The Guardians' Blade

Storm sat high up on the rooftop, looking silently at the forest that she had called home in her childhood years. She had stopped through on occasions to keep up with the latest happenings, but she had not been able to bear to stay longer. A little sigh escaped her as she drew up knees against her chest and wrapped slender arms around them.

“A piece of silver for your thoughts?” A soft musical voice broke through the peaceful silence of the early morning.

Storm turned her head and smiled at Millianyia whom she found had sat down beside her. “I don’t often go home.” It was a simple statement but the words hung heavily in the air.

Millianyia reached out to rest a hand on Storm’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “We all have secrets, or something that haunts us. If it helps I am willing to listen. Perhaps it will make the memory an easier burden to carry.” She drew her hand back, resting it on her knee.

Storm smiled slightly over at the Krysalith, before she stared forward at the trees and frowned slightly. “I had a sister once. We use to play on the banks of the Illenyial River until one day… they came.”

Millianyia looked sharply at her young friend, a frown creasing her features. “They?”

“Pirates. They were very quick; one of them grabbed my sister, but I managed to escape. My parents never quite forgave me. They loved Jade very much, and for a long time I was a disappointment to them. So I ran away. After a while Kain found me and I have been travelling with him ever since.” She looked over at Millianyia and smiled slightly. “My life story in a nutshell.”

Millianyia smiled softly in response. “The loss of a sister is a heavy burden to carry indeed, but do not blame yourself for events out of your control. You were young and unable to fight back. I am sure that your sister would say the same thing. Grief makes parents react strangely to things; over time they will come to terms with what happened and long to have you back again.” She rose to her feet, as the sun flooded the landscape with its golden light and warmed their skins. “It will be a good day today. Put behind you what is in the past, and cast your gaze towards tomorrow.”

Storm grinned at her tall friend as she scrambled to her feet, feeling better within herself. Millianyia’s words were insightful, and she had a comforting way with her.

“Thank you,” Storm nodded.

Millianyia simply smiled, before sliding down the roof and leaping to the ground with cat-like grace. Storm stared for a long moment before she moved to jump off the inn roof and onto the nearby barn. She flipped through the upper barn window into the hayloft, clambering down the ladder to saddle her horse.

The Guardians and their Ranger companions rode out of the town of Belmon later that morning, and into the fringes of the forest of Kilimanjari. Here Storm took the lead. She felt nervous once again, as she was not sure of how welcoming this place might be. But remembering Millianyia’s words, she nudged her horse forward, and proceeded to lead the way deeper into the forest. The trees stood tall, the canopy stretching out high above, making it almost impossible to see what was hidden there. The forest floor had very little sunlight filtering down so it was dark and shadowy, and the travelers felt as if they were being closely watched. “This place is strange,” commented Serraria quietly from where she rode alongside Rakkath, who nodded in agreement. “It is as if the very trees are alive and watching us.” She shivered slightly as she looked up at the thick wide trunks.

Storm drew her horse to a halt and held her hand up to signal for the group to stop. Her gaze probed the surrounding trees, before she called out, “Come out, Shadows – I know you are there!”

A moment later two tall Krysalith clad in grey stepped out from behind tree trunks, arrows strung, the bows pointed directly at her. “What are you doing here, half-breed?” they hissed. “Bringing in strangers from the outside?”

Storm frowned as she looked towards them. “That is none of your concern. These Guardians,” she motioned to Sir Krammer, Boar and Alixa behind her, “need to see the king about something of great importance. Let us pass.”

“I think not, half-breed.” One of the grey-clad Krysalith approached her. “The king will not allow strangers to see where the Royal Great Tree is located.”

Storm was silent for a moment. Thinking quickly, she said, “And what if I was to bring one Guardian with me, the one who carries with him an important message all the way from Shaylo?”

The two grey warriors looked at one another. One stepped up to the group. “Only you and he will go on. The rest must turn back and wait at Belmon.”

Storm turned in her saddle and looked at Soryn, who nodded in agreement. “Very well,” he said, before turning in the saddle and looking towards Kain. “Take everyone back to Belmon. We will return to you once I am done.”

Kain’s jaw clenched slightly, but he nodded, as he saw no other way for them to run their errand. “Very well,” he muttered, though he had to wonder how the Silvarians would react if the Kilimanjarins were this cold to outsiders. He jerked the reins of his horse and turned about, leading his fellow Rangers, Boar, Rakkath, and Alixa back the way they had come.

Serraria did not turn about to follow. Frowning, she nudged her horse forward so that she was beside Soryn, who glanced at her with a raised brow. She smiled up at him, before gazing steadily at the two Warriors who were now staring at her. “YOU, go back with the others,” one of them snapped, pointing at where the group had gone. But Serraria shook her head. When the bows were turned on her, she shifted in her saddle slightly but remained silent. After a couple of moments the two Krysalith fired their arrows at her.

For Storm time seemed to stand still. She heard herself cry out in anger that they would do such a thing. And then she watched in pure amazement as Serraria raised a gloved hand, and the arrows struck an invisible barrier. There was a blue spark on impact, and then the arrows fell to the ground. The two guards stepped back, staring at Serraria in disbelief.

“Who are you?” came the immediate demand. “What are you?”

Serraria tilted her head then said quietly. “I am a friend of Storm’s; I am here to assist. I wish to go with Storm and Sir Krammer to see the king of your people.”

Soryn indicated Serraria, saying to the two bewildered guards, “She is under my protection. Now if you would be so kind as to take us to your King. I have a pressing matter to speak with him about.”

The guards frowned before they turned and led the way at a light jog. The three travelers put their horses to a canter to keep up with the pace the guards set. The trees got thicker and thicker the deeper they went into Kilimanjari. There were parts of the forest that were almost totally black and other parts that were soft shades of grey. It was hard to distinguish the passage of time in there, but Serraria felt her senses drowning in all that she saw. Even though the forest was thick and dark, animal life abounded there: squirrels and possums in the trees, foxes slinking around searching for food for the young in their dens. Birds sang from the branches high above. The life within this forest was hidden, protected from the outside, and the animals seemed to flourish here.

Serraria noticed that Storm had slowed down. She was startled at the sight of what was ahead, and took a deep breath. The trunk of the tree in their path was massive; a city could fit inside. There seemed to be a clear area around this ancient tree. Serraria had to crane her neck back to see how high it was, losing the top of the tree in the darkness of the canopy above. A cracking sound drew her attention and she watched in amazement as a portion of the trunk began to open like a doorway, revealing what was within.

Storm winked at Serraria, before nudging her horse forward, leading the Guardian and the girl through the gaping crack and into the trunk itself. Once inside they saw that the Wood Krysalith had made their homes there, carefully cutting paths through the wood. Level upon level was teeming with life as these people went about their normal routines, seemingly not fazed by living inside an oak tree. The inside looked far bigger than the outside, an optical illusion that left Serraria spellbound for several moments as her mind tried to take it all in.

“This way.” Their escort had not left them yet. They led the way up a sloped path that curled around inside the massive trunk. Storm dismounted, followed by Soryn and Serraria, leading their horses as they moved to follow their guides.

“Are all Krysalith cities like this?” asked Serraria in awe, her eyes large and round. Storm laughed. “Not all; those of Kilimanjari live as one with the forest, and so the Forest opened itself up and became our home.” Storm smiled as she walked along.

“It feeds and clothes us, we have little to want. If we hunt, we must ask first, and then apologies after the kill.”

Serraria frowned as she tried to digest this information. “So the forest tells you what you can and can’t do?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes, though it does not rule us, and we do not rule it. We live in harmony. It’s a matter of finding an equal footing and listening to the ancient trees. They have great knowledge and know the history of the lands better than we do, as they were here long before we came along.”

“You can actually talk to them?” Serraria was struck with that particular piece of information which made Storm laugh again.

“Yes, perhaps one day I will teach you. But once you are able to hear them, you may complain about the number of voices you can hear.” Storm winked at the girl.

Serraria wrinkled her nose. “I can deal with it,” she stated, lifting her chin. Storm shook her head and slapped the girl on the back as they came to the third level.

The guards turned aside. Instead of taking the path any higher, they now moved towards a set of doors that were richly carved with twin trees. These doors opened when they reached there, and the grey warriors led the three down a tunnel just wide enough for them to walk one at a time. Serraria noticed that the walls were damp, as if with sap. The tunnel lead them into another chamber, where they were instructed to leave their horses, before the guards showed them up a spiral staircase, and to another set of doors, with the same trees carved on them. Here the guards paused, and turned to face the three. “You will leave your weapons here.”

Soryn was familiar with this particular request. The various Guardian Councils had the same rule. He unbuckled his sword from around his waist before handing it over to one of the Guards. Storm handed over her bow, quiver of arrows and twin small swords, and after a moment of pause, Serraria handed over her small sword and dagger. The guards then pushed the doors open, and the three entered the royal chamber. The room was decorated with vines that hung from the walls and ceiling. A carpet of mossy greenery was beneath their feet, and upon a large fat toadstool sat a tall, elegantly dressed Krysalith. His long braided hair was forest green and spilled down his back like vines of ivy. He wore a set of tunic and pants that were similar in color to the wood of the ancient trees trunk, and a pair of soft leather boots that were decorated with colorful beads along the edges. He was very beautiful for one of his kind, and held their gaze with ease as he rose slowly to his feet, towering over the three. He held out a large long-fingered hand towards Soryn. “Kilimanjari bids you welcome,” he said in a low voice, before he sat back down upon the toadstool that bore his weight well.

Soryn bowed, clasping a fist to his chest before straightening up and looking at the king with a faint smile upon his lips. “Your Majesty, I have an important issue I need to discuss with you.” He drew from the pouch at his side a small narrow scroll and held it out. The king took this, and after breaking the seal proceeded to read Mycol’s message. “As the message says, we are in dire need of assistance. If the Wolf King is allowed to take the pass, he will quickly come down into the Golden Realms and Kilimanjari will not be safe for long.”

“We are very much aware of the Dark ones of the north.” The king frowned as he looked upon the scroll. “I had hoped not to see this scroll in my lifetime.” He straightened up and fixed the Guardian with his green gaze. “I will not turn my back upon the children of the sun. We remember well the Creator of all things, and yours that were forced beneath the earth.” He nodded slightly. “We will send aid when you have need of us.”

Soryn felt relief flood through his body. At last, a breakthrough! He had thought after the way the Omarians had reacted, that all the races in this area were alike, thinking only of themselves. But King Alexander I had showed him that the Krysalith were very different to the races of men, and had longer memories. They were not the kind to begin needless bickering.

“I thank you, Sire.” He bowed, once again clasping a hand to his chest. His severe countenance was less harsh than before. As he turned to go the king spoke again.

“Half-breed, you are brave to return.” He regarded Storm for a long moment. “Who are your parents?”

“Kilimar of the Forest and Sonia of Belmon,” said Storm, stiffening.

“I know of Kilimar, he is a fine warrior and bowman.” Alexander mused thoughtfully and nodded. “For a half-breed you are not so bad,” he added and smiled at her. “I will remember you to your father.”

Storm felt her cheeks color. An honor had just been bestowed on her family and she didn’t know how to respond. The king himself had stated his acceptance of her. A sob half-choked her and she bowed. “Thank you sire,” she responded breathlessly, and quickly retreated.

Serraria stared at the king for a long moment unmoving as Soryn and Storm took their leave. Alexander now turned his gaze upon her curiously. “My men have spoken of you,” he said finally. “You use a magic they do not understand to stop their arrows.” He paused, then continued, “You do realize that magic has not touched these realms for a thousand years, since the war of the Black Robes tarnished it.”

Serraria blinked at this. She slowly shook her head in answer. “I did not know. I am new here; I am learning about the peoples found within these realms. So far I find the Krysalith of Kilimanjari to be favorable.”

“You speak like someone who is judging us,” was the king’s dry response with a frown upon his lips.

Serraria smiled, her sapphire eyes glinting as she said softly, “Observing, my king – I am merely observing.” She gave a low bow before turning to hasten after her other two companions.

Storm glanced back at Serraria. She was finding the girl strange all over again, as if she didn’t know her. She said things that showed she was older than she looked, and yet other times Serraria acted like a young child use to getting her own way. She was a confusing mystery and at times like this very disturbing.

Back at Belmon, Kain sat at a table inside the Eagles Inn with Tarn and Ryu, eating a meal. The old man knew how to cook; he was full of surprises. Lady Dovelin sat by the hearth reading a book, and Boar was pacing the floor while Rakkath looked on in amusement. Alixa sat on a table in a cross-legged manner, running a whetstone along the length of her sword. They all looked up at once when the door opened and in strode Soryn, Storm and young Serraria. They all waited expectantly for the Guardian to say something. He chuckled at the faces turned towards him and announced. “We have succeeded with Kilimanjari. Now we must travel to Silvaria.”

“How are we going to manage that if they don’t want us travelling around in their precious forest?” demanded Tarn, with a slight scowl on his features.

“We will head north a little, to the shores of the Lake of Shimmering, then head west to the mouth of the Illendiyal River and cross the stone bridge there, to bring us into Silvaria,” explained Soryn. He walked through the common room to a booth, sitting down heavily. “We’ll stay here the night then head off at daybreak.” With that announcement the group began talking amongst themselves. Alixa and Boar sat down in Krammer’s booth and asked him what the forest was like, and what the king had been like as well.

Serraria was scolded by Millianyia for not returning with the rest of the company as they had all been worried when they realized the girl had not been among them. Grong plied Storm with questions about the forest, and where her people actually lived as he had found her forest an extraordinary place but rather quiet as there hadn’t been the bustle of the populace as in the Omarian towns. The evening wore on with the Rangers and Guardians continuing to bond with one another before one by one they began to retire for the evening. Serraria remained sitting by the hearth, nursing a goblet of spiced wine. She had found she liked this drink quite a lot, almost as much as roast chicken, her favorite meal. Her eyes were fixed on the flames dancing in the grate when she realized she was not alone. Lady Dovelin was sitting nearby, quietly working on a bit of sewing. Serraria watched her for a long moment before she spoke. “I have three more races to meet, and I am finding that with only the Omarians and those of Kilimanjari, that there are stark contrasts between them.”

Dovelin smiled. “No nation is the same, and no race is either. Everyone has different cultures, values and ethnic morals.” With practiced hands she drew a needle and thread through a cloth as she spoke. “Everyone holds to a belief, and some will differ to others in how they believe something. Some races want everyone to believe in one particular way, and that there is no other way, no other choice and they will kill if their belief is not accepted.” Dovelin let out a soft little sigh, as if this saddened her. She glanced up at Serraria who was watching her intently.

“You have seen much, then Lady Dovelin,” observed Serraria quietly.

“Sometimes I think I have seen too much,” Dovelin murmured. “But it is the life I have chosen to live, and I enjoy what I do.” She looked at Serraria after a moment. “The key to life is not to judge others for what they do, or choose to do, but to accept them no matter what, and be an example to them, showing what a forgiving love from an Ancient Creator is like.” She dipped the needle in and out of the cloth as though it was dancing. “Hate breeds violence and war. Unconditional love breeds acceptance and toleration. You will learn these things as you continue in your explorations.”

Serraria mused quietly over these words. They were heavy words to digest and she doubted that many could speak them and mean them like Lady Dovelin. After a moment she rose to her feet and made her way out of the inn, looking up at the stars that were so different to where she came from. Her sharp hearing caught the sound of a twig snapping and her senses told her she was not alone. She turned her head sharply. The sound of a soft whistling caught her attention. A hand to her belt, and she drew her dagger, she whirled and raising it in time to block the sharp arc of a sword, wielded by a figure in black. For a long moment the two looked at one another before her attacker quickly jumped back then swung the sword at her again. Serraria moved her body with agility, shifting to the left, then to the right, before bending backwards to avoid a slash at the throat. She straightened up, holding firmly onto her dagger, and eyed off her assailant who had stepped back again as if weighing up options. When the black-clad figure moved to swing the sword at her once more, Serraria spun on one foot, lashing out with the other, striking her opponent’s wrist and causing them to drop their blade. She did not wait but stepped in, closing distance, spinning to lash out another sharp kick to the attacker’s chest, sending them flying several feet through the air. She watched them land with a thud on the ground, winded and groaning. Serraria walked slowly to where the sword lay and picked it up. She studied it thoughtfully while the attacker got up, extending it in their direction. The person attempted to close distance after drawing a dagger, but the tip of the sword blade hovered at their cloth mask. “That is enough. Go,” she said quietly and simply. The assailant blinked before backing up a few steps, then running off into the streets of the little village. Serraria turned slightly to watch before studying the sword again. The pommel was what interested her the most. At the top was a snarling wolf, while the rest of the handle was wrapped in fine leather binding for a good grip. There were markings on the steel of the blade itself that she did not understand, though they were similar to engraved runes. With sword in hand she returned inside the inn and padded up to where Dovelin sat, laying the sword on the table. “I have been attacked,” she stated. “The face of my foe was covered but he kindly left this behind.”

Dovelin looked up sharply then put her sewing aside to inspect the sword gingerly. A frown touched her forehead before she rose to her feet. “Stay here,” she said before she gathered her skirts and hastened up the stairs calling out. “Sir Krammer? Sir Krammer!”

Several moments later Soryn hurried down the stairs in pants and tunic, his hair ruffled as if he had just gotten out of bed. He took up the sword to inspect it solemnly. “A sign of the Wolf King,” he finally stated. “It seems that we are being watched, and what we are doing is noticed.” He sat down opposite her and smiled a little. “Well, little one, now you have another sword.” He pushed it towards her. “Use it wisely.”

Serraria grinned. “I will. I will follow in your footsteps and only draw it if the need is there.”

Both Dovelin and Soryn smiled at those words, nodding agreement. “Very good. Now go to bed. We have a good deal of riding to do tomorrow.” Soryn watched as Serraria ran for the stairs, the sword cradled in her arms, once she was gone his smile disappeared before he looked at Dovelin. “A personal attack upon the girl?”

Dovelin shook her head, she was just as confused. “Maybe there is something more to this than meets the eye.”

Soryn shook his head slightly. “I don’t know. Let us keep this in mind for the moment.”

Dovelin nodded her head in agreement. It seemed that the mystery surrounding Serreria had only just gotten deeper. No matter how hard she tried, or deep she dug, the answers were not quickly forthcoming in regards to that girl.

Malificent skulked through the streets, and reached where her horse had been stalled. She had been taken by surprise. She had not expected the girl child to be trained in the arts of war, she had been strong and resilient. Having had a taste of what the girl was like, Malificent found herself now feeling a bit more cautious. Perhaps a young and budding warrior had been sent to this world. She was straightening the gear on her horse when strong hands grabbed her by the upper arms, spun her around and slammed her up against a wooden post. She gasped out, lifting her head to find herself eye to eye with the cold angry features of Rakkath, a little sneer appeared on her lips.

“What do you think you were doing? Do you think trying to kill that girl will get the answers for Dargoth? He wants her alive.” He hissed in her face.

“I was trying to move things along.” She smirked, enjoying the emotions that seemed to play over his features. He was letting this girl get to him, else he would not have hunted her down like this.

“For what purpose other than your own agenda? The girl needs to bond with these people, and I need to know if she is the one. Else we are chasing a Red Herring and I would hate to be the one having to explain to the Wolf King why we wasted time on a strange little girl.” He shook her savagely until he was certain her teeth rattled.

Malificent winced from the shaking and managed to finally break free of his hold as she glared at him. “She’s the one Dark Krysalith. I felt it when I touched her. But she is stronger than either of us think. So it will be a delightful event when she is broken and used by the Wolf King for whatever purpose he has in stall for her.”

Rakkath stepped back looking at the Black Mage and shook his head slightly at her, he could almost taste the hatred and distain that seemed to drip off her. She seemed to see the girl child as a threat, something to be used and abused as she saw fit. But then the Wolf King wanted to possess the girl due to the supposed power she was meant to wield. He hadn’t seen this power personally as of yet. So far all he had witnessed was a girl hungry to know the world around her, with the amount of questions she asked. She was like a vassal waiting to be filled, wanting understanding of this place and of the people who inhabited. Certainly a distinct mark that she was not from here and yet she fitted in almost too perfectly. He was forced to back right up as Malificent mounted up on her horse and rode out of the stables. He had also sensed another feeling that he knew the witch would not wanting other’s to know. She was afraid of the girl, of what she could be if not interfered with. He sensed that was the main reason that drove Malificent to go out of her way to get at the girl, to test her and to see what she was really about. She was also known for her impatience, she didn’t like to wait for too long and sometimes would force things to happen, so she could see the task through to its end her way. He on the other hand was a trained hunter, and patience was a great discipline among his kind. He felt like he was bonding with the girl, she seemed to hold him high in esteem and favor him greatly amongst her traveling companions. He would use that to his advantage, get as close to her as possible as the Wolf King had ordered.

Rakkath stepped quietly out into the street, pulling his cloak around his form and melted softly away into the night, as he made his way back to the Inn. The night was his time to be out and about, for any Dark Krysalith it was their preferred time to be awake. But he had managed to force himself to eat and sleep by night and travel by day with the companions. It was a great sacrifice, but it was required if he was to keep up with that young girl. After a quick check to make sure he was not being followed, he returned to the Inn and slipped inside, to retire to his room for the rest of the night.