Acbain: Sealer of the Crossblade

by Coty Schwabe

Vandomare to a low hanging branch when he reached it.

  A conflicted heart plagued him about stopping here. He wanted to push on.

  Yes, the NeverShadows would not follow in the daytime. He could make good distance. That was good news. However, every moment he pushed on, wore him – and the horse – down more and more and more.

  He looked off into the distance, attempting to see if he could make out for the river he swore was nearby, but made no sign of it.

  “Vandomare,” he whispered, stroking her long nose, “forgive me. I have no water, nor the resolve to continue.” Vandomare snorted quietly in response. Did she understand? Intuition maybe.

  He slid down against the trunk of the tree, thinking that he would die of thirst before the Shadows reached him. His eyes began to droop, and his head started to nod forward. Acbain jerked himself awake, staring off in the distance. Sleep was calling him, and he fought it.

  His eyes began to droop again, but this time he could have sworn there was a shape coming in from the distance.

  He should get up, prepare himself to fight in case the incoming figure was hostile. He squinted, straining his eyes. It was coming straight for him! Get up on your feet, his mind urged. Get up…

  Instead, he passed out.

  7

  In what seems like an interrupted dream (and, in fact, it was) Acbain can feel himself moving, though he is not the one doing it. At least, not voluntarily. He sees a quick blur of a shape over him in the afternoon sky through slitted eyes. Then darkness.

  Another image comes, this time of - what is that, a fire? - and he can hear muffled voices. Then he recedes back to the darkness again.

  When he opened his eyes fully, he regained complete consciousness. His mouth was moist, not dry. He sat upright, taking in his surroundings with honed senses. Tents. Wagons. Mules. A fire.

  People watching him.

  Dark had come (was is it the same day?) and stars speckled the sky with their brilliance. The small group, half a dozen individuals, sat around the fire, heads covered with cowls and hoods.

  His first thought was bandits, concealing their identities. But what bandit brings someone to their place of rest?

  Acbain stood. He spotted Vandomare lying down, tethered to a wooden stake. She looked well rested. As for him, he felt... surprisingly good. Great actually. But who were these people?

  He took a single step towards them, and the entire group reacted in a single practiced movement, grabbing whatever weapon lay nearby. Acbain froze, held up his hands.

  “Do you speak the human language?”

  No reaction, only glares. Not human then.

  Instead he tried something else. “Dossasú limna delníl?” ([Do] You speak the language of the elves?)

  The question prompted them to put their weapons at ease - not down completely - and the one closest to him stepped forward. “És.” It was a brief, mistrustful answer. (Yes.)

  Surface elves. But what type? Didn't matter. Acbain could hear some of the similarities of their languages, which made sense for his native language came from theirs. He knew enough to converse and hoped they were friendly; amicable in the very least.

  “Da’tira hothen tu mí?” (What happened to me?)

  The elven leader (Acbain assumed) pointed to the west. “Súfein ussyr. Sébrind súhur yn dúninsúwer. Súnaran.” (You went to sleep. We brought you here and gave you water. You awoke.)

  Acbain bowed. “Thynasú,” he replied, straining to remember the words. “Índohn’net spera ulla symmess… Helnaríva… osnet ónen pesel.”(Thank you. I did not expect such kindness. Our history is not one of peace.)

  The elf eyed him cautiously, seeming to understand Acbain's words, broken as they might be. The elf reached into a pouch and tossed something to him. Acbain caught it – his Knight's crest. He slipped it on, then asked, “Osdus weirsú ayanmí?” (Is this why you helped me?)

  The elf did not respond. Acbain took the silence as consent. He didn't trust this group.

  “Da'cuna varsú?” (Who are you?) Acbain asked in return.

  The elf shrugged. “Damotí. Vagití.” (Nomads. Wanderers.)

  Somewhere close by, Acbain could hear running water. They'd camped near the river. I wasn't far after all.

  “Da'cuna varsú, durónen?” (Who are you, dark one?), the elf asked. Then, “yn, da'tira osdum?” He pointed to the Crossblade. (And what is that?)

  “Esim Acbain, Caval Rinnenel, invín fodar asconyr dus Artifact...” (I am Acbain, a Knight of the King, sent forth to hide this Artifact...)

  Suddenly, a heat spread all over Acbain's body. The Shadows! They would be coming. Probably already were. He flinched, arousing their suspicion and causing them to take up their defensive stances once more.

  “Ínmus fei,” (I must go!) Acbain pleaded, terror engulfing him. “Omasím renimír!” (Shadows are coming!)

  The elf stepped towards him. “Teniretí-” (Lies-)

  “Nah! Issandor handaeren! Ínhanesan lestan! Omasím hur!” (No! Issandor has fallen! I have been followed! Shadows are coming here!) The other members stepped back and whispered amongst themselves.

  “Dhosú leorn esim fatú?” (Do you think I am dumb?) He trained a spear on Acbain's throat.

  “Eseim vera! Efsú dhonet sacamí, eseimilír renisíl nersú! Ent’nyos Rinnenel-” (It is the truth! If you don't let me go, they'll come for you! In the name of the King-)

  The sound of pounding hooves came from the west and he knew they were too late.

  8

  “Setossem!” he cried. (It's them!) “Súhan dinaranmí lonahs! Dermífei aereseim néahs!” (You have held me too long! Let me go before it is too late!)

  The elf stomped his foot in the ground. “Súdho’net telsuf tira dhír!” (You do not tell us what to do!) He raised his spear in the air, and let out a shout. “Tsé fúrosíl! Tsé abresíl semaer seírocí sef.” (We will fight! We will kill them before they reach us.)

  Acbain's heart sank. “Mosnevatí dho’net nuronaegas. Súfúrosíl tu dythsuhm!” (These beasts do not feel pain. You will fight to your death!)

  “Desdan.” (So be it.) And the elf said no more to him. “Raín arinúva, deltí yn delní!” (Ready your bows brothers and sisters!) Their bows were already in their hands and being strung before the command was finished. Then he gave Acbain his command.

  “Fei Durónen. Efsú fúrosílnet wynsef, nolan feiva sundía. Ínhannah revarde nersú.” (Go Dark One. If you will not fight with us, then leave my presence. I have no respect for you.)

  Acbain shook his head. “Yonmelur os nidaerur, delta. Fúro agwé.” (Your ignorance is your downfall, brother. Fight well.) Acbain bowed once more, then passed him without another glance.

  The sound grew louder, and they could feel vibrations in the ground. Dark silhouettes came from over a hill to the west, with red dots to mark their eyes.

  “Da’tira eseimír? (What are they?) One of the female elves cried.

  “Nevatí.” (Monsters.) The main elf replied. “Tsé mordisíl semís! Esraín!” (We will slay them all! Be ready!)

  Acbain untethered Vandomare, and she got up at once. “We must go, Vandomare.” The horse neighed in response. He mounted up, and turned to the southeast. He was just about to gallop off when one of the other female elves stopped him.

  “Nemadus.” (Take this,) she said in a hurried whisper. “Efsé celn, eseim’net angilel tusef.” (If we die, it is not of value to us.) Acbain took the items: a small sack that jingled, and two water skins.

  “Thynasú, fréodel. Ré Fatiss eswynsú.”(Thank you, lady elf. May the Father be with you.)

  “Yn ré Fréo eswynsú” (And Myranna be with you.) He hadn't heard the name in ages, but bid her well with a nod. With that, she ran to the leader's side, and strung her bow. Acbain did not follow the way of the nature goddess, and only initially followed the Way of the Father for the sole fact that the King followed it, and such was mandatory for his Knights. Over time however, as he learned the alignment Spells,
his faith in the Father had grown exponentially. But, he would not trample on her pride (especially with her certain death imminent), and would take all the help from whatever source he could get it.

  “Nolfei,” shouted the elven leader. (Now leave.)

  Acbain grimaced. If they only knew. He whipped the reins and charged off across the shallow river, riding under the glare of the blue moon.

  9

  As the camp receded, he could hear the sounds of combat fill the night. Shrills screams rang out, followed by the occasional scream of a fallen elven warrior. By the time Acbain had gone two miles, he'd heard over a dozen shrieks, and six screams. The camp had fallen and the Shadows would continue onward in pursuit.

  Will I ever reach the Sanctuary, or die along the way? These creatures require no food or rest that he could tell, meaning they would wear him down inevitably.

  As he rode, it plagued him that Death was following him. So many had already sacrificed their lives just to defeat Denteroth, and now this.

  He pushed on through the night, galloping much of the way at first to create a gap, then trotting the rest of the night. He and Vandomare did not stop once that night, nor did they see the Shadows.

  10

  It took Acbain four more days to traverse the Pyorich Plains and the Celerethian Hills to reach the Makthyr Forest that marked where the Sanctuary stood. He travelled in cover every second the sun was up when possible, only breaking for a nap twice during each day.

  Along the way, he slept under what trees he could, partitioning what little water he had