Joe swung the sledge, and the bricked-up cellar doorway collapsed into rubble. He grabbed his lantern and stepped inside, hoping his respirator would keep the worst of the dust out of his lungs.

Against the wall was a rack of weapons. Swords, mainly, although knives long and short rested in the rack. They shone dully; apart from a heavy coating of dust, they seemed intact.

Joe stepped up to the rack and picked up a sword. It was heavy. The grip was wood, wrapped in leather that was still pliant. The blade, however… was like nothing he’d ever seen.

There were several different types of metal in the blade. They weren’t in parallel – they all came to the edge, and came to a point. The strangest was a line of dark material that seemed to Joe to have grain in it… he could almost swear it was wood. He didn’t test the edge – it looked razor sharp.

He looked around. The other blades seemed to be similar. He raised his lantern.

Its electric glow revealed an emblem on the wall – the family crest.