Lycius The Steadfast

LYCIUS THE STEADFAST

By Lewin Cary 6F

Despair, you wretched mortals, for when the dagger is freed of its captive, you will feel the wrath of Dourson’s vengeance. – Inscription on Dourson’s Tomb. In the dark time of Dourson’s Rule, none could withstand his might until the battle named in the Elven tongue as ‘The Battle of Unnumbered Deaths’. That day the legendary Lycius strode forth and sealed Dourson in a tomb now named ‘Dourson’s Tomb’ with a dagger that has stayed there ever since. Now, ten hundred years later, it is foretold Dourson will rise again, with wrath that cannot be satisfied.

Lycius was on the riverbank, skimming rocks across the sun-glanced water. In the shade of the canyon Lycius stood tall, with wispy brown hair, hanging like a lion’s mane over his muscular shoulders. His golden eyes pierced the shade and watched the rock as it bounced across the river. Lanir, his faithful friend walked up to Lycius. Lanir was a tall boy, who hated fighting and wanted to become a monk when he was old enough. Lanir was in the line of Dirri since the seal of the Tomb and this fact helped, as Dirri had been very gentle in his time and the monks loved all of his kind and race.

“I want you to have this, Lycius,” Lanir quavered unexpectedly. “ I have sealed my fate. May no harm come to you.” Lycius looked at his friend in intent wonderment, then nodded. Lanir passed to Lycius a package, wrapped in cloth that sparkled like the dew on the grass in the morning. Lanir strode off, heading towards the mountains in the North. Lycius watched him disappear from view, his wonderment increasing by the moment. Lanir was always mysterious but this was strange.

Lycius walked back to his treehouse and climbed the leafy bows thoughtfully. He swung from branch to branch then let go and landed like a cat at the top of the tree. This was a devised system so only his treefolk could make their way to his entrance. Lycius climbed in through the narrow gap and entered his house. It was an old house, passed down to him through the centuries as was the map he now sought. Lycius found the map and looked North, towards the mountains. He saw in horror that Lanir had walked towards Dourson’s Tomb, the dreaded place of the Ancestors. Lycius hoped that no evil would befall his friend and in a desperate attempt to hide from the world, went to his bed and fell into a shallow sleep.

That night, all manner of evil creatures visited his nightmares and tormented him. Lycius tossed and struggled but could not break free of the dream. In the dream there was Dourson with Lanir’s body lying crumpled on the cold ground and Lycius laughing evilly over Lanir’s body. Then Lycius drew a dagger and thrust it into himself and he stood there laughing. Then Dourson raised an army and brought forth his vengeance that could not be satisfied.

Finally, Lycius broke free of the dream and lay there, sweat pouring from his body. Lycius’ gaze moved downward to his bedside table and the package that Lanir had given him. In his anxiety, he had not opened it and it lay there, glowing eerily in the moon’s pale light. Lycius grabbed the package and unwrapped its velvet material. As he did so, his thoughts returned to the dream and of Dourson and Lanir. Could Lanir really be dead? Could Dourson really have returned and raised an army? Lycius asked himself these questions as he unwrapped the mysterious package. Inside the package was a dagger that had all sorts of gems and crystals inside the hilt. As Lycius lifted it up, it sparkled in the moonlight and he could see that it was the Dourson’s Wrath, the object that was supposedly the key to Dourson’s power. It was a dagger that had fallen from the heavens and had landed in Dourson’s hands when he was cornered in battle. The moment he wielded it the battle turned around and his hunters were hunted.

Lycius knew what this meant. It meant that Dourson had indeed returned from the seal of his tomb and was wrathful. Lycius quailed at the thought. Had Lanir known this would happen? Lycius strode to the door of his treehouse and grabbed his weapons without a moment’s hesitation. They consisted of his sword, longbow and his newly gained dagger. Like the Legendary Lycius he knew he would fight and kill Dourson. Once he had got his pack he jumped out of the tree, landed with a thud and loped across the barren land.

Lycius started following Lanir’s tracks and knew immediately that it would be useless trying to track him to the Tomb but he knew what to do. In the Moon’s eerie light he drew the dagger and watched the moonbeams glance off it.

“This is the Final Battle!” Lycius recited. He knew this was how the Lycius of Old had been transported to the Tomb in time to seal Dourson in. As Lycius watched, the dagger rose up into the air. There was an air of electric energy coursing through the dagger. As it rose up it came to a jarring halt and then fell. It fell straight into Lycius’ head. The last thing he remembered was that blackness.

Lycius opened his eyes. His head was still full of the black. He looked around to find himself in a starry clearing in the forest. The towering oaks that surrounded the clearing were dark and ominous in the moonlight. They were larger than everything except for a huge jagged rock at the centre of the clearing. Lycius found himself staring at this rock. It was Dourson’s Tomb but there was something wrong. Then Lycius noticed that there was a lightning split down the side of the Tomb. As he watched a hand reached out of the split and dragged up a body after it. The body was so grotesque that Lycius averted his eyes and shuddered.

“The Chosen Warrior,” it rasped. “Meet your death for I am Dourson!” Dourson lifted a huge broadsword and turned to face Lycius. Lycius, feeling no fear, strung his longbow and aimed it at Dourson’s head. The arrow went straight through Dourson’s head and Dourson just laughed.

“Is that the best you can do?” laughed Dourson. “I would have expected more from the Chosen Warrior. The only way to defeat me is to use The Dagger!” Without thinking, Lycius drew the dagger and threw it towards the still laughing Dourson. It landed with a dull thud. Dourson, his frozen smile still etched onto his face, sank to his knees.

“No…” Dourson rasped, then pitched forward. It was over, Dourson was dead. Out of the mangled body came thousands of people who Dourson had killed. Lanir was at the front.

“We live again because of you Lycius. May your name live forever!” Lanir shouted over the crowd. The crowd roared their approval