Prophecy of Swords, page 12
A HaellEleion walked into the cavern. He was obviously a warrior with a muscular frame and golden eyes. He wore leather armor and soft woolen clothing, trimmed in fur. "Silver Hand, I see you awake."
The Haelllanguage was difficult to follow, but Romarin understood enough. Romarin sighed with relief – if he could communicate to these people, perhaps he could bargain their freedom. Romarin nodded. "Thank you for saving my life," he replied.
"You understand?" the Haellsaid in surprise.
"I know the ancient tongue," Romarin said.
The Haelllooked impressed. "The chieftain will be pleased to hear."
Romarin nodded to his men. "These are my soldiers. They need food and water. I’ll speak to your chieftain after they’re tended to."
"I am Foxfire," the warrior said. "I will send someone to attend to them."
"I am Romarin Nevfaras," the king said. "Romarin of the Silver Hand. The Red Wolf."
"The Haellhave heard of one such as you," Foxfire said. "Are these all your men?"
"There are many more that escaped the rock serpent, but we don't know where they are."
"You escape rock serpent?" Again, Foxfire looked impressed. "Few escape that fiend."
Romarin nodded. "We were lucky. Foxfire, I’d like to speak to your chieftain."
"Silver Hand, Joreid speaks to few," Foxfire said. "I will ask." With that, he left the cavern room.
"What did he say?" Falar asked.
"They'll bring you food and drink," Romarin said. "I asked for an audience with their chieftain. Evidently his name is Joreid."
Foxfire came back in. "Joreid will see you now. Your men will be taken care of." He unlocked the padlock and pointed his spear in the direction he wanted Romarin to go. Romarin glanced knowingly back at Falar and then strode from the cavern.
The cave complex was immense. Romarin was amazed at the work required to engineer such a feat. Sconces lined the tunnels and airshafts reached to the outside. Foxfire led Romarin through several chambers, each inhabited with Haell. As he passed the Haell, he noticed that many pointed and stared at his gauntlet.
"Why is everyone pointing to my hand?" Romarin asked.
"That is for Joreid to tell you," Foxfire replied. "Joreid is head chieftain of all the Haellclans. It is a great privilege to be granted an audience."
Romarin nodded, wondering what the protocol would be. "I am king of my people – a type of chieftain," he added, seeing Foxfire's puzzlement over the word 'king.'
Foxfire nodded. "Come then, Chieftain Silver Hand. Joreid waits." They walked into an enormous cavern, filled with light from torches. A slender Haellwoman sat on an immense stone throne. Her golden eyes studied Romarin as he approached her throne. "Great Chieftain Joreid, I bring you Chieftain Silver Hand."
"Welcome King Romarin of the Silver Hand, the Red Wolf," Joreid spoke as she stood up. "I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The cold dawn sent shafts of light into the cavern. Shadowhelm awoke as the mountain air filled his nostrils. Haegl still slept soundly, the dragon's immense body radiating enough heat to warm the entire cavern. His snoring was rhythmic like the purr from a very large cat and while loud, seemed to have a drowsy effect along with the heat from his body. But Shadowhelm was no longer tired and stood up. He was hungry and the makeshift meal in Caer Llaen seemed a long time ago.
Shadowhelm checked the fire and finding that it had been reduced to embers hours before, settled for cold rations. They had taken enough meat, bread, and cheese from Caer Llaen for a couple of days if they conserved. He quietly opened their packs and fished out meat and cheese along with a hunk of dry bread.
He glanced over where Kalena lay. She too, was asleep. Shadowhelm watched her as her chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath her heavy cloak. He never was tired of looking at her – or being with her, for that matter. There was something about her he could not quite explain to himself – something familiar. He had known other women as warriors and lovers, but had never had this reaction to them. Kalena was different in so many ways.
He knew he had behaved badly towards her ever since she had rejected him. The word "childish" entered his mind, and he sarcastically thanked the voice for being so candid. The raid, too, had been one of bravado, as much to impress her as it had been to keep the mercenaries in the army.
Shadowhelm shook his head as he pondered their strained relationship. He was a hardened warrior, not a foolish romantic, and yet he longed for Kalena. But he knew he was clumsy when dealing with love and would risk destroying his friendship with both Romarin and Kalena forever if he dared to go much further. And like it or not, Shadowhelm knew now he had a role in this Prophecy.
The Prophecy. He set down the piece of bread and drew the sword, staring at it in the ruddy light. Despite all the bravado to impress Kalena, he had pulled off the raid at Caer Llaen and the sword had been a part of it. Every time he drew the sword, he had felt something strong stir within him, like a distant memory. At first, he had discounted it as being his imagination – after all, it had been an enchanted sword. But the fight with the fireworm confirmed that something was happening to him. He could not explain the changes he felt inside, but he knew he was changing.
Perhaps it is time for you to believe,the voice said.
The voice had always been there, but was now growing stronger and took on a tenor similar to his own. Could it be the sword of the Lochvaur? he wondered.
"Believe what?" he murmured aloud.
Believe that which you already know to be true.
Shadowhelm shook his head. At one moment, he had been tumbling in the air, screaming, the next moment, the fireworm had spoken to him and turned into his ally. Why? What had he done that enabled him to speak and control the fireworms?
The Swords of Destiny can control dragons.
But this is not a Sword of Destiny,he objected.
The voice did not reply.
Shadowhelm stood up and walked outside. He was greeted with the cold sun and a stiff wind. The sky was cobalt blue and the rarified air felt good in his lungs. He had been away from the Northlands too long, he decided. The southern lands were for those who were soft and weak. They were not lands of warriors, but lands of farmers, herders, and fishermen.
The ledge was larger than he remembered the night before when they had landed. In retrospect, he realized that Haegl's size dwarfed almost anything. Shadowhelm took up a warrior stance and began swinging the sword, first with his right hand and then with his left. Faster and faster, he fought against invisible opponents in a kata he had learned many years ago when he was younger. Drenched in sweat, but filled with the sword's power, he whirled around and saw the dragon watching him curiously.
"You wield that sword as though it were an extension of yourself," Haegl said. "I have only once seen that sword wielded in that fashion."
Shadowhelm grinned. "It is a fine blade – better than any I have ever wielded. It is as if this blade was made for me."
"Perhaps it was."
"How so?"
"The magic you wielded yesterday over the fireworms was not minor. Only the most powerful could have done what you accomplished," said Haegl. "You broke Allarun's control – something not even Romarin has ever tried.
"I watched you when you fought Vaurgar. There is very little that frightens him – or Allarun. But he is terrified of you, Shadowhelm."
Shadowhelm shrugged, sheathing the sword. "Perhaps neither Allarun nor Vaurgar have ever met a warrior who didn’t fear them."
"You are not afraid of Allarun."
"No. Angry, yes. Cautious, yes. But I am not afraid," Shadowhelm replied.
"I have only known two others who did not fear Allarun. One is Romarin; the other was Lachlan, himself," Haegl said.
"What are you saying?"
Haegl shrugged. "Romarin senses what I do – only we don’t know which path this may take. There are many who believe that Romarin is the Lachlan."
"Do you?" Shadowhelm asked.
"I did – until I met you."
Shadowhelm stared at the dragon. "You brought me here to tell me this?"
"I brought you here to tell you what you may need to know," Haegl replied. "That sword – what do you know about it?"
Shadowhelm drew the sword. It came alive in his hands and he swung it around in delight. "I know that I feel its power coursing through me every time I draw it," he said. "It is the sword Elsonre forged after Eihwazwas destroyed on the Darkling Plain."
"Is that what Romarin told you?" Haegl asked.
Shadowhelm stopped in mid-stroke and held the sword up to the sun. "What else could it be?"
"There are only two swords that could withstand the power of Allarun's own sword, Hagalaz. One was Uruz; the other, Eihwaz," Haegl replied. "Look at the runes on the blade, Shadowhelm."
Shadowhelm stared. "There are three runes Eihwaz, Uruz, and Hagalaz."
"Defense. Strength. Chaos. Which do you wield?"
The word came unbidden to his mind: Eihwaz.
Shadowhelm gasped. He stared at the dragon. "Eihwaz! The Second Sword of the Destiny! This sword belongs to Romarin. I have no right to wield this.”
"You have every right – the sword chooses its wielder. Only a first-blood Lochvauror Lachlan, himself, could wield this blade," Haegl said. "Just as only Allarun, a first-blood Eltar, or Lachlan can only wield Hagalaz."
"Why didn't Romarin take this blade when I offered it to him?" Shadowhelm said. "He could do great things with it." He paused. "Why the deception?"
"I don't know," said Haegl. "Maybe Romarin felt it wasn't the right time to tell you. Maybe he felt you'd be safer not knowing. Maybe because he knows he’ll have to seek Uruz once more."
"Uruz– Lachlan's own sword," Shadowhelm mused.
"The key to the Lachlan's power," Haegl said.
"But Uruzwas destroyed, wasn't it?"
Haegl shook his head. "No, my Shara'kaifriend. Nothing on heaven or earth can destroy Lachlan's swords. It lies somewhere, waiting for its master."
"The Darkling Plain?"
"No, though that may be a good place to start. Romarin searched for it in his youth, but returned maimed and empty-handed."
"That's when he lost his right hand," Shadowhelm mused. He paused. "What would happen if someone who wasn't supposed to wield a Sword of Destiny touched one?"
"Instant death," the dragon replied. "The power would consume that person."
Shadowhelm shuddered.
"It isn't pleasant," the dragon said. "I've seen it happen."
"I could've died when I touched Eihwazin the Dark Temple," Shadowhelm said.
"You could have, but didn't. Unfortunately, you gave yourself away when you touched that sword," Haegl said.
"Gave myself away? How?"
"The Dark Lord must consider that you might be the Lachlan."
Shadowhelm laughed, but he quickly became somber when he saw that Haegl was not joining him. "You're serious, aren't you?" he said in incredulity. "You think that I might be the Lachlan."
"Romarin stood here, just as you stand here now," Haegl said. "He was searching for the secret of the Sword's power, but he had no sword to wield. You, my friend, wield one. You are one link to the three swords."
"But, with three swords, there has to be three sword wielders," said Shadowhelm. "Lachlan didn't wield all three by himself."
"True," said the dragon.
"Then, there must be three sword wielders again," Shadowhelm mused. "But whom?"
"You are one; Romarin may be the other," Haegl said.
"It makes a certain amount of sense," Shadowhelm mused. "Lachlan and Elsonre were Lochvaurand they wielded two of the Swords."
"Lachlan and Elsonre were twins, albeit not identical," Haegl remarked. "A trick of fate made Lachlan firstborn, but it wouldn't have mattered if he had been born second. His temperament and power exceeded Elsonre in every way. Don't misunderstand me, Elsonre was a warrior, but he was content to stay in his brother’s shadow. Perhaps in another life, he might not have deferred so easily – the blood of Rhyn'athel flowed in his veins just as much as it did Lachlan’s."
"Or Romarin’s," mused Shadowhelm.
"Or Romarin’s," the dragon agreed. "But you, Shadowhelm, are a bit of an enigma. Your mother was Shara'kai, wasn’t she?"
"Yes – half Lochvaurand half Shara'kaiNorthmen," Shadowhelm replied. "She died after I was born. The chief of our clan raised me as his son, but no one knew my sire. Some guess my father to be an Eleion; otherwise, I would look more Ansgar. Yet, there are no purebloods in the North."
"Interesting," said the dragon. "Could there be a fifth son of Rhyn'athel?"
Shadowhelm shook his head. "Haegl, I wouldn’t be so quick to claim Rhyn'athel as my sire. Half the children of the Northmen don't know their fathers. Illegitimacy is not uncommon there nor does it have the same stigma as it does in these lands. The clan is an extended family and another child, illegitimate or not, is another warrior."
"But none of themhave drawn Eihwaz," Haegl remarked. "You have."
"Does that mean that either of us could draw Uruzas well?" Shadowhelm asked.
"No, only Lachlan – or perhaps an heir of Lachlan – can wield that sword. Anyone else would suffer the same fate as those who touch a Sword of Destiny who were not meant to wield it."
"Did Lachlan have any heirs?"
Haegl shook his head. "None known." He paused. "Although Lachlan would have taken Cara as his consort."
"Cara?"
"Cara was the daughter of Silvain, King of the Silren."
"The Silren?" Shadowhelm mused. "Is this an EleionHouse?"
"It was. They were annihilated on the Darkling Plain," Haegl paused. "Most of the Houses were destroyed or scattered that day. The Lochvaur, Lochel, Redel, Elesil, Haell, Laddel, Falarel, and Silren have all but vanished. Only the Eltarremain strong."
"But there are still pureblood Eleion," Shadowhelm said.
"Yes, there are and a few houses still remain, though most will not deal with Romarin. The Haelland Laddel are said to have strong warriors, but they keep hidden and will have nothing to do with the Lochvaur."
"Little wonder," Shadowhelm remarked. "I'm surprised anyone follows the Lochvaurafter Darkling Plain."
"Only the Prophecy – and the hope of someday destroying Allarun – holds their loyalty," Haegl said. "The Lachlan will have a difficult time bringing unity back to the Eleion. And now, there are different players as well. The Ansgarwere not as powerful a race as they are now. They can be great allies or terrible adversaries." The dragon considered the Shara'kaithoughtfully. "Perhaps that is why you were chosen, Shadowhelm. You have blood from both in your veins."
"And perhaps I haven't been chosen for anything," Shadowhelm replied, laughing. He sheathed Eihwazand grinned. "The Lachlan would be desperate to choose me."
"That may be," the dragon shrugged. "But, these are desperate times." He paused and gazed into the cave. "The Chi'lan is waking and I am hungry. If there is anything left, I will bring some meat back."
With that, the dragon flew off.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Romarin was speechless. Joreid was a woman of both beauty and power. She held his gaze as he stared at her. She wore tunic and breeches similar to the Haellwarriors. Save for the gold and silver circlet and wristbands that glowed on her brow and arms like liquid fire and the silver fox trim, Joreid was dressed as any Haellmight be.
Simple, and yet Romarin could not think of anything that would make her more regal – or more beautiful. She was a warrior like he was; her muscles hardened from training and combat. Her golden hair was streaked with silver strands and carefully plaited in a single braid that reached to her waist.
Joreid was small and yet her presence filled the room. Romarin scarcely noticed the guards alongside her, the rich tapestries that hung along the cavern’s walls, or the gilded throne.
Joreid smiled, seeing the Lochvaurking taken aback. She knew he hadn't expected a woman – very few matriarchs ruled the kindreds even before Lachlan's time. Only Lachlei, the queen of the Lochvaur, and mother of Lachlan and Elsonre, was so powerful. Joreid rose and stepped down from the dais, their gazes locked.
Romarin recovered quickly. "Chieftain Joreid, I’m honored by your presence," he said, nodding his head in respect. "You’ve expected me?"
"For some time, Romarin," she said. "The Lochvaur aren’t the only ones who have the Sight."
