Farewell to Louchébem

At the High Pass he turned and looked back at the ancient city. Its white towers were tinted by all the colours of the legendary Dusk Rainbow: carnelian, gamboge, chartreuse, viridian, turquoise, burnt umber and mauve.

Perhaps he would never return. Never to try a hand of cards with the amiable tavern whores, nor to pick a fight with one of the Bickering Monks. Never again to glance guardedly into her chrysoprase eyes.

“What the heck is chrysoprase, anyway,” he muttered.

I thought it was a flower, said the voice of his sword. Only he could hear the voice, which seemed to come from inside his head.

“A green flower?”

It’s not green. It’s sort of… golden. I think.

“You’re bluffing. As usual.”

Then there was a long silence. It was almost the same as not having a magical intelligent sword which seemed to speak to you from inside your head. But sulkier.

It would be a long voyage.

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2 responses to “Farewell to Louchébem

  1. Peter J Casey

    Please don’t let this really be farewell. I could happily read the Chronicles of Loo-shay-bem all day.

  2. Don’t worry, the “Farewell to…” trope is about as binding in this genre as it is in Frank Sinatra tours.

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