Bladeborn

by Clayton Schonberger

  “Bladeborn, I never thought I’d get a chance to talk to you again,” Claw Girl said. “Who could have thought all this would happen way back when?”

  Bladeborn smiled at her and said, “I never asked for this…but here I am.”

  “Take a sip with us, Bladeborn” Fire Tongue said, passing a jug, “Don’t worry it’s not dye…just wine.”

  Bladeborn took a deep drink. As he drank, an assassin who worked for the King’s side came in close through the mob.

  ~~Assassin behind you, Bladeborn!~~

  Bladeborn spun about and saw him at the last second. The assassin swiped twice with his knife, and both times Bladeborn jumped clean away. However, Fire Tongue’s weapon caught the assassin right in the side below the ribs. The assassin fell to the ground and moaned, bleeding.

  “Berquay, how dare you!” Fire Tongue shouted quickly. “You picked the wrong side!”

  “I can’t believe you, Berquay!” Claw Girl said to the writhing man. She then pulled out a bandage from her pack and placed it on Berquay’s wound.

  “Leave him!” Fire Tongue snapped at her.

  Claw Girl glared at him, and held a cloth on Berquay’s wound. “I think you’ll be all right, Berquay. It’s not too deep. Hold this here…”

  Bladeborn was confused. As Berquay twisted in pain and moaned, Claw Girl spat at her husband, “I can’t believe you either, Fire Tongue!”

  “Do you two know this man, Fire Tongue?” Bladeborn asked.

  “I used to,” Fire Tongue said angrily. “Not anymore.”

  “He is your blood brother, Fire Tongue,” Claw Girl said. “Does his life mean nothing?”

  “Bah! I am not going to worry about it!” Fire Tongue said in disgust. “I did what I did. What am I supposed to do?” Fire Tongue turned to go. “Claw Girl, I am going back to our hide-out. You can do whatever.”

  Bladeborn thought, “So this is what it’s come to?”

  ~~Blood is spilled by both sides in a civil war. What will happen afterwards is up to you~~

  Nightslayer’s words were the truth, but they didn’t help Bladeborn.

  An hour later, the rebels had reached the main street on the fortieth floor, called the Way of Tunnels. It was a section of the City devoted to commerce. The bankers and landlords frantically tried to barricade their shops and homes. The mobs broke down doors, and once inside they smashed everything they couldn’t loot.

  Many lesser officials in the area were reputed to have cheated or beaten commoners. Some were dragged out and flogged by the mob, while others simply watched as their businesses were wrecked.

  Several Priests of Morth and a handful of sisters were released from the jails, and they instructed the mobs to go home. They were peace loving, and most of them would rather have died than see harm done.

  Yet the anger of the mobs did not subside.

  Bladeborn watched the furious men and women loot another armory. Before they went in, he had told them, “Grab some good weapons and we'll all go to the top of Fortress City to see King Koss up close!”

  Bladeborn’s call to aim for the top of the city was met with cheering approval from the men and women of Fan-Turner’s Guild and the gang members, who made up the majority of largest group there.

  ~~That’s more like it, warrior!~~ Nightslayer said to Bladeborn. The Sword had not spoken since Fire Tongue left. ~~These people need you to stand at the forefront. Keep them focused. I sense a counter-attack is being organized by the King. Your people will take the brunt of it and…~~

  “A counter-attack?” Bladeborn wondered. So many good people had been injured or killed already, and the fighting seemed to be far from over.

  ~~Hold your people together, Swordsman! Get your biggest men over by the main pressurelifts! Quickly!~~

  Bladeborn began shouting orders, doing as the Sword of the Ancients instructed. To his surprise, the people listened to him, and the toughest gathered by the main pressurelifts at the center of the Way of Tunnels on floor forty.

  A boy came running up to Bladeborn and said, “Fire Tongue has fallen! Fire tongue is dead! A group of elder Knights came down in a pressurelift and killed everyone in their path! They are on their way here!”

  ~~Hold fast, Swordsman!~~

  “We stay here! Get ready for whatever comes off that pressurelift!”

  Bladeborn waited another minute.

  A gladiator shouted to him, “This is ridiculous! We guard a door! Where is the—”

  Before the gladiator could finish, the pressurelift doors opened, revealing lines of crossbowmen in front. Behind them were several Elder Knights and their men. The crossbowmen fired into the crowd, and when the rebels charged them, the Knights stepped forward and made a furious push into the toughest men Bladeborn had. The gladiators and gang members were mostly armed with short swords, knives, or clubs. The Knights were in steel armor and had magic weapons, some of which dripped fire or radiated frost. Bladeborn’s rebels were quickly overrun.

  “Nightslayer, give me lightning now!” Bladeborn said to the Sword.

  ~~You have used all my lightning power for the day, Swordsman. My energy needs time to re-charge. I do not have limitless power~~

  “Then there is no choice but retreat,” Bladeborn said to the Sword. He called to the rebels, “Fall back! Don’t throw your lives away, men! Fall back and regroup!”

  Bladeborn advanced to cover his men, pointing Nightslayer at the group of Elder Knights. They gave a hand signal and their crossbowmen ran up in front of them and began to load their weapons.

  ~~Your skills are not yet adequate to face those Knights…You MUST retreat now, warrior~~

  Bladeborn reluctantly fled down the corridor, dragging a wounded man with him. He and his men ran through a set of double doors and shut them. They began piling up broken furniture across the doors to slow the Knights and their men.

  Bladeborn said. “Run now, everyone, to the stairs!”

  As the group of them passed the thirty-seventh floor, they found that the enraged members of Fire Tongue’s gang had started smashing oil lamps in the trash-strewn hallways. Bladeborn worried that with all the refuse in the halls of Fortress City, the fire would spread to other areas, but there was nothing he could do at that time.

  The smoke was thick all the way down to the thirtieth floor. Shops and residence halls were burning. The foul, grey fumes were awful, and Bladeborn knew there was going to be so much smoke every person on the upper levels would die. If he could organize the members of the fan turner guild, some of those on the upper levels might have a chance, but there was no way to do that in the chaos. Those whose job it was to turn fans were mixed among the rebels across thirty floors.

  ~~You must go to the front gate, Bladeborn. Go to the gate~~

  “Why?” Bladeborn demanded. “Have we failed? Is this rebellion doomed? Did the Royals have that much of an advantage?”

  ~~Follow my advice, and do not question it. Break away from these men and go to the gate~~

  “I don’t understand! I’m not sure if I can even open the gate! Why should I go there, when I’m needed here?”

  The Sword remained silent, but Bladeborn followed its direction nonetheless. The weapon had already saved him twice that day.

  * * *

  The Wizard Thustral and the Priest of Morth, re-named Grumrig Hammerhand, proclaimed Bladeborn to be the deliverer of the undercity maze. It had happened in a moment's quiet right after Grumrig’s miraculous recovery.

  Grumrig had been fitted with a metal hammer where his hand had been. The iron for it was taken from the pieces of the weapon Gyron, which had belonged to Supreme Captain Grus. It had been forged at the gladiator’s smithy, the only metal foundry on the lower floors of the City.

  After that gathering, Thustral and Grumrig stood together on the balcony of the blacksmith shop.

  From the balcony, Thustral addressed the lower City’s merchants, guild masters and general populace: “If there was ever a man who could change Fortress City
for the better,” Thustral said of Bladeborn, “this young man is it. All the signs point to him: preserver of our religion, and an instrument of positive change! Who can deny the man who carries the Sword of the Ancients?”

  The cheering resounded throughout the market square.

  As Thustral went on, Grumrig worried. They had no plan about what to do once they controlled the City. The few sisters of Morth in the square were encouraging Thustral’s belief, telling the people that justice would be restored.

  But Thustral’s evangelical fury was mysterious to Grumrig, so he asked, “Why do you say such things, Thustral? These people need honesty…Such change as you promise may be out of reach!”

  Thustral turned from the balcony and whispered to Grumrig, “You are essentially right, Brother Grumrig. But we have a chance to get a start on it. There must be a sweeping movement before any change can come! Do you know nothing of politics? We will be hard-pressed to unseat the King! But THAT is what we must do, Brother Grumrig. The Nobility, and particularly the Royals, have brought this on themselves.”

  “We can’t hope to assault the palace…it is known to be a fortress within Fortress City. The Royals could hold out for years in there!”

  “Yes! That is precisely what they will do to…We shall need willpower to besiege the palace… Koss will not give up easily!”

  “But as you describe this course to the people, you make it sound easy. I don’t want you to mislead them,” Grumrig said, cautiously.

  Thustral frowned, “Then you may be setting this rebellion up for failure…”

  The Wizard returned to the balcony and began speaking once more of the despised dwellers in the City above such as King Koss.

  Grumrig could see that a group of truly bizarre creatures stood at the back of the throng. They had emerged from the bowels of the City, led by the ogre that Thustral had called Jerzee. From where he sat, Grumrig could see two other sizable ogres. There were with a dozen misshapen half-Rhinolon with the strange beasts and numerous mutants. They had been dwelling deep within the City, coming forth to join in the conflict. For the time being the central market was a place of celebration, But the undercity creatures were met with fear from the populace. Grumrig briefly wondered how Bladeborn could have made such unusual beastly friends during his short life. The trust of such creatures was not easy to win.

  Then, a messenger came to Thustral and Grumrig with word from Bladeborn, “The upper City is burning out of control. Our forces are being pursued by Knights. I go to the front gate to try to open it—B.”

  “The smoke will be deadly,” Thustral said. “What’s more, it will drive everyone from the upper levels of the City down here!”

  “I thought you said the Nobility was going to hole up in the palace!”

  “I don’t think that will be possible for them now,” Thustral said gravely. “The city burns. Innocent and guilty alike will die in the smoke and flames.”

  “Morth have mercy on us all!” Grumrig prayed. “Thousands will die!”

  * * *

  Merkee the Arranger and five of his toughest gladiators had been deep in the undercity’s crypts for hours. Merkee’s old friend, Verclo the Red, had stepped out for a minute to check above. Merkee was beginning to worry: had Verclo also gone to join the rebels?

  “Did you hear that?” Merkee’s lookout asked.

  “Don’t get jumpy,” Merkee chided flatly. The man was hearing things.

  “How long will this ridiculous rebellion go on?” Merkee thought for the hundredth time that day.

  Merkee recalled the huge amount of work he had done for the city over the years. When they cancelled the mid-winter contest earlier in the day he was angry. But that was only the beginning. Everything was in doubt now.

  Two hours before the mid-winter games were to begin, Constable Bluelock and his men had burst into the training hall. With the Battlemaster’s clearance, Bluelock began confiscating every weapon in the armory. Then, despite Merkee shouting until he was nearly hoarse, the gladiators, except the ones with him in the crypts, ran to the center of the undercity to join the protest.

  What followed were reports of the magnitude of the disaster…he heard that that half of his best men had followed the young warrior everyone was talking about—Bladeborn. Then, there were reports of pointless casualties.

  The list of the gladiators who were said to have died was long…each had been his protégé and his friend. They were men whom he had shaped and brought to fame.

  Merkee knew that once they were mobilized, the King’s Knights of the Screaming Heart were the true power in the City. What could an unarmed man hope to do against someone wearing a plated suit and bearing a magic weapon?

  Merkee brooded and stewed, “I should have had that Bladeborn killed when I had the chance! Now everything is in shambles! What a fool I am! I knew that he was trouble from the day Hercun died, when Angres took the seven-hundred fifty coin from me!”

  Suddenly, Merkee and his men heard an inhuman noise… The sound came from deep within the crypts, a loud, guttural, roar. They exchanged nervous glances and readied their clubs.

  “Merkee!” said the lookout, hefting his bat, “There is movement in the corridor!”

  Merkee poked his head out of the alcove. In the dim light of ancient glow-globes set in the crypt walls, he saw Verclo the Red running headlong toward them. Verclo’s arms flailed as he ran, like he was chased by a ghost—or worse.

  Because it looked as if Verclo was going to run right past without stopping, Merkee grabbed at him. Knocked off-balance, Verclo fell. Merkee went over to him and said, “Verclo! Why didn’t you give the signal? We could have killed you by mistake, you fool!”

  “Merkee!” Verclo gasped, a look of mad terror in his eyes. “We MUST flee! It is only minutes behind me!”

  Again, the bone-chilling growl issued from somewhere in the crypt. It was loud enough to cause the dust and plaster on the walls to be shaken loose.

  “What in Morth’s name—?” Merkee swore, questioning.

  A second later, Merkee and his men heard the sound of stone and mortar breaking apart. Something was coming—and it was strong enough to tear through the very walls!

  Verclo stood up and began to run, “FLEE! By the gods, it will destroy us all!”

  Again, Merkee and his men heard the otherworldly growl, and this time it was CLOSE!

  Without further thought, they ran to the stairs that led upward, back to the City. The beast that chased them, still somewhere below, could be heard ripping through rock and brick.

  Suddenly, a Demonic FIST punched through the floor of the passageway they were in.

  The giant, bizarre hand snagged Verclo by the legs, dragging him into the hole it had made. Verclo screamed in terror as Merkee grabbed his arms and tried to pull him free. But it was no good, and both were dragged into the hole in the floor.

  “DON’T LET GO!” Verclo cried, “DON’T LET GO!” Merkee strained, and Verclo began to slip free of the Monster’s grasp.

  “I got you...!” Merkee said, pulling as hard as he could. Then, a deep basso laugh issued from beneath the floor. The thing that had Verclo by his legs tugged. Merkee saw his friend slip into the hole in the floor in that instant. Merkee was nearly pulled down along with him.

  Lying on the floor of the passageway, Merkee looked at what was beneath—a giant, hideous Demon, with one ice-blue eye staring up. Merkee met its gaze, and he saw every bad kind of dream staring back at him. Merkee, one of the toughest, most jaded men in the City cried out in horror.

  “TELL THEM!” the Demon intoned, “TELL THEM THAT ZIPZORAG HAS COME TO CLAIM WHAT IS HIS!”

  * * *

  A rebel, one of the Firetongues, ran into the second story room where Brother Grumrig and Thustral rested. Sensing the desperation of the Firetongue, Thustral rose to his feet.

  The Fire Tongue said to him, “There is a man who insists on seeing you, Thustral! He has a frightening aspect about him and I think you better…”


  “Let me go!” Merkee said. He burst into the room and fell at Thustral’s feet.

  As Merkee looked up at him, Thustral said, “I recognize you from long ago, Merkee. But what happened? What is wrong with your eyes?”

  “He’s coming...! Th-the D-Demon!” Merkee stuttered. “He is moments behind us! RUIN is upon us all!”

  “What is this, you say?” Thustral demanded. “Who is coming?”

  Thustral could see that Merkee, once a strong man, was changed. He was terrorized, frightened nearly to death.

  Brother Grumrig said, “Give him some air, Thustral!”

  Merkee gathered his wits momentarily, and shot a hand forward, grabbing the front of Thustral’s robe. “Zipzorag is coming! ZIPZORAG! I SAW him in the crypts! And when he gets here, all this will be OVER!”

  Thustral slapped Merkee across the face.

  Merkee fell to his knees and wept.

  “Get these people out of this marketplace NOW, Grumrig! Get them into their homes!”

  “How do you expect me to…?” Grumrig began to ask.

  “I don’t care! Just get it done!” Thustral ordered.

  Thustral moved with new purpose. He had to find Bladeborn, or at least get him a message. As Thustral was leaving the blacksmith’s, he glanced back across the market. Thustral saw that Merkee didn’t exaggerate. A giant, balled FIST, thrust right through the stony floor of the main square, caused men to fly up into the very air. The throng panicked and scattered in utter disarray, as Zipzorag emerged from the floor of the marketplace, Demon head swinging toward the balcony of the room Thustral was in. Thustral, gazing for another instant, was held fast by its solitary blue eye!

  As though he had been head-punched, Thustral fell backward into Grumrig Hammerhand’s arms. Grumrig was speechless.

  Trying to wipe the visage of the Lord of Nightmares from his mind, Thustral turned to Grumrig and said, “Pray that I can find Bladeborn, the one man who could save us! Get the people to safety, Brother! I go a secret way!”