On the third day, the
companions gathered together for their noonday meal in the tavern. The day was
clear and sunny, a warm breeze blowing through the streets of Metier, marking
the approach of spring. They had just finished their meal when the doors burst
open and a tall, slim man bolted to the bar. He seemed frantic as he looked
around the room, as if searching for someone or something. Balifore approached
him and conversed with the man briefly, then walked hurriedly to where his
friends sat.
“A group of travelers has been
attacked by orcs just outside of town.” He began. “ A guard has gone to find
Raem, but it may take some time.”
Everyone stood up at the same
time, knowing what had to be done. Talric ran back upstairs to grab his bow and
Veronica's staff. Balifore walked back towards the man and asked which road the
attack was on. He told them it was out the southern entrance. It was close
enough to see the smoke from fires on the horizon, but wasn't certain how far
down the road the ambush was. Cyrus promised Eileia everything would be all
right before following his friends out to the stables.
A few minutes later, the
companions were riding hard out the south entrance. A rush of adrenaline
reached Cyrus' heart, making his blood rush. They rode for almost five minutes
before they saw the wisps of smoke rising into the sky, marking the attack less
than a mile away. Cyrus began to breathe rhythmically, allowing his primal
bloodlust to take him as they rode.
The carnage of the scene they
witnessed was beyond belief. Nearly all of the ten wagons had been smashed,
their contents spilling onto the road before them. One carriage was smoldering,
the smoke rising from the blackened remains reaching for the clouds. In the
field to the left were the horses running in circles, confused by the slaughter
and the smell of blood. Bodies were strewn about the wagons and the field
beyond, some even missing limbs. A yell from the woods behind the wagons drew
their attention away from the blood bath. Ten greenish humanoids were dragging
more than a dozen humans by ropes attached to their bound wrists. Talric took
careful aim and fired his bow, the sharp twang ringing briefly in their ears.
The shot slammed into the back of one orc, causing the others to turn quickly
in surprise. Their faces were round, the low brow shading their eyes from the
sun. The tusk-like teeth protruded from their grimly closed mouths just below
their flat, pig-like noses.
Cyrus had already dismounted
and was running towards the beasts, screaming his battle cry. With a gesture
from one orc, dressed in the overly elaborate armor worn by chieftains in their
tribe, a score more appeared from the woods to stand between the prisoners and
the hastily approaching clansman. Cyrus paused just behind a smoldering wagon
and turned to see his friends approaching. They gathered beside the warrior,
reevaluating their hasty attack.
“I say we cut them down until
we breathe our last breaths.” Avengard screamed in anger, eagerly twisting the
massive sword in his hand. Cyrus, still locked in battle lust, readily agreed. Dragonslayer began to glow an eerie red,
eager for blood it seemed.
“Veronica and Balifore should kill
as many as they can with fireballs before we rush into them.” Thordex chimed
in.
Avengard looked at the rogue in
rage, swinging his sword in slow circles. “Magic? Pah! The work of sorcery has
no place on a battlefield of glory!” He spat.
“To hell with it!” Talric
screamed. With Cyrus falling deeper into his mysterious battle rage, it was up
to him to take some sort of control over the situation. “Stop arguing and pay
attention! They're advancing!”
The others looked back to the
orcs in time to see them charge their position. Before the companions could do
anything, the orcs hesitated just as a rain of arrows tore into their ranks.
Everyone turned quickly to see Raem approaching by horse with two score of his
guardsmen close behind. All of the guardsmen were decked out in their gleaming
plate armor, their swords hanging by their side. Each one stopped their mount
as they let loose another barrage of arrows. Talric joined in, his arms moving
in a blur as he dropped two...three...four orcs in the space of a few seconds.
The beasts were dropping quickly, but it seemed more were coming from the
woods. Without hesitation, Raem reached the companions, placing his hand on
Cyrus' shoulder. The soldiers had dropped their bows and now drew their swords.
“The battle is on, my friends.”
Raem said, his eyes wild with rage. The wily veteran held his falchion high.
“Charge!”
The orcs and their opponents
clashed together in a flurry of movement. The ringing of steel against steel
and the screams of the dying were the only sounds on the road. Cyrus and
Avengard were cutting down orcs left and right, cleaving several nearly in half
with only a few swings. One orc got through Avengard’s defenses to slash his
arm, but paid for the blow when the knight sheared a quarter of his head from
his shoulders. The knight turned again and thrust his gleaming blade into the
gullet of one of the sneaky beasts that was trying to flank Cyrus. The berserk
warrior spun on his heels and sheared the orc's head and shoulders from the
rest of its body. The bloodlust in his eyes surprised the knight for a moment.
Cyrus charged away from the knight and leapt into a circle of orcs, his magic
axe tearing the arms off of any unfortunate to be in his path. Standing in the
center of the circle was the same orc that had started this attack. The
chieftain screamed a blood-curdling screech, catching the attention of half of
the combatants. As Cyrus began his swing at the beast, a spear grazed his
armpit, throwing him slightly off balance. The bite of the weapon meant little
to him. It was the boldness of the move that boiled the big man's blood. He
began swinging his axe with reckless abandon, loosing all control over his
animal instincts. Taking a deep breath, the warrior exhaled a jagged bolt of
lightning that tore a wide trail of destruction through the ranks of the orcs.
The chieftain was struck first, his head exploding as the blood was boiled from
his brain. Raem watched the entire spectacle in awe, amazed at the power this
man possessed. An orc battle cry rang through Raem's ears. He turned as one of
the bestial warriors shoved a sword into his side, piercing a lung. The veteran
roared as he brought his falchion down, snapping the orc's sword. Raem threw
his sword at the back of the retreating beast, felling it when the blade
pierced between its shoulders. He clutched the wound at his side as his vision
began to go black. I have finally found him, the old warrior thought to himself
as he slipped from consciousness.
Talric was moving in a blur,
darting under swords and axes, placing precision strikes in the orcs. He had
heard the explosive boom created by the lightning bolt and assumed, with his
magic, that Balifore had his end of the battle won. McGowan's heavy mace was
leaving a pile of bodies in his wake, crushing the skulls and faces of many of
the creatures. Thordex was using the back stabbing technique he was best with,
hitting the orcs from behind with thrown daggers. He darted into the melee
occasionally to retrieve his knives before beginning again. Cyrus cleaved the
head from the shoulders of an enemy and peered around. The carnage was sweet to
him. He loved the thrills of combat and relished in the sweet smell of his
enemy's blood. Glancing around quickly, he noticed that Raem was nowhere to be
seen. He had no time to ponder this as another of the foul beasts was charging
his position.
Veronica and Balifore stood out
of sight of the battle, spying the four orcs who were left with the prisoners,
half dragging them in an attempt to escape the mass slaughter. The captives
knew rescue was a breath away and were stalling for time. Occasionally, an orc
would kick one in the head as hard as he could, raising a scream of outrage
from the rest. This was causing a lot of confusion between the four orcs as
each argued who should be in charge. The two thought for a moment before
Balifore shuddered as he thought of something.
“Shall we?” Balifore asked as
he extended his arm to Veronica.
A wry smile brightened her face
as she realized what he intended to do. “Yes. Let's do it.”
She held his arm as both began
the incantations of verbal spells. Balifore, clutching his medallion, tapped
his black staff on the ground then swung it in a wide arc. In an instant the
two mages vanished. They appeared directly in front of the very surprised orcs,
who stopped their arguing long enough to wonder how these two had gotten to
them so fast. Veronica, still chanting, opened her eyes and focused on the
first orc in line. With a sweep of her arm she finished her spell, four small
balls of energy leaping from her fingertips towards the orc’s chest. The orc
had barely enough time to bring up its shield when the balls slammed it in the
chest, creating smoking holes in the beast’s armor. Wide-eyed, the orc fell
face first onto the ground, its last breath leaving its mouth in a puff of
vapor as it fell. Enraged at the death of their comrade, the three remaining
orcs charged the two mages. As Balifore chanted the words for his flaming
sphere spell, Veronica began to mutter the words to bring up a shield between
them and the orcs. Before she could finish, one of the orcs was upon her, its
hand, a gleam from the index finger catching her eye, slashing towards her
face. Bringing up an arm to protect herself, she felt a stinging bite as
something slashed into her arm. Balifore’s spell completed then as he shot
forth three spears of fire that buried themselves in the chests of all three
orcs. Their blood boiling from the intense heat of the spears, all three fell
wordlessly to the ground. Satisfied with his work, Balifore turned to Veronica
and noticed her clutching at her forearm.
“Are you all right, Veronica?
Did the orc injure you?”
“No, I’m fine.” She responded,
wincing from the stinging sensation that seemed to flow through her entire body
now. “It’s just a scratch. Let’s get these people to safety.”
Nodding, the half-elf walked
towards the group of prisoners and began cutting their binds. He never noticed
the pained look that crossed Veronica’s face as he freed the last of the
prisoners and began to herd them towards the road, away from the fighting.
With the death of their leader,
the remaining orcs lost the will to fight and began to make a hasty retreat
back towards the relative safety of the woods. Talric and four Metier archers,
making assurances that the orcs would not attack caravans here again anytime
soon, briefly pursued them. As they slowly began to gather together again, they
sifted through the carnage to check for fallen survivors. McGowan had taken a
blow to the head and was laying in one of the recovered wagons, too weak to
heal or fight any longer, his sister watching over him. Avengard gingerly
removed his armor to remove two arrows that had been imbedded in the back plate
near his shoulder. The wound was not deep, but the apprentice clerics who had
been drafted by the Metier Guard insisted on healing it anyway to fight off
infection.
It was near the middle of the
battlefield close to the fallen orc chieftain where Cyrus found Raem. He
frantically called for clerical assistance as he carefully rolled the big man
onto his back, blood still steadily dribbling from the wound on his side.
“I want you to…promise me
something…Cyrus.” Raem’s voice sounded frail and weak. A cough nearly doubled
him over as pain wracked his body.
“You’re going to be all right.
Just hang on for a bit longer.”
“My time here is over. I know
that…and so do you.” He managed a weak smile through bloodied lips.
“No. You’re going to be okay!
Hold on, man!” Cyrus searched around frantically, screaming for help. A few of
the surviving Guardsmen began to arrive, one quickly leaving to find a priest.
Raem closed his eyes briefly and sighed. At first, Cyrus thought that he had
lost him, but the big man opened his eyes again and looked at Cyrus fondly.
“Take care of…Eileia…for me.
She really is…fond of you.” Cyrus reached down to remove the broken blade from
Raem’s side. A shout from behind made him pause.
“Don’t do that! It is the only
thing keeping him from bleeding to death.” One of the apprentice clerics had
finally joined Cyrus at Raem’s side. He put his hand to the man’s forehead and
began to chant softly. After a few moments, he looked up at Cyrus, the grief on
his face confirming Cyrus’ fears.
“I want you to…have something…”
Raem began clawing weakly at his neck. His fingers found a gold chain, too weak
to remove it from beneath his armor.
“Take my medallion. You
were…destined to lead them. Find…Eldd Athtor…” He groaned as another surge of
pain wracked his body. He laid back down as a wave of calm seem to pass over
him. He smiled as he looked once again at Cyrus, a tear forming at the corner
of his eye.
“It was an honor to finally
meet you.” With a final breath, the man known as Raem Saeroth died. The
apprentice placed his hand on Cyrus’ shoulder briefly before walking back towards
a group of injured soldiers to check on them. Saddened, Cyrus placed his hand
on Raem’s chest and began to chant an ancient hymn for the dying, learned by
everyone in his clan in a language long dead.
Sleep now the timeless sleep
The son has now returned
For merely a breath he walks
this world
Immortal once the lesson’s
learned.
Sleep now the timeless sleep
And understand the darkening
The Halls of Ton’Kele are open
now
To welcome home the returning
king
When Cyrus completed the rhyme,
he remembered to check Raem’s neck and brought forth the silver chain. The
chain held a medallion that shone in the light, an etching of a dragon
painstakingly carved into it and buffed an unusual gray color. Somberly, the
warrior attached the chain around his neck and gazed upon Raem one last time
before covering him with the cleric’s cloak.
“I promise you, Raem. I will
watch over Eileia. I swear it.” He stood and began to leave, noticing the
apprentice priest walking back towards him.
“Might I ask you, sir?” the
apprentice inquired. “What language were you speaking and what was it you
said?”
“Just a ritual among my people,
a death right. It’s spoken in a long-dead language of a clan wiped out during
the Clan War five hundred years ago.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
pry.” the cleric glanced over at the still form of Raem. “It’s just that I’d
heard similar words spoken during prayers by Raem and the Elite Guard.”
“Hmmm…” Cyrus thought over it
for a moment. “Is any of the guard a Klah’hin barbarian? That would explain how
they know the prayer.”
“Could be, but I don’t know any
of them well enough to know for sure. I was just curious, that’s all. The words
stirred a feeling of hope I haven’t felt since joining the church.”
With that, the cleric walked
back towards the rest of the Elite Guard. As Cyrus looked towards them, three
of the guardsmen saluted him, right forearm over breast. Curious as to this new
turn of events, Cyrus paused and returned the salute before continuing on to
check on his friends. He would have to remember to ask Eileia about the
medallion later. He stopped abruptly as he realized how much the news of her
uncle’s death was going to hurt her. He dreaded having to tell her of Raem’s
death, but hoped he could offer a measure of comfort for her. He now had a
promise to keep for his friend. He just wasn’t sure if he would be able to
follow through, as he would like.
Eleven men, Raem among them,
were loaded carefully onto the wagons to take back to town for a proper burial.
By the time the caravan returned to Metier, the sun was just beginning to set.
News had reached the town quickly and many of the local dignitaries were lined
up on the roadside to pay their respects. Raem was revered in Metier and many
knew the blow his death would have on the town.
Cyrus hurried his roan to the
front of The Trades Inn and Tavern and saw the doors were locked.
He knocked briefly hoping he was able to get in without having to break down
the door.
“We’re closed. Please come back
later.” the voice on the other side of the door responded meekly.
“Dronus? It’s Cyrus. I need to
see Eileia.”
A few heartbeats later, he
heard the lock being thrown and the door opened slightly. As Cyrus slowly
walked in, Dronus had shuffled back towards the bar to continue cleaning the
already pristine mugs.
“I hope your luck is better
than mine.” Dronus said sadly. “I closed the tavern just so she could get some
peace and quiet. No one’s been able to get her out of her room since she heard
the news.”
Cyrus sighed, relocking the
door behind him. “I was hoping to be here for her when she heard the news. I
don’t know her that well, but…”
“But nothing” Dronus
interrupted. “Before this, I hadn’t seen her happier since you first walked
through that door. You’ve treated her with respect, which is more than I can
say for any other stranger I’ve seen around here. And I can see the fondness
she has for you in her eyes.”
Cyrus couldn’t look the man in
the eye. “I won’t be here long. You know that. Once we find out where Malkar’s
going, we will follow.”
“Are you not meaning to return
then?” Dronus asked. When Cyrus was about to respond, the man held up a hand to
silence him. “I already know how you’ll answer. You don’t know if you’ll
survive this or not. You can’t promise something like that, can you?
“I’ve been at this tavern for
twenty-five years now. Her parents died when she was six and I looked after her
for nearly seven years after, until Raem came here and took to raising her full
time. She can take care of herself, you know. She’s a strong woman. But
everyone needs someone to turn to for help in easing pains of the heart, even
if it’s just temporary.”
Cyrus looked up at the man and
nodded. He knew he would return if he were able. He hoped she would see it that
way, but now he wasn’t so sure. Besides Dronus, once he left she would have
nothing. Even with the possibility that he wouldn’t return for her, he knew she
needed him, now more than ever.
“Go to her. She needs you.”
Dronus smiled sadly before turning back to his work.
Cyrus walked slowly towards the
back hallway to where her room was. Pausing to compose himself, he knocked
quietly and announced himself. The door opened just a bit and stopped, Cyrus
slowly opening it the rest of the way. Eileia sat on her couch, the same one
they had fallen asleep on a couple of nights before, her eyes red and swollen.
When she looked up at him, she quickly stood and started towards him.
“Look at this! You’re injured!”
she grabbed his arm where he’d been grazed by a spear during the fighting. “We
need to get this cleaned up. Don’t want it to get infected.”
She led Cyrus to the couch and
sat him down, dunking a rag in a bowl of water nearby to clean the area around
his wound.
“Eileia…”
“Get your chainmail off. I can see
some broken links in it and want to make sure you haven’t got wounds there
too.”
“Eileia?”
“See? You’ve got a scrape on
your back. It looks like it’s been there for a little while though. You need to
let me know these things so I can fix them for you.”
“Eileia!”
She was a bit startled at the
stark tone in his voice. She looked into his eyes for a few seconds before
bursting into tears. Cyrus held her close to him, trying to comfort her. After
a few minutes, her sobs began to quiet. She pushed away from him slowly, now
holding Raem’s medallion between her fingers.
“This is familiar.” She said
weakly. “You were there when he died then?”
“Yes. He gave this to me and
told me to lead them.”
“Who?”
“The Elite Guard, I assume.
Before he could explain he…”
Cyrus didn’t have to finish. He
gazed into her eyes, wiping away a tear that began to roll down her cheek.
“Did he say anything else?”
Cyrus paused, not knowing
whether he should tell her of the promise he made. It would be easier for her
this way, he thought. Something told him that this was wrong. He had to tell
her.
“Yes. He made me promise to
take care of you. And I will.”
“But you’ll be leaving soon,
right?”
He caressed her cheek and
leaned in, kissing her tenderly on the forehead.
“I will return for you. I
promise.”
She gazed into his eye and,
without pause, reached up to remove the patch. Cyrus pulled away at first, but
the pain he saw in her eyes made him pause. He allowed her to remove the patch;
permitting her to see what no other person had seen since he first lost his
eye. Her fingers lightly touched the scarred area where his eye had once been,
caressing it briefly.
“I just had to see your face as
you would were you looking into a mirror. I see you with both eyes, Cyrus
Redblade. I can see how much you care, how much you love. You care very much
for your friends. There is also a lingering guilt within you. As much as it
pains me to let you go, I know that I must.”
She kissed the scarred skin
lightly before replacing the patch. “I really need you to be with me tonight. I
need to be close to you, to draw some of your strength from you. Right now, I
can’t be without you.”
She kissed him fervently on the
mouth, lingering for a moment before pulling away. She led him to her bed and
lay down, Cyrus lying down beside her. Laying her head on his chest, she
listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as she began to fall into an
exhaustive sleep. Soon after, weary from the battle and with much on his mind,
Cyrus also fell into a deep sleep. That night, he slept better than he had ever
slept since the death of his brother. That night, the woman pressed close to
his chest held the nightmares at bay.
