Once again the armies of darkness are sweeping across the world and this time there may be no stopping them. Only by standing together can the heroes of civilization hope to prevail, but at this hour of their greatest trial the mightiest of their nu...
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The Sword of Retribution flew at colossal speed through ethereal space, the real world a mere grey blur around it. It flashed past forests, mountain ranges and cities, sometimes passing within a few feet of ordinary people going about their ordinary businesses. Herds of cattle standing in fields and idly chewing the cud, wild animals steadily stalking their prey, were all completely oblivious to its passage. Only one old basilisk, basking on a rock to ease the cramp in its arthritic bones, was briefly aware of something flashing past at high speed, but it was gone before it could get a clear idea of what it was.
Just a few seconds after leaving the conference room in Pargonn, the Sword was already a thousand miles away, where it suddenly turned and dove into the ground. It passed effortlessly through the thin surface layers of soil and sedimentary rock, but was forced to slow down a little when it came to the solid bedrock that formed the backbone of the continent and whose density manifested itself even to ethereal objects.
It dropped silently and almost effortlessly through layer after layer of granite and basalt, rocks that had lain undisturbed ever since their formation hundreds of millions of years before, soon reaching depths far greater than that reached by any natural cave system or any of the tunnels dug by the best known of the subterranean races. Life existed this deep, life of a kind almost unknown and unheard of on the surface, but even so, if the Sword had had a mind of its own, it would probably have wondered what it was doing this far from the familiar surface world where it had spent most of its existence since its creation aeons ago. There was no mistake, however. It sensed its new owner, ahead of it and deeper still, shining like a beacon in the night, and it homed faithfully in on him like an arrow speeding towards the bull of a target.
Finally, at a depth of over five miles, it entered a vast artificial cavern. A cavern over a hundred yards high between floor and ceiling and whose sides were so far away that they were hidden by the planet's curvature. Huge pillars fifty yards wide rose from the ground at intervals of several miles, containing the trunks of the cavern's intricate support structure, and giant stalactites hung like great daggers above equally large stalagmites, the two occasionally meeting to form smaller pillars a few feet wide at their narrowest point which made their own small contribution to the task of supporting the ceiling.
The ceiling glowed with a soft but bright light, illuminating the vast cavern as brightly as full sunlight and allowing a carpet of lush vegetation to cover the ground. Trees almost identical to those that grew on the surface raised their branches half way to the bright ceiling, providing homes for birds, snakes, squirrels, lizards and monkeys, which were in turn hunted by several different kinds of ground and arboreal predators. This part of the forest was not continuous, though. It was broken by large clearings up to a mile across where the soil was shallower. Lush grass grew there, between lumpy outcrops of bare rock, grazed upon by deer and rabbits, and it was to one of these clearings that the Sword flew; a clearing in which a battle was taking place.
A group of a dozen humans, standing back to back in a tight circle, were defending themselves against a horde of naked, blue skinned humanoids armed with blow darts and spears. The humans were dressed in fine leather and slennhide armour and armed with ironwood swords, but the odds were against them and they were gradually being worn down. The bodies of twenty other humans lay on the ground beside them, twisted into postures of agony by the poison tipped darts that had found gaps in their armour, but the hundred dead humanoids that lay among them represented only a tiny fraction of the force that assailed them. The creatures seemed willing to sacrifice any number of their own to destroy the humans, and that was the factor that seemed destined to win the day.
The Sword made its way to one of the humans, a man taller, stronger and harder looking than the others and wearing the crimson robes and spike crested helmet of a priest of Samnos. He'd come down from the surface nearly twenty years before and had been helping the cavern's human population to survive despite the depredations of the overwhelmingly larger numbers of humanoids and their terrifying masters. He'd been doing a fairly good job of it too, although he'd never be so immodest as to admit it, even to himself, but now it looked as though his time was coming to an end, having been caught out by an unexpected humanoid patrol while out giving a group of young warriors some much needed weapons practice. Can't complain, though, he thought as he lopped a humanoid's head off and dodged a clumsily thrust spear. I've had a good run, and we all have to go sooner or later. His only regret was that so many young men had to die with him.
Suddenly there was a blinding flash and a clap of thunder and the great Sword appeared in front of him, floating with its point uppermost like some terrible angel of wrath, its face dark with terrible, righteous anger. The humanoids fell back in surprise and alarm, giving the humans a much needed breathing space, and everyone stared at the fabulous weapon, wondering what it was and where it had come from.
All except the priest who recognised it instantly, as would have any priest of Samnos. With a roar of delight and thanksgiving, he threw his old sword like a spear, hitting a humanoid squarely in the chest, and then grasped the Sword of Retribution in both hands. Its hilt moulded itself perfectly to his grip and its length and weight adjusted themselves to his build and musculature. Then, with a roar of triumph, he leaped at the astonished humanoids, cutting them down like a farmer harvesting a field of wheat.
The humanoids closed in around him, but he kept them at a distance, the Sword spinning and dancing in his hands like a living thing as he continued the grisly slaughter. All his weariness dropped from him as the Sword renewed his strength and stamina, and the whirling blade, dripping with humanoid blood, seemed to shine with holy power, as though its more than razor sharp edge was a hairline crack into the dimension in which Samnos Himself resided. It took only a few seconds to break the humanoids' will, and then the survivors, now numbering less than fifty, turned and fled in blind panic, a total reversal of the situation that had existed less than a minute before.
The priest pointed the Sword at the routed enemy, spoke a holy word, and a bolt of lightning sprang from its tip, striking the rearmost humanoid in the middle of the back before going on to strike another and another and another. He shot another lightning bolt after them, killing another seven, and a third that killed five before the rest reached the safety of the trees and escaped. Behind him, the humans were laughing and shouting in triumph and relief, hardly able to believe the sudden reversal of their fortunes.
The priest held the gory Sword high over his head and shouted joyous words of praise and thankfulness to Samnos. Then he turned to the trainees. "With this Sword, we will be able to take the war to the enemy for the first time," he said. "No longer will we be fighting for our survival against the enemies of free humanity. Now it is they who will run and hide from us. We will drive them all the way back to their very homelands, where we will destroy them and their monstrous masters completely. The coming of the Sword is a sign that the time of our ascendancy is coming at last. Death to the enemies of peace and freedom Praise be to Samnos, God of Righteous Warfare."
