Blade of Erogrund

No one knew what to say, least of all Godric. The same thoughts could be read coming and going on the looks of almost everyone present, first confusion, then anger, graduating to fury, before mellowing into despair.

It is gone, their eyes murmured. Our one chance and it’s gone.

Even Caeros seemed disturbed by the news. His normally cold, stony countenance was broken by a grim scowl and deeply furrowed brow, though whether it was from the death of his close ally or the loss of the sword, or perhaps a mixture of the two, Godric could not tell.

Ennor saw these things too. His eyes searched the room for the appropriate time to speak. When at last it came he began slowly. “I know this will come as a shock to you all. Tennillius was a fine commander and a respectable lord. He will be missed, but nothing can be done on his behalf.

“Thankfully, not so for the stolen sword. As near as my men can tell, the weapon was taken last night or this morning. The vault is, to the best of our knowledge, still intact and has not been compromised. The guards insist that they saw nothing suspicious during their watch.”

“Then how,” asked a fine looking lady in a flowing blue dress, “did the sword disappear? Were it not your soldiers and your seal, Ennor, that were placed at the entrance to the vault?”

Ennor pursed his lips. “That they were. The seal was broken last afternoon when Bewin, a merchant, entered to deposit a sizable payment owed to the city. I had not had the opportunity to replace it.”

“And what do we know of the nature of these guards you chose?” asked another lord. “Are they men of character?”

“I myself numbered among them,” growled Thain. “Take that for what it is worth.”

“Then how can we be sure they were even sober?” challenged Caeros. The assembly chuckled darkly. Thain sneered but bit his tongue.

“Yes, Lord Odruan, they were men of character. I would trust each and every one with my life,” answered Ennor. “It is true that, as much as possible, the fact that the sword dwelt within the vault was hidden from the people of the city. As you know, the sword was wrapped and placed in a locked chest to avoid suspicion.The guards did not know the magnitude of what they held, but I have no reason to think that would compromise their abilities to protect it.”

“Yet, as usual” Caeros challenged, “it was not enough. Therefore my men and the soldiers of this city have been charged with the finding of the sword and you did not even give me the courtesy of informing me of this until now?” The High Lord did little to disguise his rising rage that flushed his face.

“Immediate action was required,” Ennor answered coolly. “I did not have the pleasure of consulting your guidance.”

“Regardless, perhaps we should instead rely on my well-equipped, capable forces rather than your obviously unsuitable tactics. This is not the first time you have relied on yourself and failed, Ennor. When is it that we will learn from our mistakes?”

What was sure to be a conflagortory argument was doused when the door slammed open and Theronin stumbled in. His eyes were still glazed like polished glass and his face was marked with the beating Godric had given him earlier. A gruesome crisscross of ugly purple bruises cursed his face, but he took his place among the other lords wordlessly.

“Good lord, lad,” barked Thain. “Have you been attacked also?”

Theronin glared at the Dwarf from across the room. His eyes sharpened even as Godric watched into murderous, blazing daggers. “No,” the young lord answered. His word was little more than a venomous hiss. “I fell.”

Finally a break, thought Godric. He should have known Theronin’s pride would not let him confess the truth, yet the wrath of the swordsmaster was still cause enough for fear. Shrugging to himself, Godric shoved it away into the darkened cabinet of his peripheral thoughts along with the host of other worries, torments, and concerns that had alluded him for the past several weeks.

Thain raised a bushy eyebrow, but nodded.

“I’m sorry, Theronin,” began Ennor. He was stopped immediately by the lord’s raised hand.

“Spare me the theatrics, Ennor. In a city like this even the walls have ears. Don’t think I haven’t heard of my father’s death or the missing sword.” Theronin’s words came as slick as ice with such coldness that Godric was taken aback. They were empty and numb, completely avoid of emotion except for perhaps contempt. “You can also spare me the song about how sorry you are; we all know you despised Tenillius as he resented you.”

Ennor’s dark eyes widened, betraying his surprise. “Very well then. Upon the burial of Tennillius, which will occur in the next day, the title of his High Lordship will pass, as is the custom of this kingdom, to you.” Theronin ignored him, looking instead at his worn palm that slowly clenched and relaxed.

“As always, I trust that word of Erogrund will not reach the ears of the rest of the city,” Ennor continued, eyeing Theronin once more before returning his gaze to the assembly. “Such knowledge, combined with the fact that it has been lost, would give cause for a severe loss in moral and anger.”

“What about the Dragon Night festival?” asked one of the ladies. “Will it still be held as planned?”

“That is for the Council of Lords to decide,” Ennor answered. “My word would be yes, but it will be their decision.

“If there are no more questions, I will close this council and cease the inconvenience caused by summoning you all here. The precautions I have set in place, primarily the increased guards, will remain as is until Erogrund is recovered. You are dismissed.”

“Before that,” said the lord Godric recognized as Havillon, one of those that had supposedly supported Ennor, “maybe we should discuss the matter of your methods, Ennor. Caeros has a point that cannot be ignored; you have not handled these situations very well.” The face of the lord was contorted with reluctance, but greater was the worry that filled his eyes.

“A matter for another time, I think, Havillon.” Ennor answered calmly.

The older man did not look convinced, letting the silence say it for him. Caeros scoffed, shaking his head. He headed for the door, the rest of the assembly filing behind him.

Godric started to go with them - Mira close behind - but heard Ennor call him back.

“Not you, Godric.” This took him by surprise; Ennor had never called him by his name before. Mira began to stop too, but the firm, though not unkind, look Ennor gave her clearly said that she was not invited to partake in whatever was to come.

Ducking her face, she took the hint and continued with the rest out of the chamber.

Once the last of the council had sifted through the passage, Ennor drew out a small glass bottle of some caramel-colored liquid that, judging by the potent fragrance released when he uncorked it, was a particularly strong form of scotch or whisky from a cabinet Godric had failed to notice under the table. The young king took a matching glass from the same cabinet and poured a generous amount of the drink into it.

“Care for a drink?” Ennor asked, gesturing to Godric.

For a moment he was tempted to try it. His father had never exactly discouraged drinking, though rarely did he ever have even a little bit more than a glass or so of wine and that was only at festivals. The calculated, challenging look he saw in Ennor’s eyes only made him certain of his decision.

“No thank you.”

The king nodded, the shadow of a smile touching at his lips. In a single movement he brought the glass to his mouth and drained the contents of it. After a moment or two he nodded again. “Yes, a wise choice. Bàttis is no soft drink.”

“Bàttis?” Godric replied questioningly. The men of Dunn and the Blue Guard had been has heavy of drinkers as he had ever met - scarce few as that was - but never had he heard of such a drink.

“A hard mead fermented by the Kuennar Dwarves many years ago that strengthens significantly with age,” Ennor explained while wiping his mouth with the wrappings that covered the back of his hand. “Very little of it left anymore, unfortunately. Doesn’t stop the kegs left from hitting harder than Thain’s hammer. I find it is helpful to have a glass in situations like these, sobers the mind. Any more, however, will make night come early, if you get my meaning.”

Godric was not sure that he did, but nodded anyway. If Ennor noticed he did not say anything.

“A fine friend you have there,” said the king. “The girl,” Ennor elaborated when Godric answered only with a confused stare. “Mina, is her name?”

“Mira, actually. Yes she is.”

Even as he spoke Godric could see Ennor’s dark eyes surveying him silently. They flashed up and down invitingly, but with suspicion and reluctance almost as a general might watch a city he was forced to conquer yet unwilling to destroy.

“Yes, well, keep her close. Good friends are harder and harder to come by in these later years, unfortunately. A wonder any of them exist at all, when you think about it. And is that all she is? A good friend?”

Feeling his face blush, Godric searched for an answer. For a moment he had thought that perhaps it was more the first night they had been in the city and she had kissed him so kindly on the cheek. Now he hardly even saw her or talked to her apart from Aeis. This, combined with the wonder that Ennor was concerned about his relationship with Mira in any degree no matter how minimal left him without an answer for a moment.

“As of now, yes. But...that is not to say more will come of it.” When Ennor was slow to respond, Godric straightened, eager to change the subject. “Sir, I’m afraid I don’t understand why I’m here.”

Ennor’s glance had drifted to the table where a dismally small number of metal soldier figures still sat amid the surrounding landscape of the map that seemed to enclose and engulf them. At Godric’s words he lifted his gaze.

“What do you mean?”

What did he mean? Again the question, seeming to be so simple, betrayed him and instead appeared tongue-twistingly difficult. “Why have you called me here? Why is it that you have left me be, no, even helped protect me, and in doing so give me cause to come here? Not a month ago you were on the verge of ripping my throat out in Threst. Now you speak to me of petty matters amid the confusion of near-crisis.”

As the man’s shoulders stooped over the table, his dark hair hanging over much of his forehead, it seemed to Godric that through the scars, wrinkles, and ware he looked quite old despite his youth. His brow furrowed deeply, drawing his sharp eyebrows together in a bold crease.

Instead of answering, the king paused for a moment. “Have you ever wished to be a king, Godric?”

Just hearing the other man murmur his name sent a shiver down Godric’s spine, but he answered truthfully. “Yes. When I was younger I thought of it often, as most other boys that age, I suppose. To have a great crown and a mighty fortress. A tapestry used to hang in my father’s dining room that carried many symbols and badges,” he continued, thinking of the small piece that remained in his lockbox. “When I was a youth I dreamed that it was my document of nobility, heralding my royalty.”

Ennor’s gaze had returned intently on the map of Niron, but his eyes were glazed as though he was looking into the past, into the very day that the table had been cut and shaped with such deliberate strikes that it was as though the wood knew its importance and shaped to the carver’s hand.

“So did I once. When my father still lived he told me stories of his father’s rule. Stories about the grandeur, justice, and wonder of my grandfather’s kingship and I said to myself ‘When I become king, that is how I will rule. I will be that king that restores the majesty of the Men of Niron.’ But even as I am telling you this there are many conspiring within these very halls to see me thrown down, despite my best efforts.The corruption and selfishness of my council is a matter of disgust, filthier than a wash rag. Desperation eats even at the hearts of the most courageous and brave, turning them into the selfish fools that surround me now. And how might I save them?” He swept his hand over the table, drawing Godric’s attention to the multitude of dragon figures that covered the Dragon Nest cliff. “What might I do for them?”

These words hung as heavily as the metal tokens that adorned the table before Godric broke the silence.

“Your situation is a dire one to be sure,” Godric said, careful how he proceeded, “but still you have not answered my question.

“So I have not,” Ennor murmured. Breaking his look at the map, he met Godric’s eyes. “Would you believe me if I said I pity you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then take this explanation, for it is the only one I can conceive. That morning in Threst when you found Erogrund, I will not deny that I resented you. Despised you, even. But most of all I resented that such events should have happened to you. You lost your father, home, and everything in one night. I can relate.” The king’s eyes had resumed their distant quality. “I cannot confess that I know what is always right. I cannot say truthfully that I know how to judge the den of schemers that take refuge in my city, but that day I realized that the only thing I knew for sure was that to take your life and the life of Mira would have been wrong. Call it conscience if you will, but even such a great tool as Erogrund would be too small a reward to take two innocent lives, especially ones I can relate to so vividly. That was all I knew and it is that decision that I hold to, even now. This is the reason you are still alive and why I have fought to keep you that way.

“The disappearance of Erogrund and Tennillius’s death are indeed disturbing, but all that can be done to resolve those situations are or will be done. I cannot directly solve those problems, so instead I choose to focus on issues that can be resolved.

“As for why I beckoned you to stay only moments ago, I have a request to make of you. Should it please you, I would be...appreciative if you would accompany me as a guest of honor to the Dragon Night Festival.”

“Is that wise?” Godric asked before he could stop himself. The idea was not totally unwelcome, yet it was nonetheless an odd request. “Won’t the city question why a lowly rescue is a guest of honor?”

Ennor looked surprised by the question “They may, but that does not concern me. Let them wonder if they want, I don’t care.”

“And why would you want me there?”

The king’s eyes locked with Godrics and for a moment the boy saw a glimpse of him. His fear. His concern. His anger that simmered so precariously beneath his calm countenance. “You are unique,” the king answered slowly.

Godric raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“Good. Then I will send someone for you the morning before to prepare you.” Releasing a prolonged sigh, Ennor added, “I suspect that after the next couple days we will be quite in need of a good celebration.”

Nodded again, Godric turned to go as it appeared Ennor’s thoughts had already drifted away, his eyes locked for a third time with the metal dragons that haunted the face of the wooden table.

“One last thing,” Ennor said in a small voice. “You will need to bring a dance partner.”

This stopped him. “A girl?” Apparently his voice betrayed his concern more than he had intended because Ennor openly offered him a grin, still staring at the table.

“Preferably, unless you wish to give the city something to truly talk about. You have sheered the leg off a dragon; I trust you can summon the courage to ask a girl to a dance.” He was quiet for a second before adding in an almost humorous voice, “Perhaps this might be a good opportunity to become more than good friends with a certain someone.”

Whether it was the nature of the comment or just the way Ennor said it Godric could not tell, but for one reason or another he blushed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s just....” What was it? There was something about Ennor that took Godric’s words away and he was no longer sure what he wanted to say until something finally alighted on his tongue. “I don’t know how to dance.”

Ennor’s grin widened. “Aye, neither do many others but that does not, unfortunately for the rest of us, stop them. Nevertheless, I will prepare someone to help you with that too.”

Godric nodded his appreciation of the gesture and made his way out of the dismal room before Ennor could stop him.