Chapter 16
A Company of Dweor
Cedric stirred from his sleep, it was early in the morning, but that sun had already risen to its full yellow majesty. The light blinded his eyes, and he was unable to see, the chirping birds and sounds of the camp were all that guided him. Suddenly he heard a twig snap behind him. Cedric, still stirring, he drew forth his blade and swung around to face whoever was behind him. There before him were two stout dweor, cooking breakfast over the campfire. Upon each of their backs were great cloaks, woven with the designs of ancient dweor art, rigid and precise in nature, though none the less beautiful. Upon their faces, below their fat and red noses, great beards of both gray and brown with metal and stone woven amongst hair strands. Their height was short, with thick little bodies. Both stumbled back at the notice of Cedric’s blade; their eyes shot open under their thick eyebrows
“Na not there you oaf! Come now, you’ve gone and stirred them before the pork is done.” One dweor said as he scolded the other, who was hovering over the fire with a skillet containing sizzling pork. The standing dweor was thinner than the other, with strange runic tattoos on either side of his forehead, at his side was a short dagger, no doubt forged in the great fires of Usham or by the smithies of the Green Mountains. The other was unarmed, save a walking stick fit in size only for a human child, he appeared much younger than his counterpart.
The younger dweor offered the skillet to Cedric, hoping the human would sheath his weapon. He spoke. “Please master human; we meant no harm. In fact, our intentions were the direct opposite. Here, this is for you.”
Cedric reached out and took the skillet; it had been garnished with all manner of spices from southern lands, a dead giveaway to the Green Mountains, located between the lushly forested lands of Berhungy and the Tanaria. The pork gave off a pleasant aroma, and Cedric realized his stirring hunger. He rested his blade upon his knee, keeping it pointed at his guests, while he pulled out a fork and began to eat the still sizzling spiced pork. Cedric consumed it all, not even leaving bits of fat stuck to the skillet, the younger dweor smiled at the fruits of his labor and felt relaxed, even with the blade still pointed in his direction. The marked dweor stood thinking, he stared intensely at Cedric’s sword, as though he had seen it before. Cedric stood, sword still in hand as he woke his companions.
“Everyone up! We have guests.” Each of them slowly rose from their slumber, each confused by the presence of the two dweor. Beorn approached and laid his axe on the ground, as a sign of goodwill, in his mind there was no reason to be suspicious of a pair so small in nature. Cedric bent over so he might be on equal footing with the two, he said. “Now then, master dweor I should like to thank you for the meal with your names.”
The younger one eagerly hopped up and spoke. “I am Telgor, sir, and this is my da, Odo, we were only passing through when we decided to rest not a walks distance from your camp. Please forgive our intrusion but we thought that it would be a neighborly thing to do, make breakfast that is.” The older dweor nodded slightly and with a deep grunt confirmed the younger’s report; his eyes were still fixated upon Cedric’s blade.
Cedric noticed this and grew suspicious, lifting his blade towards the older dweor who showed no fear of his sharpened steel. “Why do your eyes wander towards Bayeux, dweor?”
Odo let out another grunt and smiled, though it was barely seen through his thick and gray beard. “I know your blade, boy; it once served my village in the Green Mountains.” Cedric’s face lit up as he realized why the dweor stared. “Though then its master was not a boy but a man by the name Albert.”
“You knew my father?” Cedric excitedly asked.
“Ay, he was a good man, an honorable man. He defended my village many years ago; I had not yet been able to grow my first strands of beard when he rode into our quiet town. Ha, I could tell you were his boy, lot of him in you. If my memory serves your name is Cedric, he told me that the name he and his wife decided on. Such a strange thing for us to meet on the road like this.” The dweor approached Cedric and offered him his hand, formally greeting him.
Cedric shook hands with the dweor, and the companies exchanged many stories of Albert and the Green Mountains, all while Telgor worked diligently at the fire, preparing a meal for each person present. Soon the other dweor amongst the trade caravan wandered over, and the whole of the camp was alight with conversation and eating. Odo told of the village and its well-doing, how their fat sheep are the largest in all the dweor holds. It was in the Green Mountains that dweor took up this practice, as the mountainsides were so lush and grassy, that it would be foolish not to establish villages and herds of cattle above ground. Odo was a wise old dweor; he had seen many seasons pass by and had now become a merchant in dealings with the men of the north, a lucrative trade in southern goods was always a constant in the northern kingdoms.
“So Odo, what brings you to Lorine, and from what I gather, the whole of the north?” Cedric said as he went for a second helping of food.
Telgor looked at his father for approval, and the old dweor nodded, then Telgor lifted his voice to speak. “Well lord Cedric, we’ll show you.” Telgor smiled as he went to fetch their crafts from one of their wagons. He returned with a strange barrel, small enough for a human child to hold. The barrel was overflowing with a strange black liquid, which appeared like the thick sap of a tree in its nature. Telgor lifted a large branch and dipped it in the foul-smelling liquid. He hovered the stick over the campfire, igniting the black liquid. Cedric and his party were all unimpressed; this strange liquid was no different than oil for a lighted lamp. Telgor then dipped the inflamed stick in a nearby bucket of water. The fire was not put out, rather the liquid burned on the surface, and began engulfing the whole of the stick.
“That is Usham Fire, my lord, its ingredients, and the recipe is known and guarded only by the high dweor lords. This liquid can burn for hours, consume any person or structure with lightning speed, and cannot be extinguished by dousing it with water.” The dweor all laughed at the stunned looks on Cedric and his party’s faces, each was stunned by what appeared as magic before their eyes. “It fetched an exceptional price with the Knights of the Eternal Dawn, they purchased the full wagon trains worth, saving us the trip up to Belfas. Now we are back on the southern route, to our home in the Green Mountains.”
The groups both knew they could not linger for long, and so, before the sun was at its highest point in the sky, the two groups parted ways.
“Cedric, I wish you the best of luck on your journey up north, be wary for there are many unchecked dangers in the lands of Adalgott,” Odo said as his parting words of advice.
Cedric did not ask further of what awaited him, the warning seemed like a cryptic and distant warning, telling of myth and rumor rather than actual danger. Though it did cause him to think back upon the days of Orford, when merchants who passed through Midland told stories of a masked man, though none had ever seen him, they claimed he had laid waste to countless caravans and villages. Without definitive evidence for the masked man, Cedric took it as a flight of fancy, though now he found the thought of a legendary bandit piercing his mind more and more as they approached the Tyr River. This was the first river to cross to reach Midland.
In the great distance, towards mountains and green forests to the east, the great citadel known as Hearth Keep rested in the mountains. Built by King Adrian the Younger, it was constructed in the first days of Lorine, only a few decades after Adalgott’s pilgrimage. The great red towers could be seen from miles, spiraling up to the clouds. It was composed of a light red hue only found in the clay pits of Lorine. The fortress was most famous for its massive hall located at its center, with an open fire pit stretching the whole of the long meeting place. Though this chamber is famous, there are several other, massive feasting rooms through Hearth Keep, a behemoth of engineering. It was built along the side of a cliff, with a lone peak as its base, and a long bridge connecting it to the main road of the mountains.
/>
Its garrison buildings could support thousands of men for many months, though it was never the sight of any significant battle, hence why the towers still appear with the same basic design as when they were first built. The banner of the Ram still proudly waved above its towers and walls, by now news of Oswine’s death would have reached the whole of the kingdom. Cedric wished to stay, to help maintain order, but he knew that there would be nothing to stop the destruction of Lorine if Azrael were to be resurrected. This majestic fortress and the others like it would all crumble, their memory would fade into the dark shadow that Azrael would cover the world in.
They came to rest for the night on the other side of the Tyr River, after crossing a narrow and worn stone bridge, clearly a relic of the long-forgotten people of Glanfech. This was the edge of those dead people’s domain, for the Twin Rivers Tyr and Relif served as their natural border. This land they were now in was filled with ancient markers of these elvish people, in a time when Duwel, the lord of the sky, walked and talked with his people.
Here where the party rested lay the ruins of Solus Keep, an ancient site dedicated to Cinder. It was a large circle of laid stone that once stretched high as the walls of Wulfstan but now appeared as a simple fence on the grass. They set camp at its center, and the soft grass was like the beds of their former home of Orford. The wind howled and struck hard against the stone of the place of worship as they discussed their plans.
“Cedric, what exactly is our plan for Midland,” Alfnod said. “The lords of Midland are stern and unmoving like these stone walls; how shall we be able to convince them of your legitimacy?”
Cedric reached into his pocket and pulled out the brooch of the golden ram and spoke accordingly. “This my dear friend is the ultimate symbol of authority; it should convince any minor lord of my authority. Though, Crawe shall be an entirely different beast to tackle, for that lord, Malcom, is the closest thing to king in Midland. His city is the largest in all of Midland, Prav, the city of Crawe. He controls the largest army, the largest coffers, and hordes of grain. If we are to win Midland to our side, we must convince them of Azrael’s return. We will find support with the Knights of the Eternal Dawn, who, with any sliver of luck, will have knowledge of Adalgott’s final resting place.”
The others shrugged and agreed to this plan, then drifted off into sleep. Aderyn raised a single eyebrow and gave Cedric an unconvinced look. “Cedric, do we put too much faith in things uncertain? The lords of Midland did not submit to the banner of the ram then, and I doubt they will now. We must be ready to do whatever necessary to rally the men of Midland to our cause.”
“I know Aderyn, I know.” Cedric buried his face in his hands and sighed heavily before Aderyn came to his side and rested her head on his shoulder. The two stared into the fire as their companions slumbered under the star-filled sky, each glittering in brilliant fashion.
“You’ll make a fine queen when this is over,” Cedric said, not even moving his eyes from the fire. Aderyn too did not move at all, but made a face of uncertainty, for they had never spoken of their lives after this horrid quest.
“How can that even be Cedric? I have no royal blood; the Witan would revolt sooner than see a new king not marry to one of the royal households.”
Cedric smiled. “I am king, and I can do as I please.” He tackled her to the ground and kissed her. “And if it weren’t for me, those royal houses would be bowing to Arrington right now; I think a girl I want to marry is compensation enough.” The two laughed quietly, hoping not to disturb the sleep of their friends nearby.
That night Cedric saw the Tree once more, the pale moon of this strange realm reflected off the surface of the pond, giving light to the whole of the meadow. This time the plane of the gods had once again shifted, the stars of the sky above Cedric had been banished from the night’s sky, but soon Cedric realized what had happened to them. The moon was shining bright, but a thin veil of smoky shadow had engulfed it and had covered the stars, lesser in light than the moon. Even now he could hear the bellowing sound of the wind; he grew unsure if it was a prophetic sign of the gods, or if the real world breached his mind. The lady at the Tree had gone, not even her shallow pool of spilled blood remained.
At the basin of the forest, he saw the image of twin rams, in heated combat. The stronger broke its massive horns down hard against the smaller one breaking its skull. The runt struck back, and slashed its throat, leaving both in pain and agony with the runt victorious. Suddenly Cedric felt a sharp pain overtake his body like he had been beaten from all sides by some manner of blunt object. He collapsed to the ground and writhed in pain. Now all around him, the corpses of his friends, mangled and torn asunder by the dark forces of Azrael. There they made a pile of rotting flesh, their sides and chests pierced by many blades. At the top of this stack, linen-wrapped boots of a bygone age, with strange symbols painted on the cloth. From there above, a dark flowing cape, covering a rotted body, smelling foul of pestilence and maggots. The neck was opened, a wound had ripped open where a man’s throat should be.
At the head, a corpse with beady bright eyes, glowing deep inside his eye sockets, and upon his head the Crown of Ten Fingers. At Azrael’s side, the Black Blade of Arazor, forged by the Baphamont when Azrael first came to power. His hands were like that of a long-rotted corpse, with only small sinews of flesh and ligaments remaining. He breathed heavy and clotted, his body unable to take a full breath of life-giving air. Azrael appeared to speak in a soft and distant voice, words unknown by all save the gods. They were sharp and filled with hate, like the daggers that slain king Oswine. Cedric could not understand them, the faint whispers of Azrael were like dripping water on his forehead, edging him to madness. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Azrael raised his blade to strike down Cedric, who closed his eyes before the blade fell.
Chapter 17
The Wedding at House Moricar
Cedric awoke violently, flinging his arms around from the wounds in his dream, and gasping hard for breath. His companions rushed to his side, attempting to calm him.
“You strike out against air my friend, calm yourself,” Gaspar said as he tried to pin down Cedric’s flailing arms. It took a few moments for the lord of Orford to realize his behavior, but he soon calmed his weary nerves. His eyes weighed heavy upon his head and had dark rings around them. He stood and walked away, stretching his arms high into the sky. The day was clouded and gray, with strong winds blowing through the warm and humid air.
Aderyn approached him and placed her arms on his shoulder. “Not to worry, Cedric, we are less than a half day’s ride to Luxen, we’ll get proper bed and food there, I have no doubt these nightmares will cease then.”
And so, the company packed up the camp and set off on the road to the River Relif. Along the way, they saw the White Spiral, a tower built by King Pestel the Mad, grandson of Adalgott. This deranged king was so preoccupied with defense from his allies in the north, whom he believed to be demons disguised as men, that he built a series of towers along the border between Midland and Lorine. Pestel met his end in an ironic twist of fate, as it was by his own noble lords who conspired against him, that he was dethroned and executed. This tower was the largest and most majestic of those constructed under his rule.
It was a massive spiral tower, hewn of a clean white stone that had now weathered and become a drab gray. Upon its top, the original color remained a brilliant blue cap which looked like a courtier’s hat from a distance. Cedric waved to the sentry at the tower’s peak, whose arm in returning fashion appeared no larger than an ant.
There they took passage across the fast-flowing river by a nearby ferryman. It was the widest and fastest flowing river in the whole of the north. When the party reached the other side of the mighty flowing Relif, they had finally arrived in Midland. Midland, the rolling plains and lush forests of this majestic realm stretched for miles. Within each stone and scrap of dirt, a story of the land lay. The forests teemed with life, as whole herds o
f deer jumped and ran through the underbrush. It was also a land of tradition, where men still practice the oldest traditions of the gods, worshipping only Cinder. The wise druids of these lands had long guided both the royal and common bloodlines, their mystic runes and enchantments bringing prosperity to all. But it was not only a land of peaceful splendor.
To the northern coast, the Knights of the Eternal Dawn have long stood watch, reviled by the common folk of Midland who believed them to be tyrannical overlords. Theirs is the protection of Midland from dark forces which laid dormant for centuries, and now awake. Long has this knightly order guarded the coast against invasions and raids from the continent of Vaal, where the race of the giants in great halls rule. These giants have long plagued the fatted fields of sheep and grain alike, taking what they please, and killing all who dare to stand in their path. The Knights are the only actual defense Midland has against the never-ending waves of these barbarian invaders. The Eternal Dawn were formed out of Adalgott’s most trusted commanders, each taking up an oath to defend the north from the return of Azrael.
They passed by many small hamlets hewn of mud and thatch on the way to Luxen, the first hold of the noble landed lords of Midland. The journey to Luxen lasted about two weeks, as the roads were in disrepair most parts of this section of Midland. They passed through the tall grasses of the river valley, where many men passed the day hunting with bow and spear alike.
They were the Rivermen, the original settlers of Midland. Tall but thin in frame, they were not renowned for strength but rather cunning and agility. They fought as the bulk of Midland’s auxiliaries and skirmishers, their slings and bows fell as many giants as the blades of others did. They wore no armor in battle, believing it to dishonor their skill as skirmishers. Rather, they wore their everyday clothes; tunics, and trousers which gave them greater speed on the battlefield and while hunting. Some that the group saw was hunting in the reeds of the river, for both fish and deer. Others were returning with bounty, to their simple huts along the riverfront.
The Sword to Unite Page 12