Black Crystal

by R A Oakes

  “When?” Gornic asked.

  “Now, and Lord Daegal says that if Tredax wins, he’ll get Chen as a prize.”

  General Gornic’s eyes opened wide over that comment. The general realized that any sons Tredax and Lord Daegal’s niece had together would be in line to inherit The Rock, as well as all the lands in the warlord’s domain.

  “But first, let’s see how Tredax stacks up against Marcheto now that my son will be allowed to fight back,” Tark said glaring at his adversary.

  “Your son’s a coward, that’s always been Marcheto’s main problem. If he had any guts, he’d have put an end to Tredax bullying him a long time ago,” Gornic sneered.

  “Your son’s bullied Marcheto since they were children, and Tredax always had a size advantage over my boy,” Tark said.

  “Yes, a big size advantage,” Gornic laughed. “Tredax can shove Marcheto around pretty much at will.”

  “Maybe, but Marcheto’s a better swordsman. Yet he couldn’t take advantage of his skill because the bullying never quite went far enough to threaten Marcheto’s life, though it came mighty close on several occasions.”

  “That’s rubbish, Marcheto could have challenged Tredax to a swordfight anytime he wanted,” Gornic insisted.

  “Marcheto challenged Tredax more than once, but your son refused to fight, and you know it.”

  “Well, this time, you’ll be sorry when Tredax accepts the challenge. You haven’t seen him lately. He’s even bigger, and he’s a better swordsman than Marcheto is or ever will be.”

  “Stop bragging and let him prove it. Get Tredax onto the field of honor. But I think Marcheto’s going to take him down, and he’ll do it in front of everyone.”

  Wheeling his warhorse around, Tark began charging his way through Gornic’s sons who still had him surrounded. When they went for their swords, Tark pulled his as well.

  “No!” Gornic shouted. “Let the coward’s father go free. He’ll regret showing his face here soon enough.”

  Tark glared at Gornic as if the general’s sons weren’t even there. He looked past them at the man he’d hated for years, the man responsible for the death of Tark’s wife and only daughter. The desire to kill the general was almost overwhelming, and Tark fought hard to keep himself from going out of control. But then, he thought of Marcheto humiliating Tredax in front of the entire army, and he wanted to live to see that, so he sheathed his sword.

  “Marcheto will be waiting,” Tark said digging his heels into his warhorse’s sides and galloping away. But the young warrior wasn’t kept waiting for long. Right after Tark returned to his family, Gornic and his sons were already riding out into the field towards them.

  “Marcheto?” Tark said.

  “Yes, father?”

  “I want you to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “Kill that rotten son-of-a-bitch,” Tark said pointing at Tredax.

  “Yes, father,” Marcheto said filled with grim determination.

  “Take my horse, Ramhorn,” Kirnochak said handing his brother the reins.

  “Thanks,” the young warrior said leaping onto Ramhorn’s saddle.

  The warhorse pranced around restlessly as he felt the mood of the men changing. Ramhorn sensed he was about to be taken into action, and his heart began racing, his nostrils flared, and his muscles tensed. It was all the warhorse could do to contain himself. The tension kept building, and he became almost wild with the desire to spring forward.

  Finally, Ramhorn could stand the wait no longer, and he began edging closer to defying his rider who was keeping him in check. Reaching his breaking point, with his patience ready to snap, the warhorse got the command he was so desperate for.

  Marcheto nudged Ramhorn’s ribs with his heels, and that was all the permission the animal wanted or needed.

  Screaming out his rage over having been held back, the warhorse burst forward with such energy that his bulging, straining muscles seemed ready to rip right through his hide. Feeling a ferocious anger that was beyond any rational reason, his hooves pounded against the grass and dirt punishing them for being in his way. Having worked himself into a blind frenzy, all Ramhorn wanted was to find someone or something to throw himself against.

  At that very moment, Tredax galloped past his father and brothers who had halted their advance and rode out into the field alone. But he wasn’t going to be alone for long. Having seen the other horse and rider, Ramhorn made them his target and went in for the kill.

  As the warhorse began increasing his speed with each stride, Marcheto was impressed by the animal’s focus and devotion to duty. The young warrior hoped he could perform as well as this magnificent beast.

  And Marcheto hoped for one other thing. The young man hoped he could leap off Ramhorn before the two horses collided and do so without Tredax suspecting his intentions. For this strategy to work, Marcheto knew he’d have to wait until the last possible moment to make his move and jump clear.

  Realizing that Tredax was more brawn than brains, and that the bully was extremely proud of his size, Marcheto was eager to exploit his opponent’s overconfidence.

  To start with, as Tredax got closer, Marcheto made a point of making and maintaining eye contact with his opponent.

  Marcheto wanted Tredax to think that this coming collision was a personal challenge, a test of their manhood.

  Marcheto also wanted Tredax to think that flinching from this challenge would be tantamount to declaring oneself a coward.

  And so, with the warhorses thundering towards each other, Tredax, being dull minded and brutish, glared at Marcheto and braced for impact. In return, Marcheto glared back at his opponent appearing to be equally committed. But at the last second, with only a few yards between them, Marcheto, being far too intelligent to take this kind of male posturing seriously, leapt from his horse.

  In doing so, Marcheto was obeying a basic axiom of war, which is to take the momentum of one’s enemy and use it against him. For example, if an opponent wants to force open a door, and if he’s running hard and ready to throw himself against it, then the best alternative is to just open the door. That way, the enemy can run in, quickly reach a surprisingly nearby wall, fall over a window ledge and land several flights below.

  And so, knowing that Tredax always relied on blunt force, Marcheto encouraged his opponent to do so once more and then sidestepped the whole situation.

  The impact of the two warhorses lifted both animals off the ground sending Tredax flying through the air where his skull cracked against his horse’s head as the animal’s neck snapped back in response to the force of the collision.

  After sailing through the air half-conscious, Tredax landed with a loud grunt followed by a snapping sound as something broke somewhere in the crumpled heap. Marcheto fared much better having rolled neatly to a stop, and he got back up uninjured.

  “What a dope,” Marcheto said looking down at his mangled opponent. For a while, he stood pondering the crumpled figure of a man who’d bullied him for most of his life. Then Marcheto leaned down, took Tredax’s sword and stuck it into the ground next to the fallen warrior’s chest.

  Marcheto glanced over towards Gornic and his sons, and the message was clear, I could have killed Tredax, but I didn’t.

  Looking back at the crumpled bully, Marcheto thought, Maybe sparing his life will help bridge the rift between our two families.

  But after further pondering his act of mercy, Marcheto wondered, What about Tredax, himself? Will things change, or will he interpret my kindness as a sign of weakness?

  However, after glancing over at their warhorses, he quickly shifted his attention. The powerful animals were standing on their hind legs and flailing away with their front hooves like wild stallions.

  Surging forward, Ramhorn stretched out his neck biting his opponent, then followed through by landing a vicious right hook, or right hoof, against the other warhorse’s jaw knocking the animal to the ground unconscious.

  And so, a
few minutes after the collision, it was all over.

  Marcheto made no attempt to approach Ramhorn who was taking a lot longer to calm down. The warhorse belonged to Kirnochak, not Marcheto, and so the young warrior waited until the animal’s breathing returned to normal. After all, Marcheto hadn’t raised this warhorse from a foal, his oldest brother had.

  When Ramhorn was sufficiently calm, Marcheto slowly walked up to him, and the horse nuzzled the young warrior’s face rubbing his snout against Marcheto’s cheek making it all wet.

  But suddenly, Marcheto felt the animal tremble.

  Looking on Ramhorn’s left side, the young warrior could see nothing amiss, but when he examined the warhorse’s right, Marcheto couldn’t believe his eyes. The handle of a sword and a few inches of its blade were sticking out of the warhorse’s neck, the majority of the blade being imbedded in the animal. And standing next to Ramhorn, a very scratched and bruised Tredax had his hand on the weapon and a big smile on his face.

  “Sorry about your horse, punk,” Tredax laughed while Marcheto stood there stunned by the senseless attack.

  As Tredax hobbled back over to his horse, Ramhorn fell to his knees, rolled onto his side and died. In shock, Marcheto looked down at the animal having never seen anyone intentionally kill a horse before. It left him shaken.

  “You never deserved a warhorse like that anyway,” Tredax chided him. “I don’t know how the animal put up with you.”

  Marcheto stared blankly at his enemy.

  “Well, look on the bright side. You won’t have to clean his stall anymore,” Tredax said laughing derisively.

  When Marcheto’s brain began to clear, it dawned on him that Tredax thought Ramhorn was his horse, not Kirnochak’s.

  How would he know otherwise? the young warrior mused. Then, as if on cue, Marcheto fell to his knees and tears began flowing down his cheeks. Upon seeing this, Tredax laughed even harder. This is just what the bully had expected.

  Seemingly overwhelmed with grief, Marcheto jumped up and stumbled towards Tredax swinging his sword wildly.

  Unsheathing a spare sword attached to the saddle of his still unconscious warhorse, Tredax watched Marcheto and smiled broadly as the smaller warrior tripped and fell appearing to be half blinded by tears.

  “You always were worthless,” Tredax laughed. “You never could fight worth a damn.”

  When Marcheto got within range, Tredax swung his sword at his opponent’s neck and, much to his surprise, missed.

  With amazing reflexes for someone appearing so distraught, Marcheto ducked to avoid the blow and reached for a knife strapped to his lower leg with his left hand. Then, looking up at the burly warrior, Marcheto rammed the blade deep into Tredax’s right armpit, so deep it went all the way through.

  Staring at the knife in disbelief, Tredax tried lashing out once more at Marcheto making the blade slice even further into his shoulder. Howling in pain and wild with rage, Tredax dropped his sword but refused to yield, instead leaning down and grasping it with his left hand. However, standing back up, he found himself facing a very dry-eyed and angry Marcheto.

  Unable to accept what was happening, unable to imagine that someone he’d been bullying for years could ever get the better of him, Tredax rushed at Marcheto screaming like a madman slashing and hacking repeatedly at the smaller warrior. But he ended up crying out in frustration as he cut only air, Marcheto skillfully dodging each blow.

  “Stand still!” Tredax shouted, so Marcheto obliged going down on one knee to avoid another vicious swipe of the taller warrior’s sword, and then rammed his own weapon into the bully’s stomach. Staring at the protruding blade, Tredax gasped, stumbled and fell to his knees.

  Yet having been taught never to underestimate his enemy, Marcheto walked back to Ramhorn’s inert form and took a spare sword out of its sheath. Tredax was mortally wounded, but he wasn’t dead yet, and Marcheto stayed alert and cautious.

  Going back over to his opponent, Marcheto said, “If you drop your sword, I’ll allow you to live long enough to say goodbye to your father and brothers.”

  When Tredax let go of his weapon, Marcheto began turning away but stopped for a moment and said, “You shouldn’t have killed my brother’s horse.”

  The burly warrior looked at Marcheto with uncomprehending eyes, and Marcheto shook his head in disgust realizing Tredax was an example of what happens when aggression and a lack of intelligence reside in the same person.

  Suddenly, hearing raised voices, Marcheto glanced over in the direction of Lord Daegal’s army and saw two of General Gornic’s sons riding at him with their swords drawn. The general was desperately trying to restrain his other two sons, but soon they were charging towards him as well.

  Watching Tredax’s brothers behaving shamefully, Marcheto knew there was no excuse for their lack of discipline, and so he held his ground. If he was going to die, he would do so with dignity and refused to run.

  Marcheto now faced a battle with the odds of four to one. And those men coming at him were mounted, whereas he was still on foot. Even so, the young warrior made no attempt to revive Tredax’s horse, which still lay unconscious.

  Marcheto just took comfort in the fact that around 1,000 men were watching Gornic’s family make fools of themselves. The young man knew he’d be defeated, but even Lord Daegal wouldn’t put up with this type of treachery. Gornic’s sons were as good as dead no matter how things played out here today.

  But then, Marcheto thought of Aerylln and turned to her hoping Baelfire might be able to help him. But Baelfire, Zorya and Aerylln hadn’t been fully forged into the Trinity of Light, and Marcheto lay beyond the good sword’s range.

  As soon as Tark and his sons saw what Gornic’s sons were doing, they wanted to race to get to Marcheto first.

  “Stop!” Pensgraft commanded while instantly taking on the appearance of being every inch a magnificent warlord. The giant looked the same physically, yet everything about him was different.

  Glancing at Pensgraft, Tark realized that some men are just born to rule and that this giant warrior was one of them.

  “You’ll never get to Marcheto in time. If you race out there, all you’ll do is make what Gornic’s sons are doing seem acceptable,” Pensgraft shouted.

  “What else can we do?” Kirnochak asked.

  Pensgraft looked back over his shoulder at Zorya and Baelfire.

  When both the sword and the horse saw Pensgraft looking to them for help, it almost broke their hearts for they viewed him as their son.

  Lyssa had been Pensgraft’s mother and Aerylln’s grandmother. She had wielded Baelfire for a decade and was the sword’s heir even before Zorya had become a horse. But Lyssa was killed 25 years ago during the civil war. When she died, Pensgraft was left an orphan, and so Baelfire and Zorya took him in as their own.

  Aerylln, Baelfire and Zorya wanted to become a Trinity, but Aerylln’s grandmother had accomplished it. Lyssa had successfully united three as one. However, in those days, Zorya had been known as the Lady of the Well. She’d been tall and willowy with an aristocratic bearing, and her movements were languid, graceful and hypnotic. Too hypnotic, some said. But all of that changed when the dark sword, Crystal, put a spell on her.

  But whether as a magnificent horse or a beautiful spirit-woman who had taken human form, Zorya was a permanent member of the Trinity and had been so for centuries. However, the unification was not indestructible. Its weakest link was the human element, and with Lyssa’s death, the Trinity had been broken.

  That Lyssa had no other children besides Pensgraft, especially female children, made matters even worse.

  She had no sisters and no nieces either.

  Thus, Lyssa had no heir!

  Being a woman, Baelfire’s power was based on a matriarchal line of succession, and the sword could only be passed down to a female member of the clan. The problem was that there weren’t any, neither in Lyssa’s generation nor in Pensgraft’s.

  And so, the sword fell into a so
rt of limbo, and Pensgraft became its custodian.

  In turn, Baelfire and Zorya became his guardians, and they watched him grow into manhood. The sword and the horse had waited patiently for their son to become a man, fall in love and have a child. To their relief, it was a girl.

  Still, they had to endure another prolonged wait until the baby grew into a fine young woman and came of age.

  And Aerylln, the young woman, was now at Crystal Castle watching Pensgraft as he looked at Baelfire and Zorya, his eyes pleading for help. Yet she was confused by the intensity of her friends’ reaction to this giant of a man. To her, Pensgraft was a battle-scarred warrior, but to the sword and horse, he was still a young boy, and he needed them. Turning to each other, Baelfire and Zorya swore they wouldn’t fail their only child, who was also the father of their only grandchild, Aerylln.

  Suddenly, a solution presented itself. The Creative Light, an enormously powerful, life-giving force, appeared for the second time shooting down on Baelfire like a thunderbolt, just as it had in the great room of Crystal Castle when the surface of the floor and walls shattered into thousands of black crystal shards.

  Simultaneously, Zorya began shining brightly, and the explosive buildup of energy that she’d experienced in the great room returned to her. Zorya stepped to Aerylln’s left side, while Baelfire floated in the air on her right, and Eldwyn, the wizard, positioned himself directly behind her.

  “Cathrak, dantay, sechum, tasterak!” Eldwyn shouted as he threw his arms wide open. “Cathrak, dantay, sechum, tasterak!” This was the same incantation he’d used when the Creative Light appeared to them before.

  Suddenly, Aerylln looked to be 30 years old, then 65 years old, then 20, 55 and 40. But after a while, Aerylln returned to looking like a young woman.

  Eldwyn moved closer to Aerylln, as did the horse and sword. The teenage girl once more began shape shifting and moving rapidly up and down her body’s timeline altering her appearance from that of a young woman to that of a 45 year old. Aerylln next took a dramatic leap to how she would look when she was 70. Following that, she dropped down to being 20. But that lasted only for an instant, and suddenly she appeared to be an elderly woman of 85. Her appearance continued shifting wildly as her age seesawed faster and faster.