Blade of Erogrund

Declan stumbled in a desperate attempt to stand. Many of the torches on the corridor had been burned or broken, vastly diminishing the light that glimmered on the sad scene. Some guards, like Declan, were standing with varying levels of difficulty and tending to a wide variety of injuries. Many others were not so fortunate. Their bodies lay like dolls that had been arranged in gruesome poses for some sad play. The flickering light of what torches remained danced across their glassy eyes with sickening beauty.

Once he stood, Declan grabbed Aeis and Godric by the shoulders. His voice was stern, but was calm. “Go back to your quarters. Should anyone stop you, tell them that the Captain of Ithil sent you.”

Aeis nodded. “Yes, sir. What will happen here?”

The Captain sighed heavily. “We will man our posts until Dawn. I suspect Ennor will call another War Council by then, but that’s all we can do at the moment.”

“And of the patrol?” The watchman asked.

Declan sighed again. “There was nothing that could be done for them.”

Aeis led Godric back down the steps they had come up not an hour ago. Soldiers in armor like the guards they had just seen passed by, some glancing at them questioningly but mostly ignoring them completely. A messenger or two ran wearily up and down the steps.

“Did what I think just happen actually happen?” Godric asked once they came across an empty stairway.

His companion cocked his head. “Depends. What do you think just happened?”

“It sounded like a patrol came and was attacked outside the gate. But they were denied entry?”

“That’s about accurate,” Aeis replied. “The troop was supposed to come in this afternoon, but they were late. Ennor had sent them to survey the Dragons’ nest, or as much of it as they could, and come back, but we never heard from them.

“Declan gave the order to open the gate, but when a Dragon is as close as those were to Iris-Ithil, he had no choice but to close it again. A small Dragon could fit within the gate and a large one could break it down once it’s open. He had no choice but to close it for the safety of everyone within.”

They were silent for a moment.

“How many men are in a patrol?” Godric asked.

Aeis shrugged. “It depends on the purpose. This one was twenty-five men strong.”

Twenty-five men, Godric thought. Almost a fifth of Dunn. All siblings, spouses, children...... Dead. Gone. It’s no wonder Caeros is so desperate.

They made their way back to the Men’s Quarters. Things were still quiet in that section of the city, leading him to assume that word had not spread of the attack yet. He causally asked Aeis about it.

“No doubt they have heard of it from the watchmen already,” Aeis contradicted. “Or at least those that are still awake. But what is to be done? They are dead. The Dragons are gone. Nothing will remedy it now.”

The steely look of determination on a face so youthful made Godric’s stomach knot. No one should have to go through the suffering these people face.

The beds in the quarters were arranged in simple rows, one on each side of the wide, lengthy hall that went on for longer than he could see. They were simple and semi-clean with coarse overblankets and a single cotton sheet beneath. Candles, opposed to torches, burned at irregular intervals all across the hall, casting uncanny shadows that seemed to lull his mind. A mixture of grunts, scratching, either from mice or men he could not tell, and snoring broke the silence. Padding across the dirt floor, he found a bed with relative ease and left Aeis, who made his way to a more distant one. For a moment he thought to unstrap his belt and daggers, but thought better of it. Instead he stored his scabbard in the small, aged wooden lockbox that sat at the foot of his bed. Wrapping himself in his cloak and strapping his daggers in their sheaths so they would not strike him while he slept, he laid atop the bed without slipping beneath the covers and let the solemn fingers of sleep take him into their grasp.

For the second time that week, Godric felt rough hands shaking him amake at what felt like far too early of an hour. He nearly started, but Thain’s words from the morning before made him second guess himself, resulting in him sort of stuttering awake.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he looked up at the face of a small dwarf with a massive white beard and wispy hair atop his gleaming head. The dwarf had an impressive nose that would have been big on a human, causing the rest of his face to look like it had been pushed out of place in order to accommodate. His small, brown, beady eyes peered down at Godric under monstrous eyebrows.

Between deep, wheezing breaths that succeeded in making Godric want to fall back asleep, he said, “’ood morning to you, Master ’odric! I am Bor.” An appropriate name, Godric thought with a forced smile. “I have brought your breakfast,” the Dwarf said, lifting a filthy wooden plate that held several scraps of dried meat, bits of cheese that had suspicious spots on it, and a small tin of water. “And, I am to take you to your meeting with Sir Theronin.”

Eyeing the food cautiously, Godric nodded his thanks and accepted the plate gratefully. He nibbled the meat at first and ignored the cheese, but hunger overcame his suspicion and he scarfed it all, washing it down with the gritty water.

Bor smiled satisfyingly. “Very good, sir. Now, shall I take you to Theronin?”

Godric stood shakily and stretched. His mind traced over the events of the previous day, but he could not come up with who Theronin might be. “I’m sorry; I am not familiar with a Sir Theronin.”

The Dwarf doubled over with giggling, sputtering laughs. “Hehehehe, you’re a riot, lad!” Godric raised an eyebrow, letting the Dwarf finish. “Of course you aren’t! That’s why I’m takin’ you to him!” He chortled for a couple more moments as he walked back toward the door. “Are you comin’?” He asked, noticing Godric’s reluctance to follow him.

The boy nodded after a second of hesitation. “Yes, I suppose so.”

He considering taking the sheath but reconsidered after thinking the attention it might draw. Shaking the few remaining veins of sleepiness from his bones, he followed Bor out.

“Has Aeis risen yet?” With his eyes scanning the hall, he noticed that many beds were still occupied, leading him to deduce that it was in fact an early hour, yet he could not see Aeis’s.

The Dwarf broke out into another fit of wheezy giggles. “Hehe, yeah, that lad snuck out an hour or so ago. ’Said he was meeting with one Lady Mira at Naevir.” He started laughing again. “Sounded pretty excited about it too, if you ask me.”

Despite his attempts to ignore it, a feeling of deep contempt settled in Godric’s stomach upon hearing this. Aeis had very well saved his life last night on the balcony. A sharp pang of jealousy somehow urged him to forget that fact.

Bor seemed completely unaware of these feelings and continued to babble on about all manner of things. A couple topics caught Godric’s attention, such as that he was to receive a new set of clothes that afternoon, but the rest were shrouded in an overwhelming sense of gloomy turmoil.

Before long Bor had led them through the gate across Rae-Oiron and into Geccus. Unlike the night before, the bridges and wide chambers were lively, though not altogether crowded, with people bustling to and from any number of places. Snippets of conversation could be heard about several topics that seemed as uninteresting as Bor’s, but Godric picked up a piece or two of a conversation about the attack the previous night.

For the first time since coming to Biren-Larath Godric saw common women and children in the passages as well as men. Most wore simple wool dresses and garments while were several adorned in beautiful gowns of blue, green, and purple with jewelry of gold, silver, and stone. Children chased one another merrily through the tunnels and across the bridges or played games of catch in the corners. Merchants coming from Uirbovan pulled carts of dried fruit and old kegs on archaic carts that squeaked obnoxiously over the droll of the crowds. Even with the foreboding chasms and the looming ceilings, the spacious mountain passages seemed truly to be a city.

Bor led Godric into Geccus, which was just as busy as Rae-Oiron, its steps occupied by blacksmiths, forgemasters, clerks, and soldiers in garb for their posts. The small Dwarf took the leftmost staircase that led downward. Unlike the passage Godric had taken the night before, this stairway sloped downward and evened out into a long passage that ran, as near as he could tell, parallel to the ground beneath. A light glowed at the end of the passage, providing much needed illumination as there were no torches on the walls.

The passage ran for several hundred yards at least, the length of which they walked briskly. In time it became evident that the light was in fact a door that had been cut sharply into the face of the rock and that opened into a small valley that butted up beside the cliff and was surrounded by steep, rocky hills.

Upon reaching the gateway, which was an impressive ten feet tall and at least as many wide, Bor gestured that Godric should go out and he complied.

A short stairway went from the lip of the gate down onto a grassy field below that filled the small, semi-circular valley. Many hundreds of yards away where the ground began to slope upward a great stone wall had been erected that towered forty feet high, reaching a level point with the hills above. In the center of the valley was a tremendous circular stone slab that sat several feet above the grassy fields, atop which were many, many pairs of armored soldiers sparing at the loud command of their drill sergeant. More soldiers lumbered around the field, many carrying weapons and armor into a passage that had been carved into the face of the cliff at ground level. Several attendants held horses as they grazed on the meager grass. The smell of sweat and horse manure mixed unpleasantly with the salty breeze he had smelled the night before and lingered over the scene. The cliffs loomed high above the training fields, casting long shadows on those upon them.

Bor bounced down the steps and walked toward the large circular stone sparing arena. Godric followed, bewildered at the sudden sight of the training grounds and all the number of men that occupied them.

Even before they had made it to the sparing arena, a tall, lanky man met them and greeted Bor seriously. He had a narrow frame and pale skin that was accented with red-brown, shoulder-length hair tied away from his fierce, crisp blue eyes. His face would have been strikingly handsome had it not been that his nose appeared to have once been shattered and very poorly reset. His mouth was small and narrow like a sword-blade.

“Bor, good morning to you.”

The Dwarf chuckled. “’ood morning to you, Sir Theronin. It is my honor to present Master Godric.”

The young lord did not look nearly as happy at the prospect of meeting the boy. His eyes flashed searchingly like an eagle might looking for prey.

“Good morning.” His words were as cold as the ocean breeze.

Bor shook his head. “Well, my job is accomplished and I trust you will not want me meddlin’ in your affairs. ’ood day to you both.” He made a small bow to both of them and practically skipped back toward the gate they had come.

Theronin sneered at Godric, his handsome face disfigured in a look of disgust. “So this is the boy who stole the King’s Sword?”

“I didn’t steal it!” Godric protested. “It was my father’s.” He regretted the words as soon as they slipped out of his lips.

Theronin raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Is that so? And where might he have gotten it?” The question cut like a knife, but thankfully the man took no notice of Godric’s response. “I will be straight with you, boy. I don’t want you here and if you know what is good for you, you don’t want to be here either. I have my orders and I will fulfill them, but that is all. Do you understand?”

Godric nodded, unsure of how to respond.

“Good. I am to teach you the art of swordsmanship, a delicate and cruel art. If successful, you will be able to slit the throat of any man, or Dragon, who opposes you. If you fail, as I already expect you shall, you will put your life in the hands of your opponent each and every time you dare to draw a blade.”

A rack of swords, some steel and others wooden or leather-bound stood on the edge of the arena. Theronin drew two such wooden swords and tossed one to Godric, who clumsily attempted to catch it and failed miserably. The young lord offered an exaggerated sigh as Godric bent to pick it up. Before he had even stood, the man sent his sword-tip hurtling toward him, landing with an excruciating crack on his left shoulder.

“Ah!” Godric cried, dropping to his knees.

Theronin sneered again. “Rule one: never take your eyes off your opponent. Dueling is a deadly game; by looking away you forfeit your move.”

Gritting his teeth, Godric stood and clasped his sword. “You might have told me that.”

“I believe senses should be associated with lessons,” Theronin retorted. “It makes them more memorable. Don’t you agree?”

He swung a quick forehand and doubled back with a lightning backhand. Godric did his best to block, but his movement was jerky and ill-prepared. The wooden cross-guard managed to clip Theronin’s sword but hardly reduced the impact as it connected painfully on his jaw. Pain blossomed from the hit, spreading heat and anger to Godric’s mind.

“Rule two: keep your guard up. There is no point in watching your opponent hit you. Keep your arms slightly bent and hold the sword nearly straight up while bent slightly toward your opponent.”

He struck again in the same pattern. Godric drifted his sword toward the first strike before shifting and blocking the backhand squarely.

“Tolerable,” Theronin muttered. He struck again in similar fashion but continued with his forehand instead of doubling back. Godric inclined toward the forehand though he expected it to change to a backhand and changed his stance accordingly. Instead of blocking the expected blow, the forehand strike landed solidly on his chest.

“Rule three, which I assumed was self explanatory: don’t move in anticipation of what your opponent will do unless you know for a fact he will do it.”

Godric cursed under his breath. His shoulder was already sore and stiff while the wound on his jaw was swelling and the bone ached miserably. His chest was less painful though, combined with the humiliation Theronin dealt shamelessly on him, he was infuriated.

“Are you going to start teaching me at some point, or just keep beating me to a pulp?”

Theronin shrugged. “I don’t know. The beating you to a pulp is pretty fun for now.” He scowled. “You might have a point, though. It’s a little too easy at the moment.”

“Watch it, Theronin.”

Godric and the young lord both turned to see who it was that had challenged him so. The tall, slender form of Sarah stalked across the field, long, silver sword in hand, long hair braided down her back.

“Yes, Lady Sarah,” Theronin growled. “As always, I appreciate your concern, but, if I may, it is my job to school him in the arts of swordsmanship, not you. You would do best to leave it to those most suited for the responsibility.”

A subtle light flashed in the tall elf’s eyes. “Is that correct? Sounds like perhaps you might use a schooling as well.”

The young lord’s face blushed pink. “A shame that there are few in this city that could give it to me,” he snapped.

Sarah glowered at him. “Hmmm, you are correct, I suppose. In any order, might I at least try myself against one as ‘skilled’ as you? Unless , of course, you feel this boy presents a more suitable opponent for one of your.... talent.”

Several of the pairs of sparing soldiers had stopped and stood around observing the exchange. Their drill sergeant came over to yell at them to get back to work but noticing Sarah and Theronin. He joined his men in watching the conflict.

Theronin’s face reddened further.

“Well?” One of the soldiers called. “Are you up for it, Theronin?”

“Nah,” another mumbled. “He can’t handle it.”

“Dragonfire, you.” Theronin yelled at the soldiers. “You bet your month’s rations that I can handle it.”

“Then draw,” Sarah challenged stoically.

Frantically realizing that he had no other choice, the young lord complied. Godric stumbled away from them and into the crowd that had formed a small circle around the two swordsmasters. Theronin tossed aside his training sword and drew the blade that had been belted in his sheath. It was unadorned, though sharp and fine in its own right.

Sarah struck up a stance across from him, her silver sword flashing in the bright sun. Theronin rolled his shoulders and made a similar stance, his eyes glaring intently. The two duelers circled purposefully, their eyes locked in an iron glare.

Theronin made the first move, darting forward and bringing his sword down in a lightning strike. Sarah skipped aside immediately, raising her sword deflect the blow and flashing to the side in a strike toward the young lord. He lowered his blade, reflecting the blow, and slid it forward, locking with Sarah’s sword against her cross guard. With a jerk he forced the swords above them. Sarah sidestepped, pulling her sword out of the lock and sending it darting toward Theronin’s knees. He blocked it easily, but the displacement of his balance caused him to stumble.

The two continued to clash with increasing speed and astonishing dexterity until they were little more than a blur of movement. The sound of steel on steel rang incessantly as they clashed, but stopped suddenly as Sarah caught Theronin’s arm in her hand, pulling him close while holding his sword away and lowering her narrow blade to his throat.

Panting heavily, the young lord hung his head. “Well played, Lady Sarah.”

She smiled coolly and began to relax her stance when he twisted out of her grip and rolled into her, elbowing her in the sternum and twisting the sword out of her hand. She stumbled backward dropping her sword and falling flat on her back as Theronin lowered his sword point to her throat.

“What rule did I just demonstrate the importance of, Godric?” Theronin murmured. The boy was silent. ”What rule?"

“Two,” Godric answered hesitantly, “keep your guard up.”

The man nodded. “Correct.” He resheathed his sword with a sharp hiss of steel and turned, leaving Sarah to stand by herself. “Back to work!” He barked to the soldiers that stood around them. Muttering and grumbling the men complied and returned to their former tasks.

Sarah stood up and dusted herself off, retrieving her sword from the ground. “A fine demonstration, Theronin.” The lord glanced toward her again and smiled smugly. “A shame that your wisdom is not as sharp as your sword, though, or you may not find yourself pressured into such duels.” His face fell as she tossed her braid over her shoulder and sheathed her sword, making her way back toward the stone gate before he could respond.

For the rest of the morning Theronin drilled Godric constantly on stance, blocking technique, and footwork until every muscle ached miserably. Working as a farmer he had kept in good physical condition, yet the rigorous training that Theronin put him through was a different level completely. By the time the sun had reached its peak in the noonday sky, half a dozen additional red marks served as harsh reminders of his numerous mistakes.

Theronin did seem to be taking it easier on him post his conflict with Sarah. By the time Bor came to get him for lunch he had learned enough to recognize basic principles, but that did not stop his frustration. The breeze from the ocean was cold and icy, numbing his bare skin wherever it touched. The uncomfortable heat and swelling of his wounds contrasted miserably, leaving him tired and sore when the little dwarf came to fetch him.

Seeing Bor, Theronin lowered the battered training sword and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Godric did likewise, flinching as he touched his swollen arm to his forehead.

Bor seemed utterly unaware of the injuries and smiled ignorantly up at him. “Master ’odric, I trust your lesson has ’one well.”

I’m being beaten like a carpet and as numb as a frozen fish, how do you think it went? “It was excellent,” he muttered.

“’ood, ’ood! Unfortunately, I will have to tear you away. Lunch has been prepared for you,” the dwarf hefted a small leather sack, “and then you are to attend Lord Ennor’s council this afternoon.”

Internally he sighed a breath of relief. Dropping his practice sword in the stand, he nodded to Theronin who responded with a sarcastic salute and turned back toward the practicing soldiers without a word.

“I have prepared a spot for you at the Dinin’ Hall,” Bor explained, leading them back toward the city. “It is no feast for sure, but should do well enough.”

“Actually,” Godric said, stepping through the stone porthole into the passage, “might I eat in Naevir? I would like to talk to Mira before the council.”

The small dwarf gestured his indifference. “I don’t see why not, assuming she is still there.”

She will still be there, he thought. He remembered her reaction the night before at the splendorous sight and almost smiled, which, he realized, he seemed to do whenever he thought much about her.

Sure enough, as they walked into the Library he saw Mira sitting at one of the large tables, a veritable mountain of books around her, many opened to various pages or maps. Two wooden plates sat the table containing what looked to be a half-eaten meal of bread and meat. Close, very close it seemed to Godric, beside her sat Aeis, who whispered something in her ear. Mira’s face glowed and she laughed, tossing her hair. Her eyes alighted on Godric and widened happily.

“Godric!”

Aeis looked around to see him. For a moment his face betrayed that he was not quite as enthusiastic about the other boy’s appearance. The feeling was mutual.

Mira jumped from her seat and raced to him, pulling him in a quick hug. He flinched suddenly, though, as his injuries cried in protest.

The girl looked up at him, concerned. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Aeis stood and strutted over to him. “Hmm, red welts and sore muscles? I’d say you had a run-in with Theronin.”

Godric grimaced. “An entire morning of it, actually.”

Bor chuckled and gave a wheeze that sounded like he was choking on phlem. “A run-in with Theronin, hehehe. I better ’et ‘oing, lads, and miss, o’ course,” he said with a bow. He handed Godric the leather satchel. “Here’s your meal, lad. And don’t forget to meet at the Council Room, I trust you remember how to get there?” Godric nodded impatiently. “Very ’ood then! I’m off!”

They watched him waddle away before taking their seats again at the large table.