The tunnels beneath the Andelline castle were damp, filled with must, and choked with webbing. Kloe Datris and Wilt Oan were the first people to venture this deep under the castle in decades. Their footprints were obvious and unmistakable, set in the inches of dust blanketing the stone-block and brick flooring of the rounded corridor. They had been in the tunnels for the better part of the day and all of the previous night in search of the fabled sword. The secret chambers beneath the castle were a good place to start the search, and so they had. But thus far, the search was fruitless. Dead ends and empty chambers had been their treasures. The sword was the key to winning the war, they knew. And if Ankar Rie was right, the demon would not stop searching until it was found. The pressure they felt for finding the sword quickly was increasing by the moment.
Another dead end emerged out of the darkness before them. Kloe Datris stopped, Wilt Oan slumped against the cool wall in depletion holding a flaring torch. “I’m not liking our pattern, Datris.”
“Maybe there’s a secret switch that activates a door to open.”
The sweat on Wilt’s wrinkled face shimmered from the torchlight. “This could take some time.”
They began moving their hands across the cool stone walls searching for anything to trigger an opening. Every crack and crevice was checked, every stone within arm’s reach was combed over. Nothing. Finally, exhausted from the effort, they decided to backtrack.
“This could take weeks!” Oan cried out loud. “We don’t have time for games!”
“You and I know this palace like no other,” Datris replied calmly. “If we cannot find it, then it will not be found.”
“What if she already has it?”
Kloe Datris looked down at the old man for a second then looked away. He had not considered that to be an option. He decided that he would not. “The sword is here. We will find it.”
“Yes, of course. Forgive me, friend. I am old, and this search is impossible.”
Wilt turned in the other direction, swaying his torch in vain. They continued to search the dead end walls until exhaustion forced them to backtrack, leaving them in wonder. They spent the remainder of the tunnel searching the bricks more closely, looking for any trigger to unlock a secret doorway. The search was hopeless. After a few hours of searching in desperation, they found themselves back to where the search began.
Wilt Oan stood at the doorway to the secret library. His old face was tired. His mouth sagged open with sweat trickling down his wrinkled skin to disappear within his beard. Without waiting for a response from Kloe Datris, he released the lever and opened the door, stepping into the room with an audible groan and hanging the torch in a wall bracket before dropping himself onto a chair by the table.
Kloe Datris seated himself across from Wilt. “We are missing something.”
Oan nodded. “We should read further. There are a lot of books here. Maybe it’s mentioned someplace else?”
The Head of the Red Knights thought about it for a few minutes as he stared at the mass of volumes circling them. “We need to think like a king would.”
Wilt turned to face him. His eyes revealing his words for him.
“If you were king, and you held this sword of immense power, where would you keep it?”
“Out of reach. Out of sight, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.”
Wilt could see that Kloe was thinking something through. “What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing, yet.”
Oan shook his head. “The histories reveal the threat against the sword. It’s in black ink. You’ve read it yourself. ‘As more attempts came for the sword, it was removed from all eyes.’ They’ve put it someplace where no one would find it, Datris. We need to read more—”
“No, you said it yourself, old man. There were so many attempts that they would not risk writing its location down. I think the secret died with Turyn Andelline.”
“Well we cannot search this castle and its hidden chambers blindly!” Wilt pounded a fist into the table. The stress was getting to him. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I need some water.”
Kloe Datris stood. “And some fresh air.”
Wilt Oan stood and kept his head facing the floor as he walked out of the secret library, the Red Knight at his heels, saying nothing. The enormity of their situation was overwhelming them and they were doing what they could to keep their frustrations from controlling their thoughts. They walked quietly out through the dim corridor to the King and Queen’s bedroom and entered through the secret door, passing two Red Knights who were posted there. No words were exchanged between them. If someone had come their way, the Red Knights would have said so immediately. And Kloe had nothing to report, so words were not necessary.
Wilt Oan walked into the royal room and hung the torch in a wall bracket, his head sank low, his hands balled into fists. He walked to a small table and chairs and seated himself. “Would you care to have some water brought, Red Knight?”
Kloe Datris smiled at Oan’s request. “I’ll return with some lunch, old friend.” He turned and walked for the door, listening to Oan mumble something unpleasant under his breath, but left the matter alone.
Wilt Oan sat at the table so mad he could not think straight. The stress was overpowering. He was tired, mind and body both aching for rest he could not offer. He slammed his fists into the table and exhaled with a groan. He could not let his frustrations get to him. He was needed. He knew he had to settle down and clear his thoughts, to relax long enough to brainstorm. Wilt slowly inhaled and closed his eyes. He began to realize how foul the room smelled. He stood and turned every direction, wondering where the source of the distaste was coming from. But it was everywhere. It was like a living presence in the room. It gave the royal decor an unwashed appeal. It made Oan sick.
Cursing the demon for what it had done, Wilt began to realize what he was looking at in the room. He stopped his train of thought, and began a new one. Spread across the walls, swords and shields were hung in decoration and pride. Outfits worn in battles were hung as well. There were at least a dozen sets. Some older than twice his age.
“Is red ale fine?” Datris asked, carrying a tray of fresh fruits, bread and meats, and a container with red wine.
Oan nearly jumped at his voice. He was so lost in thought that he did not hear the other enter. He smiled brightly. “Yes, of course. Sit. Sit with me and talk, old friend.”
They walked to the table, sat and began to eat. Kloe watched Oan’s smile, saw the glint of something hopeful in his eyes. “What is it, Oan? Why has your mood suddenly changed?”
“I’ve taken your advice.” Oan’s smile was broad. “I am thinking like a king.”
Datris shook his head, took another bite of bread, and replied, “How so?”
Wilt spoke quickly. “Books would not help us. They would not have written its location anywhere. And tunnels would only misguide us. The sword would not be hidden in a location where it would be found!”
Datris saw no reason for the excitement. “I am tired. Get to the point, Oan.”
“Think like a king, Datris. Think for a moment.” Wilt filled up his glass of ale and drank it down before continuing. “Everyone would have suspected as we had. We could have spent the rest of our days searching the tunnels. The king would have known this as well. He might have even seen this firsthand! No, they would not have dared to hide it.”
Wilt could barely contain his excitement. “Something hidden can be found, Datris. But something on display would be overlooked.” He pointed to the walls. “Look around!”
Kloe Datris turned his head and saw the swords Oan was pointing to. “Surely, they would not have put a sword of such importance…”
“Exactly! That’s what everyone would have said!” Wilt’s face turned angry for a moment. “The demon probably spent all of its time in the tunnels, searching for it. It could have been here for months without anyone knowing.”
Kloe took a moment to put the pieces together, and began to u
nderstand what the old man was saying. “Hide it in plain sight?”
Wilt’s eyes were filled with childlike happiness. “We are onto something, old friend. The sword is here! And we shall find it!”
Kloe Datris almost smiled in return. “So, where do we find it? Where would they place it?”
“Where everyone would see it.” The thoughts were just coming to Wilt Oan as he spoke his words. “They would see it daily. So often, that they would not even notice it.”
They were quiet for a second, each thinking the possibilities. Then together their eyes lit with realization. They both exclaimed, “The courtyard statue!”
With newfound energy, they raced out of the room, out of the castle, across the courtyard to the series of bushes taller than themselves surrounding a pool of smooth white rocks. In the center of the rock bed stood a statue. It was a sword rising from the midst of a bed of burning ashes. Though vividly colorful, the display was merely stone. Datris and Oan thought exactly that as they stopped next to the centerpiece. They slowly walked around it, both feeling exhilarated.
“Issilix Delsoue.” Wilt whispered excitedly. “And all this time, it’s been out here, under our noses.”
Kloe Datris moved onto the rock bed carefully. The sword and statue piece rested upon a large square block of smooth stone, leaving the sword at chest level. He paused as he reached the sword, still trying to conceive how something made of stone could be what they were looking for.
Then he reached for it. Placing one firm hand around the pommel, he tried to remove it. But it was fixed in place. He frowned then, listening to Wilt behind him urging him to try harder. Datris began again with both hands, tugging and pulling with all his might. But failed.
“It will not budge.” Kloe Datris sighed heavily, then walked back to stand next to Oan. They both frowned.
“This is the sword, Datris.” Oan knew the sinking feeling his friend was having. “There must be a way.”
Kloe Datris frowned. “The way is not ours, my friend.”
Wilt Oan groaned to himself. Maybe it was someplace else after all.
The sun was still a few hours from sinking below the horizon when Shadox and Tane rode their tired horses up to Cillitran’s gates and entered the city. Little was said by either as they made their way past the empty shops and deserted saloons, slowly riding across the brick street heading for the palace grounds. The Andelline castle towered everything in sight, towers and parapets seemingly huge from this distance. Massive flags flapped in the gentle breeze, hung at roof peaks and tower points. Tane was in awe. It was still hard for him to believe that all of this was happening. The palace was the largest single structure he had ever witnessed. Now it was his home.
“Where is everyone?” Tane asked softly, looking around for any sign of life.
Shadox remained looking forward. “The war is starting. The men of Cillitran have gone to fight.”
Tane turned his head back to his surroundings. Cillitran was so different than Skadar Port, he saw at once. The shops here had been well managed and kept. Strife was not plaguing business, as it had across the Lower Krune. Besides the general lack of people, he did not believe that he would have seen the drunkards and thieves lurking about. Even in desertion, Skadar Port would have appeared to be in ruins. Cillitran was nowhere near its depression. As king, he silently vowed it never would be.
Tane took a deep breath. He was full of nervous energy and just wanted to settle in. Fighting the Takers would do that, he thought. Swinging his sword would take his mind off the home-coming and the world thereafter. The war was something he thought he could do. Being king however, made him nervous.
As the street ended and the shops were no more, they were met by a vast park with lush green grass and wild flowerbeds, tall trees and bushes hemmed neatly, with paved walkways leading across the acreage to the castle. Shadox continued on without pause, turning slightly off to their right, not heading directly towards the palace. Tane thought it odd, but said nothing. He was not entirely ready to confront everything that came with entering the palace.
They rode their horses across the park to the small pond and the decorated water geyser at its center. They left the horses to drink untethered and walked on foot into a series of hedgerows that dwarfed them both. The unison, the symmetry, the formation: it was all royal. It would have looked nice out one of the tower windows, Tane decided. It was not long before the walled-bushes came to an end in a circular clearing. At its center, surrounded by the towering hedgerows, was a bed of rocks and a sword statue. Shadox brought Tane to a halt. They both stood silently, staring in admiration.
“Forged in another age altogether,” Shadox spoke. “A historic event made for all to remember. Sadly enough, there are few alive who recall it all.”
He walked to stand next to the statue. His lips were moving slightly, speaking so softly that Tane neither heard nor understood what he was doing. Shadox stood back then and motioned for Tane to join him.
“You stand in the grasp of Issilix Delsoue, Tane.”
Tane was in awe. He was so unprepared for the other’s statement, that his jaw sagged open and for a second he quit breathing. He stood looking up at the fabled broadsword trying to grasp the reality. He knew they came to Cillitran to claim the sword and throne, but still some part of him did not expect it to happen. He was not ready.
“Shadox, I…” Tane slowly walked through the stones, stopping just within arm’s length from the sword. “This is stone.”
“You are King now. The sword is yours. Your blood. Your heritage. Your future. It belongs to no other.” Shadox smiled, motioning again for Tane to act.
Tane hesitated. Doubt formed his lips, uncertainty filled his eyes. “But this is a statue.”
“Is it?” Shadox’s smile disappeared. He spoke with a slight irritation. “Knick your flesh then take hold the sword. Only an heir’s blood can bring it to life. You wanted proof, and here it is.”
Tane hesitated again. But looking to the sorcerer for assurance would only prolong the inevitable. Shadox would urge him to continue until he was gripping the handle. And so, shoving aside all his doubts and convictions, all at once, Tane cut his right palm on his sword then leaned in and reached for the statue.
“Stop!” Kloe Datris shouted from the other side of the rock bed, emerging from the bushes with a worried Wilt Oan.
Tane stopped before his blood could reach the sword. Shadox spun to face those opposing them. “Do not interfere.”
Kloe Datris stepped forward, one arm reaching out as if it alone would stop their progress. “I am Head of the Red Knights! I am ordering you to remain still.”
“Who sent you?” Wilt asked with a tint of fear in his voice. “Get back away from that sword!”
Kloe Datris reached within his red coat and withdrew a long sword. “Do as he says.”
Tane turned to Shadox, who moved around closer to them. One hand raised in a calming fashion. “I am Shadox. A friend to Cillitran and its king.”
“Its king is dead.” Wilt snapped bitterly.
“Kings come and go. That is the way with life. One replaces another.” Shadox replied in a soothing tone, as if to suggest to them that Turyn’s passing must be accepted. “Men of Cillitran, I introduce you to your new king. This is Tane Andelline.”
“That’s blasphemy!” Kloe cursed. He positioned his stance, poised to attack.
“That is an awful claim to make!” Wilt Oan barked in response. “He has Elven blood!”
“We have no time for lies or deceits.” Shadox began again. “Listen care—”
“I am Tane Ellantri.” Tane interrupted. “My mother was an elf. The sorcerer tells me that Turyn Andelline was my father. Though he never knew of me. I have traveled with him a long way to see for myself. Like you, I have my doubts. But I am told that only an heir can call upon the power of the Issilix Delsoue. So I am here. And if Shadox is right, and all of it is true, then that would make me your king.”
Klo
e Datris shook his head. “We are not the fools you take us for. Stand down from the statue.”
“Listen to reason.” Shadox motioned for Tane to remain where he was. “I am a sorcerer—”
“Enough! We have no reason to believe anything you speak.” Wilt Oan was growing furious. They had finally found the sword, and he was not about to let someone steal it right in front of him. “For all we know, you were sent here by the Queen to claim it and destroy it! Now back away!”
Shadox stepped forward. Everything about him now suggested that this game had already gone on for too long. The tone in his voice became stern and threatening.
“As Head of the Red Knights you would know your history. You would know what this sword is. You would know the rightful bearer. Then you would also know that only one of the Andelline’s blood heirs could set it free. This is your King. The sword is his.”
“You risk an awful lot.” Kloe Datris did not let his guard down. “What you claim is enough to put you to death.”
“Then one of two things will happen,” Tane spoke up, taking control. “I will take hold of the sword and claim it rightfully as the sorcerer says. If I am an heir, the sword will be set free of its prison. If I am not, then it will remain cast away and you can put me to death. But we have no time for this bickering about who I am. It will be proven it now.”
Without waiting for anyone’s response, Tane reached out with his bleeding hand and grasped the long handle. Everyone went silent then.
Instantly he felt a tingle inside his hand that lead down his arm, racing through his entire body. Surprised, he almost flung his hand away in reaction. But he held firm, feeling the strange tingle flow through him like his blood. Then he saw it happening. Starting at the handle where his hand was, a reddish hue began to glow, spreading up the sword slowly, revealing the glimmering metal beneath the cement. It was as if paint was peeling away. Tane stared through it all without blinking. He was mesmerized.
From within the sword a small light began to flicker, as though it were on fire. The red and yellow light shed forth, shrouding the sword and its master, then shot out into Tane. Tane screamed. He wanted to let go of his grasp, wanted to thrust away the sword and be free of the sensation overwhelming him, but he couldn’t. Deep inside him, he felt the light invade. It throbbed throughout his body, his core. Tane screamed, seeing everything turn red. All sounds around him disappeared. All he was left with was the pain of something settling inside him.
Then it faded. He could hear the others around him gasping in awe with hushed voices in a jumbled mix he could not decipher still. His vision cleared as well, as he saw his hand still grasped the sword, which was now cast in a crimson color. The whole process took only a few moments, and when it was finished, the red hue disappeared just as sudden as it had begun. Tane stood alone, holding the sword.
“Issilix Delsoue!” Oan cursed.
“The truth is revealed” Shadox said firmly. “Tane, how do you feel?”
“I can’t describe it.” Tane stared in shock at the blade. “I can feel it in my whole body. Tingling. Flowing. It’s…alive. What happened? What did it do?”
“You have awakened the magic, Tane.” Shadox turned to Kloe and Wilt. “Your King stands before you.”
Wilt gasped in wonder. “How? How would an heir be kept in such secrecy?”
Tane walked out of the rock bed to stand next to Shadox. Kloe Datris and Wilt Oan slowly walked over to him. They were quiet for a few moments, as each of them stood admiring the sword and what it implicated. Kloe and Wilt were realizing that they were standing in the presence of their new king.
Shadox remained still, eyes focusing on the sword, his face was etched in serious lines. Tane stood with the pulsating vibes still running from the sword and through his body. Watching the blade, he saw it turning color. Within a few minutes, the entire sword was a red shade. A shade of blood. Seconds later, it returned to a metal color.
“I do not know how this could be. But the magic would not lie.” Kloe Datris dropped to one knee and bowed to Tane. Oan was a second behind. “Your majesty, I am Kloe Datris, your protector. I welcome you to Cillitran.”
“Yes, yes.” Wilt began, at a loss for words still. “Wilt Oan, peacekeeper to the Races. We mean no disrespect. We’ve only come to secure the sword, before the demon finds it.”
“It is not here,” Shadox stated. His head shifted to face the wind, as if searching for a scent. There was a flash of disappointment in his eyes for a second, before he turned to Tane. “It’s coming.”
Tane looked questionably to Shadox. “Takers? Here in the city?”
But it was Wilt who answered. “No, no. Their master.”
He became alive with words now, flowing with no end, shooting just as rapid as he could. He began by telling them everything that had befallen the city in the past few weeks, leading up to their present predicament. He concluded by telling them that they had been searching for the sword all night, and had come to the conclusion of its whereabouts just as they had found each other.
“The war will begin shortly. We must hurry, Tane.” Shadox began walking away to his horse.
“Wait!” Wilt cried, as Tane turned to follow the sorcerer. “What do we do when it returns for the sword?”
Shadox stopped walking in mid-stride and turned back. He walked with long strides and purpose, eager to leave the city. He approached Kloe Datris and removed his sword from the Red Knights hands before he could react. He stuck the blade tip down into the earth and sent white fire into it for several minutes. No one moved. No one understood. When he was finished, Shadox removed the sword and handed it back to Kloe Datris.
“The spirit seeks a sword of power. Give it this one.” Shadox stared at their confused faces. “The magic within will lure the demon. It will desire it above all other things. Once it withdraws the magic within, it will bind the spirit. It will be held then until it can be destroyed.”
Without waiting for a reply, Shadox turned and walked away, disappearing within the aisle of the hedgerows.
“I ride to the war,” Tane said, not knowing what else to say before departing. “Be careful of this demon.”
“We will, sire.” Kloe Datris bowed.
“Yes, yes. Luck to you, your majesty.” Wilt added.
With an uncomfortable smile, Tane nodded and disappeared within Shadox’s footfalls.
Wilt and Kloe watched until the two were out of sight, then turned towards each other. The look they shared was the same: excitement and disbelief. As the old man smiled, Kloe stared at the sword.
“This changes everything, Datris!” Wilt Oan’s smile was ear to ear. “I feel alive again! There is hope!”
“Yes.” The Head of the Red Knights held the sword out between them. “But what do we do with this?”
“We set a trap.” Wilt’s eyes gleamed mischievously.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN