Swords of Steel Omnibus

by Howie K Bentley et al.

  * * *

  When Mataera awoke, she quickly realized her destination had been reached. Outside the forest to the northwest, she gazed upon the mage slaver encampment which the party had sought to liberate, eying familiar faces from Weydan’s dire underground. Casing her surroundings, her back suddenly doubled forward with a heinous snap.

  “So blackened princess, we’ve been watching you since the 6th gate. Say no words, you cannot, we know where you’ve come from and where you have been. Eschewing provided comfort for a taste of the outland, were we? Your amateurish concealment spell might impress those pathetic street vermin you somehow convinced to help your misguided flight. Don’t you understand the sustenance of order? Its importance in our lives? Weydan powers not only itself, but this whole land with our magick, and as you must have been taught, those of the lower sub-simian mind cannot handle such responsibilities. Give them their spells of love, materials, or binding, provide a framework for their intentions, and our world moves in harmony. We are building a new dam, and Weydan will have more food and water; someone with power such as yours can head this operation, lighting the minds of these slaved in synchronous task. You may have done so with the dominance of a mage vessel, but no longer. We know who you are, but there are… penalties for leaving the city. We all saw such potential in you, not to mention your beauty, which with good luck may keep within your first year under my hand. A fine boon for the young magisters!”

  Mataera did not look up. This voice with no face needed no introduction. Her eyes, only now a withered gray in her terrific weakness still burned in defiance. “It doesn’t matter if I die here,” she sorrowfully whispered to herself, “we transcended Weydan, and we now know… someone else will know…” Submitting to brutal colloidal manipulation of her body’s minerals, the pain could only conjure Merik’s horrified eyes, beating upon her with the weight of all time.

  Eldon

  By Chris Shoriak

  A young child raised not of nobility or wealth but raised from the land, the earth, the wilds. Displaced from his own people before possessing memories, he grew as a pariah amongst his peers and a house servant to those of adulthood. You see, he was quite different, different at least from most. His kin was the woods, and his people born of it; traded away at a young age to the growing ranks of the plains-folk, he had known nothing of free life, finding wholeness only in nature and the time bade spent foraging for wild edibles. Though still a slave by all accounts, his masters were fair and generous. Their children, though cruel as children are, still regarded him as a sibling, a member of the family. He respected and even grew to love them, at least to his best impression of the word. A slave by every account, but destined for far more than toiling for the rest of his days.

  The outer-lying forest was ancient, lush and vast. Moss and fungi covered woods of decay, abundant with life and death, all in a marriage of verdant splendor. To flee the village, Eldon could quite contentedly and effortlessly live there; but to what end? Always inflated with a greater sense of purpose; to live as a slave and be accepted, or free alone lacked any great meaning.

  The world was large, and he longed always to explore and learn of it. There was no sense of contentment in the confinement of the village. Cursed with the mystery of an unknown past, there was always a secret longing to gain knowledge of his people, and one day perhaps reunite with them. Though, to be under ownership bears no light repercussion, and he well knew that the dream of freedom was just that, a dream; a virtually impossible boon to attain, a reality enjoyed only within his wandering mind.

  His adoptive village perched iconically upon coastal headlands, thrusting skyward above a seething, unforgiving ocean. The looming woods crept just barely to the edge of town, standing as a sinister, foreboding world; a world forever attempting to swallow the plains-folks’ way of life. Though to Eldon the wood felt welcoming and calming, the other villagers had heard only legend of lurking evils and unnatural things. His very nature was what kept him useful, and his contentment therein bestowed the village a previously untapped resource. He possessed untold knowledge and as he grew older, so did his almost innate ability to commune with the woods themselves; to notice things previously unseen, to glean uses from plants and fungi previously unknown. It was as if, as he grew to adulthood, deep seeded knowledge crept from his subconscious.

  As he matured to adulthood the village grew wary of him: skeptical, fearful, questioning his furtive motives. In truth, beside his desire to explore the world and his past, he possessed very little ill will towards the townsfolk, and desired greatly for some general acceptance. Time had crawled onward since his youth, and the apparent need for a skilled ranger seemed superfluous at this point. All the minute buildings and developments had grown; agriculture and trade had trampled much of the need for hunting or gathering, and Eldon was thrust out of the general public’s need. His adoptive family, as it were, still cared for him though, and he would regularly still forage and hunt for them. His brothers and sisters had grown appreciative of him as they grew older, and his owners very affectionately considered him their son. He loved them, and they him, enough so to recognize that with the growing development he would soon have no place amongst them. What contentment can a man out of time, out of place, locked in a dying skill-set possess in a world so quickly evolving?

  A frigid mist swept gently through the town and over the bluffs, returning to the sea from whence it came. The coastal fog lay dense in the air, and the brisk wind chilled all who meandered about. It was morning and Eldon was about to begin his daily jaunt to the woods. The clouded shroud provided a calming cover of sorts, concealing Eldon from possible hunting prospects, and deadening noise would allow him to travel more stealthily. Gathering his bow and various accoutrements to embark, his mother approached, and placed a light hand upon his shoulder.

  Her gaze moved toward the floor to avoid his. “Eldon,” she calmly uttered, “you have lived here your whole life, and have grown skillful with your talents. Though you are not our blood we have grown to call you ‘son.’ When first we found you, we never could have known that we would grow to care for you so. While in the eyes of the other townsfolk you are considered our servant, we have perhaps only in the beginning ever considered you so. As you have probably noticed, your talents have until recently been quite helpful, but as of late, we rarely call upon you. Our village is changing, and we’ve no need of the woods anymore save for timber. Thusly you have gained your freedom. As time moves on, the others will merely grow more dubious of you. Though we love you, there is no place for you here anymore. Please, I urge you, do not return.”

  She clasped his hand, placing a small gold-pouch in his palm; it wasn’t much, but could conceivably attain lodging for a few nights, perhaps some modest rations. With that, Eldon calmly nodded, and with pain in his heart gathered his few belongings. Not being one for many words, he approached his adoptive mother, hugged her, and set out.

  His heart was in pain. He felt bitter and unwanted, and though he oft felt excommunicated, this was different. As if he had lost a sense of identity a second time. Detecting a certain sense of urgency from his mother, he opted not to bid farewell to his siblings and father; the pain would merely mount more heavily. While the angst of separation was ever apparent, he was overwhelmed with a sense of wonder; the one thing he had wished desperately for since childhood he had now attained. He was free to pursue his dreams; exploration of a new, almost infinite world, to learn of his people and past.

  Stepping heavily forward, Eldon began to saunter confidently into the forest. Even though he was fraught with sorrow, his newfound liberation seemed to carry him effortlessly toward whatever he may find.

  Trees loomed high above, twisting and writhing into all manner of shape and torturous image. Ferns blanketed the earth, and clung defiantly to vertical trunks and earthen walls. Scintillating drops of dew fell rhythmically from the shadow-shrouded canopy high above, clapping loudly upon leaf-litter below. Ever present radiant li
ght defiantly penetrated the blackened roof above, reflecting off all wet surfaces and dew soaked mosses.

  Carrying a methodical pace, Eldon continued onward, tempestuously winding his way about the trees and shrubs. Desperately wishing he’d had more knowledge of where to start he pressed eastward. There were vague rumors of a great city that lay east beyond the behemothic woods, but he knew naught of the validity, or actual location. All had been overheard in villagers’ passing banter, and none were ever approachable enough to inquire further.

  Light was hastily fading and shelter had to be addressed before the pitch darkness of the eve set in. Any and all navigation would be virtually impossible in nightfall’s abyss. As per Eldon’s better sense for the surroundings, he had been gathering food as he traversed the landscape, and was quite contented with the knowledge he would have a substantial meal before slumber. Beneath a lichen-cloaked boulder there lay a small outcrop where he laid soft boughs in preparation for rest. After a brief meal and a rummage though his supplies for a wool blanket, Eldon finally lay to dream.

  His dreams were vivid that eve; the liberated, unchecked rest within the forest brought other-worldly visions to mind. Hazy images of forest folk, old knowledge, and arboreal spirits flooded in and out of his consciousness. In particular, a hoary, ancient, bearded old man stood out as a lasting significance amidst the ebb and flow of visions.

  It was in this way he continued to travel onward: using wind, moss, and sun to navigate due east. Bedding down in hollows and improvised shelters, always foraging and hunting when an opportunity presented itself. The forest was larger than he could have ever imagined, and a fortnight had already elapsed. All the while the nightly visions grew stronger, forever dominated by the recurring image of the old man. What was his significance? Who was he? All thoughts seemed to return to him. Eldon knew that he couldn’t have fabricated the old man from his own subconscious; the image was far too vivid.

  After several more days and nights had elapsed, Eldon found himself crossing over a defined threshold between what appeared to be rolling grassy hills and the dense vegetation he had been clamoring through. He had finally reached the edge of the wood, and he was quite elated. Though the woods were calming to him, the visions were becoming excessively overwhelming, and served to make him quite uncomfortable. For the first time since his departure Eldon longed for some of the comforts of the village: a bed, the warmth of a hearth, and the murmur of a household of voices. He knew those would be comforts he would never again enjoy in the context of home.

  In the distance, beyond the emerald-green rolling hills, a spire glistened blindingly in the midday sun. This could only assumably be a part of the great city he was seeking. With a rearward glance he pressed onward shuffling deftly through the knee-high grass. Wind cascaded across the rolling field, forming a veritable ocean of waves and currents, hypnotically churning, almost carrying Eldon forward toward the white spire.

  Two giant, dark oaken doors lay open, welcoming, stretching upwards high above the path leading beyond. Elegant parapets crowned all the walls surrounding the great city. Eldon had never witnessed anything nearly so grandiose in all his years, save the woods, which were as beautiful to him as any man-construct. To gaze upon a city though, even from the outside, filled him with excitement and anticipation. Upon crossing through the archway threshold a single guard, clad in ornate reflective armor, pike in hand, approached and spoke quite clearly.

  “Good day good sir, welcome to Shoryal, the unmovable mountain in the emerald sea. While within these walls I expect nothing less than your best behavior, you should know most of the people in this city do not take too kindly to the plains-folk. Not all of us discriminate, we’ve just had a lot of crop raiding as of late, and I didn’t want you finding any trouble for it.”

  Eldon steadily nodded and started down the cobbled path that looked to cut straight through the towering city. He laughed inside briefly; the irony was not lost on him, given he wasn’t even technically from the plains, but he understood he was clad in the garb of his adoptive town.

  Stone and brick buildings sprouted from either side of the path, dwarfing all that lay beneath them. Indescribable scents, colors, and sounds abounded, most of which he could not have ever imagined. He was filled with overwhelming desire, and longed for nothing more than to taste, listen, and gaze upon all these newfound interests. The odd and sometimes even fuming glances toward him were becoming ever more noticeable, more apparent. Though he impulsively wanted to approach many of the vendors littering the streets, their general off-putting demeanor and his lack of wealth kept him at bay.

  Wandering aimlessly for several hours, he figured seeking accommodations for the eve would probably be in his best interest. He felt like a child, unprepared for this world, quite socially uncomfortable, fearful, tentative, hesitant, and still burdened by the loss of his adoptive family. After all, he really didn’t even know why he was there. What purpose would his visit to the city even serve?

  The city folk gave him discomfort to a point he couldn’t rightly grasp. Of the strange interests and aversions, he was realizing very quickly that large groups and social gatherings made him quite uneasy. The banter of merchants beckoning him to make a sale; the howls of infants and children; the unwanted advances of courtesans and insistent beggars; all blended together adding to his mounting anxiety.

  His sordid contemplation was suddenly interrupted as he felt a sharp tug on the waist of his pants. His immediate impulse was that he had been robbed, but was quite stunned as he whirled around to see a young child standing confidently awaiting his attention.

  “Sir,” he said with poise. “Your presence has been greatly anticipated. My master hath bade me gather Eldon for a special meeting.” The child wasn’t dressed of nobility, but clearly wasn’t of a poor household either. Rather neutral and nondescript.

  Sensing his own naivety heavily now, Eldon was absolutely dumbfounded. He knew better than to accompany anyone he didn’t know, let alone someone who knew him by name. How on earth could anyone know him? He was merely a slave: no identity, no distant relations. Though to have nothing bestows a certain sense of haphazard action. What was there to lose in following the boy, his life? For that he hadn’t even found a purpose yet. Against all better judgement he decided to follow.

  All questions regarding the nature of the meeting, or with whom it was to be attended, were met with a stern “all will be answered when we arrive.”

  The guided stroll through the city continued, serpentining past rising towers, ornate fountains, and incredible sculptures. Shoryal was very clearly not lacking in scientific and artistic advancement. The architecture alone was otherworldly. Breathtaking murals and sculptures adorned all the grand, larger buildings, which in form seemed to teeter with unprecedented balance and form.

  The pair sauntered through an open, intimidating iron-bar fence, and descended a staircase entering a sprawling estate encircled by a thick, towering brick wall. Crawling, blanketing ivy lay thick upon all surfaces within the brick fortification, save the imposing mansion in the center and the well-maintained grass covering the grounds. The large multiple-storied building penetrating the center of the grounds felt ominous, foreboding, but Eldon freely continued trailing his guide across the grass toward it. Throughout the property trees had been planted at regular intervals, all quite aged, all covered in the ivy-shroud. To Eldon these actually brought a certain comfort to the estate-grounds; the very notion that nature hadn’t entirely been eradicated from the city, and was even being cultivated and nurtured.

  Just as they had crossed about halfway across the far-reaching lawn, Eldon’s attention was startled by an ear-piercing crash of the gate that lay behind them. With a short glance he noticed it had been shut securely, looking almost overgrown with the same ivy that dominated the bricks, shrubs, and trees. The realization that they were now essentially enclosed in what appeared to be an impenetrable fortress was very apparent, but even so, Eldon well knew that by
accompanying the boy to begin with he was to be at his unknown host’s mercy.

  The large mansion now before them appeared to be wrought from solid wood, with such spectacular wood-carving craftsmanship as to look as though it was comprised of still-living branches. They approached two solid iron doors resting on deep set hinges, and it was clear this place was to double, in some capacity, as a fortification. Without warning, both gates yawned wide and warm hearth air heaved from the bowels of the structure. Now side by side, they both stepped through the vaulted doorway.

  The entryway opened into a large hall. Each wall held several lit candles casting dim lighting about the walls and ceiling. They did little to actually light the path, but more bestowed a certain calm ambience. Though the building was sprawling, the foyer seemed to just stretch forward, with an illuminated door at the end. No entryways lay to either side, just a bare hall, save the candles and their dull glow. Eldon assumed the floors and walls to be wood, but no answer could be ascertained without closer inspection, and some substantial light.

  The boy stepped forward and Eldon continued behind, both moving toward the glowing entryway at the end of the hall. Eldon was perplexed by how such a well-constructed building could be so humble, plain, and almost cave-like. He had expected bright white ceilings hanging high above and staircases ascending to all manner of extravagant rooms.

  Entering the brightly lit doorway, Eldon’s expectations were met slightly more accurately. Long stretching beige wooden planks made up the floor. The room opened up to two large staircases at either side of the boy and him. An aged, drooping willow lay in the center of the room, apparently still growing, despite the ceiling blotting out all sunlight. Its tendrils arched high overhead, draping partially above both staircases and the entry. At the far wall ahead of them a fireplace glowed from behind the massive tree’s twisted bole.