by Nova Rose
Bastyon rode along the lonely road to where the sorceress awaited him. Birds chirped merrily unaware of the sacrifice he was about to make. Clop. Clop. His horse trudged on steadily, content with its long journey. As Bastyon rode, he thought back to when King Tesnayr had given him his assignment.
He remembered walking in on Tesnayr as he leaned on a balcony overlooking the ocean. The newly constructed palace just outside the small village of Norlyk was a wonder to behold. The dwarves had worked efficiently when they chose to construct the citadel at Norlyk.
“My lord,” Bastyon had said when he entered the room.
“Bastyon,” greeted Tesnayr. “It is good of you to come. I suppose the situation has been explained?”
“Yes, Idӕas told me what it is you wish to do.” Bastyon did not understand the order, but he would do anything for his king.
Tesnayr unhooked the sword from around his waist and solemnly handed it to Bastyon. He took it admiring its markings. “But, my king, your sword. Surely, you must—”
“Part with it,” interrupted Tesnayr. Sorrow filled his face momentarily before he regained his composure. “The sword served me well, but I no longer need it and must let it go. I do not ask for you to understand. Only that you heed my command.”
“I will do as you ask.”
“Do not take this job lightly, Bastyon. I am entrusting you to guard this sword from any who dare steal it for their own purposes. One day, its rightful heir will find it. When that day comes you will know. But know this: it may be a very long time. You could be locked away from the world for centuries.”
“You have my word.”
“Very well. You will travel to the edges of MurDair. There is a place just outside the town of Samara. It is a deep cave, you can’t miss it. Ernayn will be waiting for you there.”
“The sorceress,” said Bastyon.
“She will not harm you,” assured Tesnayr. “But you must do as she commands.”
“Yes, my king.” Bastyon turned to leave.
“One other thing,” said Tesnayr. He picked up a large book and wrapped it in a velvet cloth before handing it to Bastyon. “You will need this. Guard the sword with your life. Only when the world has need of it again will it resurface. On that day, your mission will end. Good luck.”
“On my honor, I will not let you down.” Bastyon left barely hearing the last words Tesnayr spoke to him.
“I know you won’t.”
I know you won’t. Such trust. Determined, Bastyon touched the sword making certain he still possessed it.
“You made it.” Ernayn, the sorceress, pulled him from his reverie.
Bastyon halted his horse and dismounted. “Was there any doubt?”
“This way,” said Ernayn in answer. She moved into the dark hole of the earth. Bastyon followed.
“Wait a moment.” Ernayn sealed the cave opening with a spell. “This way.” She walked deep underground until the gravelly corridor led into a chamber. The well-lit area revealed a pedestal and a tapestry.
Bastyon marveled at the chamber that had been prepared for him.
“Put the book on the pedestal.”
Bastyon did as he was told. Gingerly, he placed it on the table and unwrapped it.
“I will leave it up to you to decide where to place the sword within the chamber. The book contains a history of the five lands. It even contains records of Tesnayr’s feats against the orcs.”
“But why—”
“None of your concern,” interrupted Ernayn, “When Tesnayr’s heir arrives he will have to be able to read from the book. It is written in the ancient language. You have studied it I presume.”
Bastyon nodded in answer.
“This is your last chance to turn around and head home.”
“I have no intention of leaving. I gave my word to King Tesnayr.” Bastyon understood the cost.
“Very well,” said Ernayn. “I am going to perform a simple spell. It will transfer the long years I, as a sorceress, possess to you. This will enable you to not age at all. You will have no need of food and drink.”
Bastyon absorbed the sorceress’ words. “What will become of you?”
“My death.”
The simple statement shocked Bastyon. The sorceress was going to die?
“It is necessary,” said Ernayn, “I have lived long enough. The only way I can ensure your success on this assignment is to die. Do not look so sad.” She touched his cheek. “You will be alone down here.”
“Yes, sorceress. I just did not expect you to have to die.”
“Every person has an end. This is mine. Now, give me your hand.”
Bastyon stretched out his hand. She took it firmly. Her soft skin surprised him.
“Dolsẻ ac n’him,” said Ernayn is a strong voice that echoed through the cave.
A blue light spread from her hand stretching up Bastyon’s arm. Tendrils of light spilled from her encompassing them. More light spilled from Ernayn filling the chamber with its powerful glow. Brighter and brighter it grew until suddenly, it disappeared.
A pile of rock and ash remained where Ernayn had been. Bastyon reached down and touched what was left of the powerful sorceress. He looked at his hand. It looked the same, but he felt different. Flexing his fingers, Bastyon studied himself. He felt powerful and strong as though time could not touch him.
Bastyon pulled out Tesnayr’s sword from beneath his cloak. He held it in the sheath knowing full well what would happen if he touched the blade. He studied the markings on the scabbard. The tapestry caught his attention. An idea struck him. Whomever was meant for the sword should be able to solve a simple riddle.
Centuries passed and in all that time no one knew of Bastyon, the cavern near Samara, nor the treasure he guarded. And so Bastyon remained. Alone, in the dark.
Glossary
