Blade of Erogrund

The dawning rays of light pierced Godric’s closed eyes uncomfortably, despite his determination to block them out.

Giving into the beckoning of the morning, he opened his eyes reluctantly. At first all was peaceful and still, but when he rolled over he felt the movement of his dagger and the events of the past flooded his mind like a torrent of flushing chaos.

He started as the memories of fire and destruction crashed over him, causing him to frantically sit upright. Gasping for breath he looked around to try and find where he was, still discombobulated with the events of the previous day occupying his mind.

The gurgling of water was the first detail to hit him; it flowed distantly off to his left. Thin groups of oak and maple trees surrounded the grass that he lay in that casted a pleasant shade over the field. A gentle breeze, nearly like the one the day before whispered through the hardwood branches, caused them to sway mesmerizingly.

Then it hit him. It was cold.

Not just a stormy gale from the north that still carried traces of its former warmth, but the air itself was ruthlessly cold, unlike anything else he could recall. The air even smelled cold, like freshly formed ice on the Cobblestone Brook in winter.

Godric lay back down in the cold, dew-covered grass to rethink what was going on. Fire. Yes, there had definitely been fire but from what? And the villagers... The villagers! Where had they gone? He jumped up once again but quickly stumbled as his stiff muscles refused to respond. He fell to his knees and stood more slowly, stretching as much as possible.

The frigid air filled his lungs, making him more alert as he looked around the place that he lay. Without even thinking, his right hand fell to the sword hilt that still hung from his belt.

His father’s sword.

He bowed his head as the last memories of his father came to him. There was no way he would have survived the explosion of the tavern when the fire hit it. His father was dead.

Godric picked his head up. Father may have died, but I will see to it that anyone who can be saved, is. He swallowed nervously as determination gave him new strength, but his mouth was parched. The gurgling brook suddenly sounded very alluring.

Stretching his arms once more, Godric followed the sound through the thin grove of trees. Thick columns of smoke still rose from the ruins of Dunn far above the woods, so there was no concern about losing his way back.

As he walked, his mind drifted to the attack on the village. What could have done something like that? What had the power to level an entire village? Nothing I’ve ever heard of, he thought.

The grass turned to stone as he made it to the Cobblestone Brook. It appeared that he was only a mile or two from the village, as it looked like this section was what he knew as Breaker’s Bend, a sharp bend in the river that caused the ice to shatter and crack in the winter. The ground stooped down underfoot, leading to a depressed area next to the bank of the brook where small pieces of shale and stone formed a miniature peninsula into the running water.

Just as he moved to step down, he noticed a shape next to the water. With a rush of fear he drew the dagger from his belt.

The figure seemed to hear the sudden hiss of steel and turned around with alarm, standing to the height of a person. Godric recognized it immediately.

“Mira?!”

The girl’s beautiful red hair was twisted and caked with dirt and mud, which also covered most of the right side of her face, but it was easily recognizable. Her face was pale and in sharp contrast to her puffy red eyes. She still wore the same dress as the day before, but it was filthy from shoulder to toe and torn along the bottom edge in several places. In her hands she clasped an old, worn book that Godric recognized as one she had often taken to read at the brook.

“Godric? Is it really you?” The faintest hint of a smile touched her lips, but her eyes were disbelieving.

“It’s me!” He sheathed the dagger and jumped down into the brook with a splash before wading over to where she stood. “What happened? How did you get away?”

Mira bowed her head and covered her face with her hand. Her small shoulders shook, but she made no sound. Godric looked down shamefully. He had no intention to hurt her, but the question had just slipped out. He hesitate but came beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she cried, fearing that she might take further offense if he hugged her. Instead she turn into him and wrapped her arms around him fiercely, pulling him close. With more than a little surprise at her sudden reaction, he returned the gesture and held her for several moments as she regained her composure.

Eventually she gently pulled herself away and smiled weakly up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to...”

She patted him affectionately on the shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Everything is just happening so quickly.” She stood up a little straighter, setting herself in a determined stance and wiping a last glistening tear from her cheek. “Anyway, to answer your question, when the...attack, I suppose you would call it, happened, my mother sent me to check on the flocks.” Mira took a shaky breath. “At the time it seemed logical, but looking back she probably just wanted me away from the village in case anything happened.

“By the time I had made it to the south wall, most of the Square had been destroyed and the wall was already on fire. I saw Drom and some of the militia running to the East gate and he told me to leave the village and to stay in the fields until he sent for me. I spent much of the night there, hiding in dirt tunnels where the grain is stored in the winter, but when dusk came and there was no word from Dunn I assumed the worst. Now, seeing the smoke rising from the village, I guess I made the right choice.” She hung her head and they stood in silence again for a couple minutes.

Once the silence started to get to him, Godric gestured to the book she held. “At least you still have something to read.” It was a feeble attempt at conversation, but Mira appeared to appreciate it all the same and giggled a little, despite the unspoken weight that both of them felt.

“I was reading it when Mother told me to check the flocks. At the time I was annoyed to have to stop, but now I guess it was good fortune that I had it with me. From the looks of it, it will be the only thing I have left from Dunn.”

Godric nodded grimly. “Is it anything good?” She glanced at him skeptically, caused him to a laugh a little. “I mean, anything I would have read?”

“It is called Legends of Ecthion and the Scourge of Niron, a book detailing the wars fought in the First Age between the Elves of the North, Men, and...” She faded away as he looked at her blankly. “In other words, no, Farm Boy, it is not anything you would have read.” Now it was his turn to smile at her, but she gave him a quizzical stare. “Hmm, I’m going to have to come up with a new nickname for you, I’m afraid. From the looks of it, you fit more the part of a warrior than a farmer.”

Looking down, he noticed that she was right. The sword and two daggers strapped to his belt gave him a powerful look, which, combined with the scorches of fire that covered his clothes, gave the appearance that he had just been in a battle. I can only imagine what my face looks like, he considered. Apparently this gave him a peculiar expression because Mira burst into laughter that sounded even sweeter than the running water.

With a look of mock hurt, he murmured, “Excuse me, Scholar Mira, but if it pleases your majesty, this warrior would enjoy a drink.”

She gave him a small curtsey. “The brook is all yours.” Exaggerating a bow with a smile grin, he kneeled down and took a long drink. The water was freezing, even more so than the air. It nearly hurt as it travelled down his parched throat, refreshing him.

Wiping his mouth with what remained of his tattered sleeve, Godric stood and Mira fingered the pages of her book nervously.

“What now?” She asked. The reality of their situation seemed to settle like a layer frost over the cold brook.

“We should return to Dunn. If there is anyone left, they will need help. Besides, there may be supplies or tools we could take with us.”

“Take with us where?” Mira asked abruptly. The question took him by surprise. For some reason he had expected that they would leave, but where would they go? He knew nothing of the surrounding forest; nobody ever seemed to leave or come to Dunn, except for the Blue Guard. Never had they cared to tell of their treks.

“I suppose I don’t know, but we can’t just stay here, can we?” Rumors of bandits and mercenaries bands had always been the word of the forest outside of Dunn and without a militia or even a village there was no doubt they would take advantage of the easy pickings. “We need to get what we can from the village and then go, quickly.”

Mira seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding reluctantly.

“Oh, and you might need this.” Godric unbuckled the second dagger that hung from his belt and handed it to her, but she wrinkled her nose at the sight of the weapon.

“What,” she said in a distasteful voice, “would I do with that?”

“Well,” Godric said matter-of-factly. “Should someone charge at you in an unfriendly manner, you pull it out of the sheath, like so,” he said demonstrating, “and stick it between their ribs. You might twist it a little too, if the person is particularly upsetting.” She raised an eyebrow, but still refused to take the weapon from him. “Mira, please,” He said in a serious voice. “Should we be separated it can’t hurt to have a means of protecting yourself.”

She hesitated but at last took the blade from him. “Fine. But just because I’m taking it doesn’t mean that I like it. Blades are infernal things that the world would be much better without, if you ask me.”

He glanced skeptically at her as he adjusted the other dagger in his belt. “Is that so? And did your precious Ecthion or anyone else in that book of yours carry a blade?”

Mira sniffed. “That’s neither here nor there,” but fastened the belt around her narrow waist and fitted the dagger in its sheath.

Godric just smiled.

The walk back to what was left of Dunn took at least an hour, judging by how the sun moved across the sky, but the two companions exchanged hardly a word. Both felt the magnitude of the situation and - combined with the chilling cold and the worries of what might come - did not feel in much of a conversing mood.

The sun did little good to warm the freezing atmosphere that had almost magically settled on the forest. Its heavy presence seemed to numb not only the companions’ skin but even the sounds of birds in the trees and the increasingly distant sound of the brook. The smell of the blooming flowers had been replaced with an icy chill that haunted every breath. The puffs of mist that came with each exhale settled before them for only a moment like a mocking ghost before being dispelled into the frosty air. These heavy senses lingered on Godric’s mind as he and Mira meandered into what remained of their village.

The fields had been burned, just like what Godric remembered the village to have been the previous night. The soil had somehow been cooked and was now a blacked, dry mass of cracked ash. No sign of the seedlings that had just begun to sprout were left in any of the fields.

The wooden pens where flocks of sheep, goats, and cows had only a day before been housed now were shattered and scorched, the livestock no longer within them.

As the two companions came at last to the place where the hole in the South Wall had made way for the road into the fields, a mournful sight filled their vision that once again drove Mira to sobs.

The entire stone wall had been ripped down, some of its bricks lying almost a hundred feet from where it had once stood. The houses and buildings that had formed the sides of streets almost could not be differentiated from what had formerly been the road. The foundations of the buildings were laid bare, their walls and roofs ripped down into heaps of shattered rubble and all signs of wood or lumber gone in a layer of ash that seemed to cover everything like a cruel snow.

Such was the state of the village that they could see clear across it to what remained of the North Gate. Its small turrets had been ripped to the ground, leaving massive gashes in the stone like giant claw marks. The portcullis had been largely melted by intense heat and lie in a twisted wreck of rust and iron, just inside what had been the village gate. Not a single building or wall stood standing, but mountains of ruins lie in still smoldering stacks. One or two lingering fires crackled faintly on the outskirts of the remnants, but other than that no sound could be heard in the desolated village.

Godric gaped in horrified awe as Mira covered her mouth with one of her hands and stared wordlessly at the destruction. Neither could seem to tear their eyes from the painful sight.

Sometime later Godric pulled together the courage to step past the wall and into the wreckage of his home. He drew his dagger, which in his mind he knew was pointless but somehow seemed to make him feel closer to his father. This in turn brought a distant sense of safety. After taking several steps he looked back at Mira, who still stood transfixed. He offered her his hand, which, after several seconds of considering, she took gratefully.

Together they walked through the decimated village streets.

They walked for quite some time, examining what was left in gloomy silence. It did not take long to walk the circumference of the village, but they made their way down every street, seeing the destruction that had so suddenly claimed the only home they had ever known.

Upon coming to what had been Mira’s house, Godric stopped as she ran over its threshold, into the rooms that had been laid bare to the elements. Ash covered everything in a thick blanket, muffling her footsteps, which seemed fitting to Godric given the eerie silence. Upon reaching the back of the room, the girl knelt silently. For a moment he thought about walking over to her and trying to comfort her, but a voice in the back of his mind said that this was one situation that was better left to her alone, unless she displayed a want for support.

Not long after she stood again and nodded that they could continue on. Surprisingly no tears stained her cheeks, but Godric thought he saw a deeper hurt in her eyes that even weeping could not express adequately.

The two friends continued their wordless walk through the village, often having to leave the street or path because of rubble or wreckage.

Almost before he realized it, Godric found himself in front his house. The stones had been torn down, just as all the others around it until it was almost indistinguishable from those on either side, though many years of memories of returning to its welcoming door reminded him that this indeed was the place.

It was then his turn to step over the worn doorstone and into the small room that had been his home for so long. Almost nothing looked as it had the day before, but he thought he could tell where the pantry had been, though it was now filled with a multitude of stones. He absentmindedly kicked away a brick, dispensing a thick cloud of dust, when something caught his eye.

Beneath the thick layer of grime and dirt was the corner of a tapestry, the same tapestry that had for so long hung in the wall of his house. Bending down, he drew it out of the small pile of debris and blew on it, eliciting another puff of dust. Sure enough, it was the same one that had for so many years graced the dining room. Somehow part of it had survived, although the top right corner had been burnt away and much of the bottom was torn off. He affectionately traced the elegant shields and runes that made up its beautiful picture before gently folding it and tucking it beneath his tunic.

Giving the destroyed home one last look, the boy turned to Mira and was about to say something when he noticed the look on her face.

She stood stock-still, her eyes wide with dread. One hand clasped the book she carried close to her chest while the other seemed to be paralyzed as it grasped the handle of her dagger, still hanging in its sheath. Godric traced her gaze to where a pair of mesmerizingly blue eyes glared out from the shadows of a stack of shattered rock. Before he could even make a move or cry out, a sleek, colossal form pounced from its shadowy blanket, crashing atop Mira’s petrified silhouette.