Blade of Erogrund

Morning, as always, came far too early.

Godric’s body had adapted days ago though that did not stop him from struggling to rise from the scrawny bed. His brain told him with uncomfortable certainty that it was indeed time to get up despite the fact that his body craved sleep like a desert wanderer craves water. His eyelids fought to rise due to the overwhelming weight that seemed to pushed them closed.

Even with these trials he managed to get up. Throwing off the thin, scratchy blanket, he stood and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As usual, a little more than half of the Men’s beds were still occupied and a few of the multitude of candles still burned lazily.

Opening his wooden lockbox that still sat on the foot of his bed, he drew out a pair of clothes that looked and smelled to have a few more wears in them before being sent to the wash. Changing in the semi-darkness, he realized gradually that these were the clothes he had worn from Dunn. Wrapping the cloak Ennor had given him tightly around his shoulders in addition to his shirt as a fiercely cold draft wafted through the Hall. As he was leaving for the taverns he stuck his hands into his pockets in an attempt to keep them warm and found a piece of cloth sitting at the bottom of one.

Carefully drawing it out, he saw by the flickering candlelight that it was the fragment of tapestry he had taken from his father’s house in Dunn. It was slightly faded and covered with bits of ash that failed the hide the runes written on it.

He had completely forgotten about it, but was gratefully that it was still there - a small memory of a life forgotten. Gingerly he put it in the lockbox and moved on to the tavern.

As always, the streets were hardly even conscious at this time of morning. The usually still scene was interrupted by the rows and rows of candles that now outlined the perimeter of Rae-Oiron and the streets branching off of it.

Taking the street that went to the tavern district, he got his small breakfast before heading through a side-street through the Blacksmiths’ and into Greccus, where he followed the stairway down. Despite the deafening hammering, sparks, and gruff weaponsmasters, the Blacksmiths’ was quite comfortable. Even this early in the morning the forges were burning brightly, heating the room comfortably until he was reluctant to leave it for the cold, wind-swept Arena.

Waiting was Theronin who was bundled in a thick, brown cloak and, in a break of protocol, wore two swords on his belt. Godric recognized the first, as it was Theronin’s and he had seen it every morning while they sparred. The second was unfamiliar to him. It was simple and unadorned. Its pommel was polished brass attached to a leather-wrapped handle beneath the cross-guard, which was an ash-grey band of iron that fitted snugly over the top of its scabbard.

While walking across the training grounds to the Arena’s edge, Godric fought bitterly against the freezing wind that blew constantly off the Sea. Judging by the ominous grey clouds that filled the sky casting a somber mood over the world, they were in for quite a storm.

“You’re late,” Theronin accused.

Godric knew very well that he was not but did not bother to protest.

“Where is Bor?” The boy asked. He had not seen him in the taverns or anywhere else, which was highly irregular.

“He’s been given other duties besides babysitting you,” snapped Theronin.

“And what might those be?”

“Not your mandate.”

Godric glared coldly at the young lord, whose gaze revealed that he desperately wanted Godric to say something that might invite a beating. It took all he had not to, but eventually he only grunted.

Theronin’s nose wrinkled and he pursed his lips. “If you’re done asking useless questions we will begin.”

“One more useless question, if you would humor me. What is the second sword on your belt for?”

“Unfortunately, it is for you.” The young lord unclasped the sword’s belt from his waist, handing it to Godric with more than a little disdain. “Against my better judgment, the command above me has decided that you should be issued a weapon for you continued practice and, should the need arise, defense. I naturally told him of your deficiency in skill and the pointlessness such a weapon would be to one so....juvenile as yourself but nevertheless, it is yours.”

Godric ignored much of this speech, instead focusing on the sword that now rested in his hand. Holding the scabbard in his left hand, he drew the blade out with his right so he could examine it. To his dismay there was nothing that caught his eye about it. It was about two and a half feet in length with a blood-groove carved into the center from the hilt to a point about a third of the way down the length. Its faces were smooth and polished with finely honed edges, but was identical to those carried by almost every other soldier in the city.

“You’re to maintain that weapon religiously,” Theronin continued. “If you give me, or any other official any reason to remove it from your care due to irresponsibility or inappropriate use, we will. Am I understood?”

Godric nodded, his gaze still fixed on the weapon.

“Then put it away and let’s see if I can bash some skill into your brain before you kill yourself with it.”

Sheathing the sword, Godric put it carefully aside and drew a practice blade. He tossed away his cloak, knowing that it would only hinder him. Theronin did likewise and they began the lesson.

The young lord was especially vehement in his onslaught, constantly switching angles, strokes, power levels, and footwork to keep Godric guessing. The boy did well for the most part, but Theronin’s sword dealt a few of its favored bruising hits. Compared to previous encounters, however, he did quite formidably.

As they fought, Godric caught a momentary break in Theronin’s guard. It was only for a second, but the boy could somehow tell that the way Theronin’s sword was unstable. It would shift if hit. Taking his chance, Godric swung his sword in a powerful ark, hitting Theronin’s with the base of the blade. As he had expected, his opponent’s sword bent backward, hitting the lord in the forehead. The tip of Godric’s sword struck just where he had intended, Theronin’s right cheek bone.

The wooden tip connected with an agonizing crack. The young lord fumbled backward, dropping his sword and reeling at the blow.

"Hellstorm!" Theronin fell face-first on the stone Arena floor, both hands clutching his face. ”Dragonfire, you!”

Godric gaped wordlessly. At first he felt a drip of pity for the young lord, but it was soon consumed with an unexpected and overwhelming hatred. This arrogant prick has hurt me so many times in the past that it is more than time for him to get a taste of it. Instead of bending down to help him, Godric threw his wooden sword down, letting its heavy blade strike him in the head. The lord immediately went silent.

Godric murmured a curse under his breath but walked away. Collecting his sword, he noticed that his cloak had blown away beyond sight. Shivering against the bitter cold of the late morning, he walked back toward the city and out of the training grounds, leaving Theronin in the Arena.

It was not long, though, before he discovered that the gateway back into the city was blocked by three armed guards, a woman who appeared to be a Captain and two other lower ranking soldiers. All wore heavy iron plates and carried keen-edged swords similar to the one that Godric now wore.

“Halt!” demanded the first. “No one is allowed in or out of the city until the guard is lifted, as orders of Commander Thain and High Lord Caeros.”

“Are you serious?” scoffed Godric. “Since when?”

“Watch your tone, boy,” ordered the left guard. “You’ll remain here until told otherwise.”

A vision of Theronin’s unconscious body lying still on the Arena floor flashed through Godric’s mind. “C’mon, just let me through.”

“Nothing doing, kid,” declared the right guard.

“Please!” Godric said with increasing desperation. If they guards checked the Arena he knew he would be in trouble. “Can’t you at least tell me why I can’t come in?”

The middle guard tossed her hair and took a step forward, shoving Godric back. “It’s not our business to ask questions to high commanders. And, I might add, neither is yours.”

“What’s the rush anyway?” asked one of the other guards. “You got somewhere to be?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” snapped Godric, thinking quickly. The hope of bluffing was far-fetched, but his only chance. “A meeting with King Ennor.”

The Captain stepped back, looking him over with her quizzical eyes. It took her a moment before she scoffed skeptically. “I don’t buy it.”

“Actually,” added one of the guards, “I think this is the boy that was brought to the War Councils. Godwin something or other, right?” He nodded. “Yeah, that’s him alright.”

The woman looked him over again. “Fine. Vehorn, pat him down. I suppose it won’t matter.”

The right guard nodded strictly. Setting aside his sword, he proceeded to thoroughly check Godric for hidden objects. Seeing his sword, Vehorn hastily drew it from its sheath. Godric attempted to protest, but was silenced with a dark glare. The guard looked it over quickly and returned it, giving the Captain a nod.

“Alright,” she muttered ruefully. “Go on, then.”

Godric nodded his thanks and pushed past them without looking back. He didn’t get very far before he heard the captain’s voice again.

“Wait; stop!” Turning around, he saw one of the guards coming after him. “Vehorn will escort you to Ennor’s chambers, just in case,” the captain declared.

Great, thought Godric.

Without waiting for the soldier to catch up, he turned around and continued down the tunnel. Once he reached the stairway he continued back toward Rae-Oiron, but was stopped by Vehorn.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Godric looked back annoyed but suddenly realized he did not know where Ennor’s quarters actually were or what he would do when he was taken there.

“I, uh, I misspoke. The meeting is in the War Room, not Ennor’s quarters.” Vehron eyed him suspiciously, but gestured for him to lead the way.

The walk was painfully short, completely insufficient to come up with an adequate excuse to give Vehorn as to why no one would be in the chamber. On the other hand, it could be worse if there actually was someone there.

Godric’s heart sank as they reached the upper level and saw that there were several lords waiting along with several guards. To his surprise, Mira was also there.

“Godric! There you are!” she exclaimed. “Ennor’s been looking for you!” Her red hair was pulled back in a rag that failed to hold in a strand that curled adorably over one of her eyes, which was filled with anxiousness.

He was about to ask what for when he remembered Vehorn was there. Thankfully as he hesitated, the guard grunted with satisfaction and headed back to the Arena.

Godric leaned in, whispering to Mira. “Why is Ennor looking for me?”

“What?” asked Mira, clearly confused. Godric hurriedly explained the events of the morning, leaving Mira as aghast as she had been confused. “Godric, you didn’t! That’s serious!”

“Shhhh,” he hushed. “I know, I know. I’ll probably catch hell for it. For right now, can you clue me in?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. An attendant came for me in the kitchens and said I was suppose to meet for an emergency meeting, but I haven’t heard anything. Did you say that guards were blocking the entrance to the Arena?”

“That’s right.”

“Then something important must be going on. Apparently they doubled the guard on the Main Gate and aren’t letting anyone in or out.”

“Sounds almost like they’re in lockdown.”

Mira nodded emphatically. “That’s what I thought too, but don’t know why. What could happen that would shut down the entire city?”

Almost in response to her question, an attendant came out of the doorway, clearing his throat to get the attention of the assembly.

“Please, please, everyone, listen up! There are many rumors spreading, but at the moment they must simmer for a little bit longer. Until then, may the Council of Lords, Godric of Dunn, Mira of Dunn, and other officials of the King’s Council please enter the War Room.”

The crowd hushed as the different lords and ladies came from the crowd into the corridor and stared wordlessly at Godric and Mira who joined the lords.

The mood in the War Room was solemn. Ennor stood at his usual place in a dark cloak, his ragged mop of hair hanging down over much of his scarred face. Thain stood beside him. The short dwarf wore an imposing wolf pelt around his broad shoulders and wore his terrifying helmet, a grim glare cutting across his face that was almost as intimidating as the helm.

There were no chairs around the map table, so the council members took up places around the table and the room. As he stepped into the back of the room with Mira, he noticed Caeros stepping close to Ennor who shot him a disdainful look. Once the sound of shuffling feet and murmuring settled down, Ennor addressed the Council.

“I apologize for the sudden summons to all of you. As many know, this is a highly unusual occurrence, which is suitable for the highly unusual and more than slightly unsettling situation that we now find ourselves in.

“It was my intention to wait until Theronin could be brought here for purposes that will soon be disclosed. However, I feel that there is an immanent need for explanation and from what I am told he cannot be found as of now.” Godric flinched inside. “Because of this, I have no choice but to continue as previously intended.

“Earlier this morning a series of horrible events transpired, the consequences of which many of you have likely already felt. For those of you who do not already know, the guard on the main gate has been significantly increase as well as the guards on all other entrances and exits with strict orders not to allow anyone in or out. Apologies are given for any inconvenience, but they are unfortunately necessary in light of what has happened.”

“What has happened, Ennor?” called one of the lords, clearly impatient.

The king stood straight, running a hand through his hair. “It is my grave duty to tell all of you that High Lord Tennilius was found dead this morning, stabbed repeatedly with a dagger in his chambers.” Many of those assembled gasped audibly, Godric and Mira included. “Unfortunately, this ill news has come with a simultaneous misfortune. Word has come that Erogrund, which as all of you know was kept in the Vault under perpetual guard since brought within the confines of this city, was stolen some time in the night.”

The room went silent.