The Sword to Unite

by Peter J. Hopkins

  Cedric gazed at her, not by desire, but by interest, for the remainder of the Witan, which droned on with circling debates of defense or offense. The lords were in a strange place, for some spoke only to impress the lady, giving empty rhetoric which had merit only in sound. Others sought to impress with bravery, suggesting that they move their armies directly into the fray.

  Their efforts of the day were fruitless, and when the court had dismissed, Cedric rushed after Roderic and Dag.

  “Why did you give me such looks in the court Dag? Have you gone smitten for the lady yourself?” Cedric said lightheartedly, which masked his growing interest in the affair.

  “No my lord,” he spoke in his deep and monotone voice, “if I gave and such gaze, think of it as nothing.”

  Cedric was disappointed, like a child excluded from a friend’s secret. From behind, Beatrix approached, her hands folded by her hip, accompanied by full escort of handmaidens and courtiers. The two lords and their companions bowed for the lady as she approached.

  “Lord Cedric,” she spoke in a soft mousey voice, as though she was frightened by every sound. She was near opposite to Aderyn in every respect. “I have been told you fought well upon the wall.”

  Cedric turned to his friends, who had unsure glances, before turning back and mustering the first line he could think. “As well as a man can fight, my lady.” The two exchanged small and awkward smiles with one another, lightening the mood some.

  “I was told by my father to welcome you to the city…” She struggled for her words as she fumbled and twirled her fingers. The court had not been her place for long, and there was a certain rustic charm to her ways. “I hope to see you safe when this war has ended.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” The men once again bowed to bid the lady well, and she took her leave with her retinue.

  “I sense a sadness deep within her,” Cedric said to Roderic.

  “And there is much cause for such; her mother has recently passed, leaving only Malcom as her family in this city, for her father died long ago, in the place you and Dag passed through.” Cedric turned to Roderic with a confused look. “Half Lenich for certain, half Crawe possibly. Her mother, Beatrice, the prize of every lord from here to Belfas in her day. Her hand was offered in the tourney of Malcom’s father, Mathon. Lord Lenich rode honorably that day, best his opponents in graceful shined steel. The young Prince Malcom did not fare as well, not an exceptional warrior in his youth, he was always more bookish than martial. He was promising once, Malcom, had the wit of a weasel, and the knowledge of good and evil. Though Malcom was beaten in the tournament, his heart grew in passion for Beatrice, though she had none for him. That night at the tourney, Malcom lost every good virtue he held. He tried to advance on Beatrice, but she spurned him. Malcom struck her for that, and Lenich struck him in return. Malcom left disgraced, laughed at by his father’s lords; he vowed revenge that day.”

  Roderic paused and looked around the palace halls, making sure none were listening. He leaned in and whispered the story forbidden in Malcom’s court. “When Malcom was crowned king, his first act was to ride to House Lenich and demand the lady be turned over to be his wife. Lord Lenich refused, and Malcom ordered them all to be executed, save for Beatrice. It was not a day after her husband’s head rolled off the block that she wed Malcom, who was quick to do his marital duties…though rumor has always testified that Lenich had also and that the fair lady was already with child. To this day none now know, for Beatrix holds defining features only from her mother. The hair, of Lenich, the face, of Malcom, it is anyone’s guess. To think, Malcom was once respected by all; now he is but an old man, bitter at the world for hating him, not because they do, but because they do it justly. What man butchers his own vassal for lust?”

  Cedric felt the girl’s sadness, for her loneliness radiated and filled whatever space she occupied. Last child for either House Crawe or Lenich, a fate unknown by all.

  Cedric and Eadwine returned to their quarters, where the other licked their wounds from the previous night. Aderyn had remained bedridden, and she was now cleaning her black wound with a water basin.

  “How are you?” Cedric said as he placed his hand on her wound, careful not to touch the exposed bits of flesh still festering in black ooze.

  “Better.” Aderyn was still weak, and her voice was tired. She gave a small smile to Cedric, who responded in kind.

  “This war should be over by the spring, at the pace of this.” Cedric placed his hands in hers. “It will be a distant memory when we have ruled until we reach ripe old age. Greeting flowery lords and ladies every afternoon.” Cedric gave a chuckle. “Grey-haired, children and grandchildren bickering over their rivaling estates.”

  “I’d rather be at war,” Aderyn said as she dried her face.

  “Look at me.” Cedric turned Aderyn’s face to his in a gentle motion. “When this is over, I vow, we will be together. We’ll be wed at Wulfstan…or Orford; both will be our home. I promise.” Cedric took Aderyn’s narrow face in his hands, and kissed her forehead, smiling to comfort not comfort her, but himself. Since the black axe had near taken her from him, nothing could relieve his mind of her safety.

  Cedric paused, and his smile was wiped away as his mind was dragged back into the field of battle. “We need to send word to Lafayette, for he still has yet to cross the rivers, by our latest reports.” He turned to Eadwine and Leopold, who appeared ready for the task. “My swiftest allies, you must get word to Lafayette, tell him we march north, and he should avoid the road to Prav, lest he is slowed or thrown off proper course.”

  “Sure…” Eadwine rolled his arms back and stretched with a loud yawn. “It seems as though you get all the honor, while I get a long and tedious ride with the dreariest man in the world.”

  Leopold fetched his knives which were lying out on the table, and stuffed them in his boots and long sleeves. “Good idea to send to riders when this fool goes and falls off a cliff I can still deliver the message.”

  Cedric clasped hands with them, and bid them farewell at the main gate, where rubble was still being hauled away. The ornate metaled gates had been completely bent from shape and lay strewn across the ground. Cedric watched as his two friends disappeared over the horizon of the overcast day, which carried a warm feel with a cool wind blowing down from the north. It would not be long till the first snows graced Midland in thin and gusting waves.

  Aderyn appeared beside him, dressed for travel, with leather boots and a long cloak. “I’m coming with you to the Sundering Hills.”

  Cedric was filled with a dreadful fear. “Your place is where it is safest, please Aderyn…’

  She cut him off. “You say we will be together? Then let me be with you now.”

  The two wrapped their arms around one another as the sun graced the top of the sky, in the next days the armies of Midland would make their leave of Prav. The Vine Guard prepared for a light journey of only a few weeks, for they assured themselves the enemy would be dealt with swiftly. As the night fell on Prav, the first cold clouds of winter arrived from Belfas and brought with them a light brush of snow, light as a bird in flight. When the people of Prav woke the next morning, they did not find their breath in the air, for it was still only cool in temperature, even though snow had lightly blanketed their homes.

  Chapter 28

  At the Sundering Hills

  Thus, the armies of Midland came to march out of Prav, heading due north in a rhythmic and merry march to the Sundering Hills, where their foe was in greatest, but scattered strength. Their wineskins swelled with rations, and each was made red-faced by their drinking and singing. The drink kept the newly forming cold at bay, which had now turned much of the green grass brown and dry. The Vine Guard sang to Domovoi, the gold-bearded god of wine and hearth, whose laugh roars louder than the strongest wind, and whose feasting table leaves the richest lords in envy. They sang.

  A toast to the guard of the hearth!

  A toast to the one that make
s his mark

  On the fields so ripe

  And press so full

  A toast to the god of wine!

  The little man

  So clever and so drunk

  With unkempt beard

  And locks of gold

  Let’s raise our glass to him

  So that our glass might always brim!

  Cedric and his companions did not drink nor participate in the merriment, for they scanned the horizon in nervous glances. With the king, Beorn, Alfnod, Gaspar, and Aderyn traveled, their drinking sacks filled with mixed wine, near wholly watered down.

  The landscape of open fields faded as they made their long journey north, passing into the Sundering Hills, gray and inhospitable lands. On their final day of travel, they came to a great split in the earth, surrounded on either side by massive stretching mountains. It was Sundering Pass, the sole role through the rough terrain.

  Malcom rode to the front to assess the situation with Cedric. “We should press through the mountain.” He said in his signature gruff. “It is near week’s travel to cross otherwise, by that time we will have lost the enemy.” He had drunk freely, and his face red was and fierce with confidence.

  Cedric did not wish to take the pass, nor any route for that matter, the safest way was back to Prav, behind the walls. “Are you sure the enemy has emptied out of this valley? It would make for a perfect ambush.”

  Roderic rode up beside them, adorned in his helm with a bronze boar. “I agree with Cedric; it would make for an ambush. But the enemy is scattered.” He looked intently at Cedric, giving counsel to the one he knew as his king. “They have not the strength or wit to muster such a strike. When we have ridden through the valley, we will be at their heels in less than two days and overwhelm them, my king.”

  “It is settled then, thank you, Roderic, for your support,” Malcom said ignorantly. “Forward all! Steady march!” With that, the Vine Guard and Rivermen, along with the remaining Knights, pressed through Sundering Pass.

  Soon the grassy brown hills turned to rough stone, as they had for Cedric the last time he ventured into this land. The valley became more pronounced as they traveled, and the sides around them grew in height. This was the Valley of Sundering Hills, where many armies of yore had passed and had battle. The gravel-filled rode the Vine Guard marched upon was rumored to be wrought of weathered bone, from former fallen companies. In the walls that surrounded them on either side, small alcoves could be seen, where figurines of deities and ancient figures were carved.

  Many of the marching soldiers offered prayer to The Children, and to Duwel, elven god of sky, that their heads were clear of cold northern rain. They marched in a long column, four across, with cavalry in lead and rear, along with Rivermen at the most central point.

  By the afternoon, a heavy fog had rolled through the valley, so thick it appeared as solid matter able to be sliced by blade. Cedric was in the front of the company, with Tarquin mounted beside him. The two could not see ten feet in front of them, and torches had to be lit.

  “My rapier could cut clean through this dense veil!” Tarquin joked, pouring down more of his wineskin’s content. The mercenary then motioned the wine to Cedric, who took a turn himself, it was a fine red from the king’s cellars.

  “This cannot bode well for us,” Cedric said only half as humor, he eyes glanced and darted around the valley, making account of every nook and rock.

  “Let them come in this valley, and see how they fair. At the gatehouse, I held them, dagger in hand and courage in my heart. Let them come, and I will hold this valley.” Tarquin gave a loud sigh and grinning smile.

  Cedric gazed out into the endless road ahead, and he felt as though he was being watched. He turned his head side to side, the upper parts of the valley were out of view. The statues were near twenty feet in height. It seemed only Cedric noticed this grave gaze, for the Vine Guard continued their merry chants, ignorant of the mighty stonework of their venerated ancestors.

  From out of the fog, Cedric spotted once more the vilest of all portents, and his horse kicked back its front legs in startled fear. The young king’s eyes zoomed and focused upon a rider in the fog, wearing a burial mask of silver and gold, with dead, beady eyes shining through the dense cover.

  “Everyone cover!” Cedric shouted as he ducked beneath his horse, and a hail of arrows from all sides was unleashed upon the marching army. Cedric’s horse was dead in an instant, shot through the brain, and it collapsed on his legs. Beorn rushed to Cedric’s side and began pulling him from the horse.

  “Tarquin! Get your men to the flanks and upon the hill! They are upon the hill! Upon the…” Cedric was cut off by an outpouring of blood which smacked across his face and in his eyes. Tarquin was struck with an arrow through his throat, which had torn through his windpipe and main artery, and he gasped and choked in vain at the wound, for there was no hope for him.

  Cedric struggled by himself to free himself from his horse, and he caught sight of the rest of his now panicked army. Hirdmen and others in Azrael’s employ had come down from either side and crashed against the Vine Guard already riddled with arrows.

  “With me!” Cedric cried. “With me!” Aderyn, Alfnod, and Gaspar rushed to his side, and they were distraught upon finding Beorn dead.

  “What do we do Cedric?” Gaspar yelled from under a heater shield, which had the emblem of the Vine Guard.

  Cedric scanned the narrow battlefield, finding death in every direction he looked. Finally, he spotted Malcom, riding forward with his noble lords including Roderic and his bodyguard Dag. Dag, adorned in his helm of steel and mask of chain, swung his heavy bastard sword side to side of his horse, cutting down ranks of Hirdmen who dared approach the half-giant and his lord.

  Malcom called out to Cedric, his blade bloody in his hand. “They have overwhelmed the rear; there can be no turning back at this point.” An arrow struck Malcom’s horse, who in turn threw Malcom from the saddle and onto the ground in a thud. “Oof!” He cried. “I will kill every one of these savages for that!”

  Roderic remained calm, even in the face of this onslaught. “That is all well and good my lord, but let us save your foolishness for another day.” Roderic pointed forwards, towards where the rider had first been spotted. “We must press out of this valley, into open pasture where we may match them in strength.”

  So the lords rallied together the remaining Rivermen and Vine Guard near them and made a push through the rest of the valley. For near an hour they ran, arrows flying and whistling past their heads. Many fell as they fled, for the Hirdmen had filled the valley and overrun much of their force.

  Finally, the valley began to smooth, and the fog seemed to dissipate, for they could once again see clouds and the sun.

  “Thank the gods!” Roderic cried out as they neared the end of the trap.

  Cedric collapsed from exhaustion as they found themselves on grassy terrain, and he grasped bundles of the root with his hands to make sure it was real. So many had fallen, now only near five hundred remained, collapsed and panting from exhaustion and fear.

  Cedric rallied himself and drew his sword to command. “Vine Guard! To the valley’s entrance, let none through, we’ve got the advantage now!”

  Now all the sudden from behind, a host of cavalry appeared, wielding spears and axes in hand. At their head, the beady-eyed rider, accompanied by Sibi, Yellow-Eyes, and Arrington. The horsemen quickly surrounded the few of Prav, who could not muster the strength to put up a fight. Cedric himself dropped his blade as well, knowing there was no hope for victory, and he quickly took place next to Aderyn.

  The rider whispered to Sibi, in a foul and distant voice, as though words did not come from his mouth but the rushing wind. Sibi called to his raiders. “Pack them up!”

  Suddenly the Vine Guard were seized and bound in heavy metal chains, around their necks, arms and legs. Cedric, the fellow lords, and his company were thrown into iron wrought carts, with thick bars. Those who were not in car
ts were led in a single file, through the cold mud common to upper Midland.

  Now the merry songs were sung by the Hirdmen and the others accompanying Arrington, who sat with a smug grin on his face as he rode. For two weeks, the carts dredged through rugged and soggy terrain, and it rained cold and hard water for near every day they traveled. Their route took them north, towards the Red Marsh, where the frigid landscape mixed into a wet muck. The road became narrow, and many fell in the travel, cut loose from the chain and let to rot. Cedric’s clothes, like the others, were completely ruined, soaked and muddied, turning his fingers and toes blue from the cold. Many marching Vine Guard caught fevers and were cut loose from the chains to die. While the enemy feasted, scraps of rotted and burned bread were given as prisoner rations, leaving men with the frame of skeletons and walking corpses.

  During a stop, Sibi rode his horse next to the cart and revealed Bayeux to Cedric. “A beautiful blade, lord Cedric, not use to holding master craft steel.” The savage said in a condescending and bragging tone. Cedric was silent. “I think I’ll stay with my axe.” Sibi took the heirloom of Cedric’s house and placed the blade on a sharp stone, and with a swing of a hammer, broke the blade in two. Sibi then took the blade to a fire and watched the steel blacken and spoil in the charcoal heat, before giving out on last vile grin.

  Cedric could not muster any strength for emotion, though he wept bitterly in his mind…the last tie to his family, other than in name and banner, was lost.

  Cedric shivered and shook in his cage, and his face turned pale as milk. Aderyn was at his chest throughout the journey, resting her tired head.

  “Cedric? Are you awake?” She whispered in a hoarse voice during one of the nights.

  “Yes.” He said in a broken will.

  “Had you seen a vision of this?” She asked not hoping for an answer.

  “No…they’ve abandoned us.” Cedric had given up any hope, and he lay there limp, unwilling even attempt to move. “I will not try to see that hidden pool tonight, with what little strength I’ve left there is no chance. What strength of arms have the gods given us so far? Nothing but faint warnings that do no good! We were all fools to think them stronger than Azrael.” Now Cedric cursed the gods for his own pleasure. “What strength is there is wisdom compared to Azrael’s horde? Wise words and good deeds cannot stop a lance’s pierce.”