by James Dale
"I won't forget," Jack vowed, anger struggling to overcome his fear.
"Let us leave this place," Ljmarn said quietly. "His laughter gnaws at my soul."
At his word the dark passageway vanished and Braedan found himself instantly transported to a large rotunda with polished marble floors. They stood in the center of the room, bathed in the brilliant rays of a late afternoon sun channeling through skylights in the domed ceiling high above. No trace of Graith's wicked laughter dared followed them here. For here another power dwelled. Braedan could feel it beneath his feet, feel it calling to him with such a joyful song he wanted to burst with laughter.
"Where are we?" he asked, filled with wonder at the strange gladness coursing through him.
"The Temple of the Sword," Ljmarn smiled. "Yhswyndyr senses our presence even more strongly than Graith. Here it has rested for over seven hundred years, waiting for someone to come and claim it. Waiting for you my son."
"Then...then I am you descendant?" Jack asked. "I am your... heir?"
"You are," Ljmarn nodded with a loving smile. "Blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh. Your line stretches back unbroken to my son Jon, whom I sent away through the Door, even as Graith's fiends howled outside Dorshev's walls. At the time I exiled him, I had no way of knowing Yh’Adan would soon gift us with the Highswords. I did not know I would be given a weapon to match the Bloodstone.”
“After you defeated him, why…why didn’t you bring him back?” Braedan asked.
“When Lord Heath took Ailanna and Jon to safety,” Ljmarn replied, “he also took the knowledge of opening the doorway with him. I could not trust that secret to anyone else...if Graith had defeated me, he could have forced it from them and all hope would have been lost.”
“I am confused,” Braedan said. “When you realized Graith…the dark King…still lived, why didn’t you go finish the job?”
“I knew he lived, yes,” Ljmarn admitted. “Much the same as Gol’gar lives in his cell in Ul’gogrond. His power was reduced to such a state he was not a threat to the earthe. Yhswyndyr also went…dormant…after he was overthrown. Seventy years I waited and watched for him to stir. Seventy years I waited for Yhswyndyr to come to life again. After a generation had passed and Graith remained entombed in Mt Sheol, I thought him bereft of all ability to heal himself. I grew weary of life without Ailanna and I…put aside my burden.”
"It was Aaracus who instructed the Staffclave to build the Temple of the Door after I…passed,” Ljmarn continued. “When it was finished, he took the Staff of Mikael, and reopened the doorway between Aralon and the world where Lord Heath had taken Jon. He kept that doorway open for seven centuries, until an heir could pass through it to return to Aralon."
"It was Aaracus who tamed the na'Ghomari Graith sent to kill you. It was he who also stayed your hand. If you had killed it, there would have been no reason for you to enter the doorway. And unless you had cause to follow, Graith would still win. He still sought to waylay you on your journey, but you persevered," Ljmarn said, admiration plane to hear in his voice. "When you arrived at the Temple of the Door, it was his last deed. He task completed, he has joined the Master in Paradise and the Staff of Mikael is no more. The Lords of the Staffclave were much reduced at its passing, and though they are still capable of mighty works, they have nothing to match the power of the Bloodstone and cannot stand against Graith when he awakens. That burden falls on you alone."
"What must I do?" Jack asked.
"You do what I could not," Ljmarn repeated. "You must slay the dark King, Graith son of Halbar, and insure the Bloodstone never troubles the earthe again."
"How?"
"The Highsword Yhswyndyr," Ljmarn replied. "In its hilt is Sunheart, the jewel Yh’Adan took from his brow. It is the only power strong enough to match the Bloodstone. And you are the only one who may wield it."
At the mention of Sunheart, Braedan felt a surge of power beneath his feet and glanced down quickly, expecting the sword to appear at his feet. "You must still travel a long road before you draw the Sword of Life," Ljmarn sighed.
"Where do I begin?" Jack asked.
"You have already set your feet on the path," Ljmarn assured him. "But take care, there are many who would prevent you from claiming your inheritance. Graith has many servants who will side with him for the promise of power at his awakening. But there are others who will aid you. The Lords of the Staffclave await you. When they felt the Staff of Mikael pass beyond this world, they knew Aaracus had completed his task. They know the heir of Yhswyndyr has returned. Even as we speak, they search for you and prepare for the day when you are found. You will also find much help in Brythond. More I cannot tell you. Watch and remember, for the Elohara draws to a close. There are things you must do, for your own sake, and for Aralon's."
"Wait!" Braedan cried as the Temple of the Sword dissolved into mist and Ljmarn began to fade. "There's so much I need to know!"
"Be strong my son," Ljmarn said as his presence waned. "I regret this task has fallen on you. Follow your heart and you will not fail. Say this to Tereil Annen. I forgive him for breaking the ban on the Elohara, he has done well. Say this also to Tarsus Aernin. His day soon approaches. He will either meet his doom or lay the foundation for Amar's rebirth." With those last words, Ljmarn's spirit was gone.
With his passing, visions began to flash quickly before Braedan's eyes. He stood in a great field as the wind howled, sheets of rain fell from the sky, and lightning bolts streaked across the heavens. The was a great roar and the bolts began to strike the ground, and where they struck a tall warrior appeared, bearing a gleaming sword and a shield with a silver lightning bolt on a field of gray. Soon they surrounded him, and as he watched the fierce warriors knelt to him in supplication.
Quickly the scene changed and he was running down a dark corridor, alone and unarmed. A great haste was upon him but he did not know the reason for his flight. As he passed by a closed door, something called out to him. Opening the door, he found a large room full of swords and armor. He began to search frantically through the weapons not knowing what he sought, but when his hand fell upon one sword, he searched no farther. The weapon he pulled from the heap had a long, straight blade and on its pommel was a green, glowing stone gripped by the claws of a bird.
Next, he found himself standing in another room full of weapons and armor, but this was no long forgotten storeroom. It was a smithy, where hot fires burned, hammers pounded against steel and instruments of war were forged. Before him was an old man dripping with sweat from the heat of the room. Though his back was bent from age and heavy labor he was not feeble. His muscles were as hard as the steel weapons he created. Behind the old man stood a suit of three-quarter plate armor and a shirt of mail. The armor was finished in a light blue lacquer, the color of an early summer sky and the mail, simple and unadorned, reflected the ruddy glow of the coals.
The smith was busy polishing some new work, lovingly rubbing the item with a soft cloth, but when he became aware of someone behind him, he turned about. As he recognized his visitor he quickly fell to one knee. "It is ready m'Lord," he said.
"Show me," he replied, and the man stood and presented a rectangular shield roughly three feet in length. The shield was the same light blue color as the armor and on its face was a flaming sword and in the upper right corner was a three-pointed crown of gold.
His last vision was of a great arena. Before him was a grandstand filled with a multitude of gaily dressed people. He stood in the center of that gathering, below a large pavilion, as the people cheered loudly and threw roses at his feet. Beneath the shade of the pavilion he recognized several faces; Thessa, Duke Morgan, Annawyn, as well as many others he felt he would know in the future.
A young man dressed in blue and silver, stepped forward from the gathering with a smile. "Sir knight," he said, "Will you now reveal yourself so we may properly honor you as the Sword-master of the Haelfest?"
Jack stuck his sword in the ground, point first,
and removed a silk mask which concealed his features. The faces of those he knew smiled in recognition. Another man stepped forward, handing him his shield. The crowd fell silent as he lifted it high, revealing the standard on its face. With a loud voice, he addressed the silent crowd. Strangely, he could not hear the words he spoke, but they had a profound effect on the gathering. The arena erupted in confusion and several of the women swooned from shock. But above the shouts of the crowd, Braedan heard clearly the challenging cry of the dark King Graith as he woke at long last from his long sleep.
"Let the Battle begin!"
Slowly the scene faded and he became aware of someone calling his name from far away. He searched for the voice with his mind, he found the source of his summons and felt himself being drawn across a great ocean of emptiness. Deep beneath the crashing waves, he struggled for the surface, reaching out for the light shining dimly above. Faster and faster he rose until he was traveling at a tremendous speed. Suddenly he broke through the surface.
Chapter Twenty-three
Journey to Tanaevar
"Jack!" the voice called urgently. He drew a deep breath and shuddered. Braedan's eyes fluttered open and he saw Tarsus kneeling beside him. It was the Amarian who had called him back.
"Is he well?" Tarsus asked, turning to another man.
Tereil Annen knelt down beside him and placed to fingers on his throat. "His heart is strong now. He will live. See if he can sit." Tarsus placed a huge arm under his shoulders and gently lifted Braedan until he was sitting.
"How do you feel?" Tereil asked warily.
Braedan tried to answer, but all that came out was a weak croak. His throat was as parched as the desert.
"Get him some water," the old man told Tarsus. "I will hold him." He moved to take his grandson's place and Tarsus hurried to fetch a pitcher of water. He returned quickly and placed it against his friend's lips. It was ice cold and Jack shuddered at the first swallow.
"Slowly," Tereil smiled. "That's it. Better?"
Jack nodded.
"That was close," Tarsus said, taking the pitcher of water and setting it on the floor. "When your heart stopped, we...I…thought you were...That was close."
"I...ughh," Braedan cleared his throat and tried again. "I saw...my grandfather and my brother." Tears formed in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
"Don't weep for them," Tereil smiled. "They are in a better place. The Elohara cannot recall ancestors from Ul’gogrond, Home of the Damned."
"My mother...wasn’t there."
"If she trusted in the Creator, she is with them. For men, the Elohara recalls only male ancestors."
"They offered to take me to a place of peace," Jack continued. “Somewhere I could lay down my burden.”
"I thought that was the cause of your distress," Tereil nodded. "It is well for us you didn't. We could not have brought you back if you had crossed over into the Bosom of Yh."
"I spoke with Ljmarn..." Jack began, but stopped when Tereil stiffened. "Is something wrong?"
"The High King?" the old man whispered.
"Yes," Jack nodded. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong. It is only...I had not been sure until now," Tereil answered, then smiled and added, "my Lord."
"He said to tell you he forgives you for breaking the ban on the Elohara," Braedan continued. "He said to say you did well."
Tereil smiled.
"Tarsus?"
"Yes...my King?"
"He also had a message for you." Jack hesitated, wondering if Ljmarn's words to his friend would bring gladness or pain. "He...he said tell Tarsus Aernin his day also approaches. That you will either meet your doom or lay the foundation for Amar's rebirth."
Tarsus nodded his head in silence.
"What else did he say?" Tereil asked.
"I'm supposed to finish what he couldn't. Kill the dark King Graith." Jack shuddered, remembering the evil he had felt in that dark corridor far beneath the earthe. "He took me there. So...so I could feel his hate I think."
"Took you where?" Tarsus asked.
"To his place," Jack answered with a shiver.
"To...to Gorthiel?" Tereil whispered, as if even speaking the name of the Iron Tower too loudly would bring him ill luck.
"Yes," Braedan nodded. "Afterwards we went to another place, a cathedral of some kind. It was there. I could feel it calling me."
"Feel what calling you?" Tarsus asked.
"Sunheart," Jack answered with a sigh.
"Yes," Tereil smiled at him. "If the old tales are true it would know you. It would recognize the blood of a Bra‘Adan."
"I saw other visions," Jack informed them. He then recounted the four visions, leaving out no detail he could recall. When he finished, Tarsus and the old man were silent. "I didn't understand them. Do you...can you tell me what they mean?"
"The first...I have no doubt of its meaning," Tarsus replied, his eyes shining with some inner light.
"Nor do I," Tereil Annen agreed, also smiling.
"What was it? Who were those men?"
"The Galekindar," Tarsus replied. "Sons of the Storm will fight again."
"It is a good omen," Tereil nodded. "For Amar and Aralon. They will be your personal guardians."
"And the other visions?" Jack asked.
"Those are harder to interpret," answered the Regent of Amar. "The second and third I do not understand. Doubtless their meaning will be revealed to you at the proper time."
"And the last one?"
"Do you think as I do grandson?" Tereil asked, turning to Tarsus.
"Yes grandfather," he nodded. "I also recognized it. The vision is of Ljmarn Haelfest."
"Ljmarn Haelfest?" Jack asked. “Where they celebrate Ljmarn’s victory?”
"Every four years in the city of Immer, the city of the High King," Tarsus answered, "they hold a festival to celebrate the defeat of the dark King. People gather there from every kingdom of the Whesguard for tournaments, singing, and feasts."
"All the Kings of the Whesguard will be there," Tereil mused. "It would be the logical place to reveal yourself."
"What was the arena?" Jack asked. "With the crowds and the pavilion, where Thessa and Annawyn and the others were seated?"
"It’s where they hold the Great Competitions." Tarsus replied.
"Competition of the Sword," Tereil added in agreement. "Even the most skeptical of them, them being the kings and the Lords of the Staffclave, would be forced to at least consider the claims of a Swordmaster."
"It is the only explanation. You will enjoy the Competition of the Sword," Tarsus grinned, patting Braedan on the back, "To win you must face the reigning Swordmaster, Kiathan Ellgaer.”
"When is this competition?" Jack asked.
"The next Haelfest is this coming spring," Tereil replied.
"Spring huh?" Jack yawned. "Good, that's plenty of time for me to get some sleep."
"Sleep!" Tarsus laughed. "Now is not the time for sleep. Amar must have our own tournament! To select the new Galekindar! We must make plans m'Lord. We must be ready when spring comes, to ride to Immer with me at you side carrying your banner and one hundred Sons of the Storm at your back announcing the return of the High King!"
"Easy grandson," Tereil smiled. "Can you not see he is weary? Although it appeared he slept all night, he was on a long journey. He must rest. There is plenty of time yet. Go wake the Council of Elders. Tell them Jack Bra'Adan, of the House Bra'Adan has returned from the Elohara and brings word back from beyond. After he has eaten and rested for a time, he will speak with them."
"Yes grandfather," Tarsus replied, his fire dampened for the moment. He rose and went to take the good news to the Council of Elders, but stopped in the doorway of the hut and turned back to smile at Jack. "Rest while you can my King, it is going to be a busy winter."
When Tarsus had closed the door behind him, Jack sighed deeply. "I don't know if I'm ready for this Tereil."
"Ready for what my Lord?"
; "That!" Jack groaned. "This High King business. The most responsibility I ever had was the command of a Special Forces team. Twelve men! If it's my fate or doom or whatever the hell you want to call it, to fight Graith, I'll do what I can. But I'm no king! I don't know the first thing about that kind of shit. What the hell do I know about sitting on a throne and wearing a crown?"
"I am sure when the time comes, there will be many, many people who will gladly tell you exactly what you should do," Tereil smiled.
"It's just all happening so fast," Jack sighed. "It seems I've barely had time to breath lately."
"For you perhaps," the Amarian replied. "The people of Aralon have been waiting for you for over seven hundred years. To us, it seems you have tarried over long."
"Just do me one favor, will you?" Jack asked.
"Anything m'Lord."
"Whatever you and Tarsus may think, or whatever you have planned, I'm not a king yet. My name is Jack Braedan, not m'Lord, or His Highness or any damned thing like that! Okay?"
"I will call you whatever you wish...Jack," Tereil smiled. "But it will not change who you are. Nothing can ever change that."
That morning while Braedan slept, Tereil informed the village the heir of Ljmarn Bra'Adan was among them. At first the people greeted his revelation skeptically, for it was so astounding as to be completely unbelievable, even coming from the mouth of the most trusted man in all of Amar. Later that day after Jack had risen, the Council of Elders met with him, questioning him for several hours while the villagers waited anxiously outside Tereil's door.
Just before sunset, the Elders emerged and informed the people they were also convinced the man was indeed the returned descendant of the ancient High King of Aralon. As the villager's disbelief slowly turned to wonder, they were also told Braedan had walked the Elohara and had seen the reformation of the Galekindar and the rebirth of the kingdom of Amar. When they finally began to grasp the import of this news, their wonder was rapidly transformed into an ecstatic celebration.