Bladeborn

by Clayton Schonberger

  All these things crossed Bladeborn’s mind. Yet he was driven to finish clearing the stone and see if the old mechanism still worked. Something above was calling him… He worked harder and faster to get the red bricks off the platform as quickly as he could.

  Bladeborn realized that it was only one night until Year’s End. He decided to delay going up until the morning following the City’s mid-winter celebration. He imagined that if there were any Guards at the top of the pressurelift, they would be recovering from their carousing, and not watching an old pressurelift door. Most of the Constables and City Watch on the lower levels drank heavily on mid-winter night, which might give him an edge. He rested the night before, planning to ride the pressurelift to the top, refreshed.

  Interlude: The High Wizard, Dimtreanos

  High Wizard Dimtreanos was confident that the sarcophagus of Eshumé would open. But many at the Year’s End ceremony in the Royal Treasury seemed doubtful. Did the High Wizard interpret Zipzorag’s dream-message properly? Could Dimtreanos open Eshumé’s sarcophagus, bringing the Weapon of Glories again into the service of the King?

  The hourglass measuring the exact time of Year’s End held little sand now, and the moment all had awaited was at hand.

  “This will open the sarcophagus, my King, then you will see!” Dimtreanos vowed, looking over his shoulder at his brother.

  “You have made such promises to me in the past, Dimtreanos,” King Koss growled. “Yet so far you have done nothing!”

  Dimtreanos drew a deep breath to hide the loathing he held for his brother, the King. If all went according to his plan, Dimtreanos would take the Sword for himself, slaughter his brother, and become Fortress City’s King!

  Dimtreanos declared, “A hundred souls have been bled for the potion of power—I shall indeed open the tomb!”

  “Surprise me, then, brother!” King Koss said, spittle flying from his lips. Despite the King current obese condition, he once was a great warrior. Dimtreanos had some concern that striking down his brother would not be easy, even with the Sword of the Ancients in his hand.

  “Stand clear, and watch in wonder,” Dimtreanos said, rolling up his sleeves.

  “Get on with it, Dimtreanos!” Supreme Captain Grus called to the High Wizard, echoing Koss. Dimtreanos knew overcoming Grus would be another challenge—he was the King’s chief supporter, and he carried a highly magical flail called “The Gyron.” Grus, with his mighty weapon, would have to be dealt with quickly, perhaps even before Koss.

  However, Dimtreanos was fearless. He knew that whether he succeeded or failed, only he held the secret to the Longevity Draughts which kept the City’s Nobility looking young. No one, not even his brother, could harm him, or the source of their youth would be ended.

  He was confident that he would succeed, but if the unthinkable happened and the crystal case remained closed, his future was still assured. None would question him, as his powers of Alchemy were vital to the continuation of the families comprising the great clans on the upper floors.

  He eyed the nearby hourglass, and then locked his eyes on the Sword, imagining incredible power at his control. If it were to become his, along with the magics he could call upon using his mighty Essence, he would become undefeatable.

  “Stand ready, everyone!” Dimtreanos called.

  Gesturing wildly and speaking a series of mystic charms, the High Wizard said, “May the hand of our master, the Lord of Nightmares, reach out from the Abyss to guide me!”

  Dimtreanos emptied the decanter of blood upon the glass facets of the sarcophagus, and Fortress City’s ruling warriors saw it working. An unearthly light radiated about the crystal lid of the tomb. The final grains of sand in the hourglass fell, and all knew that Year’s End was upon them.

  The High Wizard shouted: “NOW, Sword of the Ancients, I call to thee by your secret name–NIGHTSLAYER! Open the sarcophagus and join once more with the world of men!”

  Unexpectedly, a thunderous *CRACK* resounded within the Royal Treasure Vault, as a massive release of lightning arched outward from the sarcophagus in all directions. It electrocuted several men who stood nearby, sending them flying backwards. They landed in crumpled heaps, never to rise again. Dimtreanos had a shielding spell in place; yet he was thrown back ten paces into his brother, with both Wizard and King landing on the floor.

  Two retainers were instantly killed when struck by the electrical impulse, without time to scream. Two Knights were blinded by the bright flash; another Knight lost a hand at the wrist. A host of others were superficially injured.

  In the chaos that followed, as the wounded howled in pain and everyone scrambled to get back on their feet. Dimtreanos was one of the first to regain his senses, rising from the floor. His body was whole, but his spirit was drained. The amount of Essence required to affect the spell was massive. It would take days to fully recharge.

  Dimtreanos had been closest to the rebounding force, and so he felt lucky to be alive and unharmed. Despite the confusion after the electrical explosion and possible residual effects, Dimtreanos ran his hand over the crystal sarcophagus, hoping to see that the lid was opened so he could seize the Sword. Yet the top of the sarcophagus remained closed--undamaged. The mummy of the old Emperor—and the Sword—were undisturbed.

  King Koss was terribly shaken. Supreme Captain Grus helped him up.

  “I trust you are you all right, my King,” Grus asked.

  “Unhand me, Grus, I am not some old bodkin!” King Koss said. Furiously, the King launched a stream of spiteful threats at Dimtreanos.

  “This disaster will be your undoing, Brother!” King Koss shouted hoarsely. “I assure you, my Chief Executioner will be paying you a visit within the hour!”

  Dimtreanos watched the King stomp off, with Supreme Captain Grus following at his heels like the wart-dog lackey he was. Looking at the havoc surrounding him, Dimtreanos felt the repercussions of that night could be more than bothersome. He had no idea why his magic had gone awry. Zipzorag had been clear.

  It required research, but more immediately, he had to find a way to blame someone for his error in judgement.

  The High Wizard had noted that the only person unscathed by the electrical release was the youngest daughter of his brother, Princess Alaxia. When she was born, King Koss’s soothsayers claimed she would one day marry the next man to hold the Sword.

  Like the good-hearted woman she was, Alaxia had quickly moved to help one of the injured. Dimtreanos glowered at her while she tried to calm the Knight, who had lost his hand. The man cried out in pain as his retainers put a tourniquet on him to stop the flow of blood. Moments later, the Knight slipped into unconsciousness.

  Then, Alaxia looked up in anger at Dimtreanos with an accusation.

  “This travesty is YOUR fault, Uncle!” Alaxia shouted at Dimtreanos from across the chamber.

  “Nay, good Princess,” Dimtreanos countered coolly yet loud enough for all to hear. “It is your presence that fouled the ritual. Zipzorag’s desires were very clear: no follower of Saint Morth was to be inside the Vault tonight.”

  “You lie!” Alaxia said simply. “No one said that before now! It is one of your tricks to deflect blame!”

  “So, Alaxia, you think to speak for the Lord of Nightmares now, is that right? It is my judgement, as High Wizard and Chief Alchemist, that your foolish curiosity caused tonight’s debacle!”

  “You are insufferable, Uncle, and in the next life you will be held accountable!” Alaxia fumed.

  “By whom?” Dimtreanos asked her pointedly. “Everyone else here is accountable only to Zipzorag…”

  “The Judge of the Dead will render punishment for your unholy actions. I am sad to say, Uncle, that the Abyss awaits you when you die if you fail to turn aside from your current path!”

  “Oho!” Dimtreanos shouted at her. “Little Alaxia, I will command LEGIONS in the afterlife! Your faith pales by comparison!”

  Alaxia looked around the room and saw only anger in eyes of the
people present.

  “Fools!” she said to them all, waving her hand dismissively. She gathered her blood-specked dress about her and pushed her way past the angry crowd toward the Vault’s door. As she left she turned about to warn them, “You are all being led down a dead-end hallway! Do not leverage your afterlife with power in the worldly realm! Saint Morth teaches us that—”

  Dimtreanos called after her, “Do not argue the finer points of the solar reach with ME, Princess! I hold the secrets of life eternal, and beyond that, there is only the void!”

  Frustrated beyond further words, Alaxia left the Vault. She, too required Longevity Draughts, so she could only push him so far. Her defiance and rejection of Zipzorag had made her infamous among the Royals, and she was on the verge of being held up for treason against Koss. Her tirade made Dimtreanos feel secure that none would question his skills. He could hear the whispers even as he left the Royal Treasure Vault—public opinion absolutely supported him.

  Dimtreanos thought to himself, “Perhaps tonight’s failure can be turned to further advantage, bringing the purge of Saint Morth sooner than expected. It should increase the influence of the Demon Lord on the upper floors.”

  Stroking his white beard, the High Wizard smiled and left the Vault to return to his chambers.

  “Soon, all those like Alaxia will be gone forever from the palace. Perhaps then Zipzorag will grant knowledge needed to open the sarcophagus…Putting the Sword in MY hand!”

  Chapter 12: Nightslayer

  Bladeborn left the room of the laughing skull and unobtrusively passed through the lower City market. His plan for the morning was to return to the long-hidden pressurelift and find out if it was operable.

  As people of Fortress City caroused in celebration of Year’s End, Bladeborn’s thoughts dwelled on what might be at the top of the platform’s ascent. Imagining how far up the shaft it went and what floor it stopped on, he gave a last glace at the poor of the City preparing for the festival in their usual way. The festival would culminate as it always did… a spectacle of death in the Arena of Blood. Many already consumed libations in the gaming halls, discussing odds on the current gladiators of note and placing bets. Even the City Watch got involved in the revelry this time of year.

  Considering the extreme wealth of the upper levels, he guessed debauchery might leave some palace Guardsmen off-balance. With such hopes, he took a glow-globe in hand, making his way through the darkness of the passages to the platform lift, which had no top or side rails.

  Casting caution the wind, Bladeborn pulled the pressurelift’s control lever, and it shot upwards so quickly he was cast to the platform’s floor. Struggling to his feet, he was amazed by the harrowing ascent. With screeches of metal-on-metal, the platform scraped in places, causing bright, metallic sparks to fly from the tight sides. By the time the pressurelift slowed, he had no idea what floor he was on.

  The doorway at the top opened on a small room, covered with cobwebs and dust from years of disuse. Opposite the door to the pressurelift was another, small door with a bright light showing from underneath. Bladeborn scattered the cobwebs and tested the lock. The door opened onto an extremely bright chamber. It took moments for his eyes to adjust.

  The RED SUN! What could only be the red sun was lighting the chamber! The tales Onar had told of it were true! Luminous and warm were its rays, shining down through ancient, thick windows on the ceiling. The beams shining through the skylight above him warmed his skin in a way he was wholly unaccustomed to. He saw a dull grey sky through the windows above, with several clouds in a smoky haze, and felt a sense of wonderment.

  “Will I ever stand beneath those skies, in the open air?” he asked himself. “Beneath the red sun itself?”

  Bladeborn stretched and flexed for a moment in the chamber. As his eyes better adjusted to the light, he looked about and saw little that would indicate why the platform was designed to go to that floor. Then, he noticed a web-covered spiral stairway, which he stealthily followed upward to another door, the smallest of those yet. He scattered the small spiders in the area and listened. Hearing nothing, he pushed on the door. On silent hinges, it opened to a wide hallway with sparkling facets reflecting the red sun. He thought his eyes were bedeviled.

  The dazzle of what he saw: Row upon row of polished steel armaments; opulent, jeweled crowns next to gems in casks; loose coin overflowing decorated golden containers; and rows armored suits cast in polished steel with delicate silver and golden inlays.

  Each fantastic weapon or set of steely armor he saw seemed to glitter more than the last. It was a thief’s dream come true, and as he looked about the hall, he realized he was in the room ALONE.

  Wisdom told him to get a grip on his emotions. He decided to find the best weapon in the treasury and make it his.

  He looked up and saw the full orb of the round, red sun shining through gem-encrusted skylights. He could also see much more of the gray sky. He was staggered knowing he was at the top of the City. He had found a secret entrance to the legendary Royal Treasure Vault.

  The Royal Treasure Vault was enormous. What looked to be the Vault entrance at the far side of the hall was shut—locked from the outside and heavily guarded, he guessed. Bladeborn hurried, passing arms he could hardly have imagined existing anywhere in the City. At the end of the Vault was an altar with an opulent crystal coffin atop it.

  Surely this was what Onar had described, but it was nothing like Bladeborn had imagined. It was many times more elaborate. However, upon looking inside, he was certain it was the last resting place of the long-dead Emperor, Eshum. And, lying next to the long-dead Emperor was a Sword made of dark steel, unlike all the others.

  Then, there was a hiss of air! Bladeborn saw the top of the crystal case lifted, right before his eyes. The Sword of the Ancients was right there, within his reach.

  Bladeborn stood a moment, transfixed. He remembered what Onar had said about the last thief who dared to lay his hands on the Sword. Somehow, the weapon had killed the man…

  “I have my saber!” Bladeborn thought to himself. “What do I want with this weapon? It’s probably more trouble than it’s worth.”

  It wasn’t simply fear of a cursed weapon that made Bladeborn pause. There were a hundred other good weapons in the Royal Treasure Vault as well, ones that might be unnoticed if they went missing.

  But the chance to possess this legendary Sword was a blessing he could scarcely resist. What to do…He weighed his options…

  Bladeborn was no nearer to deciding when he heard the main Vault door unlock and open. Fearing the worst, he drew his saber and turned. Through the door to the chamber two men entered, hurrying toward him as fast as they could run. The first was a tall Guard in a silver breastplate, more than likely one of the City’s dreaded Praetorian Nightguards; the other was an aged man, likely a Wizard, dressed in a flowing purple-and-gold robe, his face nearly hidden by a long, white beard. As the Praetorian ran down the corridor toward him, Bladeborn raised his weapon. Instead of looking intimidated or even drawing his sword, the Praetorian Nightguard halted…and smiled.

  Pointing his saber first at the old Wizard, and then at the Nightguard, Bladeborn feared they would summon others, but they did not.

  “What is this?” the Wizard said, standing a bit behind the Nightguard. “A low-life stair-climber with a corroded saber?”

  The Praetorian asked the Wizard, “How did he get in here? Did the Royal housekeepers leave him inside? I can assure you, my lord Dimtreanos, the Vault was empty last night after the Year’s End ceremony!”

  “No, Captain Hadrak, he entered through that old secret door… somehow he must have stumbled on a way up here that no one knew of. Such a thing hasn’t happened for fifty years, since—”

  Then, suddenly, the Praetorian Nightguard and the old Wizard noticed—the lid of the crystal sarcophagus stood open!

  The white-bearded man laughed with maniacal glee. “The tomb…is open? It opened for—him?”

 
“Perhaps the Year’s End unsealing magic was a delayed success, my lord?” the Praetorian asked.

  “Ahem, yes, well that seems to be the only logical reason! Last night’s spell—worked,” the Wizard agreed.

  “Let me out of here, and I won’t kill either of you,” Bladeborn threatened, still pointing his saber at them. He awaited their move, ready to strike.

  Ignoring Bladeborn’s warning, the Wizard said, “Is he all alone in here?”

  “Aye, there may be more than just this one,” the Guardsman said, drawing his longsword.

  “Don’t hurt this rogue, Captain Hadrak; we will want him alive,” the Wizard stated, looking about the room. “Hmm…Yes, I can see no one else in here. He is indeed alone.”

  “Yet he could not have entered without help, my Lord Dimtreanos,” the Praetorian surmised.

  “You are right there,” the Wizard agreed. “And those who helped him will pay with their lives, by the hordes of the Abyss!”

  The Wizard looked beyond Bladeborn and took a step forward. Bladeborn swished the saber at the Wizard in a threatening manner, but the old man seemed unimpressed.

  “So,” the Wizard exclaimed, “I am finally going to get my reward, after all these years of work!”

  Bladeborn thought about making a dash for the secret passage.

  For the first time addressing Bladeborn, the Wizard said, “You cannot escape us, young fool! Your fate is written.”

  It seemed to Bladeborn that the Wizard could look right through him.

  “I have no fear of magic,” Bladeborn said.

  “You will find that to be a grave error,” the Wizard began. “I am Chief Alchemist Dimtreanos, Grand Vizier of Fortress City, brother to King Koss. The people who sent you to steal the Sword may have mentioned me.”

  “You could not be more wrong,” Bladeborn stated evenly. “Nobody sent me. I have come on my own.”