Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon)

by Appleton, Scott

  Ilfedo raised his hand. “Just don’t raise me on a pedestal in the eyes of your parishioners; be very careful that does not happen. Understood?”

  The monk bowed. “Of course. Now, if it please you, tell me why you have come. I did not expect the Lord of the Hemmed Land to visit my humble parish.”

  “I need you to introduce me to someone who, as I understand it, you met recently.” Ilfedo crossed his arms and gazed at the man. “I’m looking for the sword smith, Linsair.”

  “Ah! Linsair. Well, I cannot say as that surprises me. It has been an honor to host that stranger. But his skills qualify him for many other things.” Brother Hersis heaved a sigh. “In times like these our nation needs men like him. Men who will proclaim truth unabashedly and without fear, even with boldness, and men working diligently with their hands in the cause of the innocent.” The monk led him outside and around the back where a few shacks lined a vibrant green lawn. Monks walked to and fro between the cottages, tending small gardens and gathering carrots, lettuce, and potatoes from the ground.

  One man loomed out of the monks’ midst, hulking over them. He left a basket of carrots in the garden and met them.

  “This is the sword smith you inquired of,” Brother Hersis said.

  Ilfedo looked up at the man and marveled at the broadness of his shoulders and the thickness of his arms. His legs were hidden beneath the white habit of a monk.

  “It is an honor to welcome you to my humble abode, Lord Warrior.” Linsair bowed and his white hair fell around his face. He straightened, unsmiling. “I assume that you have seen my handiwork and wish to enlist my aid in forging swords and more armor.”

  “Yes,” Ilfedo admitted. He craned his neck to look deep into the man’s pink eyes. It felt strange to gaze up instead of at eye level or below. He couldn’t help but feel a bit threatened by the man’s size and strength. Yet there was something in Linsair’s eyes that conveyed honesty. Something about this man struck him as familiar.

  Linsair rolled his shoulders and took off his habit. His every muscle stood out hard and strong. “I am a valuable addition to your forces, yet I sense that you desire to know more about me—my origin, perhaps?”

  Ilfedo wanted to ask. He wanted to know. “You came from the Sea of Serpents.”

  “That is correct. I washed ashore and made my home among your people.”

  “Can you tell me anything about the strange coinciding of your arrival with that of the meteor that reportedly crashed into the sea just prior to your appearance on my shores?” Ilfedo studied the man for any wavering of eyes or body that would indicate deception.

  Linsair’s eyes flared. “No. I cannot.”

  Ilfedo narrowed his eyes. “Are you willing to tell me how you came here?”

  “Know this, Lord Ilfedo.” Linsair rolled his shoulders again, every muscle rippled. “I came not to harm thee or thy people. My service I now offer; my skills are at your disposal. If you fear or distrust me, then accept not my offer. However, if your heart tells you that I am to be trusted, accept me as a blessing from the hand of the Creator.”

  Ilfedo did trust Linsair. He shook the man’s hand, cringing in the powerful grip. There was a sober honesty in his new ally’s face.

  “Brother Hersis, my thanks for the hospitality.” Linsair embraced the monk. “God will bless thee for all you are doing.”

  “Farewell for now, Linsair.” Brother Hersis slapped him on the chest. “When you return this way, pay me a visit.”

  Linsair heaved a sigh. “I’m afraid such will never be, my friend. Farewell.” Then he fetched his tools from one of the shacks and followed Ilfedo into the street.

  They made their way out of town. On every hand people whispered as Linsair passed but kept out of his path. They reached the forest and journeyed on until they came to Commander Veil’s encampment.

  At their hail, Veil barreled out of his tent, the noon sun glistening off his chain mail like millions of diamonds. “Form up!” he ordered, and the men marched into parallel lines straight as two arrows.

  With a deep bow Commander Veil greeted Ilfedo and then grinned up at Linsair.

  “Commander,” Ilfedo said. “Give this man whatever he requires.”

  Linsair strode down the long lines of men. Every twenty feet he paused to stare into the soldiers’ faces. The men held formation with rigid formality. The sword smith returned to Ilfedo, and his huge chest heaved as he drew in a mighty breath. “The construction of their weapons is inadequate.”

  “Inadequate?”

  Linsair rumbled in his throat and, turning to one of the men, commanded. “Hand me thy blade!”

  The soldier glanced at Ilfedo and rested his hand on the pommel of his sheathed weapon.

  “What are you waiting for, soldier?” Ilfedo pointed at the man’s weapon. “Do as he asks.”

  The man drew his sword with grace and speed. He laid it in Linsair’s hands and stood at attention.

  Facing Ilfedo, Linsair grasped the weapon by its handle and poised it above his head, its blade aimed at the sky. “Draw thy weapon, Lord of the Hemmed Land.”

  Commander Veil’s eyes widened and he frowned. He stood in Linsair’s path, his hand clawing at the pommel of his own sword.

  The sword smith’s shoulders relaxed. “I do not intend harm. But this weapon’s blade must be tested against the best before it is committed to battle.”

  Ilfedo drew the Sword of the Dragon and widened his stance as flames covered his body. He laid a hand on Veil’s shoulder, and the man looked back at him. “Step aside commander.”

  Veil nodded, still wearing a frown, and stepped out of his path.

  The albino man came at Ilfedo like a bear, and their swords clashed with such force that sparks flew. Ilfedo grasped his sword with both hands. The impact of Linsair’s attack left his hands stinging. Nevertheless he advanced. As the larger, more powerful man attacked, Ilfedo grimaced.

  Linsair’s blade struck with great force, but the metal cracked and the blade broke in half.

  Sheathing the Sword of the Dragon, Ilfedo shook his head. The sword smith had made his point. The soldier’s blade now lay in the dust divided in two.

  Commander Veil stared aghast. “Oh my.”

  Ilfedo looked up at Linsair. Those pink eyes stared back. “Do what you must. I will see to it that you are well-paid for your work.”

  “Payment.” The man growled. “Did I ask thee for that? My services are free. I do not want payment. Simply require your men to follow my instructions.”

  “So be it.” Ilfedo summoned two men and placed them at the sword smith’s disposal. Linsair led them to one of the tents and ordered them to pull it down.

  Then he spun about and returned to Ilfedo. His hand clawed toward the Sword of the Dragon, and he drew it from the sheath.

  “Step back! How dare you draw the Lord Warrior’s blade without permission!” Veil drew his sword, charged the large man, and swung for Linsair’s sword arm.

  Living fire sprang from the Sword of the Dragon, enveloping Linsair instantly, and armor grew over his body like dragon scales. Yet the flames did not subside as they had on Ilfedo.

  Commander Veil’s blade struck the scale-armor. He struck again, but Linsair parried with the Sword of the Dragon. The man’s pink eyes flared; the blade of Ilfedo’s sword pulsed white light as it made contact with Veil’s blade and cut through the metal.

  Holding the short end of his blade in his hands, Veil stepped back, shaking his head as he gazed at it. “Well, I guess I can’t use this one anymore.” He picked up the severed blade.

  The armor vanished from Linsair’s body, and he held the flaming sword before his face.

  Ilfedo held up a hand, staying Veil with a sober glance. The man dropped the hilt of his broken weapon, and his hands hung limply at his sides.

  “Only dragon blood could create weapons suitable for the battles your men will face, Lord Ilfedo.” Staring unblinking at the Sword of the Dragon, Linsair nodded. “A thousan
d swords I will make for thy men—a thousand blades to defend the helpless in a manner similar to this blade.”

  “Dragon blood?” Ilfedo frowned as a chill breeze struck his back. “What do you know about dragon blood?” He remembered Dantress and the passion with which she had loved and the joy she had been in his life. He remembered also that her veins had flowed, not with human blood, but that of her dragon father. Her life was in her blood, and she had given it to their daughter.

  “It is ancient knowledge that the life of a dragon is, quite literally, in their blood.” Linsair lowered his voice, drew near, and thrust the Sword of the Dragon back into Ilfedo’s sheath. “If a dragon sacrificed a drop of blood—sacrificed willingly and knowingly—one drop for me to blend with each sword I forge for these, thy men, then would I create beautiful weapons of light. They would be superior to other blades, though not as magnificent as thy own.”

  Ilfedo gazed beyond the man to the trainees. Many of them were young, too young to die on the field of battle. But what battle? The Hemmed Land was at war with no one. Well, there were the Sea Serpents, and the Art’en creatures attacking the northern boundary. But were they a nuisance, or an indicator of a broader struggle to come?

  “Darkness will come before the dawn, thou Lord of the Hemmed Land,” Linsair said. “Do not permit it to linger through inaction.”

  “You speak as a prophet, sword smith.”

  “If you hear wisdom then pay heed to me. If I speak falsely, then reject my counsel. But dark days lie ahead. Of this I feel sure.” Linsair stepped back and his eyes shifted to look past him. “Ah, so these are the famed Warrioresses.”

  Ilfedo turned to find the sisters in a half-circle behind him. They stared at Linsair, without speaking. “My sisters,” Ilfedo said. “This is the sword smith, Linsair.”

  Still, the sisters said nothing.

  “Commander Veil.” Ilfedo waved his hand at the waiting soldiers. “They are dismissed.”

  The commander bowed and walked between the rows of warriors, sending them to various tasks. Most of the men trooped to the makeshift arenas, challenging one another to improve their swordsmanship.

  “Forgive us, Linsair.” Caritha curtsied and swept her hand toward her sisters. “You remind us of someone.”

  Linsair bowed. “Then I hope he is someone you respected and loved.”

  “He was.” She introduced each of the Warrioresses by name and then greeted Ilfedo. “You are heading back north, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” He turned to Linsair and shook the man’s massive hand.

  Linsair made a slight bow.

  Ilfedo nodded back. “When you have outfitted all these men, you will have my thanks and that of your adoptive homeland.”

  The albino man stepped back, and Veil walked up to him, tilting his head to look in his face.

  Evela rushed forward and planted a kiss on Ilfedo’s cheek. Stunned, he looked down at her and held her away from him. He could see embarrassment in her sisters’ eyes, yet none said a word. Tears welled in Evela’s eyes. She sniffled and said, “Don’t stay away too long, my lord. Remember you have a child to raise.”

  Ilfedo left as quickly as possible. He stopped on the brow of a hill and looked back at the camp. Inside an open tent Linsair set down his anvil and shouted for someone to help him build a forge. A dozen men answered his call.

  In the arenas, the sisters raised their swords and commenced combat with the warriors. He turned to the forest and set off to the north. Now to deal with the Art’en haunting the Hemmed Land’s border.

  SWORDS OF LIGHT

  Ombre ignored the sweat dripping down his face and gripped his sword with a vengeance. Moonlight filtered through the trees in front of him onto the winged man thrashing on the ground. “Why did you come here?” Ombre shouted.

  The creature shrieked and rolled in the leaves.

  “Tell me what I want to know. I will spare your life.”

  A laugh erupted from the creature, a laugh that turned into a cackle. It stumbled to its feet and grabbed at him.

  He poised his sword at its chest, prepared to strike. Suddenly, the forest around and above him erupted as five more of the creatures sprang upon him. He was driven to the ground but fought back. “Help!”

  Several soldiers appeared. They ran a couple of the winged men through with spears and assailed the others with swords. But a fresh group of the vile beings arrived. They fought like animals, using no weapons, and quickly overcame Ombre’s men. Again they attacked him.

  Ombre growled as he fell to his knees and received a kick in the side. “Get back!” They swung at him, and he impaled another on his sword.

  As he drew the blade from his opponent, a whinny rang through the trees, and a white stallion burst into the fight. Its silvery mane flew behind it as it reared and kicked one of the creatures in the head. It landed on its forefeet and kicked its hind hooves into another’s chest, crashing it against a tree. Silver flecks flew off its hooves. It moved with the speed of lightning.

  “My champion.” Ombre rose and smiled as the animal rampaged through the winged men.

  It wheeled close to him, and he swung his leg over its back. The white, silver-maned stallion raced him to a hill and dumped him. Ombre sat on the ground, breathing in the free air. The stallion pranced around him, flaring its nostrils in the direction it had come. Its silver-blue eyes watched the shadows. Then it reared, thrashing its silver hooves at the moon and screamed with such force that the sound echoed in the forest.

  “Whoa there, boy. Take it easy. They aren’t even close to us anymore.” Ombre stood and sheathed his sword. He approached and stroked the wild animal’s moist neck. “I’m going to call your species Evenshadow, after the glorious twilight hours.” He chuckled. “You are magnificent.”

  The stallion blew its nostrils, and suddenly Ombre knew they were not alone. He glanced over his shoulder and three white mares crested the hill, whinnying to the stallion. The moonbeams reflected in their silvery manes, tails, hooves, and eyes. The grass glowed blue around their feet.

  Ombre walked to the mares and reached out his hands. “You are all Evenshadows.” They nuzzled him as if he were an old friend. He stroked their velvety muzzles and glanced at the forest from which he’d come.

  A winged man sprinted from the shadows at the base of the hill. Ombre slipped his hand to the hilt of his sword. The villain dropped to all fours and raced up the hill.

  Suddenly the forest erupted with blinding white light, and a torrent of flames ripped through the trees behind the winged man. The Evenshadow stallion wheeled and fled into the forest with the mares racing after him; silver flakes glowed on the ground in their wake.

  On the other side of the hill, Ombre watched half-a-dozen winged men fly from the trees. The moonlight revealed their startled faces. They screeched and their companion on the hill sprang into the air after them.

  The Sword of the Dragon blazed in Ilfedo’s hands. His body shone in the darkness with blinding brilliance. He saw the Art’en creature on the hill. It had been running toward Ombre but had turned to flee. Ilfedo ran forward and pointed the blade at the Art’en. Flames leapt from the blade, wove through the air, and engulfed the creature. It screamed and crashed into the trees.

  The others had flown beyond the sword’s reach, but Ilfedo cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled into the forest. “Archers!”

  Arrows broke through the trees. They soared like an avenging rain into the fleeing creatures’ midst. The Art’en floundered, and the arrows peppered them until they too fell.

  Ilfedo climbed the hill and sheathed his sword. The living fire pulled from his body, the armor vanished, and the flames withdrew into the magnificent blade.

  “Are you all right, Ombre?” They grasped each other’s arms and laughed.

  Ombre shook his head. “Every time I think you’ve proven the limits of that weapon, I am overcome with amazement and humbled.”

  “It is the power in the sword. I can
not call it my own strength. The Creator has given me a great gift.” Ilfedo grasped the sword’s handle for an instant. The living fire sprang forth. He released it and the flames subsided. “But it is a magnificent weapon.”

  Together they returned to the valley by the desert, and the men celebrated the victory around roaring fires. But Ilfedo summoned a dozen of his choice men and rolled out a map. “My lords and captains,” he said, standing before them. “Consider the future of our land as laid out on this skin. In ten years’ time the Hemmed Land will become an effective nation with an organized military and government.”

  He waved his hand over the map. Laid out for all to see were the three known borders of the Hemmed Land. “To the south of our land is an uncharted desert, to the east lies the Sea of Serpents, and here in the north the way is again cut off by desert. To the west is the Western Wood and beyond that we know not what. Our recent clash with this race of winged men, called the Art’en, has made us all realize how vulnerable we are to the unknown territories beyond our borders.

  “Therefore we will secure the exposed northern, southern and eastern borders with three forts. And within the Hemmed Land we will establish walled towns.” He tapped his finger on the map. “Here, in this valley, the first fort must be built.”

  “Peace! All I require is a place to work in peace!” Linsair loomed before Caritha while her sisters fidgeted behind her in the tent’s shade.

  The crowd of soldiers milling around outside the tent grew as the sword smith struck his hammer against the anvil.

  Linsair spun and threw the hammer into a heap of unfinished swords at the tent’s rear. The neatly stacked blades clattered to the bare damp ground, and the smith faced her again. “I cannot work under these conditions. Too many people are watching, and my forge is open to the elements. I would that this task was completed. Already a cycle of the moon has passed and not half of the swords I promised Ilfedo are forged.

  “Therefore I have something to show thee.” He crouched near the swords, fished out his hammer, and stuck it in his belt before rising. With long strides he led her out of the tent and into the forest toward Ilfedo’s property. The rest of the sisters fell in line behind her, as did a few of the Elite. Linsair roared at them, “This business is between the Warrioresses and I. Do not follow us!” Stiffly bowing, the men returned to camp.