Passage to Glory: Part Two of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  They all looked down at their feet for shame of what was to come, though none of them could say for certain. Naomi, however, lifted her sword as she said, “Take heart, my beloved friends, for we shall march to the ancient glories above. This is not the end.”

  Dril’ead nodded. “Indeed, this is not the end. Though it draws near, this is not the end.” He turned and began walking toward the city gates, his single intent to travel back to the citadel of Swildagg, and behind followed Naomi and the twenty or so Followers of the Vulzdagg Branch of the Urden’Dagg Tree.

  They marched with renewed determination, a battle before them yet to be won.

  17

  For a Hopeless Cause

  Razbaar of Grundagg wandered the streets and alleyways of his complex in search of those who would not yield to the enticing power that the aristocracy of Swildagg, and the lady of Grundagg herself, promised all of them. Razbaar himself did not believe such imprudent promises, having been taught by Gregarr to recognize and understand the vain things of their world; the lies of power and majesty promised by those who held it all. The all great and powerful Urden’Dagg never gave the promise of full power equal to its own, but rather kept those who were obedient in a secure line of greatness below that of its own power. Gregarr, then, would never believe the worthless promises of infinite power that the Shadow Queen offered them, knowing it all to be an unmistakable lie.

  Gregarr died with that unyielding belief in what was true and plain. The emissaries of the Shadow Queen executed Razbaar’s beloved commander before the eyes of all his comrades and fellow citizens, his final words proclaiming his allegiance to the Urden’Dagg for all of them to hear. And so Razbaar would pick up where his commander left off; gathering together the honest and faithful of his comrades to put an end to the awfulness of it all.

  There were many who loved Gregarr, and there were many who would join Razbaar to fight for the truth that Gregarr risked all to uphold. Razbaar had only to seek them out, gather them together for a secret council, and then show them that they were not alone in their beliefs of Gregarr’s unjust execution. As he found them he invited them to his home for an evening meal, not yet revealing any hint of his intent before knowing for certain if he could trust them. If his treacherous intents against the authority of the Shadow Queen were revealed to any of her supporters, he could face the same fate as his beloved commander.

  Although he was willing to take that risk, now was not the time.

  “Dear Rixir of Grundagg,” Razbaar said politely to the ancient inhabitant of Grundagg, The Followers eyes revealing a wistful and knowledgeable past, “how are you these days?”

  Rixir looked Razbaar up and down where he stood outside his doorway, wondering why the young fighter had gone so far out of his way to speak with him. “I am well, if wellness in these lands is anything to boast of.”

  “That, I guess, is something for you to decide,” Razbaar replied with a grin, the expression forced to his strained features.

  “Tell me,” said the aging Elf as he narrowed his eyes, seeing through the tense eyes of the young fighter, “how have you been these days? What convinces you to come all the way to my door only to ask how I’ve been?”

  “I’ve been tired,” said Razbaar, sighing.

  “I wouldn’t expect much of an attitude to he who loved Gregarr as much as you did,” Rixir said solemnly. “Some of us share a similar weariness. I, too, was a friend of the strong commander.”

  “The strength of the commander must have betrayed him in the end,” Razbaar said, testing the perspective of the aged Grundagg.

  Rixir sullenly shook his head. “Nay, it was they who betrayed him. How can such creatures as they wear the cloak of the Urden’Dagg while they murder its followers in the name of another deity? It is all so sickening and confusing to me.”

  “There may be answers to such questions,” Razbaar said to him, understanding the position Rixir held against the Shadow Queen. “Come to my home at evening mealtime, Rixir, and perhaps some of my friends might have an answer. Will you come?”

  “I will come,” Rixir conceded with a nod. He looked Razbaar straight in the eye as he said, “Although I long for the truth, Razbaar, I also fear to know the mysteries.”

  “It is a risk we must all take at some time or another.” Razbaar grasped the forearm of the old Grundagg, nodding sharply his thanks for the acceptance of his invitation, and then departed.

  *****

  That evening, as Razbaar was preparing his stock for his guests, dusting off the stone benches round his triangular table, the first of his companions came to his door. He quickly opened the door, anxiously holding his breath, and allowed Lamina into his house; the fighter still wearing her daggers round her waist as always – and hidden wherever else she thought of use.

  “Welcome!” Razbaar said immediately as he shut the door again.

  “Who else is coming?” Lamina inquired after a quick survey of his residence. “I take it you invited all those who were dear friends of Gregarr, hoping to share the grief among them of his passing. Well, you should know, Razbaar, that all of us feel for his passing.”

  “Yes, I thought as much,” Razbaar replied. “I’ve invited those few whom I trust in this hour, but I’m not sure which of them will actually come.” He led her to the table and motioned for her to sit as he ran into a side chamber where he was cooking bits of meat and vine over a flame, and returning again he placed a plat of the morsels on the stone table in front of her.

  “You are welcome to eat whenever you desire,” Razbaar said as he sat across from her.

  Lamina frowned at the food as she slowly shook her head. “I’m grateful for your efforts, but I have already eaten this afternoon.” She straightened on the bench and looked Razbaar deep in his eyes, “I see your weariness and fatigue, Razbaar, but it was not for Gregarr’s passing that you invite us hither. Nay, it is for another purpose I deem.”

  “Indeed so,” Razbaar said, pulling away from her piercing gaze as he took a scrap of meat and vine in his fingers. “It is to discuss the matters of our aristocracy.”

  She watched him as he chewed on the food he had prepared; her eyes narrow as they searched his visage for any clues. “You mean to discuss our transition from following the Urden’Dagg to this Shadow Queen, do you not?”

  He nodded sharply. “I do, yes.”

  “After watching your dearly beloved commander be slain in its name, for its favor, you feel that you must defy her as he did,” said Lamina. “It is understandable why you would, though I would not be so foolish as to try rallying the faithful of the Urden’Dagg against such odds as the combined rule of Swildagg and Grundagg. We are of Grundagg, but that does not mean we are Grundagg.”

  Razbaar looked steadily up at her. “You would deny it?”

  “Nay,” she replied resting down on the bench. “I would not deny a transition if it be the will of the Urden’Dagg, faithful and diligent ever have I been, and follow the path of our aristocracy.”

  “Gregarr’s blood is on Swildagg’s sword, not Grundagg’s or the Urden’Dagg’s.” Razbaar’s eyes flashed with a burning wrath, though it was not aimed at her. “I mean to avenge the Grundagg blood of those who were slain unjustly in the streets of our own city, and lift the burden that Gregarr died raising for us to see.”

  Lamina nodded slowly as she looked down at the plate between them. “And what, Razbaar, was that burden?”

  Razbaar opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a heavy thumping on his door, and he shot suddenly to his feet in surprise. “That must be the others,” he said after recovering his calm countenance, and he walked to the door.

  Rixir and Balaf stood in the doorway as Razbaar pulled the stone aside, and they stepped within his abode as he waved them in. They came forth and sat themselves at the table opposite Lamina, taking Razbaar seat, and the host sat down beside Lamina to look at his newest guests.

  They nodded to Lamina and Razbaar. “I assume the others a
re on their way?” said Balaf, reaching toward the victuals on the plate before him.

  “I can only assume the same,” Razbaar answered. “Though, I do not know if they come at all. I only sent out the invitation, whether they come or not I cannot say.”

  “Well,” Rixir put in, “we are grateful for the invitation.”

  “And for the hors d'oeuvre,” said Balaf as he chewed. “I do hope you have more of this.”

  “But it is not to feast and share friendly talk that we have come, is it Razbaar?” Lamina said, looking sidelong at Razbaar sitting calmly beside her. “We were just getting to the heat of the topic before the two of you arrived.”

  Both Rixir and Balaf looked at Razbaar, Balaf looking curious while Rixir, the elder in the room, held up his chin with a frown. “You have an answer, Razbaar, to my question, then? Or does on of these whom you’ve invited carry the response?”

  “Such dreadful questions have answers,” Razbaar replied. “Though, if we are to find them, we must dig deep into the recesses of our own conscious. A dangerous task, I know. But, if we are to know where we must stand, it must be done.”

  Balaf shook his head in confusion. “Speak plainly so we all can understand!”

  “He plots the downfall of Swildagg’s aristocracy,” said Lamina frankly.

  Balaf leaned back on his bench with his mouth agape in astonishment as he looked toward Razbaar, their host shaking his head but not denying Lamina’s statement. “But that would place you as a traitor! Death is the ultimate punishment for such a crime, you know that.”

  “Yes, I do know it,” Razbaar said. “I will not be betraying our aristocracy. It will not be an act of unjust cruelty as they have done to our own people, chasing them from the city with their own comrades! You must understand that Gregarr’s death was not in an act of treachery, ever has he been loyal to the thrones of our lord and lady.”

  “Loyal, perhaps until he was slain,” Lamina stated bluntly. They all looked at her as if she stabbed them, though none of them spoke against her. “He was a valiant fighter in his day, though that day is now long lost to yesterdays happenings. But here we sit, discussing matters out of our own comprehension, trying to make sense of a world that was built upon foundations of warfare and revenge; can none of you see the impossibilities of this action?”

  Rixir was the first to speak against her. “Not all of the subjects of the Urden’Dagg as are cruel and heartless as you suggest, Lamina. Gregarr would have died for his soldiers, died for the defense of the Vulzdagg Branch, and has died crying the name of the Urden’Dagg in a plea for justice. Not all of us are monsters.”

  “Then was lady Grundagg standing among traitors of Grundagg?” Balaf asked in despair. “Is our own aristocracy thrusting us into the pit of doom, to die without hope and without mercy? Please, will one of you tell me some clear truth?”

  “Truth these days is shrouded by doubt and fear, Balaf,” Lamina put in even as Razbaar raised his head to answer him, “If you must know the truth, than you must seek the truth on your own. But do not trust to hope of finding any clear answers. All is dark in these realms of shadow.”

  “That is why a candle must be lit,” Razbaar said in a confident tone, nudging Lamina with his elbow to keep her from interrupting him. “I offer such a light. I will bring a light before the truth so that all the inhabitants of Grundagg may know that Swildagg, our invading Branch, is plotting against Grundagg’s dominion here. They would make Grundagg Swildagg!”

  “Please, Razbaar, do not make any assumptions yet.” The aged Rixir looked exhausted and forlorn by their conversation. The room fell suddenly quiet, all eyes looking down as they recognized the pain in the elders eyes. “How can you claim yourselves soldiers of Grundagg, wear the cloak of the Urden’Dagg, and despise our nation with such speech as this?”

  “We are not soldiers,” Razbaar said slowly and quietly, seeming almost afraid of his own voice. “Our commander is dead; our captains stood by and watched as he was slain by a sword in the hands of a Swildagg, therefore we are such citizens in a country collapsing. How could we have stood by and let Swildagg do justice upon a Grundagg? It is not in their place to take such actions.”

  “But our aristocracy stood by, letting it all happen just as well,” Lamina reminded him. She looked toward Rixir as she said, “We no longer belong to the Urden’Dagg.”

  Balaf looked as if to respond to that statement, but Razbaar slammed his fist down on the table with sudden fury. “You don’t understand!” he cried in a voice louder than he anticipated, but then settling his passion he said, “Neither of you seem to understand. Rixir, the answer is shame. We still belong to the Urden’Dagg, even if another has taken its place, and can continue wearing its mantle upon our backs. However, we are ashamed to deny a greater power.”

  Rixir looked at him curiously, but it was Lamina who reacted. “And there are those of us who are ashamed to leave the Urden’Dagg,” she said. “The rest, however, feel neither shame. They just do as their leaders tell them. The obedient, as you might say.”

  “Obedience to them,” Razbaar retorted, “but how does the Order of Command go: the Urden’Dagg commands our aristocracy, our aristocracy commands…”

  “Yes Razbaar, we all know how it goes,” Lamina said with a reluctant sigh.

  “But you do not understand it!” Razbaar blurted. “You know it but you do not see it – you do not follow it!”

  “What if it were the will of the Urden’Dagg that all this happened?” Balaf said from the side, and slowly the others looked toward him. He shrugged uncertainly. “What if Gregarr’s death was in vain, and his last words, proclaiming his allegiance to the Urden’Dagg, were given mistakenly?”

  They all sat silent for a moment, Razbaar feeling like a fool for not realizing or even assuming such a thing as that. What if Gregarr was doing the country harm by standing up against Swildagg and the aristocracy of Grundagg, killing their lord in an unjust act? What if he had been misled by a mistake? What if it is all over?

  Razbaar rose slowly to his feet as he looked them all in the face, his gaze resting last over Lamina beside him. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I was wrong to bring you all here, and was wrong to think there could be any hope in Gregarr’s last words.”

  They watched him as he walked from the room with pained steps, disappearing into a side chamber where his bedroom was, and sat motionless and unspeaking while pondering what they should do or how they could react. But he was gone from the room, and none of them dared follow him to share in his private grief.

  Lamina felt ashamed of her victory, the thought of it striking her as an insult to her friend, and she looked down at her feet in embarrassment.

  “Now I know why they wear the cloaks,” Rixir said at length, his eyes distant as he stared at the plate between them. “They follow the Urden’Dagg’s commands.”

  They were drawn from their lost thoughts as a newcomer knocked on the stone door, and looking up they wondered whether or not they should tell the others to go home and leave Razbaar in peace. But the host suddenly came out of his chamber, walking to the door with quick even strides as a firm and sudden confidence came over him, and they watched him with furrowed brows of confused thoughts.

  “Faithful to the Urden’Dagg though their actions may be,” Razbaar said to them as he stood ready to open the door, “we are vagabonds lost in a shadowy world of fears and doubts. However, my dear friends, we may neither fear nor doubt no longer! This is our opportunity to seize a new beginning, to raise ourselves up upon higher standards, and not fall low with the others in a chase for power that isn’t theirs.”

  Swinging the door open for four others of his guests, he cried in a strangely happy tone, “We must fight for a hopeless cause!”

  18

  A Better Option

  They were ready for battle.

  Dril’ead stood with his companions where the gate of Vulzdagg should have been standing, but was now lying on the ground in
a bent heap of wreckage. They were finishing strapping their darts and knives to their bodies, crossbows and swords braced against shoulders as they stared into the ensuing blackness before them; the infrared spectrum revealing mushrooms by the dozens standing between them and the approaching force of Swildagg. Naomi hefted a heavy spear onto one shoulder, gripping Razarr’s sword in her other hand, and defied the borders of Swildagg with her piercing gaze.

  Tears were in all of their eyes, Dril’ead noted, by they were not tears of fear. Each of the remnants of Vulzdagg were enraged beyond expression at the treachery of Swildagg, only tears for their loved ones, tears for their family and comrades, were shone as a reminder of what was done to them. They might as well have been bleeding from their eyes.

  Beside him a young fighter cursed the name of Swildagg, and glancing down at the young mage he recognized him as one of the students among Group Training. It was Skandil of the magic arts.

  “You are hot with anger,” Dril’ead said to him, the infrared spectrum glowing bright round the youthful fighter.

  “They killed my friends,” he said. “They killed all those who were brave enough to stand up to that monster, to protect each other and their aristocracy. I didn’t even know the blind Nelastro stood among them until I found him… But he was already dead.”

  Dril’ead let out an exasperated sigh as he turned his gaze back toward Swildagg. “Alas!” he cried, “Those poor fools! They are wretched and cruel, but do they know what they do? They must not understand the pain they cause us, the heartache and broken bones of those who survive! It would be better for us to die here, fighting them for a cause of truth, then for them to perish in guilt and shame. It will haunt them for an eternity, the poor wretched fools!”