by R J Hanson
The three young men smelled dust that had been collecting for eons. They looked in upon an ancient altar room designed specifically for the worship of the Infinite Father and Fate, his bride. A battle had been fought in this room many thousands of years ago. The boys saw mangled skeletons still clad in their regal armor and clutching majestic weapons.
“What are those scorch marks on the floor?” Ashcliff asked.
“My father told me of a battle in which several of the faithful that he served with were fighting a fallen champion,” Roland said as he lit another torch. He went through the chore of flint on steel not wanting to get too close to the still burning creature.
“They defeated the demon only to lose a fellow warrior to the flames that the creature burst into when it died. He said that the ashes fell into piles that traced unholy symbols on the ground.”
“There are holy and unholy symbols here,” Ashcliff said. “What does that mean?”
“That faithful and fallen champions faced each other in this very room in battle,” Eldryn said. “This fight must have taken place during the Battles of Rending. This room must have been buried here, untouched, ever since that battle was fought.”
All three looked on the scene in amazement. Roland thought of the books he had read. Books written by men and women who had traveled far and knew much. He wondered how envious those authors would have been of him and his friends at this moment, viewing the scene they now over looked. So much history. So much evidence and story from a time of such destruction, from a time so many knew so little about.
Ashcliff noticed that dust had settled on everything in the room except for two items.
“Look,” Ash said indicating a book and an hourglass sitting atop the altar in the center of the great worship hall. “No dust has collected on them. The Book of Fate and the Hourglass of Time. They don’t have so much as a cobweb on them.”
“Is this a good idea?” Eldryn asked.
“If we do not take them then Dawn and Yorketh might,” Roland said. “If they do, then these items will end up in the hands of evil. We have a duty as honorable warriors to protect such items.”
“No need for dramatics,” Eldryn said, smiling. “A simple ‘yes’ would have been sufficient.”
Roland smiled and then laughed at himself.
“You make a good point El,” Roland said. “Yes, it is the best idea.”
“This will take some finesse,” Ashcliff said. “I’m going to work on the traps surrounding the two artifacts. You two might look around. I would be surprised if you didn’t find a great many useful items in here.”
“I don’t see any wires or trips on the artifacts,” Roland said. “I wouldn’t think it would be that difficult.”
“The traps I’m referring to don’t necessarily require wires and pressure plates. You don’t think it would be difficult because you don’t understand the nature of the traps. Please leave this to me,” Ashcliff said remembering the door Roland had crashed through not so long ago. “If this is done wrong none of us will walk out of this room.”
“Very well,” Roland said.
“Look at this,” Eldryn said. “This is a weighted bastard sword. You can wield it in one hand, but it is weighted on the end so that it strikes almost as hard as one of the Shrou-Hayn of old! I think they were called Shrou-Shelds. Many smiths have tried to duplicate the design but none have been successful. And look at this, it is marked with arcane runes!”
Eldryn took up the black bladed Shrou-Sheld and replaced his sword in his scabbard with his new find. Eldryn then removed a dust covered shield and breastplate made of an almost pure white steel alloy from a cobwebbed skeleton. Both items were inscribed with an arcane language that he did not understand. He also retrieved a full quiver of arrows that had shafts of still shiny black wood and possessed tips of pure Rorkor, a smoke colored silver said to have a magic of its own. Each arrow tip was marked with a different rune or holy symbol. He found a bow carved of sectot wood that the string had rotted off of long ago. Eldryn wiped the dust from it and tied it onto his back next to his own unstrung bow.
Roland watched as Ashcliff mumbled to himself and circled the altar where the artifacts sat. Roland decided to look around the room and greed struck him to his core. Roland didn’t like the idea of being around so many dead bodies. It didn’t scare him, he just felt that they were disgusting and, although, pilfering through these corpses’ belongings was work that needed to be done, it was work that was beneath a warrior. However, he saw something that made all of those thoughts, prideful thoughts, fade from his mind.
Roland walked to a skeleton in the corner that was surrounded by five more, and the remains of what must have been three unholy champions. Roland took the Shrou-Hayn from the bony clutch of the fallen warrior and reverently wiped the dust from its blade. Roland had never actually seen a Shrou-Hayn before, although he had heard that there were a few men on the Tarborat front that used ancient ones. Under the dust was a blade that was made of a steel alloy that left it the color of smoke, mercshyeld. It was inscribed with holy symbols and, inlayed with pure silver and Roarke’s Ore, were words in the old language of the original Great Men, Bleda o A Bleda Shuik. Roland’s knowledge of the language was limited but he was able to understand the words ‘Swift Blood.’ The pommel was wrapped in a fine black leather, a leather that must have been enchanted, with a single emerald mounted in the hilt. Inside the emerald there seemed to be a bubble or chamber that held something that was red and appeared to be swirling. Blood. A true Great sword of old.
Roland hefted the sword and, although heavy, it sliced through the air with a magical speed. Roland put the sword through a few short attack routines and found that he could wield it as easily as a bastard sword, and much more quickly. He could feel the magical energy from the weapon pulse through his veins when he held it.
Roland took the weapon, and the scabbard for it, from the skeleton. He also noticed that the corpse was in possession of a rather nice replacement for his worn and split iron armor. Roland removed a set of mercshyeld halfplate from the same corpse. The breast plate, greaves, and bracers, were a matching set. The helmet was fashioned of the same mercshyeld but sported a green gem of Lexxmar in its forehead.
Roland hoped the armor would fit him. These were, after all, the original Great Men. However, Roland was a bit larger than your average Great Man. Roland stripped his armor off and as he began to strap the fine armor on, he was amazed to see it soften to the pliability of wet leather. Roland pulled the armor on with ease and, once it was in place, it hardened immediately. A perfect fit.
Roland pulled the helmet on and as the visor past his face his vision became startlingly clear. He could see every inch of the room in great detail, even into the black corners and shadows that the torchlight had not penetrated. He also saw the heat that radiated from each item in the room in the same vision. The combination of the two was a bit dizzying.
Roland noticed a skeleton, shorter than the others in the room, that was clad in remarkable full plate armor head to foot. He found a double headed hand axe made of black lava glass much like they had seen on their way into this cavern. It was a sturdy weapon and razor blade sharp with a jagged rim to both edges. Roland also found a brace of ten daggers sheathed in a belt. He took this belt, slung his new scabbard on it, and strapped the Shrou-Hayn across his back. He replaced his bent bladed iron axe with the double headed axe of black lava glass. These were truly the trappings of a great warrior.
“I will attempt to bring the glory to your weapon that it was accustomed to when it rode into combat in your hands,” Roland whispered, almost praying, to the fallen corpse. “I will not allow my actions to bring any shame on these fine armaments. You have my word as a warrior.”
Roland knew it was a little ridiculous to speak to a corpse in such a manner, but he preferred to view the weapon and armor he had found as providence from the deities rather than grave robbing.
Grave robbing has no honor an
d is done for wealth alone. Roland sincerely hoped to win glory and demonstrate the best qualities of a warrior with help from these mighty allies he had discovered. He believed Bolvii had placed these in his path. In this belief he was not wrong.
Roland rose and saw Eldryn clad in shining white alloy armor and bearing a magnificent sword and shield. They exchanged looks of admiration.
“I almost have it,” Ashcliff said.
The spoken words slightly startled both Roland and Eldryn. In their discoveries of such wondrous things both had forgotten Ash was even in the room.
“There,” Ashcliff said. “That should do it. Roland, I need a pack to put these things in.”
Roland began checking the corpses in the room, but most anything made of simple material or leather had been eaten away by the ages. In his search, however, Roland discovered several hundred gold coins, and a few valuable gems. Roland pocketed those and in so doing discovered the tarp he had placed in his pack.
“Here,” Roland said unfolding the tarp. “Place them in this. We’ll wrap them tightly and secure it with my old weapons belt.”
Ashcliff looked the artifacts over again. He knew of the legendary curses, but had originally thought them to be just ghost stories to frighten would be thieves. Now he was not so sure.
“You two did find a few useful things I take it.”
“Indeed, we did,” Eldryn said, failing to control the sound of giddiness in his voice.
“These weapons were meant to be used in defense of the weak by warriors that are true. We will help these majestic items return to the service of their purpose,” Roland said in a solemn tone.
Eldryn and Ash looked at Roland.
“I know,” Roland said. “Dramatics. But it is the way I feel. It is the truth.”
“Very well,” Ashcliff said. “I am going to need some help with these,” Ashcliff said indicating the ancient holy items. “It might be just tales, but I don’t think it would be a good idea for someone of my back ground to handle them. Could you two help me figure out a way of placing them in the tarp?”
“Is there some kind of curse on them?” Eldryn asked.
“Well, there might be a very good reason why none of the cavern dwelling elves here have disturbed them,” Ashcliff replied. “The drow, after all, are said to be a cursed race.”
Roland seeing the hesitancy of his friends grew impatient. He stepped to the altar and took up the book. Eldryn, shocked at the action that seemed rash even for Roland, took two quick steps toward his companion before he realized Roland was unharmed.
Roland laid the book on the heavy tarp with reverence.
“You see?” Roland said as he reached for the hourglass.
As Roland’s hands gripped the relic a power as old as the galaxy itself seized his nerves. Eldryn, seeing Roland in trouble, ran to his aid. Ashcliff tried to slow Eldryn, however, his weight was nothing more than a breeze to the determined cavalier.
Eldryn gripped Roland’s hand and then tried to pull the artifact from his grasp. Both boys were conquered by the unyielding force that rested in the sands of the hourglass… the actual Sands of Time.
Ashcliff watched with great concern as both boys seemed to age ten years in only a few seconds time. Time is, however, a relative creature. In those few seconds Roland and Eldryn lived lifetimes.
They found themselves bound in struggles strange to the mind yet familiar to the heart. In a moment Roland wore animal skins and wielded a sharpened stick, protecting his cave and family from a large toothed cat. Eldryn recorded a battle with a neighboring tribe by painting its images on a stone wall with a fallen enemies’ blood.
Roland, now much older, felt the pride of seeing his great-great grandson born as age began to rob him of his own vigor. Eldryn knew great joy as he and his men finally conquered the waters with a magnificent vessel that defied the drowning waves by floating atop them.
Roland experienced the birth, life, and death of a land mark mountain in hazy recognition. Eldryn’s mind raced through the brief, yet brilliant, life of a snowflake.
Roland found himself looking through the slits of an unfamiliar helm at a mounted paladin of Silvor who faced him with a lance. Roland felt the sting of the paladin’s lance as his own black blade struck the rider from his saddle. Then his mind was swept away. He sees a terrible beast of bone and magic. He watches as his blade is broken by the grasp of the dragon’s claw. He feels the lightning pain as his flesh is being pierced again and again. He sees Eldryn fall.
Now Roland watches as a young man, one nearly his own size, takes the hand of a lady warrior, a Templar of Silvor, before a priest. He watches with a pride and love that he doesn’t understand as they share their first kiss as husband and wife. He sees the two of them years later as they play with their toddler son who would one day become king of a united land.
Roland’s mind is opened to the nature of the artifact. He sees how the shape of it is as a family tree, spreading both upward toward ancestors and downward toward children’s children. He comes to understand how he is the middle, how he is the narrow focal point of the Glass through which the sands pass. He learns how the sands flow backward and forward in time and in lives. He understands how he is seeing the lives of his father’s fathers and the lives of his son’s sons.
Roland sees a man outfitted with richly engraved armor and shield, a man he first thinks to be Velryk, as this man banishes a disgraced son. He thinks of the older man as father, but his face is not that of Velryk, although the resemblance is distracting.
Roland sees the rising of a terrible beast, the one that will kill him. He knows that it is brought by evil but that it will cleanse the land in the purpose of good.
The Sands of Time bestowed them with a gift of prophecy. Their lives, and the lives of their children’s’ children, were laid out before them. They saw their own deaths. Much of what Roland saw could have saved lives, but alas remembering it all was beyond his capacity. His mind was like a bucket being used to catch a waterfall. Glimpses of the past and of the future.
Time had become a living creature, a being. It had shown both boys more of its nature than most men could stand, and aspects of eternity that no man could comprehend. Each boy lay on the floor of the dusty stone chamber living thousands of lives and dying a thousand and more deaths. Some were violent, some peaceful. Lives of men, animals, the earth, and the stars. Both boys began to fade into the sheer magnitude of creation. Roland felt his own soul drifting apart, being spread into nothingness. Eldryn felt himself floating among the constellations as his mind began to free itself from his mortal ties.
Eldryn’s consciousness swept across the patterns of the great burning stones of the night sky. Then there was another. There was another with him as he drifted. He felt Fate point his eyes to the Horseman, the constellation of the cavalier. He remembered the tale of the Horseman, first told to him by his father. His father! What was his father’s name? What was his name? Fear tore through his heart. The Horseman, Cavalier, his father had been a cavalier. He was a cavalier, a horseman of the old Code. He was Eldryn, son of Ellidik. He was a warrior with a warrior’s life to finish yet.
Eldryn ripped his mind and focus from the beauty that surrounded him. I am Eldryn! Screamed in his mind. YOU ARE ELDRYN, SON OF ELLIDIK Fate spoke to him in a voice that traveled through his flesh, nerves, and mind. I am Eldryn and not even the vastness of the universe will sway me!
Eldryn spent ages forcing his mind to focus. Then he found him. His friend. He could not remember his name but he knew he had to save him. Eldryn continued to sharpen his will into a needle point. He pushed himself into Friend’s path. His will pried between Friend and the Universe. Eldryn, son of Ellidik…Roland, son of Velryk…Eldryn, cavalier…Roland, warrior…
Both boys fell to the ground. The hourglass dropped from their hands, however, Ashcliff’s speed saved the relic with a quickly placed cloak.
Roland and Eldryn sat up from the dusty stone floor. One hardly recogniz
ed the other. Both had visibly aged nearly a decade which to the Great Man race could mean close to a century. Moments ago, in this world, in this life, they had been boys. Now two men stared across at one another.
“Are you alright?” Ashcliff asked.
“I’m not sure,” Roland said, not recognizing the sound of his own voice. “That was…”
His pause sat heavy on the air.
“That was something,” he finally managed to finish.
“You are both much older now, at least by the look of you.”
Eldryn examined his own face in the reflection of a shield.
“At least fifty years,” Eldryn said.
“That is a lifetime to lose,” Ashcliff said, ashamed that he had allowed his friends to endure such a horror.
“A lifetime for those of common blood,” Roland said as he attempted to come to terms with the cost of his impatience. “It is not so severe for those of the Great Man race.”
Roland struggled to remember. He knew it was important! It was just in his muddy head and now it has slipped away like camp smoke through the leaves. Fate had her plan and Roland had been offered a glimpse of it.
“We’ve lost years of our lives to that thing!” Eldryn exclaimed shaking Roland from his reflection.
“The price for disturbing such an artifact,” Roland replied, attempting to remain stoic. “Now we know why the drow wouldn't touch it.”
“They are immortal,” Eldryn said. “Why would they be concerned about the loss of a few years?”
“Because only those of purest purpose and heart can survive the trials concealed in those grains of sand,” Ashcliff said. “Friends, I am sorry.”
A boy and two grown men stared at the quiet and seemingly benign holy symbols.
Roland struggled to remember. The faces he saw were so familiar and so strange to him. The images drifted away as a dream, but the emotions left behind in his soul remained. He had never thought of a family of his own, but now felt the pride in his heart of his sons and of their sons. Such strong emotion, such strong love, for family that he had never met…perhaps never would. His mind clamored at the memories, prophecies, like a fish in the net struggling to get back to the stream.
