by Chris Ward
There was a time before Revelyn existed, when the land was known as Morraine and it was inhabited by small but powerful creatures, known later in the child-stories of Revelyn, as Mountain Dwarves, although they only ever called themselves Dfors. They were not comfortable on the plains but they were great miners and tunnelers of the mountains. They sought precious metals and rare stone; these things they prized above all else. They lived at a time when magic and sorcery were powerful in the land; the dwarves themselves possessed a remarkable and magical ability to tunnel through the hardest rocks with metals only they knew how to forge. These skills were lost as the ancient Revelin moved into the land from the north. There was great enmity between these first humans settlers and the Mountain dwarves, for one lived in the open air, the other, like animals it was said then, in tunnels and lairs. Battles were fought, won, and lost, on both sides, but slowly the dwarves departed to other places beyond the human mind, and without record; and their passing was remembered only in stories of makebelieve.
But their tunnels remained.
The first King of Revelyn, King AllSunder, fleeing the violence of his people came upon the mighty river and there chose the site for his new capital. He was a great warrior, and brother of the mighty Lord Ramos who was the last king of the ancient Revelin of the north, and whose name the settlement was given. King AllSunder chose the site for his Royal Town partly because it was far south of the troubled north, but also because the hill on which he was to build his Palace contained what was then believed to be the most wondrous tunnel complex ever hewn by the Mountain Dwarves. Just below the summit of what, in later years would become known affectionately as the ‘Royal Hill’, a tunnel entrance was discovered which led deep and steeply underground to a vast array of chambers, halls and rooms. Even six hundred years later there was still more space below ground than stood proud above it in the form of the white polished marble and stone of the aging Palace.
One final tunnel remained to be explored. Deep beneath the ground, at the lowest level was a small but beautifully hewn passage, which sloped further down for five hundred steps until it ended in a solid stone door, which only Dwarves had ever had the skill to hew and balance and operate. On the door, carved deep into the rock was one word.
Sonder.
It stood bold in the middle of the massive door above a small slot for which a thousand possibilities had been put forward. It was believed that this word held the key to the opening of this last door, but although many had tried, none had succeeded in breaching the obstacle, either by wisdom, or magic, or tunneling around. The rock at that level could not be tunneled, being too hard some said, or rather that it was under a spell which blunted any tool. The door remained fast shut, and unyielding. No living creature had passed that way for almost an age.
What lay beyond that door was one of the great mysteries of Revelyn.
Half way down that final staircase was one last, vast chamber. It was here that all the records and history of Revelyn since the founding of the kingdom were stored. It was at the same time a library, and a museum, where forgotten relics lay out of sight in decaying wooden boxes or on shelves which none remembered.
It was to this library-store that Zelfos now slowly descended. There was a permanent guard placed at the top of the staircase, and one outside the huge oak doors which gave entry to the vast archive exactly two hundred and fifty steps below. The guards allowed Zelfos to pass without challenge, for it was he who had placed the sentries, and he was also custodian of all that the great chamber held. He, amongst all in Revelyn, had the greatest knowledge of what was kept safe so deep in the rock beneath the Palace. Except for one other.
The Skolar.
Zelfos entered the chamber without knocking and stood surveying the store. It was not well lit, so dark shadows held secret the limits of the walls, and the ceiling high above was beyond sight. Several large wooden benches covered in parchments, some leather bound, some just loose sheets, spoke of work and study of a rather haphazard nature. A rough wooden bed stood unmade by a wall close by, and several bowls and cups lay next to it. Long rows of high shelves disappeared in every direction into the gloom. It had the feel of a prison.
An old man with white hair and an unkempt beard sat on a stool behind one of the benches. He held a feather pen and had clearly been writing, for the parchment before him was newly inked. He looked up as Zelfos entered and watched with eyes that did not match the frail body which held them, for they burnt with an eager fire which spoke of a will unbroken, and love of the knowledge and history close by.
‘Ah the mighty Lord Zelfos returns,’ said the man. ‘An honour I am sure.’ He spoke with gentle sarcasm but it was clearly not veiled.
‘I hope you have fulfilled my instructions Skolar. I have had a rather unfortunate start to my day and I am relying on you to improve it.’ The Skolar as Zelfos had named the man did not reply, but placed his pen neatly before him, folded his hands and waited.
‘You know what I have come for.’ Zelfos spoke coldly and the Skolar began to tremble in a manner beyond his control, but he made no sound and when Zelfos’s sorcery ended he sighed and spoke as one would to a tiresome child.
‘What would my Lord require this morning? I must take you at your word that it is morning for I have not seen the sun for five years now. But of course you know that.’
His manner angered Zelfos. ‘You know that your life is in my hands. Do you not fear the death I can bring to you, this instant?’ To which the Skolar replied honestly.
‘Yes to the first, and no to the second. I have made some progress in the work you assigned to me but please go ahead now and take my life in the manner you deem necessary, for I have no fear of dying and there would be some release in it.’ He made some pretence to return to his work, which further infuriated his master.
‘When the time comes Skolar it will not be pleasant. I do not know from whence you came, I do not even know your name, nor I do not care, but it was your misfortune perhaps to come seeking knowledge as one who loves the pursuit of it as an end in itself. As for me, I have other uses for knowledge, and that is why I have kept you here, and I believe that there still burns in you some small desire to see the world above once more before you die. So let us not bandy words further. What have you found?’ He waited until finally the old man spoke.
‘The Sacred Sceptre and the Shadow Blade. The two great powers in Revelyn.’ The Skolar breathed their names in such a manner that even Zelfos found his heart pounding at the effect of their mention in such a dark and foreboding place.
‘You know much of them my Lord but there are some things hidden which have been revealed. First, of the Sacred Sceptre, I have found in one of the earliest parchments, so old it has all but fallen apart and become unreadable, that what we know is correct. That it has been forged with a power to bestow on the rightful heir to the throne of Revelyn an almost invincible authority in judgment and in battle. It is death to any who would claim it without the right. It is a magical thing, born of understandings now lost and with skills departed from this land.
‘I knew all this Skolar. What can you tell that is new?’
‘I found a drawing of the Sceptre, a simple sketch perhaps but it is old, from the beginnings of the Kingdom and perhaps even from the time of its creation.’
Zelfos’s eyes narrowed. He was interested but could not immediately understand why.
‘How can this help me old man?’ he growled
‘I would like to compare this early drawing with the present Sceptre. It is possible that what we have today is not the same as the original.’
Suddenly Zelfos saw the significance.
‘If it is not, this would explain much. Give me the drawing and I will take it immediately. This must be clarified with the utmost haste.’
The Skolar frowned in agitation. ‘Unfortunately I cannot do that.’
What!’ cried Zelfos. The old man held up his hands disarmingly; however he spoke assertively.
‘Please inform me Skolar, whilst your body still breathes,’ Zelfos hissed hatefully, for he did not like not being in control.
‘Bring it to me now. The Sceptre. Bring it here now. I know what the drawing was like. I have a mind that remembers these things perfectly. I can tell you if the Sacred Sceptre of Revelyn in your possession is the same as the original. Then I will look for the drawing and show it to you tomorrow, I just need a few hours and a little rest.’
Zelfos could see the logic in the old man’s suggestion and he dearly wanted to know the answer to the doubt which now gnawed at his mind.
If the Sacred Sceptre was not as it should be, if it had changed or a part was missing then the power of it would be greatly weakened. He had to know.
He paced back and forth for a moment then made his decision.
‘All right Skolar, I will bring you the Sacred Sceptre, and we will solve this riddle without further loss of time. In future however it would obviously help matters if you kept more order in your work.’
The Skolar simply shrugged his shoulders. ‘You are correct of course my Lord.’
‘Before I go, tell me of the Shadow Blade. What have you learnt of this?’
The Skolar sat back calmly and spoke as one with authority. ‘I have found the earliest record of this weapon. This I can show you.’ He laid a hand on an old leather bound parchment by his side, indicating that this document at least was not lost amongst the clutter of his workbench. He continued.
‘You will read this I am sure, but I will tell you what you will learn from it.’ The old man leaned forward, his voice suddenly earnest and excited.
‘The Shadow Blade was created before the mountain dwarves left this land, when Morraine was its name. It was created deep within the earth at a place the ancient dwarves called Sonder.’ He paused for a moment and watched as Zelfos took this in. They both knew that name, for it had stood on the impassible stone door in the passageway below them, two hundred and fifty steps down, defying all to understand or use it. Zelfos nodded quietly.
‘Interesting indeed Skolar; proceed.’
‘Two creatures formed it with the greatest of skill, and with magic or sorcery I cannot tell. BeWuilder the Dwarf master forged the blade. He above all of his kind could make steel for weapons and tools which could hew all other kinds, even rock. His blades would not dull and it is said that they almost were alive for they grew to know their master’s arm and could seem weightless to heft. The other creature appears only once in all the records I have searched. His name is El-Arathor, and he gave the blade a special charm, one that made Shadow Blade a weapon to be greatly feared, for all who looked upon it when it was wielded in battle, became mesmerized by its movement, and would stand trance-like unable to defend themselves. This Shadow Blade could be used against all kinds, wild animals, humans, and even creatures from worlds beyond understanding, from the shadows, and so it was called Shadow Blade. It has at its tip an inlaid metal which glows when the weapon is moved in battle or with intent. It would seem that this light cannot be ignored for its intensity is overpowering and magical.’
Zelfos listened intently, and when the old man had finished he hissed malevolently, ‘It is as I suspected.’
‘You have heard of these two, BeWuilder and El-Arathor?’ the Skolar inquired.
‘Of the Dwarf, I have never heard the name, but of the other,’ and here Zelfos shuddered visibly, which the Skolar noticed with interest… ‘of the other I have heard that name before.’
Silence dwelt between them for a moment.
‘Is there anything else you can tell me Skolar.’ Zelfos regained his composure.
‘Two things only desire. That the Sacred Sceptre and the Shadow Blade were made at the same time by the same two and were used by the Dwarf kingdom here in this place for an age before their time passed. The two objects were left behind and discovered by the first king of Revelyn, King AllSunder when he settled on this site for his kingdom. He found them on a tablet before the stone door below in the passage. How long they had lain there no one knows. Ever since, they have been the symbols of authority and power of Revelyn, without which the ruler cannot succeed, and with which an imposter will be exposed.’
‘You have done well Skolar.’ Zelfos almost smiled. ‘This is interesting but not more than I already knew or needed to know. What is the other gem of information you have for me?’
The Skolar paused before finishing his revelations.
‘The Shadow Blade was stolen from the royal house of Hendon. It disappeared some sixty, possible as long as eighty years ago. Its whereabouts are unknown’
‘But whoever possesses such a weapon would be a fearful foe,’ whispered Zelfos, from seemingly far away.
‘A fearful foe indeed,’ echoed the Skolar watching the other man’s face with interest. ‘Perhaps unbeatable.’
Zelfos jerked his mind back to the present.
‘Enough! I will bring the Sacred Sceptre at once. I demand you find the lost drawing before dawn tomorrow.’ With this angry pronouncement he turned and left the room. The old man smiled quietly and sat waiting for his return.
Zelfos was deeply troubled. The news the Skolar had given him was useful, but not good. He had expected to hear of the power of the Sacred Septre and the Shadow Blade, although the Blade seemed to be more fearful than it would seem possible, and he knew he had to have it. Somehow he vowed silently to himself, he would find it and claim it for his own.
It was the name El-Arathor which terrified him, for he had knowledge of this creature.
The Sacred Sceptre was kept deep below the palace, not far from the stairway which led down to the stone door and the royal archive where the Skolar had worked for Zelfos for five long years. It was guarded day and night and no-one, not the king nor Zelfos or any other, could pass unless an official decree was made bearing the royal seal of the king and witnessed by three senior advisors. Zelfos knew he could arrange for such a decree but it would take time, and time was something he could not waste on such petty procedures.
He approached the guarded royal vault which contained crowns and jewels and gifts of great worth as well as the Sacred Sceptre and once, the Shadow Blade. There were two guards, one on each side of the door. He greeted them warmly.
‘Good morning. I am on the king’s business.’ Before they could respond he gestured quickly with both hands, and in an instant, they were frozen. They could not move, like statues carved from granite, but alive.
‘I am sorry for your discomfort,’ Zelfos smiled coldly. ‘No, that is not true, I care not one bit for your discomfort, but you are alive and you can see and hear. It would serve my purpose better if you could not but I cannot kill you. You will remain like this for a short time and then I will release you. After which you will remember nothing.’
He took the keys from one of the guards and entered the vault.
The Sacred Sceptre lay on a red velvet cushion in a polished case. Next to it was another cushion on which the Shadow Blade had lain for hundreds of years, but which was now empty. He looked longingly at the vacant cushion for a moment before removing the Sacred Sceptre and carrying it carefully back to the Skolar.
‘Quickly Skolar, examine the Sceptre and tell me truthfully, upon pain of death. Is this the same as you have found in the ancient drawing?’
The old man took it reverently, and looked at it with the utmost care. He turned it over and around and held it to the candle light. He placed it on the work bench and stood back and viewed it from a distance.
‘Well, what is your verdict Skolar, is it the same or is there some change, something missing?’
/>
The Skolar frowned and replied in a quiet voice, tinged with disappointment.
‘I am sure beyond doubt, that this is the same Sceptre as in the drawings. It has not changed, nothing is missing. You have the complete Sceptre desire.’
Zelfos relaxed visibly, as though some great weight had lifted from his mind.
‘Now just find that drawing. I will return tomorrow and confirm your judgment. If you are incorrect you will die, for I will have little use for you hereafter.’ And with that Zelfos took the Sceptre back to its vault and released the guards from the spell which bound them. He then climbed back into the daylight.
The Skolar relaxed on his leaving so much that he shook for a while. He found it hard to regain his composure, such was the effort he had used to remain in control before his evil master. He was well aware that his life hung by a thread, and despite his seemingly casual acceptance that he would welcome death, it was true what Zelfos had said. He did hold a hope that once more he would see the world above. Slowly he found himself once more.
‘And now to work,’ he muttered clearing a space on his crowded bench; but he spent no time in searching for the lost document. Instead, he took a carefully selected piece of old parchment which he had torn from one of the oldest documents buried deep in the lost shelves of the room, and in a careful and skillful manner, drew a picture of the Sacred Sceptre as he had seen it just moments before. He had an excellent memory, and was a superb artist, and slowly over the next few hours he produced a drawing which perfectly represented the sacred object he had just held. He took care to use an ink which suited the task, for when it dried it looked quite ancient. He placed the drawing on the floor and dirtied it a little, and tore one corner off completely, ensuring that the tear itself was well fingered and dirtied. When finally he was happy with the drawing he placed it on the bench in readiness for the scrutiny it would surely receive. A meal arrived sometime before nightfall, a time he knew by the marked candles which burnt above his work bench. He was preparing to retire when, unannounced, Zelfos suddenly burst in.
