Passage to Glory: Part Two of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  Dril’ead returned the nod as his escort opened the door for him, and then passed into the enormous chamber before them.

  Without a second glance at the stalagmite thrones set in the center of the throne chamber, he and the guard passed through and went straight for a set of double doors upon the right-hand wall, through which was the chamber known to all as the Circle of Power.

  The doors were open wide to reveal the many wounded citizens who had risked their lives in the defense of their city. They lay upon mats spread across the floor, and the healing mages moved about as they enacted their spells of curing such wounds as theirs. Over a hundred of soldiers from the Grundagg branch had found their way into the city of Vulzdagg while tracking a pack of Horg’s out of their own land. Those soldiers had risked themselves for Vulzdagg just as much, if not more, than even its own members had.

  Vulzdagg would be eternally grateful for the sacrifice that Gregarr of Grundagg made by commanding his small but efficient troupe to stand guard at the citadel gates of Vulzdagg. They stood with weapons poised in defense of those doors, and many of them died where they stood before the gates.

  Gregarr himself had not fallen, and a good number of his soldiers had lived out that dreadful hour to stand among the ranks of Vulzdagg in the final charge that brought forth the triumphant victory of the one branch. However, in the end it was the Urden’Dagg who had saved them all from their perilous doom.

  Too many had died for any celebration to be held. The people of Vulzdagg and Grundagg had been too busy gathering what people they had remaining to be joyous for their spared lives; for too many members of either branch had fallen slain by the beings of the lesser realm.

  Grundagg had left on their own way, leaving Vulzdagg to sit in their ruined city and remember the cause for which they had survived.

  “The Urden’Dagg has spared us few for these days of mourning darkness,” Dril’ead said to himself as he entered the chamber of the Circle of Power, looking about at his painfully groaning and exhausted people.

  The guard guiding him looked sidelong at his lord. “But why had it waited until the last moment to save us, why not sooner?”

  “A sacrifice was to be made,” Dril’ead told him, “to bring us back into its favor.”

  “You mean the deaths that our people suffered, or the sacrifice that Grundagg offered in our protection?” the guard asked curiously.

  “No,” Dril’ead replied. “Grundagg had no other choice. They had been trapped within our city and could not escape. But if they had a choice I doubt that they would have come to our call. I again say no, it was not even the spilled blood of our people in the defense of our city, or the blood of Grundagg in defense of themselves and us; but rather it was the sacrifice the noble house of Vulzdagg made by handing over the noble child of the basilisk unto the Urden’Dagg.” Dril’ead stared forward, his expression solid and unreadable by any who saw him. However, a tinge of rage seemed to boil within his eyes.

  “Neth’tek Vulzdagg is gone,” the guard whispered in astonishment. “But, where has he gone?” He looked at Dril’ead for the answer.

  Dril’ead did not reply for a moment, but inhaled deeply. “To the greater realm of the all great and all powerful Urden’Dagg, Neth’tek Vulzdagg has gone.” He heard the guard gasp in amazement at his side.

  They walked between and around the mats whereon the injured lay, and the mages as they knelt beside the wounded with glowing palms over their tortured bodies. They would all eventually be healed, but not all of them would walk or speak the same hereafter; for the healing power of The Followers has its limits, as does most things in the shadow realm.

  At last the guard ushered Dril’ead to where a young fighter lay. His forehead and eyes were bandaged so that he could not see, and his chest wrapped about with linen cloth. The fighter lay perfectly still, but his chest rose and fell with each intake of his raspy breath. He was severely wounded, Dril’ead could already tell from the appearance of this particular soldier.

  “This is Nelastro,” a mage beside them said, indicating the fighter at their feet. “I believe it was you, lord Dril’ead, who brought him in.”

  “Indeed it was,” Dril said while in deep thought.

  The mage nodded as he knelt beside Nelastro, and gently took his hand to get his blind attention. “Nelastro, lord Dril’ead has come as you requested.”

  Nelastro stirred, turning his head toward the direction of the mages voice, and asked in a voice that was weak and faint of breath, “Where is he?”

  The mage looked up at Dril’ead, who watched Nelastro with a somber expression. He met the eyes of the mage and knelt beside Nelastro as the mage indicated, but kept his eyes on the mage as he was unsure of what he was supposed to do.

  As Dril’ead knelt, though, the scarred hand of Nelastro raised shakily upward to touch Dril’s cheek. “I hurt,” he said to Dril’ead as he lowered his hand back to his side. “My eyes burn with pain.”

  “I cannot stop the pain,” Dril said to him solemnly.

  “He called us out to fight,” Nelastro gasped as he suddenly strained against an inner pain. “Lord Vaknorbond called us out to fight!”

  “He did,” Dril said with a nod, despite him knowing Nelastro couldn’t see through the bandages. The name of Vaknorbond belonged to Dril’ead’s father and previous lord of Vulzdagg. He had left, with Dril’s young brother Neth’tek, into the greater realm of the Urden’Dagg.

  Only Leona’burda the matron of Vulzdagg and mother of Dril’ead and his sister Gefiny, and those who the nobles permitted, knew for certain where the two missing nobles of Vulzdagg had gone. Everyone else brewed upon rumors. The nobles could not afford the knowledge of unbalance being known to even their own people, especially during the present dealings.

  “Lord Dril’ead,” Nelastro said to him, interrupting his thoughts, “I do not wish to be among the dead. I do not wish to lay here in my agony, listening to the groans of my fellow comrades. I must continue my training or else my sanity will flee from me, and I shall die here in my steady pains.”

  Dril’ead looked up at the mage and studied his grave expression, and then turned back to Nelastro. “What will you endure, Nelastro, that shall threaten your very reason and purpose?”

  “I cannot see!” Nelastro groaned. If his eyes were uncovered, Dril’ead would have noted the tears. “They tell me that I have lost the ability to see!”

  Dril turned back to the mage. “Is there nothing you can do?”

  “We’ve tried all we can. If we call any more strength from the forces within his body, he will certainly die. His body has been weakened beyond our healing power, I’m afraid. But I assure you, my lord, that if there was something I could do – any of us could do – we would do it,” the mage frowned, looking down at Nelastro with pity in his eyes. “Even after removing these bandages from over his eyes, he will never see again.”

  Dril looked back to Nelastro. The blind fighter’s face furled as he fought the weeping sensation. Pity indeed was all Dril’ead felt when he saw Nelastro now. Before, Nelastro had been among the most skilled of his students. He was proud and had a great deal of self confidence then, and had beaten nearly every student who he had challenged or had challenged him in sparring duels. Only until Dril’ead saw him approach Neth’tek Vulzdagg had he been undefeated.

  Neth’tek had defeated him in their sparring duel, leaving Nelastro humiliated. He never got the chance to prove himself thereafter. Nelastro was now blind, and could therefore never fight the same way again.

  The hand of Nelastro suddenly took hold of Dril’s forearm, tightening in grip as he turned his bandaged face toward him. The arm shook with anxiety and pain. Dril placed his hand comfortingly upon Nelastro’s.

  “Train me!” Nelastro gasped in his burning pain. “Please, lord Dril’ead, train me or else I shall die with no cause.” There was a pleading tone in his voice, as if his very life depended upon it.

  Dril’ead thought for a moment, wondering w
hat he could possibly do for his crippled student. Nelastro had fought in the battle and had received his wound, but would not give up his longing to train and become better. Such great strength Dril’ead saw in this fighter. There was a willingness to serve, and die serving if fate decided it.

  Dril’ead smiled despite himself, and shook his head in wonder of his determination. “I see I cannot sway your mind,” he said with his smile, and nodded as he came to terms with himself. “You get your wish, and may go back to training. However, being concerned with your disability to see I will set you aside from the others and group training, and shall appoint to you my most trustworthy instructor.”

  Nelastro’s grip tightened around Dril’s arm. “Thank you, my lord,” he whispered, relaxed, but not removing his grasp on Dril’s arm. “But, my lord, I would rather have you guide me as your apprentice.”

  Dril’s brow furrowed in deep thought. It was uncommon for a student to choose his or her own master, though, when one was asked by the youth of society to be taught by the knowledge and understanding of another, it was rarely put down. It was considered a great complement to be personally asked by a student to share ones knowledge with him or her. However, it was a custom among most that the nobles teach only the nobles, as did the commoners teach only the commoners. And so Nelastro’s asking of Dril’ead’s knowledge to be taught him was considered out of tradition.

  Despite himself and the traditions of his people, Dril’ead found it not only his obligation to commit himself to the crippled Nelastro, but also his duty as chief instructor of the Vulzdagg students. As far as Dril’ead could recall, there had never before been such a request as that of Nelastro’s.

  Dril’ead made up his mind before he thought too deeply about it, and glancing for a moment at the bewildered expression of the mage beside them, Dril gently patted Nelastro’s hand encouragingly.

  “Of course, my dear student,” Dril’ead said to Nelastro. “I shall teach you all that I know when the appropriate time comes. For now I ask only that you rest yourself from your sorrows, thoroughly recover your strength for the future work at the hands of these blessed mages.”

  Nelastro sighed, laying his hand back to his side and falling into what soon would be a peaceful sleep. It seemed to Dril’ead that his acceptance of the apprenticeship had removed a heavy burden from Nelastro, and seeing the calm expression fall upon his bandaged face relieved Dril from a few of his own troubles.

  Nodding his appreciation to the mage, Dril rose and went on his way toward the entrance of the courtroom, stopping once or twice as a voice or weak arm reached out for him as he passed by more of his wounded soldiers.

  None of these, he prayed as he heard the distant clang of the bell outside the citadel, would be numbered among the dead this day.

  2

  Secrets and Deceits

  A tower of stalagmite stone and rock signified the branch of Swildagg, and Nel’ead Swildagg was by right the lord of the Swildagg branch. He was the eldest son of lord Hestage Swildagg and lady Eldrean Swildagg, and so it was by the right of his heritage and birth that he be the lord of Swildagg in the place of his father, who had long sense been missing.

  The nobles of Swildagg now consisted of the three sons and the two daughters of Hestage and Eldrean, and none of them could say for certain where Hestage had gone. Nel’ead had searched for his father for the passed two weeks since his disappearance, and after all that time he still could not find any trace of his branches lord. Without a lord to guide and direct the peoples doings, all knew they would fall into disorder and chaos; destroying themselves and having nowhere to go and no one to look to. It was Nel’ead’s right as the rightful ruler of the branch to see that that never came to pass for his people.

  Nel’ead stood upon the peak of the Swildagg branch, surveying the far distances before him in the utter blackness of the shadow realm. Even with the infrared vision of The Followers, one could not penetrate the distances of unexplored caverns and rock. He searched for any sign of life in the depths below the towers mountainous platform, and for any indication of his missing father or those soldiers who had vanished with him.

  Vulzdagg remained in sight at the very edge of the infrared spectrum that Nel’ead viewed intently. The city stood as it had always stood for over the passed few hundred decades, building in strength and diminishing as it had always. But two weeks prior to this day it had nearly collapsed as a great host of lesser beings were released upon it with the intent to destroy it. Now pondering this aspect, Nel’ead came to a sudden realization that on the same day those beings of the lesser realms fell upon Vulzdagg, lord Hestage Swildagg had gone missing with his company of faithful troops.

  Where had Hestage been going? What had happened to him on the road toward Vulzdagg, and why was he going there? Nel’ead scowled suspiciously at the city of Vulzdagg in the distance, wondering what power could have awakened the lesser realm to turn it upon Vulzdagg.

  If Hestage was going to their aid, he would have informed the nobles of his family first, and taken with him a greater force of fighters as well. But if he was to possibly destroy the nobles of the Vulzdagg branch, as secretly and unnoticeable as possible, then the pieces of this broken puzzle before Nel’ead began to take form and make sense. A sensation in his heart told him that his estimation of Hestage’s treachery against their neighbors was correct.

  However, one question remained that needed to be answered. “Why would Hestage Swildagg turn against the nobles of Vulzdagg?” Nel’ead’s scowl furrowed even deeper as he felt a burning and strangely empty hate against Vulzdagg. “Secrets . . . Secrets that should not be kept secret.”

  Nel’ead turned from the spectrum with a flip of his purple cloak, and went swiftly down the staircase into the citadel’s highest level. Behind him the door and latch magically closed, ceasing any unwanted persons entry into the stronghold of Swildagg. After passing through a narrow passageway, Nel’ead came out and into an extremely circular and wide floorless chamber, a staircase spiraling along the length of the walls as it led downward into the guard chamber below. And, below the guard chamber, was the throne room of Swildagg.

  Guards patrolled up and down the staircase at regular distances, each turning round at the eleventh step to patrol down before going back up again. It was a tiring but necessary duty for the protection of the citadel. Any enemy that might gain access through the crown of the tower would be spotted coming down the open stairway.

  Nel’ead went down the stairs and passed by each guard with no more than a glance. He followed the stairway, passing closed doors into various chambers of storage or sleeping quarters, until leaping down to the level ground of the guard chamber. The chamber he now walked through was filled with instruments with which the guards trained themselves. The chambers of the guards were set into the walls, each with a single door giving entrance into the single room within.

  One of these doors, however, led to a twisting stairway that went down twenty or so steps into the courtroom below. Nel’ead took this stair and passed down the flight of steps until coming out through a small entrance into the courtroom of his family.

  The chamber was empty of any nobles. Only the guards stationed along the walls were present at the moment. The two stalagmite thrones were empty of the lord or the lady, and the candles lining the circular walls burned low.

  “Send for the nobles,” Nel’ead said to a nearby guard as he stood at his station beside the stairway entrance to the guard chamber. The guard bowed in acknowledgment and went across the chamber to a set of double doors, behind which was the noble quarters and the Circle of Power.

  Nel’ead watched the guard go until he disappeared behind the doors and then strode toward the two thrones with determined strides. If Swildagg required a lord, Nel’ead would be the one responsible to see that requirement fulfilled, and so he sat himself in the throne of his father with a sigh of relief.

  As he sat, Nel’ead felt the gaze of every guard in the chamber turn towa
rd him. He sat back in the large seat, pretending not to notice their glances and sidelong stares; for Nel’ead believed that they needed him to do this. The citizens of Swildagg needed him to do this, or else they would all fall.

  The door to the noble chambers and the Circle of Power reopened as the guard escorted the Swildagg family into the courtroom. They all had on a curious look as they entered, but as one by one they noticed Nel’ead sitting in Hestage’s throne, their expressions changed to one of bewilderment.

  Nel’ead waved his hand at them as he laughed at their reaction to his placement. “Greetings my brothers and my sisters, and also our matron mother of the Swildagg branch; I have been pondering upon the complexity of our present state of late, and have come to a conclusion as our enemies were made known to me. We are indeed in an hour of bafflement, but I ask for you to remove your visages of confusion and replace them with eyes of understanding and wisdom in these troubling days.”

  Eldrean removed herself from her children and stood before Nel’ead and her throne. “You speak of enemies, Nel’ead, and of a conclusion to our present state. To what and whom are you referring to?”

  Nel’ead leaned forward in the throne, looking each member of his family straight in their eyes before relating what he had discovered while atop their citadel as he watched the vicinity around them. His two sisters and two brothers were present, each standing with furrowed brows as they waited for Nel’ead to explain to them the meaning of him seating himself in the throne of their father and calling them to a meeting.

  The eldest of them was the Swildagg daughter Alastra. Following were the two brothers Elemni and Jastrum, and then the youngest and sister of them was Tyla. They were each equipped with a certain prowess. The three brothers and sons of Swildagg were trained in the melee art by their father, and while Tyla was the head mage among the branch, Alastra trained day and night with a more complex element of melee fighting. She was strong – very strong – and more daring than any who had ever proclaimed themselves relentless.