Blade of Erogrund
Words of Warning

The weather of the next morning brought to fruition the disappointment of the previous night.

All the gloomy storm clouds that had hung like ominous fore-tellers of doom finally released their dark judgment on the desolate cliff city. Rain pounded against the rocky walls in tremendous drops that battered relentlessly as though the very spirits of the storm were trying to rip the fortress to the ground. Lightning arced through the dark sky in binding flashes of cold light followed by earthshaking rolls of thunder, propelling freezing winds that blew carelessly through the halls of the fortress like frigid ghouls.

With each change of the guard men and women came from Iris Ithil and the other parapets that guarded the face of Biren-Larath shaking with cold, wrapped in cloaks soaked to their innermost threads.

Many of the festivities for the ball were already arranged, but they sadly failed to create a mood of any joviality in Godric. Row upon row of candles outlined almost every corridor, their light cast haunting shadows on every wall that flickered like the phantoms of the past that lingered in their stones. Great banners of shimmering green and blue were strung from the walls on wooden pegs that had been inserted into holes drilled into the stone, though each resembled faded shrouds wrapping around the dismal remains of the fortress, both condoning and condemning its desperate persistence to exist.

Or so was Godric’s interpretation of the city as he drudged to the Arena. To others, however, an air of excitement built gradually to the formerly dreary people of the city. The ball appeared, despite Aeis’s skepticism, to be a rare source of joy for the otherwise dismal city. Unfortunately Godric’s bitterness was only furthered by their excitement.

Perhaps the only depression that could parallel this anger was the frustration at knowing he would likely have to speak to Theronin in a matter of minutes, who would doubtlessly succeed in making him feel even worse.

Several people grunted in greeting to him as he passed by. He ignored them reproachfully, each greeting throwing another stick on the smoldering furnace of fury that kindled within him. By the time he had passed through the forges, which sadly failed to warm him by mood or body, he was ready to pick up a hammer and strike one of the cheery, scruffy dwarfs on the top of his head.

After passing through the dark, glowing chambers that rang with the oppressive drumming of hammers on steel, he came to the corridor that led to the Arena.

As usual, few torches adorned the corridor resulting in a shadowy, eerie light that danced across the short walls. Crackling from the torches was drowned out by the battering assault of rain that down-poured unto the practice fields outside, dulling his senses as Godric scanned the corridor and the storm outside for Theronin. Two guards were the only figures he saw standing on either side of the gateway, both dozing in the half-light of the hall.

His footsteps must have served as enough to wake them for as he approached, the left guard snapped to attention under his voluminous cloak. Helmet cocked at a crooked angle on his head that was wrapped in a ragged scarf, the man mumbled to him.

“’Old there lad. No one is allowed in or out yet. What business have you here?”

“Sword training with Theronin,” he murmured. Half of him urged that he should lie so the guard would send him away, but he answered before he could decide.

“Mmm, I think we’ve a message for you.” He placed a gloved hand inside his cloak and searched around, further displacing the billowing garment until his face lit up beneath a thick scarf. “Ah, ’ere it is.” Bringing out a rolled paper, he handed it hastily to Godric.

In the dim light he could hardly decipher the text. The flickering shadows reduced the runes to wavering darkness that swayed with the flames. The only word he could definitively read was “Naevir”.

“What’s this?”

The guard rubbed his dull helmet absentmindedly. “You tell me. I make it my business to not read other men’s messages. That’s how you get a knife in your chest while you sleep.” Across the gate from him the other guard grunted in agreement.

“Aye,” he added from under the dense cowls of his robe, “or beaten to death in a tavern.”

Godric glanced up, surprised at the sudden mention of violence. “What?”

The first soldier might have shrugged, it was hard to tell. “Ignore him. He’s just a angrier than a starved wolf this week because he isn’t going to the ball.”

“No? On duty that night?” Godric asked distractedly.

“How about you keep your unshaven chin out of it,” the guard growled.

“Oh, lay off it, Istrun,” the first muttered. “He’s just sore that he was rejected. A girl who works in the bakery turned him down two nights ago.”

“Shut it,” barked the man.

The first rolled his eyes. “Like I said, ignore him. You’re going, aren’t you lad?”

Godric scowled deeply. “Yes, I suppose so.”

One of the man’s full, coarse eyebrows peaked over his skeptical eyes. “You ‘suppose so’? Lad, this is the arguably the best night of the year. Mead flowing like streams, food in steaming mountains, beautiful women dancing, music, all in one night.” he sighed greedily. “It don’t get much better than that, if you ask me. Plus most men finally get a true night off. No guard duty or them damned patrols to worry about, know what I mean?” He said merrily, shoving Godric affectionately.

“Not really,” grumbled the boy. “I’ve never been on duty or patrol....yet, that is.”

“No?” Muttered the other soldier. “How’d you manage that?” His gruff voice communicated more loathing than interest, as if the question was a clever insult rather than a simple inquiry.

“Exempt,” he muttered. “Don’t know why and didn’t ask.” This wasn’t exactly true; he knew exactly why. Ennor, Thain, and Sarah had arranged that he should train with Theronin and be kept away from danger until his situation was sorted out, but the soldiers did not need to know that. “And it looks like my luck is about to run out,” Godric muttered, already beginning to disregard the conversation as he tried to read the note. “I’m on the patrol with Theronin that leaves the day after the ball.”

“Tsk,” hissed the first man. “That’s a spit of misery. That wouldn’t happen to be the one headed out to the... You know,” he whispered. “Draeknol?”

Godric’s eyes lifted to meet his that flickered from the torch flames. “Yeah, I daresay it is.”

The other soldier coughed something that sounded like a mixture of a curse and a prayer, clumsily drawing his armored hand across his face in a sign to ward off evil. “Damn, boy. You better be praying to whatever gods you’ve got; they say no one makes it back from that place alive.”

“Thanks,” he answered, voice thick with sarcasm.

“That’s no jest,” retorted the soldier. “Cavior was a hell of a warrior and even he didn’t make it, rest his soul.” The name vaguely rang a bell. Where have I heard that? Godric thought for a moment. “He was a mighty fine commander, he was. A shame that last patrol didn’t make it back. They were so close too...”

That was it, He remembered. Aeis had said Cavior was the Field Commander that had been in charge of the last patrol and had been attacked just outside on the gate the first night. “Did you know him?” Godric asked, giving up on reading the note.

“Aye, we knew him,” the first said. “A good man. Quite the swordsman too. Some would call it a stretch, but I’d wager he was the only one in this entire bloody city that could take on Theronin in a duel and win.”

This succeeded in hooking him. “He fought Theronin?”

“Fought might be too strong of a word,” said the soldier hesitantly. “But they crossed swords a couple times. Cavior got the best of that arrogant prick most of the time, but Theronin broke him in their last bout.”

“Aye,” chimed in Istrun, “and they crossed more than just swords. Those two were cause for some of the most animated arguments at the War Councils, so I’m told.”

“Interesting,” Godric murmured dully. While an intriguing fact, the information was little use to him. Whatever was on the note, however, was presumably far more meaningful. “Thank you for the talk,” he said, already heading back toward the city.

“Thank you,” called the guard. “Gets lonely back here in the dark.”

Walking away, Godric waved back at the two men while he tried to read the note, which was difficult to understand even in the increasing light as it was written in a sprawling, elegant hand.

Pease promptly go to the third chamber in Naevir for an appointment in preparation for the ball. Your tutor will meet you there, should you make it before the end of the morning.

Great, Godric thought wearily. I’m probably late.

He sprinted past many of the soldiers and people who occupied the staircases, brushing hastily past many who gave him unfavorable glares, only to find that it was a great many minutes later when he reached the vast library of Naevir.

Slowing down as he entered the vasts hall, his eyes scanned for the chamber that was indicated in the note.

As he remembered from the days before, several imposing tiers of shelves housed the impressive chronicle of books in towering, carved bookcases that formidably outlined the huge hall. From the center of the room the fountain gurgled mournfully, throwing off a gentle scent of moisture while glowing softly under the subdued light of the prophetic stones housed within. Tall candles burned silently, emitting the odor of fresh wax from their places in great black iron chandeliers. These proudly illuminated the tables below where a few tenants sat amid stacks of books, silently studying the dusty manuscripts with dull fervor.

Nothing betrayed any semblance of a chamber.

“Can I help you?” Whispered a young boy that had evidently approached while Godric took in the room. He could not have been much older than ten or eleven.

“Um, er, yes,” Godric stammered. The boy smiled at his insecurity, saying with his brown eyes that Godric should continue. “I’m looking for chamber three?”

The boy’s dirty forehead wrinkled in a puzzled look beneath his long hair. “I’m sorry, the studies aren’t numbered. I’m guessing that’s what you mean, the studies?”

“Yes?” Godric said hesitantly.

The small boy grinned. “If you take those stairs,” he said, pointing towards the nearest set of dull stone steps that led up to the second tier of the library, “and take a right, you’ll find a couple doors. Maybe the third one is where you are trying to go?”

“Thanks, kid.”

He nodded kindly and went back to the tables where a sizable stack of scrolls awaited him.

Godric took the formerly indicated stairway, his footfalls softly pattering against the worn stone.

As he walked his eyes took in the rich collection of books that regally sat in their shelves. A great majority were simple leather-wrapped covers with faded titles inked on their spines, but others were more unusual. Several were bound in deer furs, wood, or even metal plates. Some even had lush fabrics adorning their spines with golden lettering, though these were few.

Reaching the second tier, he turned right down the wide row of books. Shadows from the foreboding bookcases darkened the passage while allowing enough light to reveal the breathtaking carvings that adorned the shelves. The dark wood was intricately crafted into faded designs of branching trees, roaring lions, fiery infernos, and countless others that danced through the solemn bookshelves.

Suddenly the shelves on his left gave way to a stone wall. In it were four large, round doors, which struck Godric as peculiar. They were made of ragged horizontal beams, fixed together by narrow vertical bars of iron. In each a large metal ring served as the handle.

With only a brief hesitation he pulled the handle of the third door open and stepped inside, easing it back into place after him. It closed with a muffled thud while he observed the inside.

Another unadorned set of steps climbed upward between imposing walls that left a subtly feeling of fear at the tightness of the passage. Candles cast soft light onto the stairway, but revealed nothing more than the simple stone stairs, which he hastily began climbing.

The steps curved gently to his left and ended shortly in a small stone landing with another door that he promptly opened.

Inside was a sizable alcove that, judging by the balcony view displayed from his vantage point at the door, was just above Naevir. A small wooden railing ran the length of the balcony, which made up the back of the alcove, while the rest of it was occupied by a wide open space that was doused in soft light from a small chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A stuffed couch, plain table on which rested a flask and two cups, and simple chair were the only furnishings. The view from the room was quite pleasant; he could see down on the tiers of the library into the hall of Naevir where several scholars still sat reading.

“Hello?” Godric called softly, stepping inside. He could not see anyone, but the flickering light of the candles made the room waiver such that he could not focus on anything clearly.

“Hello,” a husky voice murmured from beyond him, to the right of the doorway he had just come through.

A vision of Theronin or one of his soldiers flashed into Godric’s mind like a searing brand. His muscles tensed, spinning around to strike that the phantom foe. It landed awkwardly, his elbow connecting with the stone wall before his forearm. It did strike the hands, quite clumsily, of a surprised looking girl that had raised them in defense of herself.

“Agatha?” He asked incredulously.

Eyes wide in terror, she nodded.

Godric took a step back, massaging his elbow. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“Before I answer that,” she protested, “might you tell me why you nearly took off my head?”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, partially relieved to not be facing an assassin while partially embarrassed that he had nearly become one himself. “Just paranoid.”

“I’ll say!” She cried incredulously. I thought you were going to kill me.” The same goes for me, he contemplated.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It was out of turn.”

The girl searched his sincere gaze. Evidently satisfied, she gave a curt nod. “I was approached by one of Ennor’s attendants and told that you were to accompany him as a guest of honor for the ball and that you were woefully ill-prepared. I was instructed to prepare you,” she explained awkwardly.

“Prepare me?”

“Er, yes. I think I’m supposed to teach you how to dance,” she explained, drawing a glass of drink for both of them.

“Ohhh, Ennor said something about that several days ago. But isn’t it too late? Afterall, the ball is tomorrow.”

“No, I don’t think so, our dances are simple. I bet you’ll catch on quickly.”

“Are you sure?” He tried to disguise his doubt. The idea of trying to dance in front of an entire city and failing stupendously was not a pleasing one.

“Well, I think so.” Her voice failed to instill confidence. “I suppose it’s my job to find out. Here,” she said hesitantly taking his hand. “Put your hand on my waist,” she placed it on her hip while taking his other hand, “and hold my other hand with yours.”

“Wait,” he said, starting to pull away. “You’re a healer that I met yesterday. Isn’t it peculiar that you are suddenly teaching me how to dance?”

She lowered her chin, looking at him with a mixture of a glare and smile. “Perhaps a little, but I do things outside of the infirmary on occasion. Anyway, you need someone to teach you and we’ve already been introduced, so who better?”

Her hands were small but strong as she pulled him back to the dance pose. Despite slight discomfort she held him tightly and guided him steadily. The warmth from her touch was comforting, leaving him with a small grin as she guided him in the dances.

“In our dances the woman is dominate, luckily for you. As in our society, the man is to be the pillar, the support and defense, and the woman is responsible for taking care of everything else. Burn in dragonfire if I know how it got that way, but what have you. You will only have to lead your partner in the general direction during the ball, step so that she doesn’t collide with anyone, and protect her.”

“Protect her?”

She nodded. “It is customary that lone suitors will try and take a girl as she dances with another man. Some are less than kind about it, especially late in the night when their kegs are empty. It’s your job to protect your partner from rowdy men.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Her eyes quickly examined him. “I daresay it won’t. Now that you get the idea, you should practice.”

And so they went for several hours. While nothing compared to sword training, the movements were surprisingly exhausting. As delicate as she appeared, Agatha moved fluidly and steadily with a totally unexpected endurance that left him baffled. Just as she had said, it appeared that the woman was the pleasantry in the dances. While he stood holding her she twirled, twisted, and stepped in graceful flourishes until he was lost in her beauty.

On one such occasion she stopped and glared at him.

“If I may, you look...baffled.”

“You say that like it’s bad,” he replied, regaining his composure.

“It is. You’re supposed to be confident, regal, and lordly. Not quite so much like a young boy in the market, if I may be so bold.”

“You may.” She started to blush at the answer and nodded as they continued with him trying his best to appear respectable.

It was not long after that a knock at the study door interrupted them. With a second of silence, Agatha beckoned that whoever knocked should come in.

To their mutual surprise, Thain entered in all his gruffness, bringing with him the clanking of his metal boots and the thick scent of oil. His appearance reflected the near festivities in an impressive display; his hair looked to have been oiled back around the intricate tattoos that covered his face and he wore a fine blue tunic under what looked to be polished leather armor. Atop this armor was his impressive beard that hung in symmetrical braids down his chest. His ever-present ax hung from his tattered belt as always, but all semblances of rust and wear were gone from its honed edge. Even his face was clear of soot and ash from the forges where he often lingered with his comrades.

Agatha curtsied deeply. “Master Thain, you need not to have knocked. Your presence is always welcome.”

The dwarf’s eyes twinkled. “Eh, that’s alright my dear. There are some in this city not virtuous enough to have been truly just dancing when left alone in a private study, and I thought I might prevent an awkward situation by checking. It seems that our friend here is not such a crude man.”

“No, sir,” Godric answered without waiting for Agatha to comment. The dwarf’s tone was serious as he spoke, but his eyes betrayed a trickle of humor that left the boy unsure of the nature of his comment.

“And is there hope for him, my lady?” The dwarf asked quizzically, making little indication he heard Godric’s confirmation.

“I believe so,” Agatha said, glancing at her feet.

“And what do you think, Godric?” Again the dwarf’s tone was stoic, but his eyes revealed only enough to let Godric know more was at stake in the answer than it might seem.

“I think...” he started hesitantly, “I think that should I be presentable it will be only by the skill of my teacher, and should I appear foolish, it will be for no want of instruction.”

The dwarf let a low whistle. “A most humble answer, lad. Not many in this god-forsaken rock would have the honor to say that.” Suddenly changing the topic, he addressed Agatha again. “My lady, not to be rude, but might you leave the boy and I alone for a moment? I have some words to exchange with him.”

Agatha bowed courteously and stepped out wordlessly, easing the door closed behind her.

Thain took a step closer to Godric, his boots clanking against the stone ground. “What do you expect of tomorrow and the day after, boy?”

A week ago the question might have taken him by surprise though now it struck him as somehow fitting. “I expect that tomorrow I will be a member of Ennor’s party so I don’t get a blade between my ribs and the follow day embark on what will likely be a suicidal journey with a man who has every reason to kill me.” The words flowed from his mouth with odd confidence and were received with an equally stoic expression.

“Ennor likes you lad, and that means I like you. But you’re a damn fool.”

Godric felt his face grow hot. “And how is that?”

Thain’s nearly bald face leaned in closer. “Don’t think I don’t know the antics you pulled yesterday. You assaulted a Lord’s son on the day the Lord was murdered and expected to get away with it. More than a little suspect, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t kill Tennilius, if that’s what you’re accusing me of. How do you know I fought with Theronin, anyway?”

“I’m not accusing anyone of murder just yet. Isteris, one of the blacksmiths, saw you when he was coming out of the stables and your bloody lucky for that. If it was another man half the city might know about it by now. You would be dead with your body sitting under Rae-Oiron. But you wrote a sign on your back one way or another.”

“I can look after myself.”

The dwarf let out a harsh bark of laughter from under his dense beard. “Can’t you see, boy? There is a game being played here, a game in the shadows, and you have just walked into the middle of it. No one survives by only ‘looking out for themselves’, least of all you.”

“Did Ennor tell you to tell me that?”

A spark of uncertainty flashed for the first time in Thain’s eyes. “Ennor doesn’t know I’m telling you this.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Because things are happening, boy. Things that shouldn’t and you are in the middle of it. Tennilius was a Lord for over ten years and Erogrund has been lost for twice that. Then you and your girl show up and suddenly one is dead and the other found and lost. What do you make of that?”

Godric wasn’t sure how to respond. In truth he didn’t know how to respond. Everything he had know was flipped upside-down since coming to Biren-Larath; his father was a murder and thief, the kingdom he had once thought was so large proved to be comprised of nothing more than a tomb of a city, and the lands he loved were devoured by dragonfire. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the city, let alone the irregularities that had happened there since he had come.

“I don’t know.”

Thain huffed. “Join the rest of us. Anyway, Sarah, Ennor, I can only do so much for you. You aren’t making it easy for us.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t think about how it might affect you.”

“Damned right you didn’t. We’ll do all we can to fix this up all nice, but if you are somehow connected with the sword’s disappearance or Tennilius’s death, we can’t protect you anymore. This entire city is hanging by a thread and that would be the straw that broke the mule’s back.”

“I understand. I’ll do everything I can, though there isn’t much. My head is spinning; there’s just no time to get it set right.”

“Ha, try seeing the world from down here,” he said darkly. “It ain’t easy to try and command a city when you’re a foot shorter than children. In the mean time, keep that spinning head of yours down, eh?”

Godric nodded solemnly. Thain started walking away. “Wait, Thain,” the dwarf paused. “Have you learned anything about the sword’s disappearance or Tennilius’s death?”

Even as the words left his lips the dwarf’s eyes changed into an unreadable guise like a helmet visor had been dropped over his glaze. “Keep your head down, lad.”

The dwarf grabbed the door and swung it open, beckoning in Agatha who waited on the landing. “Here, my lady, come in. It is no good of me to interrupt your lessons so.”

She shook her head slightly, sending dark bands of her hair to fall over her brow. “Nonsense. Godric is already well prepared for the ball, provided his partner is as talented as he.”

Thain opened his mouth to say something, but a puzzled looked crossed his rough face that stopped him. “Who is your partner, Godric?”

“Um, I don’t have one yet.”

“Ha, you better get on that. Most girls worth getting will be taken by now, I suspect.”

“Er, I am yet to have a partner,” Agatha argued shyly, her eyes going back and forth between Godric, Thain, and the floor.

“Excellent!” Thain exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Er, no,” Agatha said hurriedly. “I don’t mean -”

“What? You don’t want to go with him?” Thain said with raised eyebrow. “He’s fairly scruffy, I’ll give you that but doesn’t seem entirely undesirable.”

“Oh!” She quickly exclaimed, “It isn’t that at all, I just -”

“Then it’s settled,” the dwarf said decidedly. “Until tomorrow evening then,” he finished, winking at a baffled Godric as he turned, pulling the door closed behind him.

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