Blade of Erogrund

Godric’s horse hooves fell muffled against the grass of the plain as his charger drew in with Ennor’s. The king perhaps turned to nod at him but in the hissing torrent of wind that tore at them Godric could not tell.

Behind he could hear the furious marching of hundreds of horses and thousands of Men. Each hoof beat carried them closer to the towering fortress of Draeknol, but their horses did not shy away nor did the drumming of the army behind them quiet or even slow.

Even as he thanked Ecthion for their courage the shrieks of the Dragons grew in pitch and intensity until the serpents burst from the cavernous jaws of Draeknol like so many coiling, venomous tongues. Their wings roared against the air until they soared into the sky, twisting and turning to face the approaching army. Silver, gold, black, green, red, and blue scales glistened with the same empty beauty as a falling icicle suspended above its helpless victim. The torrent of serpents lashed against one another until they had spread through the sky, swooping downward toward the galloping lines of cavalrymen.

Hissing its spiteful cry, a Dragon of the purest black landed tumultuously before them. The army of spikes that guarded its spine rippled with excitement or anger or - perhaps - a mixture of the two. Two malicious yellow eyes flashed lustfully from beneath a crown of black horns that sent shivers down Godric’s spine.

But most familiar to the boy was the gleaming stub of jagged flesh that protruded from the serpent’s knee where its cruel talon should have been. The scarred flesh mangled painfully around the grossly broken stump that was quickly hidden by one of the beast’s shadow-like wings.

Did I not tell you we would meet again, Little Hero?

The dragon’s voice seethed with nearly tangible hatred that burned as scorchingly as the fire that no doubt simmered in its chest. Its remaining leg etched the ground with its blade-like claws as Ennor and Godric reigned in their horses to a stop some ten feet from the coiling serpent. Another hundred yards behind it gaped the vast cavernous openings that led to the hollow mountain of Draeknol.

Godric tore Erogrund from its sheath to reveal its icy crystal face. The yellow orbs of the dragon’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the shining blade but would neither flinch nor turn away.

“So you did,” he shouted. “And do you not remember the blade that has so crippled you?”

Smoke curled in sulfurous coils from the beast’s flaring nostrils.

To call the dragon crippled without a leg is to say the bat grounded without its talon. A greater strength than you shall ever possess resides in every fiber of my being, tiny Hatchling of Men. I have dashed the foundations of your cities and slain your hordes like cattle.

“Yet it is the beast that is stayed at the sight of the weapon. This is why you are called Evetheast the Weak in the tongues of Men, least of the Hatchlings of Draeknol,” Ennor bellowed accusingly through the mouth of his helm.

The dragon made no reply but its head reared almost majestically against the black stone of Draeknol. For a moment the midnight of its scales traced the purest white and its cruel jaws split to release a pouring torrent of the reddest fire Godric had ever had the misfortune to behold.

“Shields!” Ennor cried, diving from his steed as the crimson tongues licked their crying horses.

Godric followed the king’s example and lifted his iron-plated shield until the seething inferno ceased to cascade across its surface.

“Is that all you possess in strength, Evetheast the Weak?” Godric sneered with such boldness that he found even himself surprised.

Such a roar shook the ground that Godric found the ground under his feet tremble uncontrollably. Rows of glistening, knife-like teeth barred their sharpened tips through the gaping mouth of the dragon as it bellowed furiously, its blazing breath cracking Godric’s skin even beneath his helm.

I. Am. Not. WEAK.

Ennor charged the beast with a wordless battle cry that signaled Godric to do the same. The sound of their armored feet pounding the battlefield was drowned out by the roar of the dragon as its head dipped to meet the king on its consuming jaws.

Instead Ennor shrugged his shield onto his shoulder and took his sword in both hands, bringing it down with all his might on the leathery tongue of the dragon.

Blood and fire dripped like living magma from its jaws as its head reeled from the blow - straight into the noiseless blade of Erogrund as Godric swung it in a merciless arc. Surprise shattered the pride that had filled the serpent’s yellow eyes as he felt the bite of Ecthion’s ancient edge cleaving its scale until its eyes emptied, falling with its lifeless head against the battlefield in a silver pool of blood.

Cheers greeted the sight in a chorus almost as loud as the clash of swords on scales.

Turning round Godric found similar battles fought all along the shadow of Draeknol. Three dragons lashed wickedly against the hundreds of knights - most now on foot - that had followed Ennor.

In the distance Godric spied the ranks of Dwarves and Men plodding vigorously toward them but far enough away that it would be quite some time before they could aid in the fight.

“Come,” Ennor beckoned through his gore-strewn helm. “Let us hold the line.”

And hold the line they did. All Hatchlings, the Dragons that had emerged proved unfamiliar in the minds of Men. With insatiable bloodthirst and enduring pride they scorched, lashed, coiled, and brazenly battled the Men of Niron. Knights surrounded them until it little mattered where the slithering tail lingered or where the crowned head struck, always a blade and shield met it. Several attempted to rise on their great wings but always the ranks of Men closed so tightly round that the soft skin of their wings were reduced to bloodied tatters ere they could lift more than a man’s height. Fire bathed the ground all around the battles, scorching countless into writhing agony while others threw their shields up in desperate defense. In time two had tasted the bite of Erogrund’s blade and a third finally succumbed to the stabs of a hundred lances at the cost of a score of mangled, lifeless corpses clad in broken plate.

In the din of the fighting Godric noticed Saracyir and Mira fighting as valiantly as the rest, though he could not help but be troubled as Mira wore no more protection than a battered shield and sword retrieved from a fallen knight. He could not protest that she used these fearlessly though every time his eyes spied the red of her hair among the scarlet flames or crimson blood his stomach twisted. Yet she miraculously remained untouched.

When the fourth of the Hatchlings had bent its brow for the last time Ennor raised his sword to the victorious cries of his companions. Silver gore dripped from its hilt as it did on many other blades around them. At last they had tasted the blood of their foes.

But even as the final cry was leaving their lips a preeminent bellow shook the cavernous mouths of Draeknol that still stood untainted by the blood of its occupants. So fierce was the trembling that jagged stones were broken from the cavern’s ceiling, falling with resounding crashes to the earth below.

From it depths tore a Dragon unparalleled by any of the felled Hatchlings. As tall as two serpents from its tipped tail to its scarred nose, the beast clearly was of an elder kind. Its coat shimmered royal blue dashed with black against the slate grey of the sky and its wings pounded the icy air through a myriad of scars that stitched up its skin into the folds of its steel scales. Its neck reared maliciously in the storm until it dove back down to the earth where its tail lashed against the grass, tearing a deep gouge through the field.

“Aidrear the Centurion,” Ennor called in warning to the knights. “Beware her! Ten-thousand have fallen to her claws; let not one more be added to that number!”

But his words fell on ears deafened by the horrifying sight of the Dragon. Its wings pelted the knights with stormy gales until they could hardly stand their ground. Even Ennor and Godric could not help but crouch to the ground, shields lifted in a vain attempt to resist the onslaught. Several more coiled from the depths of the caverns as Men watched, petrified.

Godric could not bring himself to tear his gaze from the soaring monstrosity that contorted in horrifying beauty through the sky but from somewhere below he heard Saracyir shout, “To me!” and lead knights valiantly toward the serpents that crept from Draeknol in her marred white armor.

Aidrear at last crashed to the ground, lashing its tail in a wide arch through the remaining ranks until knights flew into the air like chaff on the threshing floors of the Dunn. Its wings unfurled like sails of the most ancient warships to beat upon the earth and it reared its head twisted with horns. Huge claws slashed the ground until the soil had been rent and mangled. A column of fire spewed from its jaws into the air ere it returned to the ground, its emerald eyes searing through the armor of the shaken soldiers.

Where is the Blade Holder? Where is the King of Men? Send him to stand judgment before me!

Aidrear’s voice cut sharper than all the winds of the North, freezing the hearts and wills of Men. Each found him or herself standing helplessly at the beckoning of the ancient beast to hear its words.

Finally Ennor stepped forward from the wide circle of Men that surrounded the coiling serpent, still writhing with wrath.

“I stand as King of Niron, though the Blade Holder be another. With what do you judge me and where can you find fault, Hundred-Yeared One?”

The Dragon reared on her hind legs sending its scales shuddering in shimmering blue ripples down its back and tail until it landed again on the earth to stare down on Ennor.

You are the slayer of the Horn of my Hatchlings, the Eldest of My Clutch. May fire consume all your people but let a death of my fire be one honor never felt by you.

Ennor stood only to the Dragon’s scaled knee, but his eyes did not waver from its writhing glare nor did his countenance flinch at its roar.

“Even as you try me so was your Hatchling tried by my people and found guilty. If you search for the hand that slew him look no farther than that which pridefully stands before you.”

The king lifted his blade to the Dragon’s eyes to let its emerald gaze fall on the still dripping silver blood that slicked his steel.

Its eyes widened at the gruesome sight but it spoke no more. The mighty wings of the Dragon unfurled a third time and thrashed toward Ennor, sending him hurtling into the torn dirt at her feet. Fire poured from her jaws into the air above him causing the air between Godric and the beast to simmer in a haze that contorted even its coat of scales.

Ennor struggle to stand but the heat was too fierce and he stumbled to his knees, sword and shield falling beside him. Above him a blood-stained claw raised to shred steel and flesh alike.

“Stop!” Godric cried suddenly.

Mid-strike, the Dragon flashed its gaze toward the boy who stepped away from the circle of knights to face it. Its shining eyes narrowed but stayed its blow.

“I am the one you seek. This man stands in truth in both that he is the King of Niron and that the Blade Holder is another. I am he and it was my hand that slew your son.” Godric lifted the crystal blade of Erogrund as proof to the Dragon’s eye.

Aidrear drove its claw into the ground mere feet from Ennor’s fallen frame sending shards of frost and ice into the air.

So you are the slayer of my Hatch. A mere Hatchling hiding behind his Elderwing. I should have known the offspring of Men to be so cowardly.

“If indeed I am a coward, how then do I find the courage to stand here now in the face of your fury?” Godric scorned. “It is the courage of my fellows that inspires me but make no mistake. I do not hide behind it.”

Godric hardly had time to even bow beneath his shield at the sea of flame that Aidrear breathed at him. Fire blazed toward him in a river of scorching hatred that burned ten times hotter than that of any of the Hatchlings. Fire licked at his bracers and grieves until his skin burned beneath and the smell of heat filled his nostrils. When at last he felt as though he could take no more - when the armor he wore began to sear him - the fires died and he rose painfully to face the Dragon, Erogrund in hand.

Aindrear reared its spiked head as Godric charged it in a moment of fearlessness. He raised his shield to turn aside the last tongues of fire while his arm swung Erogrund toward its ancient scales.

Yet this foe proved greater than its children. The Elder Dragon turned from the icy blade and swung its enormous talons at Godric’s shielded left side.

Splinters flew as his shield shattered under the blow. Pain ruptured from his cheek and brow as metal, wood, and the tips of the Dragon’s claw tore into his flesh. Agony blighted his eye for a moment and sent his mind spinning. Erogrund flew from his hand.

In a daze, he found himself lying on the ripped ground. White flashed across his eyes through the sight of the storm clouds above as his hand crept to his cheek where the touch of warm, sticking blood made him recoil.

This is the Champion of Men? the Dragon mocked, voice rich with malice. Have you no great slayers among you that you must send a Hatchling to do a Elderclaw’s duty?

Godric fought to turn to meet the gaze of the Dragon, his eye stinging with blood and pain.

The serpent posed above him, wings cast in a wide shroud over him beside the sharpened claws that curled to tear him. Every scale tensed like the shields of some army far greater than his own, their spears ending in the glistening talon of the beast that raised in a deathblow above him.

Out of the corner of his eye Godric could see Ennor rising to his feet from the ash of the ground. His armor had largely split and blood stained much of his mail but his eyes fell with alarm on the boy who lay helpless at the Dragon’s feet.

Then as Godric watched the man’s eyes turned ever so slowly to the grime-covered crystal blade of Erogrund that sat within a hands-breath of the wounded King. Even from where he lie Godric could see through the mask of pain the desire in Ennor’s eyes. There the weapon sat, its wielder in the clutches of death. The sparkling of its gorgeous face could just be seen through the covering of dirt and blood that caked it.

For a moment Godric thought he saw Ennor’s face turn back to where he lay below the Dragon’s maw which already began its killing blow, but as the king bowed to retrieve the sword he discarded the thought.

Ennor had chosen Erogrund.

Closing his eyes, Godric waited for the pain of the killing strike. Ennor would do the right by his kingdom, that Godric knew. The fight would no doubt be hard, but with Erogrund the King would be unstoppable. The remaining serpents would not last to see the sun in the noonday sky.

And I will be with my father again, he thought fondly.

A rush of air against his face alerted Godric that the strike had come. It would soon be over.

Yet the blow never came.

Steel shattered and Aidrear roared once more. Screams broke the veil of anguish that threatened to dull his sense but never did his breastplate break on the claws of the Dragon. Turning over once more, Godric opened his eyes to star on the scene that had unfolded.

Ennor lay motionless in the dust of the field barely a foot from where Godric had lain not a moment before. His plate had been fully split from torso to neck, letting the retched scarlet of his blood-soaked tunic breathe in the cold air. Erogrund still lay clutched in his hand. Above him Aidrear coiled malevolently, hissing curses in an unfamiliar tongue.

It took a moment to understand what had happened but Godric realized soon enough.

Limping to Ennor’s broken side, the boy took the king’s hand tightly in his own. Tears threatened to drip from his marred cheeks as he held the king. The king who had taken the Dragon’s blow.

“Don’t be a fool,” Ennor murmured clumsily, his mouth fighting to speak in rasping tones. “Take the sword. Finish it.”

For the first time since striking Theronin in the training Arena, Godric allowed his anger to captivate him. Fury boiled like dragonfire in his bones to see Ennor on the ground, clad in his own gore. Everything about it set his mind on fire. Too many people have been taken for this bloody war, he seethed. Father, Drom, Narn, Aeis, Tennilius, Caeros... No more. His hand snatched Erogrund almost viciously from where Ennor had fallen to face Aidrear the Centurion.

The Dragon howled victoriously over where the king had dropped.

Let the King of the Cattle thus die in the dust of my kingdom. Now for the Blade Holder who staggers to my side -

“Silence you wretch of the North,” Godric screamed. “For twenty years you have fled justice in your cave. But no longer!”

Erogrund sheered through the air, cleaving through the haze of heat that lingered from the Dragon’s fiery breath. Aidrear was too fast to allow the blow to fall on its scales but its arms flexed furiously until its talons tore into the ground again.

Wordlessly the claws swung in a deadly, bloodstained arc toward where Godric stood like a column on the battlefield. This time he neither flinched nor hid behind his shield. The claws hurtled unceasingly toward him but at the final moment he dove inside their tips and swung his sword cleanly through the arm of the beast.

Blood and fire dripped from the wound while Aidrear reeled at the blow. The howling of her agony rippled like water across the field, sending every man and woman to his or her knees. Fury burned in her eyes but to no avail.

Erogrund bit through scale and bone despite her fire and claw. The lashing of the Dragon’s tail was stilled at its fore-edge, the claws of its remaining hand taken at its aff-edge, and its life taken at Erogrund’s point.

Godric remembered little of the duel, only charging through the remaining knights to Ennor’s side after it had finished. His thoughts only dwelt on the wounded man who lay gasping beside the corpse of Aidrear the Centurion.

The boy took Ennor’s cold hand in his own, clutching it with all his strength. The king’s face was paler even than the frost that covered the ground, creating a ghostly contrast to the silver and red of the blood that stained his armor and robe. His eyes were already becoming glassy as they stared emptily upward to the silently brewing storm but they fought to look at Godric as he drew close.

“I..... didn’t think it would end like this,” Ennor murmured laboriously. His chest fought for every breath in haggard, uneven motions against the broken armor that still rested on his shattered frame.

“No,” Godric encouraged softly, “do not worry. This is not the end. You will live to see the end of the Dragons. You will live to see the end of this day.”

Ennor’s chest heaved in what might have been a laugh but blood spat from his lips until he coughed shakily. “My young friend there is no need.... No need for that. It is better... this way.” He took a deep breath. “It would have... done me good though... to stop getting mortally wounded.”

Godric could not help but smile at the young king. Even here he remained courageous. “That’s enough, Ennor. You’ll be alright.”

The king’s head laid against the soft grass beneath him, his eyes staring again at the sky. “It’s better this way.... Godric.” His eyes closed for so long that Godric feared the worst. They slowly opened again moments later. “Under the sky... on the field of battle... This is... this is my place. This is where I wished to fall...”

A tear pulled at Godric’s eyes. “You should not have fallen. Not for me. You deserved better.”

Ennor’s darkened lips smiled weakly. “I don’t lie... Godric of Dunn. You are special.....” His voice lulled in the stillness of the cold before his eyes returned sharply to Godric. “I need you... to do something for me.” His words were so soft Godric could hardly hear him.

“Anything,” the boy whispered as the tear finally fell across his cheek.

“Promise me... Promise me that when...” the king swallowed heavily and rasped for breath. “That you will never... Never feel larger than the Sea...”

Godric did his best to smile through the tears that swam across his vision. “I swear it.”

Ennor nodded as best he could. “Good... I wish only now.. that Thain and Saracyir could have been here... Our one last adventure,” he murmured with another small smile.

Godric stayed with the king long after his chest had ceased to rise and fall. Thain arrived with the army to find the boy still bent over a broken body, one among many. It must have been a strange sight to behold, a lone boy leaning in an empty field while the fighting had ascending into the hollows of Drakenol. The Dwarf said little when he saw the battle-worn boy leaning over the body of his king.

“Still we must fight,” the Dwarf murmured. But as Godric finally pulled himself up and retrieved Erogrund’s sparkling blade from the Dragon’s carcass he thought he saw the glistening of a tear in the old Dwarf’s eye.