The Spire on the Crag

Tales of Arnon the Wanderer

The spire stood on a rocky crag over gray river rapids. The stone work was in need of repair. One would think a bad storm with but a mild wind, would topple the entire structure into the raging water below, and yet it stood. It had once been an outpost for a now long since dead and departed king. That was a king from a time when this land had been prosperous and the people joyous. Time passes for all and now the land is in the clutches of a sweeping evil that leaves no man untouched by its effects. The sorcerer Bled had taken refuge in that spire after he had carried off the daughter-princess of the current Warlord that claims this region of strife. The Warlord placed a bounty on Bled, who was also his closest adviser. Bring back his head and my daughter and you will receive your weight in gold.

It sounded like an an adventure and the bounty was good. In the tavern of The Sword’s Rotted Gut, the talk had been jovial and filled with men who boasted of their prowess, bravery, and ability to secure the bounty. However, after the drinks flowed, talk was just talk and these little men were stumbling to their hovels by early morning. All knew of the sorcerer’s crag but no one wanted to go there. What good is a sword against magic. Even then, the sorcerer had taken a contingent of the Warlord’s own house guard. No, better to boast of fantasy and how one could gain entry into the spire and behead the weak wizard, than to actually do such a deed.

So I took the challenge, and in the morning, Wearing my long coat, breeches, boots and my two swords, I rode out to that cursed crag. From the neighboring hill I could see five mailed warriors donning helmet, shield, and sword, and standing guard, or rather, milling about the entry to the short stone bridge that fronted the entry to the spire. There was no order to their position. They placed their faith in the magic that made the sane steer clear of this place entirely. Fools.

I rode down from that hill and slowly made my way toward the spire. The warriors could clearly see me, a lone man on horseback, riding at a slow pace, and coming toward them. I presented little threat from their vantage point but all five men took hardened stances. Still no formation that resembled a strategic placement. One even stood on the stone parapet of the bridge. Shield at his side, sword in his hand. But what could he do from that vantage point? The Warlord should have trained his men better, lucky for me, he didn’t.

“What do you want?” Yelled the forward warrior as I came closer.

I opened my hands to my sides in a peaceful greeting, smiled, and replied, “I travel from the port of Aslant in the West. I’m looking for those that may need a sword,” I nodded my head over my right shoulder, where the pommel and handle of Wolf’s Edge could been seen, “I can build, farm, and work for my keep.”

“We have no need of that here, traveler,” replied the warrior.

“Then perhaps you can point me in the direction of the nearest village, or better yet, King, so I may offer my services there?”

“There’s no King in Scarlsbad. And soon, there will no longer be a warlord. You’d be better off heading North.”

“Sounds like a war is brewing in these parts then, what better place for a man with a sword?” I replied.

Now I was close. I could see their blood shot eyes, scraggily beards flecked with this morning’s meat, and their yellowed and rotting teeth when they scrunched up their faces to look harsh and intimidating. Two rocked on their feet, a nervous tell, that I was too close for their comfort. For these were not warriors by gift of the Gods, but warriors for lack of a calling into anything else they could have done. If this was the best this land had to offer, I could overthrow it on my own.

I looked at the upper embrasure and saw no other warriors moving on the spire. I swung my leg over my mount and dropped to the ground in front of the lead warrior. I patted the horse and gave him a little extra push so he would move away from me. The warrior was rigid and on guard. However the smile on my face and my good nature kept his sword at bay.

“Might I have a cup of ale and a heel of bread before I move on, friend?”

“We’ve got none to spare traveler. Best if you get back on your mount and go. Our lord doesn’t take visitors here.”

I again looked up at that decaying spire, “And who is your lord?”

“The Warlords advisor, Bled of Senai,” replied the warrior.

“The Warlord that is soon to be deposed?” I asked.

“The very same. Our lord was sent away in the event an uprising took place in the Warlord’s hold.”

“Seems strange for a warlord to send away his chief advisor before the uprising, uprises. I wonder why he would do such a thing?”

“The Warlord is quite fond of his advisor,” said the warrior.

I turned to my right, looking back at my horse to make sure he had moved far enough away. In doing so, I reached into my long coat to take grip on my short sword, Wolf’s Point, and as I turned back to the warrior, I pulled Wolf’s Point and shoved the point of the blade up beneath his chin. Blood splashed upon my hand as his last putrid breath was extinguished and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The four remaining warriors stood still. Shocked by the attack and instant death of their comrade in arms.

I pulled the blade from the dead man and let him fall to the cold ground. The closest two warriors approached, swords drawn and shields before them. I moved Wolf’s Point to my left hand and drew Wolf’s Edge from over my shoulder with my right hand. The surge of energy filled my very being. It is the warriors burn that drives the heart to beat faster, the blood to pulse quicker, and the rage within to take over. A human becomes an animal enthralled by the quickening of battle. They saw a single warrior that faced four men with swords. I saw four dead corpses that did not yet know they were already dead.

The man to my left came first, pushing his shield forward and swinging his sword wide. Easily deflected by Wolf’s Point, which gave me the opening to stab Wolf’s Edge into the attackers side. The mail that the warriors wore was old, unclean, and rusted. It gave in with little strength on my part. The point of Wolf’s Edge went deep into the man’s side. This offered my right side to the man on my left. He moved in and swung from on high, just as I turned from my left and again blocked his swing with Wolf’s Point. He quickly moved his shield forward as I pushed his sword higher and then ripped Wolf’s Edge from the prior man, releasing my defense of the attacking man’s sword and spinning to my right so his swing commenced downward into a place I no longer occupied. I swung Wolf’s Edge hard as I passed the man on his right, cutting through his useless mail and deeply into his back. He went down into the dirt with a scream of agony and flow of blood.

The next warrior moved forward to impede my progress. Instead of swinging his sword he chose to push shield first toward me. I stepped to his left, extended my boot and tripped him as he moved forward. I turned toward him and drove Wolf’s Edge into the back of his neck. He collapsed in his own river of blood. There was but one more warrior to attend to and as I pulled my blade from the dead man in a splattering of gore, I faced the whelp still on the bridge’s parapet. He was but a child standing there quivering in his boots with soaked breeches at his crotch.

I pointed Wolf’s Edge at the coward and said, “You can drop your arms and run. If you turn to look back, I will cut you down, no matter where you run to hide.” He obeyed my threat and dropped his sword and shield, and then jumped down from the stone parapet and ran from me as if hell’s emissary was upon him.

Now there was only the spire.

As I approached the heavy wooden door at the entrance of the spire, I could feel the evil of the magic that haunted that place. It was a suffocating dread that hung in the air. The stink of death was a clear warning to anyone crossing the threshold. I pushed the large door inward on rusted hinges that screamed liked demons from the flaming pits of the damned. There was a bounty to be had and no warning could dissuade me.

On the far wall was a table and some milking stools as well as a small barrel of ale. Several bedrolls littered the stone floor with straw bundles to lay their heads. To my left was a stone staircase built into the spire that spiraled around the inner wall and rose up into the nest above. My bounty would be there.

I made my way up those stairs in the silence of that cold spire. I could hear no movement or voices from above. With every step, my mind showed me images of what evil might lurk there. Visions played through my mind, of sorcerers and wizards that lay in wait for me to enter their lair, and cast spells of a netherworld influence or poisons of treachery, upon me. The mind creates the images of the unknown and the body prepares defensively for the unseen before it. I was holding my swords and I was ready to fight, be it physical or magical. I am but a man but driven as I am, I would give my all against any fiend that dared oppose me. And so, when I arose on those steps to the sorcerers room, I saw the Warlords daughter in the corner by a bed, wearing a thin white gown that showed her delicate frame. The sorcerer, Bled, was sitting at a desk near an embrasure. A grin on his face nearly covered over by the hair on his face, more there than on his head, which had splotches of dark red to show that he was marked from birth with the demon’s sigils upon his skin.

“You come for the girl?” He asked.

“I’ve come to return the girl to her father but there is also a bounty on your head. I mean to collect it.”

“And who are you?” He rasped.

“I am Arnon, and I have no home.”

He struggled to rise from his seat, the girl rushed to his side when he nearly fell from losing his balance.

“I won’t let you harm him,” she said.

“This wizard took you from your father,” I replied.

“He saved me from my father. My father meant to marry me off to the chieftain of the hill tribe in order to stop them from attacking the villages. Bled saved me from that dead fate,: She said in a dazed state with a voice that was uncertain of what was real.

It was a plea to remain hidden. Or as I would find out, a ruse controlled by the sorcerer. I let my guard down for a mere moment and the old wizard was upon me, his staff being used as if it was a spear with a pointed amber colored tip on the end. I swung Wolf’s Edge to the side to deflect the attack but the tip of his staff made it through on my right and cut through the sleeve of my coat and deep into the flesh of my upper arm. I could feel the wetness of warm blood streaming downward and soaking the sleeve to stick to my skin.

The girl shrank back against the wall, yelled, “No, I do not want this!” Though neither I nor the Wizard took heed of her lament. He broke off his attack and I saw him pull something from his inner robes. He raised up his hand, palm up, and blew some sort of gray dust at my face. Immediately my eyes began to water and it was fire to breathe. The girl cried from the corner, “Make it stop, I just want to go home to my father.” And then I knew that she had been under the influence of this vile demon before me.

I wiped the water from my eyes with the sleeve from my left arm and kept moving forward, swords drawn. The warriors burn taking control of me. The rage welling up within. I expected supreme magic and demons but instead I was faced with a charlatan and fraud. He was nothing but a man using simple magic to make himself into something he was not. And as such, through my burning and tear filled eyes, I struck out with Wolf’s Edge in a frenzied attack, cutting the wizard down and taking off his head.

The girl, Lyanist, came out of the daze she had been under. She backed herself toward the bed and sat there, staring at the head of the charlatan wizard, as it lay in its own pool of blood.

“He made me speak for him,” she said.

“He will never do that again.”

“You’ll take the bounty my father offered for his head?” She asked.

“Of course I will. I would not turn down my weight in gold. Only a fool would do such a thing,” I replied. “What you said about being married to the chieftain of the hill people? Was that the wizards words?”

“Yes, Bled made a deal with the hill people to steal me away and use me as a hostage for ransom. Then he could enrich himself and the hill people that he aligned with, for they were his tribe.”

“I will take you back with me, along with the wizard’s head, so I may claim my bounty. You will go willingly?”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“Perhaps the bounty of gold can wait for a time. Would you not like to collect the bounty of the flesh first?”

I admit, the bounty of gold was my primary motivation but I am not one who will put off a beautiful maiden if she offers herself up as gratitude for being saved. And so we spent the night in that spire on the crag together, before returning to her father, the Warlord, with the head of his former advisor.

-Arnon’s adventures will continue…