The Sword Falls

by A. J. Smith

  Before the gate was closed behind them, Rys turned to me. “The Pure One didn’t want to blow his whistle for you, Prince Oliver. He’s afraid of you, of what you could become. He agrees with Marius that there is no further use for a king. Think on that.” His words were punctuated with the resonant thump of a heavy, wooden gate closing.

  I bowed my head. I’d miss Elizabeth and I feared for her safety, but turning around and seeing dozens of Outriders staring at me, made me accept that I had weightier concerns. They saw me as many things, but not as their king. I needed to sleep and clear my head before I approached Marius on the topic. In my head I saw a confrontation between us, though I had to admit that his intelligence intimidated me. We agreed that a malevolent force was rising, and a clear threat to the Eastron, but try though I might, I couldn’t stop hearing a single word… king.

  *

  I didn’t know if I was dreaming or seeing another vision, but I was twelve years old and I was camping on Raptor’s Nest. I’d persuaded my father to let me sleep in a tent for two nights and I suspected it was the longest amount of time I’d ever get away from the Eagle House. He’d even let me leave my armour and sword in the hold, though this had required significant intervention from my mother. Around me, trying their best to stay hidden, was a circle of Winterlord knights. They’d allowed me a small wooded glen, with a gentle river, to call my world, and it was enough.

  I’d gathered wood and used wyrd to light a fire. I’d pitched my small, white canvas tent, and laid out my rudimentary bed roll. I had a heavy cloak, a plump pillow, and a small satchel of food. But, above these necessities, I had peace, quiet, and the most beautiful view I’d ever seen. My glen faced south-east, down a green valley, with the Outer Sea rolling away across the horizon. I could sit against a rock, and see wide tree trunks and thick, green canopies. I could see the rocky banks of a narrow, gentle river. And I could see the unconcerned wash of a thousand million waves, flowing as the wind dictated against a sandy beach and irregular rock formations.

  As the sun set and the knights of Falcon’s Watch settled into their own small camp, I reclined in front of my tent. I’d pressed my pillow against a rock, so I could fall asleep, looking out to sea, feeling as if nothing else mattered in the whole world. I wasn’t a prince, I wasn’t taller than every other boy my age, I wasn’t a man of the Dawn Claw, and there weren’t a dozen knights making sure I was safe. I was just me, and I could be whoever I wanted.

  It was dark now, and my eyes were starting to close, drawing a peaceful veil over the spectacle of primal beauty. My breathing slowed and clean, fresh air flowed over my face. Sleep came quickly, enveloping me like a warm blanket.

  “Hello, my friend,” said a kind voice. “Sorry for waking you.” The tones were soft, allowing me to wake gradually.

  “What?” I murmured, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “Who are you?”

  Standing a few feet from me, illuminated by the flickering globe of light from my fire, was a tall man, in a long, dark coat. His features were angular, with bronze skin and black hair, though he smiled and his manner was welcoming. “Take a moment to gather yourself,” he replied. “Then join me.”

  I came fully awake, as the man turned and strolled slowly away from my small camp, along the river bank. He was not a knight of Falcon’s Watch. They wore armour and usually wielded greatswords. The firelight may have been playing tricks, but he didn’t even look like a Winterlord.

  I discarded my blanket and pillow, and pulled on my leather boots. It was the dead of night and a sharp wind now whistled across Raptor’s Nest, chilling my bones. I shivered and gathered my cloak, before scurrying after the strange man. “Wait, I’m coming,” I mumbled.

  Away from the fire, with a bright moon overhead, I could see more clearly. He appeared to be of the Dark Brethren, a camp of Eastron from the great hold of the Open Hand, renowned for their cunning and skill in the void. His form was slighter than that of a Winterlord, and his height was tempered with narrow shoulders and rangy limbs. As with all supposedly tall men, he was only an inch or two taller than a twelve-year-old prince of the Dawn Claw.

  “You will soon be back at rest,” said the man, his angular chin appearing to twitch as he spoke. I couldn’t see the colour of his eyes, but sharp shadows came from his cheeks and mouth, forming a black smile.

  “Who are you?” I repeated.

  The shadowy smile elongated and the man placed a hand on my shoulder. “My name is Santago Cyclone,” he replied, “I am called the Bloodied Harp, and I think we’ll be good friends, King Oliver.”

  “Did Falcon’s Watch let you come here?” I asked, with wide, fascinated eyes.

  “Oh, no, no, no,” he replied, gently. “Your guardians are fast asleep. Neither they nor your father would approve of me talking to you. So I come to you in your dreams.”

  “I’m asleep?” I exclaimed. “But you seem real. I can see you.”

  “I said you are dreaming,” replied Santago. “I am wide awake.”

  I blinked, letting my eyes acclimatize to the moonlight. Here was a man who could visit me in my dreams and I wanted to see his face clearly. It was a wondrous ability, and the very idea made me eager to learn more. “Will you tell me how you do it? Some use of wyrd? Are you a Dark Brethren? Why are you here? Why did you call me King Oliver?” I was babbling, too excited to pause between questions.

  Santago grasped my shoulder more firmly, and his face swayed into view in the minimal light. The shadowy smile corresponded to his sharp cheekbones, thin, curved mouth, and pointed chin. I still couldn’t see his eyes, but the triangle of his face was mostly black.

  “Sorry,” I said, “I’ll be your friend. I don’t have any real friends. I don’t think my father wants me to have friends.”

  “Well, let me be your first,” replied Santago. “As your friend, I can answer all your questions. Pick one.”

  I chewed on my lip, almost too excited to reply. “Erm, okay… How can you enter someone’s dreams?”

  He tilted his head, making the black smile appear even larger. “I’m devoted to a primal power,” he stated. “Beyond anything you can imagine, my dear Oliver.”

  “Is it wyrd?” I asked.

  He chuckled. The sound was deep and soothing, almost like a lullaby. “Wyrd is merely a name,” he replied. “Something the Eastron call spiritual power. In fact, it is the drop of water that falls from an iceberg. Come, King Oliver, let me show you where my power comes from. You’ll see that wyrd barely begins to encompass it.”

  He led me along the rocky river bank, under the green canopy, towards the slowly rolling ocean. The river flowed only gently, with small ice crystals forming along the bank. Everything was still and quiet, and I felt as if my mind was empty of all unnecessary stimuli. My feet strode from grass, to rock, to sand, as I followed along behind Santago, with the black ocean getting ever closer.

  “Quiet from here,” said my new friend, as we became small figures on the large expanse of nothing between the trees and the water.

  I kept my footsteps light, though I was trembling with anticipation at what he wanted to show me. Some mysterious reservoir of power, likely unknown amongst the Winterlords. I felt as if I was on an adventure, following a new, mysterious path. I didn’t even care where it led, just that it had fallen to me.

  We stopped a few feet from the wash. “Are you excited, my dear Oliver?” asked Santago.

  I smiled, nodding my head. “This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. What are we going to see?”

  His dark smile was now spread across his entire face. “Something that will change your life, my good, good friend. Something only a king and his closest friends should see.”

  I turned, as a line of waves appeared suddenly from the calm sea. As each wave broke, there appeared the spiny crest of some manner of fish. Perhaps twenty crests, each flushed with a vibrant red, moving towards the beach in a line. My mouth opened, as wonder overtook me. “What are they?” I asked.
“What do they want?”

  “They want to see you, King of the Eagles. They want to kneel before you, for they see your strength and what you must become… a true leader and a true Forever King. Only when you take your rightful place will this world make sense… and once again be as should.” He once again placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

  From the sea, hunched forwards, walking on two legs, came huge fish-men, with bulbous bodies of slimy, green flesh. They were beautiful and terrible in equal quantities and I found them weirdly familiar, as if they fulfilled the promise of another dream that I couldn’t remember. I stepped towards them, with my hand outstretched, reaching for the wondrous creatures, wanting them to be my friends.

  “This is King Oliver Dawn Claw,” said Santago, introducing me. “A good and honest boy of the Eastron. He and I are becoming firm friends. He will be our Forever King.”

  The line of fish-men stepped from the wash. Sharp spines formed a seam across their limbs, and their frog-like feet, covered in pulsing suckers, popped against the rough sand of the beach. When they were clear of the water, they hunkered down, pressing their huge, fat bellies into the sand, and forming a semi-circle around me.

  “They can be your friends too,” said Santago. “If you listen to my words. This world… your world, is far more beautiful than you know. You’ve been kept from this beauty, but no longer.” He then pointed his eyes upwards, where the pitch-black sky of night was becoming hypnotic. I could see a huge form, rippling in the darkness, towering over all, as if the very earth of Raptor’s Nest was insignificant.

  “I want them to be my friends,” I said. “My tutor says I have a good heart, though my father gets cross with me often. He wants me to be strong, but he thinks I’m weak.”

  Santago stepped close to me and cradled my face in his hands. His black smile made me feel elated and content. “You’re a good boy, my dear Oliver. And you will be the greatest king this land has known. Far greater than the Shining Sword, whose era will soon be over. The next era belongs to you… and to the Waking God.”

  “A god?” I exclaimed. “The Eastron have no gods. We bow to nothing, least of all something we can’t see.” It was what I’d been taught, but it now seemed naive.

  “And that is our greatest weakness,” he replied, appearing wiser than any man I knew. “Our might is an illusion, my dear Oliver. For over a hundred and fifty years we have been supreme, but that is the blink of an eye to the Waking God. If we truly wish to rule this land, we must accept the true power that sleeps beneath us, or be consigned to legend. We must be devoted. You can save us, my friend. As saviour… and as king. Only you can lead us.”

  A veil was drawn from my eyes, and the towering black shape, rumbling in the darkness, became more distinct, making the prostrate fish-men sway from side to side, opening and closing their mouths, creating a cacophony of sucking and popping. Above them, waves of green energy fell like a bubbling waterfall, forming a slick on the surface of the water. It may have been wyrd, or some other kind of spiritual power, but it felt different, somehow deeper and older. I could feel it calling to me, as if an impossibly beautiful song was playing in my head. In that moment, all I wanted to do was show my devotion.

  “That power can be yours, King Oliver,” said Santago, as the green energy flowed towards us. “The Waking God will give it to you gladly. You can be king and restore order to the world. You can be saviour, but you must seal your devotion with blood… and an offering.”

  “I need to kill someone?” I asked, happily. “I’m really good at fighting. Who do you need me to kill?”

  “A man who would die for you,” replied Santago. “And your offering should be nothing less than the heart of the Winterlords.”

  21

  I knew what I had to do. It came to me as I slept and coalesced into certainty as I awoke. My entire life I’d only known one thing – that I was to be king. Without this, nothing I’d ever done, or ever been told, made any sense. I’d wanted it, needed it, and never thought it could be taken away. Until a dark morning at the Silver Parliament had snatched it from my grasp. But the desire had not disappeared. As I awoke, I was certain that I’d be the Forever King… and I knew how.

  I sprang from my bed in the grey stone room and dressed quickly. Placed on one of the two leather armchairs was a simple suit of plate armour, and leaning against the other was a finely forged broadsword. As with everyone else who’d come to Snake Guard, it appeared the Outrider Knights wanted to provide me with the appropriate armaments. I left the armour and took a cursory look at the sword. It was adequate, but was not Zephyr. I chose to belt it on, though I frowned as I did so, noticing that there was a patch of dried blood on my hand, and a reddened patch across my knuckles. I wasn’t sure where it had come from. It was as if I’d somehow beaten someone in my sleep.

  There were no windows in the grey, stone room, but as I opened the door, there was a chill freshness in the air, indicating it was early morning. I felt revitalized and excited, as if this day was special, and would begin a journey that could change everything and lead me on my rightful path. I needed to find Quinn, the horizon-walker, and tell him I knew where I needed to go and who I needed to visit. The very heart of the Winterlords.

  “Why are you smiling?” asked Silver Jack, from his chair outside my chamber. “You look strange when you smile.” He stood and faced me. “Actually, highness, you look downright sinister.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “Today will be a good day, my friend. You just need to trust me.”

  He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. He’d have taken over from Leofryc a few hours ago. “Have a good night’s sleep did we?” he joked.

  “Follow,” I said, turning from my guardian and marching down the bare stone corridor. His mind would likely be whirring, but he’d have to wait a little while for answers.

  At the end of the corridor, where two sets of steps led down to the courtyard, waited two Outriders in black-and-red armour. They placed hands on chests in salute, and each bowed their heads. “Eagle Prince,” said one of them. “We are to take you to Lord Quinn. If you are ready.”

  “Lead the way,” I replied, confidently. “I have instructions for him.”

  Unlike Silver Jack, the two Dark Brethren didn’t demand any more of me, and immediately left, striding down the left-hand steps, towards the crisp, morning air. They were compliant and used to following orders, and for the first time I saw the value in that. I felt that great things could be achieved if people would just do as they were told. A true king should never have to ask twice. His orders should be followed without question.

  The steps ended in a wide archway, and beyond was the base of a guard tower and a circular courtyard. The adjacent wall was on the northern edge of Snake Guard, within sight of the closest gate. It was a chilly morning, with a sharp wind cutting down every grey stone street. I was clearly not the only person who had risen early, and the fort was alive with activity. Outrider Knights patrolled the battlements and crossed my field of vision in every direction, creating lines of red and black. And standing at the edge of the courtyard were Quinn, the horizon-walker, and Marius Cyclone.

  I sneered without meaning to. Something about the Stranger now made me angry. Perhaps his insistence that the Eastron no longer needed a king, or his arrogance in thinking he knew better than everyone else. Either way, his veneer of smug intelligence no longer impressed me.

  “Prince Oliver,” said Quinn. “You look well.”

  “He’s smiling too much,” offered Silver Jack. “I don’t like it.”

  I patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, I know what I need to do,” I stated, projecting confidence to the small Winterlord duellist. “Smiling appears to be a side effect of certainty.”

  “Well, stop it,” he replied. “It doesn’t suit you.” He looked around the courtyard. “Where’s Leofryc? He’d agree with me.”

  “He’s staying here,” I replied. “You’re coming with us.”


  Quinn straightened and did not appear surprised. Marius raised an eyebrow, as if he was not as keen on our journey into the void as the other Outriders. Jack, still disturbed by my smiling, opened his mouth, as if to ask a question, but no actual words came out of his mouth.

  “Where are we going?” asked the horizon-walker, before my guardian could manage to frame a sentence.

  I strode to stand in front of him and thrust out my chin. “You will take me into the void,” I replied. “I would speak with the Dawn Claw, Lord of the Quarter, and great eagle of the Winterlords. When I return, I may indeed be worthy of the title saviour.”

  “When you return we will need to leave quickly,” added Marius. “For Snake Guard will not stay quiet for long and we must reach the Dark Harbour before we are surrounded.”

  I chose not to confront the Stranger about his ignorance. I knew now that I didn’t need him, and that the path to my rightful place as king would happen without Marius Cyclone. I felt that we would meet when I returned and that I’d have much to say to him. For now, I would let him think I was weak.

  *

  My word was enough, at least for some. The Outrider Knights took their lead from Gentle, who took his lead from Quinn, and none of the Dark Brethren questioned me. Even Marius Cyclone, accompanying Ten Cuts at the edge of my vision, remained silent. The Outriders moved in squads, in preparation for something. It appeared they knew what to do in the event of the Eagle Prince going into the void. Gentle sent a few dozen east and west, scouting for the approaching void legionnaires. Others moved across the battlements, placing arrows and high-tension short bows at every castellation, in case a defence was required. But the majority gathered in a central muster yard, forming two columns of red-and-black armoured warriors.