The Sword to Unite

by Peter J. Hopkins

  “Yes well, there was this particular maid in Lahyrst.” Lafayette shrugged his shoulders sarcastically. “It just didn’t feel right to leave her so soon.”

  Cedric turned his face to one of absolute seriousness, and in a small and timid voice, he could only muster. “Thank you.” Lafayette exchanged the same look and nodded; he knew the gravity of the war they wrought.

  Cedric was led to a large red tent, where new garments were waiting for the remaining Vine Guard and Cedric’s companions. Alfnod giggled like a child with a birthday present as he slipped new socks and boots on his callused and bloodied feet, which had near turned full purple from the freezing cold. Cedric dawned a heavy bear pelt cloak, which warmed his bones and gave color back to his flesh.

  They then were offered a commander’s meal, a full soldier’s ration, plus dried fruits and freshly caught game, along with a hearty reserve brought up from Wulfstan. The companions scarfed down the food, taking paused only for breath or drink. Beorn ate two full chickens, and he plucked his teeth with their bones as he reclined in his chair sipping at his wine glass.

  When they had supped, the table was cleared, and battle maps were laid out, detailed images of Belfas and Midland. Esmond, Knight-Commander of the Red Gyrfalcon, entered while removing his feather helm, and knelt before Cedric.

  “My lord, my horses are yours to command, their lances yours to give issue.” Esmond appeared more aged than the last time they had met, and his hair was now gray with only shades of black left in some parts.

  “Thank you, Esmond; I will need a Commander of Cavalry, you would do well at it.”

  “My lord.” Esmond took his place amongst the captains who had entered to discuss the war plan.

  “What is our next step?” Alfnod interrupted. “Without the armies of Midland, we’ve still been left in dire straits, for Azrael still holds two-thirds of his strength.” The two spoke as they walked towards Lafayette’s tent, where maps had been laid, and supplies accounted for.

  “What numbers do we have here?” Cedric asked.

  “Nearly two thousand, many were left in Lorine to keep watch over Lahyrst and Wulfstan.”

  Cedric looked at the detailed map of Belfas, where every mountain, river, and village was shown. It was an ancient land with much history and lore. Upon the coast of Stirlen, Loden is believed to have wept upon the sand, forming man from the clay he made. From the southern city of Ponstow to the coastal castles of Canterbrick, the Belfan Lords rule their petty kingdoms, never fully united, though never fully divided.

  Lafayette interrupted Cedric’s thoughts. “We seem trapped on this hill front.” He pointed to the map and dragged his finger across Midland. “To the north, Azrael campaigns against the Knights, though with our victory here, his attention will inevitably turn to us. To the east, if we march, we would be overrun before reaching the Ithon. If we move south, Azrael will send his cavalry forward, who near double our own infantry numbers. To the west, Belfas, we would have no supply chains or friends in that land.”

  Cedric pondered over each detail, hoping for some sign of advantage. To cross in Belfas, they would take either of two roads. The redwood forest north of the Red Marsh, snug between a mountain pass. Or to Green Rock of the south, home to house Oderyr, whose liege lord, Theodric, and all his troops, had not been present at the Sundering Hills. The castle of Green Rock was just upon the edge of the Red Marsh, nestled at the basin of the Belfan Mountains, meaning no attack could come from the south or the north.

  “If we march west we may yet find a friend in the Swamp Lord,” Cedric said with uncertainty.

  Roderic was not convinced. “Bah, an old loon that one is, ruling over his pile of mud and dung. Did you see his banners at Sundering Hills? No, he abandoned us for his own safety. An unreliable vassal if I’ve laid eyes upon one.”

  “It seems as though from our report, it is our only chance, unless of course, you want to face Azrael head-on, Roderic,” Cedric said in a lighter tone as he raised his eyebrow smugly.

  “The way is not wholly safe, Azrael still controls the easternmost patch of that swamp. It could be another ambush like Sundering Hills.”

  “We’ll just have to take that risk then, no avoiding it. Captains, ready the men come the dawn, we march for Belfas.”

  The captains and Lafayette bowed, gave a, “yes my lord,” and exited the tent.

  Cedric walked by himself out of the tent and wandered through the grassy field. His legs felt freed for the first time in weeks, and he took delicate time to stretch and breathe fresh air. His bloodied knuckles had been wrapped and cleaned, though they still stung from the nip of the cold air. He held his bear cloak close to his skin, folding it over his arms and neck as the wind howled and sped across the grassy hill. Cedric stood and tried to remember the feeling of a warm summer breeze, gentle to the touch. His mind searched and searched, but was given only the present sting of cold, even under his many layers of clothing. Cedric stood and feared, feared that he would never feel the touch of a summer’s breeze. He took it is an ill omen, a memory never to be recalled.

  Upon the furthest distance of the horizon, Cedric saw his companion from Orford. Jarrick had caught a goat and was playing with its meal like a house cat.

  Cedric stood watch over the field for a full hour, mesmerized by the griffin just on the cusp of his vision. The first snows of winter had come in Lorine, as Cedric would be told, the time for a conventional war had passed, for the coming battle would be a war for survival, a war to see the spring.

  Chapter 30

  Castle Green Rock

  The army marched through the grassy fields of Midland for a week before finally reaching the full extent of the Red Marsh. The muck reached up to the thigh and was textured like a rotted stew. The only saving grace of that swamp was the red water lilies, which emitted a pleasant aroma which filled the air in the form of visible clouds.

  From the hill above the swamp, Cedric paused to take a full view of the marsh which stretched endlessly into the horizon. It was covered with trees which had thick branches and vines which wrapped around one another. Many of the trees were shaded red as the water lilies, giving it a beautiful, yet ominous hue.

  “Gaspar,” Cedric said to his wizard, “Do the magi know why this swamp is painted with such brilliant red?”

  “Only that this marsh was swept up by a great rainstorm some thousand years ago, filling this once-valley whole. It was a blood red cloud which bore the water, making many believe it to be an omen rather than a natural event. The red water lilies have no origin behind them, for nowhere else has such a species been recorded. Some magi theorize the storm came from beyond the eastern shores, to the Greendawn Sea. That would mean the storm came from the lands where no men dare sail, where people wear stones in their ears and lips and have purple teeth.” Gaspar spoke no further, the land across the Greendawn had often been the apt story for parents trying to get their children to sleep.

  Once King Baudoin, founder of the Erastrian people, sailed there with a fully crewed ship. Upon his return, he was mute, and his crew was missing. It was in his private journal his courtiers discovered details on a savage and terrifying land, guarded by stone giants and forests filled with men who hunted their own kind.

  The Lorinian army slugged for two days through the swamp, taking makeshift rafts across, before they reached the beginning of Oderyr territory. It was marked by ancient rune stones and wooden posts sunk deep into the murky terrain of the Red Marsh. Only a single road, hewn of cobblestone, was raised above the marsh. The men marched in rows of two across the narrow road, which winded and stretched across the landscape.

  This area of the Red Marsh was much fairer in weather and look, with littered trees across the mostly clear water. The red lily pads which decorated the landscape were in full final bloom before winter and had an assortment of reds in their pedals. On both trees and rocks, a green moss was growing strong, engulfing near ever surface in sight as though it were grass upon a prairie
.

  The army was met by soldiers loyal to Oderyr, dressed in the garb of both Midland, in their cloaks and brooches, but also that of the swamp, with many rugged furs and brown colored clothing. Their faces were fierce and near wild, for they had bits of mud and leaves in their long flowing beards. They wore kettle helmets which reached down to their noses and had slits in shape of eyes for clear sight. Their shields were pavise in design, with furs and pelts of animals strung over some, while others had painted images of a green tower. Their spear points were sharp though jaggedly made of low-grade steel.

  “Hail to Oderyr,” Cedric said from his horse as the guards approached, “I am Cedric Throne, heir to Adalgott, we come seeking safe passage through your land.”

  The guardsmen grumbled and spoke amongst themselves, till their captain, who bore a heavy axe and heavy chain coat, approached to give an answer. He slung his axe’s handle upon the road and looked up at Cedric. “We will take you to Green Rock; it is less than an hour’s march.”

  And so, the two groups now made their way to Green Rock. Cedric caught sight of fishermen going about their business, paddling along on long and narrow boats filled with their catch of the day, catfish, and trout amongst the lot. As they went, more clusters of guardsmen to Oderyr arrived and joined their caravan, coming from small forts of stone, tree huts, and caverns filled with garrisons of swamp dwellers. Some of them came bearing banners, bearing the sigil of Oderyr; a single-towered castle perched upon a muddy hill, whose stone had turned green at the basin. Their armor was mixed, with few matching uniforms. Most bore simple leathers with studded straps, others came with full breastplate, though the craftsmanship was poor and rusted.

  Finally, they reached the Moss Bridge, curved as a semi-circle above the still and clear moat, which reflected the green bridge in a perfect image. Across this bridge and canal, Castle Green Rock, an ancient testament to architecture, built sometime in the first days of man and maintained and built up by the family of Oderyr ever since. It was an island surrounded by a single circular wall, with the keep and other buildings upon the central hill. The central keep was of basic design, though no less effective, and on all sides, a design of vines and moss clung to the walls, as beautiful and filled with history as a woven tapestry.

  This description is not to take away from the overall magnitude of the castle, for it was larger than most in Midland. The island substantial enough to allow four separate halls, along with a few towered buildings which stretched above the canopy of the swamp.

  Cedric’s army was given camp just on the outside of the moat, where there was enough dry field to hold them, while he and his companions crossed over the Moss Bridge. The main courtyard was composed of gardens and ancient fountains, which poured out water from faucets in the shape of fish and other animals. The guardsmen led Cedric and his retinue to the main hall, where lord and lady Oderyr awaited their king and guest.

  The couple sat in wooden chairs around a large fire pit, which was laid at the center of the hall. Theodric and Elanna, ancient as their own castle, were both of white hair and wrinkled skin. Theodric turned to greet Cedric, his lips were curled beneath a long white beard and he raised his gray eyebrow high on his brow. His eyes were wide and appeared near insane. “My lord! Come and sit by the fire. Ha-ha,” Theodric and Elanna burst into crackling laughter, their age evident in their voice as they bellowed and warmed their shaking hands at the fire. “Come now Cedric; I’m only half as mad as they say!” Theodric’s mind seemed to wander as Cedric pulled up a chair, and the old man was deep in disconnected thought.

  “Thank you, Lord Theodric, the road has not been kind to us, I am here to…” Cedric was cut off by Theodric, who suddenly jumped out of his thoughts.

  “Why are you here Cedric? To snatch away one of my daughters as a bride, hmm?”

  Elanna, with white and wispy hair, was rocking back and forth in her chair, hard at work at embroidery which had no clear pattern or reason. “We haven’t got any daughters Theodric. He must be here for the tourney, why all the pretty young lads come for our tourneys.”

  “Why yes, we have daughters, my wife, that one lovely lass, hair red as…”

  “No, no daughters at all, Theodric.”

  “Oh, yes that’s right my dear wife, no daughters at all…must be the tourney.”

  Cedric sat befuddled in his chair, unsure of what was happening. He turned to his companions who were equally confused. Eadwine hid behind the rest of them, trying desperately to contain laughter behind a widening grin.

  Cedric decided to test the old man. “Theodric…do you know where Malcom is?”

  Theodric turned deadly serious and leaned in close to Cedric. “If you are here, of course I know. He’s on his way just now! The king wouldn’t want to miss our tourney! Even have that lass with the red hair…”

  “We don’t have any daughters Theodric,” Elanna interrupted again.

  “Oh yes, that’s right my dear wife, no daughters at all.”

  “Theodric!” Cedric raised his voice and startled even himself. He took a gentle tone for the rest of his conversation. “Malcom and many others were slain at the Sundering Hills. I lead what remains of our forces with Roderic; you know Roderic don’t you?” The old man nodded. “We need passage through the Marsh. If we cannot reach Belfas, your people, and all of Midland will be in great danger.”

  Theodric turned to his wife, and attempted to whisper, though Cedric heard. “What is he talking about dear?”

  “Why, the tourney my dear.”

  “Oh, yes the tourney, well tell him to see that lovely girl with the red hair, win her favor so pleasantly.”

  “Of course, dear.”

  Cedric had no words, he had heard rumors of the Oderyr withering age, but nothing on this level of sheer madness. The captain of the guard who led them to the castle approached and knelt beside Cedric to whisper. “My lord, their health is not well, follow me.”

  Cedric alone was led up a spiraling tower as his companions were given room and board in the guest wing of the castle. He climbed the steps with the captain until they reached a large wooden door, where two guards kept keen watch, spears, and shields at attention.

  The captain beckoned them aside and opened the door with a heavy iron key, which rattled as it slid through the lock. The door screeched open and revealed a rather plain bedroom, with a red-haired woman sitting upon an arched windowsill, looking out at the expanse of the sunlit marsh.

  It was Beatrix, her face was pale, though it had gained some color since the last they met. Her face was filled with sadness but also hope.

  Cedric stood and bowed before her. “My lady…your father did not make it.”

  “I know,” she said quickly, almost not giving Cedric time to finish his words. “A rider came just two days after bearing that news. I have no more tears for such mourning, for there is no time for it.” She flattened her dress with her hands, stood, and crossed the room towards a large chest. She opened the iron box and lifted another, smaller box, wrapped in an elegant purple cloth. “I fled from Prav just hours after I learned he died; I knew I would not be safe there. The Oderyr, though they are mad, are sweet and kind, and more importantly, unable to remember why I am important, so there is no chance of betrayal.” She began unwrapping the cloth, revealing corners of polished gold and gems decorating the box. Cedric leaned forward, his interest mounting by the second.

  The cloth fell to the floor, as if in slowed reality, and Beatrix opened the box. Inside, a crown of gold. It was thin and had many pointed tips, each with a single red ruby. The main part of the crown was etched with magnificent craftsmanship, many swirling circles and designs akin to the most ancient of northern kings.

  Beatrix carefully lifted the crown and rested in on her lap. Cedric knelt and bowed his head. “My lady you honor me…”

  “I do not,” Beatrix said in a stern voice, while Cedric lifted his head with a confused look. “I do this to secure my birthright, not only to Prav but t
o the lands and titles of Lenich. I was raised as the child to Crawe, but my blood, as far as I can tell, is of Lenich. I will give you this crown, give up my claim as Queen of Midland, but only if you grant me the title of my twin fiefs.”

  Cedric was distrustful and questioned her motives. “Why give up the royal crown, for one of a vassal?”

  She brushed off his doubts in a swift word, “I’ve no mind for battlefields and supply trains, but I have quite the skill in politics, why scrape by as commander when I can thrive as councilwoman, advisor, and landholder?” And yet Cedric was still unconvinced, both in look and mind. “I know the title is but honorary at this point, Lord Cedric, but the few that remain, they would rally, the captains of the Oderyr banners for instance…’

  Cedric doubted, yet held no intention of denying the offer, and so he gave his decision, “It shall be tonight, in the gardens of Green Rock.”

  Beatrix nodded her head and gave a smile, “Of course my king, it shall be done.”

  And so, the local lords of the swamp gathered, as the sun fell and the moon rose, to await the Witan. Torches with sweet smelling oils were placed surrounding the gardens illuminating moss covered statues and overgrown hedges. A stone table was brought out to the center of the garden from the main hall, and pen with paper was placed upon the smoothed surface.

  Cedric was led out from the main hall of the castle, now bathed and dressed in a purple silk shirt, with the faintest embroidery of grapevines, as befits the King of Midland. He was given a golden ring which held the coat of arms of Midland, the ring once worn by Malcom at his coronation. He sat, and the lords took seat around him in a great circle. Many of the men were of little land and wealth, though their title satisfied that they sit on the Witan.

  Behind this sitting council, Cedric’s companions stood, dressed in finer clothes. They had laid their weapons at the guest hall, where they had received food of various fish and wetland crop. Beorn looked like a jester, for he wore a tight brown shirt, two sizes too small, with frilled shoulders of bright orange.