Passage to Glory: Part Two of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  She swallowed, unsure how to begin, or even what she would say to them. She felt so sorrowful, so broken and dismayed by all that had happened to them. For the moment she stood silently before the gathered host of Vulzdagg, Gefiny felt as if she shared the heavy grief of such misshapen people, carried it for them on already weakened shoulders. Was this how Dril’ead felt every night and day? Stumbling, almost crawling beneath the efforts of a people trying to live in a world meant for survival. Was this why he taught them so fervently to endure their hard times in order to live to see tomorrow, to never stop fighting for another day to stand again? Was this why he fell so many times to the ceaseless pains of his battle scars, hiding behind closed doors so none of his people would feel discouraged because of it? Was this why he was so strong?

  “Citizens of Vulzdagg,” Gefiny began, her voice almost failing her before such a large crowd, “I stand before you as your humbled servant, to speak to you of the things Dril’ead taught us and may still be teaching us. Ever he was our teacher, our protector, and our brother in life as now in death. He had long awaited the day to tell you of such things I am now about to tell, though it seems he teaches them in a different way than he had at first expected, leaving me humbled and ready to finish what he had set out to accomplish. Although I am not ready to lead you as he had led you, I must fulfill a dying wish that all of you be protected.

  “He had always said that death comes to us only once in our lifetime; and that we should be ready to receive that time when it comes. He urged us to prepare for the day our strength would be put to the ultimate test; and that we must be ready for the fight that will win our place among the glories above. Though that time is not yet upon us, it comes, and the coming is swift. I urge you onward to the same task as he. Ready yourselves for the day you will have to fight your own battle, to rise up unto a glorious position before you fall. For don’t we all rise up to something before we fall at one point or another in our short life? If so, then we might as well rise unto glory before the darts of our enemy’s rain down upon us!

  “They are already upon us. The death of our beloved captain was no coincidence, nor was it in vain. He died in an attempt to defend us against our neighboring Branch of Swildagg.” That statement drew several gasps and whispers among the people, but Gefiny pressed on quickly. “He did not abandon us, nor would he ever forsake us. But rather he would see us rise unto glory, even as he, before we fall.”

  She let her voice drift into the distance, a silence slowly consuming the area, and all the faces of the people were turned to their feet. However, and even as she felt as though she had said something wrong, Dril’ead’s students came out of the crowd and walked slowly and somberly up the steps to stand before Gefiny. There they laid down the swords, staffs and wands, unbuckling their belts and setting all their weapons at the feet of Gefiny Vulzdagg, and then kneeling on the steps bellow her. Even Nelastro came forward, Skandil of the academy of magical arts leading him by the arm, and he and Skandil put down their own belongings before taking their place among the rest.

  Gefiny frowned uncertainly. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked the students kneeling before her.

  One of them gathered the courage to speak, saying, “My lady, our teacher has passed on into another world, these weapons having been given to us by him for the purpose of learning, and so we have entrusted them unto you to do with as you wish.”

  Gefiny noted how they avoided looking up at her or even at one another, keeping their eyes and faces to the stones beneath them, nearly thoughtfully. Dril’ead had spoken to her time and time again of the love between the master and apprentice, almost explaining her own feelings for him. He had taught her throughout their childhood together, always telling her of the things he learned while among his own training under their father. And like Vaknorbond had left Dril’ead, Dril had now left Gefiny.

  Every member of the Vulzdagg Branch standing before her had witnessed firsthand the inspiring power Dril’ead had over the hearts of warriors, whether they were enemy or comrade. In their moment of final despair, the prince of Vulzdagg had drawn his swords, called them to stand together one last time, and lead them in the charge that won their victory. Because of the strength and undying determination of Dril’ead Vulzdagg, the Branch of Vulzdagg had been permitted to rise again.

  Had his sacrifice again allowed their existence? How long, though, would it last? She faintly smiled at the sincerity the students showed, and gestured to their weapons. “I doubt that lord Dril’ead Vulzdagg would, by any means, wish for your learning to cease. Please, if you would, take these back into your own keeping.”

  And so they retrieved their weapons from her feet, and as Gefiny turned to look toward Razarr standing behind her. Beside the chief captain was Leona’burda, and her expression was unreadable as she looked over the faces of all those standing in the gathering before them. When Gefiny looked to her, though, the matron of the city met her gaze with an even glance.

  “Our doom has been decided, then,” said Leona as she stepped forward to stand beside Gefiny. “I am old in spirit, if not in body, having watched the fates of these people come and then go like a wave over a beach, and I admit that my service has come to its end. I hoped – me and your father – that you and Dril’ead would together lead these people after us. Now that Dril’ead has gone, following after the path of his father, you are left alone.”

  Gefiny frowned at her mother’s words, the implications troubling her. She had promised Dril’ead to look after the people for him, and to care for their mother as well. But now that it suddenly became real to her, her strength seemed to diminish, and her hopeful determination gone.

  “Do not think this decision one chosen by a fool,” Leona continued, “If there were any other way to prosper these people it would be used to our best advantage, but the only way is through your rule.”

  “I understand,” Gefiny put in, suddenly recognizing a sense of urgency in her mothers eyes and tone. “I will lead them as best I can.”

  “I know you will,” said Leona evenly, and with that she walked passed her and into the crowd.

  The people moved aside as the lady of their city passed into their midst, and made a clear straight path for her as she made her way into and city and out of sight. No one followed Leona’burda in her trek out of the city, and no one among the gathered host of Vulzdagg heard or saw of her again. But Gefiny turned to Razarr, who looked forlornly after the path of his matron, and commanded him that his troops must be in readied formation before the hour was through.

  Razarr stepped forward to the edge of the gathering, and stretching his arm upward he said, “Come forward soldiers of the basilisk! Come and take your place before me and your new matron!”

  The soldiers of the city made their way through the crowd to stand before Razarr, obediently awaiting the commands of their captain and chief. One hundred and ninety two Vulzdagg soldiers stood with swords and spears, shields on their backs, at the feet of Razarr and Gefiny.

  “Now is the hour!” Gefiny called out to all the people. “Now is the time when our place among the ancient glories above shall be decided! This is the fight for your glory!”

  “Listen, my faithful soldiers, to the words of Gefiny Vulzdagg,” Razarr said determinedly to The Followers standing with readied weapons before him, “For it is the sound of glory, giving unto you its command,” and he met each eye of his soldiers in turn.

  Gefiny drew her scimitar suddenly as she cried out to her people saying, “The darkness falls!”

  9

  A Promise worth Keeping

  Find them.

  Dril’ead was no longer falling down the chasm rift. He was running across a plain alight with silver starlight and moonlight, charging a great distance but never tiring. His determination to reach the destination set before him would not allow weariness. However, he couldn’t say for certain what it was he was going to do, or where he was even going. All Dril knew was that he had to get there
.

  A persistent thought kept pushing him forward. The thought seemed to come and go as it would, triggered by nothing except when thinking of it himself, and then there was no denying it. How could someone deny something so relentless; full of a great passion in and of itself, and is so convincing of its importance and truth. He had to do something, it kept telling him. He had to…

  Find them.

  Find who? The thought was so vague he began to suspect that it was that indistinctness that drove him on, like the mystery of a story keeps the listener seated on the edge of shock. Even when a mountain arose before him, rising up as if growing out of the horizon itself, he could not allow himself to stop – it would not allow him to stop – and so he would leap with the momentum of his charge into its side only to begin climbing.

  He could not go around these enormous mountains, he had tried it once before, but it only extended with the horizon; and so he was climbing its jagged side, grasping with strong fingers whatever outcropping would hold his weight. And it all seemed so real, the wind blowing against his back, the tough surface of stone beneath callused fingers, and the silver light cascading down upon him from above… The strength in his arms suddenly faltered, useless.

  A wave of warm moisture struck him in the face, rolling over his body in a great swell as he felt himself lifted off the surface of the cliff, and he was falling upward in a roaring wave. It was then that Dril felt the sandy base of a rushing stream, his head slamming against it as he was flung forward to smash against any inanimate objects. Loose stones struck him in several places, and where they did not strike him he struck hard against their sides. He tried throwing his hands forward to guide his blinded way through the agonizing current, but his arms were unresponsive. Instead, he struggled to plant his feet.

  His legs flew with the current of the swell, knees bending against a force greater than his own strength, and he managed only to drag his toes in the sand of the rivers base. Eyes shut tight against the spray of rushing water, Dril trusted in his instinct to know where the surface of the river would be as he angled himself. He pushed off with what force he could muster towards the surface, and almost immediately after his strained leap his head and shoulders came clear of the water with a spray. Gasping for breath, eyes wide in shock and terror, Dril looked up toward what had been a starlit sky and saw only blackness. He was no longer running across a moonlit plain, climbing an enormous mountain – but was back in a chasm rift deep beneath the earth.

  The flow of the warm river took a sudden turn, throwing Dril’ead against the wall of the chasm with the force of its continuous progress, and he cried out as his body helplessly struck the hard surface with a stinging pain. His arms still refused to move, but the flow of the water kept him adrift as it rushed round the bend where it would unavoidably fall; crashing down another rift in the chasm.

  This time his shout of alarm was drowned by a splash as he fell into the continuing stream. He swooned while beneath the watery surface, the chaotic happenings around him becoming distant as his mind fell back into itself as it had been before.

  The roar of rushing water became a thunderous wind on a high mountain peak.

  *****

  Find them.

  Why? How is it that you persist so urgently to tell me this thing? It is as if my conscience has finally given way to the curse which has been laid upon me, to be driven mad by existence when all else crumbles around me! The footsteps of my father’s throne, the life of my people suddenly placed in the cruel grip of the merciless Swildagg’s, and now this vague demand haunting me through these darkened passages!

  Find them.

  Not even in death may I rest? I have sworn my allegiance to the all great and powerful Urden’Dagg, I have proven trustworthy in battle many times, and I have given my life to the service of these endless conflicts to at last die upon the charred and battered field of someone else’s homeland . . . Then stood up again to keep fighting! Please, whatever fault I have committed before your ever watchful eyes, forgive me of it!

  Find them.

  My father made me promise to never let his beleaguered mind throw down the foundation of our strongholds! What was I supposed to do when he made the decision to deliver my brother into thy hands? I kept my promise! I tried to stop him by whatever means I could! And yet my brother is parted from me . . . Forgive the wretched fool that I am. I should never have made a promise to that which I knew I could not do…

  Find them.

  Find them? You want me to seek them out in the darkest pits of this cursed world? They are in the keeping of the Urden’Dagg, whose keeping is you for all I can tell!

  Find them.

  Enough with you!

  You must…

  Blasted thoughts, be silent!

  … Wake up.

  His eyes flicked open. He was on his back, a rough surface beneath his shoulders, and all around him was dark with the afterimage of a fire as the infrared spectrum began to reveal itself to him. All he could tell from this angle was that he was alone in an empty cavern, lying as if he had been asleep for some time. There wasn’t a scent in the air. It all felt so crisp and clean.

  But he was alone. He hurt, too. It hadn’t been noticeable before, but a throbbing in his shoulders began to increase with each labored beat of his heart. He set his jaw, grimacing at the awful pain now flowing through his arms as he tried to move them. They conceded, lifting scraped and bloodied hands upward, though the pain exploded in his shoulders. It felt as if his very shoulder had been torn apart by the horrid maw of some wild beast. But he couldn’t recall ever . . .

  Wait a moment!

  A memory flashed in his mind like a torch being lit in a dark room, splaying light across the chamber floor to blind those surrounding it for a brief moment. An emotion passed through his conscious mind; an explosion of pain followed by fury at the sight of a slain basilisk. A name echoed in his mind, the cursed name of a terrible demon sent to destroy him. He had been betrayed, fallen from the tower of someone who had claimed to be his friend, and then perished in a storm of rushing air before being enveloped in something awful.

  It was all coming back, every painful moment of it. Dril’ead let his arms back to his sides, clenching his eyes shut as well as his jaw, wishing he had died instead of having to endure so much of the pain. It was so relentless. Tears streamed out of his eyes because of it and heartache.

  How long can one endure so much pain!

  A part of him wanted to give in, accept that overwhelming despair and be done with the ceaseless struggles and the battles day and night. However, another part of him would not allow it. He would fight. He would endure. And if it proved to charge all of his strength and effort, then he would die fighting the overpowering desperate feelings of a foolish and frightened mind.

  I failed! I lost my chances! I lost it all in a single turn!

  But you keep what you will always have. You will keep your will to fight.

  But the pain!

  His body suddenly convulsed his back arcing up as a sudden stab of furious pain tore through his ribs and into his heart. His shoulders burned, but his heart seemed to shatter in his chest as if a cold prong ripped in through his back. Rolling onto his side he gasped for breath, but the intake only enhanced the pain, and his gasp became more of a groan. Now cradling his head between his hands, Dril began to recall a distant memory that seemed no more than a face now.

  It was the face of his beloved sister.

  “Gefiny,” he groaned in a voice hardly discernable as his own. It felt as if his throat split as he spoke, his voice catching on a raspy note as flecks of blood stained the rock beneath him. “Save me, dear sister. Save me.”

  Either because his prayer was answered, or the effort to speak used the remainder of his strength, Dril’ead Vulzdagg fell upon his face and thought the time had at last come.

  Find them.

  Dril was too tired to even think. He didn’t care anymore. So the command repeated itself again
and again, urging him awake only to give the same command it had given seconds before. Something stirred inside him, like a storm waiting to be released upon an exposed territory. He had to move, had to do something that would benefit the existence of his name throughout the corridors of the Shadow Realms. His father’s final words to him sounded in his mind, reminding him of the reason for all the endless pains and torments he had endured from that day until now.

  In a way he had failed his father. However, in that same way he had allowed the dying wish to be sealed by his parting. Dril’ead had let them go, instead turning to face the threat that came upon their people at that time, looming above them in readiness to destroy them all.

  One must live.

  You keep your will to fight.

  Find them.

  All of a sudden, Dril felt strength again. His limbs became alive with the rush of blood through his veins. However bloody, worn and beaten he might have been, the prince of the Vulzdagg Branch lifted himself up onto his hands, and then his knees. Then, with some laborious struggling against agonizing pain and dizziness, he stood upon trembling feet.

  It was then that he realized he was dressed in his mesh armor and combat boots. His purple spider-silk cloak still clung round his neck, though it appeared to have been torn and ripped in various places. As he examined himself, Dril saw where his armor and been crushed over his shoulders, blood still seeping from the wounds where Gorroth had chewed him. His scabbards were still in place on his belt round his hips, only one scimitar remaining in its covering. He gripped this weapon as he remembered his struggle with Gorroth on the edge of the Swildagg frontier, and the damage the demon had dealt upon him and his mount.