Blade of Erogrund
Condemnation

Mira rose long after all the other girls in the women’s quarters. It was not without a fair taste of reluctance that she tossed off the worn covers and stepped onto the cold stone ground. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she opened her lock box and drew out the change of clothes she had been issued. It was only a simple brown dress and green jerkin, but the coarse fabric felt far more familiar than the fine garments she had worn for the ball.

The city remained subdued as she walked to the bathing pools. Few people shot glances at her as she walked while most kept to themselves. For whatever reason the guards appeared more appreciative than the other men and women; most greeted her with a smile and nod but all wore an absentminded countenance. A question hovered over the city. What was to be done?

What is to be done? Mira thought, enjoying the warmth of the water as she slipped into the cave-like springs. Saracyir had made a good point: leaving Caeros and the others in the Lower Halls would be poisonous to the morale of the city. Even now a spell bound the people; that was obvious enough. But leaving the rebellious aura of the rebels to stew in the Lower Halls would solve nothing. They must be dealt with but how?

Mira murmured as she felt the coarse cloth scrub off the gore from her face and with it the miseries of the previous day. The blood was only a thin film but it felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The steaming waters around her darkened noticeably with the dirt and grime but she hardly contemplated it as her mind wandered like the warm clouds of mist that rose from the spring.

It did not take long for her thoughts to settle on the sparing she had undergone with Saracyir hours before. Just how it had happened - even what had happened - still eluded her. Mira’s hands softly reached out and mimed grabbing the sword as she had before, envisioning it bursting into shattered steel.

After the scene unfolded in her mind several times she rose and dressed in the clothes she had brought. Despite all that had happened food sounded downright unappetizing so she forwent heading to the merchant district. Instead the words written the books of Naevir called for her.

Naevir was uncommonly occupied. Sounds from the gurgling fountain were nearly drowned out by the murmuring of people beside their books and scrolls. The light of the Prophecies danced across the flowing water in captivating arcs that drew her in.

She gently passed the other patrons of the library until she stood only a step away from where the water tumbled against the stone floor and through the grooves in the rock at its base. The Prophecies were even more beautiful than she remembered, their smooth faces sparkling like polished stones in a roaring river.

“Mira!” a familiar voice called. A couple people glanced, annoyed, toward the sound but shrugged and went back to their books as Samantha darted to where Mira stood. “How are you? I looked for you last night but you were nowhere to be found. Finally I decided to wait here as I knew you would come as soon as you had a moment.”

Mira could not help but smile at the younger girl’s beaming face. “That was sound reasoning, Sam. What is it that you have done while you waited?”

At this the small girl wrinkled her nose. “Scarcely anything, I’m afraid. Books have always proven rather dull to me.”

Eyes widening in mock horror, Mira gaped. “You mustn’t be serious!”

Samantha giggled and nodded. “I’m afraid so. What has kept you?”

A small sigh escaped Mira. “I kept company with Saracyir at Ennor’s side much of last night.”

“Ah, and how does he fair?”

Mira shrugged, unsure of how to respond. “He improves,” she finally replied. Samantha did not seem to notice the hesitation, instead nodding emphatically and turning to look at the fountain.

“That’s good. It would be a shame for him to suffer at a time like this.”

“A shame indeed....”

“And did you find anything concerning your friends?”

Her breath caught as she opened her mouth to answer. “Yes. One has....” She had to think for a moment on how to respond. What had he done? Run away? “...found safety. The other fell in the fighting.”

Somehow the thought of Aeis’s death cut her deeper as the words left her mouth. It had felt distant when Theronin had told her. Almost futile. Now the thought of Aeis being cut down was almost more than she could bear. Her hand rushed her face to knuckle away a silver tear before it could fall.

“Oh I’m so sorry,” Samantha murmured. “Surely it was with honor.”

“I hope so.”

Neither said anything for a moment, letting the gurgling fountain and whispering patrons fill the silence between them.

“What is the king like?” Samantha asked suddenly.

For some reason the question sounded strange in Mira’s ears. “What do you mean? Have you not met him?”

The girl laughed incredulously. “Met the king? Niron, no. I know of none who have, save you.”

“I fear I cannot tell you much; nearly all my time with him has been while he was unconscious. I don’t know him as well -” She hesitated. The words “as well as Godric” had been the first to come to mind, but for some reason they tasted bitter in her mouth. “- as I would like,” she finished.

“And what are your thoughts of him?”

“He is a strong man. He is fierce when he must be and calm when he can.”

“He sounds like a lion,” Samantha said, eyes wide.

Mira smiled and messed up the little girl’s hair. “Perhaps. When I was young I thought much of how a king should be. Strangely he meets many of those expectations and yet somehow he falls short.” Strange thoughts coursed through her mind and with them a lingering whisper as though the Voice was explaining them to her. He truly did feel less than kingly. Seeing him helpless, pale, and so near death had shattered the enduring image she had seen of him at the ball. Instead he had become just another man.

“Your eyes darken,” Samantha noted. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, quite well,” Mira replied absentmindedly. She blinked a couple times and returned her focus to the other girl. “I’m simply baffled as I no longer feel the desire to read and have little experience picking another pastime.”

Samantha’s small shoulders shook with laughter. “Poor soul! Might I suggest an alternative? Soldiers have begun training in the Arena, I suppose in light of the conflict. They are quite a sight. Would you like to come with me and see?”

The mere thought of swords and armor repulsed the girl, but her tongue tied as she fought to find an excuse. Instead she simply nodded and followed her young friend back through the halls toward the training grounds.

As they walked Samantha talked of this and that, though Mira could hardly hear her over the distraction of her own musings. I suppose in light of the conflict, Mira repeated the girl’s words in her mind. No, it is hardly the conflict that has happened that has stirred the army’s training. Rather it is the conflict that is to come. The conflict that Ennor even now prepares for. It is not just Ennor who prepares, she realized. It was the tenseness in the city. The palpable tension like the entire city was drawing back a great longbow to release a razor arrow. But, she wondered, will the bow break before it can be fired?

Her musings were broken by tumultuous pounding from the parade field as Samantha guided her through the wide gate into the Arena.

Before her stood some five hundred men and women marching in place in rank and file. The entire rear length of the field and full breadth was occupied by the fiercely stomping company, a heavy wooden training shield and slender spear hung from their hands as sweat poured from their beaten brows. The only noise that succeeded in overcoming the thunderstorm of marching feet was the harsh commands that spat from the small collection of commanders at the front of the mass. They stood in close quarters, each wearing half-armor and carrying a shield marked with the symbol of their house and rank.

“Right flank!” the foremost of them bellowed over the drumming of steps. His voice cut through the noise like a knife. A second later the right half of the ranks pivoted right, drawing their shields to their left shoulders while thrusting their spears forward just shy of the soldier before them.

“Halt!” the man ordered. The troops ceased their marching as the right-most returned to the configuration at which they had been before the previous order had been given. “What the devil do you think was that?!” the drill commander shouted. “You’re slow! Weak! Pathetic! A serpent is slick as water and it is your job to stay it! One more lazy drill like that and I will whip each and every one of you until it burns like the dragons’ fire. At least then you will be able to aptly prepare for your deaths. Again!”

Pounding feet again hammered the stone Arena floor and the field around it. The command bellowed his order as before but this time the soldiers swung cleanly into their positions, spears bristling like porcupine quills along the entire right side.

“Isn’t it incredible?” Samantha shouted over the din.

Mira nodded wordlessly.

It was not long before the commander gave the order to rest. He turned and murmured something to one of the men behind him but Mira could not read his lips from across the field.

Samantha stayed close by her side the remainder of the afternoon. At first it was pleasurable to hear her optimistic voice but after several hours the chattering began to vex her.

Only when they walked through the thundering armory was there brief respite from her continual conversation. The forges of the Dwarves were alive that afternoon, their fires hungrily licking the glittering steel of sword and armor. Huge hammers of stone and steel struck their smithies, brutally breaking the metal into whatever shape its craftsman envisioned. The smell of smoke and bitter taste of broken metal filled the hazy air, through which Mira could just barely see rows of gleaming new armor set against the wall. Each was fashioned of a fine iron breastplate, grieves, and bracers with a tight steel helmet. Stacks of swords, spears, and even tapered javelins accompanied the armor in a nearly terrifying display through the gloomy smithy.

Her eyes lingering on the swords, Mira’s mind wandered to her training with Saracyir the day before. She could not help but feel resentment for the weapons. They had not saved Dunn. They had not saved Aeis. They had caused misery at Caeros’s hand. They were good for nothing but pain. Better left in the dark of the forge, she thought to herself as they walked on.

As they left the forges and returned to Rae Orion it became evident that a crowd was forming. The hollow, enchanted-like countenances Mira had surveyed that morning were nowhere to be seen. Instead whispers of excitement mingled with suspicion throughout the crowd over the sound of nervously shuffling feet. Mira recognized everyone from elder librarians of Naevir to soldiers of Geccus and even the shopkeepers of Uirbovan. All had gathered hastily it seemed, as some still held the instruments of their crafts.

“What’s going on?” Samantha asked the closest person, a young woman with dirty blonde hair.

“I’m not rightly sure,” she answered hesitantly. “There was just a trumpet call and people started to gather. Didn’t you hear it?”

Samantha shook her head. “We were in the forges.”

“Hush!!” a voice cried over the murmurings. “The king comes!”

Silence fell over the crowd, stopping their whispers in their throats. Everyone strained his or her eyes and necks to peer all around to see where their lord might be ascending from. Not a word was spoken, the only the soft wailing of a young infant in its mother’s arms.

Finally the gentle sound of footsteps came to the ears of the assembly. Heads turning to see their king, the crowd looked toward where he entered the vast square. As they looked Mira noticed that much of - if not all - the city had gathered on the wide floor of Rae-Oiron.

Ennor walked slowly with Thain and Saracyir at either side from the simple, high gate that led into the city’s quarters. He had dressed since the previous night, though he wore no robes or fanciful garbs of kingship. Instead a drab wool tunic covered his chest and shoulders atop which he wore a great breastplate. Bracers covered the leather leggings he wore, leaving him with an appearance more fitting for a common foot soldier than a king. The only feature that differentiated him was the twisted silver crown of a dragon whose wing masked his scarred cheek. The torchlight glazed its etched scales until it looked like the crown itself was alight with flames as it had when he had worn it at the ball days prior.

In his hand was a common greatsword carved with the scratches of use. This he raised above his head grimly, ushering in a silence over the clamoring that had begun upon seeming him.

“Men and women who gather before me now, I pray stay silent. It is no secret that in the last two nights a great woe has befallen this meager kingdom. A betrayal fiercer than any of us can recall has transpired and, though my heart breaks, must be reproved.

“Yet perhaps a greater foe still lingers outside these walls than within them. It is no secret that the serpents of Draeknol have defiled our land and driven us into this cave where we cower. Come my people, remove the mask of your helm and see that this is our prison. But no longer. For too long we have trembled within these walls of stone that we would have take the place of our courage. And so I give the order that all armies of the Men of Niron and Biren-Larath shall gather and ride to Draeknol.”

Murmuring blazed through the crowd like a hissing fire but Ennor again lifted his sword to quiet them before continuing. “Already our Lords and commanders have planned this campaign and so it shall be done. Many would say that the time is ill and our strength insufficient. To them I say the wounds I sustained two nights ago cut not only my flesh but cut also the illusion that we may grow stronger. Already despair has begun to chew away at this city of Men and I will be damned if I let the legacy of our people die in the darkness of these caves.

“Erogrund, a name unfamiliar to many of you, has provided a torch of hope to us in the mire of this broken world and with it we shall go forward. Its blade breaks even the sharpest scale of the dragon. With it we shall cleave the weight that has so long lingered on our souls. I confess the sword is not in my hand, but this I swear to you: before the sun sets on the seventh day from now when the steps of this army are heard on the plains it shall be in the hand of Men.

“Yet for such a thing to occur judgment must be passed on those unwilling to honor my word as king. Those are the men who have risen in revolt, those who dwell in the Lower Halls. Their actions have been as poison to us, though my hand would soon take the venomous goblet than spill the blood my brothers. Still judgement must be passed.” Even from the distance Mira was at she could see Ennor’s face turn gaunt with grief. He paused for a moment. “Therefore this is the word of your king. It is within the law of this kingdom, as written by my greatfather Ecthion, that any who seek to strike the hand of the king who protects them shall be put to death.

“That any should perish under my rule is a graver thought than I can bear, let alone the hundred souls who have sought to slay me and my kin, but the law is good and must be upheld. Hear my word: I hereby order that every man, woman, and child who so much as lifted a sword in the assault upon this kingdom shall be expelled from it.

“Furthermore, I strip the title of Sire of Biren-Larath from Caeros son of Curethor and place it on the brow of Lord Vyron son of Daeor. With it shall be all protection offered by title and rank.” Ennor pulled his crown from his head, letting the full assembly gaze upon his face and his darkened eyes. Offering a solemn nod, he raised a fist in a sign of respect and turned back down the hall. Each footstep fell like an anvil stroke in the shocked silence of the assembly. The speech was over as soon as hammer blow.

Mira shifted her gaze to where Samantha stood. The young girl’s eyes were wide like stones. The same face that had glowed with cheer now drained as white as stripped bone.

“What does it mean?” Mira whispered, though she felt she already knew the answer.

“He’s letting them all go...” Samantha cried softly. “He’s turning them over to the Dragons.”

So it has begun, Mira thought.

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