The Story of Evil: Volume I - Heroes of the Siege

by Tony Johnson

  King Zoran wore a golden crown. The piece was related to his impressive sword. It also featured the five elemental gemstones equally spaced around the circular crown. A diamond just as large as the one on the Aurelian Sword was front and center. The crown had twelve spires. Twelve was an important number in the Celestial City. There were twelve Guardian Knights, twelve warriors’ watchtowers, twelve catapults, and twelve cesspools.

  Steve realized he had been staring at the impressive sword and crown instead of meeting the king eye to eye. He quickly lowered his gaze. Now he was looking into the king’s blue eyes.

  Steve heard Sir Lambert clear his throat. Once again, he was trying to quietly warn the new Guardian Knight of something he was not doing right.

  I’m still holding Brightflame! Steve realized. In the same instant it crossed his mind, Steve dropped his sword. It loudly clattered on the marble floor, making all of the other knights turn and look at him. I am royally embarrassing myself.

  Steve’s face grew as red as his armor. It was considered disrespectful to hold an unsheathed weapon in front of the king. Steve had been carrying Brightflame since he left the arena because his sheath had been burned along with the squire.

  King Zoran smiled at the young warrior to help relax and calm him. He could see Steve was nervous. “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Stephen Brightflame, your majesty,” Steve said with as much confidence as he could muster.

  The king was a burly man with a black bushy beard and a full head of slicked back hair, exposing his forehead. Strands of gray lined the black hair on both his head and beard, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. These features were acquired from the stress of ruling his kingdom for the past forty years.

  “Sir Stephen, I thank you for your bravery on this unfortunate day. Since you are the only one here that has been on ground level, we will need to hear your firsthand account of what you saw. But as of right now, we have hours of planning to do.” The king began to turn around and walk towards the model of Celestial when he stopped and turned back to Steve.

  Zoran waved his pointer finger at Steve with a puzzled look on his face. “You look familiar to me. Have we met before?”

  “No, your highness, this is the first time I’ve ever met you,” Steve said, equally confused.

  “I have seen you before, but I can’t remember where. Don’t worry, it will come to me.”

  Steve wondered about how the king might have recognized him. Maybe he saw me in a promotional advertisement from the Jousting Tournament. Why didn’t I realize that’s probably what he knows me from? I should have said something.

  Zoran was conferring with four of the Guardian Knights at the strategic planning table. Three of the knights stood by the large window and called out destroyed parts of the city to the king and the men around the model of Celestial, who made markings on the three-dimensional map. They marked fallen warriors’ watchtowers, breached sections of the wall, and large buildings that had been demolished. The damage done by monsters was being accounted for. After it was all tallied up, the king and his advisors would be able to see where their strengths and weaknesses were.

  Since Celestial had never been in this stage of an attack before, Steve wasn’t exactly sure what the next step would be. According to Sir Lambert’s plan, the castle would become a central hub for strategy. Doves carrying messages would be sent to the warrior occupied watchtowers, detailing what the status of the rest of the city was, as well as of any plans for counterattacks that their specific tower would be ordered to carry out. Warriors would be sent into the city on missions to battle monsters and then retreat back to their watchtower, where they would await further orders.

  Our counterstrikes might begin as soon as tonight. They might ask me to lead a group of warriors in an attack, Steve hoped.

  The last time monsters attacked (unsuccessfully) Celestial that Steve could remember had happened when he was a child of only six years. Steve, Ty, Darren, and Warrior Thatcher were all sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch when watchtower horns interrupted their conversation.

  Thatcher immediately got up, grabbed his gear, and commanded, “Stay here until I come back.” Then his voice grew ever more commanding as he spoke to the three young boys, “Do not move from your seats until I get back. Do you hear me?”

  Thatcher was already locking the door behind him by the time they all mumbled out a timid, “Yes.”

  Thatcher fought on the inner wall, kicking off ladders and killing any monsters that made it to the top. Meanwhile,

  Steve and his two adopted brothers sat at the kitchen table, watching the door for nine hours, unmoving from their chairs. The next creation that came through the door would either be their adopted father or a monster. Steve had never felt such relief when Thatcher came in through that door. He, Ty, and Darren, all got up and ran to hug him.

  I wonder how many children and how many wives are sitting in their homes, watching their doors right now?

  In the attack where Thatcher defended the walls, the warriors had defeated the small monster army that attacked Celestial. Today’s defense of the Circle City was not as fortunate. The warriors failed. For the first time monsters had won. Steve took the blame personally as part of the failure. He was a warrior. It was his job to aid in the defense of the city during an attack.

  As Steve reflected the past attack and the current one, a voice caught him off guard.

  “How have you been son?”

  Steve turned and almost became emotional at the sight of the man standing before him.

  Sir Titus Thatcher.

  Chapter 9

  Steve cleared all of the emotions from his throat. “The armor of a knight suits you, Commander Thatcher.”

  “You can still call me father, you know,” Sir Thatcher said before he embraced Steve in a tight hug.

  He must have felt the same way I did when I sat in that kitchen chair. He watched the attack from this tower, worrying about me as I tried to survive down there.

  Titus Thatcher was the third oldest man in the throne room. The Supreme Commander was the oldest, at seventy. King Zoran was just under sixty name days. Sir Thatcher was around fifty years old. Even though he was younger than the king, he had twice as many gray hairs.

  Probably from having to raise both Ty and I.

  Other than Sir Lambert, he was the oldest of Zoran’s Guardian Knights, but the newest addition. Sir Thatcher was by far the most honorable and wisest man that Steve had ever known.

  Steve had been abandoned as a two-year-old at a watchtower by his parents. Most orphans were taken to orphanages, but for some reason Steve was left with the warriors. At the time, Titus Thatcher had just recently lost his wife. She had died in child birth of what was to be their first child. The baby died before being born. It had been early in their marriage, only three years in, but she was already gone forever. What he thought would be a relationship until he was old and gray, ended far sooner.

  Three days after his wife died, a woman came to the warriors looking for someone to adopt her two-year-old baby boy. Warrior Thatcher accepted the opportunity, knowing it was what his wife would have wanted. He hoped that she was looking down from heaven, proud of him for taking in the child.

  The warrior treated Stephen like the child he never had the chance to know. Every night Titus read Steve bedtime stories of heroes of the legends. The stories taught Steve the important characteristics a man needed to exemplify to be a hero: faith, selflessness, courage, bravery, friendship, and kindness.

  He was a strict father and instilled in Steve the importance of hard work and never becoming lazy. Steve served the warriors in every capacity imaginable. He fed and groomed horses, saddled flying monsters, helped with cooking and cleaning, and sharpened weapons. At times he felt so sore, he wanted to give up, but Thatcher would never allow it.

  When Steve was older, Thatcher began to teach him the art of swordsmanship. In all of those lessons, in all of Steve’s childish
murmurings and complaining, not once did Titus raise his voice in anger. He raised his voice many times to make sure Steve took in the point he was trying to make, but never was it harshly directed at the boy. Even as a child, Steve knew that someday his father would become a great leader in the warriors. He had a certain swagger that commanded obedience and respect from everyone he fought alongside.

  The day after Steve and Ty passed their masters’ tests and officially became warriors, Thatcher, who was a Watchtower Commander at the time, told them that King Zoran had personally asked him to enter into his service as a Guardian Knight. He said he had accepted Zoran’s offer and was to become a knight and officially dubbed “Sir Thatcher” the next morning.

  Steve believed that his father had been asked years before, but politely declined until Steve and Ty became official warriors and could financially provide for themselves.

  Titus Thatcher developed Steve into the person he was, and Steve was forever grateful for him. Steve wished that he could become a man of character like Sir Titus Thatcher and teach his own future children the same values. The knight may not have been one of the legends of heroes painted on the walls in the tower staircase far below them, but to Steve he was more of a hero than any of the men or women in the stories he was told as a child.

  “I’ve heard of your success in the joust,” Sir Thatcher said as he held Steve’s elbows after they pulled out of a hug. “Sorry I wasn’t able to make it there to watch you today.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I know your duties require you here most of the time. It’s probably better that you weren’t in the stadium anyway. I barely made it out alive. Did you have any knowledge of this attack?” Steve asked.

  “No, none at all. They took us completely by surprise. It’s too organized. There has never been an attack with so many monsters.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. There wasn’t even an alarm horn from any of the outer towers.”

  “We have no idea how all four of them were taken,”

  Sir Thatcher said. “There are many questions we are trying to figure out right now.”

  There was a moment of delay in their conversation (as well as everyone else’s in the room) when two flying monsters engaged in battle outside the wide tower window; a friendly warbird vs. a green and brown feathered phoenix. The warrior and his warbird were outmatched and killed easily.

  Warbirds were monsters that looked like giant-sized birds with razor sharp beaks and talons. They were unique because their feathers were one of the colors of the elements, but they could not attack with any element. Normally monsters that did not have elemental powers had gray skin, feathers, or fur. But the warbirds were somewhat of an anomaly. They did not have long lives like dragons, gryphons, and phoenixes, and were considered a lower tiered monster. Because they had no elemental abilities and could not easily be taught to obey the commands of a rider, warriors did not utilize them. The few that were used were ridden by a warrior archer, just like the one who died outside the King’s Tower. They would shoot arrows at enemies while their warbird attacked whatever it felt like.

  The flying monster warbird brought another one of Sir Thatcher’s adopted sons to mind.

  “Tyrus said he managed to switch his schedule around so he could watch your match earlier. Did you see if he made it out of the arena?”

  “Yes, he did, right after he saved my life.” Steve didn’t want to tell him that Ty had gone up to battle in the air, where Steve saw no survivors.

  “You can’t let him pull away from you in this game of saving each other’s lives that you two play. Is it still tied up 4-4?”

  “It’s four to five now,” Steve corrected him with the tiniest feeling of jealousy. Ty was now leading by a point because he had saved Steve from being killed by the minotaur.

  “I see he is up to his usual mischief,” the knight chuckled.

  Steve laughed, “You saw what he did with the horses?”

  “Yes, as soon as I saw Celestial at the front of the parade, I knew something was amiss. And when something is out of the ordinary, you can be sure Tyrus is behind it.” Sir Thatcher looked at the sword Steve had picked up from the floor. “You still carry Brightflame I see.”

  Steve saw the slight smile in Thatcher’s face as he asked the question. It would probably not be the last time he made an indirect jest at the fact that Steve had been tightly clinging to his sword the first time he met the King. Somehow Ty will find out about this and I will never live it down.

  “I haven’t found a better sword yet,” was all Steve could say as he purposely chose not to acknowledge one of the many nervous mistakes he had made in front of the king.

  The Guardian Knight nodded in agreement, “I doubt you ever will. We all saw how much time you spent forging that blade.”

  As a child, Steve had been fascinated with how swords and armor were created by blacksmiths. He spent a lot of time just watching and learning the sword making process. Once Steve was old enough to lift a hammer, Thatcher encouraged him to experiment in the art. He caught on to the trade fast. Some days, he lost track of time and was punished for not showing up for his other chores.

  Steve could always be found with the blacksmiths. He not only enjoyed their work, he enjoyed their company. They, in turn, thought Steve was mature for his young age and appreciated the free and uncomplaining help he supplied. The men even began to see he had a knack for the trade.

  The older and stronger he got, the more Steve was allowed to experiment. Soon he was designing and creating his own styles of weapons and armor for the warriors. Steve felt a sense of pride knowing that the metal he forged was protecting the lives of warriors and in turn, protecting the lives of the people of Celestial. He felt like he was contributing his part to the brotherhood and to the city.

  Steve advanced through Warrior Training and his apprenticeship very quickly. He was the second person in the history of the warriors to graduate early at age seventeen (this was a fact that Ty was jealous of). Steve had tried to find out who the other one had been, but no one he asked would tell him the man’s name. The most Steve was told was that the man “should have never been allowed to become a warrior.”

  Knowing that he was going to become a warrior himself, Steve wanted to make his own sword. He needed a weapon he could trust to aide him in his battles against monsters. Hardness, strength, balance, and sharpness were the requirements needed in a sword. Most swords had only one or two of these characteristics. Some swords were hard and strong, which meant they lasted for a long time, but were difficult to wield and didn’t stay sharp.

  Over time he had written down all of his ideas and methods; what worked and what didn’t. Steve believed he had created a recipe that combined all of the strengths of the swords he had made without any of their weaknesses. This new sword would not be strong in just one or two of the needed characteristics, but it would be the perfect blend of everything: hardness, strength, balance, and sharpness.

  Using his own gold that he had saved up for ten fortnights, he purchased the best materials he could buy. He bought Dwarven steel, known for the strong iron and carbon it was made from. There was no finer basic metal. Steve heated up the steel until it was red hot. Now he could begin adding his own alloys, the ingredients to the recipe he had concocted.

  Steve used chromium to make the metal into stainless steel that wouldn’t rust. Nickel and vanadium added strength while tungsten would help provide a sharp and long lasting edge. Silicon gave the steel a rough hardness.

  Each of the alloys was added in layers, upon which Steve folded over and over each other eighteen times, one for each of his name days. His special recipe of alloys mixed in with the molten Dwarven steel, creating the perfect combination of what would become the blade of his sword.

  Steve poured the molten mixture onto a table and began to use his anvil and hammer to draw it into shape. Heat then hammer, heat then hammer; before it became too cool and inflexible. For sixteen straight hours, Steve ham
mered out the steel. With each strike it looked more and more like the sword he envisioned. Many warriors heard of what Steve was creating and stopped by the blacksmith’s tent just to watch him work.

  Somewhere in those sixteen hours, Steve was dubbed his last name. After so many warriors had stopped, watched, and chatted about this young, talented blacksmith, they soon found out he had been abandoned and adopted by Commander Titus Thatcher. All that anyone had ever known about him was that his name was Stephen and his friends called him Steve. Most people didn’t even know that much.

  When people found out Steve didn’t have a last name, one of the watching blacksmiths said, “We should call him Brightflame, because even in his youth he has a knowledge of blacksmithing I haven’t seen in men who have been doing this for forty years. The kid is full of potential.”

  An older warrior watching also favored the name, “No one spends this much time on one sword. The boy’s an unending fire of perseverance. Brightflame is the perfect name.”

  And so the name stuck to Steve, like a fly sticks to honey. Stephen Brightflame.

  After the sixteenth hour, Steve had finally reached the point where he could take a break while the metal cooled. He ate a breakfast meant for three, slept for fourteen hours straight, and ate breakfast again. It was his favorite meal of the day.

  “Special days deserve more than one breakfast,” was something Steve had always said. He had no idea where or who he heard it from, but to him, it was truth. After the second breakfast, he took Clyx out for a long, enjoyable ride through his hometown near the arena, around the castle, and through his favorite sections of Celestial. May this sword be used to protect the people of this city, he prayed. Then he returned Clyx to the stables. It was time to finish his work.

  From here on out he worked behind closed curtains. The sword would be unveiled to everyone when it was fully completed. Steve used a grinder to work out the edge and point of the sword. After grinding, he stuck it in boiling water to heat it quickly, and then plunged it into the cold waters of the Fluorite River. The steel cooled fast and hardened completely into solid metal for the first time.