The Bright Sword

by Lev Grossman

He was back in Astolat. Turn, turn, turn. Sitting on the rim of the fountain, as if he’d been waiting there for Collum all these years, was Lord Numerius of Astolat himself, older but still hale, his cheeks still rough with blond stubble. Collum dropped to one knee. “My lord.” “Sir Collum. It’s been some time.” “It has,” Collum said. “I beg your forgiveness, my lord. I regret my absence.” “You swore an oath to me,” Lord Numerius said. “I can only assume that all these years you have been trying your utmost to return to your duties.” “I am sorry, my lord. I have not.” It would have been an easy lie, but somehow Collum didn’t have the stomach for it. He was worn out with running in circles, fleeing who he was. He couldn’t run any longer. “You have much to answer for, Knight of the Fountain. You broke your oath. You fled battle like a coward. You abandoned your only friend, the only creature loyal to you in this world.” On cue the black lion padded silently out of the trees. It was missing the tip of one ear, and an inch or two of tail, but it had survived. It settled on the grass like a sphinx, licking a singed paw with its pink tongue, eyeing him reproachfully. “I did. I am sorry.” He apologized to the lion. “I’m glad to see you alive, old friend.” “I took you for a knight, but you’re a liar, a thief, and a coward. A bastard and a commoner.” Everything Lord Numerius said was true. He’d thought that it would destroy him—that the shame of it would blast him to nothing—but the...