Cedric struck first, hoping to catch Arrington off guard with a strike veering to the shoulder but ending at the gut, his opponent was quick to parry and retaliate, clipping Cedric’s blade. Arrington’s relaxed demeanor had now vanished, he understood the gravitas of this fight and showed no emotion. The chancellor took precise stabs as his tactic, knowing he had the better footwork and precision than his younger opponent. With age came a slower but more tactical duel style, compared to Cedric’s quick, brash, and untrained swings. Neither man saw a significant flaw in the other’s tactics, they only skirted around each other, like two predators without prey.
Cedric grew impatient, his young heart burned only for revenge and not for his own safety. He struck out on impulse, swinging right past Arrington and stumbling behind his opponent. Time appeared to stop at this moment for Cedric, his flaw in this battle was burned in his mind as he shut his eyes, prepared for the counter strike. His back was torn and ripped as he lay on his chest, with a single slash he writhed in pain and screamed.
Arrington knelt beside his defeated counterpart and spoke. “You fought well, at least until the final swing. It is a fool’s errand to resist the power of Azrael. He shall return, it is foretold even by the gods. Mark these words boy, I shall return to these lands with my true Lord, and I shall burn you and all those you love from the pages of history. Your name and all it carries shall be gone. You’ve accomplished nothing here, just a mild inconvenience to an unstoppable power.” Arrington rose and grabbed Cedric’s arms, lifted him over the side of the ship and threw his body into the port. Cedric’s lungs filled with water, worse than before, and slowly sank to the bottom, crashing against the hard stone floor of the sea. His mind blurred as he felt the life being choked from his body. Suddenly, along the surface of the water, there was the Tree of Life. He beat his arms and surfaced
Cedric plunged through the shimmering surface of the garden, finally able to catch his breath. He gasped for air for some time, taking a full survey of his surroundings, wondering if he was dead or alive. Along the shore of the middle of the lake, the tree still shone its light in a brilliant white glow. Cedric swam to the island, taking rest on its smooth grassy surface. Something was different on this visit to the Tree; he heard the soft voice of a woman singing. It was no language known to Cedric, or for that matter, any man.
Not even the elves of Anitquii, so refined in culture and history from the teachings of Duwel, would be able to decipher the ancient words. Cedric reached for his blade, unsure of his guest was a friend or foe, but he was without his blade in this divine garden. Cedric rounded the trunk of the tree and found a great glowing woman sitting with a lyre, strumming in a smooth rhythm. In her voice, there was a deep-rooted pain, and Cedric noticed a bleeding wound at her side, though she gave no indication of it with her face. Cedric tore cloth from his garments and pressed his hands against the wound. The woman looked up at him and said haunting words. “You are but mortal. What hope is there for this wound to heal?” Cedric awoke at the bottom of the port; he was being dragged up by Alfnod.
The two found safe rest on the firm surface of the dockland, in a spot where ships would be hauled to shore in times of peace that now seemed so far away.
Cedric coughed up water as Alfnod turned him on his chest, examining his wounds. “You’re very lucky Cedric.” Alfnod pressed his hands along the wound, causing Cedric to scream. “It may hurt now, but there are no signs it shall be a permanent injury. Lafayette is near complete bringing order to the streets, most of the rebels have either been killed or fled the city, any left are being taken to the dungeons.” Alfnod collapsed next to his dear friend, for he had received many wounds in battle as well and required a moment to breathe. Aderyn and Eadwine arrived first, followed by the rest of his companions.
Cedric silently thanked the gods that all of them had survived. By now the city had dimmed, the great fires burning throughout the city had been quelled, and an eerie silence overtook each street and narrow alley. Gaspar peered out into the sea, using a strange telescope to chart the movements of Arrington’s ship.
“It is turning north, undoubtedly to regather his forces, perhaps they are on the way to resurrect their wicked master.” Gaspar looked down on his new friend, his back torn open. “I shall give you a few hours to rest but we must leave come dawn, we have spent enough time in this accursed city.” Gaspar handed a small bottle of a strange ointment to Eadwine. “Rub this where the wounds are most grave.” He said as they began to make his way through the reclaimed streets of Wulfstan.
Cedric felt a sharp sting as the ointment was rubbed into his bloody wounds, it appeared to sizzle and then become cauterized. Beorn and Alfnod provided support on his arms, lifting him that he may walk and survey the city. The bodies of the innocent tossed into the cold streets had now begun to be gathered and ceremonially burned, such is the custom of the North. The corpses in the port were hopeless, many had drifted out into the sea, and those who were fished out did not burn well.
“How were we so blind, that Arrington could betray us so horridly? How could Azrael have such an influence on his mind?” Cedric muttered as he surveyed the destruction and burning.
“You act as though evil is only present when in its most severe form Cedric,” Alfnod said bitterly, clutching at his side. “Evil is not some intangible thing that corrupts good men. It is found within us all, as well as good. Azrael is not some deciding factor in the world, he is merely a catalyst for evil actions, so that men may follow in his path, simply because they can. You are too young Cedric, for I have seen the world. I have seen lords and ladies act as weak as a common criminal, not because of some evil force guiding them, but because we are all born with evil inside us. This path we take, there is more evil in it than just in Azrael.”
“This was supposed to be untouchable,” Cedric said, and Alfnod carried through the streets. “What hope is there for the hamlets of Lorine or Midland? A wooden palisade is fit only to keep starving wolves at bay, but what we now face is a full horde of evil. This battle cannot be won by a handful of men, which is what we have.” Cedric motioned to his friends, and they allowed him to stand by himself, though he was hunched over due to his injury. “We shall need the whole host of the North, each man who remains loyal to his king and the gods shall be required to spill their blood.”
Alfnod spoke skeptically. “And you believe yourself to be that king? Cedric, I believe in your cause, but most men do not take kindly to bowing to a stranger.”
Cedric huffed and retorted. “Then I shall become known to them all. In my word, they shall find the word of their king. When I wield Adalgott’s blade and command his descendants, then shall I be king.”
Act II
The Questing through Midland
Chapter 15
The Departure into Midland
Cedric awoke the next morning in the palace, his wounds had scabbed over and were covered in a foul puss. The sun shined bright from the windows, illuminating the whole of the room in warmth. He ached as he rose from the bed, his arms and legs were near numbed from the battle. He washed his face with his basin and cleaned his blade to a shine.
“Did you sleep well?” Aderyn asked. She had yet to rise from the bed as she stared at Cedric’s wounds which had healed partially, puss still formed and stung along his back. “You’ll need all the rest in the world to be ready for the journey ahead.” She rose and rubbed her hands on his back.
“Well enough,” Cedric said as he packed a small knapsack with food and supplies. “How are the others?”
“They are tired, but they are with you… I am with you.” Aderyn said as she too began packing their things for the long road ahead of them.
“How peculiar our lives are, it seems every step is not what I expect. I thought we would be safe here, but we found only death.”
Aderyn paused before responding, hoping to strengthen Cedric with her words. “In this world, we cannot find safety, only create it ourselves. You can create
that security for Lorine, for the whole of the north. When the times comes, I know you will be a great king.” Aderyn smiled and looked again at Cedric. “Come, the others will be waiting for us.”
Lafayette met them at the door, his forehead was wrapped in bandages, and there was a slash across his cheek, but nevertheless he greeted Cedric with dignity. “Cedric thank the gods you have yet to depart.” Lafayette gave a look in all directions and put his arm around Cedric’s back and pulled him aside from Aderyn. “With the Witan’s members near all dead they cannot and will not elect you king.” Cedric reeled back in both relief and disappointment. Lafayette continued, “Now they do not deny your claim, as you are the rightful heir by Oswine’s decree. They only cannot vote as a half-empty council. I shall stay in the city, try to hold on to what is left of Lorine. As we speak, I have sent our detachments to Lahyrst, to ensure that House Arrington is purged of its treacherous lot. When you return, which I know you will, you shall be king.”
Cedric embraced his old friend and spoke. “Thank you, Lafayette, my dear friend, for everything. Do try not to overthrow me while I travel, it would be quite disappointing to return to see you as king.” The pair laughed as they departed from one another, it would be many months before either would see each other.
At the main gate of Wulfstan, they found their companions cloaked and packed for the long journey. Gaspar seemed out of place, his clothes were not broken in, and he had brought less than required for the trip. Eadwine was quick to humor this blunder. “Do you intend to cross the whole length of the north or a picnic by the beachfront? Take your silver and get some more grain for gruel, unless of course you are bound as magi to fast on bugs and leaves.”
Gaspar gave an annoyed look, but in the end, took out his purse and went to the market for more food. They had been told to carry essentials, and yet Eadwine had brought his lute, taking up much space on his saddle. The bard claimed it necessary to the moral of the party, as, without his singing voice and strumming, they would surely perish.
The party set out before noon, with Beorn and Alfnod leading in the front. Further back, Leopold traveled, he hoped to appear as a lone traveler as to cover the back flank and to avoid conversation with his new companions. The skies were clear as they departed across Lorine, the weather was warm with a gentle breeze flying across the rolling green hills. They crossed by many villages and hamlets unaffected by the brewing of Azrael’s wrath, their pastures and fields grew in splendor under the shining sun. They traveled on a cobblestone road, built many centuries ago by the ancient elves of Glanfech. Along the road, statues to elvish royalty and gods were placed as road markers, some etchings of inscriptions remained, though heavily worn down by the passing of time. The road was covered for the most part in shade, as a line of trees on either side of the road stretched for miles, planted under King Uthgir, grandfather of Oswine. They were planted so that all could enjoy the splendor of nature and to signify the majesty and wonderful landscape of Lorine.
None of them spoke for the first hours of their journey, for there was nothing of importance to say. Each member of the party held on their face a look of terrible discouragement; they were without happiness. Eadwine jolted and shuffled from the silence and pulled his lute from his saddle. He began strumming and hummed a quiet tune. Aderyn playfully threw an apple at the elf, of whom responded by sticking out his tongue, causing the whole party save Leopold to burst out in laughter. They needed to laugh, the previous night’s events had weighed heavy on them, but with Eadwine’s jesting, it seemed like a distant dream long forgotten. They no longer thought of the dread of the past, but rather the beauty of the present day and the promise of adventure in the future.
They passed by the vast fields of Lorine, rich with grain and other crops growing under the sun. The stone fences divided the land into a multicolored wonder, with each field gently swaying with the passing of each burst of wind. They passed by many farmers seeking shelter from the heat under the umbrellas of the nearby trees, with many more working the fields and tending to flocks of cows and sheep. Each of these rural folks were dressed in the traditional garb of their people, with brightly color tunics, and all manner of hoods and hats. Their homesteads were simple but cozy, many billowing stacks of smoke lifted from the thatched roofs of their houses.
They found rest for the night upon a small nook below a grassy hill, with trees forming a cooling shade where they lay. The party tied the horses to these trees, which they fed with bags of grain brought from Wulfstan. As the night grew late and the moon rose high into the sky, they sat by the fire save Leopold, who was sitting upon the hill as a sentry for their camp. The perishable food from Wulfstan was consumed, the meats and vegetables they brought became a hearty stew that filled them with warmth. The beef and pork were roasted upon a spit first, then cooked along with a warm broth, giving it a smoky flavor. Cedric sat with Aderyn, who was beginning to tire, though her eyes and ears remained alerted. Eadwine sat tuning his lute while Beorn poured himself a third bowl, Alfnod had made a hammock and was smoking his pipe, creating all manner of little clouds. Gaspar caught Cedric’s interest, as the wizard was scribbling in a small leather-bound notebook. “Tell me magi, what is it that you write with such conviction?” Gaspar looked up with a confused face at Cedric. “Gaspar…the notebook?”
Gaspar smiled somewhat awkwardly and explained. “Oh, I am sorry my lord, preoccupied with thought.” He let out a small laugh. “This is the history of our company. When we return, this will be a history of the realm; each step must be recorded so that future generations can hear of our valor and deeds. As of now, I have been documenting our journey out of Lorine, the weather, our morale, and supplies.” Gaspar flipped through the blank pages. “Each of these pages shall have been properly filled and recorded when we return; it shall make for quite the story eh?”
Eadwine chimed in, still fiddling with his out of tune lute. “Books may be substantial for a noble and his court, maybe the lucky merchant who can read on top of counting, but that has no place for the ordinary folk’s legends.”
Gaspar scoffed at the rural backwardness of his elven companion as he responded. “And what pray you wood elf, is the proper form for history and legends.”
Eadwine corrected his lute, laid on his back and began playing as he spoke. “All a hero needs to become immortal is three things. A voice, a lute, and a crowd to listen. The unspoken history has always been a part of both man and elf. Who would know of Grimric’s duel with the Manticore of the Burned Waste? Or of the Leviathan of the Vaalian Sea? When we return, the people will not learn of Cedric by the hand of some scribe in Wulfstan, but by the songs dedicated to him, sung by every bard here to the Green Mountains in the south.”
Gaspar rolled over on his sleeping bag and attempted to ignore his country friend, and lifted his head for the final word. “Perhaps then, I shall write of those spoken stories, only to spite you.”
Eadwine reveled in his victory and drank the last ale in his flask before turning over for sleep. Beorn too fell into a deep sleep; his axe slung over his chest would appear intimidating if he did not snore so loudly. Aderyn slowly fell into sleep, Cedric carefully laid her on her sheet and covered her so that the night’s chilly wind would not phase her rest. Cedric was about to sleep himself when he noticed the simmering stew before him. He took up the ladle and poured another bowl, but did not eat of it, rather he got up and began walking towards the hill. He stopped at the top, even under the moonlit night it took Cedric a moment to see Leopold, who was covered in a dark cloak. Cedric sat next to him and handed the assassin the steaming bowl of food. “Here, you must eat something.”
Leopold accepted the gift but quickly turned cold. “I already had an apple; it shall tide me over.” He said as he placed the bowl on his side, and continued sitting with his arms folding across his legs.
Cedric sighed slowly and responded. “Leopold, look at me. If we are to trust one another, if I am to trust you with those I love, I need you t
o be a member of our party, not just some loner who cannot even share a meal.”
“I shall not betray you if that is what you mean, but I have my ways, and those cannot change.” The assassin spoke with a monotone voice.
Cedric grew impatient. “I do not believe you would do that, Leopold I am trying to ask why you even warned us in the first place. There was nothing for you to gain if anything you put yourself in more danger. So, we have left we two paths, you either are recklessly suicidal and care for nothing, or you are hiding good intentions. Please, tell me why. I do hope it is the latter of the two.”
Leopold smiled and looked down at the bowl of stew. “Perhaps in time, you’ll understand, for now, I think I shall keep you in suspense, more fun for myself.” The assassin rose and took the bowl of soup with him, making his way down the hill.
Cedric called to him. “Where are you going?”
Again Leopold smiled and spoke. “To be a part of your band of fools.” He began eating from the bowl and made his resting spot alongside his companions. Cedric was left perplexed on his face, as he sat on the top of the hill. Unsure of how to proceed, he sat at the head of the hill contemplating for some time, silently gazing at the moon. His quiet meditation was interrupted by the loud cry of a great beast he had heard once before. There across the night sky, Cedric saw the Griffin of Orford tear across the evening sky in grand fashion, its wings beating hard against the windy sky. It danced across the light of the moon, for a moment shadowing itself it like that of a solar eclipse. Cedric smiled, the last symbol of home was still with him each step of the way, even though it chose to remain distant. He wondered if the griffin followed because it had nowhere to return to and that it chased after the only thing familiar to it, or if fate had some larger plan for the two of them. These thoughts preoccupied Cedric’s mind as he returned to the camp for some much-needed sleep. The group rested soundly that night, the crackling of the fire was like a sweet lullaby humming them to peaceful sleep.
The Sword to Unite Page 11