Chapter 472: A Brief Respite
4 days before the New Moon… 4 days before the siege of Hollow Shade…
The early dawn was a busy time for the goblins of the Sylvan army. Already many of the warriors had awoken and begun their training drills, each following their respective captain’s lead. The cooks had awoken two hours earlier and had already finished preparing breakfast.
A short distance from the encampment, in a small clearing, stood Stryg alone. Well, not entirely alone. After getting chastised by Aurelia, Elayne, the captain of his honor guard, insisted that his guard follow him wherever he went. Even now, several of his honor guard had formed a loose perimeter around the clearing, keeping vigilant for any intruder.
Stryg thought it all a little much, but everyone around him had insisted such protection was necessary. He supposed there was always the possibility of some beast wandering into the territory and attacking. Still, being out here among the scarlet trees of Vulture Woods, he felt at home.
Drawing Krikolm from a makeshift sheathe he had asked one of the blacksmiths to procure for him, Stryg admired the red blade in the morning light for a few heartbeats. Twirling the sword in his grip he quickly fell into a training stance.
He might have sparred with Tauri but she had recently been spending a lot of time speaking with the Sylvan generals and sharing information. She wanted to get a better understanding of their battle tactics along with preparing them with the layout of Hollow Shade’s defenses so as to improve any chances they had of victory.
Plum had been spending most of her time training in her own way; practicing her illusion spells with some of the shamans. Stryg had told her there was no need for her to fight and that she could simply stay in the backlines, but she had insisted on joining them in the fight. Stryg knew she wasn’t much of a fighter, but he also knew that she was one of the bravest people he had met. Few would ever stand up against enemies they knew had no chance of winning against for the sake of protecting their friends.
Strangely enough, his mother, Aurelia, had offered to train Plum, with what little time they had. Plum had been shocked into silent awe. An actual Ebon Lord training her was a dream, or so she had said. The way Aurelia had worked her to the bone every day made it seem a little different… but Stryg refused to step into that situation.
As the early morning passed, Stryg worked through the different bladework sets of the Gale Sword Style. He preferred solitary training if he was being honest. Ever since he was young he had gone off by himself and trained far from the judgemental eyes of his peers. Most Sylvan trained as a unit, learning to work and fight as a whole, thereby increasing one’s own strength. Stryg had wanted to join such a group, he had dreamed of it growing up, but he had never quite fit in. The only person he had ever truly connected to in such a manner was Clypeus.
But Cly was gone. Stryg forced himself to focus on his training, pushing such painful thoughts to the back of his mind. As he swung Krikolm around in familiar precise movements he fell into a sequence of footwork and sword strikes. Life energy flowed through his muscles and into the sword. A faint wind swirled around him, slowly building into a powerful gust. Scarlet leaves blew through the clearing, forming a small storm of leaves.
Suddenly, Krikolm’s scarlet blade glowed a faint red. Stryg halted in his movements. The gust died down and the leaves fell to the ground around him in a circle. His breath was short and he had worked up a light sweat. He stared at the scarlet blade. Its faint glow was dissipating. The sword felt warm in his hands. He wondered if this was how Krikolm was meant to be used.
The Gale Style was originally created by Veres I and improved upon by his firstborn son, Aluin Gale. Ever since, each wielder of Krikolm had been trained in the Gale Sword Style. How strange that such a sword would now find its way into the hands of a goblin.
Half-goblin, a part of Stryg’s mind reminded him annoyingly.
Before Krikolm the only sword that held any true value to him was Nameless, its broken shards sitting at the bottom of his satchel in his tent. The hilt and what was left of Nameless’s blade rested on his hip even now. At this point, it was more of a dagger than anything, but he refused to let it go. In time he would have it reforged.
When Stryg had found Krikolm he had simply thought of it as just an old rusty sword, a simple albeit very sharp sword. It would serve well enough until Nameless was reforged.
Now, as he held the steel-white hilt, he was reminded of the heavyweight Krikolm carried. Bloodfang. A legacy of a thousand years. The blood of ancestors flowed through this blade, as did their hopes and dreams.
Rise, Lord Veres, the words of his great-grandmother echoed in his mind. The day he had accepted this sword and its legacy, he had heard Stryga’s voice clear in his ear, as if she was standing right behind him.
The ancestors had lent Krikolm’s strength to Stryg and aided him in his victory against the troll king of Grimstone. He would repay that debt, he would protect Callum and his family from the valley tribes.
But he wondered to himself if he was strong enough to accept the Veres legacy. If he could carry on the wish of a Great House he knew so little of.
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It doesn’t matter, he told himself.
It didn’t matter if he was strong enough or not. It didn’t matter if he didn’t feel as if he belonged to the Veres name. He wouldn’t run away from this. He would carry on the Veres legacy that had been entrusted to him, he would protect the House of Veres, if only to honor the sacrifices of those who came before him.
Stryg stared at Krikolm, his reflection in the scarlet blade. “I’ll protect our House, I swear it,” he whispered.
“Speaking to your sword, hm?” The goddess of the moon stood at the edge of the forest with a raised eyebrow.
“Lunae, I-I mean, Mother Moon!” Stryg hurriedly bowed his head.
The goddess was not the small girl he had met at the Silver Keep. She stood before him 4 meters tall in a long dark blue dress, her looming figure an imposing sight on any who laid eyes on her. Yet as Stryg peeked up from his bowing pose, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat at ease. Her long pale white hair and warm silver skin evoked a sense of familiarity within him that he couldn’t quite place.
She looked him up and down with her pale eyes. “Stand up straight, there is no need for formalities. ‘Lunae’ will do just fine. Or simply ‘Mother’, if you prefer.”
“I… are you sure?” he asked uncertainly.
She walked over to where he stood and sat on the grass. “I am.” She patted the grass next to her, “Sit with me.”
Stryg glanced around the treeline for his honor guard, but they were nowhere to be seen.
“I sent them back to the encampment. I wanted us to speak in private,” Lunae answered his silent question.
“R-Right…” Stryg sheathed his sword and sat down a few paces away. He swallowed and tried his best not to appear awkward, though he kept glancing up at her.
Sitting next to her, he realized how big the giant woman was. He felt small next to her, insignificant.
“Why are you sitting so far?” Lunae pulled him in close with a simple tug, “There that’s better.”
Her scent filled his nostrils, she smelled like a peculiar flower he couldn’t quite place. Fresh, but cold, like a frozen bouquet in the middle of winter. It was vaguely familiar, though he wasn’t sure why. He closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders. The weariness that plagued his mind slowly seeped away.
Lunae brushed her fingers through his pale white hair. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course, Mother Mo—I mean, Lunae,” he mumbled.
“I wanted to know about your sword.”
“Krikolm?”
“I know of the Bloodfang, that blade has taken the lives of many goblins through the centuries.”
“O-oh…” Stryg swallowed.
Lunae smiled softly. “I meant your other sword.”
“Nameless?” Stryg drew the broken blade and stared at its metal pattern.
“Nameless? Does it have a name or—?”
“I named it ‘Nameless.’”
“Why?” she whispered. “We both know the significance of that word in Sylvan culture.”
“Um, that’s…” his voice trailed off.
“The blade is shattered. Yet you still carry it with you. Why?”
“The blade may be broken, but it is still sharp. It can cut through flesh and bone without much effort.”
“The Bloodfang is much sharper and unbroken. Why carry both blades? The Bloodfang is of obvious superior craftsmanship, so why hold on to this— Nameless?”
Stryg turned the broken sword over in his hand. “Do you see the metal pattern worked into the blade?”
Lunae glanced down. “I do.”
“Their markings from enchanted metal worked in the forge by a mage-smith. My sword master, Gian, tells me she is one of the best in the city. I didn’t learn much about enchanting magic when I was in the academy, I much preferred the other side of brown magic, but I do remember a particular fact about working with enchanted metal.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“A mage-smith spends dozens if not hundreds of hours imbuing their mana into a lump of metal and refining it over and over in order to create a single high quality enchanted ingot. Very high-quality metal is sought after by the best smiths in the land. Interestingly enough, no two lumps of enchanted metal are the same. Each has a distinct pattern, even after melted down, so long as the metal isn’t mixed with any impurities.”
Stryg stared at the broken blade. “I’ve seen this exact pattern before. Gian never said anything about it, but the moment I saw the blade I knew it looked familiar. It took me a while before I remembered where I saw the pattern.”
He smiled bitterly, “It was the same pattern in the pair of short swords a very close friend of mine once owned. Without telling me, Gian had the swords reforged into my own blade. So you see, no matter what happens, even if this sword grows dull, I’m not letting it go. At least, not for now.”
“For now?”
“I’m holding onto it for someone. I’ll give Nameless to him when he is old enough to wield it. It is his birthright.”
Lunae narrowed her eyes in understanding. “You’re referring to the baby you spoke of at the Silver Keep, Kamilo.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Can you… Can you see if he is alright?”
“My powers are weakened during the day, particularly weaker the closer we draw closer to the new moon. But yes, I can see him even now, he is sleeping in his crib.”
“I see… That’s good,” Stryg smiled. “And the enemy? Are they near?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot see Caligo or his armies. He has hidden them from my sight.”
“Is Hollow Shade safe?” he asked, worry clear in his voice.
“For now.”
“We have to hurry,” he muttered.
“We will.”
~~~
The New Moon… Dusk Valley… Holo’s Shade…
Caligo stared at the western wall of Hollow Shade. The wall swirled with black mana as shades emerged from the magestone and flew around the city in a protective perimeter.
“My lord, we are ready,” said the vampire Sylaril, chieftain of the prominent Adder Tribe.
Caligo glanced back at the thousands of archers waiting, bows and arrows in hand. Further back, a line of trebuchets stood, each one was loaded and ready to fire.
His lips curled in a slight smile, “Prepare to fire.”