The Sword to Unite

by Peter J. Hopkins

  They came to an abrupt stop on their long dredge. It was now nighttime, and the winter’s cold bite hard at the prisoners. The Hirdmen made camp along the dry edge of a vast forest of redwood and was situated just below a rolling hill. Torches and campfires were lit, though the Vine Guard and carted prisoners were given no provisions or place by the fires. Yellow-Eyes and the beady-eyed rider came up to the cages, and the magus clutched the ancient tome of golden wrapping close to his chest. The magus gave a crooked smile.

  “We have special plans for you Lord Cedric; I will pay back in kind for each insult you hurled at me.” The magus received no response from Cedric, who lay silent in his cage, broken and beaten. “Though we have no use for him.” Yellow-Eyes ushered Hirdmen to Malcom’s cage. The Vine King was bruised upon his head, and blood had dried around his left ear from wounds sustained. The sorcerer’s men grabbed the king from his cell and brought him from his cage and onto his knees.

  The beady-eyed rider, for the first time heard, spoke. “Surrender your titles; you are beaten, my master offers much for such grace.”

  Malcom lowered his head, as if from shame, and whispered so none could hear. The rider knelt so that he could hear the surrender. Rather, Malcom spat on his face and gave an angry growl. “I will never bow to your master Azrael, and his master before him!” The grizzled old man was resolute in his stubbornness.

  Yellow-Eyes fetched a cloth and wiped away the spit from the rider’s cowl. With a snap of the finger, a broadsword, black with a serrated blade, was summoned for the beady one, and Malcom was thrown face first upon a smooth and large stone.

  The rider commanded to Yellow-Eyes. “Begin the reading.”

  With a swift nod of the head, the sorcerer flipped open his tome, revealing pages upon pages of strange writings in no language known to mortals. He rested his hand on a page with archaic symbols, and the red visage of a devil, with huge fangs and horns, and a foul grin. It was the Codex Deadhraegl, a book of foulness written by fallen man. In its myth, a traveling holy man sought knowledge of the gods, only to be tricked by Crassus Baal. Condemned and deceived, the man was forced to write the book, till the end of his days, without rest or food or drink.

  “Hiz sha, follen lis…come now, dark one…” Yellow-Eyes chanted in dark and quiet tone; his glossy eyes turned milky white as the words filled him with power. The torches flickered as the wind picked up as if from nowhere, and the air became colder than it had in any deep winter. The rider rubbed his clothed hands against the stone where Malcom was held; he breathed a deep breath before speaking. Yellow-Eyes placed his hand upon the chest of the rider, a surge of energy flowed through the mage, to that of his master.

  “You mistake me, Malcom, for I am not a servant of Azrael.” The rider swung his blade in a fell and mighty hush of wind, slicing Malcom’s head clean from its place. The Vine King’s blood poured upon the table as his lords cried out in terror. In a scene of pure horror, the rider threw away his cowl, tossing it through the wind which seemed to howl in fear. Upon the head of the rider, a skull with gray lumps of hair, and his flesh was rotted and mangled, leaving only sinew of ligaments and bones in some places. Azrael had revealed himself to the world; his return was complete.

  His beady eyes became fiery, though none the less lifeless. Yellow-Eyes came up with the Crown of Ten Fingers as it had been before, and crowned him. “Hail to you Azrael!” The sorcerer took up the blood of Malcom and anointed Azrael with it. “Rightful King to the North, and harbinger of Crassus Baal!” The Hirdmen bowed and repeated the words of binding. “Hail to you Azrael! Hail to you Azrael!”

  Azrael mounted up upon a black horse, accompanied by two-thirds of his army, and he made ready to depart into the Red Marsh, where he was keen to wipe out the Knights of the Eternal Dawn, his most ancient foe on this earth.

  “I give you leave of the army, Arrington, do well to march through Prav, and the rest of Midland,” Azrael commanded to his general with a confident swagger.

  “Of course, my lord, a feast shall be prepared in your honor, a coronation for the true king!” Arrington grinned wide, for his place of power had been secured.

  Owain, lord of Gwent, wept bitterly for his king, and the tears froze as they dripped to his mustache, which had lost its emboldened red flame. He was starved as the rest, his eyes with sunk deep with dark blushes below them, and the whites of his eyes had now turned bloodshot red.

  Cedric had been broken wholly, and he spoke no words to his companions, he could not come to bear what he had seen. Cedric shuttered, and his teeth clanked together, and his breath moved through the air clear as dragon’s fire. His mind slowly drifted from the world, and he fell into a troubled and shallow sleep.

  Act III

  The War for Spring

  Chapter 29

  The Final Dream

  Again, Cedric awoke in the garden of the gods. The trees had now withered, and their leaves had dried and fallen to the ground, where the fields lay barren. The pond was disturbed, its water stirred and had been muddied. Now even the stars in the sky had faded, and in their absence, a consuming and eternal darkness had taken shape.

  Cedric stood in awe at this silent scene, whose silence rang and beat in his ears, for it was the silence from the lack of all life. Cedric then gazed upon the Tree of Life, a husk of its former self; its branches were white as bone, and its immaculate glow had turned inward, and reflected no light, as though in deep hibernation.

  There came again, as there was had been, the weeping of a woman. Cedric tread through the water of the pond, and once more discovered a bleeding woman. Her hair, once blonde it seemed, had now turned gray. She gave a small and bitter cry, and her white and golden dress was tainted in blood.

  This time Cedric felt no sympathy for the woman, and he grew to a red-hot rage. He grabbed the woman by the arms and held her close to his angry face. “Why!?” It was all he could muster. “What strength do you lack that you abandon us!? I was supposed to lead them, and now they are dead…why?” Cedric collapsed onto his knees and held his head low, and began to weep. Tears were rolling down his face when he felt the woman touch his hands. She knelt next to him and wiped away his tears, and when she touched his face, he knew her name. She was Arian. The goddess of land and all life, the firstborn of the Children, kindest in heart of all gods. Her strength had subsided, and her face was hollowed and thin.

  “The power to fight evil is not mine, nor my kin. It is sealed in you, man, for only the one so easily corrupted and so common to failure, can combat such force. Pureness cannot drive out the evil; it is in the common things that such strength is found.” Arian comforted the weeping lord greatly, and he felt shame for his red-faced acts. “You do not fight because you are our pawn in some game, but because you know it is right. You will always know it is right, and so you must always fight.” Her strength was fast fading, and she near fell to the ground, if it were not for Cedric who steadied her. She breathed shallow, but she moved with a purpose, sticking her hand in the muddied water.

  Suddenly the water where she touched turned clear, and Cedric could see. A weathered citadel in the north surrounded by snowy forest. It was built from the base of a gray stone mountain, and it spiraled and pierced through the clouds. The image in the water now changed. A deepening stone face, with such stoic look as Cedric, had never seen before. Next, blackness, a darkness which was all-consuming. Suddenly, fire, a flame began in the darkness, bringing light to everything it touched, and in the flame, a steel sword forged centuries ago. Suddenly the vision faded to black, and the cry of a great beast filled Cedric’s ears, a cry he had heard at Orford and the lair of the Basilisk.

  “What is that place?” Cedric asked.

  “The place where your forbearer forged his own legend, now you must forge yours, King Cedric, lord of Lorine, Midland, and Belfas, the heir to Adalgott, and Seer of the Garden. Go now, for my strength is gone, and I cannot keep you here.” With this word, the garden grew dim in Cedric’s eyes, and
he found himself once more in his own realm.

  He was once more in chains, and Aderyn, along with his other companions rested alongside him. By now, Azrael’s portion of the army had marched out, and the camp seemed almost deserted compared to a few hours ago. Guards were stationed by the carts and were drinking of unmixed wine. They feasted on pork and beef, rations from the Vine Guard supply wagons.

  Cedric whispered to Aderyn. “Are you ready to die here?”

  She awoke confused, but his serious look gave her understanding. “No.” She replied.

  “We can distract the guards, have them approach, then hold them against the cage.” Cedric plotted in his mind and became engrossed in strategy. “We will have only moments before their companions notice, so we will need to rush to the armory, grab our weapons, and free the others. If we…” Suddenly an arrow ripped through the sky and lodged in the head of a guard. The guards around him visibly shook in fear, before they too were riddled with arrows.

  Cedric held his hands to the bars, and gazed out into the night, trying to spot the archer who had such skill. Another guard approach, and saw his dead compatriots. “Oi! You there,” He pointed his blade at Cedric. “What foul magic you usin’? He brandished his weapon and was ready plunge it through the metal bars. “Oof!” He was struck from behind, and he collapsed forward towards the cage. In his back, a throwing knife had lodged through in a clean hit.

  Out of the shadow, Eadwine and Leopold leaped forward towards the cells. “Thank the gods they’ve left you alive.” Eadwine whispered as he drew his bow once more, standing sentry over Leopold who rummaged for keys on the dead guard’s belt. Leopold found a small copper key and plunged it into the lock, and with a turning of a gear, the prison cart was opened. Taking the key, he opened the other carts of the camp.

  The lords and knights stretched and sighed heavily as they used limbs unused for many weeks. Cedric took the blade of one of the guards, and slid it into his hilt, the steel scrapping against leather sounded like heavenly music. Owain, the most important lord other than Malcom, had died in his cage, along with many of his vassals. His body could not withstand the winter, his eyes and skin were blued as the sea’s water from the cold.

  “How did you manage to find us?” Cedric said as he embraced his two rescuers, who both smiled and Leopold gave full testimony of their travels.

  “Upon the road, just past Luxen, Lafayette had camped his army, and we relayed your message as promised. And as promised, we marched past Prav and directly to the north, where we came upon the Sundering Valley. Lafayette went into a rage when we found that field of dead. He personally combed the bodies to see if he could find you. When we failed to produce your corpse, he ordered double-time march up north to find you.”

  Cedric was warmed and inspired by Lafayette, the noblest son of Lorine to be born a bastard. “Where is this army now?”

  Eadwine cut in front of Leopold and smiled wide, a lit torch in his hand. “Waiting for the signal of vengeance.”

  Cedric took the torch and drew his borrowed blade. “Men of Midland, your lord Malcom died tonight, shall we have revenge?”

  Grins and chuckles rose in the host of nobles, armed to the teeth with stolen armaments ranging from clubs to great halberds. Cedric rushed forward towards the main garrison tents of the camp, and flung the torch through the air, landing atop the main granary tent.

  The fire spread from the outside of the tent, and soon engulfed the barrels and sacks of food, which billowed and spiraled towards the sky in a huge swath of flame, which could be seen clear across the night sky. In the distance upon the hill, a horn was blown, and a cry was heard. From the hilltop, a full army of Lorine plunged down to destroy the Hirdlanders consumed by the chaos of the flame, which jumped from tent to tent where men were still waking from disturbed sleep. Cedric and his band rushed through the tents, taking out scores of smaller groups that were running around in panic at the sight of their camp in flames.

  Roderic took a hammer and pounded away at the chains of his River Folk, who stood more like skeletons than men, withered with their flesh hugged against raw bone. Roderic led his bowmen away from the camp, for Roderic knew his men were not able to fight, they were too tired and weak. He ordered them to stand upon the hill overlooking the burning camp, where they provided support as archers, picking off any Hirdmen who attempted to break and flee.

  Now from the hill, a full rank of cavalry rode down the hill, sweeping through the base of the hill with ease and precision. Upon their shields and banners, there was a red falcon, the Red Gyrfalcon. The knights were in regal armor, full plate with helms which were feathered in a rainbow of color which stretched down to their saddles. Their thin lances pierced through the hardest of armor like tissue paper as they rode through the camp with speed swift as lightning.

  Following the horsemen, the Lorinian infantry, adorned in thick aketon and chain armor, went through and overwhelmed towards the northern edge of the camp, where most of the tents were now blackened ash upon the ground. Cedric hurried through the main pitches, towards the center where Arrington’s main tent was set.

  “To the chancellor brave men of Lorine! Now that traitor shall see the harvest of the havoc he has sown!”

  The flame had not yet consumed Arrington’s tent, and it stood towering above the smoke, a series of wooden towers covered in thick cloth, with roomed tents connecting into a rustic palace. The chancellor had a full host of men from Lahyrst in his retinue, adorned in steel scale armor, dark and pointed helms, and long flowing black capes marked with the sigil of the red fox. These guardsmen were overwhelmed with arrow fire which pelted them from all sides, tearing through the flames and nearby tents. When the last of them laid slain, Cedric and his followers rushed into the tent, where Arrington made his stand.

  The inside was broad and tall, like a lord’s feasting hall, and it was adorned with chandeliers which hung from high standing wooden supports. The main tent was floored with wood, and a great map of northern Yennen lay sprawled across the table, along with figurines representing cities and armies.

  At the opposite end of the table, William Arrington was half dressed, still in his sleeping garments and cap, though he had steadied a longsword in his hand. Cedric was filled with a vengeful rage as he crossed the wooden floor, ready to end the Fox.

  The two scuffled, and neither had the advantage with the blade, for Cedric was not used to the balance of the Hirdland weapon in his hand. They resorted to the oldest form of fighting, drawing blood from fists and elbows all while Cedric’s companions gathered around and watched. For a moment, Cedric was on his back, receiving fists directly to his face, rupturing the veins in his nose, sending blood flying across his face. With a swift move of the legs, Cedric threw Arrington upon the table and felt his hands move into rhythm as he mercilessly pummeled the chancellor into a bloody pulp. The chancellor’s legs kicked up and up as he struggled to survive, all while Cedric gave no motion of slowing his brutal rampage.

  This went on for some time, until Cedric collapsed onto the floor in a complete mess of sweat and blood, panting heavy and holding his nose which was now cracked and broken. His hands had become numb, and his ears were ringing as his head seared in pain. Arrington was dead, his head nearly caved in, swollen and red like a piece of crushed fruit.

  Aderyn rushed to his side. “Cedric…” She said in a muffled voice, which sounded distant. “Cedric.” It came again this time clearer. “Cedric!” Now her voice was there with him, and Cedric looked up in confusion, still panting, as she examined his hands. “Gods, look what you’ve done.” His hands were nearly torn open, bits of exposed flesh showed the outline of bone and muscle. Aderyn quickly took cloth and wrapped his hands, turning the makeshift tourniquet a dark red from blood.

  Cedric rose and steadied himself on the table, where Arrington was now sprawled lifeless across scattered the maps and battle plans. The largest map, representing Midland and Belfas, had yet to be disturbed. “Here,” Cedric said. �
��We can gather some knowledge of Azrael’s movements.”

  “Hurry,” Beorn said as he peeked out the tent with the handle of his axe, “the flames are rising in the eastern quarter and are crawling towards here.”

  Alfnod straight the map with his hands and took account of each army. “Azrael is marching northeast, towards Zweleran, it seemed he intends to crush the only ones still able to challenge his claim.”

  Cedric spotted a strange carved marker on the east, towards the Ithon, it was of a stag. “Ha-ha! Pike must be marching. Look, he is just on the cusp of Midland, Miro’s lot have done their part well.”

  “Come, Cedric, we must leave before these flames take us with them,” Beorn said in a concerned voice as he ushered his companions out of the tent. The camp had been emptied, a decisive blow to Azrael’s forces. The group marched through ashen mounds as they reconnected with the Lorinian army. They marched upon and over the hill to the east, where they were met by a host of cheering soldiers, chanting the name of their king, Cedric.

  “Hail! Hail! Hail!” Thrice they chanted, each time with more vigorous strength, all the while rattled their blades against shields, lifting pikes and spears high into the night sky. Lafayette emerged from the crowd, adorned in his typical red cloaked armor, and he bore a wide grin.

  “My lord!” He embraced Cedric, and the two were at last reunited after months away.

  “Took your sweet time I see.” Cedric joked.