The Cloud-Capped Towers .:VI:.

by ~veritaslux

VI – A Sword

Days passed, and Cysagh was still clueless as to the mission of that strange woman whom he had encountered that fateful night. He went and worked in his place at the mill every day, not doing anything out of the ordinary, and even stayed away from the main street where he could be recognised by Sarah, the fortune teller.

The days were getting longer with each one passing, until dawn was ridiculously early, and dusk was ridiculously late. Cysagh was constantly thinking about the woman and the prophecy by the angel, which still terrified him, to such an extent that he was drifting further away from his family and friends.

Then the summer came. The sun sat up on its throne in the sky, glaring down at its subjects on the ground below. Even for a village sheltered by forest and Lake Fálinr to the south, Épyren was getting unbearably hot and dusty, until finally, Cysagh’s boss was forced to close down the mill for a day to fetch more water from the lake.

The day off provided the perfect opportunity to take Cysagh’s mind off of recent events, and as quickly as possible, gathered some food and a pack to put it all in, and set off treasure hunting in Ab-Forteyna. He briefly remembered how he was going to do this the day that he had his fortune told, and how important that day was to him, before pushing the idea out of his head, not wanting to think about it.

He walked down the worn track where the hunters stalked down the prey before cutting off to the right and deeper into the leafy expanse of the forest. Trees standing hundreds of feet tall with huge trunks flanked him wherever he went, the canopy of deep green leaves causing the ground to be tinted with a paler version of the same colour. Bushes with red and yellow flowers were seemingly randomly dotted between the trees.

Cysagh got so far before he reached the Fálinr River, the deep running river supplying the lake with ice cold water. The water seemed to be angry, buffeting the slight curves in the land with huge force. It was clear and clean, showing the small, silvery fish flitting downstream where they would get their main food source, miniscule shrimps known as kritek. He glanced around, to see if anybody was watching him, then began his search, combing over every bush and under every stone for anything of value or interest.

Before long, he had found two fragments of what appeared to be the same gemstone, a deep red ruby that glittered in the sunlight. The colour was like that of blood, and the pieces had faint silvery lines running through them.

I wonder whether these belonged to anybody important? he thought, marvelling at their beauty, however small they were. He put them in his pack along with a bronze coin he had found at the bottom of the river, and laid on his back, gazing up through a gap in the canopy at the golden sun in the sky. It was beginning to lower in the sky, making way for the moon, but it was still going to be there for hours more. White clumps of cloud lazily floated near the proud sphere, the cerulean sky empty of any disturbance.

After what seemed like an age of just lying there and watching the sun and clouds move through the sky, Cysagh got up, brushed the leaves off of himself and began the journey back home.

Weaving himself through the maze of foliage, he relished the earthy smell of the woods for one last time, before cutting back round the path, and onto the hunter’s trail.

He was just about to keep on going, when a flash of green and silver caught his eye. He spun his head around quickly, trying to descry what he had just caught a glimpse of. He veered off to the opposite side of the hunter’s trail, hoping to get a better look. Climbing over a thick tangle of bushes and roots, he came to a relatively spacious area, which had been previously obscured by vegetation. In the very centre of it was a sapling tree, with five twisted fingers of branches coiled around a sword.

The sword was not made by anybody in the surrounding area -- that much Cysagh knew for certain: the blade was far too narrow. He picked it up, and it felt oddly light, as if it wasn’t the heavy piece of metal that he had anticipated. The hilt seemed to fit his hand perfectly, the round, polished emeralds that adorned the hilt not affecting the comfort of it. Cysagh twirled it above his head for a moment, trying to imagine it used in combat.

Satisfied with the last-minute find, he wrapped the blade in the cloth he had used to store his food, and carefully put it into his bag. With that, he walked back onto the trail and exited the forest, content with how the day had gone.

Cysagh returned to his house, and after replacing his pack in his room, he took out the sword, and making sure to keep the cloth wrapped around the end, took it to his father, who was sitting in a chair in the kitchen, tending to the cooking-fire. Making sure to make his presence known, he set it down on the table audibly. His father turned around, an eyebrow raised.

“Where did you get that, son?” he asked, noticing the sword on the table.

“I found it in the forest, if you must know. Caught in a tree,” Cysagh replied.

“It’s a beauty,” responded his father, who was a blacksmith at the forge in central Épyren. “I can tell you though, I didn’t make this, and I don’t think any other human did. This was made by the master smiths of the elves. They’re the only ones who have gems like this at their disposal.”

“Elves?” asked Cysagh, amazed at his fortune. “Why would one of their swords be here? It can’t have floated; it’s too heavy!”

“That,” replied his father finally, “is the question. I doubt that two people in the surrounding thirty leagues will have ever seen a real life elf before. And to have one of their weapons in our forest seems a bit strange. Very strange. Son, do you mind if I take this to the forge tomorrow to see if it truly is elven, or if it’s some fake made by one of the apprentices to make some gossip.”

“How will you test it?” exclaimed Cysagh, alarmed. “Don’t damage it! If it’s real, we could sell it for a lot of money!”

“You think too much about money son. You’ll realise that it isn’t everything soon. And don’t worry, if it was made in the forges of Ab-Montr, it will be protected against hammer blows and superficial damage. If it isn’t, then I guess it will crumple, but that’s for the best; it’d be worthless anyway.”

“OK, you can have it,” said Cysagh, after thinking about it for a long minute. He handed the cloth over to his father, who wrapped the blade in it again.

Cysagh walked away, into his parents’ room, where there was a small shelf. He scoured it for something interesting, before coming across a scroll called ‘Elves: The Enemy?’. Taking it out carefully by its wooden end, he despaired at the length of it and the minuteness of the spindly writing used to copy it out. Nevertheless, he returned to his room with it, and quenching his thirst for information, he began to read.

Two hours passed, and Cysagh was still reading, albeit more slowly. He had read of the elves and their secretive nature, their homeland in and around Ab-Montr, their genius with making things out of natural sources, and the formidable nature in battle. Just as he began to read about a new section on the layout of an elven home, however, a great wave of tiredness began to wash over him, and his eyelids battled to stay closed. Eventually, he let his body have its way, and with one deep breath, fell deep asleep, thoughts and ideas whizzing around in his head.

* * *

Cysagh awoke the next morning to find that his mother and father had already left to go to their workplaces, and his father had taken the sword with him. Cursing himself for not waking up earlier, he quickly pulled on some clothes, and then briskly walked down to the mill, where Paleum was waiting expectantly for him.

“Somebody slept in,” he teased, although not nastily.

“Yeah... let’s not talk about it,” replied Cysagh. “So what are we doing today?”

“I’m watering the new crop. You’re not doing anything.”

“What do you mean ‘not doing anything’?”

“I mean what I say. A woman came in looking for you earlier.  A bit taller than you, brown hair. She asked the boss if she could take you off of his hands for a day. The boss said yes, of course. He never turns a lady down. So you’re to meet her at the tavern.”

“Now?” asked Cysagh, knowing full well who Paleum was talking about.

“Yes, now, you blockhead! Go! Don’t keep her waiting!”

Paleum shooed him away, at which Cysagh shrugged his shoulders and walked off, navigating the street down to the Ram’s Rump. He opened the door, and then looked around hurriedly for the woman. Not able to see her, he went and sat down at a table in wait.

After about ten minutes, the woman walked in through the door, and immediately went and sat down opposite Cysagh.

“It was Perioc, wasn’t it?” he asked, out of courtesy more than anything.

“That’s right. But now to the point. I wasn’t going to tell you anything about my mission, but now you’ve become directly involved, so I guess I have to,” she replied, with an air of impatience about her.

“Directly involved?” asked Cysagh, puzzled. “What are you talking about? I’ve just been at the mill, and yesterday, I was in the forest. Unless...”
“Yes,” she said, seeing the look of comprehension on Cysagh’s face. “That sword that you found... it is one of the most important things in the land at the moment. It is elven, in case you didn’t know, and that is the elven monarchy’s sword of succession. The situation is as follows. The queen of the elves, Nagoria, is ill. This illness is possibly life threatening, and in the event of her dying, her eldest child will take over. However, she must officially name him as her heir before he can take the throne. If she dies without an official heir, then pretty much anybody could claim that it was their right to ascend.”

She broke off, her eyes suddenly filled with the look of somebody who has the knowledge of trouble in the future.

“The last time that a monarch didn’t declare an official heir, the lord of every elven hall claimed the throne as their own, and the argument wasn’t settled. A civil war broke out, and it had repercussions across the entirety of the land. Hundreds of elven halls were destroyed, leaving only the six most powerful, who resolved the conflict by holding a meeting to decide on a new monarch. They chose and the war ended, but the fear is still there in every elf’s mind about what might happen if the current queen died without naming an heir. The armies would wipe each other out, and I daresay numerous other species would be affected as well.”

“But,” interrupted Cysagh. “If the queen needs to name an heir, why did I find the sword all the way over here in Ab-Forteyna?”

“That’s a bit more difficult to answer,” replied Perioc, frowning. “But there is one theory that I have, and I think it’s likely that it’s the right one. There are six elven halls, all of them powerful in their own right. However, one of them, Hall Denarius is slightly more powerful than the others. They have not held the monarchy for over seven hundred years.”

Seeing the puzzled look on Cysagh’s face, she explained, “When an elven child comes of age, they must declare allegiance to one of the halls. It doesn’t really matter which one they choose, it’s not a real problem. Families can have all of their members in different halls sometimes. But anyway. Hall Denarius hasn’t had the monarchy for seven hundred years, for reasons of hostility and seclusion. I think that they stole the sword, and hid it somewhere that the elves would never find it, namely, in your Ab-Forteyna. They would welcome a civil war, because they would win and a member of their hall would become the monarch.”

“But that’s crazy!” replied Cysagh. “If they wiped out the other halls, then they wouldn’t have anything to rule over!”

“I know. But they would still have the spirit of the halls, and their children could opt to join them, or even form new ones, however rare that may occur. They would also control the elves’ wealth and their land. It wouldn’t be such a frightful concept if Hall Denarius hadn’t declared themselves hostile to all other races at their formation millennia ago, though. That’s why I was sent to sort out the mess; take the sword back to the elves, and stop this nonsense. So, just hand over the sword, and I’ll leave, and you can forget about me all over again.”

Cysagh stared at her face, and marvelled at her apparent experience. His initial thoughts were pretty much confirmed, she couldn’t have been more than three years older than himself, and yet she was still sent on this mission. But he couldn’t forget about her again. Besides, the thought of the quest excited him beyond anything that he had ever experienced before.

“I don’t have it at the moment,” he said, finally. “But... I know who does, and I’ll lead you to them. On one condition, though.”

Perioc nodded, frowning slightly.

“If I lead you to this sword, you have to promise... you have to promise to let me come as well,” he finished.

“What?” exclaimed Perioc. “Let you come along? Absolutely not! You... you... you’re fifteen! You’re a human! And you don’t know how to fight! Besides, you’d just slow me down. And what would you say to your parents?”

Cysagh could tell that he had caught her off guard.

“I’m fifteen, yes. But you can’t be more than twenty,” he said calmly. “And why would I need to know how to fight? The journey shouldn’t be that perilous; there’s no war at the moment. I could tell my parents that I had secured an apprenticeship, and that I’m leaving for that. You could do with the company as well.”

Perioc looked perplexed. She sighed, and said nothing for a short while. After thinking, she nodded her head.

“I’ll consider it. But you’ve got to get me the sword first. If you do that without anything going wrong, then yes. You can come with me. But you have to promise that you won’t get in the way!”

“Me?” exclaimed Cysagh. “Get in the way? I think not. Now wait here; I’ll go and get the sword.”

“What? How can you get it so easily? Oh, damn it. Don’t answer that, just retrieve it for me.”

With a nod, Cysagh flitted out of the door, and ran as fast as he could to the forge where he knew his father would be working.

He pushed open the door, and was hit with a wave of heat that was like nothing else. It was very dark inside, the only light coming from the furnace and the molten metal being poured into moulds. He looked around quickly, before seeing his father at the anvil, hammering out a new metal arrowhead. His father looked up when Cysagh wandered over.

“What do you want, son?” he asked, sweat pouring down his face.

“That sword that I gave you... have you tested it yet?” replied Cysagh.

“Sure have. And you’ll never guess what? It’s actually elven, son! It was made in the elves’ famous forges! Imagine my excitement!”

“Where is it now?”

“Over by the furnace. I can’t wait to see the price that those merchants give for this. Or should we keep it as a keepsake? Hmm...”

“Can I take it? It’s just... I... err... think I’ve found the scabbard.”

“It has a matching scabbard! Oh my, this is... this is wonderful! Yes, take the sword, see if it fits. If it does, then we could really be in the money!”

Cysagh walked off, picking up the sword that was next to the huge furnace, and leaving his father to his mumblings, exited the shop, holding the sword by the hilt and the cloth scrap tied around the blade.

Walking back down the street, people gave him strange looks, but he ignored them. Finally getting back to the Ram’s Rump, Cysagh poked his head round the door, and once getting the attention of Perioc, mouthed ‘got it’ to her. She immediately stood up, and stalked out of the tavern.

When she was outside, she took the sword from Cysagh, and looked at it with a smile on her face.

“Thank the gods that I got this back. If I hadn’t, then who knows what would have happened. Thank you for your assistance in finding this! Pardon my rudeness, but I never asked your name?”

“Cysagh,” he replied. “And it was my pleasure. Now please, please can I join you on your journey to Ab-Montr? If not only so I can meet the elves and learn about their culture?”

Perioc’s face softened from the hard frown it had worn earlier. She gave a bright smile, and then nodded her head.

“I would be honoured, Cysagh,” she said, “if you would accompany me on my quest to the elven land. Just make sure your parents are all right about you leaving. If all goes well, then we will leave at dawn in three days. I will be waiting for you on the village’s eastern border. If you aren’t there, I will presume that you couldn’t come, and will leave without you. Now prepare your things, and I will see you then.”

Placing her left hand over her chest, she smiled once again, then walked off into one of the backstreets of Épyren, no doubt on her way out of the village to make some preparations.

Grinning with what he had just achieved, and what was about to happen to him, Cysagh turned on his heels and rushed back to the mill, determined to do some work before the day was out.