I was fairly sure it was who we wanted.

I'd had to spend several days, looking for a "suitable" candidate that the sword would accept, and now had to turn it over in a "proper mystic atmosphere" which was why I was dressed like some blind mystical wacko. "Hail, Cho..." the sword began, as I stepped out, since it decided I wouldn't sound mysterious and mystical enough.

"Get away from me, pervert!" the orphan screamed, and kicked out at where my shin would have been, but was currently one of the stilts. Which went straight out from under me and out the back of the robe, leaving me balanced precariously on the other one, then the orphan took off the other way down the alley.

The sword started screaming come back, while I tried once to hop after the orphan, rather ineffectually, since I landed on the edge of the robe and ended up landing rather in an undignified heap on my front. Wrapped in a wet, stinky robe, with a sword still trying to get the orphan to come back. "Oh shut up," I told it, "You're the one that scared the kid off."

"But I don't understand, I was offering the child the honor of..."

"Just be quiet, okay?" I said, noticing a head peeking around the corner.

The head noticed me notice it, and disappeared again. I tunneled out from underneath the robe, then flung the other stilt into a pile of garbage at the side of the alley. The head was still gone, so I went out the entrance of the alley I'd been lurking in, and circled around the buildings. The kid wasn't peeking around the corner any more, but when I did so, I saw that the orphan was up, looking at the smelly robe. I'm not sure what would be surprising about somebody leaving the nasty thing behind, personally.

At any rate, even with the slippery wet streets, I managed to sneak up undetected behind the kid. I reached out and tapped the kid on the shoulder, and he promptly took off. "Chase him!" the sword urged.

"Be quiet. He's taller than me, and probably faster."

The sword was still grumbling, to which I paid no attention, since I wasn't going to be able to catch the kid, at this point. However, there was still a temptingly open window where the kid had come from, and like I'd said, I was shorter than him. Although better dressed, but that could be dealt with easily. I started climbing.

The window creaked back open, up above, and a figure slipped in. The occupants of the other beds, if they deserved such names, the beds that is, not the occupants, the occupants were kids, the beds were barely napkins on a frame of toothpicks, slept uninterruptedly. I remained still on the cot I was on. The kid approached the bed, presumably his, and when he got there, I sat up, put a hand around his mouth, grabbed an arm, and basically dragged him out of the room while he was surprised. Before he started kicking and screaming, I let him go and tossed the sword crosswise at his chest. "There you go, kid. You've just been selected to get an ancient magic sword. Now you're destined to be a hero or something, and I do quite understand why you would be trying to avoid it. Have fun."

"Heroine," he...err, she replied, "And I'm not a kid. I'm practically fifteen."

"You would give me to a girl-child?" the sword exclaimed.

One raggedy kid looks like any other, at least until they start getting curves or whatever, so how was I supposed to know? But I wasn't going to say that, in front of her, or she might leave me with the sword again. "Right, sorry, heroine. Don't need to warn you about how useless the general type of princesses that need rescuing are, then," then I looked down at the sword, which she'd reflexively caught, and said, "Yes, I would. Will. Am. Move with the times. Females can do pretty much anything a guy can do. Except pee standing up."

I turned back to the orphan, who was looking rather bemused by the whole thing. "Pretend this is some fancy mysterious mystical something-or-other. Oh, and don't listen to it too much, it's about a thousand years out of date on current events, and a teensy bit obsessive."

Evidently, the image presented by a three-foot tall soaking wet ferret babbling about heroes and magic swords was sufficient to confuse her. Taking advantage of that, before she could come to her senses and vanish, and leave me stuck with the sword, I carried on. "Well, you two should get along fine, you've got a promising heroic career ahead of you, look me up sometime when you're rich and sharing the wealth. You're charged to go be heroic and rescue kittens from trees or whatever, by the power vested in me as a wet mysterious mystical stranger type person. Have fun."

Now, before any one else woke up, or either of them recovered enough to think up a valid complaint, I was out of there. Up and out the window, then down the wall and away down the alley. I'm sure the two of them would get along swimmingly. Mind broadening experience for both of them and all that. It'd work out of course, it was Destiny or somesuch.

And after all that, all I had were a few ancient silver coins, and not even the kind that collectors offer ridiculous amounts for. Still, I bet they'd shine up nice...