Before anything else, Acbain saw the wide, red strip of crimson velvet that ran before him, all the way to where the king's throne stood. A throne of silver and onyx - Myza cared little for gold – stood at the end. Before it, the Drakonic king, adorned with the silver crown upon his head, paced to and fro. A large cross-shaped window above said throne bathed the continental ruler in radiance, illuminating his bronze hued skin and making it look copper.
At Acbain's appearance, Myza stopped in his tracks. “Come forth,” he called in his loud, authoritative tone.
Acbain swallowed hard, and walked forward timidly. He noted the three other figures to the sides of the throne: Na' Jahki the Vorghoni Knight on the left, Rarhot the Dwarven Knight, and Sarza the High Elf Knight on the right. Where were the others?
Acbain halted five steps from the king, and dropped to one knee, sweeping his left arm before him and across his chest. “My lord. You requested me.”
“Aye.” Myza nodded. “Rise. We have much to talk about and little time.”
Acbain stood. “What is the urgency, m'lord?”
Myza sat, one leg crossed over the other. “As you know, when Denteroth appeared, he unleashed many creatures of his world upon our own.”
“I do,” Acbain replied. “The NeverBeasts and Shadows and who knows what else-”
“But, as you also know, we don't know how many of them actually came.”
Sarza stepped forward. “Legions upon legions of them.” Acbain gave her quick glimpse. She was quite beautiful, though she'd never find herself with an elf of his type.
“And we know little of what they can do.”
Acbain gave him a sideways glance. “And you summoned me to…” his voice trailed.
Myza elicited a heavy, disheartening sigh that showed his exasperation. “Before I give you your task, I give my condolences of your mentor, Kivemaer. He was a remarkable spell caster, unrivaled by but a few.”
The mere mention of his name made Acbain shudder. “It was to be expected, sire. Fighting such a creature as the deity of the Neverplane came at a high cost.”
Myza nodded solemnly. “Aye, 'tis true. But what I must ask of you is of the utmost importance. It too comes at a high cost.”
Acbain understood what the words meant, though he had no idea what the task might be. He knelt again. “Anything to serve you, my lord. Eseim ínvium.”(It is my vow.)
Myza stood once more. “Na 'Jahki, the Artifact.” The Vorghonian warrior grunted, as if displeased, but complied. He disappeared behind the throne. Acbain watched as he picked up a rather sizable cloth-wrapped item, and brought it back before the stately monarch.
This time Rarhot spoke. “M'king, he's but a prentice! Not even fully a Knight such as we. Does thee really think he can do it?”
Myza looked at him, then stared at Acbain intensely, as if to decide his fate. Acbain stared back, his midnight blue eyes matching those of the green-gold orbs peering down at him.
At last, Myza replied. “I do. It is my belief that he can. He has learned from the best, and if Kivemaer were here I'm sure he'd agree.”
“But ‘tis suicide,” Sarza blurted out. “Sire, let me do it. You know that I can-”
Myza held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I know very well what you can do. But such a task is not for you to accomplish. I need you here. Besides, if you leave, who will Daerildon return to?”
She stepped back, and muttered something like, “If he comes back.”
Na 'Jahki took a knee and held the Artifact before the king. “Come forward, Acbain Shadowlyre, son of Beladriel, disciple of Kivemaer.” Acbain stepped before him. “Witness the single weapon that has defeated the greatest threat we have ever faced.”
Myza untied the rope that bound the cloth to the cross-shaped Artifact. He let the cord fall away, and pulled back the cloth, revealing an ivory, metallic cross. Myza picked up the cross, and held it up to his eyes. Acbain watched with utter amazement, never having seen it firsthand.
“The Crossblade,” Myza said simply. Acbain surmised the length of the blade from end to end to be four feet or so, metal from tip to tip, including the 'hilt' which was really the horizontal arms of the cross. A perfect circle had been cut from where the spokes met, and a duronium handle ran through it from the bottom spoke (the longest one) to the top one. Each spoke was a hand width wide, though only the longest spoke was sharpened. Drakonic runes ran the length of the sharpened spoke. “Only two people have ever wielded it. One is myself. The other...” His face twisted in grief, and he did not finish. No one needed him to. They knew who the other wielder was. Myza stared at the blade with great sorrow.
“What would you have me do, my lord?” Acbain asked, breaking the king's reverie.
Myza slid his hand through the blade's opening, and wrapped his fingers around the blade's handle. He held it out as one would a normal sword. “There are many dark forces searching for this blade, young spell caster, do ye wrot that much?”
“Aye,” Acbain said quietly.
“It is much worse than we feared. No matter how many of these... beasts... we slay, there are hundreds more!” His voice had grown to an infuriated growl. “And they have caused us many acasualty.” He looked over at Na 'Jahki, then to the other two. “Including some of our best.”
“I don't understand what you want me to-”
Myza spun the blade once in a blurred movement and drove the sharpened edge into the ground. The blade cracked the stone beneath, sending fractures in six different directions. The event startled Acbain, and he could only stare at the unscathed blade jutting from the ground.
“Hear me well, Acbain, apprentice knight.” He placed a hand on the edge of the spoke that stuck up.
“I do.”
“The forces of this other world have sought out one thing, and one thing only: this very blade. The blade may be indestructible - at least to us - but I have no doubt that if these creatures were able to get to it somehow, they would destroy it.”
“Or banish it in the very least,” said Rarhot. “The Never-bastards.” He sighed, his beer-gut belly heaving as he did so.
“Aye,” Myza agreed. “As for you, Acbain, what I would ask of you will require great sacrifice. I do not know at what price that will mean, perchance only time and energy. Possibly more.” His face resumed the same gloomy look it had when he’d spoke of his son. Most undoubtedly more, thought Acbain, though he did not dare say it aloud. “These forces are coming. With every rise of the sun, they close in. They're coming for the blade. I can feel them, just as I believe they can sense the blade.”
Acbain's eyes fell to the blade. “You want it moved.”
Myza reached down and ripped the blade free from the stone, leaving a horizontal slit in the ground. “Yes, but more than that.” He ran his fingers along the flat side of the sharpened edge, and caught Acbain's eyes. “I want it sealed away.”
“We’ve already sent ta other one away, ta be seal’d in a place prepared for it across the ocean,” said Rarhot. At this, Sarza's eyes darted to him briefly, then away just as quick. Daerildon. He must have been the one to take the other blade. Acbain kept his sudden revelation to himself.
“They won't find it?” Acbain asked, stalling for time.
“Most likely not,” Sarza picked up. “The Sanctuaries have been enchanted with the highest level concealment spells known to us, and guarded by the holy stone.”
Acbain's throat suddenly filled with sand with no saliva to wet it. At that moment, he knew exactly why he had summoned. “My lord... you ask too much of me.”
“Let me go in his stead,” Rarhot shouted, stepping between Acbain and the king. “I can do this-”
“I know,” said the King, his voice losing its edge. “But I need you three here. Even if we move the blade, they'll still come. You are the only ones that can stop them.” Then, he did something none of them expected:
He smiled.
“Acbain, descendent of clan Shadowlyre, son of Beladriel. The task I
ask of you is not easy - far from it - but I fear that you are the only one left that I can leave it to.”
Acbain's knees felt weak. His heart slammed in his chest like a hammer pounding steel. “I...”
Na 'Jahki walked to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Acbain could feel the man's strength just from his grip, firm enough to hold him in place, but not so firm to break the shoulder. “Up to you, apprentice. Short on options. Make decision fast.”
Acbain nodded. If he accepted, it could mean death.
On the other hand, not accepting meant he'd be going against everything he said he believed. He'd waited years for a chance to prove his worth as Knight. And now might be his only chance.
He swallowed again, wishing desperately for a glass of water. “Alright, my lord. I'll do it.”
The King nodded. “Very well. Kneel once more.” Acbain did as bid. Myza brought the flat side of the blade above one shoulder, then the other, but did not touch Acbain’s skin. “From this point forward, you are an honorary Knight. Should you live through this trial, you will be granted the full title of Palladium Knight. Should you die, you shall still inherit the title of Knight henceforth and be remembered as such. Now rise, Acbain Shadowlyre. The task I'd have done of you awaits, but these otherworldly creatures will not.”
Acbain rose. Myza wrapped the blade back up in the cloth, and rebound it. “Sarza.”
She stepped forward. “Yes m'lord.”
“The items.” At first she seemed puzzled, then clarity came. She walked