Deathweaver (Chapter 1)

The golden disc of the sun had just cleared the distant horizon this cool spring morning, dazzling the eyes with thousands of tiny sparkles caught in the morning dew that had settled on the leaves of the trees and the petals of the flowers that made up the King’s Gardens. The songs of the birds that sat in the oaks, maples, elms, and aspens scattered throughout the Gardens floated through the air to mesmerize the listener fortunate enough to hear them. This morning, as almost all others, there was only one listener and his attention was focused on something more academic.1

A young man with long golden-brown hair tied at his neck was bent over a rather large book, studiously reading the volume in his lap. His eyes of ice blue darted from left to right beneath a furrowed brow; his lips moving silently. Even while sitting bent over the book, one would realize that this young man was quite tall. Broad shoulders contributed to his size and heavily muscled arms ending in strong but delicate fingers held the book with gentle reverence. Not even the sweet scents of the prolific flora surrounding the youth penetrated his concentration, at least on the conscious level. He was lost in a world inhabited only by the spidery script of the tome of ancient magic which held him as surely as he held it.2

A thunder of hooves approaching from the direction of the rising sun filtered down into his mind and he glanced up to the open fields beyond the Gardens. A lone rider, nothing more. He was about to continue reading when he noticed that the rider slumped forward in the saddle as if he were hurt. The rider was armored in black upon an even blacker horse and he galloped past without a glance, seemingly intent on the ground ahead.3

The young man rose and closed his book, placing it under his arm as he walked in the direction the rider had been going. He rounded a bend in one of the numerous trails that wove through the Gardens and saw the rider enter the gate of the huge castle that was the home of King Justin - Sovran Keep.4

Sovran Keep was located southwest of the Sea of Tranquility and north of the Great Deep, situated an equal distance from either one. To the west was the Ogre Forest. The Keep had been home to the kings of Salisdar for as far back as any could remember. Even ancient histories and legends made occasional reference to the Keep as ‘King’s Home’ or ‘King’s Haven’. No one now knew when it had been built but it was known that it had remained unchanged through the centuries.5

The Keep stood alone in the very midst of open fields. A few farmsteads were dotted about but nothing as large as the Keep stood anywhere on the horizon in any direction. A landmark and symbol of strength to friend and traveler alike; anathema to enemies. The Keep was almost one hundred feet high and surrounded by walls twenty feet high and ten feet thick. It was also part of the Keep’s history that the walls had never been breached. The wall facing the south had a stone gate of equal thickness that moved out towards the perimeter, not swinging but sliding forward, then splitting down the middle to roll on greased tracks to either side. This was all accomplished by a clever mechanism of wheels, chains and toothed pulleys allowing only a handful of men to open or close the massive weight of the gates. In times of peace the gates stood open as they were now.6

Inside the walls were homes for the various working classes of people that inhabited the Keep and provided services for the ruling family and the government. The stone houses themselves were built in a manner to where, should the walls ever be breached, the invaders would find themselves in a maze of streets and alleys that would take days to solve. All in all, Sovran Keep was virtually impregnable.7

On this day, the people of the land were enjoying a peace of many years with children’s laughter, friendly chats in the street with a neighbor or friend, and a general feeling of well-being. It seemed that nothing could mar this pacific era in their lives.8

Then the dark rider rode through the gates, stopping just inside and picking up an escort of two mounted soldiers before proceeding down the cobbled streets and alleys to the keep proper. People stopped to stare, wondering at the strange rider and his purpose, then continued about their business as the day moved through the early morning hours.9

At the doors to the main keep, guards with pikes at attention and shining chain mail glinting in the sunlight quickly stepped aside from the massive oaken doors at a signal from the mounted escort to allow entry to the ebon horseman. Just outside the doors, the man dismounted hurriedly, almost falling, and lurched through the open doorway. The guards watched as the man swayed, gathered his strength, then continued down the hall leaving a bloody footprint behind, then another. With a glance at his companion, one guard went to find the Keep’s healer to tend this warrior.10

For warrior he was. A black steel helm rested on his bowed head. A black breastplate covered a shirt of chain mail of the same color that hung to his knees. Black gauntlets adorned each hand with matching bracers on his forearms. Greaves of deepest onyx protected his legs below the knees and an enormous broadsword sheathed in a black scabbard hung at the man’s left hip. He stumbled down the corridor with his escort rushing to resume the lead ahead of him.11

Several minutes after the arrival of the wounded man, the tall form of the student from the Gardens approached the still curious guards at the door to the Keep. The guards snapped to attention when they noticed the young man.12

“I take it that the rider in black must have come this way by the expressions on your faces,” the youth said with a slight smile at the guards’ looks.13

“Yes, Prince Eric, he came this way and was in dire need of talking with your father, or so he said,” replied one of the guards.14

“Then he has gone to see my father?”15

“It would appear so, but Cherry was called so he could very well be in the infirmary. You know how insistent she can be, my lord. If I might make a suggestion, it might save you some time if you but follow the trail he left behind,” the guard said nodding meaningfully at the bloody footprints.16

Eric glanced down and looked back up with an expression of concern on his face.17

“Thank you,” he said and began following the prints as quickly as he could.18

He met up with Cherry, the Keep’s healer, in the corridor outside of his father’s quarters.19

“Good morning, Cherry,” the prince called out as she almost hurried by without noticing him. “Has the stranger been seriously wounded?”20

“He is lying in the king’s own bed,” she said, as if she did not approve, “and I must hurry for he will not see the setting of the sun if I do not return quickly.”21

“Perhaps there is something I can do?”22

The woman thought for a moment and glanced sideways at Eric before answering.23

“Perhaps there is, Prince Eric. His wound is quite grievous and I know that you are versed in the healing arts of magic. Korstan is away for a few days - that mage is always wandering off when he’s needed - If you feel up to it...” She let the question hang in mid-air.24

“Of course, Cherry, I will do what I can.” And with that, Eric strode down the hall to his father’s chambers as the healer’s footsteps faded behind him.25

Eric reached the door to the king’s chambers and found a guard posted outside. The guard saluted and stepped aside, allowing the prince entry into the king’s study. It was not a large room, having just enough space for a fireplace at one end, with two comfortable chairs in front of it, and a desk at the other end. In the center of the wall, straight ahead, was a door that led to the king’s bedroom. Eric opened the door and entered quickly, closing the door behind him.26

The prince was afforded his first good look at the rider from out of the east and, even lying in bed, he seemed intimidating. His hair was long enough to reach the middle of his back and a thin beard edged his jaw line and mouth. His face was drawn, probably from the pain of his wounds, but his eyes let no sign of suffering show whatsoever. The man looked tough enough to chew rocks and spit out sand. His shoulders were broad and it seemed that he dwarfed the bed that he lay in. His black armor was scattered on the floor around the bed, but his sword was well within reach of his right hand. Scars were visible on every square inch of skin that Eric could see. The man’s muscles were large, but at the same time, seemed almost wiry. The prince had no doubt that this man could deal death indiscriminately to whomever was foolish enough to challenge him.27

The prone figure looked up as Eric entered the room.28

“Get me some ale when you get the chance,” that warrior said with a lack of interest that caused Eric to smile.29

“In a moment,” he replied, “first let me take a look at your wound.”30

“The healer will return in a moment to deal with my wound,” the man countered with growing impatience.31

“And you will die anyway unless you allow me to try my skills at least.”32

“Just who in the nine hells are you to be ‘trying your skills’ on me anyway?” he said facing Eric fully for the first time.33

“I am Eric, son of King Justin, and also the only person available who can give you a chance to live.”34

Eric watched as the man’s eyes widened in shock and a flush crept up from under his collar. He began to sputter what may have been an apology but Eric stopped him with an upraised hand.35

“There is time for introductions later. For now, I must take a look at your wound - if you don’t mind?” Eric raised his eyebrows with this last question.36

“Yes, yes, of course, Your Highness. I am terribly sorry for the mistake. I am Candor of the lands of Keralt, at your service.”37

“Well, it would seem that I am at your service for the moment Candor. Now, if you would show me where you are wounded?”38

The large man rolled to one side and revealed a deep slash under one arm.39

“It really isn’t as bad as the healer puts on,” Candor said as he gritted his teeth against the pain.40

“It would seem to me that it is worse,” replied Eric as he examined the injury. “It will take a bit of time to heal, even after I am finished. Now, if you would be so good as to lie very still and relax...”41

While Eric prepared the man’s wound for his magical process of healing, his mind drifted inexorably back to the night of his parent’s deaths. These were but fading memories in his mind, growing less vivid over the years. His parent’s faces seemed little more than mental portraits painted by an absent-minded artist. But one figure stood out in unreal lucidity in his mind. For all of his days he would never forget the face of the wizard reflecting the deadly light of the fireball that had destroyed his only family. The high arching snow-white eyebrows, the wide, thin-lipped mouth curled in a grimace of hatred, and the pale skin shining as if made of polished ivory were forever etched into his memories. No, he would never forget. His vengeance may be slow, but it would be uncompromising.42

That night of the fire and slaughter ten years ago, after everyone had quieted down and the town leaders had surveyed the gory, human wreckage, one of the council members had taken a near comatose Eric to his own home. A messenger was dispatched to King Justin with word of what had happened and the next day the king had arrived at the coastal village. He was outraged and shocked by the messenger’s report and he questioned everyone who had been a witness. The dead shopkeeper had been a distant relative of the king and upon hearing of Eric’s sad misfortune, King Justin had promptly declared that Eric would be his adopted son, the Crown Prince of Salisdar.43

Eric had no comprehension of anything that was going on around him. The shock of that catastrophic night had hammered his spirit into the dark recesses of his mind. He ate when fed by someone but rarely slept. When he did sleep, it was far from restful, often ending in a fear-stricken shriek that would bring a tried servant or sometimes even the king himself to the chambers where he slept in the castle. The arriving person would find Eric sitting straight up in bed, his eyes wide with fear, tears tracing silvery lines down his pallid cheeks.44

Inevitably, the child grew older and began to heal. It was a slow process but with the love and attention of the king, Eric began to emerge from behind his wall of silence to view the world once again. Before long, Eric had shyly asked if King Justin would mind if he called him father. The king pulled the boy into a massive hug, as much out of love as to hide the tears that stung his eyes, for King Justin had no children of his own.45

He enrolled the boy in classes of all sorts. Eric’s days were filled with learning weaponry, archery, arts and music, literature, and eventually, the elusive craft of magic which so few people could grasp. This period of learning had quickened the healing of Eric’s mind and spirit and continued even now. The spell that he intended to use on Candor was one that he had learned recently.46

Eric placed his hands on the man, one on either side of the wound, and began to murmur in the anagoric language of magic. He could feel the man’s pain through the sensitized palms of his hands and drew most of it into himself. Before the pain he had absorbed could incapacitate him, Eric managed to complete his incantation causing much of the wound to close. He raised his hands to his head and stumbled backwards to fall into a chair against the wall.47

Candor had lost consciousness during the spell but he seemed more relaxed than he had before. Eric, on the other hand, now had a splitting headache that would probably last the rest of the day. After a few moments to allow the worst of it to pass, he rose and went to the bedside where his patient was awakening.48

“How are you feeling?” Eric inquired.49

“As if I could be happy never seeing another horse again.” After a quiet pause where he seemed to be struggling with his words, Candor said, “I owe you my life.”50

“You owe no one but yourself for you surely would have died if not for your haste in arriving.”51

“I must speak with your father immediately,” the man said with a start as he was reminded of his reason for coming here to begin with.52

Cherry entered the room with her bag of herbs and bandages.53

“Cherry, would you be so kind as to send a servant to find my father and bring back some wine...”54

“Ale,” Candor interrupted.55

“... ale for our guest, please?” Eric asked the small portly woman with the sour disposition.56

She looked at Eric with one eyebrow raised, as if to ask ‘Am I a servant or a healer?’ and seemed about to verbalize just that, but Eric stopped her.57

“I must speak with him alone,” he said indicating Candor.58

She sighed deeply, set down her bag, and left the room.59

Eric turned to Candor who was trying to get a better look at his wound.60

“It will be just fine, Candor. Let it heal.” Eric took a seat in the chair again. “Now, why don’t you tell me of this urgent news that you brought from Keralt?”61

“I was given orders by my own liege not to tell anyone but King Justin. I would need your father’s permission to tell you.”62

“Well, it seems that we have some time to wait.” He looked around the room, bored. “Can you tell me how you received that wound?” Eric asked.63

Candor’s eyes almost seemed to light up at the question. He tried to sit up and winced at the pain. Eric moved to help him and put a pillow beneath his shoulders, then returned to his seat. He waited patiently for Candor to speak.64

“Three men were sent with me to bring the message I carry to your father. We left the Keralt territories four days ago and have ridden hard ever since. There were others following us - enemies. They took down one man with a bow and, when we stopped to help our comrade remount, they caught us.65

“There were eight of them and we killed four but not before they killed my other companions and I was left with a hard decision - to fight alone and die or try to fulfill our mission and deliver the message entrusted to us. I chose to retreat. Their horses were spooked by the melee that had claimed my friends' lives. I used this to my advantage and mounted my own horse, leaving them to plunder the bodies of my comrades.66

“They soon followed, as I expected, and I chose a spot to ambush them -” he broke off at a short rap on the door.67

Eric rose to answer it and found that it was Cherry returned with the ale.68

“The king’s ward sent the message that King Justin would be with you in a moment,” Cherry informed them as she handed Eric the pitcher of ale.69

“Thank you, Cherry, for the message and for the ale. Candor was just telling me of how he received such a grievous wound.”70

“I am afraid I must be on my way. There are other patients I must tend to. If you gentlemen would excuse me...” With that, she picked up her bag and left.71

“I don’t think she likes me,” Candor said with a grin. The prince smiled back.72

“She doesn’t seem to like most people but I know her to be a kind and caring person. She hides her heart behind gruff words. Now, where were we?”73

Candor thought a moment and then began relating the ambush he had planned.74

“I made it all the way to Dragonscale Port before they grew too close to allow them to follow me any longer. In the forest there, I hid by the side of the road and waited for them. The first, I took from the saddle with my sword, and the next unlucky fellow caught my dagger in his throat. The remaining two stopped short and jumped from their mounts, drawing steel. I knew I would be out-matched in a short time. They were good with their weapons and, though I am better than either one was, two at once after such a long ride was tempting the gods and the fates themselves.75

“Both of them attacked at the same time. The only thing that saved me from being slain at that very moment was a stroke of luck. The first one I engaged, I caught off balance and he stumbled over the body of the man I had cut down from the saddle. I turned to parry the other’s attack, knowing I would be too slow. The blow glanced off my sword and caught me here,” he said, pointing to his wound. “It would have found my heart had it not been for my attempt to turn his thrust.76

“I finished the one that had fallen before he could rise. I bent forward to strike him and rolled onto my back, narrowly avoiding the next attack from my other opponent. When I regained my feet, I could see the fear in the man’s eyes. Better than even odds were the only odds he felt comfortable with, I could tell, but I was not in a forgiving mood. I advanced and, at his first mistake, I took the opening and ran him through.77

“Then I made my way as quickly as possible to where you see me now,” he finished, with a glance around the king’s bedchamber.78

Eric was astounded at the man’s story. To take on four skilled opponents at once and survive was no mean feat. He looked at the warrior differently now - with more respect. He was about to ask Candor where he learned to fight when the door to the king’s bedroom opened and King Justin entered.79

“How are you feeling?” he asked the Keralt.80

“Your Majesty, I am a little stiff but, through the help of your son, I will live. I regret not being able to stand respectfully but I have urgent news.” He glanced sidelong at Eric.81

“My son has been involved in my affairs since he was a child. There is nothing that he cannot hear so, proceed if you would.”82

“Very well, Your Majesty. I have been sent by King Brunswick to implore you to send some help our way. It seems that we are in a bit of a fix. The lesser races have invaded in force and threaten to overrun our capitol. We met them outside the city to avoid a siege but we cannot hold out for very long. A contingent of three hundred men should even the odds a little.”83

“We have received your message and will talk it over,” King Justin replied. “Rest and recuperate. I will have questions for you later.”84

The king and Eric bid him a good rest and left him to sleep. They made their way to the dining hall and requested lunch be brought. They would have eaten in the king’s study but they did not wish to disturb Candor’s rest.85

“A council must be called,” the king told Eric. He could only nod and wonder. Eric knew the king had already made up his mind on the matter and any aid he could send would be freely given.86

The father and son sat down at one end of the long table and began eating their midday repast. The servants brought a very tasty meal of spiced pheasant with a light gravy. A serving of wild rice, grown by the monks on the western end of the Marsh of Lost Souls, was served with diced vegetables generously added. A loaf of bread and a flask of light wine put the finishing touches on the meal.87

When King Justin and Eric had finished with their fare, the king set off to inform the council members of the need to convene on the matter of the messenger’s news. Eric went back to the king’s chambers.88

As Eric entered the antechamber, he found Cherry leaving the bedroom.89

“How is he now?” he asked as he moved to peer around her through the open doorway.90

“His wound is healing quickly,” she replied. “How you manage that magical fiddle-faddle is beyond me but you gave that man another day to die.”91

“You would have done the same given the chance and your ministrations were no less helpful, Cherry. Is he sleeping?”92

“Ha! He claims he doesn’t need sleep,” she snorted at the absurdity. “He says he will sleep when he’s dead and that will be soon enough given his lifestyle. The man is a fool.”93

Eric grinned at the woman’s ire, knowing her to be that way most of the time. He knew it was her way of expressing her affection for her friends. He thanked her for her help and, as she closed the door to the hall behind her, stepped into the king’s bedroom.94

Candor was lying on the king’s bed picking at the bandages Cherry had bound his wound with when Eric appeared in the doorway. He looked up and quickly stopped fingering the wrapped cloth around his chest with a sheepish look spreading over his face.95

“You know, you really shouldn’t be aggravating the wound. That bandage is helping to keep it clean,” Eric said in an off-handed manner.96

Candor looked into Eric’s face with a solemn expression on his own.97

“I am in your debt for life now, my lord. Until I die or can return the favor, I will be by your side,” he spoke with great gravity.98

Eric was stunned by the man’s words, not knowing how to deal with this.99

“That is not necessary. It cost me nothing at all,” he said. “It needed to be done and I could do it so I did. There is no debt owed nor expected. I doubt seriously that my father would feel any different than I so you can dismiss the idea.”100


The prince thought for sure that Candor would accept this and forget the whole thing, but the wounded man shook his head slowly; negatively.101

“I cannot allow this debt to go unpaid.” He looked over to Eric. “Let me tell you a little about myself,” he said.102

“All Keralts, including myself, are raised in a wild, untamed region where survival is first and foremost. Even though we fight to win in any way possible, we still have an ingrained sense of honor that cannot be overlooked or we would be no better than the lesser races. We never tell a lie, feeling that if we have done anything shameful, it would be better to have it out in the open and done with. We pay our debts, too. When a Keralt saves another man’s life, then the man who was saved strives to repay the debt within his lifetime with loyal service or with his very life, if need be.103

“You have saved my life. No, don’t deny it or try to change my mind. I owe you a life for a life and it is my honor at stake. My honor is my life for I would be less than a man without it. And what you or King Justin or anyone else says on the matter has no relevance so we will leave it at that.”104

The silence grew as Eric pondered the situation searching for a loophole to crawl through, but he could find none. Candor spoke up, breaking his contemplation.105

“When will I be able to get out of bed? I am anxious to hear what your father has decided concerning my king’s request.”106

Eric thought a moment, then said, “I can tell you that my father will send any aid possible and the council will debate and waste precious time but they will bow to my father’s command. Your countrymen will have our help soon.”107

Candor nodded. Eric glanced around the room feeling very uncomfortable in the man’s presence after such a bizarre oath of loyalty and his gaze fell upon the ebon armor at the foot of the bed.108

“May I ask you a question?” Eric inquired of the wounded Candor.109

“You may ask anything of me and I will do my best to answer or accomplish the request.”110

“No, I didn’t mean anything like that,” Eric said flushing deeply, “I only wanted to ask about your armor. Is the metal it’s made of black or is that just coloring?”111

“Ah,” sighed Candor with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile upon his face, “do you like stories, my lord?”112

Eric nodded with enthusiasm, for the description of the battle that the warrior had given him before had piqued his interest. His own experience with battle was limited to training and other such unadventurous pastimes.113

“Well then, you shall have a story the like of which you have never heard before,” he said, falling easily into the part of the narrator. Anyone would have guessed that Candor enjoyed telling stories as much as Eric enjoyed hearing them. Candor began his tale of adventure with an eager audience.114

“I was, at one time in my life, a mercenary,” he began, pushing himself up on the pillow gingerly, “and there have been many travelers who have had my service of protection and the better they are for it,” he said, not a bit modestly.115

“But there was this one merchant who thought to trade with the nomadic peoples of the grasslands to the northwest of here. This merchant was one of the more adventurous ones from Falmore. He was a wealthy man but didn’t have the sense to remain in safety and be content with what he had.116

“With my own father having been a merchant, I knew the ways of this man and he seemed a decent fellow. I know you may think he sounds greedy, but you have to understand about merchants. While they have a lust to buy low and sell high, they have no real love for money. To most merchants, money is only a way to keep track of who is winning the game. They love to dicker and barter more than life itself and they constantly hone these skills working towards perfection.117

“Well, this merchant had beaten everyone he had come across and was searching for another opponent or two to refine his skills even more. To the Great Sea of Grass he wanted to go and his money was as good as the next man’s so I accepted his offer - after the dickering of which, I must admit, he got the best of me - and we set out with two horses, a pack mule, and the merchant’s fast tongue.118

“We traveled in each other’s company down the coastal highway from Falmore to Plist, staying at different inns and hostels along the way. We became good friends on the first part of the journey and found we had much in common. When we reached Plist, we left the coastal highway to travel northwest to the city of Duln where we stayed for a couple of nights to prepare for the cross-country trek to the grass plains of the nomads.”119

Candor stopped here to take a drink of the ale that the healer had left for him, then continued.120

“It took us two days to reach the River of Thunder and I began to think this was going to be an uneventful trip. While I like easy money, I also like to keep my sword in use, especially where goblins are concerned, and we hadn’t met up with anything more dangerous than a wild boar.121

“We wasted another day searching for a way to cross the river and finally came upon a wide ford where the river banks had washed away under a recent flood. We crossed to the other side and made camp.122

“Now we were in less than friendly territory. There were, back then, different tribes of the nomads and some were more than ready for a fight so we made our way northward cautiously, along the western bank of the river.”123

He paused again to take a drink of ale and stretch his legs as much as possible, then continued.124

“We were about a days journey south of the fork where the Bovine turns into the Thunder when we came across the first tribesmen of the grasslands. They seemed friendly enough - as friendly as those people get, anyway - and they escorted us back to their chieftain at the place where their tent city now stands. Then it was only a scattering of one tribe and small compared to what it is today.125

“The chieftain - I believe his name was Loud Waters, or something like that - came out to greet us with his family close behind. They seemed more than a little curious about us, staring and gesturing and talking loudly in their language, while we just stood there and smiled.126

“Gods, but I felt foolish, like I was on display or something.127

“Anyway, the chieftain called one of his warriors to the front to translate for us and asked us what we meant by invading his homeland. We didn’t know what to say since we hadn’t invaded at all, and we told him that we had come to trade with him and his people.128

“I guess there was a mistake in the translation or something along those lines because, the next thing we knew, there was a big feast planned for that evening and we were to be the guests of honor. We didn’t really understand why but we weren’t about to turn down the hospitality of an entire tribe of warriors so we set up camp and prepared for the party.129

“Later that night, we made our way to the huge bonfire in the middle of the camp and sat down with the chieftain and his family. My friend, the merchant, seemed to have attracted the attention of the chieftain’s oldest daughter because she sat right down beside him. He didn’t want to offend anyone, so he was polite to her and let her prepare his food and, while they couldn’t talk to each other very well without a translator, they managed to make light conversation.130

“The feasting was over and the women of the tribe began dancing around the fire to the beat of drums and clapping hands. The chieftain’s daughter jumped up and grabbed my friend, joining right in with the rest of them. The merchant was laughing and singing and dancing- well, he drank just a little too much of the strong beer that the nomads make, but he was having a good time.131

“I would say that it was around midnight when the dancing and drums came to a sudden stop and the chieftain stood up and called his daughter to him. She pulled my friend, who was more than a little drunk now, over with her and knelt down in front of her father. My friend more fell than knelt but he was on his knees beside the chieftain’s daughter when I finally realized what was happening.”132

Candor stopped and reached for his ale but the flagon was empty. He raised his eyebrows at Eric.133

Eric jumped up and took the container out to the hall where he found a passing servant and stopped him.134

“Please return this to the kitchen and bring a pitcher of ale back to the king’s bed chambers,” Eric said with haste shining in his eyes. The anticipation was getting to him and he turned back into the room leaving a curious servant in the hall. Eric turned and saw the servant still standing there with the empty flagon in his hand.135

“Hurry, man,” he prodded the servant and closed the door to the antechamber behind him. Back in the bedroom, he found Candor lying back with his eyes closed.136

“Are you too tired to go on? This story can wait until later,” he asked with worry and impending disappointment in his voice.137

“No, no. I was thinking a bit. I haven’t seen my friend, the merchant, in many years and I wonder what kind of trouble he’s getting into these days. He really was quite a character,” Candor sighed.138

Candor was just beginning to go on with his story when a shout of alarm sounded out in the hallway. Eric rose quickly, stepping into the antechamber to hear better. The only sounds to reach his straining ears was the sounds of running feet and clashing swords. Eric turned back to the wounded Keralt to find him out of bed and preparing to don his battle-scarred, jet armor and weapon. Eric opened his mouth to ask him to remain in bed but, as the warrior looked his way, he knew it would be ignored. This man would die fighting before he died in bed. Eric nodded and stepped to a cabinet in the king’s bedroom where weapons were kept.139

Throwing wide the two thick steel-bound doors, he realized that he had never seen the contents of the cabinet before. It was filled with cobwebs, quite a surprise in the king’s immaculate bedroom. Old swords hung from a notched board across the backside of the cabinet. Dust had sifted in from cracks in the top and was piled up below the hanging swords and lightly covering the hilts. It had not been disturbed in years.140

Eric reached for one of the few swords with a scabbard, for all of the others were rusted beyond repair, and lifted it from its resting place. As he drew forth the sword, the entire backside fell forward and Eric had to jump backwards to avoid being hit by the falling swords and debris. Dust flew into the air causing him to turn his face away and Candor came over to offer assistance.141

Both men peered beyond the cloud of dust and, as it settled, it revealed another small compartment, the door hanging slightly ajar. Inside the exposed cubbyhole was another sword. The shiny black scabbard was untainted by rust despite its long interment in the lightless hole. Underneath a layer of dust could be seen, what Eric knew to be, runes of ancient magic seeming to writhe restlessly of their own accord. The crosspiece of the sword curved downward toward the encased blade in the form of a viper’s fangs bared for a strike. The hilt seemed to be carved steel, grooved to the form of gripping hands and the pommel was shaped as an inverted diamond pointing away from the blade. The overall length of the sword would have it from the floor to just below Eric’s chin.142

Eric turned his surprised and questioning gaze to Candor, who merely shrugged and gestured to the sword, inviting Eric to retrieve it. Eric stepped carefully over the scattered debris and reached in to grasp the sword’s hilt. As his hand touched the cold steel, a roaring noise raced through his mind as if a strong wind had begun to blow. This he recognized as a sign of powerful magic - more powerful than any he possessed. A charge of energy bolted up his arm to his shoulder, dissipating through his body. The remnants of his headache faded to nothing. Strength flowed into every muscle, his mind cleared and his blood burned with a rage to defend his friends and slaughter his foes.143

He drew the black blade from its scabbard and ebon fire danced down the razor-keen twin edges. The metal itself was blacker than moonless midnight and carved with powerful signs of magic. Eric ran his belt through the scabbard, fastening the belt back around his waist and replacing the blade. Turning, he saw Candor’s mouth hanging open in unabashed awe.144

“Deathweaver - The Sword of Life,” he offered as explanation. “The Blade of Cleansing, Avenger of Truth. That blade is the most powerful force in the land - any land. It’s been here all along...” the Keralt warrior whispered.145

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