The Shadow's Spear

10 Ammiel

Late that night, the village gathered by family in a large circle to hear their druid speak. All ears perked, and parents shushed their children. Each festival had this time, where the old legends passed from one generation to the next.

Slippyo told a short tale which involved many names and families. He gained cheers from their descendants. Generations ago during a famine in Goodland, a brave hero killed an enormous lion with a knife in each hand and traded the pelt for food. The Chaban interrupted the tale constantly with questions and drunken cheers, but Pelan nodded off more than once, only to be jolted to life by comments of like, “Did you hear that? That was my great great great grandfather!”

The tale ended, and Pelan noticed those red dots again, watching from the distance. But in the circle, surrounded by the child-folk, no fear entered him, only a vague curiosity at how long they had been watching. Then he noticed: They were nearest Anoran, who sat near the outside of the circle. No doubt about it, they were watching him. Not moving, just watching, as though some force held them back.

Termon stood up. He spoke with the slur of alcohol. “My benefactors! Never have I received such a welcome as this night. I wish to repay you ! As such, tonight I present to you my greatest song, an ancient and true legend, the ballad of Ammiel.”

The village fell silent, and the dark forms moved closer. Pelan was about to shout a warning, but Termon started to sing. In song, his voice became clear and loud, and the eyes vanished into the night.

In days long ago, when darkness was spreading,

Hope was fast fading, and light quickly waning,

When men hid in fear in cities of stone,

When all wars were losing and evil roamed.

 

He fell from the sky like a star to the earth,

Ammiel, of Falas by birth,

He bore a bright burning fire,

came for the need was dire.

 

His skin shone gold in the the afternoon sun,

Fair-skinned and radiant he had come,

Freedom for Kanel to obtain,

Lest all in darkness forever remain.

 

Armies fled fast at the sound of his name,

Back to caverns from where they came,

Yet the dark hordes fought bitterly hard,

For had hope come to a land once marred.

 

Soon one arose who would serve as a foe

To rally dark back in a dreadful woe.

His name was Rhuter, demon king called death,

The earth defiled at the touch of his breath.

 

Light faded swiftly,

Now stifled by shadow.

Good almost fell.

Darkness nigh-prevailed.

 

But one final day with the sun gleaming bright,

When evil slept, unprepared to fight,

Ammiel rode strong with ten thousand men:

One last charge into evil’s dark glen.

 

The battle was fierce, all in madness awhile,

When arose from the chaos one so vile

That under the shade of his wing,

Grass withered in despair that clinged.

 

Ammiel leapt from his horse and his own wings unfurled.

Body and sword at Rhuter he hurled,

And on from that moment for the battle to rule,

In the ground and the air did the generals duel.

 

For three endless hours he waged his attack,

Ammiel’s white sword against Rhuter’s black.

They clashed and collided, but soon ill luck struck.

And Ammiel, stabbed, fell to the earth.

 

In pride, Rhuter faltered; the hero struck true.

He drove his sword in evil’s heart through,

The darkness cried and melted to naught.

The battle was won, but at such a cost.

 

Ammiel’s wound his death did ensure,

Too cursed to be healed, too evil to cure.

That starlit night, he passed from Kanel,

Like the sun going dark in the day, he fell.

 

Darkness brewed still under mountain and hill,

Great yet in strength and in malice more still.

But never again in those long, trying days,

Did Ammiel’s gift, hope, leave their ways.

Those last words, “hope, leave their ways,” crashed like boulders into the cool, dark night. Below spinning heavens and a bright, waning moon, only the crackling fire dared compete with the last note.

Then all at once, the Chaban cheered. A score of them lifted Termon to their shoulders and carried him six times around the village. The celebration proceeded nearly till the sun’s first rays. The villagers demanded multiple performances, and Termon’s song became a favorite for years to come.

Anoran knew the tale, and it played the deadened strings of his heart. As a child, it had been his favorite tale, once upon a time.

Anoran resigned himself to a sleepless night. His wounds ached terribly, but he joined the celebration.

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