The Blade Heir (Book 1) Page 21

  "Give it time. The bywydur will heal you," Siegfried said, returning the vial to his pack. "Now, let us move on from this place. The Grey swamps are not far from here."

  Lucius picked up his knapsack, and they ventured north toward Jun-Jun Pass. They followed a game trail for a few miles, but when it veered east, they ventured off onto a range of hills. The hills bordered the cursed eastern province of Loredia where the Kroshen Waste, Ghadarya, and Arkadeus were located. The Kroshen Waste was a vast desert that had once been a beautiful jungle and the ancestral home of the druids. North of the Kroshen Waste, beyond the Maguna Mountains, resided the barren lands of Kraegyn and his kin—Ghadarya. Lucius prayed their path would never lead them to that forsaken place. However, he was keenly aware his journey would eventually take him to Arkadeus. The spectre of Kraegyn lurked within the shattered walls of the fortress ruin, haunting his dreams and unsettling his mind. Imagining what dormant evil lived in Arkadeus brought a tingling sensation to the back of Lucius' neck. The foreboding thought was interrupted as they crested the last hill of the range and Lucius caught sight of a majestic mountain in the distance. The summit towered over a misty marshland stretching for miles to the northwest.

  "I didn't expect to see a mountain here," Lucius said, scrutinizing the distant peak.

  "That is Raven's Peak, home to the dwarves of Úlfr's kingdom. The Eternal Mines rest beneath the mountain where dwarves have dug for metals and treasures since time immemorial. When they aren't mining, they spend their days drinking or selling their wares to travelers in Buck's Folly," Siegfried said, pointing to an indistinguishable settlement just west of the mountain.

  "Will we find lodging there?" Lucius asked, longing for a warm bed to settle into for the night.

  "I'm afraid we will not reach the town before the sun sets, and it is unwise to travel the Grey Swamps in the dark. There is a grove across the road; we will camp there for the night."

  "Fantastic." Lucius sighed and readjusted the straps of his pack. "Let's be on our way, then."

  The two travelers hiked toward the grove and crossed Jun-Jun Pass. The northern road was a simple dirt path with deep ruts where wagon wheels had worn away the earth. A hundred yards from the pass, they found a grove of walnut trees and settled in for the night. At dawn, they set out for the gray marshland. In the distance, Lucius glimpsed dozens of dead trees dotting the landscape; their gnarled, deformed shapes unnerved him.

  Upon entering the ominous mire, his dread of the place increased as they sloshed through the moist, stench-filled ground. Crows watched them from the boughs of the twisted trees, cawing in protest at their presence. The annoying black birds followed them on their trek through the marsh, incessantly squawking overhead. Lucius hoped they could find the mithas powder soon or he planned to loose arrows on the feathered pests. Naomi told them the powder would be found within the interior of the swamp and warned them not to travel too far north, but did not explain why. Lucius was certain Siegfried knew the reason. The elf's mood had changed since they entered the swamp; he kept quiet and walked very cautiously in the bog.

  "Exactly where is it that we'll find this mithas powder?" Lucius turned to Siegfried, whose attention was elsewhere.

  "There is an old druid that lives in these swamps. He is something of an alchemist and—" Siegfried paused and listened to the crows cawing above, "—a bird charmer."

  "Bird charmer?" Lucius asked, glancing at the crows. "Where do we find this druid?"

  "It is likely that he has already found us," Siegfried said, watching the black birds closely.

  Lucius gripped the hilt of his sword. "Can we defeat him?"

  "His spells are quite powerful. We would be hexed before any strike fell," Siegfried replied plainly.

  "What about the skills you displayed in Sylvania?" Lucius suggested, recalling Siegfried's swift thrashing of the two robbers. "Surely, no druid can counter that?"

  "Are you so sure, my boy?" A strange voice asked from behind them.

  Lucius and Siegfried both spun around to face the stranger, but they only saw endless rows of trees and dark wetland. The crows above had flown away at the sound of the voice.

  "Who goes there?" Lucius asked, feeling his breath quicken.

  "Tell me first who you are since you have taken it upon yourself to invade my home," the voice declared.

  Lucius glanced at Siegfried, who scanned the area for any movement. "My name is Lucius. We have entered these swamps in search of a powder known as mithas."

  "Mithas? ... What brings a young man and an elf to this bleak land for such a trivial item when there are so many more noble pursuits to be had?" the voice asked incredulously.

  "I am on a noble pursuit, and it's no business of yours to know why we need the powder. Unless you know where we can find the powder, I suggest you show yourself or leave quickly," Lucius said, unsheathing his sword.

  Siegfried shook his head disapprovingly, but Lucius did not sheathe the blade.

  "Well, you're rather demanding for an interloper," the voice scoffed. "I suppose you leave me no choice then ..."

  Lucius gripped his sword with both hands, preparing himself for an attack. Siegfried also readied himself by nocking an arrow to his bow. The swamps suddenly grew silent. Sweat dripped from Lucius' forehead to the tip of his nose as his eyes darted around him, searching for their would-be assailant.

  A flutter of movement startled him—a magpie flew past their line of sight and landed on the ground. Lucius drew his sword backward to strike, but laughed in spite of himself when he realized it was only a bird. "Gave me quite a start, you stupid—"

  "Who's stupid?" the bird yapped in a familiar voice.

  "It talked!" Lucius said, pointing his sword at the magpie.

  Siegfried looked at the bird curiously for a moment, then lowered his bow. "It is the druid, Lucius."

  "What? I thought you said he was a bird charmer—not a bird himself!"

  "To be a charmer one must know what he is charming, boy," the magpie chided. "I've found the best way to know is to be that which I charm."

  "Right. Well, do you have a name, magpie?" Lucius asked.

  The magpie puffed his feathers and shook his body fiercely. In a matter of seconds, the magpie's small frame began to gain more girth and stature. His small talons elongated and formed into four-toed feet while his body lengthened to more than seven feet in height. The raven's plumage became a long fur cloak with a white feathered collar. Wings stretched to become arms with four-fingered, long-nailed hands. Finally, the bird's beak became a long nose, and the feathers on his head were replaced with scraggly, silver hair. What remained after the transformation was a tall, beady-eyed druid with a grizzled beard reaching to the center of his chest.

  The druid's mouth turned slightly at the ends, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled. "I am Alistair Skylark, master druid of Garoc and keeper of the birds. You need not fear me, I mean you no harm."

  Lucius sheathed his sword, but remained uneasy at the sight of the tall druid. "Pleased to meet you, Master Skylark. I am Lucius of Evingrad, and this is my brother, Siegfried of the Silverhart clan."

  Siegfried bowed his head and uttered an elvish greeting to the druid.

  "Forgive me for startling you earlier. I needed to know you weren't enemies of the marshland or servants of ... him." Alistair's pasty face turned grim.

  "Him?" Lucius' brow furrowed.

  "It is best if we do not talk about that here," Siegfried said before Alistair spoke. "Tell us, Lord Skylark, do you know where we can find the mithas powder in this swamp?"

  "Why yes, of course," the druid chuckled. "I have a plentiful supply in my home."

  "Fantastic! I was hoping we wouldn't need to walk in this quagmire for much longer," Lucius said, grinning.

  "Is there anything you require in return for the powder?" Siegfried asked politely.

  "Some company perhaps," Alistair said, clasping his hands behind his back. "It's been a long time since I've had any visitor
s to my home. I would be very delighted if you would honor me with your company."

  "Wait a moment," Lucius said, narrowing his eyes. "How do we know you won't cast a spell on us before we get there?"

  Alistair chuckled and stroked his beard. "I suppose you'll have to trust me, my dear boy."

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Magpie's Roost

  Alistair's home resided at the center of the Grey Swamps, near the edge of a stagnant lake covered in moss. A heavy mist hovered above the lake and crept up onto the bank where the druid's ramshackle house sat. The house looked like an overgrown plant: wild vines and moss grew on each of its sides, but its most distinguishing feature was the beech tree that sprouted from the foundation and poked out through the roof. The dwelling reminded Lucius of the egini on top of Breninmaur, but less elegant and more untamed in appearance. Crows and songbirds perched atop the beech, watching silently as they approached the front door.

  Feathers, leaves, and hardened bird excrement littered the floor of the house. Alistair apologized for the mess, grabbing a broom propped on a chair and sweeping most of the refuse out the door. Lucius explored the main room of the house, marveling at the odd collection of relics the druid had amassed. Small wooden statues of various birds were displayed on shelves on every wall and decorated birdhouses were affixed to the thick trunk of the beech tree in the center of the room. A round table in a corner contained over a dozen corked bottles, jars, and flasks filled with liquids and powders of all colors. As he surveyed every corner of the cluttered house, Lucius noticed a metal rack next to a table where wooden staffs were stored. Every staff was different in adornment and length, but one of them in particular caught Lucius' eye—a white staff with a pearlescent orb attached on top. Silver whorls and runes covered the carved white surface of the staff. He reached out to hold the exquisite stave, but Alistair quickly slapped his hand.

  "Don't touch that," Alistair chided.

  Lucius pulled back his hand. "Sorry, I was only curious."

  "This is no ordinary staff, my boy. It once belonged to a druid of great renown—a master of the winds. Unfortunately, he lost his mind and sought to overtake the world with his overwhelming power," Alistair explained in a casual tone.

  "Really? What happened to this druid?" Lucius asked.

  "His soul was banished to the Abode of Shadows by the Order of Celestine. This staff is all that remains of his power in this realm. It is my charge to guard it along with the other staffs that belonged to the Order," Alistair said.

  "So, your part in this Order is that of a guardian?" Siegfried asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "It was my part, Master Silverhart," Alistair replied. He sat down on a rickety chair next to the table and sighed. The old druid gazed up at two chirping sparrows perched on a birdhouse, and after a moment finally spoke again. "The Order of Celestine has long been disbanded. None of its members still live. I am the last of the druids."

  "The last?" Siegfried said, mouth gaping. "Are you certain?"

  "Yes, quite certain I'm afraid. The War of Winds decimated much of my kind, but the Siege of Arkadeus cost us greatly."

  "Arkadeus? Did you fight against...Kraegyn?" Lucius asked, lowering his voice as he uttered the dragon's name.

  "Not directly. Not like the elves or men with swords and shields and all that nonsense," the old druid replied, waving a hand dismissively. "King Cervantes entrusted the Order of Celestine with conjuring protective spells and enchantments for his army. But our greatest task was weakening Scipio's power."

  "The Draknoir sorcerer," Lucius said.

  "Yes, that foul conjurer. He had created a magical bond between himself and the Black Dragon, which increased their power twofold. We druids managed to break the bond and seal Scipio's fate at the hands of Reyeon," Alistair said, slumping back in the chair. "The Draknoir never forgot our role that day, and just like Cervantes' heirs, we were sought out."

  "They hunted you?" Siegfried asked.

  "Yes. We were hunted in our homes in the forests of Ithileo. The Draknoir waged war on the Order and killed our most powerful mages, alchemists, and healers. We were so few at that time, we did not expect the attack," Alistair said. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "The command to massacre the druids came from a certain Nasgothar overlord."

  "Memnon." Lucius sneered.

  "His necromancy skills were far greater than anything we druids could conjure to defeat him. Knowing the fate of my race was quickly being extinguished, I fled to the Grey Swamps with all the knowledge, power, and wisdom the Order had collected over the ages. I've guarded the Order's weapons and secrets from the enemy," Alistair said. He glanced at the collection of staffs, and the lines on his forehead creased. "Should Memnon ever wield such power as these, the world would be in great peril."

  "The world is already in great peril, Master Skylark," Siegfried said, crossing his arms. "Lord Memnon is sure to resurrect the spirit of the Black Dragon soon."

  Alistair's eyebrows shot upward. "Kraegyn? No, it is impossible. A suitable host is required for a summoning to take place, and the dragons of Ghadarya still slumber in their caves."

  "Memnon and his minions have slaughtered a company of the Drachengarde, and the attacks on Aldron have increased," Siegfried said, looking into Alistair's gray eyes. "The dark lord of Nasgothar is becoming more brazen. He will seek out the dragons and find a host."

  Alistair cursed under his breath. The druid's face tightened, and he tapped his thumb on his lips thoughtfully. He remained quiet for a long moment before Lucius huffed impatiently. "Our time is running out; the blade that defeated Ghadarya and Nasgothar must be forged again," he said.

  Alistair raised his eyes toward him, his forehead wrinkling. "You speak of the Requiem Sword? There is no one worthy of such a powerful weapon—save for King Cervantes himself."

  "One worthier than Cervantes has come," Siegfried countered, his eyes motioned to Lucius, who slouched slightly.

  "You?" Alistair scoffed. The old hermit studied him closely and shook his head. "The line of Cervantes is as bereft as the druids, my dear boy."

  "You're wrong, Alistair," Lucius declared. He abruptly took off his pack and rifled through its contents while Alistair watched. Lucius removed the stone seal of Nostra from his bag and handed it to the druid. "I am the last heir of Cervantes, king of Aldron. It is my charge to forge the Requiem Sword and stop Kraegyn from rising again."

  Alistair inspected the seal, running his four-fingered hand across the eagle carved into the stone. "The royal seal ... in my old age I never thought I'd see a living descendant of the house of Nostra," he said. The druid gazed at Lucius with misty eyes for a moment before his face grew solemn. "Dark days lie ahead for us all if Memnon resurrects the Black Dragon ... but I take heart in knowing there is hope in the coming gloom."

  "Will you help us, Alistair?" Lucius asked.

  Alistair handed the seal back to him and stood from the chair. "I will do what I can for you, my young Nostra."

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Bitter Wine

  The daylight hours passed quickly in Alistair's house as the druid recounted his exploits to Lucius while searching through his collection of bottles for the precious mithas powder. Growing restless in the musty old house, Siegfried decided to explore the marshes, planning to return before dinner. Alistair warned the elf not to linger in the Grey Swamps after sunset. The power of the Draknoir demon, Nergoth, permeated the marshland, and darkness increased his influence on the animals of the swamp. Hostile creatures like marsh wolves, lynxes, and crocodiles were particularly susceptible to Nergoth's will, but the will-o'-the-wisps were the most dangerous. The wisps appeared at night to lure weary and unsuspecting travelers to their deaths. Alistair believed the wisps were servants of an ancient evil dwelling in the forest—an ally of Nergoth. The mere mention of this unknown evil caused Siegfried's face to grow pale, but he reassured them his foray into the swamp would not last into the dark hours. With a curt nod, the elf grabbed his
quiver and bow and left the house.

  While Alistair continued rummaging around the house, Lucius dwelled on the look of fear on his brother's face. What evil could possibly scare Siegfried? His brother had been willing to die at King Klik's hand a few days ago and yet Siegfried had shown no hint of fear at the possibility. Lucius' musings were interrupted by Alistair's jubilant whooping upon finding a small wooden box among his possessions. The old druid used his long, skinny fingers to pull off the lid to reveal shiny silver granules inside.

  "This calls for a drink," Alistair declared, handing the box to Lucius. He walked into the hall at the rear of the main room and disappeared into a storage room. Lucius heard the druid humming to himself as glasses clinked and unknown items dropped inside the room. Seconds later, Alistair emerged with two chalices and a skinny bottle filled with some kind of mead. Lucius carefully placed the mithas on a disorganized shelf when the druid handed him an empty chalice.

  "One of the advantages of being the last living druid in Azuleah is having a bountiful supply of the Order's wine," Alistair said, pouring the purple liquid into the two glasses.

  Lucius sipped the wine and immediately spit it out. "This wine tastes terrible," he coughed.

  "Your tongue hasn't acclimated to it, my dear boy," Alistair said, gulping down the wine. "Druid wine is quite strong—perhaps too strong for young men like yourself, but the mixture of honey, elderberries, and aged cod is irresistible to any druid."

  "Aged cod?" Lucius grimaced. He grabbed the wineskin from his pack and guzzled down the bywydur inside.

  "It is an acquired taste," Alistair said, smiling.

  "I don't wish to acquire it, thank you."

  "Well, more for me then."

  Alistair refilled his chalice with more of the disgusting drink and proceeded into a lengthy explanation about the alchemical properties of the mithas powder. The druid used terms and formulas that were unknown to Lucius, and although he listened attentively, his eyes grew heavy many times during Alistair's enthusiastic ramblings. The elder druid told him the exotic mineral could be found in the mines of Raven's Peak. The dwarves were the first to discover the silvery rocks, which they crushed into fine powder to form mithas. In a powdered form, the mineral could be used to enhance the metal of any sword, armor, or shield. A weapon forged with mithas was a bane to creatures like trolls, orcs, and—most importantly—dragons. Dragon scales were nigh impenetrable to the weapons of civilized peoples, but a blade bonded with mithas could rend a dragon's hide.