“Does the full moon seem different in this place?” he asked as he stared at the glowing moon.
“What do you mean?” Aderyn responded.
Cedric struggled to explain. “I don’t know; it seems different like we watch it from a different angle…everything seems different outside of Orford.”
“We’ll rebuild it one day; the folk will have a home again because of you.” She encouraged him.
Cedric was unsure. “That’s if we can even make it back, and even so, how many will return? I should have never brought you all here.”
“We came of our free will. Cedric, you must stop worrying about us. You think I came all this way to be treated like some gentle maiden, fit only to sit in a tower and swoon over chivalric knights.” She turned his face to meet her own. “I came to fight for you; someone has to show these northern fools how to fight.” The two smiled and kissed as the Griffin, now Jarrick, broke through the tree line, making a nest on a jumble of sturdy branches.
“Why do you think it follows us?” Cedric asked both himself and Aderyn.
“I think he is clinging to something familiar, the whole lot of Orford and the forest burns, and all he’s left with is the image of a human who dared to challenge him.”
“Perhaps it will approach one day, maybe to kill us, maybe not. We won’t know until it happens.” Cedric rose from the branches, and they headed back towards the tent. “I know we’ll make it to that day.”
They descended from the skyline and returned to their hut where all were fast asleep. Cedric went out from the tent and took in the sights of the campsite, where even the hardiest of drinking warriors had now fallen into an inebriated sleep, spread out on both grassy knolls and tavern tables. Cedric spotted Pike, who was sipping his last drop of wine, the two gave no word to one another. Pike simply raised his bottle and nodded, before returning to his tent, where his harem awaited him.
A guardsman, dressed in chain and armed with a glaive approached Cedric and gave word that Halke requested his presence in his tent. Cedric was led through a long dirt pathway, towards a well-guarded and well-lit tent, larger than the council chambers of before. At the door, Yellow-Eyes appeared smirking as he exited the tent, revealing a few of his remaining and rotted teeth. “You are too late, False Lord Cedric, your words will not change Halke’s mind now that I’m through with him.” A guard scoffed, shoved the sorcerer aside and allowed Cedric in.
It was a swath of rugs and fine pillows scattered throughout the tent. All along the walls great forged weapons and heirlooms rested on wooden and steel racks. Halke’s bed was massive, but on this night, it was empty of his harem, only the satyr king sat on its edge, taking small sips of wine in stoic contemplation.
“Welcome Lord Cedric, will you drink with me?” Halke changed his mood to that of a receptive host, and rose and opened a fresh bottle.
“Of course, King Halke…I must thank you for the hospitality; I know there are some here who would rather see me flayed than drinking with their king.”
Halke laughed as he poured another glass of wine. “Then the same goes to that silver-tongued snake; he’s right set that I’ll support his lord.” He Cedric took rest on a carved oak chair, gilded with gold, while Cedric sat on a little wooden stool. Halke reclined and let out a long sigh. “So here we are Lord Cedric, I shall hear you as I heard Yellow-Eyes, and perhaps you shall be more convincing than he was.” Cedric paused nervously as Halke looked unimpressed.
This silence continued, for Cedric had no thought on what to say. Finally, Halke broke the silence, realizing he had off put his guest. “They say Azrael’s forces are due north of here,” he sipped from his glass, “If that is true they are undoubtedly laying siege to any village in the land of House Sodeer. I know of those men well, though they do not know me. The hunters of Godric they are called, keeping close to the forest always. I have never had cause to fight them, for they are respectful of the woods, as we are, taking what we must, holding sacred the unspoken law of nature. Now I hear stories of villages left to starve, their hunters slaughtered and fields salted. But they are starved, not killed. No, the dark one leaves the weakest of the folk alive so that they would have a slow death.”
Cedric grew angry from this story, not at Halke, but of his real enemy. “And what say you Halke? Would you side with the one who starves and cruelly mocks those you respect?”
Halke bitterly retorted, “And you would have me betray people? Leave the land we once ruled unclaimed and defiled? I am at a crossroads, human. Either path I take it will lead to the death of many of my friends and kin.” He turned to dourness as he hung his kingly head low. “There is no right or wrong in my choice, for in both there is good and evil. Now Yellow-Eyes has spoken well, and he has given me much to think about. In an instant, the king was back to a sour mood. “So far you have yet to impress me.”
“You know what to do,” Cedric said, causing the satyr king to lift his head in confusion. “Before you, there is a good choice and an evil one.” Cedric took a tone as he had never before, and spoke with an ancient authority rooted deep within him. He remained calm; his voice was steady as a ship in calm waters. “You know what the right course is, but you are afraid, afraid not only of failure but victory, that you will be detested and hated by many of your people.” Halke stood angrily, his chest puffed out and attempted to make Cedric cower, but to no avail. Cedric matched him in standing, and refused to back down, again he pleaded to Halke, “If you join me, and we are victorious, I swear your people will write your name in their songs for generations to come. They would sing of the king who brought peace to their lands and ended the feud with kingdom of Lorine. Do I need to tell you what happens if you side with Azrael?”
There was a long silence, and Cedric remained calm as Halke breathed violently and twitched his head. Cedric had taken control of the situation. “You expect me to come here and beg Halke? No, rather I expect you to make the right choice on your own and prove you’re worth anything as a king. How long would peace with Azrael last in your perfect world? If you chose now, in this darkest hour, to side with Azrael, he would enslave your people. Those green fields he has promised you will turn black from his shadow. Your shrines to Trundor will be torn down and in their place, foul and pestilent effigies of Crassus Baal.” Halke appeared angrier with each statement; his mind whirled as he tried to decide. Cedric remained stoical, holding back his fear and body from fidgeting. “If you join me, I cannot promise the full return of your people’s land, but I swear I shall try. If you side with Azrael, he will lead your people to death and ruin, from which there is no return, you stand to either keep or lose everything. You know this way is the only path that your people can survive, do not be the coward I think you are.” Cedric had struck a chord uninvited and reserved from all; he could see Halke turned red with anger. “You ask for this council and call all your chiefs together to debate for days what could be decided in an instant. You have long past weighed these options, you hide behind the decisions of others to mask your indecision. I tell you Halke; you must act now or you will be remembered as a coward.”
Halke smashed the bottle of now emptied wine with his closed fist, sending a mix of glass and blood flying across the tent. “Get out…you impudent man filth!” He raised himself higher and higher, as if on command, but Cedric did not waver. “I am king of this realm; I waver nor bow to no man!”
Cedric’s heart was racing, though his exterior remained calm and collected, he feared Halke could hear his thundering heartbeat.
Cedric turned as Halke swelled up with rage and the young lord quickly scurried out of the tent hoping to avoid his wrath. Cedric caught his breath outside of the tent and thought on what he had just done. Though he had won the engagement and held fast in his place, he could not shake the feeling that it was all for naught. Had he doomed everything in a burst of pride, for who could know how Halke would react? Cedric dwelt on this and on what to do next as he hurried back to his tent.
&nb
sp; Cedric returned to the tent and paced frantically in circles. He kicked the lot of his companions and stirred them from their sleep. “Wake up, we must speak, all of us,” he said with haste.
Eadwine, who was clutching a bottle like a mother with her child, was annoyed by this rude awakening. “What are you talking about Cedric?”
Cedric sat and placed his hands over his face. “I was invited to Halke’s tent, where I saw Yellow-Eyes had been as well. I may have either just won over their king or insulted his legitimacy; I am not entirely sure which.”
“Well it might be important to make the distinction before kicking my head,” Alfnod said sarcastically. “What exactly did you do?”
Cedric responded. “I told him the truth, what would happen to his people if he joined Azrael…though I may have also called him a coward.”
Eadwine spoke both seriously and in humor. “Well at least I know I won’t have my head by tomorrow night!” he said as he drank the last contents of his bottle. “Thank you, Cedric, at least now I know when my hour is!”
Gaspar raised his hand to Eadwine to silence him. “Wait, Eadwine, we may still have a chance.” The wizard then pointed his finger at Cedric. “Now you may have indeed insulted Halke, but it does not guarantee he will kill us. You have goaded him into action, and perhaps to prove he is not coward he will play right into your hand. If you had left it with a logical argument, it might win over a king of men, but the Awaerian are not so easily tempted. They require strength in diplomacy, something you may have shown by challenging his authority.”
Cedric was relieved to hear this. “So? How can we know which is which?”
Gaspar appeared ready to answer but paused. “Well…I am not sure.”
Beorn chuckled. “Some advisor you are Gaspar,” he switched his tune as though he was a high-pitched wench calling to patrons, “Oh I don’t know Cedric it’s only the bloody reason you brought me along!”
“Quiet you, empty-headed oaf!” Gaspar was turned red by the mockery. “When last I checked the greatest contribution to this party you have given is a swing that can hardly split twigs in two.”
Beorn turned serious and pulled out his axe. “Oh but I reckon it could slice through your brittle bones any day scholar boy.”
Soon the tent was in a roar of bickering as the party rapidly devolved into chaos, with insults and rumors of pig breeding were thrown to one another.
“Enough the lot of you!” Cedric silenced them all, and Gaspar and Beorn both held a face of shame at their actions, holding their heads low and with respect for their lord. “We cannot bicker like this, I know I am to blame for this so stop aiming for one another. We wait here until morning; I’ll head out to the council chamber first, I have no doubt Halke would want to make it public. If I live, you can come after me, if not, I hope you’ll put as much distance between this place and you.”
Each slept that night with their hand at their blade; each snapping twig was perceived as an approaching guard, coming to make an example of them. They were exhausted when morning broke out through the tree line.
An arm broke through the veil of the tent, it was Pike, wearing a grim look on his face. “You are requested as the king’s council tent.” Cedric got up and went to the door; he saw Pike wearing two bracelets, each a swirling of gold, showing loyalty to his king. “I was told all of you are requested.” Cedric froze and looked back at his friends, who gave one another unsure glances. They all joined Pike and marched to the tent, where once more the chiefs had been gathered and taken seat to give counsel.
Halke sat on his throne, his harem of wives had left and he was sitting with his hands clutching at the ends of his chair, his face was expressed by slight discomfort, with the smallest curving of his lip. The whole host of the tent fell silent as the humans and elves entered, this silence followed by hushed whispers that muffled together into one sound. Pike led his friends to empty seats before he took his seat by his father. Melgor sat opposite Pike, on the left of the king, as is the custom of the second-born son. He sat exchanging grins and excited squirms with his sorcerer who stood like a shadow along the wall.
Halke twirled his fingers along his wooden chair as he made decisions in the solace of his mind, he bit his lip as he finally decided, raising his hand for silence. “After council with yourselves and our foreign diplomats I have decided our course of action, it came not without heavy contemplation, and I could not have decided without your wise words, I thank you all.” His chiefs leaned forward, awaiting his word for war, Pike looked down, waiting for the worst to pass quickly, like pulling out a splinter. Halke meandered on, “it is in our people’s destiny that we reclaim our home,” some of his chiefs rolled their eyes and leaned back. “Both paths that are before us will lead us to our home, in one way or the other, but for how long, that is their difference. Is it nobler to hold our home for only a generation or two, or to find our destiny of our ancestors in a different hearth that has served us well for so long?” Melgor’s smile vanished, he was now on the edge of his seat, staring deep into his father’s eyes, who only glanced at his second born, before speaking again. Halke’s final word was brief and to the point, getting his say in before the council erupted in shouting from both sides.
“We side with the Northmen.”
The room burst into energy with the word of war. Some cheered and beat their walking sticks and weapons against the ground in approval. Others sat with mugs of anger and disappointment, though none dared to challenge Halke’s authority, all save Melgor. The second son jeered in his seat, pouting like a spoiled child whose toy has been taken away. Pike breathed a heavy sigh of relief and nodded to Cedric, who too relaxed in his seat. Yellow-Eyes tried to make a quiet exit but was pushed around like a stranded sailor in a storm by the massive Minotaurs and others that surrounded him.
Halke steadied his kin and smiled for the first time in the day. “My chiefs, rally your warriors!” He stood like the proud warchief he was and raised his fist, stirring the unified spirit of his people that for so long sat dormant. “We march to war! Let everyone who can carry a spear bring honor to their father, let our cry be heard…” Halke was cut off, and he winched in pain as he collapsed in Melgor’s arms. The chiefs were stunned at what they saw; Melgor, with a grim face that lacked all emotion for his act, held his dying father in his arms, drawing his dagger from Halke’s back, causing it to pool and spurt all over his throne. It is said that at this moment, a whisper, heard only by Melgor was uttered by the dying king. “Not…you.” This whisper said just moments before he collapsed, and Melgor rose to claim the usurped birthright.
Melgor was shaking violently, wiping the blood of his father from his blade and stained arm. He looked around the room in full circles, like a child lost in the forest, scared and alone. Pike stared without saying anything, filled with disbelief and mourning. Yellow-Eyes rushed to Melgor’s aid and steadied the second son. Melgor shook his head, and suddenly he was as himself, filled with a burning rage. “I am king! And we kill the Northmen!” He shouted with a commanding voice that outweighed his father’s in gravity. He pointed his dagger at Cedric, “the first to bring me his head will be my second commander!” Some of the chiefs formed a line around Cedric, unwilling to betray the final order of their true king. The young-blooded amongst them began drawing their weapons, a bloodbath was inevitable.
“Murdering…second born…scum,” Pike murmured as he held the corpse of his father. Melgor looked down with a wicked look in his eye.
“What did you say to me?” Melgor said in disbelief.
Pike rose, a fire that burned bright and hotter than in Melgor was stoked that day in Pike. “I said that you are a murdering, second-born, scum.” His voice rose in volume and strength with every word. “You are not the king, and you will never be king!”
Melgor threw his arm to stab down into Pike’s shoulder, but the older brother blocked the blade by grabbing Melgor’s hands. Cedric rushed to Pike’s aid, drawing Bayeux and placing it
s tip at the usurper’s neck. “You move that dagger one more inch, and I’ll have you bleeding on the floor.” Pike nodded to Cedric.
Pike had a deathly serious tone in his voice; he knew his next move from the moment he rose from mourning his father. “Shall we end this the proper way, brother?” he said with a half smirk. “No more jousting, no more fist fights, we end this for good.”
Melgor dropped his dagger and spat on his father’s corpse, now turning cold and pale from blood loss. He looked around the tent and saw Yellow-Eyes nod in approval. “Very well Pike, we end this the old way.” The chiefs sighed in relief and sheathed their blades, though they kept their hands readied to draw them once more. “Tomorrow, we fight for the right of kingship, to the death.”
Pike rushed to exit the tent, and Cedric with his band followed. Pike hurried to his personal tent, where he threw tables and chairs in a fit of rage, one barely missing Cedric’s head. The prince collapsed on the ground and buried his hands in his face. “It should not have been like this,” he said somberly. “Now I am left with two options. Kill my brother, the arrogant pile of dung he is, which will not be easy, mark you, or die.” Pike stopped feeling sorrow for himself, he steadied himself and gathered his weapons, laying on a table an assortment of knives and axes, running his hands over each to measure their worth and craft. “What do you recommend Cedric?” He lifted an axe, crafted from polished stone, tied to a golden handle.
“How many weapons are permitted for this type of duel?”
“Three in total: a spear, a ranged weapon, and a blade, of any make,” Pike said as he practiced swinging with a long spear. “Though a shield is also given…I think I’ll take a dagger for my blade.” He lifted a bone carved dagger; it was from a Behemoth, a great beast with hide like that of steel armor, and bones larger than whole men. Cedric did not know what to say, so he left Pike alone in his tent, plotting the battle for many hours of the day.
The Sword to Unite Page 17