by Thomas Adams
After the Black Panther fiasco her efforts to quash the rebellion to her new rule were primarily confined to the capitol city and the province immediately surrounding it. Currently, Lutvar and her loyal troops were focused on putting down the rebellion led by the distant relatives of Titan and the remaining generals and the nobles still loyal to Titan. This effort was costing her valuable time, troops and resources that she should be mustering for her master’s invasion of Vesfalruk. The invasion schedule was wrecked.
She hoped Hraezlan would not discover all she had done. It was not even close to the instructions Arngrim had given her. She realized he likely would find out and be angry with her. She had her arguments ready but wondered if she would even get the chance to use them. If she had it to do over again she would follow the same course. It was worth it in her mind.
She turned to Lutvar and her new Primus Legatus, an experienced field commander of forty three years named Rictor Favius and said. “We will empty the prisons and the pits. Build another slave army here in the capitol. We can promise them freedom and land and status. Anything. Get them organized and led by some of the pit fighters. They can help fight the rebels too. Once we are done with them here we will send them to the mountains for the invasion.”
She looked at Favius. She would have to watch him. He was an ambitious man and had leapt at the chance to become the top military man in the empire. He was handsome, fit and a brutally efficient commander. Gullvayg’s young nubile possessed body responded with intense need to the man’s mere presence. It took considerable mental effort to rein her host’s lust in. She knew it was only a matter of time and in the end, the handsome commander would end up doubly serving under the new empress.
Favius nodded in agreement and said, “Empress, it should be fairly simple. They live in filth and squalor and are steeped in misery. Many have no hope of ever being anything more than slaves. They live out their short lives caring for, feeding or clothing the wealthy of the empire. Many end up breaking their backs and their spirits and in die despair. Giving many of them the chance to win their freedom should garner us many willing conscripts.”
“Willing or not, press them all into service,” she directed. Gullvayg knew that a nation and a people founded on and thriving under the institution of slavery was despicable and ultimately weak. The Emorie was brutally repressive, greedy and corrupt; a blight on the peoples of Ellorhim. She didn’t care though. She hated the living and would rather it all destroyed. She begrudged them their current condition, life. She knew her master would see to it in the end. This was just a brief respite before his arrival and the end of all life.
***
After breakfast, as the young men of Red Band prepared to head for the practice field, Brotjnar whispered in Brandt’s mind, ‘It is time’. Brandt closed his eyes and sat on his cot. He held his head in his hands. The darkness was there. Just on the edge of his consciousness. He fought it and controlled it and pushed it back out of his mind. The pain was intense, debilitating. It seemed to grow stronger as he interacted more with Brotjnar and his archania. He dreaded the struggles he was forced to wage with it. And, he feared what this unknown power was. But, he had no one to turn to for answers to his questions. The struggle was his alone, for now.
Master Ivar came into their new barracks room in Fort Five. Ivar pointed at Brandt and said, “Bring the war sword and follow me.”
The other lads of Red Band shouted and yelled their enthusiasm as Brandt reached under his bed for the long bastard sword. He suddenly envisioned a much different day unfolding than what he’d originally thought. Enthusiastically he pulled the sword out from under his cot and followed Ivar. He knew the sword was happy. He could feel it and it whispered its pleasure in his mind. They went to the practice yard and Master Ivar selected an open area away from the other students and masters gathering there.
“First,” Master Ivar said, “You have used an arming sword for many years now. The sword you now hold is different in a few obvious ways. One it is longer in the blade but not by much. The main length gain is in the hilt. This extra length allows for the placement of an entire second hand on the grip or near the pommel. Whereas a long sword has a longish grip and you can partially fit the second hand. A war sword is designed to be used with one or two hands, depending on the circumstances and what the wielder is trying to do.
“However, the longer hilt makes the weight and balance different so you will have to get used to that first. It will make a difference in how it feels and how you handle it. Only practice will help you become comfortable with this. A war sword, when used with two hands, allows for better and faster control and greater speed and power. All of these things you will learn. I speak from experience as I am a Grand Master of Sword for this weapon and the only one currently at Reave Hall. That being said, I will undertake your instruction personally. Any questions so far?”
Brandt shook his head excitedly.
“You are bigger and stronger now. This will help of course. And, as you know, this particular sword is very special. It is extraordinarily light for one. This is crucial since it will make it as fast as a smaller sword. And, with your speed you should be faster than any opponent but with a longer blade. So, faster, more power and greater reach. You can see how these benefits are stacking up in your favor?”
Brandt said, “Aye Master.”
“But, there are limitations too. With both hands on the sword you no longer have a shield, dagger or axe in the other hand. So defense is restricted to the one blade. The limitation of the defense can also lead to a reduced ability to go on the offense. Your speed will help but you also have to learn the transitions from strike to defense with one weapon. Each defensive move should be considered for its ability to block and defend but also, to shift to an attack. I will show you many of these transition forms as well. For now, we will start at the beginning, with the basic forms from the Runa but I will walk you through the differences for a two handed application. We will begin with the Rain of Steel. Ready? Begin!”
They progressed through the forms one at a time. Master Ivar would sometimes stop the drills and reposition parts of Brandt’s body or his hands or correct his footing to accommodate the new fighting technique. He would also give him additional pointers and advice from his years of experience in using the bastard sword.
As Brandt began to move his body and the incredibly light blade something seemed to wake within him. It felt almost like an additional sense awakened and the sword came alive in his hands. The presence within the blade reached out and touched his mind with its thoughts and feelings. He’d felt this before but not with this intensity. The sword knew what was happening and it rejoiced.
He knew the sword was possessed. It was cursed some would say. The presence trapped in the sword was ancient and the words he felt in his mind were strange. Their formation and sound and enunciation were different but Brandt could still discern their meaning. He respected the soul trapped in the sword. He knew its’ name and he felt sorry for it. He wished Brotjnar could be free. It had to be miserable to be trapped in a piece of steel for eternity.
Brandt moved effortlessly with the sword in his hands. It seemed to imbue him with an extra measure of strength and economy of movement. It added just a little more ability to his already generous aptitude. His muscles were extra limber and he knew he could fight for hours if need be. His stamina would be greater using Brotjnar. He was able to direct each move with ease and a preciseness that shocked even him. As Master Ivar instructed him Brotjnar also doled out advice and reflections. The two pronged instruction was initially very difficult and hard to deal with but Brandt adjusted.
***
As they trained Master Ivar thought the young man was uncharacteristically being slow witted but soon realized something else was going on. The more he observed the more he thought he understood what was happening. As he made an adjustment to a form or technique Brandt would sometimes subtly alter the angle of an arm, the cant of a leg or th
e position of the sword. At first this perturbed Ivar but when he thought about it he instinctively understood that Brandt’s change was better in some regards. It was as if Brandt was receiving an additional stream of instruction.
Ivar halted the session and said, “It is teaching you also?”
Brandt stopped and nodded. He did not seem to want to talk about it.
“Well, that is something,” Ivar exclaimed.
Reluctantly Brandt said, “He says I can tell you. He knew one such as you long ago. He respects your skill, your knowledge and your choice of profession. He is very old and he has been inside the steel for a long time. He says it his punishment for offending Vidarr.”
“As in the God, he means Vidarr the God?” Ivar exclaimed.
“Aye, he says we would think Vidarr a god. Brotjnar is his name, the one in the sword and he was a great Einar hero from the First Age but he offended Vidarr and was imprisoned by Vidarr in the blade for eternity.”
Master Ivar was speechless. He just stood there looking from the sword to Brandt and back again. It was something from the old tales seldom heard anymore. He knew a bard or two that could still recall and do justice to a few such stories. They were glorious tales of the ancient beginnings, when the world was new and Gods and Einar walked Ellorhim together. The tales of the ancient feats were astounding and their like was not seen or heard of in thousands of years. It was heady stuff indeed. His mind came back to the task at hand and said, “Incredible! Well, if you are going to be in such impressive company you had better be worthy. Let us continue with the Badger forms. Ready? Begin!”
Chapter 21
Assassins
The Blood Oath
All present hear me now,
I swear this oath with my blood and on my sword
I will always answer the call of battle,
and come prepared to perform my duty
Ever will I stand in the foremost rank with my people,
and meet the enemy head on
Never will I leave the field without obtaining victory,
Erhand will feel my steel and know my wroth
In peace and war I bear allegiance and fealty to the people of Vesfalruk
No one clan, even my own, can claim my favor over another
My duty is to defend and protect the people and land above all
I hold true to this oath until released or death claims me,
May Vidar curse me should I fail to honor my oath, my people and my clan
Unknown
***
Yfiria’s visions and dreams, ever since she’d left Brandt at Reave Hall and he’d given her his mother’s necklace, were more frequent and vivid. They were usually dreams about Brandt. Some of the visions were so realistic that when she woke she could not tell what was real and what was archania. It sometimes took several minutes for her to discern she was even awake.
A few visions were so lusty and intimate she would blush just recalling them. Her body would be heated and physical desire flowed through her like blood. Her recollection of such dreams almost always excited her and set her awash with longing for him. These seerings were exhausting yet also pleasant all the same. Some even came to her during her wakening moments and in a public situation, they were most inconvenient. She tried to suppress those dreams until she could excuse herself and get to her room. It was a good thing Talfur was not a hub of Druid social activity.
Her dream from last night showed Brandt and the older taciturn Grand Master, Ivar was his name she recalled, sparring in the yard at Reave Hall. There was a third life force in the vision but it seemed to be attached to Brandt’s hand somehow. It was a bold but frail spirit and ancient beyond all reckoning. The vision was mostly about the training Brandt received from Ivar. They practiced the entire day with Brandt’s old sword, the one that had belonged to Brandt’s father. There was little in the seering to concern her other than the strange life force at Brandt’s side, in his hand.
She shared this vision with Aravin and he tried to set her mind at ease. The ancient Druid said, “So he has taken up SwordBreaker, that is a good thing. It is his father’s sword. I told Ivar to train him with it as soon as possible. It is a powerful relic and will aid his efforts greatly.”
“But what about the life force? The sword is alive?” she questioned.
“It is thought that many of the Nordbrandr were prisons. Prisons created by the gods.”
“Sorry, I don’t understand. SwordBreaker is a prison? Are you saying something is inside the sword?”
“Assuredly, SwordBreaker is known to the Druids. It was greatly studied hundreds of years ago. Much was written down about its’ history and exploits. We never shared our discoveries with the Vesfalrukians though. It was created by Vidarr and is the prison of an ancient Einar warrior of legendary renown and skill. This warrior displeased Vidarr somehow and he was cursed and his soul embedded in the blade.”
“That is horrible!” she exclaimed.
“I am sure the man deserved it Yfiria. Antagonizing a god usually has consequences attached to it.”
“Aye, but, now Brandt is tied to a cursed sword with an ancient Einar murderer inside it? Is that what you are telling me?”
“I think so, but in this case it is a good thing. You have to trust me about this. And, we don’t know why the man’s soul was imprisoned in the sword. We don’t know he was evil.”
“You don’t know but we can all guess how an infamous Einar warrior would upset a god.” She stormed off. She was angry at the seemingly unfair and ill-conceived burdens on Brandt. His great fancy magic sword was actually cursed! So this powerful weapon was supposed to help them but at what cost to Brandt?
Why did it appear that every benefit came with serious drawbacks for him while the enemy and the Dokköndi had all the power and control? It was unfathomable to her that such great limitations and unfavorable consequences seemed to rest on their cause. It made her sick at heart and she collapsed onto her bed raging at the injustice of it all.
***
Fridya hated the attention Brandt received from the other female students. She was jealous of these interactions and it drove her to distraction most times. But, on the other hand, she frequently found herself the object of many a young Erlings’ affections. Admittedly she did encourage some but to her horror and chagrin; many were quite open and public displays. How embarrassing.
Frustratingly, Brandt wasn’t jealous of these advances. He didn’t seem to mind the overtures made by his band mates or even the young men from other bands. She wasn’t sure how to take his ambivalence. Did he not care? It was exasperating, to say the least, that she was unable to develop a romantic interest between them. And, she had genuinely tried on a few occasions.
Apparently, he was genuinely happy for her and she had to admit to herself, she seemed to enjoy the attention of the young men. If they were together when a young man presented, he would quietly slip off to the forge, the archives or for a few additional rounds in the practice yard, leaving Fridya all alone with her latest admirer. Her beauty, popularity and position as the Chancellor’s daughter attracted the interest of most of the Erling men at the Hall at some point.
Also, after much hard work, she knew Bera was a friend now as well. He had struggled but he was changed. Everyone marveled his new personality and Fridya was credited with reforming him. He was a much nicer person now and even his former targets were finding ways to forgive him and befriend him. But, he was her chief admirer and was always pressing her for more time alone. She found this exasperating but enjoyed his company more now than ever before.
She knew Bera came from a powerful Westland family and he was no fool when it came to the great game. One day as they sat in the archives studying a text on large scale infantry tactics she asked him, “Do you know who Brandt really is?”
He looked around and answered quietly, “I think I do.”
She waited but he said nothing else. She wondered what he’d overheard or how he’d pu
zzled it out. Finally he said, “I like you Fridya and I will confide in you even though our fathers are enemies. I have always thought something was off about Brandt or Kyrr, whatever blasted name he goes by now. But, I also kept my eyes and ears open. There was a reason Ivar, Bax and others watched over him. And, the interest the Druid Aravin, your father and the Prince of Radnja showed him told me there was something going on. The attacks by the Narcissists were also disturbing but telling. Then there was the feast that the chancellor and prince attended. Why would a princess want to be escorted by a peasant? And, the significance of the tunic he wore that night when he escorted the Princess of Radnja to the Hall’s feast said a lot. I researched it and found out the clan it belongs to is Rodull. It does not take much effort or brain power to come to a conclusion does it?”
She nodded her head. She understood Bera was nothing if not an astute reader of a political situation and he understood that Brandt would pursue his claim on the throne.
“With the mystery solved I looked at the situation and the future and tried to figure out which side I wanted to be on. I am not sure what my father or his friends would choose. I don’t think they would be happy with Brandt though.”
“So, what did you decide?”
“Decide about what Fridya?”
“Never mind, forget I asked.”
He gave an exasperated sigh, “I don’t know. If he is a Rodull he has a good chance at the throne. If he is an impostor the curse will get him, just like all the other pretenders. Either way I think my father and his friends will crush him. They will not want a Rodull in Kimera again. But, when it comes to you, I think your affection and friendship is misplaced.”
