Sisters of the Blade

by Shawn E. Crapo

  She knew this to be the truth. There was a magical aura around the child that she could sense. This was no ordinary baby. This one was truly special. She was a gift of the forest, of the Earth itself.

  And she was theirs.

  From the cover of the trees, a pained but relieved Igraina smiled.

  Her first offspring was safe.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  The Sisters of Gaia stood upon the ridge overlooking the mining complex. Igrid breathed in deeply as she gazed over the small network of rubble, huts, and mining tracks. She could feel the power of the Great Mother course through her veins and it felt good to her. It was like fire, but not a painful one; one that fueled and strengthened her with the warmth of divine magic.

  She felt invulnerable.

  This would be their first battle as full-fledged priestesses, and it would be their chance to prove to the Great Mother that she had chosen them wisely. Here, they would begin their campaign to unite enough tribes together to join the Onyx Dragon in his battle for the throne of Eirenoch.

  The thought of it filled her with apprehension, but she knew there was no time for that.

  “This is it, sisters,” she said. “We take the mines, gain the confidence of these workers and soldiers, and then hunt down this warlord.”

  “I know of these soldiers,” Trista said. “Most are simple clansmen, but those ones in black… they are Arbotach’s elite warriors.”

  “The Trollkin,” Braela said. “Not entirely human, but not Firbolga either. Something different.”

  “I can sense their strength,” Igrid said, realizing that their presence was the dread she felt. “They are fearless, brutal savages not of this Earth.”

  “Why are they here?” Morrigan asked. “Why leave such valuable warriors here when he is away?”

  “To maintain order through fear, likely,” Rian guessed. “They are fearsome indeed. I can see that from here. My question is what is so important about these mines. What is this weapon they are searching for?”

  “From what I’ve heard,” Trista explained, “it is an artifact; the Heart of the Dragon. It is a relic given to the king of the Firbolga by the Dragon himself. No one knows what happened to it when the race of Firbolga fell to darkness, but it said it was buried here somewhere.”

  Igrid grunted. That would explain a lot. Arbotach had not marched directly against T’kar because he was waiting for such a powerful artifact. But with it, she realized, the warlord could stand against any force that he faced, maybe even the Onyx Dragon himself.

  They had to find it first.

  Igrid watched the activity below, noting where the Trollkin were located. They walked in groups among the other soldiers and workers, shouting orders and causing fear in everyone who beheld them.

  “Are these the only Trollkin that exist?” she asked.

  “No,” Trista said. “There are more, but they too await Arbotach’s final claim to the throne.”

  “Then we will seek them out and destroy them all,” Igrid said, drawing her sword. “Starting here.”

  Captain Haen glared at the Trollkin troops that marched by, the fires of hatred burning in his heart. To him, they were the enemy; not the powerful allies that the warlord Arbotach had called them. They had been dispersed among the clansmen to keep order, provide defense against the other clans, and maintain a sense of control over Haen’s people.

  How he hated them.

  The captain walked among the workers, nodding to them as he passed. They too were wary of the Trollkins’ presence; not just because of their purpose, but their nature as well. The workers knew they weren’t human. They were some kind of dark creation, drawn into this realm by forces that threatened to push through the barriers of reality.

  Arbotach had planned to use the warriors as his main troops when he took the throne, and now that the warlord was away to meet with the Beast King, Haen realized that their purpose was much darker than that. They would be regulators; enforcers. They would be the masters of the people of the south, and would rule over them as brutally as the king’s troops had done in the past.

  He doubted they were any different from the Fomorians that T’kar had employed.

  “Captain,” a younger soldier said as he approached. “The seers have sensed the presence of several others nearby.”

  Haen stopped, looking at the soldier curiously.

  “Who?” he asked.

  The soldier shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. But they feel the energy of the Earth itself. The Trollkin don’t feel it, but the seers say their darkness may prevent it.”

  Haen nodded his head. Of course the wretched Trollkin didn’t feel the magic of the Earth. This wasn’t their world. Even the Fomorians would have felt it, despite being the enemy of the Great Mother. But the Trollkin would likely be blind to that magic.

  Perhaps there was a chance.

  A small squad of Trollkin passed by then. Their black iron armor clanking and scraping, making them sound like a squad of golems. Their leader turned its head and glared at Haen, stopping only to grunt the words, “back to work, scum.”

  Haen nodded, pulling the young soldier away as the troops continued on.

  “Warn the others,” he said. “If something happens, make sure the workers are safe. Arm them if you can.”

  “What about the artifact?”

  “Whoever this presence is, they may be here to steal it. We shall help them. If the Trollkin are attacked, they will not suspect that we will join in the efforts other than obeying their orders. Kill any one of them you can.

  “Aye, captain,” the soldier said.

  “Now go.”

  The soldier turned and dashed away, keeping out of the sight of the Trollkin he passed. Captain Haen watched him until he disappeared from sight, then turned back to the workers nearby. He worried for them. Most of them were too old to do battle. They were too old for work, even. But here they were whipped into submission by masters that were not of this Earth, forced to seek out an artifact that would be used to enslave them.

  No longer, he thought.

  “Keep your wits about you,” Haen said to an older man who pushed a small cart full of rubble. “Something is happening.”

  The old man looked confused, but nodded his head, looking around him as he continued on.

  Haen took a deep breath and gripped his blade. The anticipation was great, and he silently mouthed a prayer to the Dragon to give him strength.

  “Take out those archers,” Igrid said as they started down the hill.

  Trista, Rian and Braela all drew back their bows as they marched, dropping the black-clad archers that stood atop the short guard towers. Below, workers and soldiers alike saw them fall, and the Trollkin began to gather at the edge of the complex.

  “Here we are, sisters,” Igrid said, the fires of rage burning through her. “Unleash the wrath of Gaia.”

  With a growl, Igrid summoned the power the Great Mother have given her. A whirlwind of fire appeared around her, framing her like a demonic apparition. She saw the images of Maela and Braela multiply into an entire force of ghostly warriors. Morrigan’s power raged, and her movements were a blur beside her. Trista’s blade burned with the fires of the Earth, and Rian become nothing but shadow.

  Igrid grinned as she pointed her blade at the enemy. “For Gaia!”

  They charged, keeping the dark warriors in their sight. Igrid’s heart pounded, and the winds around her picked up, kicking up dust and dirt, cloaking them in a cloud of flame and debris. They crashed into the front line that had formed, and Igrid let loose her fury.

  Her blade cut left and right as she spun, dropping the dark warriors one by one. She streaked forward knocking a few away with her armored shoulder, cutting another down with her blade.

  A sword streaked at her in an arc, its wielder growling in its own language. She blocked with her gauntlet, thrusting her blade into its gut, spinning as she withdrew, and beheading another. The power surged within her, and she
let loose with her legs, leaping forward at incredible speed, shaking the ground as she landed.

  Several Trollkin were knocked away with the tremors, but more came at her. She leaped to her feet, running at them at full speed. She dropped to the ground, sliding toward them, spinning over onto one knee and sliding into an upward kick. She felt the bones of a Trollkin neck shatter with the impact, and her spin carried her onto her feet where she spun again and laid open the gut of another.

  And that is when she saw the leader.

  The largest Trollkin roared in fury, glaring at her with red, glowing eyes. Around her, the battle seemed to disappear, though she caught glimpses of her sisters wreaking havoc on the Trollkin army. She focused on the leader, laughing out loud as she charged him.

  The creature swept its arm across, flinging a bolt of red magic at her Igrid as she approached. She spun low, dodging the attack, and then unleashed magic of her own. Her bolt struck the Trollkin in the chest, blasting it back, but it remained standing, recovering quickly as it laughed.

  “Foolish girl,” it growled. “Your magic is nothing.”

  Igrid ignored him, charging again, her lips curled back in rage. With both hands, she gripped her sword, chopping downward with all her might. The Trollkin’s blade met hers, and the impact caused an explosion of magic that blinded them both. She ducked, shielding her eyes and spinning with a backhanded strike. She felt her blade connect with the Trollkin’s armored flank, and it knocked him to the side.

  She followed up with a spin kick, sending him sprawling back to the ground. With a howl of rage she reversed her blade, leaping in the air toward him, her blade pointed downward.

  The Trollkin rolled to the side, and her blade buried itself in the ground as she landed. But she was quick, withdrawing and leaping in a spin in his direction. He rolled to his feet, dropping to one knee to brace himself for the impact of her blade.

  Metal sparked against metal again, and this time he let the point of his blade go to the ground, causing hers to slide down it. She lost her balance, but vaulted over him, landing behind him as he rose to his feet. There they froze, glaring at each other, both of them breathless and growling with rage.

  “Your skills are impressive,” the Trollkin growled. “But you will not be victorious. Even if you win, these people are doomed. Your race is doomed. Arbotach will replace T’kar, and the Dragon will fall.”

  “We will not let that happen,” Igrid growled. “The Dragon has returned, and even now emerges from his tower. Your master will fall, along with the Beast himself.”

  “That only leaves me to be king,” the Trollkin laughed. “And your race will be my slaves.”

  He lunged forward, bringing his mighty blade down in a vicious chop. Igrid raised her sword, batting the attack to the side and dropping to one knee to slash across the Trollkin’s armored gut. The blade flashed as it sliced through the black iron like paper. The Trollkin screamed in pain, dropping his blade as he looked down at his own innards.

  Igrid stood, glaring at the Trollkin as its confused and horrified eyes beheld her.

  “I am no one’s slave,” Igrid hissed. “And you will never be a king.”

  With that, she stepped forward, spinning with a double-handed slash that beheaded the leader. His body fell to its knees, toppling forward as the head plopped to the ground. Behind the leader’s body stood a man, wide-eyed and fearful. He did not attack, but held his sword out in defense.

  “Who are you?” Igrid demanded. “Do you stand with these devils?”

  “No,” the man said. “I am Haen, and we still have Trollkin to kill.”

  Igrid nodded, charging ahead into the fray. Haen followed her, rallying his men behind them. Ahead, many more Trollkin seemed to be spilling out from nowhere, adding more and more of themselves to their ranks.

  “Where are they coming from?” Igrid shouted.

  “They are always around us,” Haen replied, cutting one down with a vicious downward chop. “We just don’t see them.”

  Several avatars of Maela and Braela appeared nearby, causing chaos in the Trollkin ranks. The enemies slashed and chopped at thin air only to be cut down once they recovered. Others were cut down by unseen hands, and Igrid knew that Rian was working her magic.

  They was a blur nearby, and Morrigan appeared, ducking and streaking ahead to knock down several of the warriors. Trista finished them off, blinding them with the power of light. Vala was to her right, leading a flock of hawks that she had summoned. They attacked from the air, clawing at the eyes of the Trollkin as they struggled to get away.

  “Fight on, my sisters!” Igrid shouted. “Haen, have your soldiers cut off their escape.”

  Haen nodded and disappeared, taking his soldiers to the rear of the battlefield. With enough luck, and the power of fear on their side, they could contain the dark warriors within the complex, and destroy them down to the last. Without their leader, they would not be able to organize themselves effectively.

  It seemed the battle was already won.

  Drak raced through the corridors of the mines, intent on saving the artifact from the invaders. His captain having been killed, he was now the leader of the Trollkin and it was his duty to get the artifact to its new master. He would not fail Arbotach.

  With his sword drawn, Drak slew the workers that he passed, heading toward the central chamber where his companions had discovered the remains of Kathorgo. Here, thousands of years ago, the Heart of the Dragon had been lost. But unknown to most of the workers, and the bulk of the Trollkin forces, it had been found. To retrieve it, Drak would have to kill his own companions, lest they reveal the secret to the enemy.

  Ahead, the workers thinned out, leaving the newly dug tunnels empty. They were to light them with lanterns so the others could keep digging, but at this point, they had not yet received the order to do so. The tunnels were abandoned by all but a few Trollkin.

  “Drak,” a Trollkin said, emerging from the darkness. “What is going on above?”

  “Enemies,” Drak replied. “Soldiers of Gaia. Get out there and fight, both of you.”

  The soldiers scoffed, laughing with his companion. “Who are you to give us orders?”

  Drak gripped his blade, glaring at the soldiers in rage. “I am your new captain. Tegrac is dead, slain by the enemy. Now go.”

  “I don’t believe you,” one of them said, drawing his blade. “You want to steal the artifact for yourself and claim that that you found it.”

  “That’s right,” the other said. “But you won’t have it. It belongs to Arbotach.”

  “I will take it to him,” Drak said. “Now get out of my way.”

  He charged, kicking one of the soldiers back against the rock wall. The other charged at him, but Drak blocked his swipe and spun to thrust his blade through the gut. He withdrew, kicking the dying Trollkin to the ground. The other stood quickly, shouting curses as he charged. Drak dodged his thrust and chopped downward, lopping the warrior’s head from its shoulders.

  Drak glared at his dead companions, feeling the guilt of slaying his own kind. But, he knew, it was justified. They would have stopped him from giving the artifact to his master. Now, he would receive the recognition for it. Arbotach would be pleased.

  He laughed, kicking the severed head down the hallway, and sheathed his blade. He headed down into the darkness where the new chamber awaited. With one goal on his mind, he smiled as he approached. He could feel the power of the Heart as he neared the chamber, and the reddish glow of the artifact’s magic danced on the walls.

  As he ducked into the chamber, he was surrounded by the awesome power it exuded. It hung there in the center of the stone chamber, floating in midair. It was a giant red gem—a ruby perhaps—that pulsed with the magic of divine life. It beat like a heart; the Dragon’s heart, slow and powerful.

  “By the gods of darkness,” Drak hissed. “What power.”

  Quickly he picked up a sack of rubble and emptied it onto the floor. He held it out, direc
ting its opening toward the Heart, and approached slowly. He was uncertain what would happen when he touched it, so was careful not to let his own fingers even graze its surface.

  He closed his eyes and threw the sack over the gem, pulling it away and tying it closed. He felt dizzy, actually feeling the pulsing of the Heart in his own body. But gradually, the feeling passed and he opened his eyes. The artifact was safe in the bag, and he was its rescuer.

  He would be a hero.

  Haen led his men into the remaining line of Trollkin. He felt a surge of energy within him, and the rage drove him on, fueling his battle prowess like never before. With the arrival of the strangers, his motivation to free his tribesman was renewed, and now it seemed like they would finally be free of Arbotach’s oppressive rule.

  He looked around at his men as he fought, seeing the determination in their eyes. They too were filled with hope, he realized, and their shouts and growls made him laugh out loud.

  “Fight on, men!” he shouted. “Our lives depend on it!”

  The women fought around him, wielding strange magic that was awe-inspiring and deadly. He lost count of how many there were, as at least two or three of them appeared in more than one place at a time. There were birds of prey among them, attacking from the air, and another one of the women moved among the dark warriors like a shadow.

  Whoever they were, they were impressive.

  Their leader, a tall woman with bulging muscles and fierce blue eyes, fought her way back toward him, intent on pushing him and his men further into the battle. Her ferocity was unmatched, and the Trollkin seemed to fear her.

  “Keep at it,” she called out. “We are close to the end.”

  Haen nodded. “Whoever you are, we will fight at your side until the end.”

  “Your people shall be free once again. The Great Mother will see to it.”

  “We will talk after,” Haen shouted, grinning and turning back to the battle.

  Drak fumbled for his magic ring as the armed workers closed in on him. The humans had found--or been given--weapons, and now those who knew about the artifact were chasing him down. He would have to kill them all if he could not activate the ring’s magic in time. Their lives mattered not, however. It was the artifact that mattered, and the ring would help him return to Arbotach.