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Walf's AdventureChapter 6: Mad Sword
It was late in the morning when Walf woke up.
“Why am I so tired? Oh yeah.”
They had been out all night, searching by lantern light for Dale. No luck. Soon Alex began to stir as well. He moaned as he sat up in bed, evidently still coping with the grog he’d ingested yesterday and the resulting hangover.
“Well, it’s about time you two got up.” said Jos from his seat by the window.
“Where’s Logen?” Walf asked.
“He’s out looking for Dale again. I hope he comes back soon though. Looks like the snows picking up.”
It was dark inside the sword. Encased in rotting flesh and frozen blood with snow gathering on the hilt and Jack Frost painting his craft on all of the blade that hadn’t been tarnished by the blood of the Dragon Master. It was dim and secluded. And in the darkest recesses of that cold, dead place, sat Dale, huddled in the dimness with his arms about his legs. The man was gripped in horror. Horror at what he had done and horror relived in the memories of his own death. Had he done the right thing? Did it even matter?
The morning was getting on and still the sword remained stationary. How long it would have remained that way, if left undisturbed, I cannot say. But something was about to change all that. Suddenly Dale realized that something felt different. The feeling had been growing on him for some time but he hadn’t realized it till that moment.
Looking up, Dale noticed another figure hunched over, not twelve feet away in the sword. Dale stood but remained silent, still unsure of what he was seeing. Slowly the figure stood.
“Where -- where am I?”
It was Brugs. The Dragon Master was on his feet now, staring at Dale and looking very much awake. “What happened to me?”
“No!” Dale stammered, backing away, “It can't be...I killed you.”
“You what?” said Brugs, striding over, “What do you mean, you killed me?”
The Dragon Master had Dale by his shirt collar. “Who are you? Where -- where am I? How do I get out of here?”
Brugs only had to think of leaving and his wish was granted. Dale followed him outside the sword, still trying to process what was happening. The alley was deserted again and no one was there to see the two ghosts or the two corpses.
“I’m...I’m dead.” said Brugs, standing over his stiffened body, Reno’s sword in hand, “This sword, you were inside it!”
Dale gulped.
“Of course! You were the one who killed me!”
An iron fist landed a blow to Dale’s jaw. It hurt. Boy did it hurt, and yet...somehow it felt good. As Dale hit the newly fallen snow in the alleyway, he found that he was bleeding. Strangely it tasted sweet. Somehow Dale felt more alive then he had in a long while.
When was the last time he had tasted anything? He hadn’t felt pain since...well, since the moment Majisto decided to skewer him on Reno’s sword.
Majisto...of course! thought Dale, This sword has been cursed ever since that Wizard got his hands on it. That’s why the Dragon Master was in there with me!
Looking over, Dale saw the man kneeling by the body of his fallen comrade.
“I’m sorry Grubs. I didn’t know. Now...” he said, rising and turning to Dale, “I’m gonna tear you in half.”
Dale was frightened for about one second before he realized something.
“Ha! Go ahead and try! I’m already dead!”
The Dragon Master paused, a look of bewilderment on his face. Dale knew the feeling. Being dead was like being in a whole new universe. One with a completely different set of rules.
“I -- I’m not sure how things work anymore.” Brugs continued, a scowl on his face, “But when I figure it out I’m going to bring you down! I swear it!”
Just then there was a noise of approaching footsteps. Brugs grabbed Dale’s hand and plunged back into the sword, dragging Dale with him. The two spirits watched as a man rounded the corner. It was Logen. Dale wanted to hail his friend but Brugs was too fast and Dale soon found the man’s hand clamped tight over his mouth.
“Quiet now, mister. Let’s just see how this plays out...”
“Dale. Dale, are you in there? Answer me Dale.”
“Are you sure this is the right sword Logen?”
“Yes, I’m positive.”
“And he hasn’t said anything?”
“Not a word since I found him.”
The conversation continued on above the cursed sword. They were all back at the inn now. The sword lay on a chair, as all around it Dale’s friends tried to guess why the sword was silent and why Logen had found it beside the bodies of two dead Dragon Masters. Little did they know what was really going on inside.
“So, your name’s Dale is it? Stupid name.”
Dale was still in the sword and still in Brug’s vice like grip.
“I'll bet you’re wondering how I can talk to you with out letting them hear. It’s called a teleharm. Not that you’d know anything about that...”
“I might know a thing or two.” Dale responded.
“Well, not bad. Who taught you? Not talking huh? Not that it matters. I’m figuring things out you know. Working out the rules of this place. For instance, I know that we can leave the sword, but not leave it behind. I know we can talk to people outside, but we can’t teleharm them. Yes, I’ve tried. I know we can control the sword from inside. That’s how you killed me. And we can do just about anything we want to when we’re outside. I also know that I’m dead and that you killed me!”
The Dragon Masters eyes burned as he tightened his grip on Dale’s neck. “So... Who killed you?”
Dale winced. His position was uncomfortable but not life-threatening. Dale no longer needed to breath.
“It was a wizard.” Dale shot back through his teleharm connection, “A Dragon Master wizard. You know, you can keep me pinned here for all eternity but it still won’t change anything. Honestly, what are you going to do now? You’re cursed. And as much as I detest the thought, we’re going to be stuck here together for a very long time. I’ll bet I know what you’d go for right now. A flagon full of ale, a purse full of gold and a saucy wench to take up to your room when you’ve had your fill of the gin. But all those things are beyond your reach now. You cannot taste, you cannot touch, and gold is worth less then dirt. All the vices that once controlled you: greed, lust, vengeance, they’re all gone now.”
“No!” Brugs screamed, “That's where you're wrong! I may not be able to make you pay, but I will still have my revenge. The payment will come in the blood of your friends!”
It was an evil and spiteful plan that had come into Brugs head. And Dale was horrified by the very thought. For a moment, Dale forgot that he couldn’t break free, and wrenching himself from Brug’s grip, shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Logen, Walf, look out!”
Beer slopped onto the worn table as Reno’s possessed sword appeared the explode. The blade shot into the air and headed straight for Alex, who fell over backwards, before suddenly doing an about turn and whirling upward into the rafters of the inn.
Waft shrieked and Logan fumbled with his axe as the weapon dove again like a erratic, drunken hawk, knocking over candles and dishes. Unknown to everyone in the inn, Dale and Brugs were both struggling to control the sword like a fatally damaged airship. Neither were quite sure how to control the sword, for there were no simple helm. They battled to control the sword with their minds while physically punching and pushing one another. If they had been alive, Dale would have been beaten to a pulp. However, both were now evenly matched.
The sword continued it’s antics, swerving and diving, once in a while jamming itself into the woodwork of a table or wall before ripping itself free again. Now everyone in the inn were screaming and swearing. At last the sword stopped it’s loops and dove towards the nearest person, one of the bartenders. Metal met flesh, and the man’s chest was punctured. The blade missed the vital organs, but the force pinned the poor man to the wall, screaming. Alex charged forward and wrenched the sword out, tearing even more flesh, before the blade suddenly went wild again and dragged Alex off his feet.
Alex doggedly held on until the sword did an about turn so swiftly it broke his wrist. The sword leapt into the air and flew at Walf like an arrow. Walf screamed, and the blade jerked to the left, missing Walf's head but severing the young boy’s left ear before slamming hard into the chest of Logon. Logon gasped, eyes wide, then tumbled to the floor. Swearing and limping, Alex crashed over to his friend and stared dumbly at the sword. It was entangled in Logon’s maille, and had not pieced his flesh. Simply the force of the blow had knocked the winded out of Logon.
Alex grabbed a cask, cupped it over the sword and snapped the lid on tight, sealing the demonized sword in a prison of wood. Alex barely heard the angry cries and moans of the other cliental of the inn. The ones who were not hurt were muttering about black magic and were preparing to charge the wounded threesome. Alex thrust the cast into the stunned Walf’s hands and dragged Logon outside, where he promptly hijacked a brewster’s wagon.
Alex threw Logon in the back among the barrels, hoisted Walf up to the front painfully and slapped the horse's rump as he himself grabbed the jumped on. It was time to get out of Orion. Alex jerked the reigns of the wagon, wheeling wildly round the corner. He was headed for the alley behind the Inn where he knew Ugrun would be waiting.
“Hop on!” he called as he reached the wolf.
Ugrun leaped aboard, as Alex continued down the alley, making fresh tracks in the dirty snow.
“Alex,” Walf yelled from the back of the cart, “Where are we going?”
“North,” Alex called over his shoulder.
Just then, all megablocks broke lose. An enraged yell broke from the wooden cask as the ghost of Brugs sifted out of the sword and into the cart. This was the first glimpse Alex had gotten of the dead Dragon Master and he dropped the reigns out of shock.
With a growl Ugrun leaped at Brugs. The wolf knew an enemy when he saw one, but he didn’t know about ghosts and he didn’t expect to go flying straight through the intangible Brugs. Ugrun landed on the horse like a leopard tackling a gazelle. Naturally the horse panicked and Ugrun, who couldn’t hold on, fell off and rolled away, under the cart. Meanwhile, in the back of the cart, Brugs was on the attack. He brutally smashed Walf over the head with the wooden cask and was about to follow it up when Dale joined the fray.
The wagon was out of control now, jerking this way and that as it jolted along behind the crazed horse. Alex tried desperately to reach the reigns, but with a broken wrist, it wasn’t easy. And as Alex groped for the reigns, Logen was making a careful decision. The blow from the sword had only winded him for a moment and wasn’t unconscious. Methodically he surveyed his surroundings. Walf was laying over beside a barrel, still bleeding. Alex was occupied in the front. Dale was fighting this new ghost and Logen was in over his head. But Logen’s time for analyzing was up, as Dale was thrown off the back of the cart and Brugs turned to him.
Well, how do you fight a ghost? You can’t. It’s like fighting a shadow. One that can grab you but one you can’t grab back.
Logen defended himself staunchly, but he took a beating and it wasn’t long before he found himself pinned underneath the spirit. He had a bad feeling that he would be following Dale over the back of the cart.
But wait...Dale was still back there. He was trailing along behind the cart, like sack of potatoes on an invisible rope. Why? Was it the sword? Of course, they were connected. Where was the cask? There it was, lying next to Walf. It was just within Logen’s reach.
“Well?” The ghost was talking to him, talking with a very real dagger poised in his handm “Any last words, my friend?”
“Yeah,” said Logen, “See ya.”
With a flick of the wrist, Logen arched the cask over Brugs’ head and out of the cart. Brugs looked confused for a second until he realized what Logen had done. And by then it was too late. The ‘invisible rope’ came taught and Brugs was ripped off the back of the cart. Logen struggled back up to the front of the cart, where Alex was just getting a hold of the reigns.
“Whoa, whoa!” Alex slowed the horse to a slow trot, “What was that? Where’s Ugrun?”
“That was...I think know what that was but it isn’t important now. They’re gone so keep going. I’ll take care of Walf.”
“But what about Ugrun and Dale?”
“We leave them. Besides, Dale’s too dangerous now. How’s your wrist?”
“It hurts like megablocks but I’ll be fine for now. See if you can’t bandage up Walf.”
The horse kept heading north, but Alex knew that soon they would have to abandon the cart and carry on foot.
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