The Legend of the Spectral Seal
The Stand at Arywen
by FembotHeather (fembotheather@yahoo.com)
The evil, inhuman hordes lined the hills ringing the gleaming city. “Arywen had stood for centuries and would stand for many more,” they had said.
“They,” Assia spat, reflecting on the King’s advisors and ministers and how they had insisted that the hordes would never reach this sacred soil. “They are old men who have never even held a sword.” She looked back at her meager forces, a mere twenty warriors, the temple priestesses, on fine mounts and gleaming in their armor. The massive gates lowered and their locking bars were driven home as the V shaped formation trotted out upon the plain.
She knew that even with so few against so many, she couldn’t have found better companions for today’s work. Each of the women would exact a heavy price on the enemy before falling.
“It would never happen,” the council had insisted. “The army will protect us”. “Arywen cannot fall.”
The army had fallen yesterday, its shattered ruins and dead lay strewn over the whole plain. Assia and her warriors lowered their heads in respect as they passed.
Of the fifty thousand which had marched forth, none had returned to the city. The King, the guards and the people had all watched in horror as the horde had swept the proud army from existence.
The formation set itself on a direct course toward the standard of Lucivern, sorceress, enchantress, and most recently, Queen of the known world. They would ride straight for the Queen; they knew that their sortie was doomed before it began and that numbers rendered their mission into the realm of the impossible.
‘The only way we will reach her,’ Assia thought, ‘is if she wants us to reach her.’ The dark thought hovered and then faded from her mind. ‘Whatever cause brings my blade to her throat is a worthy one,’ her resolute mind offered.
Their force rode steadily on, dwarfed to insignificance by the enemy force looking down upon them. The horde, the army of Queen Lucivern was an army of ghouls, those who served Lucivern were twisted to her evil designs into things no longer human.
She saw them now, their ashen faces and glowing eyes growing larger as the charging horses advanced. She thought of these former men, some who had rode out of Arywen just the day before; some who had been friends, even lovers. They were all demons now, slaves to Lucivern and her dark arts.
“Halla,” Assia prayed, “just let me reach Halla.” Halla, her older sister, the temple’s high priestess, had gone out two nights before; her desperate mission had been to assassinate Queen Lucivern in the dark of midnight. Her mission had failed. After the battle, Halla, or rather what remained of Halla, had come, naked and gray, her red eyes glowing as she had offered terms of surrender for her new Queen. She was a whore of darkness now and Assia prayed that before she drew her last breath, Halla would fall to her sword.
At the halfway point between the city and the approaching horde, Assia drew her sword and held it high, the signal to her brave party that the time had come. The formation increased its speed and the warrior women drew their swords. Assia held Volsyungh, her sword of power, high. Volsyungh, according to legend, rendered its wielder invincible in battle. It was said that the sword’s supernaturally bright steel had been folded over, thousands of times in the very fires that heated the Earth by the far gods, beings who lived beyond the Sunrise to the east. The slender, curved blade now led the desperate charge as Assia’s formation galloped on.
King Vassan himself had given Volsyungh to Assia just before the party had left the city.
They had begged them; the King’s advisors and Ministers had pleaded with them not to go. Assia and her warriors were the last true strength the city had left.
“Fools,” she had scolded them, “It’s too late. Whether we stay or take the fight to them now is of no importance. If you want to do something then stand a post at the wall. Otherwise get out of my sight.”
Assia herself didn’t know whether she did this out of heroism, as a symbol of defiance to bolster the city guard for the assault to come, or simply because she couldn’t be there … to see her shining city fall at last.
She put the thought aside as the hordes grew nearer, a mass of bloodied armor, gray faces and haunted eyes. She prayed that she and her sister would both rest in death before the sunset of this day. She prayed to Freyja, the Goddess of her temple, and to Odin, because—she smiled grimly at something her parents had told her long ago: ‘you can never have too many gods on your side.’
She had never prayed to Odin before today.
A golden chariot stood beneath the Queen’s standard and next to the chariot stood a tall, almost skeletal figure dressed in a long, black cloak. Assia could see her now and knew, without ever having seen her before, that it was Lucivern. She didn’t need to see the naked figure that knelt beside the Queen to know that it was she who had been her sister.
“Halla,” Assia’s heart cried.
The first line of ghouls was just ahead. The Queen stood a short distance behind the third. A war cry arose behind her; the formation was displaying its unswerving bravery and would follow its leader to the end. Assia couldn’t hear it clearly but joined anyway.
There had been no discussion: the temple priestesses had simply knelt around the fire the night before, and as dawn arose they had appeared at the stables in polished armor and their white tunics. Assia had wanted to tell them no, that the charge was hopeless, but hadn’t had voice for it. That she would go she had known from the moment she’d looked into Halla’s now soulless red eyes. That the rest would go seemed a thing of greater machinery, bigger than herself and so she had held her peace. They had all mounted their horses and rode to the gate, the people of the city lining the streets in silent respect as they passed.
Suddenly Assia was brought into the here and now, she was upon the line, her sword struck down, cleaving a skull in two. Another ghoul fell before her companions joined the fray. Her horse leapt up, crushing two undead soldiers underneath as she went over.
To her astonishment, the remaining lines parted long enough for her to pass, and then closed in behind her.
She was alone in a sea of demonic warriors; the clangor of her companion’s desperate battle fell behind as the demonic mass closed in. Her sword slashed downward again and again, gore flew from it as she fought to maintain her grip on the reins.
Then suddenly she was on the ground, springing back up and turning to see her horse standing a few feet away. She moved away in a slow dance of death, sword at the lead, toward her quarry atop a rise not far off.
A lance struck out, piercing the mail at her thigh and she fell to her other knee, her sword slashing outward almost of its own volition; felling he who had wounded her. She stood, pulling the broken lance from her leg and casting it aside. She advanced on her goal, blood flowing freely to the ground, her sword swinging in wide arcs like a scythe at her front, felling the swarming ghouls like a ghastly harvest.
There the evil Queen stood, towering directly in front of her, arms raised and speaking in some unknown tongue. From nowhere and from everywhere at once, lightning struck at Assia’s body. She fell, gasping for breath, fingers no longer gripping, her sword falling away.
“So happy you came to me, child.” The deep voice echoed through her as if from a tomb. Assia looked up at the pitiless, smiling face of Lucivern. Her sword had fallen just beyond reach, Assia’s hands found her only other weapon, a knife protruding from her boot, it was not the knife of a warrior or a priestess, it was a commoner’s blade, a kitchen blade.
The knife had been given to her as a child. She had pleaded with the high priestess to be taught the use of arms.
“Precocious girl,” the Priestess had scoffed, “first learn your chores, there will always be time to learn killing.” She had been given the knife as a jest. “Girl warrior, butcher of countless onions,” they had laughed.
Then one day, some months later, she had been out gathering greens for the kitchen when the wolves had come. When the Priestesses came to the rescue and drove the packs away they found Assia and two other children, backs to an old stone wall, surrounded by snarling wolves. Assia had been wounded badly but still stood, knife in hand with two dead wolves at her feet. The other children, unarmed, had cowered behind her.
The high Priestess herself had taken Assia back and had begun her training in the use of real arms soon after, often chiding her about the kitchen knife she still carried.
At the death of her mentor, the High Priestess, her sister Halla had been chosen by the temple oracle to become High Priestess.
Then the darkness had fallen.
She looked up into the eyes of the evil queen, her childhood blade held slightly behind her. Assia pulled herself up from the ground, rising to her knees.
“Look my Queen.” The unnaturally high voice of Halla rose to her ears. “She already kneels for you.”
Assia wanted to spit, wanted to scream at her sister, but looking at the corrupted creature the venom she felt suddenly left her. What remained of her beloved sister, the fallen, naked shell now bore the Queen’s mark, branded into her flesh by the Queen’s evil talisman, the Spectral Seal.
She tried to stand but sunk back down; her wounded leg had little strength… She felt only pain, a deep sadness at the sight of what Halla had become. She turned back to look into the eyes of Lucivern.
Her hatred flaring under the gaze of her enemy, she struggled to her feet despite the weakness and pain.
“So strong my pet,” Lucivern soothed. “I will enjoy bending you to my service.”
Swaying slightly, her mind fogged by blood loss, Assia faced the Queen defiantly, her hatred fueling her last stand. “Come closer and I will show you what manner of pet I am.” She hissed.
Lucivern advanced; in her hand she held the seal, a gold medallion of unspeakable evil power. Once it touched a person’s skin it branded them and bound their soul in slavery to the Queen. It was said that she had made a pact with dark Gods which had given her dominion over its power.
Assia knew she had little time left as the seal touched her forehead. The cold metal of the evil disk burned into her; she knew her skin now bore the mark, the mark of Lucivern’s slaves. She felt the weakness from her wound mix with the evil that sought to claim her soul. Falling back she saw her arm, her skin already turning gray. Her hand was empty, the knife was….
In her mind and in her soul she felt the evil tide grow. Falling finally to the ground she looked up, at her Queen, her lovely, beautiful Queen. Fading, her eyes rested upon the knife standing defiantly out from her Queen’s heart.
As the life drained from her sight she saw confusion and fear take hold of Lucivern’s features as she stared, transfixed by the knife.
As Assia’s world went dark, she saw her Queen fall.