Bladeborn

by Clayton Schonberger

  Grumrig said, “Don't you understand? You are needed!”

  ~~Things have changed, Bladeborn. Listen to him and you shall understand~~

  Bladeborn said aloud to the Sword, “Nightslayer, do not tempt me with such grand plots!”

  The Sword was silent.

  “Bladeborn?” Brother Grumrig said. “Is the Sword talking to you?”

  Looking at Grumrig with uncertainty, Bladeborn retorted, “Yes, it is—I mean, it seems so—I really don't know what to think just now! Perhaps I have gone mad!”

  “Harden your resolve, young lord,” Grumrig said, the quaver in his voice conveying deep concern. “You will need to be at your best in the hours ahead!”

  Bladeborn paused to allow the man who had once saved his life another moment, before he said goodbye forever, “There is nothing I can do to save anyone, Grumrig. If the religion of Morth and its officers need rescue, let their faithful do it. This City has only brought me evil and hard living. My birth mother was sacrificed in a ritual where I was meant to die. My adoptive mother was a thief, killed before I ever got to know her person as an adult. I was left to rot in a dungeon for years after trying to do someone a favor. My first real friend died right in front of me in that same cell, and since then I have had to kill and steal just to survive. What has this City EVER given me?”

  “Bladeborn, your heart is cold, but consider this: your birth mother must have sacrificed her life trying to save you, yes? Agatha rescued you from that cult and she raised you, yes? Then, through care and secret influence Bishop Auxi got you in a cell with a teacher from the church!”

  “Who is this Bishop Auxi?” Bladeborn demanded. “Why did he ever take an interest in me? Did he send me to the cell where I met Onar the Acolyte?”

  “Auxi and High Priest Averdan knew of the marking on your chest, and they knew what it meant earlier than anyone except for Agatha…You see, Bladeborn, you should have died in the ritual that killed your mother. The High Priest believes that only you can stop Zipzorag. There is no other. His prediction seems to be coming true as events unfold! You cannot deny what destiny has selected for you!”

  “Who else is involved?” Bladeborn asked, feeling overwhelmed.

  “I do not know all of them,” Grumrig claimed. “But understand this—you've been watched… And some of us have helped you from the shadows. Sharing with you joy and despair—usually at the times when you were most unsure of yourself, we have been there. Imagine my surprise when you just show up in my temple one day, dying, and I had to avoid fouling things up as they unfolded!”

  Bladeborn tried to take it all in. He tried to imagine that with all his struggles, there were actually people who had been looking out for his best interest. It seemed impossible to him, and he said, “This can't be!”

  “It is true, Bladeborn,” Brother Grumrig declared. “There have been other attempts to free the Sword you hold. In Onar’s time, a group of rebels found a pressurelift leading to the Vault atop the City. After their choice for Swordwielder was killed, the Shaft Police caught and killed the rest of them. Their struggle is part of the legend surrounding the Sword you now hold. For certain, no one knows the entire story, making it harder to piece together under torture and magical truth-saying...But since you were a child and you survived your confrontation with Zipzorag…”

  “Is that when all this began?” Bladeborn asked.

  “Agatha was the first to bring you to the attention of the Bishop of Morth. Since then, you have gained a frightening reputation in the undercity. Yet those who have paid attention know you are steadfast and honorable at your core.”

  “What?” Bladeborn said. He wasn’t suspicious of Grumrig, he was afraid for him. Bladeborn knew anyone who counted themselves as his allies would be persecuted by the Nobility in their lust for the Sword he had stolen. “What do you mean by that? Frightening and honorable? The Nobility has no fear of me! I flee when I see gang members and even beggars label me an outcast.”

  One of the Sisters of Morth stepped forward suddenly. She had blood smeared on what had been a white priestess frock. She fell at Bladeborn’s feet and took his hand.

  The sister exclaimed, “On every street corner and in every market, people are speaking your name and talking about revolt! The people of the upper floors know little of you, but when word came down that someone had broken into the Royal Treasure Vault, the Fire Tongue gang and the Hazords began talking about how it must have been ‘the one called Bladeborn.’ Those two gangs and many others have drawn a truce to their infighting, saying they will not let you be arrested. The arena games have been halted and so a huge crowd beat several Constables to death in response. Someone said ‘Ten-to-one-Bladeborn, the killer of Hercun the Howler, will bring the games back!’”

  Bladeborn couldn’t believe it. He had heard beggars laughingly call him “…Ten-to-one-Bladeborn…” many times…But he never made anything of it.

  “All these groups simply want to kill me!”

  At that point, Thustral the Damned showed up in the rooms of the laughing skull.

  “Bladeborn!” Thustral exclaimed. “We must—OH!” The Wizard was surprised to find anyone other than Bladeborn there. He quickly regained his composure, and asked, “So, this is what remains of the clergy in the lower City, I believe? Let me introduce myself… I am known as Thustral.”

  Brother Grumrig said, “Thustral? THE Thustral? I thought you were dead?”

  “I am far from it,” Thustral said. “I have trained this young Wizard! Now, apparently, he has been bonded to the Sword of the Ancients! He wears it on his back right now, if I am not mistaken!” Thustral turned from Brother Grumrig and said, “I am here to help you, Bladeborn, in whatever way I can!”

  “Wait!” Bladeborn said. “Brother Grumrig—how do you know Thustral?”

  “Magically gifted, Thustral the Damned is an iconic figure from two decades ago,” Brother Grumrig said. “There was a time when he was the only one who would aid the people of the lower-City with potions, elixirs, and minor magic…”

  “Until the accursed Shaft Police put a price of four-hundred coin on my head,” Thustral stated proudly. “But that is in the past. Now, finally, the time for action has come!”

  Grumrig cut in and said, “He speaks truly! Revolution is in the air, Bladeborn!”

  Thustral said, “In the main lower-city market an angry mob of Saint Morth loyalists and members of the major gangs clashed with City watch and Shaft Police! The authorities were being driven back to the pressurelifts when their re-enforcements arrived. There is a standoff now, but listen to this, Bladeborn: the beasts of the low levels of the City, which you treated fairly and without fear, are ready to fight for you! A horde of them was moving up from level Minus 10 last I saw.”

  Another one of the Sisters fell at Bladeborn’s feet. “Save us, Swordsman! Only you can lead the people!”

  “By the Horns of the Dragon God!” swore Bladeborn. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Well, young Swordsman, here's how…” Thustral began.

  Later, in the main lower-City market, the authorities were facing off with hundreds of citizens. The people had erected a barricade out of furniture and pushcarts across the market square. At the Healing Fountain where the Nameless Hero stood, the battle lines were drawn.

  Soldiers, Shaft Police, and Constables were swelling the ranks of those representing the “law,” arriving via the pressurelifts behind their position. Grumrig told how earlier in the day, authorities had raided the temple, beating and arresting almost all Priests and sisters of Morth.

  As Bladeborn and his close allies arrived in the square, they overheard someone say a more than a dozen armed and armored Knights of the Screaming Heart and their retainers were searching for weapons carried by gladiators in the environs around the arena. Yet, their progress was apparently stopped by another angry mob of great size.

  Bladeborn, Grumrig, and Thustral with the Sisters of Morth pushed ahead from the back of the
crowd. The Hazords, the Fire Tongues, many gladiators, and several other gangs made their way to the center of the conflict. Many non-combatant folks fled from the market for their lives.

  Chief Constable Bluelock shouted across the square, “All of you behind the barricades: disperse and there will be no more bloodshed here today!”

  The sisters of Morth, according to their instructions, began patching the wounded gang members and others who had been injured in the earlier skirmishes with the law. Their presence did not go unnoticed, and word went around—the Sisters of Morth were there!

  Everyone was aware that those who aided the sisters were to be arrested. But since Bladeborn, the Swordwielder, consented to stand in their defense, the sisters were filled with unstoppable confidence. Assured of their task as support for the injured, the sisters empowered the crowd’s resolve.

  Bladeborn and Grumrig, under large cloaks that hid identities, pushed to front of the rebellious masses. They heard Bluelock call across the lines, “I see those traitorous sisters moving about with you! They are wanted in relation to the plot that resulted in the death of the Grand Vizier of the City. Turn them over at once. Three-hundred coin per head!”

  Grumrig climbed up on the fountain and threw back his cloak, saying, “Come and get us, Bluelock, if you dare!”

  Thustral then stepped up onto the fountain also and said, “These people are not afraid of you, Bluelock! The time of your tyranny is over!”

  Thustral radiated a warm, glowing, color-field, to draw attention and hush the clamor. “Your curse-spewing Royal Mages know me well…Their power will not deter us!”

  “I know you, Thustral!” Bluelock shouted. “I’ve wanted to send you to the dungeons for years! You and Brother Grumrig are finished! Your lives are forfeit!”

  Shaft Police Supreme Captain Grus, recently arrived, shouted to the mob: “I will slaughter you, Grumrig! The cult of Morth DIES with you!” A wave of terror ran through the crowd as they realized it was the dreaded Supreme Captain of the Shaft Police.

  “Most of you have never seen me before,” Grus called to the crowd, walking back and forth in front of the line of Guards. “But you all know who I am by the weapon I bear! It is called ‘Gyron,’ and I am here to show you ‘why’ this little rebellion is over!”

  The Supreme Captain swung his flail; the hooks and chains spun at amazing speed, emitting an ear-splitting buzz.

  Nightslayer in hand, Bladeborn flung off his cloak and stepped up, onto the Healing Fountain of Morth, calling, “GRUS! Before you hurt anyone here, you'll have to face ME!”

  The Shaft Police Supreme Captain allowed his flail to stop spinning. There was a momentary hush when the two of them hurled insults.

  “So, this is Bladeborn, the murdering thief who slipped into the palace today? Do you have any idea how much trouble you have caused to ‘your people’ down here? Do you know anything about the Ancient Sword your weakling hand carries? You have created a spectacle here, one that I must now deal with using Gyron!”

  The flail once more whirred like a top, making a high-pitched buzz-noise that was truly terrifying.

  “Nightslayer, if you can… Strike NOW!” Bladeborn shouted, pointing the Sword at the high, vaulted, ceiling that covered the lower city market square. A mighty stroke of lightning shattered the air and struck the ceiling over Grux, bringing down a few tiles. The sound was nearly deafening, but no one was hurt.

  Grus pitched backward, as did all the Constables and City Watch. None of them wished to face the certain power of the Sword of the Ancients, which Bladeborn seemed to control.

  Bladeborn was immensely exhilarated, filled with the realization that the legend about Nightslayer’s lightning power was true.

  Grus could see this one man was about to make all those on his side flee for their lives, something he could not allow.

  “You are nothing without the ability of that Sword to make electricity…Coward!”

  Bladeborn’s face hardened and he gritted his teeth.

  Thustral instructed, “Don’t let him bait you, Bladeborn! Tell Grus and the Guards to leave—or else.”

  “I will not back down from Grus!” Bladeborn said aside to Thustral.

  “Come, Bladeborn,” Grus called. “Face me man-to-man! I am sure that you, as champion of the undercity, will fight fairly!”

  Bladeborn pushed his way out of the crowd and into the square, toward Grus, “If that’s how you want it! I have no fear of you, Grus!”

  “Bladeborn, wait!” Thustral and Grumrig called after him.

  “Fool,” Grus called to his left. “Crossbowmen! Kill him!”

  ~~Raise me up toward building left of Grus NOW, Bladeborn~~

  Bladeborn pointed the tip of Nightslayer toward the building to the left, and another charge of crackling lightening, this time split seven ways, emanated from the tip.

  The stroke of Nightslayer’s magical energy must have hit all the crossbowman before they could aim. None of their projectiles came near Bladeborn. Six crossbowmen dropped from their positions in the windows of the two-story building where they had been hiding. A seventh Shaft Police marksman seemed to have been blown back.

  Angry and frustrated, Grus whipped Gyron around and began to charge. The furious buzzing of the flail made Bladeborn instinctively duck. Bladeborn also had the sense to kick Grus in the kneecap as his swing took him past. Grus crumpled, his knee-joint broken backwards with the force Bladeborn used.

  The Supreme Captain fell to the ground atop his weapon, and there was a horrid crunch heard above the whirring chains. Gyron chewed through the silvery breast piece Grus wore, and blood from his chest cavity sprayed across the center of the square. Grus was fallen; dead by his own weapon.

  Even after the Supreme Captain’s limp grasp released Gyron, the hooked chains continued to rotate faster than the eye could follow. As the weapon spun, its magic out-of-control, it bounced off the ground in short, random hops toward the line of Constables and Shaft Police. Then, on its wild course, it switched back, heading toward the barricades where hundreds of people crowded together. There was no predicting the terrible weapon’s path.

  It chewed through a broken-down pushcart, turning it into splinters and not slowing at all. Then it turned again, and it hit the metal statue of the Nameless Hero at the center of the fountain of Saint Morth. The stature was solid bronze, but Gyron’s riotous turning bent the statue over like it was made of soft leather.

  “I got the handle!” Brother Grumrig said, attempting to grab Gyron’s safe end. Like a thing alive, it turned on him, chewing off his hand at the wrist.

  Bladeborn knew he had to act fast before Grumrig met the same fate as Grus. Calculating that the lightning couldn’t destroy the iron weapon, Bladeborn jumped over Grumrig, and smashed the accursed flail’s handle with Nightslayer’s edge. There was a resounding *CRACK* when two weapons met.

  Broken in two, Gyron’s enchantment was removed. The pieces skittered harmlessly a few more feet, and then were still.

  Bladeborn rushed to Grumrig's side, the stump of his hand spurting blood. Two Sisters of Morth pushed their way through the stunned crowd to help.

  “Arrghh, get me to the Fountain, Bladeborn!” Grumrig gasped.

  Bladeborn walked Grumrig a few paces to the Fountain of the Nameless Hero. There, Grumrig plunged his wrist in the healing waters. After only a second, something amazing occurred. When he withdrew the stump, blood was not pouring forth. Brother Grumrig had not grown a new hand, but the wound had been sealed. It was undeniably a miracle of healing. Relieved of pain, Grumrig held his hand in the air for all to see. The visible power of Saint Morth was assured in the minds of the assembled crowd.

  “His hand is healed!” Thustral called out. “It is a blessing, a miraculous manifestation of the strength of Saint Morth!” Even the Guardsmen were amazed, for they could see it themselves.

  Bladeborn turned angrily to face the front lines of Constables. Fury was not something Bladeborn had often experienced.
But it flared up inside him now, out of concern over Grumrig’s maiming, and intensified through the influence of the Sword. The rage made Bladeborn’s eyes glaze solid gloss-black, giving him a nearly inhuman look.

  The Shaft Police, Knights, Constables, and even Wizards began backing up in fright. Bladeborn called in a rumbling voice heard by everyone assembled:

  “OVER THE BARRICADES! STRIKE NOW!”

  The once downtrodden, consisting of people from nearly every section of the lower City, let out a unanimous cry, charging toward front line of Constables. In the lead were some of the toughest gang members in the undercity, along with more than a hundred gladiators, itching for a fight. The Guardsmen piled into overfull pressurelifts and up the wide stairs in a panic. Bladeborn and Nightslayer shot yet another bolt of lightning, this time concentrated, powerful and deadly. It hit Chief Constable Bluelock, who was trying to order his men to hold fast, and he burst bodily in a ghastly display of gore.

  Nightslayer made a loud, single, metallic word in Bladeborn’s mind:

  ~~YES!~~

  The people of the lower floors had arisen. Bladeborn lashed out at the fleeing Guardsmen at the lead of the people, killing indiscriminately. He followed them up a stairway and into the wide tunnel street on the next level. Many lawmen fell to Bladeborn, who acted with merciless wrath.

  Leading gang members, fan turners, and gladiators, Bladeborn pursued the forces of the law up and up into Fortress City’s interior all morning, though buildings, shops, and residences.

  After several hours of bloody struggle, Bladeborn’s mob rested to regroup. They had fought all the way up from level fifteen where the main lower-City market was, to level thirty-five close to mid-City, where the main guardhouse was, past the arena, theaters, guildhalls, and all the rest. One-third of the City seemed to be theirs, at least for now.

  Bladeborn’s eyes had returned from the stupefying solid black to their normal look. Around him lay several wounded Knights and their men. Fire Tongue himself stood next him, along with Claw Girl. The initial push out of the sublevels was successful.