The Sword to Unite

by Peter J. Hopkins

  Gaspar then approached, his long gray hood over his head, and he wore many chains of clergy over his neck. His face was stern and serious, as it was a significant honor for a magi to preside at a coronation, an event for historical record, one Gaspar would gladly write about. His familiar face comforted Cedric, who had sat in the stone chair with a nervous look. Gaspar was given a wineskin and a finely made glass bottle filled with oil.

  Gaspar spoke with booming and confident voice, “Kneel, my lord, see yourself prostrate before the gods and your loyal subjects.” And so, Cedric knelt and placed his hands at prayer by his chest. Gaspar took the wineskin and poured out the wine upon Cedric’s head three times, blessing Cedric each pour. Next, the magi took up the bottle and placed oil upon his palms. He rubbed the oil on Cedric’s forehead with his thumb and put his hands on his lord’s shoulders.

  Gaspar looked up from Cedric and turned his head to the council around them, “What say you men of Midland?”

  The lords rose, and Theodric stood to give the council’s word. Cedric bore a grave look; he knew not if the man intended to announce his kingship or the extraordinary sight of the lilies in the garden. The other lords all leaned in and awaited the old man, who had begun to mutter and shake under his breath. “We…the council…” Theodric looked back towards one of his vassals, who quickly gave a muffled whisper of instruction. “Submit to Lord Cedric…my, would you see the daisies bloom…” His voice was drowned out by cheering, and the lords quickly beckoned that he sit before any damage be done.

  Gaspar boomed once more, “Rise a new man! Cedric, son of Albert, of the name Thorne, whose founder is Edric. Rise and be called King of Midland!” The vassal lords now came forward one by one, and each was made to kneel and kiss the plain ring upon Cedric’s hand. Each said to him, “My lord, I humbly swear my fealty and loyalty, in the most dreadful winter, and pleasant summer, I will always have ready my table for your arrival, and your cup shall overflow at my feastings.” Cedric gave his own oath to these lords, etched for eternity in word and pen. With the sigil of Thorne, dipped in hot wax, Cedric signed the paper upon the stone table, which had his own oath written upon it. The oath to uphold the rights and liberties of all his people.

  When the swearing of oaths had been completed, a great feasting began. Full roasted pigs with appled mouth came from the kitchens, which spewed out heat and steam from their hard labor. An assortment of sweets, custards, pastries, and cakes, were laid out on tables in the gardens. Bouquets of fruit had also been laid next to freshly gutted trout, which simmered and steamed as guests took their fill.

  Music too was played throughout the gardens, and Eadwine himself strummed his lute in rhythm with the musicians. It was fit for good dancing, and the lords began to partner with spouses and maidens of the hall. Cedric saw Aderyn sitting by herself, and slowly walked towards her. On the way, he picked a white tulip, long in stalk with milky white petals. He twiddled the flower in his hands and exaggeratedly knelt before Aderyn, reddening her face with embarrassment.

  Cedric spoke in rustic accent, “Shall we have this dance, my lady?”

  Aderyn crossed her arms in protest and sarcastically pouted, “I didn’t realize the king wanted to die at his coronation.” Without word, Cedric grabbed her from the seat and rushed her to the main stretch of grass. They swirled upon the grassy knoll of the castle’s courtyard, their heels clicking sharp against cobblestone which patterned the ground. The two danced till guests had returned to bed, and torchlight grew dim as the orange sunset. When the candles had burned out, the two retired to the keep, happy, for the last together.

  Cedric awoke to find that Aderyn had already risen and left his room, and he looked out the window to find the chirping of birds greeting his waking. He rose, and rather than wear the stuffy clothes that befit a king; he dawned his usual traveling clothes. His weight felt shifted; he had yet to grow accustomed to the new, heavier sword on his hip. He sorely missed Bayeux.

  His room was situated a full story above the main hall, and he made his descent to join his other guests. When he turned the corner of the hallway, he saw that his friends had begun their breakfast, along with a few of the remaining vassal lords, for most had already left for the road home.

  Lafayette had his feet upon the table, sipping at a brandy snug in his hand. He said, “To the king’s health!” Lafayette raised his cup in toast and downed the last of the liquid courage. “It seems the party is truly over my friend,” his tone turned serious, “look, the candles have run their length, the feasting tables emptied of their bounty and left as scraps for the dogs, the wine has run dry, the reserves as well. We must march to war.” Lafayette donned a long flowing coat of red fox skin and ushered towards the door. He added to his own words, “These last lords of Midland have pledged their men and supplies, supplies enough to reach Belfas, the time has come.” Lafayette gave a sympathetic shrug to his king, who had yet even to reach the bottom of the staircase.

  Cedric looked down, uneasy at the prospect, for he knew the last feast had been done, the last wine drunk, he could feel nothing but the cold of the coming winter, which seemed to barrel towards him in growing speed.

  Cedric took an empty chair, reclined, and began putting food on his plate. Cedric gave his last joke, “Well I’ve never heard of a good general who didn’t have breakfast before the battle.”

  Lafayette smiled and said, “Very well my lord,” conceding the breakfast meats and leftover cakes to his lord as final break before the road, and he left the hall to ready the horses.

  Cedric was greeted by Theodric and his wife Elanna, as well as Beatrix. “Oh, the tourney is over so soon!” said Theodric, his mind was truly like gruel.

  “Oh my dear,” his wife said, “But what a tourney it was! Lads all clad in armor, see them there at the camp.”

  Beatrix stepped forward to interrupt, “Yes my lord and lady, truly…a riveting tourney.” She pulled Cedric aside, “I supposed it’s the western road for you then?”

  Cedric responded dryly, “Yes, we’ll be taking rafts across the marsh and onto that path into Belfas. Thank you for everything Beatrix.”

  “Remember, it is not a gift, it’s a deal.” She was as headstrong and proud as her father.

  Cedric mounted his horse and rode to the front of the marching lines, where Oderyr infantry carried long rafts upon their shoulders. Beatrix would stay at Green Rock; it was now the safest place in the north. Meanwhile, Cedric marched to where the danger was greatest.

  Chapter 31

  The Second Stone

  So the camp was packed, and the fields emptied, the road was once again the home for Cedric’s band. The journey out of Oderyr territory was done by boat, for the westernmost reaches of the marsh were the wettest. By rows and rows of longboats, they paddled across the wetlands, pierce through patches of thickly fogged land. When the army had docked upon the western ferry, they took their packs and supplies upon their backs and began marching for Belfas.

  The western road was much wider, and in most places the army found themselves marching on dry grass, rather than muddy swamp. Soon the highland of Belfas revealed itself, in majestic whited mountaintops, and vast green valleys, where bellowing winds greeted the packs of grazing sheep. The signs of winter were abundant in the highlands, for grass lay browned and dead, and the days grew shorter and colder with each one that passed.

  The southeast of Belfas was mostly uninhabited, for the men preferred the warmer, western coast, where fish and game were plentiful, along with fertile land for sowing. The only men they saw were shepherds who had come down from villages on mountainsides hewn of rock. The Belfans were dressed in heavy winter clothing, a mixture of beautiful furs and thick dyed wool, woven into intricate and colorful patterns along their shoulders and sides.

  At the front of the army, Cedric rode a white steed, which had spots of brown, with flowing mane of milky white. Upon the horizon, Cedric caught sight of a great smooth stone which jutted from the ground like a
mountain. He bid his army rest when they came upon the base of the rock, which was shaped like a carved square, standing taller than most castles or towers. Upon the rock above the basin, Cedric noticed many carved patterns and words, along with depictions of the gods and mortal men.

  Gaspar approached and dismounted his horse, and ran his hand along the stone. “This is an ancient place of power…Adalgott’s Second Stone,” He said as he turned to Cedric, wonder, and amazement fresh upon his eyes. “It is the only evidence that Adalgott went north when he abdicated his throne, for it was carved after his time in Wulfstan, but before the time of his descendant kings. Look,” he said as he pointed out an etching of a crown adorned man wielding a flaming sword, “There is Adalgott himself, snug between the depictions of Loden and the map of the North.”

  “Do you know what the words say?” Cedric asked.

  “None now do possibly save some master magi deep in their studies…my, what it must have been like, to stand here those fateful years before.” Gaspar was enthralled by the stone, both the religious and the historical merit it held.

  Cedric approached the stone slowly, as though he approached in reverence the gods themselves. He removed his riding glove from his right hand and touched the cold stone. His body jolted with an incredible energy, profound and ancient, which stirred from long winter’s slumber with his touch. Cedric heard a great bellowing in the mountains and especially in the stone, though none else besides him could perceive the sound. Like a thousand beating drums and blowing horns, it pierced his ears and rang incessantly in his head.

  Suddenly there was a sharp sound. “Caw! Caw!” A full flock of crows ascended from the grass and small bunch of trees, their wings black as night clouded the ground that their shadows passed. Cedric felt a great tremble at his feet, as though the world would crack in two, and yet his hand kept steady on the stone, compelled by a subconscious will. His hand grew hot, hot as the sword when at the blacksmith’s forge, and the stone his hand touched appeared to turn a molten, white-hot red.

  Cedric lurched back, afraid of what strange thing he had awoken, and his companions looked at him with glances of confusion, for they had witnessed none of it. “Could you not hear those booming sounds?” Cedric said with fast pace. He looked at his hand, expecting horrific burns, but he saw only his hand, still cold from the stone. His friends grew in their concern.

  “The wind is but a typical sound,” Leopold said, “Does it boom in your ears?”

  Cedric looked back at the stone, looking at it longingly, for it now appeared old in his memory. He spoke, “Never mind…it was nothing.” It appeared the stone visage of Adalgott, with eyes so cold and stoic, now looked back at him.

  Cedric’s army made camp upon the valley of the standing stone between two climbing mountain peaks, whose peaks could not be seen through thick night’s cloud. Cedric sat alone in his tent, the wind biting at his cloth home, which furled and flapped in the wind. At his desk, candles were lit, and the young king looked over logistics: grain, arrows, and horses, all vital for the war he waged. The army was well supplied, thanks to the support of Oderyr, who sent a full supply train of fresh food as tribute. They could push near halfway to the northern coastline of Belfas, where ancient cities could provide shelter for many months, possibly years.

  Lafayette entered with a scout by his side, garbed in brown clothing fit for stealthy riding. Lafayette spoke, “My lord, this man has come from the eastern front, on mission to track and gain information on Azrael’s forces.”

  Cedric beckoned the scout forward, and the candlelight of his desk revealed he was a young lad, with first beard and freckles fresh upon his face. Cedric took a pitcher of wine, and poured a glass, and offered it to the boy. The king spoke, “For the cold,” the boy happily accepted the wine, drinking it greedily, “Now then to the meaning, your report?”

  The scout put the cup back on the table, “Oh yes my lord.” He loosened his belt buckle and produced a small satchel with sketching and tally marks done with charcoal. He read from the list he presented, “I first spotted their scavengers and sentinels upon Karak Makath, the second largest castle of the Eternal Dawn.” The boy’s voice went gravely serious and he gulped down air to steady himself, “Azrael had sacked the castle, its billowing black smoke could be seen well into the sky, and I had healthy fear that it would blot out the sun. Their host in near eighty thousand, as I counted from a nearby hilltop…” The scout stopped to gather himself. “I snuck into their camp, under the veil of night, and took number of their men and supplies. They come with raiders from Hirdland, as we already know, but there are mercenaries from Dradania, adorned in heavy steel armor, which shined as they passed by torchlight. There too, they gather strength of Elnish men, bearing heavy halberds and crossbows from their southern realm.”

  Cedric leaned in, his face was filled with dread, and he spoke, “By what number do they greet us?”

  “They come nearing twenty thousand, possibly more, for I was compelled by fear to flee the camp when dark glances were given as I counted.”

  Cedric reclined in his chair and rubbed his temple. His head raced with thought of such a force. “Very well,” he said as he gripped both arms of his chair, “See yourself to a bed and hot meal…’

  “That is not all my lord,” Lafayette interrupted. The scout fumbled with his words, and finally, Lafayette spoke for the boy, “They have made camp only ten miles away, and they have gained ground in the past weeks. Soon, very soon, they shall overcome our camp, even if we marched all day and made no permanent camp.”

  Lafayette beat his foot against the tent floor, and ushered the scout away, thanking him for his service. Now it was just Cedric and Lafayette in the tent. The wind howled outside, bringing in a cold gust which raged against the candles of the tent. Cedric felt utterly defeated.

  “That was it, Lafayette,” Cedric said pathetically, “Our final chance is gone.”

  “Battles have been won against worse odds than that,” Lafayette said optimistically as he grabbed two glasses and a pitcher of wine. He took the cups and poured wine, and the king and his commander drank together.

  “We had a good run,” Cedric said, already reminiscing on his life. “You would’ve made an excellent First Marshall for the whole of the north.” The wine soothed his throat and calmed his nerves.

  “There is still a chance.” Lafayette tried desperately to rekindle his king’s courage. “I remember when I was just a youth, nothing more than a squire in Oswine’s court, I was sent out with Sir Jerald, do you remember him?”

  Cedric smiled and spoke while sipping his wine, “Yes, he had a great curled mustache if I stand correct?”

  “Yes, though it had grayed by the time I was his squire. He took a small band of knights, and myself out for a ride through the countryside. We passed by the Elthine Forest, where we came upon a whole regiment of cutthroats. Jerald fell in the first wave, an arrow right through his eye, his body near crushed me as it swung off his horse, clanking in his fine steel. I was sure I was done for, they had us surrounded on all sides, closing in fast, and me, without armor or a horse. You know this story Cedric, I was the talk of the kingdom when I returned to Wulfstan, Oswine gave me a ring and name, and I was taken as his ward, just like yourself. I did not get where I am in life by ease.” Lafayette went deathly serious, and he took away Cedric’s glass, so he was at full attention. “I fought harder that day than any other day in my life. It was a mess of bodies and horses, I took up Sir Jerald’s sword and fought, fought until I could see the other side, the side with the honor and truth… Cedric, you have united the armies of Lorine and Midland, you’ve rallied the Folk of the Forest, you’re the bloody heir to Adalgott. You cannot give up now not because are won’t, but because you can’t.” Lafayette stood and gave a bow, “I have followed you for years as friend and captain, now let me follow you.”

  Lafayette exited the tent and vanished into the cold of the night, which crept through the open flap of the tent an
d bit at Cedric’s flesh. The king was in deep thought, and he laid both his hands, shaking, upon the table to steady himself. Cedric stood and gazed over the map. Suddenly his fists slammed against the table, and he knocked the pitcher and glasses from the table. He rushed from the tent, and his guards gave attention as he went.

  He saw the whole of his camp, as his tent was on a small hill above the rest. Hundreds upon hundreds of tents organized in neat rows, with dots of brazier fire to warm the watchmen greeted his sight. Cedric saw the stone just upon the edge of the camp, which again appeared to call out, crying for his namesake. The king marched towards the stone, with a slight stumble from his wine and lack of rest.

  Cedric collapsed as he reached the basin of the stone and laid both his hands upon its smooth design, searching for answers within the rock and himself. He spoke to himself, and to the gods, in whisper so quiet it appeared as loud as a solitary thought, “Show me…give me a sign of strength.” The stone was silent, only the wind gave an answer, cold wind against his face.

  The king began to weep, mourning not for himself, but for those who followed him. For those who had not the strength to follow, who sat by their fires in winter, unsure of their fate come the spring. Again he whispered, “Give me a sign,” and again the stone was silent. Finally, Cedric grew angry, and his face turned red. He screamed and shouted at the tree, “Show me the way! Do not abandon me now!” His fist pounded hard against the stone, and he could feel them already beginning to bruise. He heard a faint sound, the second stirring of the stone. This time there was no great booming noise, nor shaking of the earth. The noise was like a whisper, and it soothed Cedric to hear it cry to him.

  Cedric gazed deep through the stone, and his eyes were made clear. Within the stone, there was cold darkness, and yet at its center, a flame.

  Cedric was filled with the warmth of the fire, and he jolted up from his knees. He went running at full sprint back towards the camp, a broad smile of hope on his face. He rushed towards the quartermaster’s tent, where Beorn was sharpening a heavy axe against a whetstone. The enlightened king came through like a storm, without so much as a hello to Beorn was gave a raised eyebrow. Cedric took a large chisel and pickaxe from the supplies and hurried back to the stone with them under his arms.