by James Dale
"Are we now the duke's personal jailers?" inquired the knight. "An old man has already been delivered to us this morning. His only crime, no doubt," he continued with a note of disgust, "failing to scurry quickly enough from Kiathan's path."
"These men are pirates!" The captain replied, anger growing in his voice at the disrespect shown the duke by the knight. "By order of Princess Annawyn, they are to be placed under the care of Sir Gain."
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" the knight asked and closed the window in the captain's face.
Five minutes passed without any movement from within. Just as the fuming captain was about to ring the bell again, the huge doors began to swing open and he was forced to skip ungracefully from their path. Four armored knights stood on the other side and at their front was a young man wiping sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief.
He had evidently been pulled away from the practice field, for his white cotton shirt was plastered to his muscular frame with sweat and an unadorned sword hung at his slender waist. Except for a stockier build and somewhat darker complexion, he could have passed for Dorad's brother.
"Have we become Duke Kiathan's personal jailers?" he asked, stepping out to address the guard's captain. Then he stopped in surprise as he saw who stood before. "By the Blood of Yh’Adan!" he exclaimed. "Tarsus Aernin! I never expected even you would be so bold as to return to Dorshev."
"It was not entirely by choice," Tarsus replied with a wry grin. "I see you've been accepted to the Order Gain. Dorad would be proud of you."
Sir Gain did not return the Amarian's smile. He held Tarsus partly responsible for Dorad's exile five years ago. "Get them down," he instructed the captain.
Tarsus and Braedan were pulled none too gently from the captain's horse and Gain stepped up to take a closer look at Braedan. "Who's this one?"
"Jack Brydain," the captain answered. "Another pirate."
"Remove their chains," Gain said.
"Do you think it wise?" the captain asked.
"They will not be going anywhere."
The captain motioned for the keys and unlocked the pair himself, Tarsus first then Braedan. When he removed the bracelets from Jack's wrists, he made the mistake of lingering too long behind him. Braedan struck quickly, slamming his head back into the man’s face. His nose broke with an audible snap.
"Hold!" Gain shouted as blades leapt immediately into the hands of Kiathan's guards. "They are my prisoners now."
They reluctantly lowered their swords.
"I can't wait to see you dance from the end of a rope Brydain!" the captain moaned. With his ruined nose however, it sounded more like 'I cain way ta zee u danz frof tha'n'uff a rob Brynauh!"
"For the last time," Jack hissed, "my name is Braedan. Bray-DAN. Get it right you son of a bitch."
"That's enough," Sir Gain smiled, obviously amused by the captain's pain. "Follow me please."
Braedan and Tarsus fell in behind Sir Gain and the four armored knights flanked them, two on each side. They were led through the large compound, past practice fields where knights honed their skills with sword and lance, by large buildings aplenty and finally to a tremendous tower at least twenty stories high. The group stopped at the entrance and Sir Gain knocked loudly on the wooden door. A window opened in the door and another helmeted head appeared.
"Duke Kiathan sends us more prisoners," Gain announced.
"Have we become his personal jailers?" the man asked.
"That is the question of the day," Gain nodded.
The door opened and Sir Gain led the group into the tower. Instead of going up however, they descended a winding stairway. Several feet below ground level they stopped at a small, windowless door. A bored young man standing guard outside snapped to attention when he recognized Sir Gain.
"Stand easy David," Gain smiled. "Open the cell. Kiathan has more guests for you."
"Have we become his..."
"Yes, yes," Gain sighed. "It appears we have."
The young man opened the cell door and Tarsus and Braedan were ushered inside a gloomy cell shrouded in darkness except for a small area bathed in the light from the torch mounted in the corridor. Sir Gain stood silhouetted in the entrance, looking at the two pirates Kaithan's captain had brought him.
"I apologize for your accommodations," Gain finally said. "The Tower is not accustomed to unexpected prisoners. Other...rooms will be prepared for you above in short order. I ask you forgive the lack of light as well. A torch in your cell would choke you to death in a matter of hours." As he was about to close the cell door and leave them in darkness, Braedan spoke.
"Sir Gain?"
"Yes."
"Do you know Captain Devin Ellgaer?"
"I do," the knight replied.
"He took a sword from me when we were captured."
"Did you expect him to leave you armed?" Gain asked with a puzzled expression. "You are, after all, prisoners of the crown."
"It belonged to Dorad," Braedan explained. "His first. He gave it to me for saving his life."
"I remember the sword," Gain nodded. "Your point?"
"Ellgaer said he was going to give it to Kiathan as a wedding gift. Without Princess Annawyn's knowledge. I don't think Dorad would like that."
Sir Gain studied Braedan curiously. "No," he finally admitted. "I don't imagine he would. Is Dorad alive?"
"I don't know," Braedan sighed truthfully.
"You were his friend?"
"Yes."
"You saved his life?"
"Yes."
Sir Gain regarded him again. "For that I am in your debt," he bowed. "Dorad and I may have had our differences at the end, but we were like brothers growing up. You will not be ill-treated by the Tower while you await your trial. You have my word. I will inquire about the sword. You are right. Dorad would not want Kiathan to have it."
"There were others taken with us," Jack added. "Kiathan ordered them executed. Without trial."
"Kiathan cannot order executions. I will send someone to check on your men as well," Gain assured him, then closing the cell door, he left them two prisoners in darkness.
Chapter Eighteen
Errand’s Tale
“Someone else is in here," Tarsus announced quietly as silence settled over the pair.
"Who is there?" Jack asked, searching the darkness futilely. The cell had become as black as pitch with the door closed.
There was a rustling of chains in the far corner and a soft, tired moan. "Who is there?" Jack asked again.
"A prisoner, like yourselves," answered a disembodied voice. Though it was barely above a whisper, the two could tell it belonged to someone full of years. Then Tarsus remembered the words of the knight at the entrance about an old man being brought to the Tower that morning.
"And what great crime did you commit grandfather," the Amarian asked, "to earn chains in this dark place?"
"Blasphemy," the old man replied.
"Blasphemy?" Tarsus asked. "I don't recall Kiathan being a particularly religious man, or blasphemy being a crime at all for that matter."
"I spoke things the Duke of Raashan did not wish others to hear," the old man sighed. "For lack of a better charge, he named me a blasphemer."
"Why would someone as powerful Kiathan have reason to fear the ramblings of an old man?" asked the Amarian.
"He fears the power of my dreams," replied their unseen cell mate. "For some reason, he does not wish others to hear what I have seen."
"And what have you dreamed?" Jack asked. If anyone could respect...or fear, the power of dreams, it was he.
"Dreams of the future," answered the old man. “Of things to come.”
"What is your name?" Tarsus asked.
"Errand Elldann, son of Kaevin," the old man replied. "Until a few months ago, I was a simple farmer. In truth, until my dreams, my only thought of the Creator was to pray at sunrise and sunset. Or to pray for rain when my crops needed it. Or for it to stop when the floods came. Until the
Lord of Heaven touched my mind. He has commanded me to make known all I have seen. I fought Him for a time. Who was I to speak for the author of creation? But the dreams became like a fire in my brain. I grew to fear they would burn my mind to cinders if I did not speak of them. So, I did. Two months ago, instead of brining my vegetables to market, I brought a crate to stand on and began to proclaim all I had seen. When my crowd of listeners grew, Kiathan himself came to hear. His guards pulled me from the market and threw me in this dark place only this morning."
"What have you dreamed old man, that frightens Kiathan Ellgaer?" asked Tarsus. "What do you know of the future?"
Errand was silent and Braedan could tell he struggled for the right words. "I have seen the coming of Death," he finally whispered. "I have seen the return of the Promised One."
"Promised One?" Jack asked.
"Would you hear what I have dreamed?" Errand asked. "What is to come?"
"I would," Jack replied in the dark. “We would.”
"Truly?” asked the son of Kevin. "You would know what is to come? Then listen and do not despair. I have dreamed of a wolf and a lion. I have dreamed of a Temple and the Great Sword Yhswyndyr.”
“Yhswyndyr?” asked Jack.
“The Highsword Yhswyndyr, Lifebringer and Deathbane,” Errand replied. “The sword given to Ljmarn Bra’Adan to destroy the dark-King and end his reign of terror.”
“I know what Yhswyndyr is,” Jack replied.
“That tale of Alnordel’s was a fantasy if you ask me, Jack,” Tarsus muttered in the dark. “Oh, the Highswords are real enough, I’ve seen Theros and his Dragonslayer. But they were made by the Ailfar most likely. They weren’t forged by the Word of Yh and didn’t appear out of a whirlwind. All that was made up after the war to add to the legend.”
“It is no fable or legend,” Errand replied confidently. “The Sword of Light has awakened from its long sleep. It calls for its rightful heir to take it up again against the coming night.”
“Bah,” Tarsus snorted. “Even if it the sword isn’t some ancient legend, it’s just a useless hunk of steel. The High King died heirless. Jack, I don’t care what the tales say, no heir is waiting beyond the veil, and no one has stepped forward to claim his throne in eight hundred years.”
“Not true!” Errand cried. “He had an heir!
Thus sayeth the Lord, "I will call forth My champion. From
His long exile will I bring him to the Temple prepared for him."
“I will set his feet on the Path of war against my enemies."
"And he and his brothers will rain fire on those who debase
Themselves before the fallen one. Denying the Altar
of Blood the virgin sacrifice, the Lion will secure
Refuge from those who do not count him among criminals."
The words struck Jack like a sledgehammer. They were the same words he had read in Admiral Kailmax’s study. That they should be repeated here in the dark by some unseen dreamer, if not a portent, would be a coincidence of astronomical proportion. “Who is this champion?” Braedan asked.
“He is the direct descendant of Ljmarn,” Errand answered. “He is the wolf and the lion. I have seen him in my dreams. He will take up his father’s sword and do battle with the darkness that comes!”
“There is darkness coming true enough,” Tarsus admitted. “I have looked into its face. But there is no promised one,” he snorted. “The High King is long dust. His line died with him.”
“He did not die without an heir,” Errand corrected. “One still lives. I have seen his face in my dreams.”
“And he is the wolf and the lion?” Tarsus asked. “If that isn’t a mummer’s tale, I don’t know what else to call it.”
“He is the Wolf that stalks the nightmare and brings judgement to the wicked,” Errand proclaimed. “The Great Lion that roars his defiance at the Lord of Shadow. The Hand of the Yh that reaches forth to caress his lovely world…”
"This world is corrupt," Tarsus replied bitterly. "Yh has forgotten the children he made. He has left them to fend for themselves. We live and we die, and in between we fight for our every breath. We take from others what we need to survive. Lovely world indeed."
"That is indeed how most men perceive their existence," Errand sighed. "Like you, they have forgotten how much Yh’Adan loves them, how the Word of the Ancient of Days grieved for the pain and suffering Gol'gar the Sa’tan caused when he rebelled against Heaven. Like you, they have forgotten how He came down to earthe to save them from destruction."
"Save us?" Tarsus broke in. "I am Amarian! Tell me old man, how Yh’Adan or Ljmarn and his magic sword saved Amar from the Bloodstone? How did he prevent the destruction wrought by the dark King? Amar was laid waste by Graith and his hordes. Amar stood alone against the open gates of Hell, and Hell swallowed us! Where was Yh’Adan and his love then?"
"Yh’Adan..."
"Where was Yh’Adan when Urioch threw down the walls of Tanaevar and the grim'Hiru slaughtered our women and children?" Tarsus continued bitterly. “Where has he been over the long years while my people wallowed in poverty?”
"My son..." Errand sighed sadly, "Yh’Adan was not blind to the suffering of your people."
"Not blind maybe," Tarsus snarled, "but certainly deaf! Amar cried out to him as we battled alone against Graith's demon lead hordes. Amar cried out to him when our king was slain before our gate and his body was desecrated. Amar cried out to him..."
"And your people did not vanish from the earthe," Errand interrupted quietly. "My son, I cannot say why Amar was chosen to bear the full force of the Bloodstone. The ways of Yh are above the thoughts of man. Because of your hardships, has not the remnant of Amar become the hardiest race of men? Are not the men of Amar the fiercest fighters on earthe? Does not the blood flowing through your veins burn with a fire that lifts you above all trials, no matter how bleak?”
"My son, Yh’Adan was not ignorant of Amar's suffering, but through that suffering, through fire and blood, has he not forged your race into a deadly sword against the darkness? If Yh’Adan did not have a purpose for your people still, would Amar not have vanished completely from the earthe as did the people of Arkhand? Were the people of Arkhand less brave or noble or righteous than the people of Amar? Yet they are only a memory while your people survive.”
“No one is doubting how Amar suffered, Tarsus,” Jack interjected soothingly. He didn’t know what had set the Amarian off. He certainly hadn't reacted this strongly when they were discussing this same tale in Brimcohn. “But he is right about one thing. You are one of the fiercest warriors I have ever met, and I know warriors. It takes a hammer and fire to make steel my friend. Forgive his harsh words, Errand.”
“Does one blame the thunderstorm?” the old man asked quietly. “Or an earthquake for the destruction it brings? They only do what is in their nature. Cruel though it may have seemed, Yh has indeed forged the people of Amar into steel.”
Whether it had been Jack’s words or the old mans, Tarsus’ storm seemed to have passed for the moment and he settled to brooding in silence.
“Errand, let’s get back to why you are here,” Jack prompted. “Tell us…tell me about the Promised One. Tell me about your dreams.”
“The Promised One is Ljmarn’s Heir,” the old man replied.
“Who was sent through a…doorway, when the High King thought Graith would win,” Jack said.
“You…you know this tale?” Errand asked.
"We do," Tarsus muttered, rejoining the conversation. "I do. I heard it only a few months ago from Alnordel Iranahil. An Ailfar who is much older than you. And much wiser I would safely wager. But I still say it’s fantasy. Tell us something we don’t know.”
“What you don’t know?” he old man laughed quietly. “That would be a daunting task indeed Amarian. Instead,” he continued before Tarsus could interrupt. “I will speak of what I know. What I have dreamed. Ljmarn's line is not dead. Nor was it magicked, beyond all reach as some le
gends say. With the power of the High Lord's staff, Aaracus reopened the doorway to the world where the Staffclave had sent the High King's wife and son. He held it open for seven hundred years, held it against all the powers of darkness for the day when an heir would return."
"That day is finally come!" he said firmly. "The High King's Heir has returned through the Temple of the Door! That is what I have seen in my dreams! He walks the land even now. Though he does not know his heritage, he accomplishes the will of Yh nonetheless. As the prophecies foretold, he has come from beyond the cold of beyond and set his feet on the path of war.”
“I have seen him riding the wind on the back of a wolf. I have seen him stalk the Land of Dreams as a roaring lion, a great lion that battles nightmares through the endless corridors of the underworld! But the dark King has also returned. He was not slain by Ljmarn and the Sunheart as legends say. Desperate and defeated, he cast himself into the fires of Mount Sheol to escape his rightful doom. What Aaracus wrote in his prophecies I have seen in my dreams. He wrapped himself with the power of the Bloodstone and it shielded him from the fires in the belly of the earthe. There Graith slept for long years, healing the hurts he suffered at the touch of Yhswyndyr. Long did he slumber while the people of the earthe slowly lost fear of him and the destruction he had wrought.
“Like the Amarian so foolishly believes, Yhswyndyr also became stuff of legend. When the Staffclave took Ljmarn’s sword after he passed and hid it away, it slowly faded from the memories of the West. Although there are Ailfar still among us who walked with the last High King, although the city of Immer was rebuilt and Ljmarn’s throne was pulled from the underground vault where it was hidden, the people of Aralon remember those days now as only legend. They celebrate right enough, with festivals and feasts and the Haelfest every four years, but it has become only a story they remember with song and food, not as true events that shook the earthe to the pillars of its foundation.”
But Graith's healing is almost complete,” Errand said quietly. “A foul sorcerer has come into power, who has retrieved his body from Mount Sheol and even now it lies in Gorthiel. No longer wrapped in the flames of perdition, the Bloodstone works to succor him. Soon he will awaken from his slumber and the last battle will be joined!"
