The Sword to Unite

by Peter J. Hopkins

  None were surprised by Cedric’s sudden leap into military commands, like any noble’s son, he was trained at the military school of Wulfstan, where he studied the greatest generals in the world. These tactics he was using were most akin to Hacra the Elephant Rider, the commander of the Tanaric people, choosing a frontal assault combined with more efficient flanking maneuvers.

  Eadwine and Aderyn stepped forward as volunteers to scale the wall. “If Eadwine and I can reach that wall, we’ll be able to take out the sentries and provide you cover with our bows, it’s the best strategy for keeping us all alive,” Aderyn said confidently. So, the plan was devised and put into effect.

  The assault party consisting of Cedric, Alfnod, Beorn, Galdwin and the other men of the village nervously waited at the edge of the forest for the signal. Cedric and the others spotted Eadwine reach the top first, then reach his hand for Aderyn, the elf was a testament to his kin’s agility. The two hurried to their positions, taking cover behind rubble on opposite sides of the wall, as it stretched across the whole fort, including the main hall, and fired their first shots. Both direct hits against the first two sentries, both ripping through the skull as to avoid any unwanted sounds. The courtyard garrison had not been stirred, they were preoccupied with drink and a hog roasting on a spit. It would be too dangerous for the archers to continue their crafty work, as the next four sentries were all in each other’s sights, it was now up to the main force of the party.

  Cedric raised his fist and threw it down, giving the order to charge. They ran at full speed, with no intention of raising their shields as their archers were now making quick work of the remaining four sentries. They ran silently across the field, giving no sign that they were even there save the heavy breathing and beating footsteps. The three gate guards raised their shields as Cedric’s group closed the gap between them, the bandits barely had time to scream.

  Beorn was the first to reach the group, his body moving like a howling wind across a lonely hill. He raised his two hands axe and began carving up the shield of the largest bandit. It was an old combat style, Beorn would swing his axe with such speed and strength, aiming specifically for his foe’s shield, that the bandit had not a single moment to counter. Beorn continued this for at least ten blows then quickly switched his swing halfway through, beginning at the legs, but moving to the skull. The bandit’s shield was still hanging by his feet, it had moved to protect against the first swing, and the bandit fell to the ground, an axe ripped his head clean away. Cedric and Alfnod made quick work of the other two, their feeble leather and hide skin armor only gave the appearance of protection.

  Next, the assault party went up the gate’s stairs and into the courtyard where the fat and drunk highwaymen were already greeted by a volley of arrows, their numbers dwindling fast. The whole of Cedric’s party took their share of revenge upon them and the party reunited at the steps of the central keep.

  They went from room to room in the keep searching for this bandit group’s leader until they came upon the door to the main feasting hall. Cedric and Alfnod opened the two large wooden and doors and were stopped silent by what they saw. At least fifty bandits were feasting in the hall, throwing food and drinking merrily. At the main table, their leader known by his people as Wedgrud was laughing as he counted piles of gold. All at once, every bandit turned to face their intruders, and a silence overtook the room.

  “Run!” Cedric shouted, already pulling his party back into the hall. The bandits all gave chase, and the party of Cedric was separated. Cedric, Galdwin, and Alfnod took flight to the stairs, hoping the high ground would give some advantage, Beorn and Aderyn and a few others went back to the courtyard hoping to take them the bandits on one at a time as they pour through the keep. Some men of the village found themselves trapped in the dungeons of the castle, trapped like rats. They fought courageously and proved themselves brave on more than one occasion that day, but the group was too few and was overwhelmed by the onslaught of bandits.

  Cedric and his two friends now snuck about the castle hoping to reunite with Beorn’s group. They crept back downstairs, to find the main hall emptied of the army of bandits, returning to the feasting hall, they hoped to find their separated friends. From the back room, Wedgrud appeared, bringing with him five of his best men. The cruel man smiled with his rotted teeth and barked at his men to kill. Outnumbered, the three made their stand in a corner, taking strikes at precise times, all the while holding their shields high, save Alfnod as he did not carry one. One by one the bandits fell, Galdwin was hurt, an axe had taken a strike at his thigh, and it was now bleeding.

  Wedgrud looked displeased, and his eye began to twitch but continued his wicked smile. He rushed at them, with two axes in his hands and began a whirlwind of fury. None of the three could land a blow, they were on a relentless defense against this madman. As they continued their spar, Galdwin’s shield was broken, and Wedgrud’s axe was struck into his chest.

  Cedric and Alfnod were thrown into a blind rage as they watched the youngest of their party, barely able to grow a beard, collapse to the ground spewing blood from his mouth. Their swings were vicious and filled with hate, but they could not fell Wedgrud, they had played into his hand, and now he was toying with them. Next to be struck was Cedric, an axe made its way through his lower side, and he fell to the floor, not dead, but in severe pain. Galdwin lay bleeding as well, but he held to life with the entirety of his will.

  Now it was down to Alfnod and Wedgrud, the two circled each other, both severely out of breath. Alfnod was first to swing, in an elegant elven style known as Daugwyn, or two winds, with each blade’s strike coming in succession to the other. The dueling parties both received wounds from the other, and there was no clear superior. Alfnod was breathing heavy, a strike had grazed his ribs and it was beginning to bruise, his armored coat weighed heavy on him. Alfnod stepped back from his dueling partner and ripped the jacket off leaving only his shirt, hoping it would give him a quick burst of speed. Wedgrud politely waited, he wanted the elf to know he was the better duelist. The next blow on either side would surely be fatal, both men without a defense in armor or shield.

  The two began again, this time Alfnod was imbued with the agility of Duwel’s people and created an unstopping motion of bladed fury. Wedgrud was placed off balance, began to stumble, finally and fell to the floor.

  Alfnod seemed ready to finish off his foe but paused, and lifted a spear and rammed it through the bandit’s shoulder all the way through the table he had fallen over. Wedgrud continued to smile as Alfnod leaned closer to him and spoke, “I will not kill you, don’t move,” he said as he dug the spear deeper through Wedgrud’s chest, “I have a friend for you to meet.” The elf smiled and walked over to Cedric and ran out to the courtyard as they knew their friends needed help. The pair carried the wounded Galdwin to a nearby room and bound his wounds, they knew that he would live long without proper medical treatment for his injuries were deep and bleeding profusely.

  The largest of the three separated groups was composed of about seven, with Beorn and Aderyn leading them. They were attempting a final stand in the courtyard as the gate was surrounded by bandits. They had felled many of the villains who gave them chase, but there were simply too many. Cedric and Alfnod were overwhelmed by the bandits nearest them when they reached the courtyard and could not help their friends. It seemed as if Edward would lie unavenged with them to show nothing but the death of more friends for it when suddenly a trumpet of Lorine was heard in the distance.

  All the bandits froze in their steps as knighted horseman shattered through the bandits near the gate, the men in chainmail atop noble steeds filled the courtyard as they put each bandit to the sword. Along the sides of their horses, many banners of lesser noble houses waved proudly, symbols of lions and bulls were the most common among them. The only similarity between each knight was the shield, the image of a red painted falcon diving as if about to strike.

  The bandits were made quick work by the
se heroic border protectors, and soon their leader dismounted to speak with Cedric. The knight’s leader had long flowing brown hair, and he dripped of duty and honor. His chainmail was covered by a thick cloak of gilded flowers and three majestic lions in a column formation, at his hip was a short pilum, which served as his symbol of authority. His sight brought a sigh of relief from the villagers and a smile to Cedric and Alfnod.

  It was none other than Lafayette de Sailes, Knight-Commander of Wulfstan. He was surprised and happy to see his friends this distance from home, and he embraced the pair standing by the keep. He spoke, “my dearest friends, what brings you all the way to Arazor, what news from Orford eh?”

  Cedric mood was quickly changed to sorrow. “We were hunting down the bandits who killed Edward, they killed him and burned the village for a godsdamnn book.”

  Lafayette was deeply saddened by this news. “I am sorry for this tragedy, my men and I were hoping to catch these bandits off balance today…lucky we chose today to strike. Your party will find itself most welcome in our ranks, as we now head back to Wulfstan to give the king a full report of this incident.” Cedric nodded silently, and the knight began to return to their camp, leaving Cedric’s party to gather and burn their dead.

  Alfnod returned alone to the feasting hall, where Wedgrud still sat with a spear through his side. “Nothing you do to me can break me you know, you came all this way for revenge, but you won’t get it, ha.” Wedgrud laughed as he coughed up blood. Alfnod smiled with his arms cross, resting on the doorway he spoke. “I know, that’s why the revenge isn’t for me…it’s for him.”

  Alfnod turned the corner and left as a massive man in a loose leather mask came into the hall with a noose and some feet of rope. Wedgrud’s smile quickly vanished from his face, and he struggled to free himself as Beorn approached. It was his eyes that terrified Wedgrud, they gave the illusion that whoever under that mask was not human. Wedgrud screamed as the giant pulled him by his hair out of the courtyard and into the forest.

  The rest of Cedric’s group burned the bodies of Orford’s people who died in the fighting, now only a few villagers remained amongst the living. They waited patiently as they heard Wedgrud’s screamed become a muffled choking. And a few minutes later, Beorn marched out of the forest, noose, and mask in hand.

  In the days when the neighboring kingdom of Ritter was in a terrible civil war, Beorn was called upon to serve in the army as a mercenary, a gift from the now deceased King Oswald. His lord was too young to command, so he was placed on patrol along the border, protecting the small hamlets of eastern Lorine. For weeks, he quietly kept the watch over a small village just along the Lahyrst riverbank.

  One day, a group of severely wounded soldiers loyal to the king of Ritter passed through. The village offered them food and board, as it was their tradition for hospitality to all guests of the land. They were a friendly lot, though beaten badly they talked proudly of their cause, the protection of Ritter from the rebels who would seek to divide the land. Beorn made friends with the captain of the brigade, a man named Olaf, a plump war vet who had seen his shares of wars equal to that of meals.

  The next day, as the soldiers rested and made plans to reunite with the main crown army, rebels under the command of Lord Aldus rode into the village, demanding the immediate handing over of the soldiers as prisoners. To do this would be a breach of the most sacred traditions and values of Ritter, and so the villagers refused. Lord Aldus drew his blade upon the village’s elder, Virmund, and killed the wise old man. Next, his rebels executed the entire loyalist group, including Olaf. Beorn was only kept safe by the cleverness of a thin and pale woman, Hilde, who hid him in the floorboards of her hut. When the rebels had gone, Beorn personally burned the bodies of his former comrades and the village elder. Without saying a word to any who remained, he donned a flimsy mask, some lengths of rope and his axe, and set out after the company of Lord Aldus.

  The rebels made merry at their victory of the crown that day, and their ale and food poured like water upon a river in their camp that night. Each was exhausted from the merriment and fell into a deep sleep. While they slept, Beorn took each of them at a time to the nearby trees and hung them. When the morning had come, the trees along the western border of Ritter became the stuff of nightmare. It was on this day that the rebel army was turned back from its attempted assault on the city of Ossen, their commander appeared like a pale ghost at the sight of tree upon tree along the road with the hanging corpses of his comrades. The rebels proclaimed that the loyalist had demons on their side, for only one such as them could commit such a deed.

  Beorn returned to the village and lived with Hilde for many months before returning with her to Orford. He shall entreat those who ask about his past, though he never mentions it of his own accord.

  Chapter 9

  The Road to Wulfstan

  Cedric rode alongside Lafayette and his Knight-Commander who introduced himself as Esmond. They traveled along the main road to Wulfstan which served as a pleasant change of scenery from the thick forests of the south. This road was built upon a rolling set of hills filled only by grass, with trees along the road serving as cooling shade rather than blockers of the sun.

  The knights that accompanied them were very peculiar. Unlike most other knights, they were made up of lesser nobles and wealthy townsfolk, many of which had no claim to the chivalric code. They acted in complete accordance with their oath, appearing as if out of a fairy tale. Cedric was confused by this display and asked. “Master Esmond, what order do your knight owe their allegiance to? The bird on the shields has peaked my interest.” “We are the order of the Red Gyrfalcon, a majestic creature she is. We have our castle not far north of here. Though we may not be as well landed or known as the other orders, we pride ourselves on our code of honor and bravery in combat.” The old man laughed as he responded, clearly he had had to explain his order’s existence on more than one occasion.

  Eadwine poured water from a wet rag upon the head of Galdwin. His face grew paler with each passing hour. The healers amongst the knight’s retinue had done all they could for the boy, and now his fate was known only by the gods. He laid limp upon the back of Eadwine’s steed, not speaking for quite some time. When he did gather the strength for words, they came out as muffled grunts, almost as if the horses cantering was blowing the breath of life from his body.

  The two parties came to rest along the edge of the road and built a giant bonfire. The knights and Lafayette drank and celebrated their victory over the bandits, while Cedric’s party remained in a soberer state. Eadwine poured out his cup of wine. “To our fallen brothers.” The elf said. The rest of the group from Orford followed suit. As Cedric remembered his dear friends now lost, he pulled out the Hamund’s reserve, opened the top, and poured it out as an offering. The final drink of the late brewmaster would never be tasted by man, for no one deserved the alcohol fit for the table of the gods. After this was done, Aderyn and Eadwine went to watch over Galdwin, his condition had finally stabilized, and the bleeding had slowed, but there was still no telling if he would survive. He was fast asleep, his body appeared like a ghost from the loss of blood, but he was well fed before he entered his rest and it would undoubtedly aid in his recovery.

  Alfnod and Cedric sat alone, the rest of their company was fast asleep from the exhausting events of the day. “Alfnod, that story Eadwine told of the Lighthouse, I think it is related to Orford’s burning.” Alfnod’s curiosity was peaked, and he listened attentively. “I believe I saw Azrael in my dream, the one just before the raid on Orford. He was stabbing a tree. I know it was Azrael as he wore a crown of ten fingers. If I am correct in my thinking, Edward’s stolen book is in some way related to this. The figure we saw leaving with the book was heading on the road towards Orford. If luck is on our side, his destination will match ours.”

  Cedric concluded his thoughts and Alfnod raised his voice in agreement. “Ay, there is no doubt in my mind these visions are some warning, with
the help of King Oswine, we’ll uncover their true meaning. But for now, we must rest, for if this is in some way related to that vile Azrael, we will need all our strength. I have a few ideas on that in fact, but they will only be put into action once we reach Wulfstan. I have a large complex of contacts throughout the southern lands from my adventures, many of whom owe me favors, but again we shall see,” the elf said as he rolled onto his back preparing for sleep.

  Cedric, at last, fell into a deep sleep, the day’s troubles had ended but tomorrow would no doubt bring more turns down the path he took. Again Cedric was confronted by the image of the lake this time returned to its original shades of blue. Here he saw his friends and the villagers who had fallen in battle, each laying by the glowing tree, though their bodies were cold and dead they appeared peaceful. There was no sound of rustling tree or songbird. It was completely quiet. Next to Cedric, there was what seemed to be a white ram. It grazed without a care in the field. A slight sound came from the lake.

  On the surface of the water, a small stream of bubbles was flowing. A withered, skeletal-like body emerged from the water, it was Azrael, and though he did not wear his crown, his flesh was the same as before. Suddenly, the whole of the lake turned to a red boil and was alight. Azrael no longer appeared as a rotting corpse but as a powerful warlord.

  From all sides of the forest’s clearing, hooded figures emerged wielding daggers and blades. They approached the ram and yet the wild animal gave no sign of fear or even a hint of the presence of its enemies. Suddenly the ram screamed as the servants of Azrael stabbed and pierced its white flesh. Cedric awoke sweating and panting from his dream, the cry of the animal was carved into his ears and continued for what seemed like an eternity. Cedric stood watch for the rest of the night, unable to sleep.