The Sword to Unite

by Peter J. Hopkins

  The other bandits, clad in rugged leathers and with faces equal in malice to their commander, gathered around the plaza. Their leader with a great cry revealed the treasure in his arms. His bandits cheered and snorted, as they wiped blood from their blades. The group set out, running towards the southern-most edge of the city. Cedric turned to return to his allies, to tell them the grief of Edward when he was intercepted by a falling beam of wood, which cracked upon his back. Collapsed in an alleyway, Cedric felt his doom was sure as he drifted into unconsciousness.

  Again, Cedric was in the world of the lake, this time there was no great fire, only its aftermath. All around him, the fields had been transmuted to blackened ash, and there was no life in any that once did. Even the glowing tree had succumbed to this force and was withering in the wind, each gentle breeze removing more and more torched branches. The only thing that remained the same was the lake, and its blue water continued to reflect off the light of the moon. A voice, unlike the ones that appeared here before, spoke gently but with authority, “He cannot go on, we have failed.”

  This voice was matched by that of a woman’s, “No, there is still hope.”

  Chapter 6

  Charred Ash

  Cedric was awoken by this voice in his dream and came to coughing. All around him there was ash, of the building or flesh he could not tell. The beam that had collapsed upon him had also saved him, shielding him from the burning fire around him. As he stood up, he surveyed the destruction around him. It appeared like the end of the world. Nothing of the townhouses remained but little stone fireplaces, still reaching towards the thatched roofs that had burned away.

  Cedric’s face was covered in soot and dirt, but he did not notice, he was left voiceless by the destruction of Orford. Suddenly his body jerked toward Edward’s corpse, which was saved because he remained in the center of the village’s stone square so the smoldering flame could not reach him. Cedric removed the arrows delicately and turned his deceased friend onto his back. Cedric wept as he saw the ghostlike visage of his friend, so filled with fear and shock as in his last moments. Next Cedric reached for the contents of his bag, realizing not a single gem was missing, they had only come for that book.

  Cedric walked towards the temple with Edward’s body on his shoulders, the ashen remains of his villagers kicked up with every step and was lodged within his boots. Cedric stopped when he felt the crackle of something beneath his feet, it was the stained glass that once adorned the snug and safe homes of Orford, now burned to the point that no image could be seen.

  Along the ruins of the brewery, Hamund’s bones were all that remained of the poor brewmaster. The stone foundation of the once happy home was still intact, and Cedric dropped Edward at the door and went inside. All the barrels and distilleries were in ruins, except for one tiny bottle on the ground. Some of Hamund’s special reserve, tasted by none in the village, it was meant to be a surprise on the second day of the festival. Stuffing it in his pocket, Cedric made a silent vow with Hamund, that it would only be drunk when he was avenged, to this vow, Cedric also made with Edward and the whole of the village. At last, with Edward in tow, Cedric made it to the temple where the remains of his village had come out to see the destruction. The village was in a flood of tears, many had lost those they loved in the confusion of the fire and now could only find them as charred corpses.

  Beorn was running through each street with a look of pure terror on his face, in the panic, Beorn thought Godfrey was at his side the whole night, and only awoke to find he was nowhere to be found. Hilde was weeping at the temple steps, for she knew her son’s fate was sealed the moment the final stone of the barricade was placed. Beorn returned only minutes later, a small little, charred body in his arms. He collapsed before he could even reach his wife, his grief overcame him. His face turned purple, and his eyes seemed fit to burst as he wept for his son, slamming his head on the hard stone as he screamed. He held his child in his arms just like the previous night, only this time it was an event composed of pure devastation and sorrow.

  Cedric became numb, the world around him seemed to slow as sound became an ambient static. Alfnod hurried to him, Cedric could see the elf mouthing his name, but could not hear him as it sounded only like a muffled sound.

  Alfnod shook him violently, snapping him out of his daze and spoke, “Cedric we’re going to kill those bastards, you hear me? We are going to gut every single one of them.” The elf’s eyes were a hot red, like the fires from the night before. Behind him, many the village’s remaining men carried axes and the same burning fire for revenge.

  Beorn joined them after he returned to the remains of his home, within his protected basement, he brought an axe, a noose with rope, and a strange mask. Amongst the remaining men was Galdwin carrying a pile blades and shields for his companions, he was ready for battle.

  Cedric had the same fire in his heart as the men before him, but also had a cool head and spoke justly, “we will, but first we must see to the men who cannot fight and the women and child, we must lead them someplace safe.” Cedric sat on a piece of carved stone to think and finally devised a plan, “we know they left the village heading south, my bet is that they’re heading to Arazor like Alfnod said there was word of bandits near there, perhaps this is them. We send the rest of the village north towards Wulfstan, they’ll be safe on the road and can get supplies and shelter from the king.”

  The villagers agreed this was a sound plan and so they packed up what remained and began on their journey to Wulfstan. Before they left, however, Aderyn approached Cedric, she had the same fire in her eyes as the men.

  She spoke bluntly and to the point, “Cedric I’m coming with you. Don’t argue, if you think I’m not ready for the blade then I’ll use the bow with Eadwine.” She said as she motioned to her longbow slung across her back. “But either way, I’ll have my revenge as well, we were both Edward’s friends.” Cedric looked to his men for approval, they all stood mystified by the woman’s tenacity and boldness, and so Cedric took it as the opportunity to welcome her to their company.

  Before the group set out on their quest for vengeance, Cedric returned to his family home, luckily untouched by the flames. He surveyed each room one last time, keeping every detail in his memory. In his chambers, he uncovered the ceremonial banner of his family and rolled it into a smooth lump in his bag. This would become the banner by which men lived and died, by which the fates would present the tale of Cedric of House Thorne. Under this banner, stories of brave heroes of the north were forged, and Cedric would do well to honor them.

  The hunting party readied their horses in the stables, which were thankfully untouched by the carnage. They watched as the rest of the villagers headed out on the main road towards Wulfstan, their carts filled with family heirlooms and leftover food and drink from the festival clinked and wobbled along the cobblestone road. “It’s two days’ ride south to Arazor, and they have a lead, we’ll need to head out soon,” Cedric said as he overlooked the village one last time. He memorized each detail of the lake and forest surrounding it. It would be the last time his feet would find themselves on the landscape of Orford, before him, the road to the world now stretched and it was time to take the first step.

  The company set out before dawn, taking small dirt paths through the wood towards Arazor, amongst them were Cedric’s close friends along with a few other men of the village. Their number counted ten warriors good for fighting, going up against some fifteen who attacked the village and however many were at the old abandoned fortress.

  None of them spoke along the winding paths, for none knew what to say. During their first day’s journey, Cedric spied a strange figure moving through the forest, not like a man or elf’s shape. It was only at the dusk of the day after they had cross through much forest and many rolling hills that Cedric realized it was the Guardian. It had followed the party throughout their ride, and Cedric only knew it was the Griffin by its sharp eyes peering through the shrubbery. When they stoppe
d to rest, Cedric gazed deeply into its eyes, telling no one of its presence. The Griffin kept its distance, just far enough and well enough hidden that only Cedric could see it. Its eyes were filled with mourning for Orford and almost appeared as if it were crying.

  Chapter 7

  The Lighthouse of Evrand

  They stopped and made camp on a hill overlooking the southern country of Lorine and the northernmost regions of the Golden Court, the last real kingdom of elves. Far into the southern sky, a faint light could be seen, not a star or the sun but of a burning fire. Galdwin broke the long silence that had huddled over their company, with a shy and muffled voice he spoke, “Eadwine, do you have any tales to tell, something to lift the spirits.” Eadwine smiled and quickly thought of a tale to tell, looking towards the burning fire in the southern sky for reference.

  “You all see that burning in the heavens? It is no star or illusion of the mind. It is the Lighthouse of Evrand, the tallest building in the world. Long ago, when the world was still young, darkness had swept over all of Glanfech and the lesser elven kingdoms. It was a sign of the deceiver himself, Crassus Baal, the demonic lord of tricks and deals. In this time, the gods were at war with the demons spawned from Kryn and there was no clear victor. Crassus Baal’s greatest servant, Azrael was summoned to the earth and rode across the sky, leaving a trail of black cloud where he went. The stars and the sun could not pierce the thick cloud of shadow that had gripped the world. Within this cloud, our people became misguided and separated, and there was war between the elves. Many of the elves fell to the corruption of Crassus and became what we know was Tethraki, the cursed. The great elf king Rohiel came down from his lands in Glanfech and was pained by the sight of his people’s civil war. So he cried out to his god Duwel, “Duwel, your people are in peril, they cry out to you, but their prayers cannot pierce the thick darkness that corrupts them. Give me the strength to unite them.” Now the elf god Duwel knew of his people’s suffering. This prayer did not go unanswered, as Duwel descended from his eternal throne and stood before the elf king and gave him a silver hammer and pick, telling the king, “You shall build the light of the world, and within it, my people shall survive and prosper.” For the next century, Rohiel constructed a great lighthouse in Evrand. He had no plans drawn out or any form of aid, it was in his mind that the vision of the tower resided. When he had laid every stone, and carved every step, Duwel was pleased and from his throne sent a flame which was placed at the top of the lighthouse. This light burned out the shadow that had blinded the world and guided the elf people to Evrand, where they became united as a people and forged the First Empire of the world.

  However, this did not end the battle with the demonic horde, for Crassus Baal summoned his servant Azrael once more and summoned forth his whole host of demons. The Lighthouse guarded the city of Evrand, and so Rohiel’s people were safe and refused to leave the gaze of the eternal fire. Azrael knew of this, and so he commanded his legions northward, to the lands of men in what is now known as Lorine, Midland, and Belfas. One by one, the cities and fields of men burned. From the former ten kingdoms of men found there, Azrael forged a crown of their fingers, Degsedd, and with it proclaimed himself the true king of man. Even to this day, it is not known if this Azrael was once man, it has been lost to history, and he is now regarded as a lesser demon, a mere servant of his god. Godric, the lord of the hunt and wilderness, attempted to duel this foul creature but to no avail. The god was beaten back that day, his left eye plucked away, which is why he is depicted with an eyepatch. The hopes of the armies of man faded that day, save for in Belfas.

  In Belfas, a great host of men gathered at their ancient citadel called Broken Fang, as it was carved into a mountain with a jagged peak where once a tower stood. At the helm of this resistance was Adalgott the Lawgiver, a lord from Canterbrick. His great flowing beard was woven with the silk of the gods, and in his hand, he held the horn of Godric, which rallied the men from faraway lands to his cause and at Broken Fang, the duel between the gods and demons reached its climax. Loden and his kin descended from their divine halls and met Crassus and the dark god Baphamont and their hordes on the battlefield alongside the men of Belfas. The battle was hard fought, but in the end, the gods and their men stood victorious, the demons were driven back to their realm. From this event, Adalgott was named the king and made Wulfstan his capital, united the former ten kingdoms under his banner and codified law with a great pillar of stone so that all would know his law.

  It is a strange thing how stories that can seem so distant are so related, such as the tales of Adalgott and of the Lighthouse. The kings of Evrand after Rohiel were known as the torchbearers, and it was their sacred duty to guard and unite the elf people as the lighthouse did those many centuries ago. That light has never gone out, for so long it has burned and been seen across many nations. It is said that when the end of the elven people draws near, Duwel shall once again walk upon the earth and take back the flame of his people. He shall use it to guide his kind to his realm where the will live with him forever.” Eadwine slunk under his cloak and went to sleep, pleased with his storytelling.

  The company looked out onto the Lighthouse, burning brighter and brighter as the sun retreated across the sky. Cedric felt as though the heat of the structure was surrounding him, it was unlike the flames of his nightmares, this heat was calming and peaceful. The last of the company finally fell to sleep, a feat most impressive given the horrors of the past day. In the nearby forest, the Guardian slept as well, it was exhausted from the journey and had now ventured farther from its nest than ever before.

  Cedric could not sleep; his mind was abuzz from Eadwine’s story. Alfnod sat next to his friend to console him, “How are you holding up Cedric?” Alfnod asked.

  Cedric simply shrugged and said, “I do not know, these dreams I’ve been having…I think I saw the destruction of the village before it happened. Or at least a warning that Orford would burn.”

  Alfnod rubbed his hands by the campfire and replied, “I think it was supposed to be a warning, perhaps a vision from your gods?”

  Cedric responded, “I don’t know, I don’t know anything. One day the village is safe and happy, festive indeed and in only a few moments it’s all ripped away. In my dream the night Orford burned, I saw the outline of a man with a crown of ten fingers. Alfnod, you don’t suppose it could be Azrael, like in the story?”

  Alfnod received this news grimly, “if you really did, then I think this is much larger than some rogues attacking a village. They had a target. They wanted that book. It frightens me to think of what they or whoever will use it for. When we’ve dealt with them we can head to Wulfstan, I’m sure we can find answers there.”

  Cedric replied with a monotone voice, “If we even make it out of Arazor.”

  Chapter 8

  Arazor

  All along the forest surrounding the ancient fortress, there was thick underbrush and numerous trees. The land felt as if it were somehow older than the land they had already crossed through, there was a mystifying wonder to it. Along a creek, Eadwine discovered an unholy site. A deer carcass was strung up upon a tree, and its blood was used in some sort of strange ritual, no doubt some form of dark magic.

  The whole of the company was palpably tense and afraid. Galdwin gripped his axe almost to snapping point, ready to strike at anything that moved. Beorn gave away no emotion with his facial expression, only beads of sweat were an indicator he was nervous. At the front of the group, Cedric was breathing heavy, expecting an ambush at any moment, constantly looking back to see if Aderyn was still safe. She was gripping an arrow in her hand, ready to draw upon the rogues inhabiting the fort.

  After a half day of travel, the company of Cedric arrived at the fortress. Eadwine and Cedric went to scout the exterior and uncover how many foes they would face this day. Sentries were placed along each ruined tower of the fortress, making six in total, each of them wielding bows or crossbows. At the gate stood three of the larger b
andits, who were the best equipped regarding weapons and armor of their outfit, sitting and eating by a fire.

  “Look, Cedric, by the hall’s main gate.” Eadwine pointed out the leader of the bandits sporting his grin, but instead of the book in his hands, there was a large sack of golden coins, with two more huge sacks by his feet. This bounty had been given by the cloaked man standing next to him, it was a shade of dark red, with golden patterns on the sleeves.

  The two men shook hands, and the hooded figure prepared his horse. At this mysterious figure’s side were two bodyguards, completely unlike the bandits, they held themselves in a refined manner and wore full plated armor. Cedric would be glad to see them gone, as it would mean fewer thieves to deal with in the main assault. In the courtyard, there was a full dozen of bandits tending to menial tasks, they looked fat and lazy, apparently the main garrison never actually left the fortress.

  The fort’s main building was still standing, and Cedric nor Eadwine could see how many bandits were inside, but both agreed there were bound to be more somewhere in it. Slowly the scouting party retreated back along the tree line, the fortress had an open field facing its forward gate, with lush wooded landscape covering its back. There was no need for the original inhabitants to worry of this flank as the wall at the rear was built up the highest, meaning no army could effectively approach from the rear, they would be forced into combat on the field.

  Cedric drew out an outline of the castle’s exterior in the dirt back at camp, each of his companions eagerly awaiting his command.

  Cedric knew the sentries had to be dealt with first if they were to approach from the front, they would certainly lose some of their force to the bolts and arrows of the bandits. “Before we can manage into Arazor, we’ll need to deal with those placed upon the guard towers. I propose we flank from the rear, from the forest where they would not see us, we send two of our most nimble up the intact wall. From there they can deal with the sentries while we push through the castle gates. From the incline of the courtyard, we should have a few moments before those there can reach their allies as the gate, allowing us to divide them up.”