His body screamed in agony and his strength was fading as Glonn dragged himself down the temple’s cool, stone floor, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. His body screamed for rest, but he knew that if he stopped, he would die having achieved nothing. Sheer rage drove him on as his broken nails clawed at the stone slabs that paved the floor. He no longer knew what the source of his rage was. It wasn’t the man who had inflicted this wound on him. That had been born of his own carelessness. The man had known his name. What was it? He could not recall. If he stopped to think instead of concentrating on his rage, the pain and exhaustion would consume him.
Glonn didn’t even know where he was. All he knew was that the sword was driving him forward, towards a seemingly endless source of power. There, it would drink its fill, giving him the power to seek revenge against those who had wronged him, whoever they might be. He couldn’t give up now, not when he was on the cusp of achieving what he had strived for… How long had he been living for revenge?
In the back of his mind, he knew he should be more concerned about these gaps in his memory. Why hadn’t these concerns occurred to him until now? That was something he would have to think about once the sword was fed and mended his body. Would letting the sword feed mend his body? He was sure of it, but how did he know?
It had to be the sword. It was clouding his mind. Now, the pain was giving him a little clarity. He looked up and saw a pool of water under a domed roof. It was fed by the statue of an elf man pouring water from a vase. It was fed by spring that bubbled to the surface over where the temple was built. Hidden gutters around the pool drained the excess into the nearby brook. The water brought the earth’s energies with it to the surface of which the temple channelled a part into the sky for reasons known only to the elves who had built it.
Glonn winced, feeling a stab of pain as his final guard died. He stopped crawling. The man recognized him. Perhaps his pursuers had been allies until the sword bent his will to its. Perhaps he could atone with his death.
“No, you fool!” the sword screamed inside his mind. “Remember your oath!”
“I can’t!” he shouted back in his mind. His body was too broken for him to speak out loud. “You have taken my memories from me!”
“I removed your distractions!” the sword hissed back. “Focused your mind on what is important!”
“Return my memories and let me be the judge, or I die here, and our pursuers will take you into their keeping,” he threatened.
The sword vibrated with rage on his back before relenting. “Fine, I will shield you from the Crown’s influence!”
Abruptly, the fog was lifted from his mind, and Glonn remembered. He had once lived in a village on the outskirts of the Empire. When the local lord increased taxes and demanded they be paid four years in advance, the villagers revolted. Lacking the strength of arms to put it down himself, he had run to the church and accused the village of heresy. That had been enough to bring the full might of the Inquisition to bear, and the revolt had been crushed.
When the dust settled, the soldiers the Inquisition had raised saw that the village was dirt poor, they wanted to return to their lands quickly. Under their pressure, the Inquisition had decided to execute every last villager and leave it to Aertani to judge them in the afterlife. Glonn had attempted a pilgrimage to a holy shrine to plead for divine intervention before the Inquisition got involved. After an arduous trip, the Gods had not answered, and he returned to find his home burned to the ground and his family rotting in gibbets to serve as a warning to others.
Lost, he stumbled through the Empire and made his way north, away from their grasp, praying every night to any Gods who would listen for a chance at vengeance. Then, he arrived in Yeryn and was forced to work as a labourer. Two years later, the elf tome was found. How ironic, he thought to himself, that the Inquisition’s search for heretics that didn’t exist ultimately gave birth to one. Yes, he had paid for a crime he didn’t commit, and soon, he would balance the scales.
“I am Glonn… of Infarlin,” he murmured and winced at the pain speaking caused. “And I seek vengeance against the followers of the cruel Gods who watch silently as their faithful commit atrocities in Their names.”
“Now get me to the font or both our journeys end here,” the sword hissed.
Glonn continued inching towards the pool. The sword fell into what felt like quiet contemplation. Though he could still feel its thirst for magical energies, the sword felt more subdued now, as though it was watching him warily. Good, it should fear him.
He heard footsteps enter the temple as he reached the edge of the pool. The water was frigid and ankle deep, but he plunged headlong into it. As his blood mingled with the water, he reached for the sword at his back. It trembled in his grasp as he drew it from its sheath and made sure he kept a firm grip on its hilt as it fell into the water.
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“Closer, get me closer!” the sword’s voice echoed inside his head. It was deeper now, less raspy. “I need more power!”
Water covered his nose and mouth as Glonn struggled to find the strength to hold his head above it. With a burst of effort, he lifted his head and took a deep breath. The pain in his chest was so great that it took all of his willpower to stay conscious and continue inching forward.
He bit his lip to prevent himself from gasping as something struck him in the back, knowing that to do so would cause him to choke and probably drown in the ankle deep water. He had no choice but to continue on.
“Fire again, he’s still going!” Ricar cried in disbelief as he dashed forward, brandishing his borrowed dagger.
“I can’t see him anymore!” Rhania cried in frustration as Glonn’s blood obscured him from view. Her hand touched her sword, and she hesitated, wondering if it was blasphemous to unsheathe it here.
Up ahead, Glonn had disappeared from view, submerged in the bloody water. Ricar stopped at the edge of the pool and hesitated. Rhania ran past him and plunged into the pool. She gasped as she felt magical energy rush into her body, invigorating her and distracting her for long enough to miss the dagger Ricar had tossed her.
As she reached for it, she felt the water grow hot around her ankles. It began to bubble she hopped out of the pond and bit her lip. Were they too late? The bubbling grew more violent and Ricar was driven back a pace by the heat given off by the pool.
Rhania looked at the state of Ergon in the middle of the pool and hesitated. Though she could draw strength from the natural energies of Ergon’s domain, she could not use it to unleash spells as she could with the God of Light’s powers. The water reached a rolling boil and Rhania began to chant in elvish. “Oh Father of the Elves, grant Thy Child Thy power so that she might use it to strike down Thy foes.”
She held her hands out like she had been taught by the elven mages and focused on the water, attempting to still it and freeze it in place. However, though she could feel the magical energy flowing through the water, she could not manipulate it.
“Perhaps you should call upon Aertani and beg for another spell?” Ricar suggested, unable to keep the worry from his voice.
Rhania felt a surge of energy from the pool and cried. “Get behind cover!”
The pair scrambled behind one of the pillars that ringed the pool just as an eruption sent sheets of scalding water flying in every direction. Once they were behind cover, Rhania and Ricar exchanged wide-eyed looks from behind their respective pillars. Ricar sported a nasty scald on his cheek where an errant splash had struck him.
When the water’s fury subsided somewhat, Rhania peered around the pillar and swallowed. All the water in the pool had boiled off and standing amidst the empty pool under the inlet from the underwater stream was Glonn. His wounds had vanished, and he looked larger and more imposing somehow. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings as he gazed at the sword in his right hand.
Rhania swallowed before drawing an arrow. She could hit him in the heart easily from here. Something in the back of her mind screamed at her to use her sword to strike while her foe’s guard was lowered, but she brushed it aside. If she was going to perform such an act of cowardice in Ergon’s presence, she wasn’t about to use so uncouth a weapon.
In the time it took to blink, she nocked the arrow, aimed, and fired. Time appeared to flow in slow motion as the arrow flew towards its target and she could see that her aim was true. However, at the last moment, without averting his gaze from the sword, Glonn raised his hand and stopped it in between his thumb and forefinger. He looked at it curiously before snapping it in his hand.
Rhania felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down the side of her face as the man slowly raised his head. He looked from the badge above her breast to her face before speaking. “An Arbiter of Ildurin.”
“Stop your blasphemy now and come quietly,” she ordered, trying her best to sound imperious.
“Tell me, did you hear about the tragedy of Infarlin?” Glonn’s voice was scarcely a whisper, but it seemed to echo in Rhania’s head.
“I did,” Rhania replied. “It was but a footnote in the record of the Inquisition, but it stood out because something about it did not add up.”
“Ah,” Glonn’s eyes widened in surprise and his voice turned melancholic. “If the Arbiters had intervened, then perhaps things would not have turned out the way they did.”
“It is not too late for justice,” Rhania offered as she reached for another arrow. Perhaps if she could keep him talking, another opportunity would present itself. She had never seen anyone pluck an arrow fired from an elven bow out of the air like that before and knew that he was far more dangerous than the minion they had encountered earlier.
“Oh, but it is,” Glonn’s voice had a dangerous edge to it now. “The time for justice has passed. Now, it is time for vengeance.”
“That won’t bring those you lost back,” Rhania warned, though the words sounded hollow even to her.
“No, but it is all I have left,” Glonn replied. “You sound like a fair person, so I am willing to spare your life if you withdraw now.”
He then turned slowly to Ricar, who had been inching towards him from his blind side. “Your words lifted the fog from my mind and prevented me from becoming a thrall to the blade. For that, I am willing to spare you as well.”
The wiry man smiled sardonically. “Nice of you.”
“I’m afraid I must refuse,” Rhania said. She was about to fire off a second arrow when Glonn disappeared even though she had been staring right at him.
Her instincts screamed danger and without thinking, she dropped her bow and drew her sword. She raised it just as Glonn appeared in view two paces away. His sword struck hers a heartbeat later. It felt like she had been slammed by a stone giant, and the force of the blow threw her back. Thinking quickly, she turned acrobatically in mid air and used her legs to cushion her impact against one of the temple’s walls before landing deftly on her feet.
Glonn stared at her blade and frowned. It was large, almost comically so in her slender hands, and made from a dull grey metal that resembled pig iron. There wasn’t so much as a scratch on it despite the force behind the first exchange, and it was clear to him that it was no ordinary sword.
“Will you not back down and withdraw?” he asked.
Rhania exhaled and stood in the aggressive fencer’s stance she had been taught, with her weight balanced on her forward leg and her sword held out in front of her with one hand. “I will not.”
“A pity.”