Bladeborn

by Clayton Schonberger

  “Say what you will, but I sense a conspiracy about you,” the Wizard said. “I have been trying to open the sarcophagus for a nigh on a century, and it seems that I have finally had success—through you. Last night, after months of preparation, my spell worked. The Lord of Nightmares is infallible; at the cost of many lives and through magical means you will never understand, I have brought the Weapon of Glories back into the hands of men. Do you even have an inkling of the cosmological forces that are in play here, stair-climber?”

  Bladeborn started to say, “I am unimpressed with your…”

  “This is a day of days!” the Wizard shouted extending his arms and turning about in a kind of maniacal glee.

  Bladeborn cleared his throat bravely, ready to face their worst.

  The Wizard continued, his words full of threat, “Listen, stair-climber—I’ll make your death somewhat painless if you do exactly as I say. Step away from the sarcophagus… Then tell me what treasonous malcontents you count as your allies. For despite your attempted lies, it is obvious someone has led you to this place. If you do these two simple things, your ending will be merciful. If you don't...Indescribable pain awaits you.”

  When Bladeborn did not move, the man named Dimtreanos upped his warning. “I'll have you know that by my side is the Captain of the Praetorian Nightguards, Velmor Hadrak, who lives for no other purpose than to protect the Royal floors of the City. He is inheritor of four hundred years of service to Fortress City’s throne. He is worth more than twenty men from where you originate!”

  Bladeborn looked at Dimtreanos and said, “Does your Praetorian possess any other titles I should know about before I slice his ears off?”

  The Praetorian nearly jumped Bladeborn but the Wizard raised his hand to hold him back. Then, the Wizard gestured wildly with a back-and-forth motion of his fingertips and wrists. It made Bladeborn feel woozy, and he felt the grip he had on his saber loosening. Off balance, Bladeborn placed both his hands upon the saber’s hilt. Yet his weapon was being magnetically drawn toward the Wizard’s outstretched grasp…

  Suddenly the weapon flew out of Bladeborn’s grip and the Wizard caught it in his hand. The master mage let the saber drop clattering to the floor.

  “I am Dimtreanos, young fool!” the High Wizard of Fortress City called out. “I have lived a dozen times your age! Now you have pushed my patience to its limit…! Captain, cut him down, but leave enough of him for torture!”

  “My pleasure,” Captain Hadrak said.

  The Praetorian Nightguard, grinning evilly, advanced eager to incapacitate Bladeborn, who was unarmed.

  In the next instant, Bladeborn did what the two guardians of the Royal Treasure Vault had hoped he would not do. The crystal sarcophagus lay open. Bladeborn had no weapon, so he snatched the Sword of the Ancients from its resting place next to the mummy of Eshumé.

  Bladeborn tested the Sword of the Ancients with quick, back-and-forth motions. Staring fearlessly at the Praetorian Nightguard, Bladeborn raised the Sword over his shoulder and leapt, attacking with a mighty downstroke. But the Nightguard’s reflexes were superlative, honed by a lifetime of superior training. He sidestepped and easily parried, then made a stunning riposte. Bladeborn was forced to give ground quickly so he wouldn’t die where he stood.

  From that first exchange, they both knew who the better swordsman was. Gloating for a moment, the Nightguard sneered: “Now, I shall take the sacred artifact from your brutish grasp! There will be no mercy for you, rogue!” With swiftly devastating moves the Praetorian closed in, easily battering down Bladeborn’s best defenses.

  Suddenly, as though latched onto a wild beast, Bladeborn sensed his movement being “guided” by the Sword. He unleashed a series of ferocious cuts and slashes, wholly unlike any forms of swordplay he had previously known. Now, the Nightguard retreated, losing his balance. Bladeborn and the ancient weapon took advantage, puncturing the Nightguard’s breastplate, straight through to the heart. With a stunned look on his face, the Praetorian Nightguard made a gurgling sound and slid off the length of dark metal to the floor, blood pooling on the Royal Treasury’s floor.

  Bladeborn felt no pride in his victory, realizing the Sword’s enchantment had defeated the Nightguard. As if responding to his thoughts, the magically conscious and aware weapon spoke with a metallic voice inside Bladeborn’s mind:

  ~~We are bonded, warrior; and you shall know me as Nightslayer~~

  Bladeborn shook his head for a moment, unsure if his mind was playing tricks. The voice had seemed real. He glanced at the dead Praetorian at his feet. He had defeated one of the finest swordsmen in Fortress City, and he imagined the Wizard would be the next to fall.

  Yet Dimtreanos stood his ground as Bladeborn advanced. The High Wizard pointed his finger at Bladeborn, freezing him in place with unfathomable magic.

  “What?” Bladeborn exclaimed. “I…can’t breathe!”

  Increasingly awful pain wracked each fiber of Bladeborn’s flesh. He felt one thing that protected him—the Skeletal Lord’s diamond ring that said “energy” on the inside.

  The Wizard slowly approached Bladeborn, and said angrily, “I don't know what you really are, but this fight is over! Demi-god or Demon, you shall not free yourself from my infallible magic; I can assure you of that! Now, I shall relieve you of the incomparable Sword and take the prize into my hand where it truly belongs!”

  The magic trap continued to tighten Bladeborn’s on muscles; he was about to black out. The Wizard pried Bladeborn’s stiff grip from the elaborate hilt of the Sword of the Ancients. Grasping the weapon, Dimtreanos laughed in dark glee.

  Holding the Sword up to the ceiling of the Vault, Dimtreanos called out, “Let the world be damned! Finally, Nightslayer, YOU ARE MINE!”

  Uncontrollably, the Wizard’s hand, and then his whole arm took on a life of its own, the Sword wobbling in his grip.

  “Damnable Sword! What's wrong with you?” Dimtreanos exclaimed. “It is I, DIMTREANOS, who commands you!”

  The Sword, animated with an unknown force, snapped around in the Wizard's grasp with a powerful reverse cut. Bladeborn watched, joints and muscles locked, as the Wizard chopped into his own neck and right through it!

  Head, body, and Sword fell to the floor.

  The paralysis and pain ceased as the Wizard died. Bladeborn took a shocked step back…and eyed the Sword respectfully. It had just caused a man to behead himself, right before his eyes.

  Filled with awe for the weapon, he picked it up gingerly. He ran his hand over it, looking a bit more closely at its razor-sharp edge. The metal composing it was dark as the void. Again, the voice appeared in his mind.

  ~~I am Nightslayer. I am yours~~

  He slid his hand along the flat of the Sword’s length. With the touch of it, his strength increased and his spirit elevated. For a moment, Bladeborn lost track of time, dizzy with phantasms. He saw visions of armies, Kings, battles, and wealth beyond compare, unsure if it was the Sword's past or his possible future. A sense of enormous heights swept over him. Lost in the trance for some time, seeming to travel out of the natural order to an unknown place, he felt the lives of a hundred magnificent heroes who had carried the weapon in the past, each contributing to Nightslayer's power.

  The trance abated, and Bladeborn sensed the heavy stillness of the crystal sarcophagus. As though the Sword was empathetically speaking, it communicated the waiting of years, held by the mummy of Eshumé. Returned to the present, Bladeborn looked at the naked blade, for a moment stripped of all its magic.

  Why Eshumé had insisted on being sealed in his tomb with the Sword was a mystery. Why didn’t Eshumé want the Sword to go to the next in line for the throne? Bladeborn became aware that these questions he asked were going directly to the Sword. No answers were offered.

  Nightslayer’s killing-edge was long, tapering, and incredibly durable. The length of it was perfectly balanced, and the tip had a slight hook at the end, giving it extra weight to strike deadly blows. Its des
ign was just as unique as its ability to communicate—Bladeborn felt assured in the knowledge that there was only one such weapon in existence.

  Looking up from his reverie, Bladeborn saw that a young woman had slipped into the Vault. She was obviously a noble, and she looked at the scene with a horror that was apparent on her beautiful face. She had ruby hair and nearly white skin as smooth as the surface of a still pond. Her dress was elaborate; even for a Royal. Her hand was choking back a scream, but one that slowly melted into a kind of confidence that caused Bladeborn to feel oddly drawn to her.

  Suddenly, fearlessly, she called to Bladeborn, “Hey you! Stair-climber! How did you behead the Grand Vizier? Why, that evil old man was probably one-hundred-fifty when you were but a babe in arms! He was not to be taken lightly—Dimtreanos was the most powerful mage in the City. A terrible man, but you—you…”

  Bladeborn looked at her briefly. She was radiating a kindly light that drew him in.

  Then, the beautiful young woman looked terribly surprised, “OH! By Saint Morth! The Sword has ‘selected’ you.”

  She started to laugh, a beautiful, melodic sound, “Sword of the Ancients! You must have been in that case too long!”

  Bladeborn attempted to break the trance that had enraptured him and run. However, crowding out his fear of being caught by other Praetorians was his longing for the youthful lady with a radiant face. She was so perfect, with her silken hair, lips like heavy wine…Bladeborn realized this woman, although clothed like a noble, had a magical aura that could rip reason from his mind and leave him helpless. Her enrapturing force was a trick meant to make him lower his guard and become vulnerable.

  “No more foolishness from you,” Bladeborn said, shaking off the effects of a charming-spell the woman had wrought.

  “Oho, you felt that? Well! You are more than an easily impressed rind-eater after all! Did you hear what I said? The Sword has selected you. Do you believe in fate? Did you know, rogue, we are to be married someday?”

  “Slow down your speech!” Bladeborn said, slightly befuddled. “I will talk, but only briefly, for I must escape. Come out the rest of the way from behind that pillar!”

  “You are quite commanding! But I can see you have a gentle side as well, like my father, King Koss, before his leanings turned to darkness! Are you afraid this other hand holds a magic wand to change you into a toad? Come on now, warrior speak up!”

  She stepped back a bit as Bladeborn moved toward her. Her first attempt to charm him had failed.

  The woman said, “I feel safe right over here at this point, so keep your distance or I'll scream.”

  Bladeborn continued forward, and then following her directions, he stopped.

  She said, “It is written that 'Death can be thwarted but fate cannot.' Oh, excuse me. Princess Alaxia Serconyercoff at your service. And your name is...?”

  “I can't tell you,” Bladeborn said. “The less you know about me the better.”

  “Come now, dearest. There should be no secrets between us! We are to be married!”

  She tugged at his thoughts again. Bladeborn considered her to be so lovely!

  She said, “Tell me your name and where you live and who to invite to our wedding!”

  Bladeborn fought off the magic and looked away from her eyes. He would have difficulty coming out of another trance like that without becoming her servant.

  “So, what is your name…?” She said with a coy playfulness. “Who are your parents, rogue? Maybe I know them… Tell me!”

  Bladeborn moved swiftly to her now, gaze averted. He saw that the woman was holding a gong-mallet in her hand behind the pillar. There was a huge, golden gong right next to her, but she did not get a chance to sound it. She took a moment to rub her eyes with the back of her arm and on the sleeve of her dress. Bladeborn guessed that using her magic had drained her Essence.

  Bladeborn snatched the mallet from her hand, and then threw it down the down the length of the chamber. Recovering her senses, she pulled a comb-dagger out of her ruby hair and held it in front of her.

  Before she could cut him, Bladeborn caught the Princess's comb-hand in a wrist-lock. She clawed his face, so He rolled her small frame into a hug, pinning both her arms. The Princess kicked his shins and stomped on his foot, which didn’t help her at all.

  “Tell me the best way out of the city, Alaxia!”

  “Ha! So, you're going to kidnap me!” Alaxia said angrily. She had perhaps realized that he was not going to kill her.

  “I asked you once nicely...” He flexed the wrist-lock ever so slightly.

  “Ahch! You’re hurting me! You'll never make it, foolish thief! Every Knight in the City will be after you and all the gates are sealed!”

  “There must be some way!”

  “Release me!”

  “No more tricks from you!” Bladeborn relaxed his grip, and she threw off his hand dramatically.

  Massaging her injured wrist, she cast her eyes downward and said, “If the Sword has truly selected you, then it will help you. They say it knows things. Ask the Sword!”

  “Thank you,” Bladeborn said glancing at the weapon he still held.

  “Take the passage that brought you here, stair-climber,” Princess Alaxia indicated. “They cut the pressurelift's power years ago when the last thief was here and walled up the shaft. Dimtreanos put a curse of toads on it. Anyone who gets near it is turned into a toad.”

  “The pressurelift worked fine when I used it,” Bladeborn stated. “And I saw several of these things called toads in the great chamber below. However, I was unaffected by this curse you speak of.”

  “The failure of the Arch-Wizard’s spell resulted in his demise! What a charlatan my Uncle was! But who turned the pressurelift back on, I wonder?” Alaxia seemed puzzled. “A mystery! Who could have turned it on?”

  “Your games are amazing Princess,” Bladeborn stated. “I have to go now, before I get caught.”

  “Look here, you beast!” Princess Alaxia Serconyercoff spoke in a way like a rapping drum, “Let me give you the facts that you may be overlooking! They will figure out who you are and put horrible curses on you. If that doesn’t make you surrender, begging for mercy, they will track you down, catch you, torture you, and kill everyone you ever loved. Even if you do avoid the inevitable hunters and then somehow escape to the outside, it is known to be the abode of Devils! But if you reject the Sword and never touch it again you could leave here a rich man!”

  “I see,” Bladeborn said.

  “Even if you are working with someone, you were only a pawn to get the Sword free of the sarcophagus. You have absolutely nothing to offer the city as a King.” She looked at him again, a bit differently than before, as if she were trying to take a real measure of him. “You have the Sword, and I pity you, rind-eater! For the weapon shall simply be taken from you by my future husband after you're dead!”

  Bladeborn didn’t appreciate her threatening tone, “I thought you were just trying to gain power over me with the speech about marriage…You are a good-looking woman, but I know about the Longevity Potions you Nobles take… You're probably old enough to be my great-grandmother.”

  It seemed that this insult had angered the Princess and she began to scream, “Help! Help! A madman has broken into the armory and is MURDERING everyone! Somebody HELP!”

  Leaving her there, Bladeborn dashed to the secret door in the column and passed through, closing it behind. He scrambled down the spiral stairs and ran to the pressurelift’s platform, reversing the control lever. The platform shot downward, scraping the shaft through descent as before.

  Bladeborn directed a few words to the Sword of the Ancients in his hand, taking a chance that it was listening. “Nightslayer... My name is Bladeborn.”

  A response came, in the metallic voice that was within his thoughts.

  ~~Swordsman, I have waited long for you. Our minds are tied together and I have chosen you~~

  Bladeborn wondered briefly at this. Then he thought
to the Sword, “Nightslayer. Yes, you are a Sword beyond the understanding of most, but not I. I will carry you beyond the walls of this City. I will wield you in the world under the Red Sun. No longer will the glass case in that room be your prison. We shall go together, in freedom, with no master.”

  ~~I will be always free in your hands. Yet soon, Bladeborn, you will see your life is worth more than you thought~~

  “Nightslayer, all I desire is to escape this city. That is what I want. To be my own man, without the city and its denizens above me. To make my own choices. And to be left alone.”

  ~~Your heart is in the right place—and your soul—is powerful. The shortsightedness of youth can be an asset, as well~~

  “I would have guessed that to be something that holds me back,” Bladeborn reasoned.

  ~~If you fully understood how large the world is, you might make different choices. But at this stage, simply trust in me; I shall slowly reveal pieces of creation to you that will astound your senses~~

  The pressurelift ground to a halt in the large chamber. Bladeborn jumped off the platform and ran. “How will I escape, Nightslayer?”

  ~~If leaving your place of birth is your wish, it must be through the front gate~~

  “It is my wish, and my only choice as well. I have no idea how to get the gate open; maybe you know?”

  The Sword was silent.

  Bladeborn remembered, “I have spells that may open the front gate. I lit a prayer candle for many days at the top of the trash pile where the gate-shrine stands…”

  Again, the Sword was silent.

  He reached the passageway that led to the under-city maze. Finally, the Sword spoke.

  ~~You must flee now, Bladeborn. You cannot stand against the might of the City alone, even wielding me. However, you are not alone in the City. If you choose to stay you’ll need allies~~

  “Did you say ‘…Stand against the might of the City…?’” Bladeborn asked, confused. “Are you a crazy sword?”

  * * *

  During his intoxicate reverie, King Koss usually had pleasing visions of the future, which were often prophetic. However, on the eve after the explosion in the Royal Treasure Vault, he had a disturbing dream in which the Demonic force that he gave homage to betrayed him.