The Sword to Unite

by Peter J. Hopkins

  They entered the tent and were immediately assault by an aroma of sweet-smelling perfumes and spices. A great council was being held. Many hanging braziers of flames illuminated the faces of many tribe chiefs. They sat in a vast semi-circle, save the few Minotaurs who were too large to sit. At the back of the tent, King Halke took each member’s council into account, and he listened intently to his subjects. His horns were massive, larger than any in the hall, and they were covered his black iron. Near and around his feet, a great host of female satyrs, his harem, lay with their young, each imbued with the strength of their father. At Halke’s side, Kiltha, his chief queen sat, the mother of Pike. Far in the corner, a man clad in rugged, wild clothes stood with a great staff. He was a magi, like that of Gaspar, but his power came from a sinister force. His name was Yellow-Eyes, and he was a servant to Azrael. He had come to the forest realm just days before Pike’s return, and yet already he had brought corruption and dissent to the Unseen Ones.

  Each of the chiefs was dressed with great golden belts, encrusted with jewels and stones. Some of them, hailing from the far eastern regions of the Ithon, came with horns carved in designs and pierced with rods of metal and gold.

  “Wait here by the entrance; I will let my father know of your presence, it would be a bad idea to interrupt his council,” Pike said as he motioned to the floor for his new friends to sit. He then approached the throne, bowed respectfully, and took his place by his younger brothers who jumped at and wrestled with him.

  Halke nodded to his son and resumed taking counsel from an elder of the villages, with horns had been worn by many battles and years. He was a truly ancient satyr, his brown fur had grayed all over, and he had replaced his club with a cane, for he could not stand without it. “It is not in our blood, this fight between man and Azrael. We need not get involved, the forest has been our home, and none can enter it without our consent. Why waste our lives on either side of this war?” Some the older clansmen shook their spears and beat their hooves against the dirt floor in approval.

  A younger warchief stood to speak; he had the fire of a true warrior in his blood. Cedric noticed Pike’s mood sour when the young warrior stood to speak. It was Melgor, second son of Halke, and half-brother to Pike. In all respects, he was stronger and faster than his older brother, even towering a full foot over him, but he lacked the patience and wisdom needed in a king. “My friends and fellow chiefs, there is no choice in this struggle,” said Melgor. Yellow-Eyes nodded with a crooked smile as the warchief spoke. “Our only course of action is to reclaim our homelands. The vast fields of Glanfech where our people once grazed freely, for the first time in our history we are given a chance at redemption. If Azrael is the path to the reclamation of our land, I see no reason for you all to doubt and argue, we must unite now, or not at all.” Yellow-Eyes was pleased with this display, and he beat his staff along with the other chiefs who applauded his speech.

  A Minotaur raised his voice to speak. H was an ancient being; well versed in history and sought to refresh the memories of his fellow chiefs. Eldest and most respected by his kin, he had been known by no name save the Stag for many years. He received this nickname for his horns, which had been poured over with hot metal in a branching pattern, creating a set of iron antlers. Using no blade in combat, he preferred to gore his enemies on his horns, a sign of ultimate strength to his kind. “My friend, lest you not forget, we attempted to ally with Azrael once in history…” The young-blooded warrior rolled his eyes and crossed his arms at this history lesson, smiling with confidence. “He turned us against one another, made us forsake Trundor, we cannot go down this path again. The only way to truly keep ourselves safe is to ally ourselves with the enemy of Azrael. Man may have turned us from our homeland, but we have found a good life here, a life worth dying for. For hundreds of years, there has been a calm peace, and I will not be the one to break it.”

  The young chief jumped up to respond, but he was stopped by Halke, who called for silence throughout his hall. He was troubled by the division in his land, and indecision wrecked his mind. He placed his fist on his chin and contemplated what each of his lords had to say, avoiding the inevitable decision that would divide his people no matter what he chose. He suddenly found an exit to his decision, “Pike, please come and give your report on the Suthon.” Everyone in the hall sighed in relief, even the young chief.

  Pike stood and bowed to his father, and faced his host of subjects, giving them the full report of his mission. “My entourage and I arrived in the Suthon not three weeks ago, when there we were treated as honored guests, and our message was given ear.” He took a long pause, for he knew his next words would dismay many in the hall. “The Lord of Suthon has decided to throw his support to Azrael.”

  Pike continued over the massive roar that broke out in the hall; some lords exited in protests, others like the young one clapped and cheered. “As we speak his armies of beasts march to the north, and are prepared to support Azrael’s claim, in exchange for our ancestral lands.” Pike raised his voice to a shout so that all could hear what he thought was the most critical detail of his story. “On my return trip, we were set upon by a pack of savage wolves, who killed all but myself. I was on the brink of death when I was saved by the men in the back of our hall. They are led by Cedric, the rightful ruler of the northern kingdom; he has come to make his case before you all, as the sorcerer had done for his master.” Pike pointed them out, and all turned their animalistic eyes on them, some with glimmers of hope, and others filled with rage.

  Through this loud row, Halke was calm, as though he was the eye of a storm. Halke judged Cedric through one quick glance while ignoring the rest of his party. He stood, and all those still sitting rose as well. He spoke with a booming voice, like cracking thunder in the sky. “There shall be no more discussion on this matter tonight, for it is not in our way to decide on such grave matters in so little of time. I give this order to you all, rest, and gather your minds, for this issue shall take many weeks to decide upon, I do not take the lives of my people lightly. For our guests, no matter what side they represent, they shall be treated as what they are, guests.” He looked towards his second son. “That means that shall not be harassed or harmed in any way, Melgor.” Melgor had the fire of his ancestors in him, and he burned for the opportunity to reclaim the homeland, anything else was second to him. The council was dismissed and all dispersed to the various huts and carved trees of Halke’s hold.

  As they exited, Cedric took advice from his wizard. “Gaspar,” he said, “what do you think of this lot? Can we find an ally in them?”

  “Yes, my lord, I believe we can,” the young wizard replied. “We must win them with both our ways and theirs, the way of wisdom, and the way of strength.”

  Eadwine joined in as he gave nervous glances to some of the larger beasts surrounding them. “So long as they don’t throw us in the stew pot first.”

  Suddenly Pike appeared before them with a small retinue of his close friends and guards. “Come with me, we have much to discuss, and much to drink,” Pike said with a smirk as he led his foreign friends to a large tented area, where many of the delegates and chiefs were being served strong smelling drinks and spiced foods. They made their rest at an empty table and were served with the food of Pike’s people. A satyr sat on a rug nearby, and he strummed a stringed stick like Eadwine’s lute. The satyr sang with his throat, producing a deepening sound which sounded more akin to blown horn than a voice.

  A range of berries and other harvests of the forest were brought out in large cornucopias bursting over their wicker tops. Along with this, freshly slaughtered boar meats were arranged on a platter, sprinkled with spices and sweet-smelling jams made from fresh fruit. The drinks they were served matched their heads in size, born in huge wooden flagons. The liquid frothed and steamed in a light green color.

  “I would not recommend that my friends,” Pike said. “I’ve seen one of those put a Minotaur to sleep like a resting baby.” Eadwine too
k a pitcher of the green liquid, which frothed and steamed as he held it. He took a deep breath and sipped from the large flask. He coughed and spat out the drink, and his face turned pale from its strength. Pike reeled in laughter as he took the bottle and drank it himself, without so much as a tiny flinch as he poured its contents down his gullet.

  Melgor approached staggering, clearly inebriated. Pike’s mood quickly soured to that of a stoic guardsman, giving no emotion to the hot-blooded warrior that slammed his arms on the table in a drunken stupor.

  Pike greeted him with complete uninterested. “Hello Melgor, I see you’ve found the reserves.”

  Melgor wiped the green ale from his furry beard and gave an evil eye to the humans and elves who sat across from him and his half-brother. He put his arm round Pike as he reached for another mug. “You know brother; I could have used your support in there, I know, I…hiccup.” He shook his head and took a moment to gather himself. “Pike, with your brains and my brawn, we could convince our father to reclaim our homeland from…” he leaned in and whispered to his brother, “these thieves.”

  Pike rolled his eyes and tried to disregard his brother’s words, but he couldn’t shake his wrapped arm. “Please Melgor, go back to your tent, I’m sure your bed warmers are waiting. Come now we can talk of this later.”

  Melgor slammed his closed fists on the table, shaking and spilling the food and drinks, and causing all in the tented area to go quiet and stare. He spoke in a deep-seated rage. “You and the whole lot!” He swung his arms, casting his anger at all the council that sat and drank. “All you want to do is sit here and talk. Time for talking is over, we’ve got a chance to get back our home. And you, you’re too afraid!” Melgor pushed his brother into the mud. “It should be my birthright! You are favored only because of birth, not by merit!”

  Pike was quick to jump up, and the two brothers breathed and snorted heavily at one another, puffing out their chests. Pike responded with his own words. “It is the truer coward who is afraid to think before he acts…brother.” Pike pushed his brother, though he did not fall, nor did he flinch.

  Melgor stamped his hooves against the floor and issued a challenge. “There is only one honorable way to settle this, brother, the jousts.”

  Pike stood firm in his resolution, and he agreed to the terms. There was a great cheer from the surrounding chiefs, who all gathered at the jousting grounds. It was a long strip of dry dirt, surrounded by wooden benches and stands, bearing the banners of the different tribes. Cedric and his group were ushered to seats, and when night fell upon the forest, the match began.

  On either side, the two eldest sons of Halke stood, their chests were adorned in brightly colored clays and powders, and their horns painted. Burning torches were placed around the arena, illuminating their faces, which burned with a deep-rooted rivalry.

  “There is still time for you to submit brother! Let these people know I am the stronger.” Melgor called to Pike, grinning wide. Pike stood unfazed and did not respond as he took the last sip of his ale before throwing the mug to the floor. The crowd began a great cheer, and Cedric’s heart started to beat to the stadium’s rhythmic chant. The two brothers bowed to the statue of Trundor off to the middle of the arena and began beating their hooves against the dirt, giving them proper footing. Their nostrils flared and let out clouds of steaming breath, and they awaited the call of the horn.

  The horn echoed throughout the wooded realm, sending all manner of birds flying, and the brothers charged at one another. They ran upright, gaining speed with every step. When they were not but thirty meters apart, they reverted to their animal form, turning their heads down hard, preparing to ram one another. Their horns and skulls impacted, and the sound of the colliding bones filled the field and silenced the crowd.

  Pike was on the ground in an instant, crashing on the dirt with the weight of a falling tree. He clutched in pain at his skull, for it appeared his horns had been struck like nails with a hammer. Melgor stood proudly, he caught his breath and faced the crowd, lifting his arms in victory. But it was a short-lived triumph.

  There came a loud booming voice approaching with speed. “What is the meaning of this!?” Halke was in a fury, his face alone was enough to frighten the bravest of the warriors present. Melgor’s tail threw itself between his legs as he lowered his head in submission to his father, even he was terrified of the great warlord’s wrath. Halke pushed his second son to the dirt and stood with his arms crossed, giving looks of disapproval to both of his children. “You are princes of Trundor; this low fighting is not in your blood! Return to your tents the both of you! You are either drunk or foolhardy or both.” Halke twisted his body and began to walk back to his tent.

  Melgor smirked as he laid on the ground. “I don’t think Pike can make it, father, I think I gave him too good of a beating.”

  Halke turned to his son, his rage boiling to the surface once more. “Then you shall carry him before I hide you myself!” Melgor quickly wiped the smile from his face and put Pike’s arm over his shoulders, carrying him back to the tents.

  Cedric and his party were led to a larger tent, given expressly for their own party, for none of the ambassadors wished to bunk with the same men who had stolen their home. At the door, Yellow-Eyes waited for his fellow guests, even though his tent was close to Melgor’s quarters. He turned his body to block Cedric as the lord attempted to enter. “You had best watch what you say, usurper.” The sorcerer spoke with disdain on his tongue. “These folk don’t take kindly to sinister outsiders.”

  Cedric was more annoyed than angered. “Then I’m surprised they haven’t flayed your man-bits yet, worm. Run back to your master; I’m sure he could use another chamber pot holder.”

  Yellow-Eyes made a face like a pouting child. “Watch your words, untrue king, for the mark of daggers in sleep can be untraceable.” He felt accomplished with his threat and smirked, only to find that as he leaned back, Leopold placed a knife on his throat from the opening of the tent.

  “Strange sorcerer, why did your master not warn you I was going to put my steel through your gullet?” Leopold smirked through the shadow of his cloak.

  Cedric leaned in and whispered to the sorcerer who now smelled as though he had soiled himself. “You are right, vile thing, there are indeed many daggers in the night, thank you for the warning.” Cedric laughed as the necromancer shrunk away to his tent, muttering curses and foul words in anger. It was then that Cedric noticed the bound book at the evil one’s side, with gold lining and missing jewels. It was the same book at Orford. Cedric was moved to anger, and he called to the servant of Azrael. “Sorcerer!” He turned to hear the lord’s words. “Now you know I will be expecting that back, what with it being stolen property and all. Perhaps if you return it now, I won’t gut you like the slithering snake you are.” Yellow-Eyes made no comment, he simply tucked the book under his cloak and continued walking, this time at a more alert and brisk pace.

  The group retired on haystacks, the finest bedding throughout this forest kingdom, and they discussed the day’s events as the candles flickered on the walls of the tent.

  “This is more of a madhouse than a proper country,” Eadwine scoffed as he polished and maintained his lute. “Every which way there’s a brawl, an argument, a side to pick, not good for recruiting an army. How Halke keeps all these folk together is beyond me.”

  Gaspar was wiping centaur droppings from his shoulder as he shared his thoughts. “I for once agree with our rustic friend; we should leave, we have the noble lords of Sodeer, Oderyr, and Crawe still waiting to hear our plea. It is important we use our resources where they actually can have an effect.”

  Cedric lay flat on his cot with his eyes open, watching the flickering illumination of the candles. “If we leave now that rotten Yellow-Eyes will get his claws deeper in these folk.” He turned on his side to face his friends. “It is now not so much a matter of gaining an ally, but taking away support from Azrael. If we leave now and if we are luc
ky, we might be able to convince the remaining houses and the knights of our cause, but we’ll have given Azrael an entire hoard of an advantage. The houses are not going anywhere yet, for now, we remain here, and act as diplomats, even if I want to gouge out that squirming rat’s eyes.”

  Alfnod nodded off to sleep, but not before agreeing. “Aye, I would rather be on a battlefield fighting with a Minotaur at my side, rather than it rushing its horns at me.”

  The group sat around the fire and drank for some time, drinking only of the liquors they had brought. Though there were full barrels of green ale, none dared drink that concoction not made for man. One by one, each drifted into sleep as the fire died out in slow-burning orange embers.

  Cedric was hours into a deep sleep when he was shaken awake. Over him stood Aderyn, who had kicked his side. “Cedric, are you awake?”

  He responded with a sarcastic tone. “Well, do I sound awake?”

  “I haven’t been able to sleep. Come on; I found something you’ll want to see,” she said as Cedric rose from his pile of hay.

  Together the pair climbed through winding and wrapping staircases that encapsulated the great trees of the Ithon. It was an outside path, which swung round many high rising trees. Floor after floor, they passed by rooms carved into the trees, where many satyrs and woodland folk drank and made merry in their taverns and homes. The burning braziers and torches along the walkway danced and flickered throughout the trees like the stars of the night sky.

  They climbed and climbed until they reached the top branches of the forest, revealing a rushing landscape of treetops that stretched like open plains. The moon was full and brightly shining as the two made a nest of leaves and branches on top of the trees, and watched the moon’s journey across the sky.

  Cedric watched as the moonlight danced across his love’s face. The white glow was radiating in her pupils as she stared in beautiful awe at the huge full moon.