Blade of Erogrund
Council of Lords

The woman led Godric and Mira back down the tunnel that had taken them into the Naevir, into Rae-Oiron, and up the sweeping staircase into the antechamber they had entered when first inside the city. She gestured that they should go down the short passage.

“Ennor and the Council are waiting for you in there.”

They nodded their thanks and walked down the passage. Unlike the others, the walls were built of large stone blocks opposed to solid rock, though their seams were nearly invisible. The passage went a short ways before sharply turning and doubling back the way they had come. It ended abruptly where a single dwarf guard stood armed with an impressive battle axe and a carapace of finely hammered steel armor, most of which was hidden behind a massive blond bush of a beard.

He grunted and peered skeptically at them. “I think you are lost, children.”

“I think Ennor is expecting us,” Godric replied with more than a little frustration in his voice.

“That’s Lord Ennor to you, boy. And I highly doubt that.” The dwarf waited for moment, but they did not turn around. Rolling his eyes, he hammered a fist on the oak and brass door that hung behind him. Seconds later a muffled voice called for him to open it. With a hint of surprise in his eyes, the dwarf complied.

Godric and Mira stepped cautiously inside the room and surveyed the scene.

A small arrangement of men and several women stood in a circle around a sizable table that filled the majority of the large chamber. The table was built of a smooth hardwood circle that was overlain with an incredibly crafted, three-dimensional map. Tiny iron trees collected in a vast forest that filled much of the table and sharp cliffs rose off the surface of the wood only to plummet into lakes, rivers, and, on the edges of the map, seas. Each detail was inscribed with meticulous accuracy, flowing together into a breathtaking display. Complementing this map were a collection of small metal tokens that were in the images of dragons, cavalry, and foot soldiers displayed throughout the landscape.

Ennor stood directly behind the table, facing the doorway with Thain nearby and Sarah directly to his right. Raised voices filled the room as he and another slightly older man exchanged heated words. The older man wore an impressive breastplate of interlocking platelets that was largely covered by a flowing forest green cape which clasped at his left shoulder. A head of greying brown hair fell to his shoulders, covering much of his worn face.

“...And what have we seen from it? Death. You promised us results, Ennor. What would you have us do?”

“I would have you trust me!” The young man shouted angrily. “This is not what I had planned, but no results will come of it if you bail out now! Does loyalty mean nothing?”

“Trust,” The older warrior scoffed. “We have trusted you for almost ten years now, and what has happened? What should keep us in your allegiance?!”

“Perhaps the fact that I am your King!!” Ennor yelled.

“King, pah.” The man growled. “King by what? Blood does not make a man. You have no throne, no sword, no kingdom, and very soon no followers.”

The threat hung heavily in the air, only broken by the older warrior’s steps as he stalked back toward the outskirts of the room. Ennor braced himself with one arm against the table and rubbed his forehead with the other. Seeing Godric and Mira, he waved them in but made no other acknowledgment of their presence.

“Firior, report, if you will.” A man stepped forward from the side of the room. He wore tough leather armor over a blue cloak that complimented his dark hair, which was drawn back in a short braid. A fine bow was strung over his back beside a dense quiver of arrows.

“M’lord.” He saluted briefly. Ennor waved him on. “The West patrols are weakening quickly.” He gestured toward an area that had three dragons on it not far from a sharp cliff, which Godric assumed was Biren-Larath. Two small cavalry figures sat in the forests between the cliff and the dragons. “These patrols have suffered over a hundred casualties in the last four month alone and we are low on reinforcements to replace them. Between the bandits and the Dragons they are being shredded. We can’t keep taking these kind of tolls for much longer.”

A similarly dressed warrior stood near Ennor. “I second that, sire. And we can’t spare many more men from the West front or this fortress itself. The Hatchlings are growing powerful. It will not be much longer before they are strong enough to assail this fortress despite our strength, which continues to weaken.”

Ennor sighed heavily, standing and crossing his arms. “It’s settled then. We abandon the East Plains and withdraw the Second Army,” He pointed to a grassy plateau on the right side of the map where four foot soldier figures stood, “and use them to reinforce the western watches.”

Firior shifted uneasily. “Sir, if I may, there are only two hundred men in the Second Army. It will buy us time, no doubt, but it will by no means stop our losses.”

“I’m aware of that, Captain,” Ennor answered.

“Aye,” added an elderly lord. “The Captain is right. Dragons are still alive and well. Slay them and our problems are solved.”

“Easier said than done,” chimed another.

“Perhaps we can solve that,” mumbled Thain. Ennor shot him a dark look but waved his hand for Godric to approach the table. Mira came close behind.

The chamber was silent as he came forward. Every footstep sounded unnaturally loud against the stone floor and every shift of his cloak felt abnormally awkward, but after what felt like an eternity, he made it. Some of the lords looked at him curiously, though most shot him haughty looks of disgust.

Ennor cleared his throat. “Though the Hatchling still lives and the last villages are lost, our venture was not entirely unfruitful. As it happens, Erogrund has resurfaced.”

Murmuring broke out among the lords. Several shouted exclamations of surprise and joy while others just looked faintly at him with blank eyes and shocked faces. Even the lord that Ennor had been fighting with when they had entered looked almost hopefully up at the king. Once the majority of the noise had dissipated, an elderly lord spoke up.

“So you have it? After all these years you have finally taken it?” Hope blossomed from his eyes and gushed into his voice like a physical presence that brimmed the question.

The young king’s fingers clenched the side of the table, his sharp nails digging into the aged wood. His teeth gritted as Sarah answered patiently. “No. He does not have it. This is the reason that the boy has been brought here tonight.”

Godric pulled the cloth from the sword’s hilt and drew it with a flourish, letting the gorgeous blade catch the light until it glowed with majesty, every beam of colored metal flashing ethereally with the veins of golden light that laced through it. This display, however, was not enough to surrender the respect of the council.

“You must be jesting,” murmured one of the men. “A boy, wielding Erogrund?”

The question was only answered by silence.

The lord that had fought with Ennor shoved his way through the men, drawing a short dagger. “Well then? What’s keeping us? Let’s just stick this lad and get it over with.” A few other murmured their agreement, but Ennor held up a hand.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

The other lord glared at the king with disbelief. “You must be mad, Ennor! Our people are starving, homeless, and living in constant fear of the beasts that lie in wait outside our gates at this very moment and the one thing that could save us sits in this chamber. Yet you would stall our hand in taking it?”

“I would stall your hand, Caeros, because, should you take this boy’s life, I would have no choice but to take yours in order that I may wield the sword as is fit.” The lord’s face drained of color even as the words left Ennor’s lips.

He recovered quickly. “You?” He scoffed. “You don’t have even the heart to kill a random wretch for your people, let alone one of your own men. And, may I remind you, that I, not you, am the Master of the fortress. I alone am the Sire of Biren-Larath and it is by my courtesy that you stay here, you throneless king.”

“Now look here,” growled Thain. “You may be the lord of this city, but there are many here who would see another in your place. I would not weigh those dice, if I were you.”

“Is that right, Dwarf?” Caeros hissed. “I am surprised you should be able to assemble such an argument; you’re usually found in the bottom of a beer flask this time of night, if I’m not mistaken.” The dwarf clenched his ax-shaft furiously. “Besides, even if you are right, are you sure you want to risk a war with me? Chances are that the dice would speak the destruction of everyone who finds refuge here, not just the few.”

“It would be worth it, should I get the chance to cut that snake of a head off your shoulders,” Thain barked.

“That’s enough,” said Sarah. “This squabbling is useless.”

“Sarah’s right,” declared Ennor. “As of now I will not lay a finger on this boy and I expect the same of everyone else who stands here. Should any of you, or anyone else, even so much as cut a hair from his head, they will be guilty of treason and as such will be subject to death. That is the end of it.”

Godric’s eyes scanned the council searchingly. Most of the lords looked furious, as though their faces were damming up a raging ocean of pent up anger. Others were wearied, their faces blank, save expressions of exhaustion mixed in a dreary combination of desperation.

One of these lords waved a hand. “Sire, if I may, at the very least, can Erogrund be removed from this boy’s keeping that nothing harmful may befall it?”

“Yes, but this is up to the decision of the bearer.” Ennor answered smoothly.

Godric glanced down on the sword. It hit him that it was remarkably beautiful. Why should I give it to them? he wondered. No doubt they will try and take it from me. It was my father’s and should remain mine.

Mira’s voice broke his thoughts. “Just give it to them, Godric,” she whispered. He looked at her and saw the fear written on her face. Looking up, he saw hunger in the eyes of the lords like vultures over their prey, just looking for a reason to strike.

“My father no doubt received this sword in ill-gain. It would be my honor to return it justly.”

Ennor nodded, satisfied. “Good. Council dismissed.”

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