A Hymn of Blades

The booming sound of hoofs storming across the muddied plains made Erend aware of his dire situation. Cavalry was moving toward him, and the army around him, with a frightening speed. The advance of the cavalry could barely be heard over the heavy onset of rain and thunder, yet as it neared him, it seemed to drown out all other impossibly loud sounds.

“Ugh, again!” he said aloud on impulse. “Why does this keep happening to me?!”

“Gone a bit crazy, have ya?” answered a well armored man standing a pace ahead of him. Apart from the well armored man, all other men stood to his sides and back.

The well armored man turned to face Erend, he had a rough face with a large scar that ran from his temple, through his eye, and down to his left cheek. It was obvious he was blind on that eye, since the socket was practically empty. His armor would have been shining if even a sliver of the sun could break through the god forsaken rainclouds above them. As the man eyed Erend his eyes widened for a moment, he spat on the ground and begrudgingly complained, “Ah they send 'em to us too young, too young I say...” he shook his head in resignation. “Don’t worry kid. This’ll be over in a jiffy. Just make sure to stand strong and to point your pike toward the enemy.”

Erend absentmindedly nodded and looked around, he’d had this dream many times already. It had plagued him ever since his mother disappeared. She’d been gone a bit more than three and a half years now. He missed her dearly. His father had many strengths, but just as many weaknesses, his mother used to cover for those.

Surrounding him stood people wearing the same colors as him. Some were stalwart, ready to meet their fate, but most were anxiously shifting in place, making hand signs and praying to the mother, or some other god. The stench of urine became more apparent as the cacophony of hoofs and thunder drew closer.

“This can’t be, it just can’t…” muttered a man next to him.

The dream looked the same as always, the enemy was charging a poorly put together army as they stood frozen, wallowing in self-pity and despair. It always ended with him waking up with a jolt, just before the collision.

Without thinking, Erend tugged on the leather straps of his breastplate, making sure it was securely tightened, a move that felt strangely practiced, despite his lacking experience. After finding his bearings, he felt oddly at ease in this place. He gripped his pike, knuckles whitening. The wood felt cool and rough in his hands, yet comforting.

He tried his best to remember how the he and the army had gotten here. He could recall, somehow, that the cavalry had suddenly crested a hilltop as Erend was marching with the army. They were taken by surprise, but were well equipped for the confrontation. The rainfall had made for some hellish marching, and would surely make for some hellish charging, for the cavalry.

The plains were soggy from the rain, and with all the heavy equipment on them, the armies left only muddied devastation in their wake, it would take months before anything could grow on these plains again.

It won’t be long until they reach us now.

As if in confirmation to his thoughts, the ground started vibrating beneath him, slowly rising to a quake.

The well armored man in front raised a hand. “PIKES AT THE READY!” he yelled with authority.

The change was sudden, the army moved with practiced autonomy. Erend was a beat late in adapting, a slight for which he received a disgruntled shove from behind.

“Fucking move it, rookie,” someone venomously spat.

Erend copied the movements of the people in his line as he took two steps forward. When he reached the others again, he placed his left foot one step ahead of the other.

Standing in the front, he could see the cavalry clearly, they were only a hundred meters away now. The quaking of the earth started to feel like something akin to a natural disaster, though Erend instinctively knew that the initial clash would probably have a more devastating consequence than one.

“BRACE!” screamed the man in front as he drew his sword, pointing it toward the approaching horde. It was a beautiful sword, engraved with letters of some long-forgotten language.

Just like the sword of the hero in some fairytale.

Once again Erend mimicked the movements of his compatriots, he bent his front knee slightly and placed the bottom of his pike shaft against the ground, further supporting it against his backmost foot. And he braced.

The thundering hoofs drowned out all other sounds of the world.

A bolt of lightning suddenly streaked across the sky, violently striking the ground somewhere off in the distance. The crack of it sounded out across the battlefield, just as the armies collided.

Erend gripped his pike as hard as he could, clenching his jaw and closing his eyes, he couldn’t bear to watch the charge, lest his knees give out in response to his fear. He did his best to stand strong, just as the commanding officer had said.

All of a sudden he felt a force – unlike anything he had ever felt – impact his pike.

What?

A sickening crunch sounded out. Erend opened his eyes. His pike had splintered from the impact, leaving him stiffly grasping nothing more than an unusually straight stick. A man was laid out, sprawling by his feet. He was skewered by the now severed pike.

Erend looked at the man with unfamiliar apathy. It didn’t feel real, nothing about this did. The man was wheezing, his blood pooling on the ground beneath him, he was clutching at the pike’s shaft, seemingly trying to make sense of it all – just like Erend. His haggard breath felt loud enough to Erend that it overshadowed the chaotic sounds of the battlefield. They locked eyes, and all the chaos around them seemed to fade out. His eyes looked cloudy, unfocused. The wounded man stretched out a hand, his body still squirming in the now substantial puddle of blood. His lips quivered.

He's trying to say something.

Erend leaned in closer to hear the man’s dying words. The reaching hand came to a halt, the quivering of his lips stopped, the reaching hand fell down limp. He was dead, Erend had killed him.

Erend snapped back to reality. He’d just killed that man. However, he understood that he was on a battlefield. Death was as common here as fighting, and he knew he'd see more of both.

Why am I not waking up?

Panicking, he checked his surroundings to see how his fellows had fared, only to be faced with the cold reality of things. Bodies from both sides littered the plains, the incomparable thundering of hooves hand been replaced by the neighing of wounded horses and dying screams of men. Many lay, thrashing in the mud, wrestling an enemy.

All the colors the forces had been wearing had been replaced by the same shit colored brown and bloody red. He couldn't discern who among the fighting soldiers were friend or foe.

In the middle of it all, Erend saw another standing soldier.

The muttering one from before!

Erend shouted, “You there! Are you okay? We need to get a move on and regroup with the remaining forces.”

The man jolted at his shout; he’d somehow heard it despite the chaos of the battlefield. He turned to look at Erend.

“I’m alright! Thank the moth-” he was cut off as a straggling cavalry soldier rammed into him with frightening speed, sending him flying from the impact.

The cavalry soldiers lance just about grazed Erends chest, slightly denting his breastplate and shoving him backward.

As he fell, Erend hopelessly exclaimed: “What the fu…” the muddy impact cut him off. He started crawling the other direction until his feet found solid ground again, he broke out into a sprint.

What the fuck is this?! I need to get out, need to wake up. What if I die here?!

As a myriad of thoughts darted around in his head, he started scouring the battlefield for something he could use, anything. With a horse he could try and escape any pursuers, but the only ones with no riders were wounded, unable to gallop.

He decided then; a weapon of some sort would be best.

Another flash and crackle of lightning streaked across the sky. A sliver of light reflected on something shiny, buried under a mound of dirt. He moved closer, hoping whatever the light reflected off of was a usable weapon.

Reaching the spot, he saw that the source of reflection was none other than the commanding officer from before. He was buried, trampled.

Erend started digging to free the man but quickly realized that he was already dead. Instead, he started to feel around for the man’s arms. As he had hoped, he found that the officer was still clutching his sword. Erend gently took the weapon, it wasn’t that hard to relieve a dead man of his possessions after all.

He couldn’t help but feel bad over stealing from the dead, and so he uncovered as much of the man’s face as he could in the challenging circumstances.

“O mother, grant thy worshipper a place among your many worthy…” Erend prayed silently.

When he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Erend stood up, hoping to see a friendly soldier approaching him. To his dismay, what approached him was an enemy knight.

The soldier wore a full set of armor, and on top of it draped a once sky-blue tabard – now colored with local blood and mud. He held a sword and shield combination and was – from the looks of it – a skilled warrior.

The knight moved with grace as he squared up against Erend, his shield raised, covering his torso and lower face. He held his sword with its blade resting against the side of his shield, ready to thrust at a moment’s notice.

Erend tried his best to mimic the soldier’s footwork. He held the beautiful sword in the best battle-ready stance he knew – which was basically nothing more than a stiff two-handed grip.

Erend had never considered himself a religious person, yet when he faced the swordsman he found himself praying for the second time in a short span time, “Mother, grant me the strength…”

The swordsman suddenly struck out; his stab quick like a viper.

Erend swung his sword to defend himself – and somehow managed to alter the stabs trajectory to where it only grazed his shoulder. The outcome was a lot better than being ran through by the sword, but it still hurt like hell.

“Shit!” he exclaimed as he staggered backward.

Blood poured from the open wound and Erend winced at the pain. He did his best to change up the momentum. He slashed at the knight with his sword.

The attempt was futile, as the swordsman effortlessly used his shield to receive the blow. He pulled back his deflected sword as he stepped inside Erends range with practiced grace and tackled him with the shield. A nasty crunch sounded out as the shield impacted Erends face and nose.

Erend hadn’t been ready for the sudden shift in momentum. He fell down, blood spurting from his nose, somehow still clutching the ornate sword. Before he could find his bearings though, he felt a sudden pain. It felt much more vivid than before. He glanced down to his chest and saw how the knight’s sword had effortlessly penetrated his breastplate. He'd been stabbed.

The swordsman drew out the sword and wiped it clean of blood against his tabard before he silently moved on across the battlefield. Leaving Erend behind, gasping for breath.

***

Erend woke up with a jolt, gasping and clutching at his chest. He ran his hands over his body, checking himself for wounds, thankfully he could feel no such thing.

“The nightmare, again… Gods, this one was much worse…” he said to himself, shuddering.

He grabbed the jug of water on his bedside table and drank a few mouthfuls to calm himself.

Outside he could hear the chirping of birds. The sun would rise in a few minutes, he surmised.

Not much point in lazing about, he thought and got up from bed.

He wasted no time as he moved through the dark room with practiced precision, dodging his chair, and a few wooden figures on the floor, he remembered fondly how he’d carved them together with his father when he was younger. His little sister, Elle, adored the figures, but never developed a habit of putting them back where she found them.

He opened the shutters, letting in the last rays of moonlight and got dressed in a rough wool shirt and a pair of dark trousers. He looked at himself in his mirror. He was of medium height, just a bit shorter than 180 centimeters. His hair was the darkest blonde one could imagine, with streaks of ash highlighting it, it draped all the way down to his neck. His face was sharp and slender, he'd gotten that from his mother. From his father he'd gotten his bushy eyebrows and piercing eyes. He ran a hand over his baby smooth chin.

Man I wish I could grow a beard like dad...

As Erend left his room he was immediately greeted by the smell of fresh coffee and biscuits.

Dad’s up early as usual.

One of the more worn-out wooden floorboards let out a loud moan as he stepped on it.

“Morning,” he heard coming from the kitchen.

“Morning pops, you’re up early.”

“The world waits for no one, certainly not an old man like me,” Thomas said with a soft smile, that stood in contrast to his otherwise rough appearance. “Coffee?”

“I’d love some,” Erend said, returning the smile.

Erend watched Thomas pour his coffee. By all accounts his father was a peculiar man. He was of large stature, standing tall at almost two meters, muscular with bushy eyebrows, dark hair and a bushier beard. He kind of looked like how you'd expect a barbarian to look. Yet, despite his size he always acted with care, each move delicate, every word thought out.

Thomas held out a steaming cup toward Erend, who in turn, gladly accepted it.

“So, working on anything fun at the moment?” Erend asked.

“Same old. Horseshoes and tools mostly. Though the city lord’s been inquiring about a commission,” Thomas said as he sat down facing Erend.

“Oh? What for?”

Erend gripped his cup with both hands. It felt warm, pleasant.

“A fancy sword, for ceremonies and such. At least I assume so, not much use in a sword being fancy if it’s only going to be used for killing,” Thomas said with a scowl. “And you? How’s school been?”

Erend blew on his coffee before taking a sip. “Everyone’s all antsy now that the awakening is getting closer.”

“Understandable. How are you feeling? Nervous?”

“Nah. Don’t got much to worry about. I’ll most likely be offered a blacksmith class anyway. Then we can make things together again, like when I was young,” Erend said with a smile.

“I’d like that very much, though you shouldn’t assume you’ll be offered to become a blacksmith. The awakening is a fickle thing. Much can alter your path.”

Weird, I thought he'd be happy.

“I guess I could be offered something more in line with mom's background. Though I doubt it, with you being a 'renown' blacksmith and all.” Bringing up his mother was always a gamble, yet this morning his father didn’t seem to mind.

“Renown in this part of Exodus, sure. Best horseshoes in town!” Thomas said proudly. “But that's no guarantee is all I'm saying,” Thomas answered as he expertly avoided to speak of Erend’s mother.

“Sure, I'll keep that in mind.”

“Good. Alright then. I’ll have to go wake Elle so she isn’t late for daycare. Don’t forget to eat before heading out,” Thomas said and got up. The chair let out a thankful creak beneath him.

“Alright pops. See you tonight.”

“Have a good day at school. And give my regards to Charles and his parents.”

Erend ate a biscuit with jam as he finished his coffee. After breakfast he washed his face, put on a pair of boots, a bag and grabbed his coat.

Erend walked over the cobbled street as he headed to the local bakery. The town had awoken, everywhere he turned the streets were bustling with activity. The larger streets were lined with queues of horse drawn carriages, taking the nobles and rich folk to wherever they needed to be. A paperboy tirelessly shouted about some week old news in a desperate attempt to advertise his ware, but was drowned out by the rumbling sounds of the city.

Erend dodged a group of playing children, no doubt on their way to elementary school.

He saw the telltale sign of the bakery; a miscolored pretzel framing the initials H and B, short for Hoven Bakery. Under the sign stood Charles, Erends best friend for as long as he could remember.

Charles was a scrawny kid, especially considering the fact that he was the baker’s son. He had unruly auburn hair, a freckled face and a sharp nose.

“Mornin’,” said Charles with a nonchalant wave as he stepped toward Erend.

“Mornin’, pops says to give his regards.”

“As always. Did you have time to eat or do you want me to sneak something out? I think we’ve got time,” Charles asked and gestured toward the bakery.

“Nah, I’m good, let’s just head out. Thanks though, appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no worries... By the way, have you had a chance to work on the assignment for magical theory?” Charles asked, trying to sound as casual about it as possible.

Instantly seeing through his friend, Erend responded: “Yup, do you need to copy it?”

“Yes please.”

“… Is that why you offered to fetch me something to eat?” Erend asked as he pulled the assignment out of his bag.

Charles put on the most hurt face he could manage as he responded in jest, “How could you ever think I’d do such a thing?! Like some sort of cold manipulator.”

“Yeah, yeah. Here you go,” Erend said as he handed his notes to Charles.

Charles recieved the notes with both hands, his face turned down and waist slightly bent to a bow, “Much obliged milord.”

They walked in silence for a bit, as Charles scribbled down his own version of the notes. Erend coulnd’t help but marvel at the beauty of the city as they trudged along the streets. The houses were all cozy and made of the same cobbled stone as the streets. The fauna local to this plane covered the walls with greenery and flowers, making for quite the sight. The people were all happy and well fed. Most had migrated to Exodus from Genesis years ago. The rulers here were just, and the plane had opportunities aplenty, as always on a colony plane.

“Here you go,” said Charles as he handed the notes back to Erend.

“You’re welcome.”

“Yeah, yeah… Have you given any thought to the awakening yet? Man, I hope my parents don’t expect me to go with a baker class. Just look at dad, he never gets to sleep in, like really, never.”

“At least it’d be safe. No journeying to another plane unless you’d want to.”

“Well, sure. But if staying here all my life is the alternative, I don’t think I’d mind the adventure... Would you really feel content living as a smith for all of your life? Just hammering away, making boring tools and what not?” Charles asked, staring off into the distance.

“I guess I haven’t really thought of it like that. I think it would be great to work with dad, but never leaving Exodus... I don’t know about that. Anyhow, I don’t think my father would be thrilled if I stepped on the warrior’s path. He’s not much for violence,” Erend replied.

“I guess, but your mother used to be a warrior of some kind, right?”

“Well yeah, at least that’s what dad said.”

“Heard anything about her lately?”

“Nah, dad’s a mute when it comes to her. Tried a little this morning, just dodged the question as usual,” Erend said as he gave an innocent rock a kick, it skittered across the street.

“Maybe you should just straight up as him? I mean, you’ll be grown up soon, awakened and all that. Feels like you deserve to be in know. You know?”

“You know what? You’re right. I’ll ask him tonight. Dad always says it’s a man’s honor to wear his heart on his sleeve.”

“So, he’s basically proud of being a shit liar then?” Charles countered.

“Something like that. At least when it comes to things other than mom,” Erend said with a smile.

The large school building towered up before them. Its stone surface was sporadically covered by green vines, like most houses in the city. It was a large building, with two floors and four large towers in each of its corners, the teachers’ quarters.

“What’s your first class?” asked Erend, as they neared the school gates.

“I’ve got mathematics, then magi theory. You?”

“Magi theory, then history. See you lunch?”

“Of course. Later!” Charles said and headed toward the eastern wing with a wave.

Erend took a breath as he steeled himself for the most boring class of the curriculum.