A Facet for the Gem

by C. L. Murray

  Finally reaching Valdis, Morlen gripped his arm and shoulder tightly as he sagged off balance, gently bringing him down to lie on his back. The veins of his face began darkening to a greenish-black, and yet he looked up at Morlen, lacking any pain.

  “You… carry the Crystal Blade,” Valdis said breathily, with a tone that held no surprise. “I didn’t know… but still I came.” His chest rose and fell less noticeably, and soon Verald and Valeine rushed to them, kneeling at their father’s side. Around them, the Eaglemasters and lions drove all remaining enemies from the fields in broken clusters that whimpered at their king’s departure, retreating far toward the Dead Plains.

  Korindelf stood soaked in rays that tore through the surrounding white curtain as Valdis’s voice grew quieter. “We met him well today, young Eaglefriend… Morlen,” he said. Then, his limp arm gathered enough strength to lift the Crystal Spear out before him. “Take this… for me,” he bade. “And meet him once more.”

  Glancing at Verald and Valeine, whose countenances bolstered their father’s request, Morlen accepted the Crystal Spear from his unshaking hand, which folded lightly upon his body beneath the hands of his children. They held him warmly, until even the cold creeping through his fingers could not diminish the glow he gave off when he became still.

  Bowing their heads, all three said nothing, letting his words be the last that resonated with them, and Morlen kept the entrusted spear ready, hoping to bear it with honor in his stead.

  Roftome suddenly broke the settling silence, dipping toward him from the sky as the other eagles struggled to hinder the dragon’s escape. “He goes to burn their people,” he called to Morlen, who stood when he landed with no injury but a few singed feathers. And, by Bloodsong’s speeding path, it seemed clear that Felkoth drove for the Eaglemasters’ unguarded cities, resolving to destroy them in exchange for his defeat here.

  He climbed atop Roftome’s back, sitting poised to fly out with the Crystal Spear. Turning to Valeine as she rose with her brother, he said, “Your father’s people will have less to fear when this is through.”

  Valeine’s face brightened in a way that Morlen held as tightly as memory allowed, and he remained in place for a long moment, until Roftome understood the delay yet gave no stir to break it. Then Morlen finally spurred their flight to catch up with Felkoth in Bloodsong’s unyielding grasp.

  The Eaglemasters below raised many cheers as he and Roftome passed, and their proud shouts of “Eaglefriend! Eaglefriend!” struck his ear pleasantly more than a few times before he left them and the regained city of Korindelf miles behind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A Roar for Bloodsong

  THE SWARM OF eagles threw every talon and beak at Bloodsong, like a fluid web expanding and self-mending straight ahead while Morlen and Roftome quickly gained on them. Clasping the Crystal Spear tightly against his side, Morlen had no intention of joining their intricate weave, making instead to crest over them and their maddened quarry, which would not be stalled for long.

  Watching them flow around each strike that sought to obliterate all in its path, Morlen felt his heart drop amid the creature’s bursting screams while dozens were engulfed in one molten breath. Bloodsong ripped through their net, driven more fiercely by Felkoth in now open skies toward the Eaglemasters’ realm.

  But, despite the ruin of so many, the flock was not deterred, regrouping to maintain pursuit until Morlen and Roftome hailed them from above. At this, every eagle gradually halted, recognizing that the two companions meant to go on alone.

  On seeing the air graciously yielded, Morlen looked ahead to Bloodsong’s narrow lead, and glimpsed the lone peak that towered just outside the Isle’s southwestern edge. Thinking of the tactical advantage it could pose if Felkoth were unseated upon it, he directed Roftome into a slight descent alongside the unsuspecting dragon.

  Felkoth peered vigilantly out in all directions and saw them swoop on his left, sharply turning Bloodsong toward them only to be drenched in a scornful gust when Roftome darted forward. Leading him over the Isle, Morlen and Roftome made for the distant mountain at a purposefully enticing pace, one they came to regret when Bloodsong immersed them in another vengeful call that slowed their every fiber. Pain and death became Morlen’s only thoughts, creeping within a heavy bile that ate away at him until the shrill onslaught subsided, leaving them mere seconds to careen sideways and avoid the torrent of flame.

  Batting his seared cloak, Morlen did the same to Roftome’s smoking tail feathers, though the speed they picked up snuffed out every darkened clump. Bloodsong followed in their wake, pushed vehemently by Felkoth to ensure nothing remained of them but vapor. To avoid presenting another clear shot, Roftome swerved in and out of the dragon’s vision, luring it and its master farther toward the single peak that rose a few miles away.

  Another foul cry smothered them, and Morlen ground his teeth in despair while Roftome’s wings barely remained open. As the clamor dimmed beneath one more telltale gulp of air, it was all they could do to stay aloft, let alone dodge the jet of liquid fire that shot close behind. Morlen folded hard against Roftome’s rigid spine, compelling the magnificent bird to tap every remaining ounce of agility and spin them downward just beneath the burning stream.

  Leveling out below a sheet of smoke, Morlen caught what little breath he could through the heat. Roftome made no utterance at all, expending every available pocket of energy on their sunken propulsion forward, until they found themselves in line with the peak’s rocky summit.

  As if kicking through deadly rapids for the only protruding refuge, they flew onward with their enemies still in tow, and finally perched atop a jagged ridge of the wide mountaintop, facing out as Bloodsong descended for the kill. Bathed in swallowing silence that forewent what would be the worst they’d yet heard, Morlen and Roftome knew only that they would not be found sitting when it came—that they would meet it, together.

  “We’ll leave no cloud untouched,” said Morlen, fondly remembering their plans to scour every inch of sky when this was finished, and readied himself while Bloodsong approached with gathering force.

  “And no peak unexplored,” replied Roftome, equally at ease.

  “Go now,” Morlen urged, bracing for the sonic impact as Roftome soared up from their high platform to match the dragon’s altitude, charging head-on with distance shrinking fast.

  Bloodsong seized every muscle in their bodies with a palpable outcry that tenderized and embalmed, slowly undoing them from the inside out while they plunged deeper in a dedicated arc that no blast could disrupt. Morlen dug where all was submerged and choking, grabbing hold of any recollection of light and air, and bellowed so loud that the forcible tendrils of sorrow and fear unraveled at his own echoing voice. It drove back that of the wicked creature, which cried forth more harshly, trying to drown him out. But Morlen was louder, his shout reverberating through the outstretched wail’s center as the divide shortened between them and collision, until Bloodsong could bear the sound no longer, lifting up its stony head. And Morlen hurled the Crystal Spear into its newly exposed chest, puncturing rock and gushing flame to pierce its brittle heart.

  Throat writhing around a gurgled rasp that soon fell silent, Bloodsong sank into a limp dive, still holding Felkoth in its clutches as Morlen and Roftome coasted above, and crashed with a splintering skid through plumes of thick brown dust across the great mountain peak.

  Banking to face the billowing site, Roftome cut through smoke and hovered in triumphant observation, until Morlen bade him to fly lower and jumped down with the Crystal Blade in hand. He landed lightly upon the spacious summit, which was gashed and strewn with a trail of popping hot sludge that led through the fumes to Bloodsong’s crumbled, broken remains. But Felkoth was not among them, he realized as he pivoted calmly to survey the wreckage’s murky perimeter. Roftome searched as well, past scattered bits of floating debris. He must have leapt free just before running aground, and was likely crouching now in some trench, waiting
to leap out and strike.

  “It truly has transformed you from what you were when you first took it.” The chill voice caused Morlen to turn toward the shadowy outline of a tall figure that stepped toward him through the steam. “Stripped from my reach, in the hold of a boy more delicate and incapable than any I’ve seen, and returned to me by the very same, now almost unrecognizable.”

  Felkoth emerged unharmed, with the Dark Blade held casually ready, and Morlen’s hand immediately twitched toward the Goldshard, pocketed so carefully against his pounding chest. Resisting the urge to hold it now was more taxing than any battle he’d yet faced. He’d been able to let it fade to the back of his mind at each challenge, trusting that he would prevail while the confrontation for which he needed it most still lay ahead. But now that he faced that fight, all he could see was its bright gleaming outline to which he owed every victory. And he would be naked without it.

  With a satisfied snarl, Felkoth lunged and swung the Dark Blade for Morlen’s neck, and Morlen met the blow with his own gleaming sword. The clattering force staggered him backward through the uncertain terrain, while Roftome circled attentively above.

  Morlen slashed downward as though to split a log in two, aiming to quell Felkoth’s momentum, but too late, as Felkoth’s parry overbalanced the weight of his attack and left his guard open for a heavy thrust. Avoiding it in a daring sidestep that sent him stumbling, Morlen rotated sharply to defend against Felkoth’s next strike, and his shaky stance only wobbled farther under the assault. But Morlen stabilized his footing, though hard-pressed to maintain it under Felkoth’s relentless advance, well aware he could afford to lose no more ground.

  Deflecting a wide chop aimed at his gut, Morlen countered with a high swish that only threw his arms off center as Felkoth elbowed his cheekbone, rocking his overextended form. Hearing Felkoth pounce after his clumsy recoil, Morlen twisted around with a ringing horizontal slice that Felkoth halted before bombarding him with more tireless bursts.

  Every heated clang drove Morlen to focus on the inescapable Dark Blade, knowing even a minor graze would bring death, while he repelled it over and over. In the face of such perilous vulnerability, his mind soon began to crumple under the same blinding flash that had once brought solace. Why was it failing him now, of all times? Perhaps he wasn’t fully trusting in it.

  With each near miss of the cursed sword bringing him closer to his end, Morlen tried to rely more deeply on the Goldshard. But, his mind gradually constricted, as though suppressing so much in exchange for protection.

  Ever on the offensive, each stroke weakening Morlen’s tenuous position, Felkoth pushed him farther back from the peak’s center, moving him steadily toward its edge. Morlen returned Felkoth’s fire with fading vigor as his efforts proved to be in vain.

  He refused to be herded so easily and set both feet firmly to balance a forward stab, struggling to keep his hold when Felkoth batted away the attack and followed with a diagonal slash he barely had time to block. Thighs quivering, Morlen sprang up and lashed out broadly for Felkoth’s head, which ducked below the opportunistic cut. Then Felkoth kicked just below his ribs with a steel-toed boot, knocking his breath away and nearly taking him to his knees in pain. He quickly moved backward to avoid the Dark Blade, stumbling again, and caught himself as he staggered near the rim that curved yards behind.

  “It hasn’t served you as well as you’d hoped?” mocked Felkoth, quite relaxed while Morlen breathed through the nauseating pain, the Crystal Blade loose in his grasp. “A worm that sprouts wings may still be squashed.”

  Felkoth pressed in to finish him, but Morlen held firm, ducking the high swing to throw a straight hit that was harshly cast down while Felkoth’s knuckles drove hard into his temple, spinning him sideways with his sword defensively raised through blurred vision. Coils squeezed tighter around his faltering mind, where all was buried beneath the terribly bright gold, the only thing that could help him prevail. It had made him strong enough, fast enough… He knew it had. It would not fail him. It would help him win this struggle. It had to.

  He reared back and executed a desperate strike that barely moved the Dark Blade on impact, and Felkoth shoved him closer to the dizzying edge. “Give it to me, or I’ll cut you just like your father, and that bird-straddling fool.”

  Morlen surged forward, paying little heed to the deadly instrument’s proximity to his own thrashing limbs, and felt so much in himself that could taste the surface yet sank deeper each moment it was put aside for something else. Felkoth was openly unthreatened by his renewed assault, neutralizing each weak attempt before knocking him away with the back of his fist. Morlen went at him again, blades colliding at shoulder height, then higher when Morlen withdrew and struck for his pale throat. But Felkoth only enjoyed watching him bleed his last reserves dry, and finally pried his arms apart and wrenched the Crystal Blade from his limp hand with a powerful blow that sent it flying off the mountain, over the edge.

  Looking with dread as his sword arced a mournful goodbye through the open air and plummeted toward some distant resting place, Morlen glimpsed a dash of white that sped down in the same direction just as Felkoth beat him to the ground. His hair matted by dirt and blood, he rolled frantically to dodge while the Dark Blade smashed a rock to powder where his head had lain a second earlier, twisting both legs away from the attacks that followed. Then, sliding a hand into the pocket over his rattling heart, he clung tightly to the one thing that would save him, withdrawing it in an urgent bolt to stand upright again as Felkoth abruptly ceased pursuit.

  Morlen pressed the Goldshard against his body like a tiny shield, sharp and smooth, knowing the power it had given him would re-emerge at any second. But, that certainty only muddled his mind further, drowning him the longer he held out for what would not come.

  He was going to die, he realized as he backed slowly toward the sheer cliff while Felkoth inched in to flay him. But then, suddenly appearing on his right, Roftome ascended with the Crystal Blade firmly clasped in his talons, and quickly tossed it to him from above. “Show him a true fight, Morlen!” he called.

  Urgently reaching up to catch it, fingers locking securely around its marble grip, Morlen now held his sword in one hand, and the Goldshard in the other. And Felkoth charged with the Dark Blade raised high to deliver a crippling slash, one that would require both of his arms immediately to defend. But, if he relinquished the Goldshard, all of its effects would be undone, leaving him the way he’d been before turning to it for strength—weak, and afraid.

  He had no time, merely a fraction of a second to decide, and still his head swam dizzily with all that begged to be freed from beneath the repressive veil.

  Felkoth brought the Dark Blade whistling down, and Morlen released his hold on the Goldshard’s jagged shape, dropping it to clamp both hands around the base of his sword, ready to meet the worst. As the relic struck the ground at their feet, it burst in a tumultuous cloud of golden dust that knocked both of them flat to either side. Felkoth growled bitterly, slinking up onto all fours with his face twisted in horror at the wispy remains of his long-sought prize, which dissipated in the wind.

  “No!” He shuddered, scooping up what little his fingers could before it vanished, and cast all focus upon Morlen, waiting to watch him shrivel and cower. Morlen, too, expected a reverse transformation to take him as he stood, bracing for the ripping pain that would contract his muscles and dim his spirit to what it had previously been. But, no change occurred, even after Felkoth rose in front of him.

  “Why are you no different?” Felkoth seethed, scrutinizing Morlen’s form. “Everything it gave you is now destroyed.”

  Morlen knew this to be true as well, yet felt altogether the same—except lighter, as though some long-worn restraint had been thrown off, and the waters of his mind now flowed freely without the dam he had imposed.

  “Because,” said Morlen with new understanding, “it gave me nothing.”

  Felkoth scowled, his confusion oversha
dowed only by disdain. He at least would not be denied this singular pleasure, the pleasure of tearing through the one who’d foiled him at every turn and watching his innards spill. Resuming his advance, he intended to open Morlen from chest to waist. Morlen wove around the slice easily, needing not even to raise his sword when Felkoth brought on an angry flurry meant to kill a slower foe.

  “What is this?” Felkoth spat, but Morlen did not share his surprise, deflecting every persistent thrust and cut with speed that was, and always had been, his.

  Irked at how precarious it became to fight with one hand, which had more than sufficed up to this point, Felkoth clenched both together to launch an attack that Morlen nullified, until soon he could hold no ground that Morlen had a mind to take. And Morlen continued to halt the Dark Blade wherever it flew, driving Felkoth into a frenzy that further compromised his position as he threw his entire weight behind killing blows.

  Letting him miss by a feather’s thickness, Morlen spun Felkoth with each step. “Do you think your blade is a threat to me?” he asked, recalling Matufinn’s taunt while darting past another vicious lunge. “I’m already gone before it’s thrown.”

  Felkoth tried to take off Morlen’s head, but Morlen flowed beneath his swipe and kicked him over the unforgiving rocks. Springing up to stand, scuffed and disheveled, Felkoth thought Morlen would surely charge. But the dividing space remained intact with Morlen relaxed on the other side, even as he sprinted holding the Dark Blade out like a beast’s horn.

  Morlen swept the weighty stab aside, and Felkoth’s shoulder barreled into his chest as though it was a brick wall. Stunned by the bash, Felkoth collected himself to return fiercer hits in response. But Morlen moved too fluidly, battering him farther with each clash of their blades all the way to where they’d started, at the peak’s center.