It was to great effect, for Azrael lost nearly two-thirds of his front ranks to the first charge. The Hirdmen were given no break, as the Minotaurs who had feinted now came from either flank, pincer striking through the second rank. The satyrs came next, wiping out the remnants of the two front formations, while the third already began to break away towards the castle. This charge was finally slowed and pitched combat began between the Hirdmen and the Unseen Ones.
It was not long before Pike had driven through the melee of the field, and brought his band of bodyguard up to Cedric’s level in the castle. The king in the forest dismounted from his noble steed, whose iron antlers were now bent and broken from the charge. Pike embraced Cedric as he would an old friend. “We had not thought to be here Cedric! For weeks I was bogged down in the land where the Ithon and Suthon meet, near the city of Eadburg. There I grappled with the Wolf King of the Suthon, who gave me this,” Pike lifted his right arm, which had long claw marks running up its frame. “I would have come at once, but to leave the Suthon to raid and reap in my lands, would be unacceptable.”
Cedric could not help but smile as he spoke, “There is nothing to regret, you did as any king would do, it was a wise choice.” The two steadied themselves and turned their full attention to their armies. Pike had overwhelmed the castle and was winning in the field.
Azrael was beaten, and he knew it. With his personal band, he took off riding towards the western forest, hoping to flee back to the Red Marsh. Cedric saw this, and though he was wounded, he took off after him. “Come with me, any who can fight! To the hidden tunnel!” Aderyn, Alfnod, Leopold, and Eadwine joined Cedric, along with a small band of Lorinian troops. Lafayette and Gaspar remained behind, knowing that they may need to aid Pike’s advancing forces.
Through the tunnel, Cedric’s band moved with conviction. Their king led with torchlight at the front, clutching in agony at his many sustained wounds. They came out of a large tree’s basin and found themselves near where the Rivermen were attacked. Leopold spotted Azrael’s fleeing horse, along with his captains, “Quick! Eadwine, with your bow!” Eadwine took aim at Azrael’s steed and followed in unison movement across the forest floor. At last, his arrow flew, and pierce the beast’s heart, sending both the mount and the rider crashing to the fallen leaves.
Azrael’s company turned their horses and rushed at Cedric’s band. The king ducked to the side and sliced through the horse of one of the riders. It was an indecisive battle, neither could get the advantage.
While the skirmish raged on, Cedric approached Azrael’s horse, only to find the dark one had already fled. Cedric turned back and ushered to Eadwine, “Eadwine! Get a horse and find out where…” Azrael appeared from behind a raised tree, whose roots tangles all along the forest floor. In his hand, a curved dagger pointed at Aderyn’s neck.
“You will surrender your army, false king Cedric.” Azrael began to cut, just enough to draw blood, “Or I take what you hold dear.” Aderyn struggled, her fierce will never wavering, even in the face of death. Cedric didn’t know what to do, his mind rushed for any strategy until he heard the snap of a tree branch behind Azrael and the image of an old friend. Eadwine drew back his bow, “You move the knife but an inch, and I will cut you down!”
Cedric shouted, “Enough!” He ordered Eadwine and his men lay down their weapons. Cedric stood tall, held his hands high, and dropped his sword on the ground. He slowly approached but stopped at where the exposed tree roots began. “There is no need for more bloodshed Azrael.”
Azrael was not convinced, so he took a step back and again threatened with the knife, “Stay back! My master will never let you win!”
“He has no power here; I’ve already won…now drop the knife.” Cedric was calm and relaxed; his heart did not even increase pace.
For a moment, it appeared there was refrain in Azrael’s cold and rotted face, a lapse in his faith for his master. It was not enough, “Very well Cedric.” Time appeared to slow as Azrael moved the blade across her neck. Cedric began to run up the roots, while from behind an enormous beast leaped through the tree branches.
It was the Griffin of Orford, with bloody justice raging in its wild eyes. Its razor-sharp claws tore at the back of Azrael, who screamed like a monstrous beast in the night. In a cloud of shadow, Azrael fled through the forest, swifter than any animal or man could ever move, his scream still echoing around them.
Aderyn was safe, and she grabbed at her red neck and coughed violently as she fell to the ground. Cedric knelt beside her, and touch her hand with his palm. “Do I look like some maiden? Go!” She scorned him for wasting time, and Cedric could not help but grin.
Leopold looked out into the forest, and shouted at Cedric, “Azrael flies with the speed of a wraith! We cannot catch him with simple horses! Look here, a trail of foul black blood.” Leopold pointed to the ground with his blade, where Azrael’s open wounds had spilled drops of the liquid.
Cedric looked to his Griffin, who matched his gaze with the recognition of being. The Griffin knew Cedric was his king and arched his body close to the ground. Cedric stood with a blank face and wiped the blood and tears from his face. Taking his sword as a walking cane, he approached the Griffin, and without resistance, brushes his hand along the red and yellow feathers of such royal beauty.
Cedric gripped at the neck of the beast and wrapped himself tightly across its back. The two breathed in unison, and their spirits were intertwined as king and subject. The Griffin jumped like a horse being broken, and its beak sniffed at the dark blood, and its eyes dilated as a lion with bloodlust.
Suddenly Cedric and the Griffin flew above the tree line, as Cedric held on for dear life. His eyes were closed due to the ferocity of the wind, but when the Griffin steadied himself, Cedric opened his eyes to see. They were well above the battlefield, and Cedric could see the full image of Broken Fang and the battle. The Unseen had done their part, sweeping through the castle’s first level, laying waste to the final remnants of Azrael’s forces.
Then the Griffin dove, bring its wingspan just above the height of the trees as it followed the scent of the dark blood. They flew for nearly an hour, and the sun began to orange as they went. At last, the Griffin landed, its wings gusting wind as a horse would slow its legs. Cedric awkwardly patted the Griffin along its slender neck, and he could swear he heard the noble beast coo as a common sparrow.
Cedric dismounted but stumbled as he went for he was still weak from battle. They were in a wooded grove, and the blood trail had stopped in a final pool. Cedric looked all around, his mind both afraid and filled with rage. The Griffin had its head at attention, listening to any sound the forest produced. Cedric listened and heard a snapping twig, and a running stream of water.
Mustering his courage, Cedric ignited his blade and drove through the shrubbery, where on the other side, Azrael awaited him.
Cedric crashed through and stood with his sword high to strike down his foe. He found himself in a little clearing, where winter flowers were in full bloom, and a stream poured out from a nook of stone. The orange rays of sunshine danced across the surface of the water, turning it to the appearance of liquid gold.
Azrael was there; he was laying down by the stream’s source, clutching at a grizzly gash in his rotted side. He breathed heavy, and simply gave of look of complete emptiness to Cedric. Cedric was shocked that his foe had been brought so low, and lowered his sword, though he did not loosen his grip.
“It’s over Azrael, your master, and you, have failed,” Cedric said with disdain and grief stuck in his throat.
“A thousand curses on your name Cedric, I am the true king, and I will take that title to my grave.” Azrael was stubborn and foolish in his mindset.
“Oh, I know you are king Azrael,” Cedric said with slyness, “The last Frisian king to be correct.” Cedric had struck a chord, his foe’s eyes, for only a moment, seemed human. Azrael’s breathing quickened and grew shallow; death was approaching as a once denied adversary, re
ady for the final victory.
“Please…” Azrael turned to pleading, “Take pity on one so unjustly betrayed and damned. It was not in my will, for any of this!”
Cedric gave no pity to the wretched one; he knew it would do nothing. He shook his head side to side, and spoke, “You knew well what you did, and yet death comes for you, in the end, your final promise from Crassus Baal, left unfulfilled.”
When Azrael knew his pleading had failed, he revealed his true nature; his voice turned harsh as stone against glass, “One thousand plagues and curses upon you! I would have myself die one thousand times if only see you fall!” With that final word, Cedric raised his sword and swung down, hard as he had ever struck.
The blade burned through the rotted flesh and clanged as it hit the stone lying beneath Azrael. Flocks of birds flew at the sound, and the day grew dim. Cedric collapsed to the grass, and lay there for hours, silently mourning all the war had brought to his lands. Azrael’s corpse had withered and turned to ash, as his mortal age had, at last, caught his body. The sky turned orange, and Cedric breathed a sigh of relief. The air felt cool through his throat, not bitterly cold as it had been before, spring was at last in the air. Cedric rose, and with the water of the stream, he washed away the surface wounds he had sustained, though no amount of water or magic would undo the deepened wounds he had sustained. His breath would be shallow upon a random sigh, his leg would feel pain in a random step, evil had done its work, and yet good had conquered.
He walked back to Broken Fang, for his winged beast had already left him, though Cedric could see clearly the beast headed southward. Back at the ruined citadel, Azrael’s forces had been gathered up, and they were brought before Cedric as his own men celebrated. Cedric was merciful to the prisoners, declaring them free to leave for their respective homes, but demanding all stolen goods be declared forfeit.
Alfnod was conscious and limped over to Cedric. Alfnod bore a pained look but was turned happy when he saw Cedric’s relieved look. With unspoken exchange, Alfnod and Cedric collapsed upon the wall of the castle as soldiers passed by. The two burst out in laughter, tears of joy flowed from their eyes as they wrestled and jostled one another.
Chapter 35
The Waking Spring
The sun broke through the gray clouds of the dawn. Upon the grassy fields, now returning to their green hue, a light sprinkle of dew graced their individual stalks. Birds had now returned to their nest, chicks hatched and chirped incessantly. Fresh cut timber was placed, and the beating of hammers was a constant sound throughout Orford. Men rose to meet their honest work near ten hours of the day, taking nightly rest in pitched tents where their children play, and wives cook. Winter had, at last, come to pass, the burned ash was swept away, and in its place, new life.
Cedric stood out upon his hill, to where his home once stood. His hair had begun to gray at the side, not from age but the weariness of travel and war. Where once his face was cleanly shaved, now a small beard, with twirled mustache had begun to form. At his head, the golden crown of Lorine, bejeweled with bright emeralds and sapphires. His figure had thinned since the beginning of his journey, the happy weight of his time in Orford had vanished. Geanlaecan was at his hip, covered by a long red cloak which lifted with each passing gust of spring wind. He stared out to his village, searching through the bank of memories in his mind.
Upon that hill, he had rolled down to his father’s arms in the happy summers of his childhood. In that inn, he had had his first drink and first hangover. Upon that gleaming shore of the lake, his first love. He did not even remember the burning of Orford, for what could that painful memory compare to the happy ones of youth.
A month had passed since the Battle of Broken Fang. Cedric courted in Prav for that time but had now returned to his native land, to his capital of Wulfstan. Declared king of both lands, he ruled more land than any northern king since the time of Adalgott, though Belfas remained an untamed beast. Cedric now gazed out to the countryside of Orford, a place he could return to at any time, but now felt as though this should be the final time his eyes would beset upon it. He wished for nothing more but to stay, abdicate the power he had gained, yet he remembered the advice of the good king Oswine. By hating his crown, he would know he was a righteous king.
Alfnod joined his watch; he too bore the weary marks of travel. The elf had the markings of a chancellor, adorned in a thick red cloak, along with a badge of office bearing an encrusted eagle. He now used a walking cane with a golden handle, for his wounds had not healed properly. He often found himself gasping for air, and clutching at his side.
Behind them both, a full royal escort. Many knights, bearing flags of vassals and noble houses, along with roofed carts of courtiers, including Aderyn, whose hair picked up in the wind, and danced as though in ballet. Her marriage to Cedric had stirred many nobles in dramatic gossip, yet it mattered not to Cedric, he was happy.
Cedric saw Alfnod but gave no word. Instead, the king simply began walking down the hill. He passed by Beorn’s hut, which sat empty. His wife could not bear to return to that place without her husband or first born. She went far to the east, to Ritter, to the village of her ancestors. Though she did not blame Cedric, the king never again heard from her in missive or in person.
Eadwine was by his cottage, packing the last of his traveling gear back into his snug hut. He had been offered a council position in Wulfstan, Master of Game, but his heart was in the forests and hills of Orford, where green fields lay unhindered by the rigidness of stone walls. His soul belonged to the country, as he told Cedric when he refused the offer, a common saying of his elven kin. The bard’s tale would continue, as he oft found himself traveling the roads of Lorine, spreading the tales of his feats with the good king Cedric. Though sobered by the quest they undertook, Eadwine was fated never to lose his sarcastic tone.
Leopold had already left their company, headed north on route to the city of Dulfen, where a ranger of Belfas awaited him. This ranger had sent word to Cedric, requesting an agent to support his cause, of which he divulged no information. Intrigued, Cedric sent the slyest of his company, one who could discern what this Belfan’s true intentions were.
There was little word from the Knights of the Eternal Dawn. Azrael had purged much of their order, their castles lay in ruin, and networks of agents left dismantled as a man sweeps away the web of a spider. Cedric had dispatched Miro, his Knight-Sergeant, to investigate and give report.
Cedric had forgotten all these courtly duties as he went through the town one last time. Cedric hurried towards the grassy fields where they once feasted under lantern-lit night. He wandered aimlessly in the field until his boot was caught on a rough patch of dirt. Lifting the block of grass, he saw the handle of a practice sword. His heart swelled from the yearning to return to those times and he reeled back, almost collapsing. He curled his fists and closed his eyes as he rocked back and forth.
Suddenly he took the sword, tucked it underneath his long flowing red cloak, and took off running towards the forest. He ran and ran, till he found himself short of breath and he collapsed to the ground in a wheezing fit. He steadied himself on a tree, and laughed; he was not the fit young lad he once was.
Cedric suddenly heard a horse’s galloping nearing, and he turned to see the rider. It was Aderyn, who was concerned for why Cedric had vanished into the woods. Alongside her horse, she had brought his own.
“Off for one last adventure?” she teased him as in their youth, “Sorry, those are for the handsome, dashing ones who can run without collapsing.”
“Just taking it all in,” Cedric breathed the fresh country air and threw his arms up. “We won’t be here for a while; there’s much to be done in the capital.”
Aderyn turned somewhat somber but kept her smile. Her words comforted Cedric, “I know,” she said so softly.
Cedric turned back to the pile of stones and pulled out the practice sword he had taken. With the strength of both his arms, he plunged the blade th
rough the rocks. He placed his hands upon the rocks and whispered several blessings and prayers. Cedric headed back, leaving the practice sword lodged in the stones.
Aderyn grew a mischievous smile. “How long do you suppose it would be before the escort realized we’ve already started riding to Wulfstan?” She threw the reigns of the free horse to Cedric, and he matched her smile. Cedric hopped on the horse, and the two raced through the forest. Overhead they could hear the screeching of the Guardian, now returned to its nesting grounds.
END
A Collection of Tales and Ages
from the Lands of Yennen
and other Continents
The Age of Glory
The Birth of the Gods
In the beginning of the worlds, before the existence of time and space, there was only Kryn, the all-knowing and unknowable. He is a massless and omnipotent being, from which all life is connected and tied. Kryn presided over his barren landscape alone, and from his consciousness, the gods and demons were formed. His first sons were Cinder, the Father-Son whose flame turns across the sky in golden fashion, and Baphamont the chief of all demons. From this, Kryn’s children gave shape and matter to the world. From Cinder’s great light, the gods were born. The first and wisest amongst them was Loden the Wanderer. From his power came the gods of man, known as the Children; Godric, the Lord of animal life and the hunt, Arian, the goddess of nature and is known by many north men as the Lady of the Lake, and Welund, the god of earth and craftsmanship, whose great fiery bellows gave the earth its warmth and fire.
The Sword to Unite Page 32