CHAPTER EIGHT
BATTLES AND FRIENDS
Mercius and Jax walked the streets of the city, heading steadily toward one of the few gates in the fortress wall. Jax was silent, and Mercius could think of nothing to say to him that was appropriate for such an unhappy situation. Mercius was miserable inside, but it was tinged with a feeling of excitement that he hadn’t felt for a very long time. He was ready for something new. Although he knew that any adventure that fell in his path would probably be horrifying and possibly deadly, he felt ready for anything. His life in Drurador was over, and a new chapter was beginning. While thoughts of his students and his friends danced behind his eyes sadly, he couldn’t feel entirely forlorn. He had experienced so little in his short years, and wanted more. He wanted to see the world. He wanted to find peace, but not at the price of boredom. He felt that his fate was now entirely in his hands. He didn’t want to leave, necessarily, but he knew that he would now be beholden to no one; there was no hand now that would guide his actions. He could be himself in a way that had been hitherto impossible.
Jax saw the pensive look on his face and said, “You’re quiet. Not to say that I blame you, though.” He apparently had nothing to say on the topic, so went silent himself. Mercius' reverie had been broken, however, and he felt the need to speak with Jax, possibly for the last time.
“I am sad to leave,” he said. “But excited, somehow, too.”
Jax understood, of course. “You are turning over a new leaf, lad. That’s always exciting, no matter what it entails.”
“They say that I am never to return,” said Mercius simply. The statement was too fraught with emotion for him to explain fully what this meant to him. Jax, again, understood, and gave one of his wolfish grins that endeared him utterly to his friends, and terrified his enemies.
“Things have a way of working themselves out, Mercius. What seems like the end now, seldom is. Regardless, your friends will always be your friends. No matter where you are.” Jax paused and furrowed his brow, obviously wanting to say something of import, but unable to. Finally he said, “Mercius, I want you to do me a favor: do not travel with a heavy heart. There're so many fuckin’ woes in this world. Your friends shouldn’t be one of them. And we are your friends, no matter what.” He looked at Mercius when he said this, and there was stern conviction written on his face. It was a relief to Mercius to know that Jax's opinion of him hadn’t changed. They were still friends, and always would be. The sadness that filled him was buried by that simple fact: he had friends. The thought filled him with elation.
Suddenly, Jax grabbed Mercius by the shoulders and spun him around. The older man looked at him for a long time, burrowing his dark eyes deep into Mercius' own. After what seemed like days, Jax said, "Mercius. You are the son I never had. I see in you a greatness that I can't describe. Something that I will always love and always fear. There is something to you that I can't put my finger on, but I know, deep within myself, that you are destined to change this world. I can't understand, but there it is, staring me in the face. I ask you, Mercius, that you don't shy away from this thing that calls to you. You know it's there, as well as I do. Don't run from it, Mercius. You can't."
With that, Jax turned and continued to lead the way through the city.
They rounded the corner of a building and walked into the avenue that would take them to the gate, and Mercius looked ahead. What he saw froze him in his tracks. There were hundreds of people gathered along the side of the street. The street was lined four deep with the students he had trained in combat; the Merconium Blade. They stood at rigid attention. He had only taught them this stance very early on, when he had first started tutoring them. It was the only way, with a bunch of unruly children, that he had been able to keep them still long enough for him to tell them something. They had adopted it, and now, in their armor and with their weapons bared, it looked formal and inspiring. Behind the Merconium Blade, hundreds more people lined the street. When they saw Mercius and Jax round the corner, they sent up a ferocious cheer. It filled the air with a joyous applause, and filled Mercius' eyes with tears. He looked at Jax with shock on his face. The man just grinned. Mercius mouthed the words ‘you knew,’ and Jax just nodded slightly and smiled. Jax clapped him on the back and began walking forward. The cheer still rose from the crowd, and there were a very many faces that he recognized. As he passed, he saw the Merconium Blade standing rigid, still, and saw that several of them had tears in their eyes. Whenever he locked eyes with one of his former students, their gaze unfailingly slid away, as if they were ashamed of him, or disgusted. He was gripped with a deep sadness, and the tears in his eyes changed from those of gratitude to sorrow.
When he reached the open gate, he saw several council members hovering nearby. They were Gershwinn, Argon, and Sophia. The latter glanced at him and smiled warmly. He nodded to them, and continued through the archway in the thick wall. He was halted, however, by Darius and Peter. Now, full grown and looking large and confident in their armor, they blocked his exit from the city, much as their entrance had been blocked so many years ago.
Mercius nodded to both of the men. They gave no response, but simply stared into his face. He glanced at Jax, but the man gave no indication of knowing what was happening. Finally, becoming slightly annoyed, Mercius said, “Darius. Peter. I have been ordered by the council to leave the city of Drurador. I might not be overly pleased with their decision, but it is one that I intend to abide by. You are in my way of doing so. Please step aside.”
Darius looked at Mercius and said, “Sir, you have been ordered to leave, I know. But there were no decrees about company. The Merconium Blade will travel with you. To whatever end.” He was serious, and had the look on his face of a young child that knew what he wanted and would cause trouble to get it.
Mercius was stunned by what Darius had said. He turned and looked at the long line of troops behind them, their faces now all turned toward him. The way they stood, and the way they all looked at him, gave them a sense of unity, as if not each individual was staring at him, but the Merconium Blade itself. It was eerie, but not malevolent. Mercius had seen them in battle on the one occasion when they had come to rescue him beyond the walls of the city, and knew that they were a force to be reckoned with.
Mercius turned back to the two guards and said, “No, my friend. The Blade must stay here, and I must go my own way. You are a very valuable resource to this city, and you cannot desert its people. I will not allow it. Now, please, step aside.”
Peter was almost the complete opposite of his friend Darius. Where Darius was large and blonde and boisterous, Peter was lean with dark skin and hair, and his manner was always quiet and thoughtful. He looked Mercius in the eyes and said softly, “Forgive us, sir, but we are coming with you. It has been put to a vote within the Blade, and we agreed unanimously.” Mercius' hand twitched. Peter saw it and deduced its meaning; he was a very astute student. “You can draw your blade, sir, but you cannot kill us all before we overpower you. Once that happens, we will carry you outside the city and keep you under guard until you change your mind. And if you decide to kill just Darius and me, the rest will follow you from here, and search for you until each dies on his feet. You are our leader, and our friend. We will not abandon you, even if you order us to do so. We are coming with you.”
Mercius was shocked by the man’s candor, but kept his face still. There was a tumult of emotions going on behind his stoic visage. He, of course, had no intention of killing anyone, and he wouldn’t even harm them if he had any other choice. He gazed at both of them, hard, for several moments, then turned and took in the entire Merconium Blade. He still had a stony, unmoving glint in his eye when he returned his gaze to the pair. “Sorry, sir,” Darius said, grinning. “You’re stuck with us.”
Mercius' shoulders relaxed, and his face softened slightly. “Very well,” he said, resigned. “B
ut I cannot tell you where I’m going, or what will come of my journey. For all I know, I might find a tiny hovel and a fat wench and live happily for the rest of my days.”
Darius smiled and said, “In that event, sir, your fat wench would have the fiercest bodyguard ever seen.”
At that moment, Mercius saw movement from the corner of his eye. When he turned, he saw Argon and Gershwinn and Sophia coming toward him. Sophia had a small, knowing smile on her face. Gershwinn’s features were slightly troubled. But Argon was obviously irate. Without preamble he said, “This is unacceptable. You cannot take these men with you. We cannot afford to lose this many fighting men. The city will be nearly helpless.”
Peter looked at the man and spoke up before Mercius could say anything. “Forgive me sir,” he said, “but I was unaware that it was illegal to leave Drurador, or that one needed permission to do so.” He paused, waiting for Argon to respond, but the man evidently had no argument. “Furthermore, and you must forgive me again, Drurador will not be ‘helpless.’ You have nearly four thousand soldiers in your guard, and this small handful was not even considered a part of them. Therefore, you will be no less capable than you already were.”
Realizing that the sputtering, furious Argon was not going to win this battle, Gershwinn stepped in and said, “Lad, this is your home.” His voice was soft and slightly pleading. “You have lived here for nearly a decade. You’ve been given shelter and food, and anything else you desired. Is that not worth defending? Is that not worth remaining?”
Darius, the more hot headed of the two, said, “Of course it’s worth defending. We would defend it with our lives. And Mercius would too. He would die for the people of this city in a heartbeat. He would battle single-handedly an entire army of demons in defense of Drurador, and, if he lived, he would ask nothing from you in return. No thanks or special treatment. He would ask only for the roof over his head. And that you are denying him. I speak for the Merconium Blade when I say that his strength and honor are much more worthy of defense than your council’s.” The last word was imbued with scorn, and his voice had been rising steadily throughout his speech. Peter placed a hand on his arm, and he took several deep breaths.
Gerswhinn, now becoming upset at the man’s subtle insult, puffed up his chest and said, “The council has decided as justly as it could. Mercius is a friend to us all. No one came to this decision lightly, boy. However, for the sake of the inhabitants of this city, it had to be done. Now, is not justice something worth defending? Or are you too young and stubborn to defend such a cause?” Darius put his hand on the hilt of the short sword that hung at his hip, and a fire danced in his eyes.
Fortunately, Sophia stepped between them. She was at least a head shorter than both, but her presence demanded respect and silence. She glanced at Mercius and Darius and Peter in turn, then turned to Gershwinn and Argon. “These men are not criminals, gentlemen. They have every right to decide as they see fit. If they wish to go, we will not try to stop them. I am glad that they have such loyalty to their leader. It would not be a bad thing if more men had their strength and commitment. Let us leave them to it, shall we? After all, as the young man said, we are not helpless or weak without them. We will endure, as we must.” Her voice was soft, but it ended all arguments. Argon stormed off, still furious, but Gerswhinn actually offered Mercius his hand in friendship. Mercius shook it and the man mumbled an apology to Darius before striding off.
The farewells were brief between Mercius and his friends. He and Sophia had already had their moment of self-pity with each other, and Jax had vanished from the crowd of well-wishers. Mercius could see the hurt in Sophia’s eyes, and felt it showing on his own face, but, somehow, he got the impression that neither of them believed that this was the last time they would see each other. Mercius said goodbye to several other friends that had turned up in the crowd to see him off.
Soon enough, Darius received a nod from Mercius that he was ready to leave. He turned and barked a quick command at the assembled Merconium Blade. Entirely synchronized, moving as one, they formed a line in the street, four abreast. It was done smoothly and efficiently. Mercius hadn’t taught them this kind of thing, having focused more on single combat than any sort of group formations. He said nothing, but made a mental note to bring it up later. Just as he was about to move out through the arch, Jax came up to his side. He was leading a very large black horse. It was an enormous, beautiful thing, with clean lines of muscle rippling at its flanks. It had a wild look in its eye that spoke of speed and power barely harnessed.
Mercius stared at Jax, the question on his face. “You’ve become soft living in the city. You’re legs would fall off by the end of the day if you had to walk the whole time.” He was grinning, and it was infectious. Mercius let the smile take over his face, and he gripped Jax in a tight hug. It was returned just as fervently. “I will see you again, brother,” Jax whispered into Mercius' ear. It was the first time he had ever called him that, and it brought fresh tears into his eyes. They released each other, and Mercius stared into the big man’s eyes for a moment. Not trusting himself to keep his emotions in, he silently launched himself into the saddle on the stallion’s back, and kneed it to a walk through the stone arch. He didn’t look to see if the troop was following him, but he could feel them at his back: committed and hard.
They marched all day, and well into the evening before they halted and set up camp. Mercius was all day surprised and amazed by the unity and arrangement of the Merconium Blade. They marched in formations that Mercius hadn’t taught them. They were silent and attentive, changing their formations or adjusting their pace with the slightest signal from either Darius or Peter. There were scouts out ahead of the main force, as well as to the sides and behind. The scouts were mounted on small, quick ponies that could not only move swiftly, but were also agile and able to tackle even the most daunting of terrain. They reported back to Mercius every other hour. Their reports were directed at him, but, after the second scout returned, he realized that they were more comfortable speaking to either Peter or Darius. When the next scout came back, a girl no more than twenty, he told her that her reports would be better received if they were directed at Peter and Darius. She blushed slightly, but seemed more at ease, as he had suspected, delivering her news to the pair. After that, word spread, and the scouts forewent the formality of addressing Mercius, and a tension was released from his shoulders. With no clear sense of where he was going, the information was slightly lost on him. All that he cared about was that there were no demons waiting in ambush.
When they halted, the camp was set up with an equal amount of military efficiency as the march had been. A trench was dug around the encampment, and the cook fires were small and sheltered, lest an enemy be alerted to their presence. The perimeter was marched by a dozen very attentive sentries all night, who slept in shifts. The horses were kept in the middle; in the event that they were spooked, the men would be able to catch them before they scattered into the darkness.
Mercius sat in the darkness and looked around at the Merconium Blade by the light of the half moon. Darius was with him, sitting silently, having seen to the arrangements of the camp and the Blade. Mercius asked the question that had been in his mind since he saw them all standing before the gate in the city:
“Darius,” he said, “how is it that the Blade moves in formation? Why is it that they act like a well-formed military unit, when all that I’ve taught you is hand-to-hand combat?”
Darius' white teeth gleamed in the silvery light of the moon. He was obviously pleased with himself. “Well, sir, it happened like this. One night, Peter and I were sitting around, discussing what you taught us that day. It was simple exercises with a halberd or a spear, and making the most of the weapon against an attacking enemy. Nothing we hadn’t done before, but it got us to thinking. Peter looks at me and asks how intimidating it would be i
f we had a wall of men, all carrying spears or halberds. The image jumped into my mind, and it was terrifying. Hundreds of trained men and women, or even thousands, presenting nothing but a wall of steel death. Obviously, we began to talk in depth about how it could be accomplished, and what we could do other than just a wall of spears, if we had a group of disciplined soldiers on an open field of battle. Oh, the troops in Durador are all very well, but they are trained only in defending a city. We started wondering what we could do, or would do, in the open, if there was no city. After we talked about it for several weeks, we put the question to the Blade, and asked if there were any volunteers that wanted to be involved in a new fighting force. It almost goes without saying that every one of us wanted to be involved. So, Peter and I started training them as best we could. I would’ve been lost, but it turns out that Peter is something of a genius when it comes to military matters.” As if his name was a summons, Peter walked up and sat down beside Darius and Mercius.
“Genius?” Peter said in his usual quiet manner. “I don’t know about that, but I can see how certain formations and tactics could be very effective. However,” he said, very serious, as he almost always was, “we have not tested them yet. For all we know, they could prove entirely futile against a real enemy. We could all be slaughtered because of our little scheme.”
Mercius pondered what the two had said for a moment before saying, “I have the utmost faith in the two of you, and I’m sure that the Blade will perform well, if ever there is an encounter with an enemy force. I’m curious, though, why you didn’t just come to me and include me in your developments. Why all the subterfuge? And when did you have time to do this?”
The pair looked slightly bashful. They glanced at each other and finally Darius shrugged and said, “We meant it to be a surprise. It wasn’t the plan at first, but for some reason none of us really wanted to tell you until we had something substantial that we could impress you with. If we came to you with an idea, you more than likely would have supported it, but, if we were fully trained and ready, it was going to be a very powerful display of military tactics, and you would have been stunned. And sold entirely to the concept.”
Mercius could only laugh. He felt the friendship that had been in him for the two men suddenly blossom into something more, and deeper. They had been friends of his for years, but he was hit with a much more prevalent feeling of endearment for them. “I would have supported it, no doubt,” he said. “And I probably would have helped in whatever way I could. But the surprise was still what you wished it to be. I was blown away by the formation of the Blade, even in the street of Drurador, and further shocked at every turn of our march today. And you must forgive me, indeed I owe the entire Merconium Blade an apology, for my head was elsewhere today. I am truly sorry that the show you had worked on for so long was squandered today on my own selfish wanderings.”
“Well, sir,” Peter said, “you must forgive me, but you haven’t seen the half. We have been training for nearly four years. The Merconium Blade is capable of more than just marching in a straight line and sending out scouts.”
Mercius felt his eyes widen. “Four years?” he said, hearing his voice mirror the shock that he felt. “How did you keep it hidden from me for so long? And why for so long? Surely you could have impressed me years ago.”
Darius laughed. “It wasn’t easy, keeping it hidden. We had to leave the city as early as dawn, or return as late as dusk, but we found a large clearing sheltered from view of the city behind a small hill. It was perfect, and secluded, and, best of all, you had no idea it was there. We practiced with our every free moment.”
Peter said, “And, as far as keeping it hidden for so long, we were against that, Darius and I. We wanted to show you nearly two years ago. However, the rest of the Blade kept telling us that they weren’t perfect yet, and that they would train harder, until they were ready, and that then, and only then, would you be able to know about us. You see, sir,” here he hesitated, as if not sure of how to put his thoughts into words. “The Blade; your students; they respect you far more than you could ever know. It is not much short of worship, the way they all look up to you. You are the reason that they try so hard to excel: to make you proud. It has been like that since the beginning. Darius wasn’t lying when he told the council that we would follow you to whatever end, and die for you in a heartbeat. You are our leader, and our lives are utterly in your hands.”
Mercius was very dearly touched, and had to fight to keep the tears from pooling in his eyes. Finally, when he was sure his voice wouldn’t crack, he said, “It has been my blessing to be able to spend so much time with you; the two of you and the rest of the Blade. You are truly remarkable people, and I trust you, all of you, with my life, and the lives of my closest friends.” He could think of nothing else to say to express his love for his friends or the Merconium Blade, so he went silent.
What he had said, though, seemed to be satisfactory: Darius and Peter smiled widely and said, in unison, “Thank you, sir.” With that, they both rolled themselves into their blankets and were breathing heavily within moments. It had been a taxing day.
Mercius, on the other hand, knew that he would be unable to sleep. Knowing that if he lay there in the darkness, alone, his thoughts would turn to self-pity and sorrow. He, therefore, went walking through the camp. He found himself walking the perimeter with whatever sentry was closest him. He spoke with each as they walked, still attentive to the surrounding night. He already knew them all by name, and he found that all of them were very forthcoming once they got over the shock of seeing him up and about, and talked comfortably with him of their mothers or their lovers or their childhood memories. It was very cathartic for them, having just exiled themselves from their homes, voluntary though that exile was, and very soothing for Mercius. He learned much of the men and women that were now his responsibility, and it gave him a heretofore lacking sense of purpose.
When he finally made his way to his blankets, he was exhausted. He could smell the air changing toward dawn, but figured that he would get at least an hour or two of sleep before the sun crept above the hills.
Mercius dreamt of a world of charred and blackened pillars. It was desolate, and there was a feel of misery and decay. A howling wind blew across the broken landscape, and ripped away all hope. Then, from somewhere, he heard another sound. It was very distant and weak, but it sung to him. It was the sound of grass and peace. The sound of love and the sound of clean water. Then through the gritty, broken world, a black blade swept. It pushed the glorious sound before it, ever intensifying its beauty. The enormous blade razed the pillars and sliced through the wailing wind. It swept through the darkness, leaving behind it something that was not light, but was much less empty; less hollow and menacing. As the blade reached the end of its purifying stroke, it struck something hard and unseen, and its momentum was halted with abrasive finality.
Mercius jerked violently out of sleep, his bones trembling from the shock of that unseen block that the blade had run up against. He tried to focus his thoughts and divine the meaning of the dream, but all that came to him was the wall that stopped the blade in its stroke. He felt the evil of that wall, in the moments when sleep was still leaving him; felt the agonized terror. It made sweat break out in the small of his back, and he felt like shriveling into a ball and weeping. That thing, whatever it was, brought madness and horror forth as easily as a smile brings laughter.
After several moments, the panic left him and he rose. The sun was not up yet, but the sky was grey and turning to gold in the east. The camp had been broken already, and the men were ready to march. Darius and Peter approached him, leading his huge black stallion. The two were seldom apart. “We are ready sir,” Peter said. “The scouts have already returned, and are awaiting orders to move out again.”
“Thank you, Peter,” Mercius replied, climbing onto his horse. “I wis
h to speak with the Blade before we begin.” They nodded in unison, and Darius shouted a command. Within seconds, the Merconium Blade was assembled in a wide circle around the three.
Mercius sat on his horse and gazed around at them, turning slowly so that he could hold everyone’s eyes for a moment. “Merconium,” he said loudly, investing the word with as much pride and dignity as he could. “You have left your homes and your friends. No one can know where our road will take us, but it will surely lead to danger and peril. We will be hunted, and we shall hunt. We will be killed, and we shall kill. Whenever we must, we will show the world the force and might, the terror, of the Merconium Blade.” Mercius paused and let this settle over the assembled troop. “None of you, however, are here against your will, and that will always be true. If any wish to leave, at any time excepting battle, you may do so, and without shame. This is a wicked world we live in, and you all have families and a home, should you wish it. I have seen and fought more demons than most men see in their entire lives. I can tell you that it is not something that I would look forward to, or would do again if I had the choice. They are bent on cruelty and destruction and pain. They kill for fun and for food. They make the blood run cold and the bowels loosen. They are fear, and they fear nothing. If any of you wish to leave now, you may do so, without shame.”
He paused and looked around, wondering if any would depart. After several moments of stillness, as the sky lightened closer to true dawn, a woman stepped forward. She was young, as all of the Blade were. Her hair was in a dark pony tail down her back, and her helmet was under her arm. She carried a spear, which was mandatory, had a short sword at her hip, and a long bow, nearly as tall as she was, strapped to her back. “I believe I speak for us all,” she said, looking Mercius directly in the eyes, “when I say that we are yours. Every woman and man of us is yours to the death, no matter what stands before us.” There was a shout of agreement from the throats of the Merconium Blade as she stepped back into rank.
“Very well,” Mercius said. “That being said, I will lead you as best I can. But, I fear, I will need some help. Darius and Peter have organized you and trained you in this new style, so I believe it is only fitting that they should be put partially in command. From now on, Darius, Peter, you will be Commanders of the Merconium Blade.” The two stared at him for a heartbeat, then drew their swords, grounded the tips as they knelt on one knee, one fist pressed to their heart, head bowed. Amazingly, after several moments of silence, the remainder of the Merconium Blade did the same. It was moving, and Mercius just sat on his horse, stunned.
Finally he said, “Rise, Merconium! And we will march!” This time, the cheer that went up from them all--aside from Peter and Darius, who simply stared at him, adoration in their eyes--was joyous and filled with passion.
Darius silenced them after several moments with the raising of his hand, barked a command, and the day’s march began.
The company marched for a solid week, passing villages and small homesteads. They stopped at several of the larger villages, replenishing their supplies, but for the most part they were self-sufficient. They hunted the land for meat, and filled their canteens with water whenever they found an unsullied source.
As they traveled, they noticed that the terrain slowly changed. It went from the supple, grass-covered hills they were familiar with, to a dry, barren place. The trees became stunted and twisted and poisoned, as if the land had been scoured by some plague that refused to loose its hold. The villages became infrequent, and eventually disappeared altogether. They reached a spot of the world where they would march for days and see no living thing. The hunting became more trying; there was still wildlife in the country, but often it was a strange mockery of the natural beasts they had known. The deer were grotesque, their flesh and fur rotting away even as they strolled through the blackened forest. The bears were hideous things with extra eyes or mouths, and all of the beasts were more hostile than anyone had imagined they could be, attacking groups of the Blade with no provocation, instead of fleeing as they normally would.
The Merconium Blade became depressed. Mercius noticed that their faces no longer held the youthful eagerness that they had started out with. The forsaken land was affecting them. They still performed incredibly, but there seemed to be a heaviness to their step, and a dullness to their gaze.
The spell was broken on the eighth day of their march from Drurador. There was a hot, searing wind sweeping the desolate landscape, and the Merconium Blade marched slowly and listlessly. The stunted, blackened trees creaked in the gust, and ash whipped through the air. As the sun began to set, it cast a red tint over the land, giving the blackened earth an ominous and terrifying feel.
Mercius rode his stallion, who he had named Fury, at the head of the marching troop. In the distance, he was the first to spot a returning scout. He rode his pony with fierce speed, as if he was running from a pursuing enemy. Mercius ordered a halt, and all sat in readiness for the soldier.
When finally he arrived, out of breath and looking dogged, his report was what they had all been secretly fearing: “Demons approaching. They’re on a collision course with us, and will be here in under an hour.”
“How many are they,” Peter asked quietly.
“Nearly three hundred on the ground, sir, plus fifty in the air. They run as if there are whips at their backs.”
Darius, looking around him quickly, started giving orders, after receiving a quick nod from Mercius to take the lead. “We passed a small hill about a quarter of an hour ago. We will make our stand there. It should give us the best view of the land, and we will have the high ground, forcing them to run uphill to meet us.”
As they marched hurriedly back to the decided location, Mercius asked Peter quietly, “What of the remaining scouts that are out in the field?”
Peter answered immediately, as if he was waiting for the question: “They have been instructed in this eventuality. They will return to where we should be, and, finding us absent, will make their way to our location. They have been chosen for their abilities in tracking, and our path will be clear to them. They should meet up with us shortly after we arrive at our destination, if not before. They are well mounted, and should have no problems.” Mercius was satisfied, and continued to ride in silence.
When they reached the hill that Darius had described, Mercius was uneasy. It was defensible, but not perfect by any means. They would have the high ground, as he had said, but it would be impossible to keep the demon horde, which outnumbered them by more than three to one, from surrounding them. It would be a hard fight, and Mercius was hoping that the Merconium Blade was all that Darius and Peter believed they were. As they sat on the hill, waiting in silence, Mercius watched in trepidation as, seemingly out of nowhere, a mass of dark, almost black billowing clouds formed over their hilltop. The rain came. The ground became immediately muddy. The rain blotted out the meager light in the darkened sky, and it became obvious that they would be fighting in an environment that was much more beneficial to the demons than to the humans. A true test of the Blade’s prowess in battle.
Mercius, cold rain streaking down his face and the livid scar that stretched from brow to chin seeming to pulse with every beat of his heart, turned to Darius on his left and said, “This will go badly. The demons will fight with no form or unity, but we will be hard pressed not to be utterly destroyed.”
Darius grinned wickedly, as if he was whole-heartedly looking forward to the confrontation, whether or not it meant death and slaughter. “Fear not, sir,” he said through his grin. “We have been waiting for this since we began training with you. And not a man or woman here is not ready to die fighting these beasts. If that is our path, so be it.” He quickly gave Mercius an outline of the battle plan: archers in the center of the hill top, launching volleys of arrows into the approaching demons, as well as concentrating on the aerial attack. The spearmen an
d halberdiers forming up in a circle around the hilltop, beating back the enemy with their long weapons. Meanwhile, the scouts, mounted on their light ponies, would venture out into the demon ranks, harrying them and attacking where they were weakest in numbers and strength, only to return to the hilltop and regroup, re-arm if necessary, and repeat the skirmishing attacks. “We will do what we can to keep death at bay as long as possible, sir,” Darius finished, still grinning wolfishly. The whites of his eyes and teeth contrasted violently with the darkness under the cloud cover. He looked like a madman, waiting for death, and, indeed, inviting it. Mercius realized that this was why so many looked up to him; he was cool and gentle normally, but when there was fighting involved, he was gripped with an abandon that conquered fear and inspired his followers.
“Very well,” Mercius said. “And where do you wish me to be? Among the skirmishing scouts?”
Darius was silent, and the grin melted from his face. Peter was the one to answer, “We think that it would be best if you stayed at the center of the hilltop. The demons will be singling you out, sir, and it is a great risk for you to join in the fray.” Mercius looked at him, stunned for a moment, before laughing loudly. Neither of the two men knew how to take it.
“I will not cower, friends,” he said. Peter tried to interject, but Mercius raised his hand and he was silent. “I did not teach you to fight so that I could relax and watch you die. I will go where I am needed, and you will not change my mind this time.” There was a fierceness in his eyes that neither of the men could meet, so they dropped their gazes and relented.
After standing on the hilltop for roughly half an hour, the troops assembled as Darius had described, they heard the coming of the demon horde. It started out as a deep rumbling from the earth, coming from the darkness that surrounded them; the running feet and hooves and claws of three hundred demons bent on murder and destruction. Next, piercing the steady drum of rain on armor and mud, came the keening wails and howls of the demons. It was a sound that sent most men running, but the Meconium Blade stood perfectly still; either the horrifying sound had no affect on them, or they were very adept at stifling the fear that rose in them. Mercius, with his keen eyesight, was the first to spot them.
They came like a rush of wind. Some were upright on two legs, some galloped like beasts, and some flew on enormous black wings. Mercius couldn’t make out individual features of the things through the darkness, but he didn’t need to or care; he had seen all manner of twisted beings in his adolescence, and they struck no fear in him. They were just something that he had sworn to kill whenever the opportunity presented itself. “They come,” he said quietly, to no one in particular. “Let us send them back to Hell.” This he said more loudly, and a single deep shout went up from the Merconium Blade.
By some trick of the darkness, or some demonic magic that Mercius didn’t understand, the demons were upon them. One moment they were still a hundred yards away, the next they were clashing with the foremost members of the Merconium Blade. Mercius was among the first to join battle with the beasts, and he did so ferociously. He kept Illuricht in its sheath at his back; instead, he drew the heavy spiked mace that hung from his saddle, and began swinging it with precision and deadly accuracy. Demon after demon fell below the singing ball, and he was quickly lost in a battle rage that consumed him entirely. He barely noticed Darius and Peter, fighting alongside his stallion, Fury. The horse lived up to its name, kicking with its hind legs to send demons flying, rearing up to cleave faces and bodies. Mercius was in a tight circle with Darius and Peter, and in the lulls in the raging fight, he saw them move with a fluidity that he hadn’t known they possessed. He watched with pride as all around him the Merconium Blade implemented all of the techniques that he had taught them over the years, combining their unique combat skills with the formations that they had learned on their own, with the aid of their two commanders. They fought as a single unit, guarding to one side and attacking to the other, changing formations and configurations smoothly, at a barked order from the leader of each small squadron. Mercius was beginning to see the efficiency and thoroughness of their training, and saw that it worked miraculously. The enemy fell like leaves in the fall before the arrows and spears of the Merconium Blade, unable to make the lines break or the men falter. Mercius, meanwhile, had sent himself back into the reor of the battle. He swung his mace mightily, and was steaming with black demon blood; the rage took him, and he was bent on destruction and chaos. He smashed his mace down into the face of the thing beneath him, watching its single eyeball fly from its head with the crushing weight of the spiked ball. Just then, however, catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Mercius turned to face the largest demon he had ever seen. It was fully twice as tall as he was sitting on his large stallion. It was grey-fleshed, with clumps of ratty hair clinging to it in places. It had two legs, the size of small tree trunks, and four heavily muscled arms, ending in clawed hands. It held a club made of bone, tipped with a skull that had spikes of steel driven into it. It was long and fierce, dripped with blood, and had chunks of skin and brain clinging to it. Mercius took this all in with a glance, and barely had time to fling himself from his saddle before the wicked club sailed through the air. Just in time; it would have taken his head off. Fury, now riderless and terrified, fled with a scream. Mercius had lost his mace when he fell, so he pulled Illuricht smoothly from its scabbard. Several demons rushed him through the giant’s legs, and he summarily hacked them to pieces with two smooth strokes. The giant looked fiercely at him from two dozen eyes that were centered on its face, and gave a mighty roar that stank of death and shit. Mercius, moving like liquid lightning, hacked at the thing’s legs with all the strength and speed he could summon. The giant took no notice of the gaping, bleeding wounds that Illuricht left in its grey hide. It swung arms and club at Mercius with renewed ferocity, and it was all he could do to stay out of the path of the enormous monster. Before long, dodging and swerving, Mercius was surrounded by smaller demons that had seen him as easy prey. Now, he had to contend with them as well, while still trying to keep one eye on the giant that was utterly determined to smash him to death. Illuricht, with the demon-hate that had created it, swept mightily back and forth, severing heads and limbs and tentacles and tails, creating a heap of smoldering demons at his feet. Mercius was aware that he was bleeding from half a dozen places on his body, but was too focused to feel the pain. He simply wielded his blade and destroyed what he could. The giant demon, however, refused to succumb to the fury of Illuricht. It swung its club with speed and power that Mercius could not stand for long. He felt his bones tiring, and his muscles burning as he fended the massive club off with his demon-blade. He felt life draining from his gushing wounds, and his mind reeled with exhaustion. He knew he wouldn’t hold out much longer against the hideous giant.
Finally, Mercius was ready to give up; to succumb to his doom. He simply couldn’t fight the thing anymore. It was too big, too strong, too impervious to pain. With a last effort, he summoned the thing that he felt waiting deep inside of him. He was afraid of it. He embraced it and loved it and loathed it. It came to him of its own volition; a force that he couldn’t describe and couldn’t control. As it came into his blood, his flesh, the world took on the quality of clarity that he had only experienced twice. He felt it flood through him, and didn’t dare stop it. He took hold of the power, not knowing what it was or where it came from. He focused it through himself. Into his arm. Into the blade that it held. Into his legs and heart. It suffused him easily and with a rush that took his breath away. Suddenly, it was as if he was floating above himself, watching his bloody figure as it began to glow with a soft intensity. The air reverberated around him. The blood that covered him and the ground called to him. He looked up at the giant, and the thing must have seen something that it feared in his face. It took a staggering step back, but regained its ferocity almost immediately
. The thing raised its club and rushed at Mercius. Almost effortlessly, Mercius allowed the rushing power to take over for him. He was suddenly flying along the ground, his feet barely touching the black, muddied earth. He raced to meet the thing. Just before they met, Mercius jumped up, launching himself through the air. He flew upwards, above the things head and saw the club come down where he had been only half a heartbeat before. As he descended, Illuricht stabbed down, into the top of the thing’s head. Mercius expected the blow to jar his arm, such impetus was behind it, but it slid smoothly down into the giant’s skull. And continued through its neck and into its torso. A surge of power flowed through Mercius' arms and through the blade itself. Illuricht sang with it, and the giant exploded, sending chunks of ragged meat and bone into the surrounding horde.
Mercius knelt, head down, in the remains of the creature: a circle of black blood and yellow bone and green insides. The demons surrounding him had stopped, and were gazing at him, their breath ragged and rasping. Mercius, with a look of death in his eyes, looked up at them and grinned, the strange power still racing through his veins. He could see that he had done something that he had thought impossible: he had inspired fear in the creatures of Hell. He rose slowly, and the demons took a step back, widening slightly the circle in which he stood. The rain still poured from the sky, and he could see it dancing on their hides and streaming over their claws. Suddenly, Mercius rushed at them. It was too much for them to even comprehend. Mercius hacked and skewered the demons with his power-infused blade, each one erupting in a shower of blood and mucous and bone when the blade entered their flesh. They fought him as best they could, but it was useless. Illuricht could not be stopped, and Mercius was overcome with the immense power that surged through him. He focused it first through Illuricht, but then sent streamers of it out through his fingertips. Every time he did this, the demons that were the target of the force that he wielded would explode, or shrivel where they stood, reduced to nothing but a steaming pile of eyes and teeth and talons. Mercius was hot with rage, but the power that coursed through him infected him with a calm serenity. He moved like water, he killed like fire, and Illuricht sang with blood and death. Finally, feeling the power dwindle in him, and the exhaustion of his body return, he saw the remaining demons turn and flee. He was nearly overtaken by the boiling desire to chase them, hunt them down, and execute them. But the power that had kept him alive was now nothing but a faint glimmer of its former intensity. He could not continue to wield it for much longer, he knew instinctively, without falling victim to it himself. He lowered his blade, and released the strange power, watching the backs of the retreating demons merge into the darkness.
When Mercius looked up, he realized that he had strayed very far from the hilltop, and was gripped with a sense of dread. Had he left the Merconium Blade to be slaughtered? He saw after a moment, however, that they had won the day. The survivors of the troop were standing in a rigid formation on the hilltop, looking at him through the darkness. He could see concern tattooed on Peter’s face. Darius was grinning. As Mercius sheathed his blade, the pair mounted two ponies and headed in his direction, leading Fury between them. When they reached him, Mercius said:
“We have won the battle, I see,” he was grinning, mirroring the expression on Darius' face.
“No, Mercius,” Peter said. “You have won the battle.”
Mercius looked at him questioningly, but had no time to ask what Peter meant by that; his vision swam as exhaustion overtook him, and he collapsed into darkness.
Mercius floated in a world of darkness. He knew that somewhere, out of his reach, his body was lying on a soft blanket. He knew that the rain had stopped, and the sky had begun lightening towards dawn. He knew that he was fever-ridden and sweating. He knew, but could feel only darkness surrounding him. He hovered in place that was foreign to him, but ever so familiar. He felt no fear or despair. He felt nothing. It was comfortable here, but he knew that it couldn’t last. He must either return, eventually, to his body, or leave forever the world of the living. But for now, he was content to float in the blackness.
He had no sense of time here. He could have been floating for only moments, or for an eternity. It didn’t matter. Slowly, through the darkness, he became aware of something; another presence. The presence didn’t concern him, didn’t frighten him. It was just there, as if at the edge of his vision. He could see nothing, at first, but the presence slowly became larger, slowly engulfed him. It invaded the space that he occupied. It approached him and bled into him. He was filled with it, and he filled the foreign presence in return. He was jolted by it, his awareness shuddering with the powerful terror and beauty and glory that the thing possessed.
As this sensation overwhelmed him, he felt himself spinning, spiraling into some unknown plane. The darkness lifted slowly, and he found himself inhabiting a body. It looked like his own, but he knew that it was just illusion. The scar on his face was gone. The hurts that he had suffered during battle were no more. He inhabited this body, but it wasn’t real; just a shell that he could move and feel. Around him was a place that he knew, also, wasn’t real. It was an illusion planted for him. It was a room that had no source of light, but seemed to bleed light from the stone walls. It felt warm, and had two comfortable looking chairs fronting a cold fireplace. The presence that had invaded him in the darkness solidified into human form. It was beautiful. It was a woman in long, flowing white robes. Her features were indefinable, but incredible to behold, with strong, passionate golden eyes peering at him. Her smile melded with the light of the small room, seeming to flow from her into Mercius' eyes and heart. When she spoke, Mercius felt the strength in her voice. It wasn’t human, but carried with it so much passion and love that Mercius felt his body trying to implode.
“Mercius,” she said. “I have waited a very long time for you.” The echoing intensity of the music of her voice reverberated in Mercius, suffusing him with its powerful glory.
He forced himself to speak: “Who are you? What is this place?”
She smiled at him, and it nearly broke his heart. “The place is irrelevant,” she said. “As far as who I am, the answer is not an easy one. Humans have no name that encompasses what I am. In the beginning, your kind named us Angels, but that is as far from the mark as calling the beasts of Hell demons. Indeed, mankind has tried to label us for millennia, and none have ever understood what we truly are. For the sake of discussion, you may call me Nephilia. I am here to set you on your path, for much rides on your success.”
“Success?” Mercius said. “I do not understand. I have no goal, so how can so much be riding on my success? I am simply a reject, living in a world that is evil, with no home.”
Nephilia smiled. “You share much with us, Mercius. More than you know. We, too, are rejects of a sort; outcasts. We have been forsaken by the Creators. But, we have our tasks as much as you have yours. Already, you are on the right path. The creatures of Hell have broken a truce that they honored for eons. Now, they must be punished and beaten back. You are crucial in seeing that come to pass.”
“Me? I highly doubt that one man can beat back the entire host of Hell.”
“But Mercius, you are not just one man. You are something more than just a man. You are a scourge, although you do not know it yet. I am here to show you the path which you must follow.”
“I can tell that you are powerful,” Mercius said. “Why not you, and your companions? Why can’t you beat down the hosts of Hell?”
She sighed. “Trust me, Mercius, if we could, we would have never allowed it to go this far. But there are rules that govern us, and if we were to break them, we would be nothing more than them. We cannot forsake what we are, no matter the price. All we can do is guide, and watch. There may come a time, when there are no other options, that we will ride to battle, but that is something that we are loathe to do, for it would co
rrupt us beyond repair, and the victory would be bitter sweet.”
“I don’t understand,” Mercius said, trying his best to grasp the situation. “What would you have me do? I cannot single-handedly destroy Asgoroth’s forces.”
Nephilia laughed. “Oh, Mercius, you have much to learn. I sometimes forget how limited your sight can be. Asgoroth is but one of many demon lords that rule this planet, just as you are but one of the many who will seek to overthrow them. You are not alone. This cause is being fought as we speak, on all continents of your world, by countless friends and foes. We seek only to guide those that are essential to the effort. That is why you are in this place now; to find your calling.
“And,” she continued, “you have your Merconium Blade. They will fight at your side, and never abandon you. Trust them to do what they must, and lead them without hesitation. They formed behind you because they feel the power that is in you. Allow them to play their part, and give them the respect that they deserve.”
Mercius was caught by something she had said. “Power,” he said, thinking how to phrase his most prominent question. “There is a power in me that I cannot control. What is this thing that overtakes me and does its will through me?”
The angel radiated a feeling of caution and wariness. “This power, Mercius,” she said. “You must be wary of it. It is in your blood, but it is dangerous. You can use it to gain our ends; to destroy the fiends of Hell. But you must never let it control you. You will use it, so put the thought of refusing it out of your mind. It is part of who you are. But, you must make every effort to take control of this power before it can corrupt and destroy you. If you falter, you will become your father, and wickedness will follow in your wake.”
Mercius had more questions about this power, but he felt that Nephilia had told him all she would. “What do I do now?” he asked.
“Follow your heart,” she replied, smiling. “You must find the demons and destroy them. It will be a long, hard road, and I cannot see how your journey ends. There will be blood and sorrow and misery in your path, but you must overcome them and carry on with your task. Find them, kill them. That is your goal now. You mustn't stop. Ever.
“But, for now, return to your body and rest. You need time to heal, and she is the only one who can save you. Watch over her, because the fate of the world depends on her, as well as you.”
Mercius asked, “Who? Who will save me?” but Nephilia’s form dissipated and eventually melted away, leaving a glowing hum. “Who will save me?” Mercius repeated, this time shouting it at the empty room. There was no answer.
Suddenly, he was violently ripped from the place, and slammed back into his body. His eyes opened and he gasped in pain. He could feel the cuts and bruises all over his body, and his limbs were weak. He vomited, and could feel the sweat coming out of his pores. Being thrust violently back into the world of physical sensation was too much for him to handle, and he passed out.