The Sword to Unite

by Peter J. Hopkins

  Cedric joined in the praise. “Aye, Azrael will have a difficult time once the rangers on harassing him, moving like shadows through the tree line, he won’t be able to march his army one step without an arrow flying at him.”

  On their way, Eadwine strummed and sung of his people, chiefly of Dothriel, the Prince of Geladhithil, who wandered for years through the Suthon as ranger and sentinel. He sang in his traditional tongue, taught and passed down his father, and his father before him. His language was known only by Alfnod, and little by Cedric, from the time in Orford where Eadwine taught Cedric the legends of the Lusani folk. These tales of crafty woodland creatures and ancient palaces rang throughout the whole of the Ithon.

  The expansive hillsides of the Ithon Forest soon faded, and the trees diminished in number and size. The group had made it to the edge of Sodeer country, where the noble house has long stood watch as the wardens of the forest, ensuring that no Awaerian force could surprise Midland. The party grew cautious, for they passed many hamlets and huts, but saw no view of peasantry on their way. Missing too, were the rangers of Sodeer, draped in grim cloaks with the brooch of Godric’s silver horn. These men were a common sight to any traveler in these lands, though now they caught sight of none.

  “Hark! What is that on the horizon?” Eadwine cried from atop his horse, pointing towards a billowing pillar of black smoke, which appeared like a dark tower in the blue and sunny sky. They pressed their steads forward and hurried to the edge of the forest, where they found a burning town.

  It was Mileast, an important trading stop for any traveling merchant in Midland, often seen as the journey’s middle ground between Lorine and Belfas to the north, and more importantly, the capital of House Sodeer. The great mercantile houses, hewn of smoothed stone and redwood, along with glimmering glass windows, had been burned and left to smolder. The stone walls were in ruin, and the spiky pillars of logs had corpses of guardsmen thrown about them.

  Cedric and the others dismounted their horses at the gatehouse, which had been completely smashed in, the gilded steel doors, composed of silver and gold were dented and strewn about on the muddy and bloodied ground. The many market stalls that once drew grew crowds had been smashed in, with their tented roofs of ornate design now covered in brown mud, and sunken into black puddles along the road. Dogs and freed chickens ran through the streets, they appeared hungry, as though they had not eaten for a day or so in length.

  Sacks of grain, still ready for selling, were cut open and their contents were thrown about on the ground, though there was not a sight of a loose piece of silver throughout the whole market. The smaller houses of the lower district painted with blues and whites had been thoroughly picked over, and nothing of value was left.

  There came a slight rustle nearby; a wooden post had collapsed. Cedric turned and pulled out his blade. “Come out! We can hear you!” He called, but there was no response. He looked back to his group. “Keep on your toes; we are not alone.”

  The group marched up the hill towards the castle of House Sodeer, all the while their paranoia mounted with the growing feeling of eyes watching them from afar. Crows and other birds had come by this time and had begun to pluck away at the decaying corpses that littered the streets. Amongst them were highborn and merchants, artisans and farmers, folk whose life did not know such violence, a life that could never be prepared for such a brutal attack. It was skeleton force that defended Mileast, for most of the fighting force was drafted into the rangers, keeping the borders safe, though leaving the heartland completely exposed to assault.

  The muddled through the ruins, and Cedric knelt to inspect the road. He saw the marking of horses, too many in number to count, which had ridden all throughout the town. “The attackers were on horseback no doubt. They not only had the element of surprise, but they also had mobility…it couldn’t have been more than a half an hour before Mileast was completely overrun.”

  “Do you think they’ll be back?” Gaspar said nervously, holding back vomit, as he turned over a corpse to check for signs of life. He muttered silent prayers the whole walk, praying that someone would be alive in the piles of the dead.

  “No,” Alfnod said, his face turned pale by the destruction laid before them, “if this was a few hours ago, perhaps, but these corpses are beginning to smell, they will be miles away by now.”

  “I’ll make one last sweep through the village,” said Leopold, in a strangely somber and dire voice, “make sure we aren’t missing anyone that might still be here.”

  They, at last, reached the flat top of the hill, where they found the castle burned out, its insides charred and battered. The banners of dancing deer had been torn and thrown on the ground, and the feasting hall was in shambles. Next, to this sight of destruction, the Hall of Godric, remained standing, though none less damage was dealt with it. The hall’s great burning hearth, which spanned the whole of the main hall in a thin line, had been broken and chipped at. The chairs of bones, carved and cleaned by each member of the hall, had been broken and their fragments had scattered across the floor. Shifting through the piles of animal bones, they found no corpses, as the hunters of Godric were enlisted as rangers, and no doubt died in their forest as they would have wanted.

  Upon the back wall of the hall, the monstrance that once held the silver horn was desecrated, and the horn lay defiled in two splinted remains. Its silver rim, which once called the nations of the north together under Adalgott, lay broken, never to be called again.

  Suddenly there was a cracking of bone towards the doors of the hall, Cedric turned to see the shadows of two thinned framed things rushing past the pillars the supported the building and flying into a nearby closet. Cedric silently signaled to his group, and they took their places by the door, bows drawn back and blades in hand as Cedric reached for the handle of the door. He could hear breathing, light and frightened.

  He threw the doors opened, and saw the figures of two children, clutching at each other for safety, with faces covered in dirt and the look of hunger on their lips and eyes. The group relaxed and were filled with embarrassment for drawing weapons on little children. It was a girl, the elder of the two, and a boy, both with golden blonde hair, and simple clothing. Aderyn knelt and approached the two shaking children, speaking in a soothing voice as to not frighten them more.

  “Hush children, do not be afraid, we are here to help.” She placed her arm on the elder’s shoulder, who jerked back in a panicked and mousy breath. “What happened here young one?”

  The child said no words; fear had taken the voice from her. “Why don’t we find you something nice to eat? Would you like that?” Aderyn smiled reassuringly. “I think I spotted some sweets in the kitchen, would you like some?” The children nodded and stood, and held hands as they followed Aderyn to the kitchen of the hall.

  Nightfall had come quickly, and the smoking ruins of Mileast, at last, began to cool and subside. The sky remained clear through the night, and the stars were in full view, illuminating the remains of Mileast.

  The group had relit a small portion of the long hearth, which illuminated the gilded wooden roof. They had salted pork roasting with herbs received at the Ithon by Pike. The hard bread of the Awaerian was coarse and dry but had a slightly sweet taste to it. Mixed ale was brought up from the cellars of the hall, along with wines and any meat that had not yet turned.

  They ate a small feast, and the children gobbled down whatever was presented in front of them, their stomachs growling like a mad dog at the sight of sizzling meat and fresh drinks. They still spoke no words, though the young one now appeared calm, and his eyes regained some charm of innocent beaming.

  Beorn was plucking at a chicken breast when he broke the silence. “You know lad,” he nudged the boy with the handle of his axe, “I have one just your age. Little fire starter that one, would you happen to be a little devil like him?” Beorn smiled like an old and jolly man, and the child held back a grin as Beorn joked with him.

  The girl stare
d with intense eyes at Leopold, who pretended not to see her. Leopold would give her a little glance every few minutes, as though it were a small confirmation for her wondering mind. At this moment, Cedric realized the two had met before, for why else would a child be so fascinated by this black-clad man.

  “I’m Gwen, and this is Atticus.” The girl suddenly said, even she seemed surprised by the sudden burst of words that sprang from her mouth. She too had finally begun to feel relatively safe and grew to realize the nature of her elder friends. “They came in the morning before the dew had yet to down. My mother, she was a maiden to our lady, and I was playing in the gardens when I saw those riders coming up from the market. I grabbed Atticus and took off to the shed, and they started killing everyone. Dragged the poor lord out into the muck, and cut off his head. The one who did it, he had two heads on his coat and acted like they were taking to him. Cause right before he swung, he said his brother told him to let the lady of the castle live, but I didn’t hear anybody say that.” She went silent again, and her throat began to swell, and her eyes grew glossy.

  Cedric felt the pain in her words, and would not press her to tell more. “Come morning we’ll be on our way out of this town.”

  Gwen continued to stare at Leopold, who had begun to grow red-eyed from the story, a truly peculiar thing for his demeanor to this point. “Will we be safe…Leopold?” The girl uttered in a small voice, near a whisper.

  Leopold matched her tone, giving faint confirmation. “Yes Gwen, you’re safe now.” Everyone looked at Leopold with confused looks as the children breathed out in relief that the worst had passed. The group gave them their cloaks as blankets and moved down the hall to talk without disturbing the little ones’ much-needed sleep.

  “Leopold, can you please explain how you know these children?” Cedric asked demandingly, for he realized this was the story Leopold had yet to tell.”

  Leopold sunk against a wooden pillar and lifted his cold and distant veil. “It was only a few months ago…I arrived in Mileast on a job, some fat merchant who had been taking up too much space in the market. Easy enough, in fact, I was on my way to leave when the lord and lady came before me. They said they needed help, mistook me for a sellsword. They offered me a bag of gold, less than the payment for my job, to go and clear out some pesky bandit hideout. Was going to tell them to choke on the gold, when these two little ones came up and begged me, tugging at my cloak until I promised to help. The young ones told me no knight would not help the helpless…they mistook me for some noble knight.” Leopold was smiling as he looked back at the sleeping children. “So, I took the job, killed the bandits who had cobbled a few kitchen knives together for weapons, took the gold, and went on my way. I didn’t even collect the payment for the merchant, just rode straight to Wulfstan to get drunk enough to forget about those people. That’s when I got the job to kill your king, decided right then and there I would be what those kids thought I was, maybe to convince myself there’s more to me than the flick of a knife.”

  Cedric and his group fell silent, for so long they had been convinced the man who confessed his deepest thoughts to them was nothing more than a swindler, content to use whatever and whomever to his own advantage. Cedric quietly gave a look of approval and thanks to Leopold, for he knew the assassin had been through enough embarrassment.

  “There can be no coincidence in this matter, the reavers that sacked this place were the same who pursued us weeks ago through Moricar land,” Gaspar said to break the tension, turning the conversation to the riders from the other side of the Ithon.

  “I agree with Gaspar,” The rightful king said, “The lass’ description of the skull-adorned one matches what I gazed upon as we entered the forest, a rider with two skulls placed on shoulder spikes. We can only wait to see if those two have more to say,” he said as he pointed to the fast-asleep children, “we must know if their leader, the cloaked one, was here as well.” The very mention of that beady-eyed rider sent chills through the hall, and a great gust of wind came through the broken windows, filling the hall with the night’s frigid air, and extinguished the candles and brought the hearth’s fire to an ember’s glow.

  Suddenly there came a great noise from outside the hall, the steady rhythm of approaching horses through the muddied road. The town was dark, and only the shadowy figures of an odd twenty riders could be made out through the veil of shadow as Cedric and his band took up arms at the hall’s door. The riders drew forth blades, which appeared to glisten from starlight, for they were of the finest quality steel.

  Their leader, chiefest amongst them in rank and title, boomed in a loud and commanding voice. “Let those who serve Azrael come forth and have the justice of Cinder executed upon them!” Cedric and his friends were confused. “We have seen your light and horses! Come out, so that Amalric may achieve his king’s justice!”

  The riders revealed their nature; they were a patrol of knights, down from the northern winds of Telfrost. Cedric jumped out into their view, and his face was dimly lit by the fires they had going inside the hall. Amalric’s knights prepared their blades and drew back their bows at the sight of the one they did not know as their king, all save Amalric.

  The leper knight immediately dismounted his horse when he recognized his king, and bent his knee in the muddy mixture, staining his white cloak. “Hold back your blades all!” The Knight-Sergeant ordered to his men. “Here before us stands our king, Cedric, the heir of Adalgott!”

  The knights fell before Cedric as though he were a holy relic, and threw their blades in the mud and each offered their steel in his service. The band of knights then joined the others in the hall and were given portions of the ale and food that was left over. In the candlelight, Cedric took note of each of their faces, for they were from all walks of life but had arrived at the same destination. Their kite shields and long white tunics bore the same symbol, a blue sea, with the golden red sun rising from its foamy surface, the symbol of Cinder’s Dawning. The knights wore many different styles of helmets, some of Ritter origin, with beaked fronts, and other like that of the North, with flat plating. Their armor was the finest of quality plate and chainmail were interlocked, providing mobility and protection in unison.

  Gwen and Atticus had woken from the shouting of Amalric and staring in awe at the chainmail clad warriors who sat and ate before them like they had appeared from the pages of a nighttime story.

  Amalric was clad in leather straps along his arms, covering his disease-riddled hands, and he appeared in less health than in the palace at Wulfstan. Another change was his blade, for he now strapped it on his right side, meaning he would draw into his left hand.

  Cedric was intrigued by this and spoke to his Knight-Sergeant. “Amalric, I did not notice you were left handed when last we spoke.”

  Amalric smiled awkwardly, and he did not wish to speak with shame to his king. “Oh yes my lord…well my right arm just hasn’t been acting on the up, so I decided to work on my left-handed practice.”

  Cedric would not press further, for he realized he had embarrassed one so loyal to him, and he now knew the reason behind the sword’s switching. Amalric had lost strength in his right arm to his affliction, for it had begun to shrivel and blood no longer flowed through its veins. To any other knight, this was a death sentence, the death of the lifestyle that is. Amalric laughed in the face of his disease, switching his practice to the left, to extraordinary success as his retinue agreed. In only a few weeks’ time, Amalric had grasped the basic motions in his left hand and had begun relearning the most skilled moves in the arsenal of the Eternal Dawn.

  Miro, a knight in Amalric’s service, was of Tanaric descent, originally from the Plains of Arron where the vast fields are filled with wild stallions. His hair was jet black with a smooth and trimmed beard which covered his tanned skin. He bore small shields upon his shoulders, bearing the image of a three-towered castle as red as blood. At his hip, a curved blade, with overlapping designs of beautiful symbols and flowers f
rom hilt to tip. He had served as Amalric’s squire in his earlier years but now had officially taken oaths to Cinder.

  “My king, why have you come to this forsaken township, would you not have more luck in Prav, where I am told that Malcom gathers his armies?” Miro asked in a slight accent that had been degraded from his constant interaction with the blunt tones of the Northmen.

  “We spent the last weeks convening with the folk of the forest, and their new king, Pike, has thrown his support behind us.” Amalric and his knights were stunned, for such an alliance, nor any sort of meeting had ever been assembled between the two people.

  “Truly, my lord?” Amalric was on the edge of his seat, like that of a child waiting for a story.

  “Yes,” Cedric turned serious, “but we were not the first to send emissaries, for Azrael’s sorcerer Yellow-Eyes, had beaten us there and a significant minority amongst them supported his claims.”

  “Hmm, yes we have received reports of such a character roaming Midland as of late,” Amalric said in a grave tone, “though none have managed yet to capture that rat.”

  “What news of lord Roderic, Amalric? Does he continue to support my claim?”

  “Yes, my lord, when we received our last report, he fields near two thousand Rivermen, though the numbers grow by the day.”

  Alfnod raised his voice to speak amongst the nobility of man. “How long a ride to Telfrost? We’ll need fresh supplies, and way to send word throughout Midland to the other lords.”

  “It is not far,” said Amalric, “only a few days’ journey, and we’ll be safe behind her walls. We can find someplace for the two children as well; they’ll be well taken care of, perhaps the boy may grow to train as a squire.” Atticus’ eyes lit up at the mention of becoming a squire, for he often played in the gardens of Mileast as though he were a noble knight or even Adalgott himself.