The Sigil Blade (44 page)

Edryd noticed then a golden band around one of the draugr’s arms, exposed where the creature’s cloak had burnt away. It was similar to the hollow bracelet he was carrying in his coat, only much larger. He thought he heard something for a moment, a kind of inaudible whisper telling him that the armband was Áledhuir’s anchor.

The sigil blade surged with light once more and Edryd brought the weapon down, cutting through Áledhuir’s arm and dividing the golden band cleanly into two pieces. His weapon did the rest. Without any participation from the exhausted man holding it, Edryd’s sword finished the battle. In a struggle in which it was thoroughly overwhelmed, a shaped piece of the dark, a pair to the demonic thing that had been a prison to Aodra, faded from this existence, rejoining the æther where it was delivered into a prison of its own.

Áledhuir was truly dead now, leaving no one else between Edryd and Esivh Rhol.

***

Concealed within an empty storehouse, Oren and his men waited for a signal from Logaeir. They had been in place for several hours now following their arrival over land before the attack had even begun. The call to battle finally came, in the form of three low mournful blasts of an Ascomanni horn, which signaled that they were being called in to support Sarel Krin. The island’s defenders had gathered their forces and were mounting an attack on the northern pier, trying to dislodge Krin and his men, who had by this point successfully taken many of the most important ships.

Oren, along with the nine other Sigil Warriors, each in light protective armor and clothed in simple white cloaks, closed in on the rearguard of the defending forces. Someone shouted in alarm as they approached, and several men turned to face them. Sword already in hand, Oren slashed through the exposed leg of the nearest enemy before turning to take another defender in the chest. The men of this island all had various weapons, but they had no practical sense for how to defend themselves. They were more familiar with the myriad ways in which these instruments of violence could be used against defenseless victims, than they were accustomed to engaging with armed opponents who were similarly equipped.

Oren did not forget that these now frightened opponents could still pose a lethal threat if he was careless, but that threat was growing less as he fought his way forward. The defenders were running from him now, wanting no part of the fighting with this group of professional soldiers. The overmatched men had witnessed a dozen of their friends fall in few short seconds of fighting and they had no wish to be next. Oren and his soldiers did not race off in pursuit. The enemies could only flee in one direction and could only run so far. There was no need to expend energy in a chase. This was going to be a long fight.

The panicked rearguard triggered a rush as they ran. Men coalesced into a frightened mass possessed with a combined will, most of them unaware of what it was they were escaping from. The crush of men put ever more pressure on Krin and his group of Ascomanni warriors, but they had prepared for this, and they knew what to do. They formed a phalanx in the middle of the pier. Enemies died, impaled on Ascomanni spears and cut down by Ascomanni swords, but even more fell into the sea on either side of Krin’s formation, pushed by the crush of allies surging in behind them. Those that could swim would escape, but were unlikely to rejoin the fighting. Those who could not were fated to drown in the deep water where they had fallen.

Oren and his men were closing the distance and infusing urgency into the crowd of enemies struggling to flee. Not one man turned to face them. Oren had trained for battle since he was a young boy. This should have been the fulfillment of so many years of hard work. But this was not battle. He had never killed before, not until now, and he was not enjoying it. The screams of wounded men up ahead assaulted his ears, and the unheeded cries for help from men drowning in the water demoralized him further. This would be over soon, he promised himself. The fighting that would follow in the city would have to feel less distasteful than this one sided massacre, but if it did not, he was just going to have to withstand it.

Oren killed several more men, terrified men who were trying desperately to run, trapped between Krin’s bloodthirsty raiders and the professional warriors over whom Oren had been given command.  And then it was over. The surface of the stone pier was slick with blood, and crowded both with the dead and with the dying. Many of Krin’s men were injured, and a good number of them were dead. Each and every one of them stared at Oren and the other soldiers with awe. None of the Sigil Corps soldiers had suffered even the slightest harm.

***

Edryd stood over the defeated draugr. He was reluctant to look away, fearing that Áledhuir might strike at him through the dark if he turned his back. The power that had flowed through Edryd dissipated, and the light from the sigil blade slowly faded away. The calm that he had been infused with faded as well, and Edryd’s preternatural sensory perceptions collapsed along with it. He felt blind, and he was beyond the point of exhaustion. His anger had not lessened though, and it prompted him to turn and focus on the object of his ire.

Esivh Rhol was there, tightly gripping the arms of his chair, finding it impossible to respond to what he had seen. His breathing was rapid and his eyes darted around the room. There was no one left to help him. He lacked the will to confront Edryd, or even the resolve to rise and attempt to flee. His mind was working though, desperately trying to find a way to save himself from the Blood Prince. That is who this was—the man who the dark haired little girl had promised would be coming to kill him.

“I didn’t hurt her,” Esivh Rhol said, pleading fervently.

“Who didn’t you hurt?” Edryd demanded.

Esivh Rhol didn’t respond. He felt confused, and afraid to answer.

“I know that you killed Irial,” Edryd said, helping Esivh Rhol along, “so who was it that you didn’t hurt?”

“Eithne, I didn’t hurt Eithne. I never touched her,” Esivh Rhol said, stressing the point that he had never touched the girl. His reputation being what it was, it was important to be clear about that.

“You mean apart from leading a group of draugar and their thralls to Eithne’s home, killing her sister, and subjecting her to the gods know what, you did not harm her,” Edryd corrected. “Why did you take her? Was it all just to bring me to you? I hope you are pleased with the result.”

“That isn’t why…” Esivh Rhol began to explain, before stopping himself as he seized upon a small hope, a means by which he could negotiate his safety. “If you let me go, I will tell you where she is.”

The Ard Ri’s attempt to bargain with Eithne’s life enraged Edryd. Without considering what he was doing, Edryd dropped the sigil sword and piled both of his arms into Esivh Rhol’s chest. Grabbing a fistful of the man’s expensive tunic in each hand, Edryd pulled the man up and slammed his back against the heavy oak chair. “I know where she is,” Edryd said, “she’s locked in the next room.”

“There must be something,” Esivh Rhol cried out hopelessly.

“Look around,” Edryd said, gesturing towards the five dead men and what was left of the body of the draugr. “Those men are dead because I had to go through them to get to you. There are no bargains to be made here. Do you think that there could possibly be anything that would mean more to me than your death?”

Esivh Rhol tried to maneuver, reaching for the jeweled dagger belted at his waist. He managed to free it from its sheath, but Edryd easily wrested it from him before he could do anything with it. Edryd took a step back, examining the weapon, and saw the traces of blood that Esivh Rhol had not managed to clean out of the crevices between the hilt and the blade. Esivh Rhol had an unusual reaction to seeing Edryd holding the knife. The object was precious to Esivh Rhol, all the more so now for the memory of what he had done with it. He wanted it back.

Edryd saw the fire in the Ard Ri’s eyes, and knew then for certain that this was the weapon Esivh Rhol had used to kill Irial. Esivh Rhol could in turn see what the Blood Prince intended to do now, and in reaction to that knowledge, he surprised both himself and Edryd by suddenly became defiant. “Give that back to me,” he demanded. “Give that back, and then it will not be said that you were guilty of killing an unarmed man.”

Edryd had become what could be called experienced in the discipline of inflicting death, but in every previous instance, when he had taken someone’s life, he had never once debated in his mind how best to dispatch the opponent. The circumstances had dictated his actions, the immediacy of conflict recommending certain responses which were singularly appropriate in each situation. Edryd was now imagining a dozen different deaths for Esivh Rhol though, none of which would last long enough or cause enough pain.

Ultimately, he just wanted the life of this evil man to be ended, and it didn’t matter how it was accomplished. Edryd drove the point of the blade upward beneath Esivh Rhol’s jaw, pushing the point up through the middle of the man’s skull. Edryd had thought this would kill the Ard Ri instantly, but it took a minute for the man to die. He felt very little satisfaction, but even less remorse.

Once he was sure that the Ard Ri was dead, Edryd inspected the door set in the back wall. Contrary to expectation, the door was not locked. He pushed it open and stepped inside. He was in an antechamber to a much larger space which was accessed through a broad open archway. Upon the end of a large canopied bed which dominated the center of Esivh Rhol’s bedroom, lay a simple red dress made of fine silk cloth. It was sized to fit a young child. From where he stood, Edryd could hear her crying, but he could not see Eithne.

Moving through the archway, Edryd found her huddled in a ball, trying to hide in the corner. All of her clothing, everything but a short simple shift, had been taken. Upon seeing Edryd kneeling down and gently trying to reassure her that she was safe, Eithne’s terror turned into teary eyed relief and she ran towards him. Throwing her arms around Edryd’s neck, she locked them tightly as if her safety rested upon holding on.

“I knew you would come,” she said. “I told them what would happen, but they didn’t believe me.” She stated this not as a confirmation of the faith she had held that he would come, but with the conviction that came from truly having known.

Edryd worked free from her grip, and looked her over to confirm that she had not been physically harmed. She had no injuries, and now that she felt safe again, she was probably handling the situation better than he was. Edryd removed his dark coat and wrapped her in it, the metal emblems pinned under his collar chiming as they made contact with each other. The coat was far too large for Eithne, and its length trailed behind her when she walked, but she needed something, and he was not about to use anything that might have belonged to the late Ard Ri.

Taking Edryd’s hand, Eithne followed him into the anteroom and then to the door that led back to the banquet hall. Edryd sought out an alternate exit but he could find none. The remorse and shame hit him now. If he were given the chance to change what had just happened, he would not have done anything different, but Edryd did not feel prepared to enter that room again and confront the deaths that he had caused. More importantly, he could not bear for Eithne to know. She certainly could not be allowed to see any of it. Edryd remembered something now that filled him with even more shame. Irial had once told him that if he trained with Seoras, that it would darken him. He knew this now for the truth that it had been. He had ignored her warning, and the cost for having done so had been steep.

“You have to promise,” Edryd said, “that you will not open your eyes. You have to keep them closed until I say it is okay to open them, no matter what.”

Eithne obediently shut her eyes and Edryd took her by the hands and pulled her arms up and around his neck where she held on tightly. He could no longer see her face as he carried her, but he could tell that her eyes were still shut by the tension in her brow pressed up against the side of his head. Edryd opened the door and began to pick his way through the carnage.

He was in a hurry to leave the room, but Edryd took his time as he circled around the debris from the battle, carefully avoiding all of the fallen bodies. Everything was as it had been, except that reservoirs of blood had now expanded beneath some of the bodies of the men that he had killed. Esivh Rhol was still dead, and Áledhuir was still in two pieces, but something else seemed to be missing. As he neared the entrance that led out into the hallway, Edryd realized what it was that had changed. The first two men he had killed were still there, but he couldn’t see the weapons that he had killed them with. It wasn’t a trick of the light, the translucent blades disappearing when viewed at a certain angle, they were gone.

There was no evidence that anything else had been moved or taken, no other sign that anyone had been there, but it was enough to heighten the need Edryd felt to leave and find somewhere safe. He was down the hallway and had gone the length of another intersecting corridor before he told Eithne she could open her eyes. He realized he had not thought things through this far, and had no idea where it was he should go. There would be fighting in the city and no path leaving the palace was likely to be safe. Unhappily, he accepted that the best option for now would be to remain in the palace.

The confusing passageways, down which they travelled, often turned in unexpected ways and were frequently broken by archways that opened upon an unending series of small and large rooms. Among these were included the living quarters that housed staff, a few finely appointed rooms which were reserved for guests, multiple kitchens, and grand open spaces suited for large parties to gather for entertainment. Finding a small bedroom that could be secured from within and easily defended, Edryd let Eithne down.