CoreBB

This is the story that won the DAOC story contest a number of years ago. Its quite good. It took some doing, but I was able to track it down.

Sunrise

Written By: David R. Liu

It has been exactly one year since I first saw Rashara while purchasing supplies in Jordheim. She moved in the shadows, cloaked in black, her ruby locks framing green eyes that were always watching but never staring. In the tavern she sat in silence, and each week I noticed her resting on the same well-worn furs, waiting for something or someone. The practiced nature of her movements suggested a woman forty some years old, yet in the rare moments when her visage was visible, I saw the face of a much younger lady.

After several months of seeing her during my regular journeys from Uppland to Jordheim, I stepped into the tavern one evening and was surprised not to find Rashara waiting in her corner. I assumed the ale that guarded my belly against the biting winter cold had also caused me to enter the wrong establishment. When I turned around and stepped outside to check the sign above the door, a whisper pierced the frigid evening air.

"This way!" she said in a hushed voice, her eyes sparkling with an intensity that commanded my instant attention. We moved quickly to the side of the tavern, my better judgment urging caution but my intuition telling me that something of unusual significance was unfolding. Once we were well away from the wandering skalds and recently evicted drunken patrons of the tavern, she began her story in the misty moonlit night.

"Twenty years ago the royal family of Midgard was not consumed by the Black Death as history writes."

I raised an eyebrow in skepticism, as the Dark Week in which King Halfdan, Queen Legria, and their three sons all succumbed to disease had been an annual period of realm-wide mourning for as long as I could remember. She continued without the slightest waver in her voice, and I listened, the unusually quiet evening and her hushed tone creating a sense of urgency to her tale.

"The King and Queen were slain by one of their sons. That child's intent was to poison his mother, father, and two brothers under cover of disease, and to claim the throne as living heir to the realm."

"The royal healer Cirelle discovered the plot shortly after the King and Queen were poisoned, yet even she was powerless to stop the venom from completing its terrible task. While Cirelle did not know which of the children was responsible for the murderous deed, she was determined to prevent the death of the others. To ensure the survival of the innocent, she cast a permanent amnesia spell on all three sons. Cirelle sent them, devoid of past memories, away from the chaos and bloodshed created by the death of their parents to distant points scattered across Midgard."

I listened intently as the gentle but frigid midnight breeze stole the last bit of warmth from under my cloak. Rashara, however, seemed unfazed by the evening chill and continued.

"For the last several years the royal family has been searching for the two rightful heirs to the Midgard throne, and for the one that brought so much sorrow to our realm. I am Rashara, shadowblade of the royal family, and I have trained all of my life to accomplish this most important task that has been entrusted to me. I cannot do this alone. I have watched you for many weeks now and know that you are one of our realm's most highly skilled adventurers. Join me in searching for the three sons of Halfdan. Together I believe we can correct what was done twenty years ago, and reunite the rightful heirs of Midgard."

Before considering her request, I required more evidence that this stranger, however impressive, spoke the truth. As if in response to my unspoken skepticism, Rashara took a large golden ring from her left index finger and handed it to me. The royal family's signet was clearly visible in its exquisitely carved face. The ring itself was studded with fine rubies and radiated an unusual warmth. I returned her ring and began asking questions. "How will we find the three sons of Halfdan among the many thousands that inhabit our realm?"

Rashara replied with a patient voice. "After years of painstaking research, our scholars have recently discovered where Cirelle sent the three children. One son was sent to train with hunters in Raumarik. Another was brought to a monastery in the Jamtland Mountains. The last was raised by a merchant family living near the swamps of Vanern. We do not know if the caretakers are still living, or even if the princes themselves are still alive, but it is my sworn duty to find them."

"And once we find them, how will we know which son was the guilty one?" I asked.

Once again her reply came in a tone of measured confidence. "Lonahl, the nanny who raised each of the Halfdan's three sons as her own children, departed the family in sorrow and guilt twenty years ago but was found months ago living in seclusion in the Yggdra Forest. Though she is very old now, and blind as a mindworm in darkness, she claims to know which son of Halfdan was the only one who had the potential to commit such an atrocity. I have spoken with her, and she is confident that despite her blindness she can identify the guilty one once we bring the three sons to her."

Although I still had more questions than answers, I was eager to help Rashara with such a monumental task, and agreed to be her partner. We spent the next day in Jordheim equipping for our journey, and then set out for Raumarik.

Raumarik is an unforgiving wilderness of shattered ice, hills draped in snow, and barren frozen plains. We made steady progress towards the small camp of hunters in the northwest corner of Raumarik and avoided most of the savage creatures that populate the area. One dusk, however, we ventured too close to the lands of the drakulv and soon found ourselves in a battle for our lives against a drakulv protector who could clearly see much better in the falling night than we. I took brutal low after blow from our much stronger foe while Rashara slipped into unseen shadows, emerging with her dual blades firmly embedded into the drakulv's back. My weapon arm suffered several deep slashes in our battle, and Rashara dressed my wounds with strips cut from her own black velvet cloak. We continued our journey with resolve.

After several days, we arrived at the camp of hunters and told them of our quest. One hunter was quick to point out that a skilled member of their clan was indeed brought to them as a child by men claiming to be servants of Halfdan's family about two decades ago. This hunter came with no name or memories of his past, but was now known as Ronoth. Ronoth was initially hesitant to leave his brethren, but the next morning agreed to go with us, eager to learn of his uncertain past and to lay to rest the possibility that he was guilty of murdering his mother and father, however long ago.

As a party of three we left for the Jamtland Mountains. While the inhabitants of Jamtland were in general much less dangerous than those of Raumarik, the journey was more physically exhausting. After five long days and nights we arrived at a monastery-- in ruins. Nothing we could find in the old rubble gave us any hint of its fate or that of the son of Halfdan who was supposedly sent here twenty years earlier. The few intelligent races we met in the region had neither knowledge of nor interest in our mission, and after several days of exploring the lands surrounding the former monastery without success, we reluctantly decided to move on and search for the third Halfdan son.

The journey to the swamps of Vanern was enjoyable, though far longer than we expected. Ronoth proved to be quite a skilled hunter, and together we made many a fine meal during our trek south. We stopped to resupply in Gna Faste and gathered valuable information from the travelers there about a family of traders who had managed to live peacefully among the hagbui tribes in the northwest corner of the swamps. This merchant family apparently had raised an orphan. Our journey through Vanern was fraught with danger as forest spiders, jotuns, and their terrible enslaved orm pets attacked us incessantly. We would have perished were it not for the courage and skill of my partners. Fighting alongside Rashara and Ronoth in battle was like being immersed in the most beautiful dance of swords, spears, and arrows. The broken and bloody results of our battles through the swamps were less exalted, but crucial to our survival.

Twelve days after leaving the Jamtland Mountains, we finally crested a hill overlooking the hagbui encampment. A family of Norse traders lived in a small but well-appointed lodge on the north side of the hagbui encampment. We were welcomed as guests to their home. Upon explaining our quest and recounting our journeys, a young warrior now known as Jaerick rose from among his family and revealed that the circumstances of his arrival in Vanern indeed fit our description. He joined our party, anxious to become reacquainted with his newfound brother and eager to learn more of his true family.

While we had not been successful in finding all three sons of Halfdan, Rashara decided that we should visit the former nanny Lonahl regardless. Lonahl would either identify Ronoth or Jaerick as the murderous son of Halfdan, or we would find that both Ronoth and Jaerick are the good sons of Halfdan, and the rightful heirs to the Midgard throne. I of course preferred the latter outcome, as the thought of sharing my camp with a murderer, even one who has no memory of his vile actions twenty years ago, turned my stomach. A palpable tension developed during our long journey to Yggdra, as Ronoth and Jaerick pondered their past and futures while Rashara spurred our journey onward with her infectious persistence.

The Yggdra forest greeted our party with howling, biting winds and menacing creatures of the frozen plains. During the first night in Yggdra, progress slowed to a painful grind as the densest part of the forest stole all but the tiniest sliver of moonlight in winds that no torch could withstand. Still, Rashara lead our party accurately to Lonahl's small cabin deep in the heart of the forest. As I began to contemplate how an elderly blind woman could possibly survive in the harsh environment of the Yggdra forest, Rashara motioned for me to join her in privacy beside Lonahl's home, where she presented her plan to me.

"

ou will stand outside the cabin with Ronoth and Jaerick. Since I have met Lonahl previously, I will greet her and explain that we bring two sons of Halfdan for her to identify, that we may serve justice for a twenty year old crime-- or celebrate the arrival of Halfdan's good sons. Do not let the sons enter together, for I am duty bound to kill the one who murdered the King and Queen, and history shows us that royal blood bonds men in unpredictable ways." I could feel small droplets of sweat breaking from my skin despite the frigid evening air as I envisioned what could unfold shortly.

I amended her proposal. "I will wait outside and see that they enter one at a time. May they both turn out to be the good sons of Halfdan, for I will not let you fight such a skilled hunter or warrior alone." The smile that crossed her lips was followed by a nod of appreciation and respect. It is strange that a simple smile can make a month-long journey through ice and blood seem completely worthwhile.

Standing with Ronoth and Jaerick, I watched through the half-opened door as Rashara greeted Lonahl. After several minutes, the elderly woman nodded in understanding, and Rashara turned to the door and motioned for me to send the first son into the cabin. I asked Ronoth to enter alone and was somewhat relieved when he did so without hesitation. I continued watching through the doorway while Jaerick waited beside me.

Lonahl gestured with an outstretched hand for Ronoth to come near. As he approached, Lonahl asked him to talk about his adventures. He recounted moments from his life as a Raumarik hunter, and once he was sufficiently close to Lonahl, she reached to touch his head momentarily before telling Rashara that Ronoth was indeed the son of Halfdan by the name of Erik, and that Erik was not the guilty son. Rashara embraced Ronoth, then sent him to the door. Once Ronoth was outside, I grasped his forearm firmly in respect, and asked Jaerick to enter the cabin. He stepped inside with a noticeable sense of uneasiness.

Jaerick approached his former nanny. Lonahl listened to Jaerick's voice for a short while before placing her hand on the side of his head. After moments that seemed like hours she nodded her head.

Lonahl's voice was quiet yet filled with the confidence of several decades of experience. "This one is Balaen, son of Halfdan, and like Erik he is not the murderous prince." Rashara's posture relaxed perceptibly, and I saw a frosty sigh of relief escape my lips and spread as an icy fog on the door's alabaster viewing portal.

Celebration and, at the very least, a journey to warmer lands were in order, and I entered the cabin with Ronoth to express my congratulations to the new heirs of Midgard. Out of respect for our blind hostess, I introduced myself from just inside the doorway.

"I have been Rashara's companion in her long quest to find the sons of Halfdan, and I thank you for your kind assistance. Today is indeed a joyous day in Midgard."

Lonahl turned to the doorway and gestured, smiling a toothy grin. "Come in, young man. It is not often that an old woman like myself meets brave adventurers such as you."

I entered and sat beside Lonahl. As I turned to banter with my friends, I felt a bony hand slide along my right cheek. Her calloused index finger moved over a small crescent-shaped scar behind my right ear-- one that I had for as long as I could remember.

Lonahl stood abruptly, pointed to me, and exclaimed, "His voice is as I remember, and he acquired that scar while learning to draw a bow as a child. That is Taldaar, murderous son of Halfdan!"

My blood turned to ice at hearing her words. Why would Lonahl accuse me of being a murderer? And then I realized that the few memories I had of my childhood began in the snowy wilderness of the Midgard frontier, and that I was told long ago that my parents abandoned me as a child in the mountains. I recalled being taught under great ceilings and in dark stone halls adorned with colored murals, surroundings not unlike those of a monastery. Nausea and anger welled from my gut at the same time-- feelings transformed into alarm as I heard the distinctive whisper of Rashara's dual blades unsheathing behind me.

My instincts as a warrior together with sheer luck allowed to me to parry her first strike with my hammer as her twilight blade deflected inches from my throat. I thought of protesting innocence, but could not overcome the feeling that I was indeed the one she sought for so many years. I parried a second arc of Rashara's sword as the blow of metal on metal yielded a familiar smell and a flash of sparks.

I considered my terrible choices. Should I fight back and attempt to kill my companion who I respected very deeply and who had devoted her life to her task? Or do I accept the ultimate punishment for a crime of which I had no memory?

I deliberately dropped my weapon arm to my side, and Rashara responded by striking my hammer precisely at the junction between the head and shaft, sending it flying across the floor of the cabin. Her second blade deftly slid along my right forearm on the following stroke, and a small rivulet of blood began to flow from my reopened drakulv wound into droplets on the cold stone floor. I fell to the ground to dodge the next swing of her blade. In a few seconds, the point of her sword came to rest at the base of my chin.

Unwilling to fight her though she would now be my executioner, I stared into Rashara's emerald eyes. They were not aflame as I expected; instead they were welled with tears, her visage a picture of despair. She brought both hands together momentarily, then slowly lowered her left hand to my chest above my heart. Rashara's hand opened, leaving behind her signet ring. She dropped to her knees at my side, directed the points of her blades at her own chest, and fell forward onto them. As silent and beautiful while dying as in battle, Rashara soon laid motionless on the stone floor in a pool of her blood, tainted with my own.

I stumbled out the cabin door in a daze, the cold evening winds augmenting the shock that resonated through my body and mind. Though I would have been easy prey in that state, my brothers did not pursue me.

I have lived alone ever since, doing what I can to help others, avoiding those who knew me before I met Rashara, and always hoping that whatever misguided desires led me astray twenty-one years ago never again surface. Ronoth and Jaerick were embraced as the true heirs of Midgard in celebrations that lasted for weeks. Rashara was credited with killing me and was said to have died of wounds suffered during our battle, a lie that I have no desire to disprove.

In dreams I still see her fiery hair and drawn swords, their blades\ glinting in the splintered moonlight. And though each night I relive our last moments together and struggle to find a different choice, the outcome is always the same. Second chances in life are few and far between; a third is a rare gift indeed. I will wear her ring forever, a symbol of the one who forfeited her own life so I could begin mine anew.

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Former T3 Runepriest