Blade of Erogrund

Godric took a deep breath of the sharp salty air.

Even on Iris Ithil the wind off the Sea was strong, albeit gentler than it had been on the plains. The tall statues of mighty fished-tailed men that colonnaded the mighty parapet successfully broke the worst of the wind against their stone shields but enough flowed through them to pass a chill on the guards that paced the wall.

Shivering, Godric drew the firs he had been given closer around his shoulders while his eyes stared emptily at the rolling waves of the Sea whose crests were just visible in the dancing moonlight.

His thoughts crashed coldly even as the waves against the stony shoal far below the parapet on which he stood. He could not help but think on Caeros’s broken heart.

It was not hard to remember the brutal words the Lord had said when he found them in the Lower Halls. Why am I not surprised? He had said. A village rat crawling among the cave rodents.

But he had not killed them. Oh it was close, Godric thought. The clamor of weapons still rang in his ears as he remembered Matthias and Hilthwen trying to guard him but they had scarcely lasted a minute or so against the overwhelming odds before they were knocked out. Ephraun was next; Caeros hadn’t cared much for him.

Godric stretched his arm out from under the thick pelt to stretch his muscles, bruised from the blows Caeros and his men had dealt. They had been so full of resentment... But in the end let him go.

It’s all I have...

His thoughts were interrupted as a guard nodded greeting.

“’night, Sir.”

Godric smiled at that. Sir. Ever since he had come back with Erogrund they had been calling him that. His hand grasped the fine hilt of the sword where it rested against his leg. Ennor and his new council and agreed that, in light of recent events, it was safest in his hands. It had since become almost as a crown to his brow. When men met him on the street they had saluted or offer a greeting and glance at the mythical weapon.

There had been plenty of men on the street too. Despite only being an afternoon since Ennor’s announcement the city had come alive with preparation. Troops were trained continually in the Arena, armor was distributed, supplies packed, wagons readied. It was as though the entire city had been preparing for the order that had finally reached their ears.

It was a coursing flare of fire across the dark night sky that finally drew his attention away from his thoughts.

“They’ve come out, it seems,” he murmured to himself.

The guard nodded. “Aye, Sir. Poor souls. Most of them shan’t last the night, I expect.” He paused. “You sure you want to be out here for this?”

Godric’s eyes roamed from the Sea to the plains where he knew some one hundred people had been release over the course of the day. He had been with Ennor in council for much of the day but word had it that some had already begun fleeing into the woods. Others tried to fight their way back into the city only to be stayed by the guards. Some had just dropped amid the grassy plains in shock.

But he didn’t suspect it mattered much anymore. The Dragons would come for all of them. Those that were not consumed by the fire would find the teeth of the wolf or the blade of the bandit. Perhaps some would be free but no great number.

“I’m sure,” he answered finally.

He ran his palm over the coarse parapet wall, feeling the reassurance of the stone under his fingers. The men and women in the plains would have no such luck he knew. One hundred people roaming the open fields would be too great a target for the serpents to pass up. No fortress would offer them refuge.

Another stream of fire sliced through the drapery of the night’s shadow. A screech of a Dragon cut the quiet, giving the guards more to shiver about than the wind.

“Ennor said I might find you here,” Matthias called. The boy walked along the balcony toward Godric smiling. Behind him followed Hilthwen.

Both wore similar pelts as he did to ward off the bristling cold as well as bandages on their arms.

“Didn’t know if you would be able to stomach it,” the boy added grimly.

“I feel like I have to. No idea why,” Godric replied.

“Kanora spilled everything,” Hilthwen said after a couple moments.

“And? Who was it?”

“Theronin,” Matthias answered darkly. “Would’ve wagered on it, but it still amazes me how he could have been so heartless. He orchestrated everything. The thievery of the sword, the bandits, and even tried to kiss up to Ennor while you were gone. Once the thugs brought you to him, he would kill you and then send for the sword that was guarded by his personal troops. For his crimes Ennor has sentenced him to join Caeros and the others.” Matthias waved his hand toward the plains, shaking his head. “He even had Oarch kill his father to assure his own Lordship and a vote in the Council of Lords.”

“Which,” Hilthwen added, “Ennor has dissolved. Vyron remains as a counselor along with several others in an unofficial status. Now that you have the sword and the entire city knows you are loyal to him, there is little to no chance of them breaking away.”

Godric sat in silence letting their words blow over him like the wind. It was indeed amazing that Theronin could have been so treacherous to have his own father killed, albeit not entirely surprising.

“And what will you two do?”

Matthias stared out into the dark. “We will march with our Houses. There is still a battle to fight and Ennor will need every sword he can get to win it.”

“I need to thank you both, by the way,” Godric said. “I couldn’t have survived that without you.”

“There’s no need for that,” Hilthwen replied. “We look out for each other on patrol. Besides, you’re not half-bad with that sword.”

“Not that you could have survived without us,” Matthias hurriedly added, “but you were alright out there. It was a pleasure drawing swords with you.” The boy offered him a scarred hand that he accepted welcomingly.

The three young warriors stood on the parapet for a long while watching columns of fire burn through the sky. It was not long before the ground also caught until the entire plain was glowing in crackling flames.