Blue Words - Part I Page 35

hung ragged from my tiny frame. It bore his sigil, a crimson dragon etched onto a white field. I walked away leaving my self-pity to rot along with my family.

  My hatred for the creature fuelled me for years after that, forced me to survive. I begged, stole and fought through wilderness and city alike. As I grew, my hatred grew with me. The Warlocks were a product of the old pagan gods and had no place in the new world of my father’s one almighty lord. Over time, I discovered I was not alone.

  Supported by the church, people everywhere began to rise up against them and eventually the bravery of mortal men forced the creatures into hiding. I saw an opportunity. The people needed a catalyst for change, a hero to head their rebellion. The church leaders were working hard to eliminate the threat, but they were just holy men. What they needed was a warrior to lead the charge, a striking hand of god. I certainly had the ambition and my years of survival had made me hard, fast and strong, a far cry from the weak boy I left to die on the battlefield. All I lacked was the ability to kill them. So I began searching for that means, in fact it’s what I dedicated my life to.

  I travelled to the bitter, white northern lands. They were long rumoured to be the birthplace of the scourge. It was late, sleep had taken me, not the warm embracing sleep that most know, but the frigid sporadic sleep which is the best one can hope for in that icy, inhospitable world. That’s when it first called to me. A maiden’s voice melodic and soulful, it echoed through my body. Its every sound resonated warmly within me, calming my raging soul.

  The disembodied voice had sensed a shared hatred between us. It spoke of its own quest for vengeance, but most importantly, it offered me an option. It claimed to have the power I needed, the power I desired more than anything else. I simply had to liberate it from its resting place, a service which I provided without hesitation. Whether this mysterious voice was to be trusted or not, it was not an opportunity which could be ignored.

  I guess you could say that’s when the quest which would shape my future truly began. I was sanctified by the church and given a small band of knights to aid me. It was not hard to track the Warlocks. Some were still blatantly practicing their dark craft in the open; they were the first to fall. Others were hiding, deeply entrenched amongst the people, but the amulet lived up to its promise.

  I held my rage at bay. Despite my eagerness, I left Gudrik and his father until last. I would force them to come together to make him suffer in the same way I did.

  Ending the life of an immortal creature is a humbling experience, one you never get used too. The power of the amulet seemed to nullify them, make them as helpless as I had been on the day I met Gudrik. It was this power that originally sparked my suspicions. The amulet claimed to be a gift of heaven’s creation, but its words were far too sugary. It was clearly linked to The Twelve; it could scarcely contain its excitement whenever one was slain.

  I first witnessed the unique properties of their blue blood while torturing Swarnat of The Twelve. A splash landed upon a gash in my hand, it closed in seconds and my flesh was as if it had never been injured. Though I am ashamed to admit it, they were properties I used to my advantage, treating wounds on myself and my men, my goal stood above my pride. Bottling it was the next logical step. Alas, any blood collected from The Twelve returned to a useless mortal red when the Warlock was killed.

  By the time I had finished off ten of The Twelve I had managed to squeeze two words out of them, two of their filthy blue words. I had also formulated a plan for the future. One which would rid the world of the Warlock scourge. One which would defy the begging of whatever it was that inhabited the amulet, there was no way I was going to be used by an evil no better than the creature. A plan which would spare any others the trauma I suffered.

  The moment I first entered that house and laid eyes on Gudrik, the little boy in me sprung out from the dark depths of my soul. His fear swept over me and it was as though I was back on that battle field again. It took every ounce of courage and strength I had to push him back down and do what needed to be done.

  I soon had my retribution, but even more important than my own needs, I had eliminated the threat and contained whatever the other......thing was. Though, in a bizarre twist, I actually found myself pitying the creature. Its torment at its father’s demise was more heartfelt than I had expected, almost human. I even decided I could not issue the master insult I had saved. It would be too cruel and far beyond reconciling my own loss. You see, two days earlier a young woman had come to me with knowledge of Gudrik, begging me to kill the Warlock and pledging herself to me in repayment. Her name was Elya. I felt it gentler to tell it I killed her. No man, human or not deserves the dagger of his most beloved wishing his demise. I never took her to my bed, but she did bear me the first nest of Swords.

  So what next? Should the amulet ever be removed, darkness would once again take the world. Should Gudrik ever be killed, a new unmeasured threat would rise. Someone would need to guard the hibernating monster.

  The weight of its defence could not be placed upon the shoulders of generations who had never seen its wrath. I was chosen to unseat it from power; perhaps it was I who was intended to be the people’s guardian. The thoughts weighed me down, heavier than any armour. Hour upon hour I sat, watching the sleeping demon. As long as I thought, compared and reasoned, only one option seemed to show itself, one option that would leave me no better than the beast.

  I made a vow. To shield the innocent from darkness, warriors of the light are sometimes forced to taint themselves. I sacrificed my soul and I sacrificed my salvation, heaven’s gate would be forever closed to me. That night I began my new life, a damned life, a corrupted life, a forsaken life. I fed for the first time on the demon’s blood. It turned my stomach, thick, warm and salty. I threw up the first dose, but I persisted. The second time I forced myself to keep it down. It became a practice which I repeated for centuries stretching my life to an ungodly length.

  The church paid me handsomely for my achievement, the seed which my empire sprouted from, but they disavowed all knowledge of my new quest, leaving it to fade into the gloom of history and myth. It mattered not. I would live, the earth’s secret protector, ever vigilante for Warlock threats. I was dubbed the Forsaken Guardian. My ever loyal knights were promoted to paladins. The five swore to live out eternity with me and would have happily gone to hell at my side, I forbade it. One corrupted soul is enough sacrifice for this cause. Instead, as a tribute to them I continued to tend their bloodlines through the centuries, upholding the honourable warrior traditions they lived by, keeping their lines strong and healthy. It was the least I could do for the loyalest of friends.

  Of course there were always opponents to my new position. A group calling themselves The Inscribed arose. Valiant warriors I would have been proud to call allies under different circumstances. One of the Warlocks poisoned their skin, brainwashing them as his servants. It was unfortunate that their dedication and loyalty blinds them to the evil of their cause. I have crushed them brutally and mercilessly at every incursion, not an act I enjoy, but my duty is clear and has always out shone my compassion.

  For an eternity I stood as the Forsaken Guardian, shielding the world from.....it....the relic. It was a duty which the masses were completely oblivious to. I battled addiction, the blood was truly a poison laced with long life. By the time I fought myself free of its hold and learnt to manage it, the world I had fought so hard to protect had found itself in a steady state of decline. It was decline on a scale which I was powerless to stop, a complete paradise to cesspit transition. Global society was being crushed and raped by one form of civil libertarian after another until eventually no one was forced to contribute and no one was responsible for their actions. My father always said, “A man who searches for others to blame is the worst type of coward.” Respect for fellow man had disappeared. The other inhabitants of the world seemed all but oblivious to it. I guess their life span was so short it simply didn’t register for them until their autumn
years.

  I soon realised that this social collapse was a threat that loomed even greater than the Warlock. To my eyes, the problem was clear, again change needed a catalyst, in this case fear.....a threat the world could unite against. Not until men are faced with certain death do they forget their differences and turn to each other. Not Gudrik though, he could never be controlled. No, to truly fix the world, what I required was the ability to instil that fear myself. I finally understood my role, my purpose. I needed to become that common enemy.

  I hope the magnitude of this is not lost when I’m gone, I chose to become what I hated most in order to create a world where good can flourish. My soul was damned anyway; why not take the corruption further? Alas to do that I needed to learn a dead language. I had two words, they were not enough. Yet, in a sign which confirmed my course of action, I realised that I had already been provided my answer, the Heir.

  I have fathered many illegitimate children. I was rich, I was powerful and my mind was clouded by addiction. Women came easy. For a long time I forgot my beliefs. Over my centuries many of these offspring made themselves known, all