The Secret of Azuron (The Sword Empire Book 1)

by J. R. Kearney

  "I found the marker," Landau said disappointed. "Looks as though somebody fought for the treasure a long time ago. Don't worry, we'll head back home as soon as we get you out of here."

  Elliott watched Landau hack away at the vine, every swing put pressure on his leg but the vine was thicker than pig's skin. He chipped away at it ineffectively, before he tossed the stone aside in resignation.

  "Look we tried," Elliott said with compassion, realizing how much this mattered to Landau for the sake of his father. "We can find some other way. Hopefully it just don't involve dark dungeons and singin' forests."

  "If Melly could see you pinned down like this she wouldn't be so kind. Let me find something sharper to cut through."

  While Elliott continued to shimmy free, Landau returned to the room with the sword, only now he thought how odd it was for a sword to be wedged into solid rock as it was. He gazed at it for some length, before he curiously positioned himself behind it, and tightened his hands around its weathered hilt. With childish strength he gave it a mighty pull.

  The sword didn't move at all, and Landau was exhausted from one attempt, he couldn't even manage a nudge. Before he could consider other possibilities, Elliott yanked his legs free from the vine, his pants covered in the odorous gunk.

  "My that's rotten, have you ever known such a smell? The Elder's gonna want to know where I got this one, no mistakin'."

  Landau smiled at his constant concern for the Elder. He removed his jacket flustered while Elliott collected what dispersed from his fall.

  "At the very least, this was a great find Landau," pocketing his gemstone. "Bet you Clancey would be impressed you found…"

  Elliott continued to speak but to Landau his voice was drowned out by a vehement rumbling that echoed within itself, deeper than a growl, close enough to hear but distant. Landau trundled to identify the sound, dark whispers reverberated around him and vibrated through his very mind. He looked at Elliott who gave it no attention, the whispers snapped in his ear, quick and non-sensical.

  Behind him the sword struck him as frightening, but suddenly enticing. The voices subsided, and he stood idle for them to return, but the commotion ceased before he proceeded to the stone that imprisoned the sword.

  Landau placed his ear towards it, as though the sword would call his name. His hands felt bewitched to grip the hilt once more, so he planted his feet firmly and leaned back for one more pull. Several seconds he persisted to pull it free, his feet placed on either side of the hilt, using his weight he pushed against the stone, and gave it a strong jerk, when unexpectedly the sword nudged. Landau immediately let go and collapsed in weakness, surprised that it had shifted.

  Elliott returned to discover Landau yielding on the floor, wondering why he panted so heavily.

  "What's the matter? Did you find anythin'?"

  "Just this sword," Landau pointed out, hands on knees. Elliott had seen few swords to know this one didn't impress him.

  "Leave it Landau, we best be goin'. We need to go now to have any chance of gettin' back by nightfall, we still need to figure out how we’re gonna get ‘round them bugs."

  "The marker in the book wasn't a symbol, it was a sword in a stone, do you remember?"

  "It's hardly a treasure Landau. Look at it, rusted and decayed. I've seen better swords in a scrap heap."

  Landau promised one more try, again he hovered over the sword and enveloped the handle with his fingers while Elliott stood by in silent disinterest.

  With his left foot Landau pushed against the stone, while his arms thrust backward with muscles unknown, the sword slowly grinded its way loose, and with a final heave Landau removed the last of the blade, chuckling in disbelief that he succeeded.

  "I'm sure it will make you a fortune," Elliott claimed with sarcasm before he bustled towards the tunnel. Landau inspected the sword, the blade was corroded and somewhat moist, its edges were blunt and the hilt holding it together was torn and jagged. Still he commended how light it was, holding it outward with one hand, yet despite his determination to claim it the weapon was unimpressive.

  Ready to discard it, the rust began to sprinkle off the blade like desert sand, and the moist residue on the blade trickled to the ground in a puddle like water, until the sword sparkled and appeared polished. He paused in confusion before a rock fell in the distance, though nobody had thrown it, another was heard behind him, then aggressively the ground shuddered beneath their feet. Elliott shouted for Landau to flee, fearing something was headed towards them.

  With sword in hand Landau was distracted, for the blade became ablaze in blue fire, swimming around its piercing metal, causing Landau's arm to shake as the sword trembled violently, unable to let it go. The fire became unstable and like dragon's breath it expelled a fiery spray from the tip of the sword, and unleashed the fury of the mountain.

  The ground quaked beneath him. Landau fell and in the midst dropped his gear and the sword, Clancey's book catapulted into the debris along with the map. Elliott hurried ahead, his cries drowned out by the roaring of the mountain. Monuments and boulders crashed around him, and the dust from their collapse troubled his sight. Landau gathered his jacket and grabbed the sword with it, before he bolted through the tunnel towards the mouth of the cave. They ignored the harrowing bugs from earlier and charged past them without a worried thought, sprinting through the obstructed passage and back into Evenn Woods.

  A generous distance from the cave did they dive to catch their breath, the air difficult to swallow and caused Landau to collapse on his backside. Elliott peered into the direction they ran from, a plume of dust weaved its way through dampened trees, but soon came no closer.

  "What devilry was that?" Elliott missing entirely what transpired.

  Landau was reluctant to explain, Elliott hadn't seen the sword's exhibition and he was at a loss to clarify it himself. Instead he shook his head as though the answer escaped him.

  "I thought I was a goner when I heard those thunderin' rocks crashin’ behind me. We were daft thinkin' it was safe in there, bein' old and everythin'."

  "I couldn't find the book," Landau said between gasps. "It's gone. If there was treasure there then it's long and buried. Perhaps for the best too."

  "It wasn't a total loss," Elliott panted before he pulled free from his pocket the glimmering gemstones he obtained from the cavern.

  "Keep them," Landau smiled, "as a promise you'll keep this our little secret." Elliott would reply but exhaustion forbade him.

  The quaver of the mountain waned and the sounds of the forest resounded, the afternoon sun now penetrated the canopy, though did little to dry their sodden attire. The boys were relieved to be alive and uninjured, giggling at their fortune in evading such peril, nevertheless if they weren't in Porthos before the sun set there would be trouble.

  They set forth with haste, all the more difficult without the map, but the trail they arrived from was still present despite the rain. Landau peeked inside his jacket that concealed the sword, Elliott was unaware he carried it despite its obvious size. Even now he wondered why he had taken it, or even what he planned to do with it.

  Chapter 5

  THE SCOURGE OF RED MOUNTAIN

  One week passed since his journey into the woods and Landau was impressed Elliott had managed to keep it secret. As hoped, none of the elders had fallen suspicious, their concern however focused on the tremor that shook the village in conjunction with them disrupting the cave. The tremor was small but new all the same, and the topic carried on for days with theories and accusations, still his secret remained safe.

  In the afternoon he leaned idly over Clancey's horse fence and stared inexpressive at the palfrey Clancey attended to with the cattle curer, the horse named Tanille lay in exhaustion with its legs across the ground, only a loud exhale did she occasionally discharge. Clancey wiped his brow but not from fatigue, with the curer's hand constantly on the edge of Tanille's jaw his sombre expression was evident. Landau could not hear the curer, but it
was copious enough for Clancey to worry. Elliott and the two girls joined his side.

  "What happened to her?" said Melly.

  "I'm not sure. It's not an injury from what I can tell so that's promising. A few days ago she began feeling ill, after lunch I came here to find her on the ground with the cattle curer, been almost an hour now I think."

  "Clancey looks none too happy," Elliott noticed. "You don't think we missed any of them flowers do you?"

  "Could be a number of things. Clancey says horses can be allergic to some types of straw, but all the other horses seem fine."

  "Poor Scarlet," said Jenny, still adamant on naming Tanille that.

  Melly held her close while they watched on for some resolve.

  "Maybe she's havin' a baby, that's what Clancey bought ‘em for right?" Elliott said, pleased with himself for clarifying her ailment.

  "I think it takes longer than two weeks," said Landau. Tanille let out a distressing wail, a piercing cry that disturbed Jenny who gasped in horror.

  "Maybe we should leave Clancey alone with his horses," Melly suggested, they were all in agreement. "You think it has to do with those tremors we had a week ago?" Melly asked Landau.

  "Don't be daft," said Elliott.

  "Clancey will fix her, don't you worry. He's always successful, so he tells people." He wished there was some truth to that, knowing his father was much like Tanille.

  "What do you want to do Jenny?" Melly asked, holding her hand as she swung it playfully.

  "Let's go by the stream yeah."

  "That sounds great Jenny, but I think I'm gonna head home, air out the place, make sure the chickens haven't run away," Landau said. "Maybe tomorrow."

  "I'll come with you," Elliott announced himself, and the pairs went their separate ways.

  Cautiously they closed the door behind them, considering it was Landau's house and nobody had anything to be suspicious about, Elliott looked every part the culprit making sure the girls hadn't followed them here. Though the day was cold they lit no fire; Landau opened the windows to expel the musty odor before feeding his chickens who were vocal to see him.

  "How long do you think it will be before your da is well enough to come back here?" Elliott asked.

  "I don't know, I mean hopefully soon, the Elder's nice to take us in and all, but I'm sure he doesn't want us there forever, I know my dad doesn't."

  They went to his bedroom which included only three things, a small straw-filled bed opposite a wooden set of drawers, and at the end was an enormous rusted iron chest for everything else, a gift from his father despite its languish appearance. A blanket concealed the trunk and Elliott found out why, as a narrow seam of light protruded from underneath its metallic lid.

  They opened the chest to view the gemstones shining amongst Landau's other possessions, just like in the cave the light fed off the darkness. Elliott cupped one in his hands, and over his shoulder Landau admired it, reminiscent of a sapphire except the diverse shades of blue swirled around slowly like liquid in a glass capsule, but something more magical provoked the gentle movements within.

  "I could look at these all day," said Elliott.

  "I'd love to know how much it’s worth."

  "How would I know, I don't even know how much bread costs, I would think it's more than that, enough for your da's medicine no doubt."

  "I hope so," said Landau, taking his gaze off the stone to sit on his bed for the first time in weeks. "But how are we ever gonna sell it? Nobody here in Porthos would buy it, only Clancey maybe, but if we showed him he'd wanna know where we got it, and then we'd be in trouble."

  "What does it matter if we get in trouble? If you're da gets better, then that more than makes up for it don't it? The Elder says that medic fella would be returnin' next week, maybe we could give them to him. Clancey says the potion man lives in Wayside, you could give the stones to the medic, he can travel to get the potion, have it within a few days maybe."

  Elliott's words resounded in Landau's mind, it was a viable plan.

  "Hopefully. Though how can we trust him, can just as easily run away with them, claim they were always his, how are we supposed to defend that their ours?"

  Landau looked upon the empty household, warm at the thought there was potential hope for him and his father to return here, to the way things were.

  "Seems strange to think back on times when me and dad would sit out there against the fire, talking over tea, never realizing how dear it was," he paused to reflect on such a memory. "What so many men must wish for in this world, surely mine is as simple as they come."

  The light of the gemstones grew dim, away from the darkness its glow strangely faded, and Elliott was hesitant to return it to the chest.

  "Be lucky your da's still with you. Most kids in this village never had a chance to know their da, or ma for that matter."

  "Doesn't it bother you?" Landau resigned to find comfort in the thought.

  "I have the Elder, all us kids do. As long as there's someone out there to care 'bout us, that's all that matters ain’t it? Stop thinkin' 'bout it, we got the tavern tonight, supposed to be there in an hour, we should get home early for somethin’ to eat. Your other home that is," closing the iron chest and blanketing it once again.

  "I'll catch up with you," said Landau.

  Elliott closed the front door behind him and headed hungrily down the road. Landau shuffled back to his room, belly on the floor he reached beneath his bed, where enveloped in another blanket was the sword he had taken. He unfolded the blanket to reveal its shining blade, now free from rust he gazed upon his distorted reflection. He placed it on the bed, and put his hands beneath the cross-guard and blade, its weight was lighter than it appeared, though no reaction did the sword provoke.

  His hand moved cautiously to the hilt, eyes wide open in anticipation of what would happen. After a few seconds the sword quivered lightly, before the blade was consumed by a gentle blue flame, yet less intense than the first time he held it in the mountain. The flame danced along the blade on either end, softly flickering in a room with no wind, though he dare not touch it.

  He let go of the hilt and held the cross-guard once more, the flame disappeared and left the blade cold to the touch. Landau didn't understand it, but was fascinated by the strangeness of it and desired to show his father.

  He returned it to the chest, despite its size the sword squeezed itself inside his monstrous trunk. If the gems wouldn't make enough coin, there was hope the sword might.

  Afternoon passed unnoticed behind a cloudy sky, and the torches in the village lit, none more so than 'The Floating Barrel'. Now that the farm was completed and the horses settled, Clancey resumed his place at the tavern. The company was uncommonly large, though the fall season to the fishermen was usually quiet, for voyaging out to sea became scarce, yet still they piled in to enjoy his fire and drink. Clancey was engaged in a friendly squabble while Landau could only hear the murmur of his voice from the kitchen, washing up dishes with less enthusiasm than usual. Another plate he finished before Elliott returned with a tray full of tankards, the weight of them forced him to crash them on the bench, Landau exhausted at the sight of them, and the smell.

  "Been a while since I seen so many fishermen here," Elliott said having a breather. "When one leaves another takes his place, I thought this was the quiet season."

  "Not likely, I've been working at these for the last hour, my fingers are like sponges," Landau showed Elliott as he started on the tankards. "Clancey's been out front talking to these people for half the night."

  From behind them the growing rumble of Timothy rolling a barrel up from the cellar interrupted them, taking a breather himself while there were no customers.

  "How you two holding up?" he said, the only one with a smile on his face. "Look, chin up Landau, I'll finish this and give you a hand, try to pry the old man away from his followers okay?"

  Elliott threw away the wet, dirty rag from his pocket to replace with a new one.


  "It was like this last night too, I've tasted this stuff Clancey makes and it's yuck," Elliott cringed his face.

  "The Elder would clip your ear if he caught you drinking that stuff. Besides you're the one who dreams of being a fisherman when he grows up, feel like all they do is drink this stuff Clancey makes them."

  Elliott took a sniff from one of the empty tankards, the faint aroma of ale always wafted through the tavern but on closer sniff it stifled his nostrils and churned his stomach, discarding it in antipathy.

  "They tell me I'll appree-see-it more when I'm older."

  "Appreciate," Landau laughed, "and if you say so."

  Elliott threw the rag over his shoulder and headed back out front, Timothy tried to get away from the bar but between serving customers and preparing the barrels he was too occupied. Clancey's drink had a strange effect on people, making them loud and incoherent, but Timothy absorbed it all and could still smile, he'd be a heartthrob if there were girls here to admire him. It would be sad to see him go, he was the only person Landau had witnessed evolve from a child into an adult.

  More hours passed, and Landau had taken several breaks but upon returning the work only piled up. He prepared more water and got into a rhythm once more, he had seen the same dish with a crack on its edge five times now. He wasn't deterred with the effort, only how mundane his chore had become. Midnight was close before Clancey finally approached them, apologetic of his neglect.

  "How about you kids knock off early tonight, I'll fix all this up in the morning." It was music to their ears, Landau would laugh if he had strength, instead he dried his hands and grabbed his jacket to head back to Whistling Mountain. The bulk of the crowd had dispersed, though some still staggered in the street while the boys dawdled home in no hurried fashion.