by James Dale
"Why...why would you do that?" asked Braedan hesitantly.
"Well," the dark-King chuckled, "it seems we have something to talk about after all? Why would I give you back Annawyn? After you have tried to kill me...what, three times this morning? A good question."
"Why?" Jack repeated.
"Because I understand you, Son of Bra'Adan," Graith smiled. "And now, finally, you are in the unique position to understand me. When I found the Bloodstone," he continued, "it took control of me. Much the same way the Sunheart is claiming you."
"We are not the same!" Jack snarled.
"No?" Graith queried. "We have both been handed the power of heaven on earthe. Perhaps we have different...ideas on how to use our power but..."
"You want to enslave the world!" Jack cried wildly.
"Dear Jack," the dark-King smiled. "I don't want to enslave the world. I tried it once. It didn't turn out well. I no longer have designs on Aralon."
"No?" Braedan snorted.
"No."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want to live, the same as you," Graith shrugged. "Which brings us back to why I would give you Annawyn. She will be a…peace offering? The world is a big place. All I want is a little part of it. The part which is already mine. I will give Annawyn back to you, and in return, all I ask is you stay on your side of the Whesguard. I will rule eastern Aralon, you can rule the west."
"I don't want to rule anything," Braedan replied. Graith was coming closer. Another few steps and he could kill the dark-King without calling on Sunheart's power.
"Fine," the Bloodstone's master smiled. "You can take Anna and be...you can be a pirate again? I stay in Gorthiel, once I repair it of course, and you roam the seas. We are both happy and thousands...hundreds of thousands of lives are spared because we aren't trying to kill each other. Is that so terrible? I have eastern Aralon, you have Annawyn, and things go on as they always have before."
"Except the east is under the Bloodstone's curse," Braedan argued. "And Golgar's alters run red with blood."
"Exactly," Graith nodded. "They will hardly notice I have returned."
"They won't notice it at all if I kill you," Jack hissed, quickly lifting Yhswyndyr to place its gleaming point an inch from the Graith's heart.
"Nor will the Whesguard notice your passing," the dark-King replied. "Son of Ljmarn."
Jack looked down to see the point of Graith's black blade a hair's breadth from his own heart.
"We can kill each other now if that's what you want Jack Braedan," he continued. "The world will pay our deaths little heed. But Annawyn...is another matter. Will you be content in the Bosom of Yh while she is trapped in the darkness of Ul'gogrond for eternity? Maybe loving, merciful Yh’Adan will wipe away your every tear, but hers will flow endlessly."
"It wasn't Anna!" Jack snarled, the point of Yhswyndyr inching closer to the dark-King's heart.
"Are you so sure?" Graith asked softly. "Her eternity in Ul'gogrond will not be pleasant. Every second she spends in Hell, I will be by her side, reminding her who doomed her to torment. Or maybe it won't be torment? She may come to enjoy the caress of my Master. After oh, ten thousand years or so."
"What will it be, Son of Bra'Adan? Kill me and doom your lovely wife to an eternity of suffering? Or agree to my terms and exchange her soul for a few Easterlings who mean nothing to you? I will count to three, then we'll strike."
"One. Two..."
There was no choice to make. Jack Braedan had been born for one purpose; to wield Yhswyndyr. His entire life had been forged to complete one single act; to kill Graith and destroy the Bloodstone. 'Forgive me Anna,' he prayed. Summoning the power of Sunheart, he thrust Yhswyndyr at the dark-King.
Graith sensed his intention a split second before seeing the agony of Braedan's choice reach his eyes. The combined might of the Bloodstone and Sunheart met with a deafening concussion that shook the mountainside. The two champions, one of darkness and the other of light, were hurled in opposite directions by the convergence of the elemental fury they had unleashed.
As Jack sailed through the roiling air of the temple, carried on the edge of the white fireball he had called into being, he thought he was surely dead. Nothing could survive the forces he and the dark-King had summoned to destroy each other. Then he landed on the far side of the temple and feared he wouldn't die. Unbelievable pain shot through every inch of his body. It was little consolation the suffering he felt meant his Ithlemere plate had saved him from of broken back.
Jack lay breathless on the steps of the Temple of the Sword. He had instinctively withheld a measure of Sunheart's power to protect himself. Evident by the fact Graith's answering assault with the Bloodstone had not incinerated him to dust. By holding back the full power of Yhswyndyr however, he saw he had failed to destroy the dark-King. His adversary was even now beginning to stir on the opposite side of the temple. Like him, he had obviously been shaken by the blast's fury, and like him, he was also obviously still alive.
Graith struggled to his knees, using his black bladed sword for support. No longer wrapped in shadow, having expended all his power in the attack and the rest to preserve his own life, Jack saw for the first time the true form of the man...the Hiru, who had been concealed behind the cloak of darkness. He was handsome, with black, shoulder length hair, dark eyes, and a fair complexion. Dressed from neck to thigh in black scale mail, the infamous Graith, Son of Halbar, appeared to be of only average height and build.
“This is the man who made Aralon tremble in fear?” Braedan said through teeth clinched in pain, “He’s not so tough.” The fact he couldn't have summoned the strength to strangle a day-old kitten at the moment, never entered his mind.
"I don't know what everyone is so afraid of," he muttered. Though his voice couldn't have been above a whisper, it carried easily across the silence now reigning in the temple. "If that's the best you can do, I think I'll just let the Staffclave handle you."
Graith looked up with an angry scowl.
"I have not yet recovered my full strength," the dark-King hissed. "When the day comes, and it will be soon, you will pay dearly for your insolence Son of Bra'Adan. By the time you return to Aralon, I will have summoned the Kings of the East to grovel at my feet. I will be more powerful than ever before! I will crush your puny Lords with a wave of my hand. I will burn your flesh and grind your bones to dust. I will..."
"Big talk from someone who can't even stand up," Braedan interrupted. Though Yhswyndyr lay only inches from his hand, the Highsword may as well have been on the other side of the world. If Graith could do more than boast, he would likely be dead very shortly. Boast? Perhaps...perhaps subterfuge was the way out of this? Battles...wars had been avoided, even won, because of a mis-placed perception of superior strength. It was time to bolster a misplaced perception.
"Here are my terms," Jack continued boldly, struggling to his knees. "I'll give you until the count of three to crawl back to the cesspool you've been hiding in for the last eight hundred years. If you ever even think about stepping outside of Gorthiel and showing your face above ground again, I'll shove the Bloodstone up your ass!"
Even across the temple he could see Graith stiffen with rage. "You have just damned your whore to an eternity in Hell!" the dark-King shouted, struggling to his feet.
"If Anna is...if she is in hell," Braedan retorted, hope slowly growing as he felt the first tingle of life returning to his limbs, "I'll go get her myself! And if your master has so much as laid a finger on her, I'll rip out his heart and..."
"Jack?" He recognized Tarsus' voice immediately, but what was the Amarian doing in the Land of Dreams?
Graith whipped around at the unexpected intrusion and proving he had not yet recovered enough to do little more than boast, the dark-King hastily created a red slash in the air with his unholy blade. "Another day Son of Bra'Adan," the Bloodstone's master snarled, then stepped into the doorway and disappeared.
"Jack!" Tarsus cried again.
/> "Here," he replied weakly, then took a deep, painful breath. "Here!"
The Amarian burst into view at the top of the temple, sword in hand and looking around fearfully. When he saw Braedan, Tarsus heaved a sigh of relief and bounded down the steps three at a time.
"What are you doing in the Land of Dreams?" asked Jack, weakly struggling to sit as Tarsus arrived at his side.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Tarsus shouted. "Never mind! Are you hurt? Can you walk? You've got to get out of here! The flaming temple is about to come down on your flaming head!"
Braedan looked up and saw clear blue sky through the gap in the temple's dome, then he understood. Tarsus wasn't in the Land of Dreams. Nor was he any longer. The combined blast of Sunheart and the Bloodstone must have...must blown him...and Graith as well, back into the waking world. The concussion appeared to have followed them too. Large chunks of the temple roof were breaking away and crashing to the floor with loud cracks and sprays of dust. When a piece the size of his head bounced at his feet, Braedan agreed it was time to leave.
"Help me up," he instructed the Amarian.
Tarsus lifted him to his feet as if he were as lite as a feather, then reached down for his sword. He had almost touched the Yhswyndyr when he realized what he'd been about to do. "Maybe you'd better...ummm..."
Braedan leaned down, his head doing loops inside his skull, and picked up the Highsword.
A slow grin spread across Amarian's rugged face. "I thought the damn thing had incinerated you. Let's go...High King."
Tarsus led him gently, but quickly, up the temple steps. The pair had no sooner reached the top when a sharp crack sounded above their heads. Reacting instantly, the Amarian hefted Braedan onto his broad shoulders and bounded down the steps. They were nearly to the bottom when the temple's dome collapsed with a tremendous boom. Tarsus leapt the last few feet to the ground and both men went sprawling as a cloud of dust enveloped them.
Frantic shouts could be heard as the rumbling died away. A sudden gust of wind cleared the thick dust from the mountain side and Braedan lifted his head to see High Lord Perigaen, Lord Weigl and Lord Dhoran rushing towards him, followed closely by Golden Lions, Ailfar Rangers, and Dragon Guardsmen. Ailicia passed them all, holding the hem of her gown high, long legs flashing as she ran. The Ailfar princess dropped down beside him and took his face in her hands.
"I'm okay," Jack informed her weakly as she turned his head from side to side, then pushed back his eyelids, studying him intently.
"What happened?" she demanded.
"Yhswyndyr showed me how to go to the Land of Dreams," he began...
"You...you went to the Land of Dreams waking!" Ara’fael cried, kneeling down to join them. Her voice sounded as if she were accusing him of sticking his head in a dragon's mouth.
"I wanted to..."
"I know what you wanted to do," Ailicia said, wiping dirt from his face. "Jack, you must never, ever...Dreamwalking is dangerous enough, but to do it waking is ten times more dangerous! The threat from the Dark One..."
"I was trying to do something about that," he sighed.
"You...challenged the Dark One seconds after claiming Yhswyndyr?" High Lord Perigaen asked with disbelief, arriving at their side.
"Did I not warm you he was reckless?" Ara’fael asked, looking at Braedan disapprovingly.
"Not the...not Him," Braedan replied, feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar under the Spellweaver's burning glare. "I'm not that stupid. I went after Graith."
"Oh, well...Graith is completely different," Ara’fael snorted.
"He wasn't so tough," Jack said, unable to stop a smile from forming on his lips. He could always count on the Ailfar Spellweaver to keep his head out of the clouds. If she ever started to treat him with deference, he would really start to worry.
"Not so...not so..." Ara’fael fumed. "Look behind you! The Temple of the Sword has been destroyed!"
“Agash Thugar isn’t faring too well at the moment either,” Braedan shrugged, wincing. He would be one giant bruise come tomorrow, but he would have sooner shown weakness to the dark-King than Lady Ara’fael. "And the temple has served its purpose.” Gritting his teeth against the fire shooting through his body, he picked up Yhswyndyr and struggled painfully to his feet.
"I suppose it has," High Lord Perigaen agreed.
When those gathered around realized what Braedan held in his hands, finally realized the significance of what holding the fabled sword meant, everyone, including Ara’fael, went to a knee.
"Hail Jack Bra' Adan!" Tarsus shouted. "High King of Aralon!"
"Hail the High King of Aralon!" one and all replied.
"Oh hell," Jack sighed. "I'm too tire for this. Stand up before you get those all those nice clothes dirty."
The crowd rose with a tremendous cheer.
"High Lord, do you know anything about healing?" asked Jack, slowly taking a knee. He really was in a great deal of pain.
"Lord Farra!" Perigaen called, summoning a young Lord with brown hair and hazel eyes flecked with gold. "See to the High King! He is injured!"
"Yes High Lord," she nodded. "Your majesty," she said turning to Braedan with a slight bow.
"It's Jack," he sighed with a weary shake of his head. It was only go to get worse from here on out.
"Of course, your majesty," Lord Farra nodded. "Your majesty might want to sit down. I am not sure how the Sword of Life will react to a Healing."
Braedan thrust Yhswyndyr point first in the ground, then allowed Ailicia to help him resume his seat.
"Thank you," Farra said quietly.
Even a Lord was apprehensive around the Highsword. Jack recalled Malik's warning. The Staffclave would prefer their god to remain in heaven. They would make the choice for him if...when Sunheart began to manifest itself beyond his control.
As the Lord summoned power from her staff, Braedan could sense the healing spell through Yhswyndyr even though the sword was no longer in his grasp. Sunheart was a part of him now. He felt it in his blood. Felt it calling to him even now, telling him he could heal himself if he only spoke the need. Perhaps Lord Farra could feel it was well. She was trying valiantly to mask her fear of the High-sword in her eyes, her fear of him. What did they think happened to him when he drew the sword? What would happen to him the longer kept it? 'They will make the choice for you,' Malik had warned.
"Go ahead, Lord Farra," Braedan said quietly. The Staffclave feared him enough already. To reveal to them how much power he could call from Sunheart already, so soon, well…he decided he’d keep it to himself for the time being.
The Lord placed her hands on each side of his face in much the same way Ailicia done, and closed her eyes. Braedan felt her tremble slightly when she touched him, like she was handling a dangerous, wounded animal and wasn't completely sure it wouldn't turn on the hands stretched out to aid it. He stiffened as a feeling like an electric shock passed through him. It was gone in an instant, and with it, all his pain and weariness. Farra opened her eyes with a sigh of relief.
"Thank you," Braedan nodded. He stood, stronger and more refreshed than he'd felt in days, and offered the Lord his hand. After a second's hesitation, Farra allowed him to help her to her feet. Before letting her go, he leaned forward and whispered into her ear.
"I'm not a monster," he assured her. "And I definitely don't want to be a god."
The young Lord started as if he'd read her mind.
"See to Tarsus," Jack said. "The old fool tossed me over his shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes. He probably threw his back out."
"Yes High King," Farra nodded. Maybe she believed him. Maybe not.
"I'm fine," the Amarian muttered as the Healer reached up to place her hands on his face. "When the day comes I can't carry a sack of potatoes, Tereil will be putting me in my grave."
"He's as strong as a bull," Lord Farra agreed after examining him.
"See?" Tarsus grinned.
"Give the High King s
omething to drink," Lord Farra told Arrgenn Dunnahel, who was nearest to Jack.
"Here my Lord," Dunnahel said, holding out a skin of water with trembling hands. It was the first time Braedan had ever seen the Doridanian show anything remotely resembling fear. And all because he had drawn Yhswyndyr. At least now maybe it would be easier to keep the brash young lancer in line. Rhyn would be certainly pleased.
"Thanks Arrgenn," Jack nodded.
"My Lord," Dunnahel whispered, offering a quick bow.
"What time is it?" he asked, handing back the empty skin when he had drained every last drop. His throat had been as dry as a desert.
"Sundown is less than an hour away," High Lord Perigaen replied. "You were...gone for most of the day."
"Most of the day?" he asked with astonishment. "Time flows differently in the Land of Dreams. But all day? Do you think going there waking had something to do with it?"
"Lord Sheva may have been able to answer you High King," Perigaen shrugged. He didn't have to finish his thought. The Dreamwalking Lord was dead.
Jack and Ailicia would have to find that answer. If...if he could convince her ever to Dream-walk again.
"You scared me half to death," Ailicia scolded. "What were you thinking Jack Braedan?"
"I was thinking…I wanted to kill Graith," Jack replied. “I wanted to cleanse the Land of Dreams.” He quickly recounted everything which had happened since he’d drawn Yhswyndyr. Every painful detail.
“The damage you did to Gorthiel,” the High Lord said thoughtfully, “It will give the dark-King pause. It will take him time to repair his keep. The rest is…troubling.”
"It...It didn't turn out exactly as I'd hoped," he admitted quietly.
"And what was it you hoped to do?" Ara’fael asked. "Destroy the entire world with your little tiff?" But she smiled when she said it. Apparently, Jack had finally impressed the Ailfar Spellweaver; by the power he'd displayed, if perhaps not with the results.
"You actually said…" Thonicil asked, the ghost of a smile shining in his eyes. "You told him you were going to...you actually said that?"
"I was angry," Jack shrugged.
