Man.  Some days are harder than others.  Chapter 8 is done.

I am a bundle of steroid induced emotions today, spawned by a several large and small things.

• A friend that is in trouble that I will help bail out of it in several ways.
• I heard Christian Kane’s cover of “Fast Car” and was reminded of some really rough days in my past.
• I had to write a rough chapter, about the aftermath of a character death.
• Some work folks had some rough things happen to them, and I listened to it.

And then, I watched Dragon Age Redemption, a web series by Felicia Day, to cheer me up.  It was a sad affair, with a mixed emotional ending.  It was absolutely brilliant.

She had this great final quote, that I wanted to use as my quote for Chapter 9: The Long Road.  I figured I shouldn’t without asking.  So, I complimented her series and the quote on Twitter.  And she replied!

She said she liked it also.  I asked if I could use it. And she said that I could.  So, I have had my first conversation with Felicia Day.  Now I am going to write like the wind. Maybe someday, she’ll read my novel.  One can hope.

Anyway, fanboy moment over.  Here is Chapter 8 and I am off to Chapter 9.

Chapter 8: Blood and Pain

“If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.”

–          Niccolo Machiavelli

My father is dying, stabbed by his own son.

I watched my father bleed, trying to believe it.  An eternity passed, and then I was pulling myself across the floor, wound and all, until I was close enough to him to see his eyes.  They were not quite blank, and were watching something that was moving around in front of him.

“Father, you will be alright. Invictus can heal.  It will be alright.”

My voice began to fill with rage and fear, as I called out to Vic across the room.

“Vic, Father needs healing, now!  Vic!  Get your ass up here and heal my father!  Viiiiiiiiiiiic!”

Invictus was struggling to stand, and covered in blood.  As he stood and started running to father, he slipped on the bloody floor and went down again.  I heard a cracking sound as his knee hit the stone, but I did not care.  This one thought consumed me.

My father is dying, stabbed by his own son.

Still, I staggered to my feet, feeling my stab wound ebbing blood down my leg.  The pain was intense, but I had to go help Vic.  I got down one step, then two, and then my leg went out from under me as I too slipped on the blood.   Balor, of the Guard, ran to help me up, but I shoved him off.

“Help Vic!  He must heal father!”

He quickly ran over to help Vic, his heavy boots proof against the blood.  If I lived through this, I would get me a pair of this boots, for certain.  This sliding on a pool of my enemy’s bodily fluid was no fun at all.  I mean, why didn’t Vic and I have those boots?  My family paid for those boots, I should have a pair as well…

My father is dying, stabbed by his own son.

The thought once again demanded time in my mind, removing the ridiculous thoughts of the boots.  I turned to move towards father, but could only move enough to come my elbows and watch as my friend Invictus kneeled over father, wincing from the pain in his knee.  He began the chanting he had done over me to thread the skin together that the knife tore open.

I saw my father turn to me, then.  He looked at me with eyes that burned low, but still strong.

Father would be healed.  Vic was going to save him.  As I convinced myself that this was true, I heard his voice over the wizard’s chanting.  It was faint, yet strong enough that I heard it clearly over this short distance. I crawled up closer, pulling up one leg beneath me to steady myself.

“Damon, my son.”

“I am here, Father.”

“Your brother is…”

He coughed up blood and I waited for him to continue.  Vic was sweating and working his spell.  The wound in his stomach was healing, but there was a lot of blood.  I wanted to yell, but I was afraid I would break Vic’s concentration and make him lose the spell.  And then Father would die.

“You brother is not evil.  Do not blame him.  Something…something has him.”

Another coughing fit over took him, but he composed himself and raised his right hand, still holding Pathfinder.  His knuckles were white, from loss of blood and the intense grip he had on the blade.  He began again.

“It is your time to shine, Damon.  Shine bright enough for me to see you from Great Kingdoms where I now go.

Shine, my son, Shine…”

His voice had trailed off as he grabbed my hand and put Pathfinder in to it.  As he let go, his hand hit the stone floor and lie still.  In concert, his last breath left his body and he lie still.  The chanting continued, but I knew.

Father is gone.

As that thought went through my head, I started to stand, completely ignoring that I was wounded.  I had to go get my brother.  I had to find the bastard that made him kill my father.  I yelled out to the cave, to no one in particular.

“I will find you!  I will make you pay for this!”

I think I made it to my feet before the world began spinning.  The last thing I remember was the clang of a sword hitting stone, hands upon me and a faint chanting of a language I should have understood.

*****

I was moving; I think on horseback.  Something warm was in front of me and I was pressed against it with all of my weight.  I felt a throbbing in my side and instinctively leaned back to reach over to it.  When I did, the warm body in front of me moved as well.  And then it spoke in a frantic voice that almost spooked the horse.

“Hold on, there!  You’re attached to me!  Don’t move so much.”

Vic.  My friend.

“Vic?  Why am I on a horse attached to you?”

“Because you passed out before I could heal your wound.  We had to leave, so I tied you to me so you wouldn’t fall of the horse.”

“Ah.  That makes sense.  Can we be unattached now?”

My mind began to put things together, as I slowly figured out what had gone on before I found on myself on horseback strapped to my friend. I remembered a cave, and wolfen and then men in black robes and lots of blood, getting stabbed and then…

“Father! Where is he?”

No one answered.  I looked around at all the riders and did not see him until I looked at the horse that Balor had in tow.  It carried my father’s limp body tied carefully to the back of his horse with a blanket over the top of him.

I stared at it for a long time.  Days, it seemed, but it was probably minutes.  I honestly don’t know how long.  The image will be burned in my memory for the rest of my days.

My father is dead.

That sunk in for a moment, leaving an empty place in my stomach that I could not fill.  I can’t remember a time when my father wasn’t available to me for counsel or to teach me a skill.  Or to reprimand me when I made an error.  He had been my conscience for all these years, and of everyone under him.  The men would be mourning him as well; they had bled for him.  Their friends, fathers and brothers had died for him. And now he was gone.

And I am in charge.  They will now look to me.  Can I possibly replace the man that my father was?

I felt a vibration on my hip as I thought those words and reached down to see Pathfinder moving ever so slowly in the sheath.  When I looked at it, the vibrations became more pronounced, almost frantic.  Without really thinking about it, my hand went to the handle.  I was overwhelmed with emotions immediately and let go.

Did the sword of my father have feelings?  I had heard of blades having a form of intelligence, imbued with the spirit of a favored animal that was nearing death to ease the loss of a friend.  It was even said that dark spirits would be put into weapons to serve some even darker master.  The demons of the north were the likely goal for this enchantment.  I had never seen such a blade, let alone held one in my life.

Even in a world as full of magic as mine, the Great Weapons as they were called were steeped in legend.  I knew father’s weapon was one of these, but he never really talked about its power.  He told me that when the time came, I would find out.  And now it seems I am.

The vibrations began again, this time much more frantic than before.  I tapped Vic on the shoulder to get his attentions.

“Can I ride my own horse now?  I really treasure our friendship, but I think I am done being attached to you, now.”

Invictus laughed and called the party to a stop.  As we slowed to a stop, I began loosening the ropes that held me to him.  By the time the horse had ceased moving, I was already sliding off the back.  I walked over to my horse and unstrapped him from Jom’s horse.  He had a look of deep sadness, like the rest of the men.  I mounted my horse and put my hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye.

“I miss him, also, Jom.  I wish I had been a little faster, perhaps…”

“Milord, you were wounded.  It was I that was too slow.  I was right there, and I didn’t stop it.  And than that brat hurled me down the stairs, and,” he paused for a moment and looked away.

“I know, Jom.  It is alright.  He is certainly a brat.  I know my brother, and he didn’t do this of his own accord.  Even father sensed it.”

Pathfinder began to insist that I grab him again by literally moving my hips so that the horse jogged a bit to the left way from Jom.”

“We will find him and the monster behind this.”  I turned to address the rest of the Guard. Grabbing the handle again, I was overwhelmed by the emotions pouring forth from the weapon.  For a moment, I grew dizzy and was in danger of falling off the horse.  I felt a hand on my shoulder, steadying me, and I regained my composure. Before anyone could speak, I opened my eyes and drew Pathfinder over my head.

“I swear to all of you, hear and now, we will find Marcos and release him from the spell that made him kill our father, your Lord.  We will also make this Dark Wizard pay dearly for his mistake.

No one loved my father more than this group before me, as you fought countless battles with him over the years.  This was my first time to see you all at work and I am proud to be among you.  I hope that, in time, I will earn the respect my father shared with you and that I will one day be worthy of the title Lord.

Follow me, as you did him, and with the guidance you shall give me, I swear to you I will become the man you need me to be to defeat this enemy of our land.

I swear by my father’s sword, the Great Weapon Pathfinder, that these deeds will be done.”

As I said those last words, the blade sent a surge of power through me and out to those that witnessed my words.  We all knew that my Oath had been heard and registered with the universe.

“Will the Red Guard accept this Oath with me, to pursue this enemy to the end?”

They all drew swords and raised them high.

“So say we all,” was the reply.  And the pulse happened again, going through them all back to Pathfinder.  The deal was sealed.

I looked back at Invictus, who had his staff held high in the air.  I shot him a smile and looked back at Jom with the same determined grin.  He returned it, as he no doubt had seen it on father a thousand time.  We were one in our mission.  It was time to go home and get ready for a battle.  But we had one more important task that must be done first.

Pathfinder seemed calm for the moment, so I put him to rest in his sheath.  I am not sure how I knew Pathfinder was a male, but I did.  There is mystery to this blade that I will have to uncover over time.  Perhaps my Master Annathon will know?  I will ask him when I get home.  Right now, to the matter at hand.

I rode up the front of the group, where Balor sat waiting on his horse.  He was a mixture of determination and pain, but he was still and patiently waiting for me to give an order.  And so I did.  I placed my hand on his shoulder and said softly to to group.

“Let’s go bury our Lord.”