Blade of Erogrund

Every uneven droplet of water sounded like the footsteps of some cursed shade in the overgrown tunnel. The flickering lights of their captives’ torches cast the illusion of scampering demons in the flickering light on the heavily rooted walls of the passage. The smell of must hung like the tattered cloak of the ghosts Godric used to have nightmares about in his childhood over the bony shoulders of the tunnel’s jagged turns.

“Bring the light a little this way, why don’t you,” barked one of the brutish, unnamed captors. Godric had been watching him as they walked to keep his mind off the eerily uneven dripping as moisture slipped from the ceiling above; the man had been nearly shaking at every flicker of the torchlight.

“Grow a pair why don’t you,” the commander snapped ruthlessly. “If you’re too much of a pathetic child to keep walking then we’ve no further use for you.”

The man grumbled something under his breath and continued to place one foot in front of the other down the narrow tunnel.

Godric let his eyes wander from the man for the first time since they had entered the grungy hole to dare examining the path. The tunnel was completely enclosed; roots writhed through the dirt and clay of the walls to form an even denser latticework of a ceiling above them. Water trickled down from the dirt onto the walls or slipped in silver droplets at unpredictable moments with a soft plop on the muddy ground on which they walked.

Scarcely few details were perceivable in the pitch black that lay outside the unpredictable light that flashed from the dimming torches other than the spiny shapes of rocks or roots reaching from their buried places under ground.

Smoke from the torches choked the air above them giving off the suffocating aroma of cinder and oak. Moisture filled the air to mix with this unpleasant haze until Godric could feel grime and water clinging to his clothes and skin.

“Keep moving,” Kanora ordered flatly from behind him.

Realizing he had slowed, Godric hurried his pace to where Ephraun trudged beside one of the captors.

After taking a glance at the bandit who appeared far more concerned about the shadowy walls than the captives who stood behind him, Godric judged it safe to lean in.

“You okay?”

The man shrugged. His face was grim and determined while his shoulders were drooped like the weight of the entire forest above them had fallen on him. “As good as can be. Would be a bit better if I had my chance with that captain.”

Godric couldn’t help but smile despite their surroundings. “I’ve no doubt you will sooner or later.”

“How much farther?” Hilthwen asked from some steps ahead of them.

“Just keep walking,” the commander muttered. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

And know it they did. By the time Godric’s legs had begun to ache from walking on the uneven, muddy path through the dark, the party had stopped.

White torchlight revealed a great portal framed in the thick timbers of ancient roots that apparently clad the faces of some aged stone gate. Chipped, jagged, and worn stone blocks were barely visible through the network of vines, roots, and tendrils that wove around the gate. Rusted, slime-covered hinges barely supported the weight of a sagging wooden door whose timbers looked to be in scarcely better shape than the stones that framed it. Must, which already saturated the dank air of the tunnel, coiled in reeking wafts from the slick beams upon which a mighty rusty iron lock sat. A gaping keyhole was positioned in the center of the lock, surrounded by sharp scratches on the metal. These appeared to Godric as much newer as they had gouged away the rust to reveal relatively shiny metal underneath the layer of grime.

“You,” the commander ordered, pointing a crooked finger at one of the bandits with a rustle of chain mail. “Open it.”

The thug lumbered forward and drove his sword’s pommel into the lock, etching a new mark on its rusted face. A screech cried from the lock in protest but its corroded metal could offer little resistance to the blow. With a dull click an unseen bolt disengaged and the door swung back at the push of the same thug who had driven it open.

“Now get back,” his chief ordered. “Alright you,” the short man grabbed Godric and Ephraun by the necks, shoving them forward where Hilthwen and Matthias stood at the front of the group beside Kanora. “Lead the way. Kanora, stay back.” Kanora shot him a dark look at the order but hefted her ax and stepped beside the commander, who swept his hand in mock grandeur. “After you.”

Matthias made up for his lack of a weapon by glaring the sharpest daggers Godric had ever seen at the armored fiend. Nevertheless, the boy shoved the door open wide enough for him to enter and led the group into the depths of the shadow.

Godric was not far behind. Precious little light passed to reveal the ground on which he walked though it felt like soiled cobblestone. It did not take long for the walls of the passage to shed their roots and dirt to the crumbling shape of archaic stone bulwarks. Soon after shallow steps rose from the ground into a staggering stairway that curved gently upward.

Curiosity nagged at Godric’s mind to examine the passage more closely as even Hilthwen seemed baffled at its existence. At the very least he thought to ask Matthias, who stood a mere half-pace away, if he knew anything of what was happening. Immediately, though not without difficulty, he ignored these inclinations. Ephraun walked barely a beat behind him meaning any hesitation would not doubt result in their collision or at the very least alerting one of the thugs of his delay.

Strangely it was not his halting but one of his captor’s that stopped them.

“Hold up,” the commander muttered barely over the sound of their shuffling feet. “Is that a light up there?”

Craning his neck, Godric glanced up the winding stairway. It was faint - perhaps a play of the torchlight or some reflective surface - but a narrow beam of light cast a dull grey hue on the otherwise black of the steps.

“Gleraw, go on ahead.”

The man who had broken down the door glanced back at his chief. “Me?”

Scowling, the chief snarled, “You’re the only one here with that name. Go. Unless you’d rather find your way back alone.”

“You can’t do that,” Gleraw blurted angrily.

For a moment it looked like the chief would drive his sword through the man’s chest but Kanora beat him to it. She shoved through the group to strike her ax-butt into his sternum. The man stumbled up the steps, sword in hand. His hand shook, sword poised read, but he hesitated. Instead of striking back he turned around and stumbled up the steps toward the light.

His footsteps faded after some time until only silence ensued. Godric felt his heart beat in the flickering half-light, once... twice... three times...

Shouts exploded at the top of the steps, shattering the frail silence of the dark. Metal rang on metal coupled with fierce barks of surprise. More ringing emanated followed by a dull thud and a scream of pain. Pounding sounds echoed to where they stood in rapid steps as a body slid down the stairs.

A final thud was followed by a man’s face sliding into the shifting edge of their vision. Gleraw’s motionless countenance was marred in a stream of gore, his eyes glassy and glaring.

“Weapons,” the chief ordered without hesitation, hefting his buckler and short sword. Kanora followed his lead as did the remaining bandits. “Put out the torches.” The bandits wordlessly obeyed, pushing the fires against the stone walls until they ceased to burn. “Now forward,” the man barked.

“You must be jesting,” Matthias spat. “We’re not going up there.”

“I won’t say it again,” he hissed venomously. “Walk.”

Glancing at the unarmed, bound hands of his companions, Matthias swallowed and shook his head, stepping over Gleraw’s body.

The light from the passage above them brightened as they came closer until Godric could see it was very similar to the portal they had come through to the stairway, though in noticeably better condition.

The steps leveled into a small chamber with a fire at its center. The floor and ceiling both were built of the same stone as the passage but a large door broke the smooth surface of the right wall where a guard gingerly touched a gash on his face. Two others stood with their backs to the passage, all wearing woven tunics distinctive of the city guard. Between them a large parcel sat on the floor wrapped in loosely bound leather.

“...check for others,” the guard by the door was muttering as he washed his wound.

As soon as Matthias’s foot struck the threshold of the last step the guard’s eyes glanced up at the intruders. For a moment there was surprise followed by solemn ferocity. He scooped up a sword and lunged forward, shouting a warning to his comrades.

Matthias bent his bound arms and ducked to let the sword blade hiss above him. A bandit shoved past him, knocking him to floor, and drove his sword past the surprised guard’s blade, it’s tip burying into the guard’s throat. His screams were muffled in the sickening sound of gurgling and his sword’s clattering as it fell from his hand.

The other guards were well-prepared now at the sacrifice of their fellow’s costly distraction. Both had readied fine spears and carried large shields.

Kanora did not hesitate at them. Her ax cleaved the air as she swung it toward them until it bit deeply into one of their shields. The man shrugged off his shield to drive his spear toward her armored chest but it glanced off the pelts that draped from her shoulders.

Meanwhile the chief and his companions also shoved past their captives and easily overwhelmed the last soldier, cutting him down even as he lashed his sword across the arm of one of them as they vainly attempted to block.

The sound of the soldier dying was surprisingly little distraction as Matthias pulled Godric down beside him. The boy had already seized the first soldier’s sword from where it had fallen and hacked his bindings to shreds. “Here,” he whispered, passing it to Godric. “Cut your bonds. I trust you know what to do after that.”

Godric nodded and Matthias drew the other fallen soldier’s spear from the ground. The sword was surprisingly sharp as it sheared through his rope bindings with barely a snag.

The boy grinned grimly at the feeling of the weapon in his hand. It had only been several hours since he had last held one but the sturdy blade brought reassuring confidence as well as freedom to the hardened farm-boy.

He turned quickly and severed the bindings for Hilthwen and Ephraun even as the sound of Kanora’s ax splitting the last guard’s helmet rang in the small chamber.

“What in dragonfire,” the commander spat, turning to see Matthias already charging him. This time the boy did not even spin his spear to the blunt end, instead driving its tip into the man’s armored chest.

The sound of a thousand iron links scraping against stone sang as the chief crashed against the wall. Without so much as a gasp for air he dropped to the floor, the spear tip still pinned by Matthias’s hand against the links of his armor.

Kanora turned sharply and sought to draw her ax from her last victim’s skull, but it caught in the jagged break in his helmet. Without hesitation Godric spun as Theronin had taught him beneath the swing of another bandit’s blade to let his sword slice her side. Stopped for a moment against the pelts that covered her, its blade bit into her hip causing her to release her weapon in pain.

She recovered quickly, however, finally yanking her ax free and sending it in a blood-stained arch toward Godric. With more speed than he knew he possessed the boy rolled his shoulder to let the weapon hiss by and followed through on the spin, sending his sword colliding against the woman’s exposed shoulder. This time she cried in agony and fell on the floor beside her two companions who Hilthwen had evidently already dispatched.

Even as Godric took a breath to examine his gruesome work he heard the chief gasp a deep breath of his own and clasp the shaft of Matthias’s spear. Pushing forward, the man threw the spear - and with it Matthias - back toward the steps. His hands blindly groped for whatever weapon he could find.

His calloused fingers closed around the leather parcel that still lay untouched beside the crackling fire. Without hesitation his fingers closed around the object and swung it toward Godric who stood not far from where he had fallen.

In that moment it was as though the violent sequence had never happened. Godric’s eyes widened even before the object was revealed. It was as though he had fallen asleep again and his dreams were returning. The chorus of whispers hymned in a tumultuous harmony as time stood still and the battered leather that bound the object fell away.

Erogrund’s cold crystal blade roared to life in the firelight until its icy blue flowed into the chamber like a frosted river at spring thaw. Its piercing light cast a white glow on the face of the man who swung it and sent shivers down Godric’s mystified body.

Then its edge touched him.

A memory surged through the scene into his mind of when he had been a small child. Not long after the first freeze of winter he and some of the other children from Dunn had went out onto Breaker’s Bend to enjoy playing on the slick ice and admiring the still white of the snowy trees. As they were playing a piece of ice had broken away in the roaring river and devoured them in its current. The vivid memory engulfed him. The icy water had been paralyzingly cold so much so that he could scarcely move. His father had hurried to the river and drawn him out before he could suffer any arm, however the memory of the cold had stayed with him.

Erogrund’s edge felt a truer likeness to the frosted torrents of that river than anything Godric could imagine. The blade seemed to be made of smoke as it neither bit his skin nor marked him in any way. Instead it floated over him harmlessly, dealing only the shivers of a winter stream.

Not so could be said for the poor soul who held the sword. As Erogrund passed over Godric harmlessly a dark red gash signed the death of the commander. Wherever the blade touched the boy a gruesome wound wrote itself over the chest of the bandit. By the time it had passed over the boy a trail of blood was left on the chest of the man, the icy light of Erogrund casting an eerie glare on his blood until it glistened the fairest silver against his glassy eyes.