Blade of Erogrund

The whole crowd remained as stoic as the stone pillars that held the ceiling above them. What was to be said? Few exclaimed affirmative sentiments to the king’s still echoing words while others began to weep softly, presumably for a family member or friend whose doom had just been sealed.

Mira could hardly find where she fell in the emotional spectrum. Part of her found the judgment sound. On one hand, it was merciful as it gave the people freedom from Ennor’s rule, which is ultimately what they had desired in rebelling. On the other, the flames and torment that were sure to be inflicted by the dragons on the untrained, undisciplined mass were almost too horrible to imagine. Not to mention the wolves and bandits that marauded the hills and plains. Do any, even a snake as venomous as Caeros, deserve such a fate?

Sounds of marching footsteps broke the hush.

People jostled to get out of the way as a two-file train of soldiers tramped through the crowd. Unusually thick armor and shields donned the soldiers’ chests and brows which were furrowed with the strain of their task. Two great chains were held by the line of soldiers, their heavy links clamoring cruelly with every step and shift. The tails of the chains scraped and hissed like a great snake against the stone floor where the soldiers let it drop, leaving a nail-biting shriek in their wake.

Both the crowd and the soldiers starred wordlessly at the long bindings with a somber understanding. The repulsive black coils of cold steel would not remain inside the city for long.

Even as the last coiling link of wailing metal sunk below the steps tread by the soldiers into the Lower Halls Mira found herself irresistibly drawn to follow.

She grabbed Samantha’s hand and pulled her toward the steps anxiously. “Come on.”

The other girl offered little protest though she grimaced at the suggestion. Hand-in-hand they slipped through the crowd and after the fading sound of the clamoring soldiers.

Stepping warily down the staircase, Mira realized she had never explored this part of the city. Every brick and stone was new to her even to the rusted stanchions that clasped blazing torches. The stairway itself was wide enough - easily ten feet wide an at least as many tall. It was nothing miraculous other than a solid passage that, judging by the extensive wear and fracturing of many of the bricks, had lasted the test of time.

As they walked Mira felt Samantha shiver against the echoes of the twisting shadows.

“Why are we here?” the girl asked in a small voice. “I don’t want to see.... this.”

Mira did not answer. She truly did not know why her feet were leading her after the train of soldiers but something inside drove her to. Maybe it was the Voice. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the weaving of the Fates threading her into her destiny. Whatever it was, she was certain it was the right thing to do.

And so they walked on.

Not long after, the passage widened considerably and the sounds of the soldiers again could be heard. A heavy series of thuds eluded that the chains had been dropped. Voices began murmuring to one another but their words were lost in the space between them and the girls.

“We need to get closer,” Mira murmured, more to herself than to Samantha. The other girl scowled but followed fearfully.

Creeping around the gentle curve of the staircase, Mira found herself staring at what looked to be a great cellar. The ceiling of the passage had heightened considerably and now soared to meet the top of this sizable stone barrier. Monumental steel beams ran the height and length of the wall, their bolts burying into the surface of the cracking stone. Below a pair of gates some twelve feet tall formed an enormous portal around which the soldiers now stood.

Between the heavily armed soldiers and the doors rose a dozen or so Dwarves armored in similar equipment. Despite standing only to the chest of their human counterparts, the Dwarves were fearsome enough to behold. Thick iron armor clad their short, stocky frames and huge helmets crafted in terrifying likenesses donned their bearded heads. Their captain had removed his to speak with the soldiers.

“...will need to see your orders first,” he was saying as Mira and Samantha crouched in the stairway, listening.

“Of course,” the man answered. Sounds of shuffling ensued as he searched for the document before handing it to the significantly shorter Dwarf guard. Small, calloused hands snatched the paper unceremoniously and examined it.

“Alright then. And how many will you be taking?”

The captain gestured to the chains. “We can take some fifty or so. Another troop will be down after us. They should be out before nightfall.”

“Damned souls,” the Dwarf whistled. “Better if they just died here if you ask me. The king’s not wasting any time, ’eh?”

Mira could just see the man shake his head. “Nah, not an hour. He’s got the rest of the army assembling as we speak. Word has it that we are marching in a week’s time.”

“Alright then,” the Dwarf waved for two of his fellows who stepped to the door. Clanking and scraping led Mira to believe they unlocked it as the remaining Dwarves took hold of the doors. “You lads ready?” the captain asked the soldiers who nodded in response.

With a mighty heave the Dwarves drew back on the doors, letting them groan open. Simultaneously the guards lowered their spears and locked shields in a bristling wall of sharpened iron points.

The sounds of furious shouting were their only welcome.

“Draw up,” the captain of the Men ordered. Half of his soldiers closed ranks until they formed a tight rectangle of shields and spears.

“By order of King Ennor Lord of Niron, put down your weapons and come peaceably!”

A short moment of silence muffled the vast Hall beyond the door but it was broken by a retaliating shout. Sounds of scuffling feet and dragging of something heavy ensued until figures appeared some fifteen feet inside the monumental gateway.

Whatever the sight, the guards tensed and lifted their weapons. “Surrender the boy!” the captain ordered.

“Or what?” sneered the speaker. “You’ll kill us?”

Mira glanced back to see that Samantha was, apart from being thoroughly terrified, okay. “Sam, go get help. This doesn’t look good.” Without waiting for a response she let her soft footsteps carry her down the stairway until she could peer through the line of guards to see what it was they beheld.

Inside the gateway lie three bodies - unconscious or lifeless Mira could not tell. She could not see them well, but two resembled the boy and girl that had sat beside Godric at the King’s table at the ball. The third wore the garb of a soldier, though he had no helm and his equipment looked to be in disrepair.

Four additional figures stood in the gateway. Three, who stood on either side, carried blades and wore scraps of armor or half-masks as they must have at the ball. Each looked like a gruesome hyena, gore and dirt covering them. The dirt could not disguise the viciousness that lingered in their eyes.

But it was the fourth that Mira gape at. Hair matted with dirt and blood, half-mask broken at the cheekbone, and covered in gashes, it was difficult to determine the jeering face of Caeros. In one hand he grasped a thick, wicked hunting knife that hovered closely under the throat of a boy whom he held round the waist with an iron grip.

Mira nearly choked at the sight of Godric. A trickle of blood streamed down his forehead over top a peppering of ugly looking bruises. His tunic was largely torn until it more hung then held his frame. Nevertheless, his eyes searched the scene with vivid clarity and his teeth gritted against his captor.

“Put the boy down,” the captain repeated sternly. His pike wavered threateningly in the air.

“Again, I ask you, or what?” Caeros spat savagely.

This is wrong, the Voice muttered suddenly to Mira. This man will destroy everything.

“Ennor will kill you,” Mira found herself shouting. Everyone from the guards to Caeros to Godric glanced at her.

“The girl,” Caeros said lazily. “Why mightn’t I have guessed? And pray tell, child, why would Ennor have the strength to kill me when he cannot even take the life of a stranger?”

“Because you will be the wielder of Erogrund,” Mira answered calmly. Her words coiled sharply off her tongue like shavings of metal from a blacksmith’s wetstone. “And he will not hesitate to slay you - a fork-tongued traitor - to take what is his.”

Caeros shouted, desperation edging into his voice. “You think I care if I die? You think I care about Ennor? I cared only ever for my people! At every turn that prick of a youth has cornered me and struck me down, leading everyone here into their graves. A grave he has dug with every decree. I was lord here even before he was more than a forest beggar!” The High Lord’s voice broke as a tear traced down his cheek.

“We are not here to kill you,” the captain said slowly. “You are to be removed from city’s walls. You may find freedom yet.”

A fleet of tears trickled down the old lord’s face even as the captain spoke. Their silver trails ran over every scar and wrinkle like a creek over an aged landscape. His hands gently fell away until the knife clattered against the stone floor. Godric slumped from his hands, turning until he stood several feet away. The lord began to sob.

“No....” His hands neither fisted nor wiped the tears away. Instead he simply stood there letting the weight of his duty pour in steams across his cheeks. “Please don’t take me away. This city... It’s all I have,” he murmured more to himself than anyone. His eyes had lost the fire of their anger instead turning as thin and frail as cracking glass. “It’s all I have...”

For a moment the soldiers could do nothing but watch. Watch as the old lord who had for so long striven and struggled broke apart before them. Even his companions who had stood brimming with bloodthrist were emptied at the sight of the weeping Lord who had fallen so far. Their hands unclasped their swords, letting the sound of steel on stone momentarily break the sound of their lord’s tears. One stepped forward earnestly and placed a reassuring hand on the old man’s shoulder.

The captain swallowed stiffly. Gesturing grievously to he men, he nodded, “Let’s start rounding them up, boys.”

Neither Caeros nor his companions offered resistance as the Dwarves and soldiers took them by the arm and fastened them to the long chain of manacles. Several soldiers ventured into the Hall and began rounding up the prisoners while others continued to watch the gate in case of resistance. There was none.

Mira could not move. Her eyes gazed at Caeros who stood helpless in chains as sorrow continued to trickle down his cheeks.

It was not until Godric’s shuffling steps broke her thoughts that she found herself able to tear her eyes away.

The boy stopped several feet away from her as they gazed wordlessly at one another.

He had changed. The light in his eyes which had dwindled ever since the destruction of Dunn was now gone. Instead it was replaced with a keen sharpness and cold seriousness as a piece of metal cooled at the swordsmith’s hammer stroke. He had grown strong, she noticed. The robes he had worn at the ball covered much of his arms and chest, but now the tunic had been shredded revealing his firm chest and carved arms. Atop these were written a stitchwork of scares and gashes akin to those of Ennor or even Thain. His hair, darkened from the weeks in the caves, covered many of the similar wounds that edged into his face but could not hide the fresh gashes that were painted red on his cheeks.

“Mira,” he said softly.

She nodded, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she finally murmured.

Godric offered a small smile. “Me too.”

Thinking back, she might’ve been brimming with questions but in the moment she could only stare in stupefied silence. A month ago she never could have imagined that the farm boy on the other side of the Town Square would be a warrior as fearsome as the one who stood before her. Nor would she have imagined ever wanting to run into his arms as much as she did in that moment.

His eyes met hers and it was though he had read her thoughts. Spreading his arms slightly he let her wrap hers tightly around him and draw close. He rested his chin on her head and smiled at the familiar sight of her red hair.

Yet deep down she knew it could not be as it once was. His strong arms offered more reassurance than she had felt anywhere else but never would they hold her with the warmth they had before. His smile might always be a welcome sight but never would it offer the same trust it had before. Too much had happened to both of them. Though she had not spoken to him in some time, she could see in his eyes that this part of him had been hammered away in the blacksmith’s fire.