A Facet for the Gem

by C. L. Murray

  Tripping through stone fragments and smoldering slime that littered Bloodsong’s tomb, Felkoth struggled against Morlen’s unfaltering stride and cursed every effortless path of the Crystal Blade that thwarted his attempts at an offensive. Only one tiny cut was needed to end this, one slash of flesh, but his careless blows either missed or were parried. He could not endure such disgrace another heartbeat, and harnessed what little was left in him to unleashed a final vertical blow that Morlen could not possibly withstand.

  As the Dark Blade came thundering down to crack his head open, Morlen swung his sword with all the strength he possessed and shattered its vile metal into shards that blew back to pierce Felkoth’s neck and face.

  Felkoth drew an icy breath, teetering away half a pace with nothing but its hilt in his hand, and gazed on in shock, more beaten by the impervious look his enemy now gave than by his fatal wounds.

  “Who are you?” asked Felkoth fearfully, veins rupturing under sallow skin.

  Morlen stepped closer, peering deep into the malice of Felkoth’s eyes, malice that rushed to sink him. Then suddenly a swell of laughter shook from his core as he felt no urge whatsoever to avert his own, and it raucously carried through each second the outreaching shadow brushed but could not take hold of him. And in such rare fullness, he knew.

  “Morlen of the Blessed Ones,” he answered, turning with the Crystal Blade lowered at his side to walk out toward the summit rim.

  This was the last thing Felkoth heard as his buckling legs gave way, collapsing flat into a blanket of ash where all would waste and scatter.

  Standing at the high edge of the world, over the Isle’s distantly remembered shelter and cold stretching fields stained by death, Morlen gazed out, feeling great promise and hope in all that remained to be discovered, though he could not expect what lay ahead.

  He would greet it when it came, whether danger or good fortune, and knew only that—in this very moment—he was nothing less than whole.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Farewells

  A SWIFT GUST passed over Morlen’s shoulder, drawing him around as Nottleforf materialized a few paces ahead, beaming at him with pride. Feeling as though it had been ages since they’d last parted, Morlen approached him comfortably, knowing it would not just be a wizard or a mentor who listened. “The Goldshard never had any power to offer, did it?”

  Nottleforf’s ancient brow relaxed above his luminous eyes, and he softly shook his grayish head. “No,” he replied. “None but what you gave it, in your mind, so that you could finally see what Matufinn helped you uncover.

  “The admonition to Korindelf’s kings regarding its power drove them to be industrious and resourceful, reserving it for future generations who might need it more desperately than they. Had any of them turned to it before you, he would have had to face the same harsh lesson you did: the greatest power we have is the immeasurability of ourselves.”

  “Yet you told me never to use it, when you first gave it to me,” said Morlen.

  “Because I knew that Matufinn first needed to help draw away the curtain you’d raised against your capabilities. And after you’d gotten a clear glimpse of that potential, your trust in the Goldshard kept you a step ahead of your fear. But when we hold too long to that which shields us from our fear entirely, we forget what it is to be brave in the first place. We cling so hard to the rock beneath us that our only hope is to hear the kind soul who calls out for us to jump, and see the view that we’ve been missing.”

  Morlen became quiet at this open admission, and Nottleforf met his gaze more humbly, withdrawing nothing.

  “I spent so long hoping you would see yourself, as I knew one day you could,” said Nottleforf. “I think, deep down, I hoped you would see me too, see what I lacked the courage and clarity to face on my own.” His throat emitted a subtle rumble. “For a very long time, I have been Nottleforf. But, I have always been Morthadus; I know that, now. And you, Morlen, are one whom I have yet to match in heart.”

  Morlen looked down at the Crystal Blade in his hand, glad to finally have cause to sheathe it indefinitely, and basked in a cool wind made by Roftome’s landing at his side, patting his folded wings in a glad reunion.

  “Where shall we go now?” asked Roftome, not yet ready for rest.

  And Morlen glanced up at him with equal zeal. “Anywhere,” he answered, seeing endless possibilities for their further adventures. “Everywhere.”

  Climbing atop his welcoming seat, Morlen ushered Roftome to the peak’s center, and wrenched the Crystal Spear from Bloodsong’s cracked chest in preparation to leave.

  “Korindelf is without a king,” said Nottleforf as they came back toward him. “It is yours, by right.”

  “No,” Morlen replied fondly. “I think Korindelf would do just fine without one for a long while. But,” he mused, “perhaps a high guardian might suit her well. Would you be willing?”

  Nottleforf raised an obliging chin. “I was, long ago,” he answered steadfastly. “I shall be again. Besides, with you keeping watch over all lands from the skies, what troublesome duties could possibly encumber my many other pressing affairs?”

  Morlen nodded warmly at him, knowing this was not goodbye, and then lifted away, making once again for Korindelf, where the Eaglemasters looked to the smoking summit for his return.

  Day faded to cool, still evening when Morlen and Roftome descended to meet the Eaglemasters outside Korindelf. Its soiled people trembled out from captivity to open air, and broken families were reunited, piece by piece. Children throughout the city were emancipated from Felkoth’s supporters, who were shackled and gagged to be taken to work in Veldere’s silver mines.

  “They have much to rebuild,” said Verald while Morlen dismounted, surveying the downtrodden, malnourished masses. “Much that has been lost, that may never be renewed. But we will always be behind them, with every step, Eaglefriend. I swear it.” He extended a king’s hand of loyalty and friendship, which Morlen took firmly with his own, though his attention was held by none but Valeine, who looked at him now as she had many times before.

  Valdis’s body lay on the unmoving back of his perched eagle, Clodion, who maintained regal poise in grief, and Morlen strode reverently to his side. Gently, he lifted one of the fallen king’s folded arms and placed the Crystal Spear beneath it, against his still chest.

  Nodding in respect, Verald climbed atop his own carrier, directing the other Eaglemasters to follow suit, and Morlen felt the brilliant approach of many energies, turning to face the great lions with affection. He gazed toward the Isle in which he’d dwelt as one of their own, and conveyed a surge of gratitude for the happiness they’d shared in that place, where he did not intend to return.

  The ancient host grew heavy with the understanding that he would not run with them again, but would not harbor such sadness in their hearts for long. Holding instead to the lingering radiance of the one who had drawn them out, they traversed the fields with splendor that all beheld, and passed again through the mists that would forever house them.

  Mounted to lead the Eaglemasters’ assembled ranks, Verald looked down to address Morlen before departing. “We will bear our dead to rest,” he said, readying to leave. “Then return at first light with provisions for all people here, so the rebirth of Korindelf may finally begin. And she will forever have a powerful ally in the Eaglemasters, as will you, Morlen Eaglefriend, wherever you may be.”

  They rose together and soared as one red flame burning in the wake of Clodion, who bore Valdis far ahead into broad open skies that for once revealed no enemy on any side.

  Morlen and Roftome spent the next days surveying Korindelf’s continued reconstruction. The city’s people slowly transitioned back into the lives stolen from them, reclaiming homes abandoned and in disrepair, with scars of forced entry that evoked memories too cold for even the most comforting fire to erase.

  But fallow pastures would thrive again, in time, as would craftsmen re-hone their chosen trades, co
mmerce and lively activity surging once more through the city’s streets and village squares. Perhaps even a fresh crop of defenders would soon grow, under the Eaglemasters’ strict tutelage, though from which direction the next threat might emerge remained unknown.

  Parting clouds yielded countless roads before the two companions while they let every crossing breeze and tailwind steer them farther, higher, until vast reaches of sky and earth were theirs to discover.

  “I would often call any high-nestled perch near food and stream my home,” said Roftome, as the Eagle Mountains extended wide below. “But, my home must not be a place where I encounter no new shape or texture, no new challenge, or hope.”

  “Nor mine,” replied Morlen, warming one hand within his densely feathered side as they aimed for no particular destination.

  They coasted weightlessly over ranges that glistened, inviting them to explore the deep, dangerous paths and concealed wonders, and Roftome said, “Together, we may find those things.”

  Morlen held his hand tighter against his companion, needing no further shelter from the cold. “Together, we will,” he said.

  They passed above cliffs that overlooked the Eaglemasters’ realm, when a reflected glare from the nearest mountainside shone in a way reminiscent of their last foray through these heights. It drew them closer until both could make out the tall, transparent form that grew more solid as they approached, coalescing into the same armor-clad man they’d met once before.

  They landed a short distance away, and Morlen stepped down, suddenly recalling the Eaglemasters’ song at sight of the regal figure, whose elegant silver plating and helm shone in the sunlight.

  “My kin hold you in great favor.” The specter’s smooth voice carried far across the icy slope. “You and your friend have illuminated much, and may again, where more shadows creep. I know the richness forged in such a bond, and the joy, also, while it remains unbroken.” His young, faded eyes echoed long-remembered victories laced with regret and guilt, for which Morlen could not help but suspect the cause.

  Remembering their last exchange, Morlen said, “Your friend, whom you lost.” He paused at the sullen aura this seemed to evoke. “You did find him again, didn’t you?”

  No initial response came, and the man all but blended into their frozen surroundings until he finally said, “Only what he had become.”

  Morlen felt the bite of grief this confession carried, knowing more would soon follow as he asked, “And, what remained between you?”

  The ancient warrior became quieter than the high solitude in which they stood, until he replied, “Only pain. Before he struck me down, and I him.”

  Morlen’s gaze immediately centered on the severe slice carved through the thick pauldron before him, a mortal wound from a weapon he remembered well.

  The man nodded at his unspoken understanding. “You have broken the Dark Blade, which slew me in an age long past; but still I feel its sting, for it was delivered by one I held dear. We were like family, driven apart by forces beyond our control, till our efforts to not be conquered by them brought us face to face as kings—I of the Eaglemasters, and he, of the shriekers. What pains me the most is not the cut he inflicted on mere flesh, nor the thrust of my spear through his heart, but rather the look in his eyes as he swung to end me, as though there was no going back.”

  Morlen swayed in a heavy wind that passed through the one before him, and took comfort leaning with an arm outstretched against Roftome’s folded wing. The stranger’s presence began to withdraw, vanishing, though Morlen held every long stride in sight as long as he could.

  “Farewell, Morlen and Roftome.” His words resounded through the peaks. And, blurred by a vaporous expanse ahead, he concluded, “She looks for you, from her city.”

  Then, after a gust that left them both quite on their own, Morlen and Roftome felt no scathing chill or numbness, but only peace in one another’s company. The ghostly king’s final words drove Morlen’s mind toward Veleseor, and to the one he’d first met there, who made chaos and certain peril seem less daunting. She was there now, beginning to rebuild a place for her people, a place he would very much like to preserve, and be welcome in, as long as it was hers.

  “Are you up for paying the city men another visit?” Morlen asked, reclaiming his place on Roftome’s back.

  “I sense the city men, and women, would look favorably upon our presence,” Roftome replied, obliging without reservation.

  Surging upward, they plotted a course for well-known terrain, spurred by the refreshing lack of a plan or a goal. Morlen was unsure whether he went merely to reinforce what it felt like to be near her, or to tell her he would not return again for some time. But, regardless, he hoped to find her there, and hoped even more that she would be glad upon his arrival, whatever it might bring.

  Valeine stood proudly within her retaken seat of command at the fragile southern divide, where a billowing pyre swelled with those that had come to conquer and failed. Her newly anointed contingent of Eaglemasters stoked the warning flare to their enemies with heaping scoops of all that remained throughout the city, letting it smolder at the river to a pile of cracked horns that would give pause to any wishing to cross. But, her watch stayed fixed primarily on friendly skies, willing them to open and reveal the one who could come as he had before, and realize he needn’t wander to find his place.

  Morlen looked fondly down at the battered stronghold, and knew that its broken walls being mended brick by brick were safe as long as she stood within. Descending, he knew even the most enthusiastic hail from below would mean little next to the look of greeting he sought from her. She gave it long before he landed, and its reward was instantaneous.

  After dismounting with no trace of trepidation or uncertainty, he walked forward to meet her as she strode toward him until they came face to face, neither of them feeling clumsy in their mutual loss for words. The scent of her hair alone made the divine apples into a distant memory, and her skin flushed in a warm, unabashed sheen.

  “When you roam around up there,” she said, “what do you see?”

  Morlen tried to envision the boundless heights that mere moments before had been laid out at his fingertips. “Places I might go,” he replied. “Where I discover something greater than I would anywhere else.”

  Her fair cheeks gained a bit more color now. “And you came here.”

  “I did,” he said tentatively, “because, there is much more that we are still going to have to confront. And I wanted you to know that whenever it comes here, so will I.”

  Her expression sank, though it wasn’t cold. “But until then, what?”

  Glancing toward Roftome, who waited patiently behind, he then returned her unbroken stare that quietly knifed him.

  “Will death be all that draws you?” she pressed. “Will all the life that you’ve helped restore go un-enjoyed while you leave to unearth some far-off mystery? What about the one here, now?”

  Morlen prepared to turn, though finding himself partially anchored. “It will always be my greatest reason to remember where I’ve been, and to come back.”

  Then, knowing any further words would only spoil their parting, he returned to Roftome and silently took to the air once more, though no distance gained could diminish the pull he felt from her watch. They climbed welcoming gusts and slopes of fog, and yet the exhilaration brought on by such an open domain was somewhat lesser now. Roftome seemed to detect this in him also, exerting less forceful bursts to keep them from straying too far.

  “Morlen,” said Roftome, when his slowing drew no protest. “A great adventure is calling you, one that it may not be wise to forsake. As long as I fly and breathe, I am your friend, and I am with you. There will always be new places for us to go, new allies and enemies to meet. And we will go. We will meet them, together. But she looks to you now, and it may not always be so.”

  They eventually came to tread air in place, and Morlen craned his head toward the underlying city, hoping that she still he
ld him in sight. He could not wait until later, not another month, or day.

  She had watched until they shrank from sight, and continued to stare at the area where they vanished. Just as she made to look away, a tiny point reappeared and grew, drawing nearer and nearer as they descended toward her again. Her heart grew dangerously light while she could almost make out both of their distinctive outlines.

  Speeding downward again through every ruffling breeze, Morlen and Roftome enjoyed a wealth of riches in this flight alone, and in the certainty it was but one of many to come.

  They rushed faster, closer, still high above. Morlen already knew she hadn’t moved, that she saw him, the way he saw her.

  “She is smiling,” said Roftome, smugly.

  And Morlen smiled too.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Charles Laurence Murray was born in 1989 and grew up in San Diego, California. He spent many days lost in the humming, spark-scattering clashes between Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, caught up in a charge with the Riders of Rohan, and enthralled by the cadence and poise of Doc Holliday emerging from the shadows to face Johnny Ringo. When he was thirteen, he became obsessed with the idea of an eagle-riding, sword-wielding hero and developed it over the years into an epic, four-part series.

  Morlen and Roftome will return for more adventures as The Tale of Eaglefriend continues. For news about forthcoming books and deals, visit authorclmurray.com and subscribe.

  Copyright © 2016 C. L. Murray

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by Karen Conlin. Cover art by damonza.com. Map of Cryntor by Kevin L. Routon.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Mole

  Chapter Two