Swordmaster

Era of Wisdom

Leandyr took a long draught from his flask, focusing on the liquid burn of the alcohol. It slithered down his throat and settled in his stomach, curling up like a fiery snake.

His clothes and hair were damp, and he still stunk of seawater. Alone he sat, under the glow of a single standing torch, with only the sound of his own breath to keep him company in the vastness of the Castle's great hall.

The dusty stink of neglect was ripe in the air. In times long past this place would've been packed with magicians, capes and the merriment that only good music and strong drink could bring. But it had been ages since they'd had cause for celebration.

A dark cloud had settled over Abydon since the death of their queen. The castle, while filled with staff, felt empty and quiet. While brilliantly lit with sun or fire, looked bleak and dark. And while teeming with life, seemed utterly dead.

Leandyr stretched out on the floor and gazed up at the portrait of the queen hanging above him. Swathed in the red and gold of Abydon, she was a picture of serenity. So far removed from their world. She'd always seemed like she belonged amongst gods.

Well now she is.

There were ways, he knew, of bringing the dead back to life. But it was only possible within a small window of time. And it was forbidden magic -- something his Queen hated more than sin.

Leandyr still remembered finding her hanging from her neck in the heart of Craecia. He remembered what happened afterward too. The blood. The bodies falling at his feet. With each soul he'd sent to the other side, he'd felt less and less satisfied.

He was still dissatisfied.

The phrase "blind with rage" was utter nonsense to his ears until that day. The day when he'd been less of an immortal and more of an angered god. His wrath was divine and his vengeance almighty. And the destruction he'd wreaked became scripture to be passed down through the annals of Abydon history.

"You miss her, don't you, Swordmaster." Barish's voice echoed through the hall. He stood by the main entrance, a lantern in one hand. His footsteps were silent on the stone floor as he walked to Leandyr's side.

Leandyr took a drink from his bottle. He had no desire to speak with or even look at his King. How dare he send those Yilmaz rats to follow him around? Did he not trust his Swordmaster anymore? Leandyr had gone through war for the Abydon throne, the least he deserved was a bit of respect.

"We knew the risks we were taking when we marched against the Craecians. No one is to blame for what happened to her," Barish continued.

Leandyr almost laughed. He could think of at least six magicians and six capes who should've lost their heads. But his Highness seemed inclined to keep them as his guard despite their incompetence.

"You know, she's still here with us. In spirit. And she'd hate to see you in such a state. It seems you're falling far from the man you used to be. Every day I watch you grow more bitter, more dejected. I can only hope that whatever you seek beyond this kingdom will set you free from these demons." He paused and Leandyr could sense his frown. "You worry me, Swordmaster."

You and everyone else. "Where's Ridivan?" He'd slipped a note under the Abydon heir's door when he came in, asking for his help.

"He and Enver retired to bed hours ago." The King gave the painting a thoughtful look.

Hours... was that how long he'd been in this place? Either way, there was no doubt his mind that Ridivan had seen his plea for help. And had rejected it. Which meant Leandyr was on his own.