Sir Edge

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Finally, she came to Edge and he wrapped his arms around her huge head. “I missed you so much, Girl.”

  I’m staying with you now, she promised him. I’m not leaving again. John will find a different ride.

  “That makes me very happy,” he said. Will you take me up to Jhonate?

  Yes! Ride, she said and shrunk down until she was back to her normal size, her shoulders level with his.

  “You can rest here,” he told everyone else. “Gwyrtha’s taking me up.” Edge reached into his bond with her and pulled energy from her blazing core. Then, feeling rejuvenated, he climbed into her saddle.

  Rogue horses were designed to be ridden by bonding wizards and there was nothing in the world Gwyrtha liked to do more than run with Edge on her back. She ran up the mountainside, sometimes using the stair, but most often sprinting up the steep slopes. She was in her element and Edge was too. He clung to her back with practiced ease and reveled in her joy, his worry for Jhonate fading with the knowledge that John was with her. That worry returned in full force when she came into view.

  Jhonate and the Prophet were a short distance from the top when he saw her. She was descending the rough-hewn stairway gingerly, one hand gripping her staff, the other one clutching John’s arm. She was pale and her side was caked with blood.

  “Jhonate!” Edge yelled and urged Gwyrtha to pick up speed.

  She saw him coming and a smile brightened her face. He felt her presence return to the Jharro ring on his finger and she spoke to him. Justan, my love!

  Are you okay? he asked.

  Gwyrtha finally reached them and Edge leapt from the saddle and rushed to her side. He wanted to embrace her, crush her against him, but he didn’t dare. He reached out to cup her chin. “You’re injured.”

  “John says it is not fatal,” she assured him.

  “I was taking her to Fist so that she can be healed,” John said. “Can you ask him to join us?”

  “No. Edge can do it,” Jhonate said.

  Edge frowned. “Are you sure?”

  She placed her hand on his arm, “We have much to tell each other. Heal me. It is the fastest way.”

  Edge nodded and drew Peace. He flipped the sword around so that the dagger-like point on the bottom of the handle was extended toward her. She pierced her hand on the tip.

  Edge’s mind was drawn into hers. He saw what she had gone through over the past few months as he had been gone searching for the Prophet. She had missed him and during those lonely nights had agonized over their lost child and childless future. When the letter from Seer Rahan had come it had been a chance for her to stop waiting and mourning and do something about it.

  He experienced her meeting with Nod and saw her journey play before him. He felt her agony and frustration, and most strongly, her sense of purpose. He saw her trials in the desert and her mountain climb and Nod’s betrayal and their fight. But when she laid on the altar, his mind was pushed from hers. Edge knew that there was something there that he was not meant to see. He began working on her wound.

  While he had been living her memories, she had done the same with his and as he healed her, he felt her love for him fill his mind.

  You went through so much for me.

  Everyone did, he said as he carefully worked to stitch together the torn tissues in her side. It was delicate work. The magic of Nod’s sword had done severe damage. If it had pierced her any deeper, she would not have survived.

  I will show all of them my gratitude, she promised. Her thoughts became troubled. I saw things, Justan. When I laid on the altar . . . Horrible things.

  I could not see them, Edge said. The power of this holy place didn’t let me.

  Many of them have faded from my mind as well, she said. But after what the seer told me . . . I am afraid.

  He frowned. Jhonate never admitted to being afraid. What could there possibly be that would make Jhonate bin Leeths afraid?

  It is Sar Zahara now, she said somewhat bitterly. She still wasn’t used to it and the connotations that came from the things Rahan had told her about it made her uneasy. A great deal of new responsibility had been added to her life.

  Edge understood what that was like. Oh, is that what you want me to start calling you now? he teased.

  Only when we are in front of others, she replied, but she wasn’t amused for long. Justan, the thing that makes me fearful is what must be done before my curse is broken.

  Stop saying that. It’s our curse, Edge said. You don’t bear this burden alone.

  You do not understand, she said. This is not some selfish fear. Hear me. Seer Rahan left me another letter and in it he told me that before the curse is broken, people that we know and love, people in our tribe, will die.

  Edge felt a stirring of dread. Do you know who?

  I do not.

  He let out a stubborn grunt. Well, I refuse to believe that such things are inevitable. We will have to be certain to do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.

  We may have no choice, she replied.

  There is always a choice. If anyone can do this, it’s us. Finally finished with the healing, Edge removed her hand from his sword and embraced her, kissing her soundly.

  He turned to John who had politely stepped away and was brushing Gwyrtha’s mane. “John, did you get the dark dagger back? Celos? The one that Nod stole from the Mage School?”

  “No,” said the Prophet. “He didn’t have it with him.”

  “He may have passed it on to someone in Filgren,” Jhonate said. “I saw him delivering packages there.”

  “Packages?” Edge said.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” John said. “He stole the Rings of Stardeon.”

  Edge swallowed. “How can that be? I gave them to you. I hoped you would destroy them.”

  John gave him a patient look. “I told you I could not do that. I stored them in the vault at the Mage School and he took them at the same time he was taking the dagger.”

  “Alright.” Edge sighed. “So we need to retrieve the Rings of Stardeon. Great. That’s never been hard before.”

  We can do it! Gwyrtha assured him.

  “Unfortunately, neither the rings nor the dagger are our largest problem right now,” John said. “David has beaten me today, outsmarted me.”

  “But . . . we stopped him,” Jhonate said with a frown. “The seals weren’t broken. The barrier stands.”

  “The barrier breaking is just one of two calamities that I have long known were coming to this world. Both of them are inevitable,” he said. “I have heard my master’s thoughts on this and he had told me that they are coming.

  “Nevertheless, I have managed to delay them for two centuries. Through my efforts and the efforts of bonding wizards and those named by the Bowl of Souls, generations of good people have been able to live full lives without seeing the horrors that are to come.”

  “You say two calamities,” Jhonate said. Her brow creased in a frown as she thought of the Seer’s final letter. “Is one of them the Dark Prophet’s return?”

  “It is,” John said. “You two have helped me stop him before. But David is clever and he never enacts one plan without having several other backup plans in the wings. Recently, I discovered that many of his attempts to return were decoys, ruses to keep me occupied through the years while his true designs went by undetected. Today, those designs came to fruition.”

  That feeling of dread within Edge swelled. “What did he do?”

  “He made me choose between those two great calamities,” John said with a tired sigh. “My choices were to come here and save Alsarobeth and you from destruction, or go to Khalpany and save a child to prevent David’ return. He knew that I couldn’t be in both places at once. And he knew which choice I would make.”

  Edge swallowed. “This isn’t the first time you’ve faced a hard decision, John. You always seem to make the right one.”

  The Prophet placed a hand over his heart. “That is kind of you, but I often find
it hard to believe.” He shook his head. “The results of those choices are my burden to bear. Usually when I have to make a decision between options this horrible, I have servants in the area, people I can trust to fight without me.”

  “And this time?” Edge asked.

  “I have good people there. People that have helped me stop David before. I trust them, but . . .” He put his hand on Edge’s shoulder and there was deep sorrow in his eyes. “This time I fear they are not enough.”

  Edge swallowed. “What are you saying?”

  “If my people are defeated tonight, dark times are coming, Edge.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Lucinder – Escape

  Lucinder looked out his window, his headache forgotten. He watched with rapt excitement as the fires in the city blossomed. This was the signal. Tonight was the night of his escape.

  For the past two weeks he had watched and waited, worried that Bertrom’s attack would be too late and that the guards would come and drag him to the dungeons. But finally, the time had come.

  He had so many plans for what he wanted to do once he got out of here. First, he would enter the Training School so that he could join the Academy. Then, he would kiss a girl. His interest was equally pulled in both those directions.

  The fires raged and shouts filled the streets. Palace guards rushed out to help, something that Lucinder was certain was part of Bertrom’s plan. During the distraction, his people would sneak into the dungeons and begin freeing prisoners. Then, somehow, they would create the impression that they were going after the Dark Bowl. While Priestress Sren and Warwielder Ghat gathered their forces, Bertrom would use the opportunity to come up and take Lucinder away.

  The prince wasn’t certain if the named warrior would appear at his window again or come to the door. Either way had its advantages, but he thought the fastest way would be to leave via the window. Lucinder still wasn’t sure how Bertrom managed to jump from that high window without being hurt, but he trusted that the warrior would have a way for both of them to do it.

  The only part he was nervous about was when it came time to cut off his toe that had the spell on it. He knew it was necessary, but he wondered if there was a way to do it without it hurting too badly. Of course, compared to his horrendous headaches it couldn’t be so bad.

  He tried not to think too hard on the headaches. Maybe Sir Bertrom’s friends would have a way to ease them. Or more likely, they would just go away. Lucinder had a suspicion that his headaches had something to do with this palace. Priestess Sren hadn’t tried to do more than torment him when she had come to help. Maybe his parents had something to do with them. The pain could be a way of keeping him from trying to leave. It was hard to conduct an escape plan when you didn’t want to leave your bed.

  Lucinder’s mind continued to go wild, bubbling from one fantasy to the next as he watched the flurry of activity outside. Then an hour passed. Some of the fires were extinguished. Another hour passed and there were no flames to be seen at all. Just smoke.

  Fear built within him. It had grown quiet outside and Sir Bertrom had not come. Then he saw something that caused a chill to rise within him. He caught a glimpse of Priestess Sren passing through the courtyard below. She was entering his wing of the palace.

  Lucinder swallowed. Something had gone wrong. His palms began to sweat. His headache throbbed back to full life.

  Slowly he stepped up onto the window ledge. It was time to make a choice. He could hear loud footsteps coming down the hall. Sren was coming. He closed his eyes and let go of the sides of the window. He swayed for several long seconds and could feel death yawning before him. That was one type of escape.

  There was a loud knock on his door, and he was so startled he almost fell then and there. He stumbled back inside, his heart pounding.

  “Prince Lucinder!” shouted Sren’s voice.

  Lucinder cocked his head. There was something strange about her tone. “What is it?”

  “Come. Open the door. There is something you must see!” she cried and there was joy in her voice.

  Lucinder blinked. Joy? Priestess Sren? He began to wonder if this wasn’t a trick. Could it be that this wasn’t Sren at all? Was this a ruse?

  “Open, Lucinder,” she pressed, but there was no anger in her tone.

  “Don’t you have a key?” he asked. Thinking back, she had never knocked before. A grin appeared on his face. Was this someone sent by Sir Bertrom? It was a wild idea, a fanciful one, but he found himself moving towards the door.

  “I didn’t bring it with me,” she said and this time there was irritation in her voice. “Come.”

  Hesitantly, he reached out and disengaged the lock. The door opened and Priestess Sren strode inside. He stepped back, realizing his theory was a false one. If this wasn’t her, this was a very good disguise. It was her same beautiful face, blond hair, black lips, and the rune-marked armor was unmistakable.

  The only thing that kept him from running and flinging himself out the window at that moment was the smile on her face. It was transcendent, changing her look from one of deadly beauty to true radiance.

  “Wh-what are you so happy about?” he asked.

  “Because it’s time, Lucinder!” she said and laughed. It was a full-throated laugh, not a snicker or cackle.

  He found himself laughing along with her. She grasped his hand and pulled him out of the room with her and his steps didn’t falter. Alarms rose somewhere in the back of his mind, but she was so convincing. Surely someone as steeped in evil as Sren didn’t have this level of joy inside them. If this really wasn’t one of Bertrom’s friends in disguise than something must have happened to the priestess.

  She led him down the hallway, her hand grasped in his and she began to skip girlishly. The alarms in Lucinder’s mind grew louder. This was beyond joy. This was the behavior of someone that was either mad or they had fallen in love. At least that was how people in love acted in the books he read. Then again, when people acted this way in the books it was usually a prelude to tragedy.

  He swallowed. Madness was a more likely reason for her behavior. “Uh, you said it’s time. It’s time for what?”

  She didn’t answer, but continued to lead him, humming to herself. Then she took a turn and he realized that she was leading him into the section of the palace that was inside the cliff face. This wasn’t the usual route that the guards took him, but a few more turns and she could be leading him to the dungeons.

  He licked his lips, realizing what was happening. It was the obvious thing, after all. He had been so close to escape, and yet here he was like he had always been, the lamb letting himself be taken to slaughter.

  “So, what happened tonight?” he asked. “I saw the fires in the city. Everyone was running around.”

  “Oh, that,” she said cheerfully. “Those were just fools. Fools trying to stop the inevitable.”

  His body went numb. He wasn’t sure how he was still moving. “Wh-what’s going to happen to me?”

  “Only the best thing ever. You, Lucinder, get to become the king of the world. The Known Lands. The Unknown Lands. All of it. You have the lineage. You have the power. All you need is the soul.”

  Lucinder wanted to run then. He wanted to pull away. But for some reason he couldn’t. Despite his instincts telling him to run, he let her lead him into rough-hewn corridors and now-familiar passages. He was in the dungeons now and a short time later she pulled him into that familiar room.

  There at the center of the depression was the Dark Bowl. Next to it were his parents. Tears were streaming down his mother’s face and he noticed without emotion that she was now wearing a glove on her left hand. It was much like the glove his father wore to cover his shriveled finger, only it was white instead of black.

  Sren gestured and Warwielder Ghat appeared. He was wearing his full set of armor, but one of his hands was missing. In its place was a three pronged hook. Ghat grabbed Lucinder’s arm in his gauntleted hand and pulled hum further i
nto the room. Lucinder now saw the wall that had been obscured by the doorway and a cry escaped his lips.

  Sir Bertrom was chained to the wall. He was spread-eagled, his face bruised and bloodied, and his shirt had been torn away, exposing a torso that was covered in lacerations. The gaze he turned Lucinder’s way was mournful.

  “I’m sorry, kid. Didn’t go as planned.” He said, with a wheeze. He smiled through split lips. “Hey, at least Dagger got away. And your nurse.”

  Lucinder’s head throbbed, the ache rekindling with a vengeance.

  “And they will soon be caught,” Sren said with a chuckle. She snapped her fingers and a orc servant in a black hood hurried forward and held out a long slender box of black wood. In the center of the lid was a jade stone and when she opened it a feeling of horror and anguish filled the room.

  The dagger that lay within the box was long and curved and black. Its blade was stained brown with what looked like rust. The handle was a beautiful thing though and set in the pommel was a cluster of jade stones. Evil radiated from the thing with an insistent fury.

  Sren laughed and once again it was a beautiful and open-throated laugh. Lucinder couldn’t believe that this was the kind of thing that could bring anyone such joy. “Today comes the first of many sacrifices for the Dark Prophet’s return. That’s why I brought you here tonight, Lucinder.” She turned to face Bertrom.

  “Wait,” said Lucinder. He head hurt more than ever. The dagger’s power made him feel as if his brain would simply explode. “Don’t kill him.”

  “Oh, this isn’t my doing,” she said with a smile. “This is all because of you. You brought him here tonight. You and your simple innocence made this possible.”

  Still grinning, she lunged forward and thrust the dagger into Bertrom’s chest.

  “No!” cried Lucinder in horror and as he reached out towards the warrior, something inside his mind broke.

  An odd thing happened. The room went silent. A pulse of energy left his mind, glowing in colors of blue, red, black, gold, white, and gray. The pulse left his fingertips and struck Sir Bertrom. The power of it knocked Priestess Sren sprawling, the dagger still clutched in her hands.