Corruption For

Chapter 6

         Alliance Forged





“You want to do what?” Hides asked, he and Frost incredulous at the unstable man standing before them.

“I want to remain with you.” Steve replied for the third time.

“Why?” Frost asked.

“I...” Steve started, but hesitated, the third time he had begun to explain his reasoning, but then getting distracted by some aspect of their surroundings. They still remained in the desert, completely dumbfounded by Blade's sudden absence.

“Spit it out already!” Frost demanded.

Snapping out of his stupor that was fast consuming him, Steve blinked repeatedly. Slowly. Irritatingly. “I... I feel that perhaps we should find Blade first.”

“He'll come back.” Hides offered.

“Perhaps, and in that case, I should like to wait until that happens. What I have to say, just as before, is for him.” Steve pondered that a moment. “Although, he was right.”

“What about?” Hides queried.

“What I have to say can be said to you as well. But not in his absence. It very well could shape all of your lives.”

Frost nodded slowly. “So why do you not want to kill us now?”

Steve's face screwed up in frustration. “I cannot tell you! Not without Blade!”

“Okay!” Frost immediately replied, seeing Steve's impending meltdown. “Alright. We wait for his return.”

“If he's still alive.” Hides commented.

“No,” Steve began. “If he is what I'm certain he is, he will not die.”

“Why not?” Frost pressed.

Steve turned to her, the second time she had ever seen Steve at all serious. “Because if he dies, we might all be doomed.” He immediately brightened. “I'm kinda peckish!”

Hides smacked his palm against his forehead again. Frost spoke for him. “We should get back to the city, then.”

Steve nodded, smiling dumbly, and leading the way from the clearing. Hides leaned in close to Frost, a red splotch already forming on his forehead. “You realize he just tried to kill us, right?” He whispered.

Frost walked over to Blade's dropped scythe and lifted it, with some effort and a light grunt at the weapon's weight. “Yeah, but it's not like we can turn him down.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would end our little alliance. Then he really would kill us. Besides, he said that Blade could help us.”

“When did he say that?”

“When he said that if he died, we're fucked.”

“Oh, I get it. But one other thing.”

“What is it?”

Hides pointed in the opposite direction in which Steve started off, to the far off spires of the city. “He went the wrong way.”

“We'll have to fix that.”

Before Frost could finish the sentence, Steve ambled back into the clearing. “That's a dead end!” He shouted jovially. Then, in a far deeper, more official-sounding voice, commanded, “Onward! To glory, victory, fine clothes and apple pie!”

The sound of Hides' palm hitting his forehead followed Steve and Frost out of the clearing.





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Blade’s consciousness was tossed on the waves of pain that flowed and ebbed throughout his body, waves that left him searingly awake. And more revoltingly, alive.

His left eye slowly opened, his other kept closed by a heavy bandage wrapped about his head. He was able to slowly, and quite painfully, look around at his surroundings.

He was in a small, warm, softly illuminated room, with a light tan color to the stone around him, and a flowing architecture that Blade could not place. He was certain he wasn’t anywhere near the city of Medavesus, for which was grateful. He was, however, confused as to what had saved him.

Why was he not dead, frozen on the side of some lonely mountain, forgotten by the ages? How had he not bled out, if he had not died of the cold? He soon had his answer.

A young man walked in, dressed in robes heavy enough to resist flaring out as he walked. The robes were blue, with a catch down the front laced with a golden thread that shimmered in the light as he moved. He stepped up to Blade, and uttered a few words that Blade could not catch. From the smile on the young man’s face, framed by long black hair, Blade knew he meant no harm.

Blade tried to relax as the young man removed the bandage about Blade’s head, and replaced it with a new one, carefully wrapping over and over. Despite the man’s care, Blade felt a growing ache in head, and he was tempted to ask the dark-haired man to stop.

Blade’s one good eye followed the man as he pressed gently on Blade’s side, eliciting a sharp grunt from Blade. The pain, however, wasn’t very profound, which Blade was curious about. Wouldn’t his ribs have pained more greatly? How long had he been here?

The young man turned his attention to Blade’s arm, wrapped in a sort of sling that looped about his opposite shoulder. Blade was quite amazed that, when the man removed the sling and began to move Blade’s arm this way and that, Blade’s only discomfort was a cramp near his elbow.

The man’s smile was profound, but Blade’s curiosity didn’t diminish in the least. Was he still in the mountains? Who was this young man? Where were Frost and Hides? Was his decision to save Steve the right one? He hoped that deranged lunatic didn’t go near Hides or Frost.

And what had happened to him to make him lose control so completely? Why had he gone berserk? What did those memories mean? They seemed to have connections to his dream. What was going on? What conspiracy was so carefully laid about him?

And who was this Edge? He seemed important, tied to his past quite irrevocably.

The young man knelt in front of Blade, forcing Blade to look him in the eyes. Now the man seemed somewhat serious. He said a few words, but Blade’s delirium muddled the phrase, made it indiscernible. When Blade did not reply, merely blinking in confusion, for he truly did not want to move in any other way, the man nodded, rose, opened the only door to this small room, and left.





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Nothing had ever irritated Frost more than Steve yanking Blade’s scythe out of her grip. Steve puzzled over it, examining the plain shaft from the base of the blade to the very tip. He scrutinized the black blade and the sharp edge, even handing it to his shadow.

“What do you think?” Steve told it. The shadow, now much smoother and much closer to the actual shape of Steve himself, drew many stares from people at the gates as it, too, looked at the scythe. It handed it back to Steve. “I thought so, too!” He shouted happily.

Hides and Frost had little choice but to simply watch the display, Hides smacking his palm against his forehead as Steve spoke to the silent shadow. “What is it?” Frost asked, confused toward Steve’s sudden interest in the otherwise plain weapon.

Steve lifted the weapon high in the air, drawing still more incredulous stares from the citizens before the eastern gate. “With this weapon,” Steve shouted. “I can track the whereabouts of our missing companion!”

Her face reddening with the stares of those about them, Frost said, “That’s… good. Where is he now?”

Steve brought the scythe back down. “It will take some time. But we also need to repair it.”

“Repair it?” Hides asked.

“In the fight,” Steve  began. “Blade swung his scythe at a wall. It damaged the blade. See?” Steve leaned in, pointing to the blade of the scythe, showing Hides and Frost the various chinks and notches left on it. The blade was scratched, and Frost dared to think it might be slightly bent, now.

“So we’ll bring it to Lugumo.” Hides said. “Just like that.”

Frost nodded. “Agreed. Come on, Steve, let’s get inside the city.”

Steve suddenly paled yet further. “Inside?” He started. “With people? People don’t like me. Not poor Steve.”

“That’s generally because you usually destroy things when you come.” Frost said. “But as long as you lie low, nobody should recognize you. Come on. We still can’t get in through the gates. We need to use the sewers.”

“Full of ratsies?” Steve squealed in delight.

Hides had a confused look on his face and his eyebrow raised as he said, “Yyyyeess?”

“Yes!” Steve screamed, still drawing yet more stares from around them. Frost honestly began to fear they had attracted the attention of the imperial guards. “I love rat’s blood! As well as apple pie. But you can’t beat bat’s intestines!”

Hides’ palm smacked against his forehead, resounding in the sudden silence of the eastern gate.





*          *          *          *          *





Blade was thankful that, as the young man once again removed his head bandage, no blood could be seen on it. He felt much more clear-headed, and began to sit up. The young man didn’t stop him.

He swung his legs over the small cot in the isolated room, and looked to the young man. The young man looked back, the sling and bandages bunched up to the side of him on the floor. The young man stood up, barely cresting five feet. Even when sitting Blade’s head nearly approached the young man’s shoulders.

The young man uttered a phrase, and by the movement of his mouth, Blade knew it was the same thing he had tried to say to Blade before.

But it was in a different language.

Blade merely cocked his head, in complete confusion, hoping he wouldn’t offend the young man, clearly the one who had saved his life. Hoping to break a language barrier, he pointed to his chest and said, “I am Blade.”

The young man’s brow furrowed in frustration, but then he snapped his fingers in revelation. The young man bolted from the room in a sudden rush, leaving Blade to ponder this silent mystery. Curiosity grabbing him by the throat, Blade rose from his cot, covered in thin, yellow strands that appeared to be a plant of some sort. He would later learn this to be straw.

Shoving it from his mind as trivial, Blade walked to the door, slowly turned the knob, and peeked out of the crack of the door. He saw the young man rushing back toward him down a long hallway with doors similar to Blade’s lining the walls. With the young man, Blade saw another person, shrouded in a thick cloak. Blade couldn’t tell the gender of this person, nor could he see his face.

Fearing some retribution for he didn’t know the rules of this place, he swiftly shut the door, and sat back down on his cot. He stared at the young man and this newcomer as they entered and the young man closed the door.

Unlike the young man, who was far shorter than Blade, this cloaked newcomer loomed over the injured man, made even more profound by Blade sitting down. The cloaked man, as he revealed himself as such, pulled back his hood. Blade’s eyes widened as he gazed upon a creature unlike the ones he had seen in Medavesus.

The face was more reptilian than human, having the long snout, the mouth appearing almost lipless, like a lizard, curved almost in a perpetual smile. The scales covering his hairless head were a deep blue, appearing thick, and armor-like. Atop his head were two crests that almost looked like flaming hair to blade, even striking him as looking much like a crown. When this strange, humanoid lizard turned his head to look at the young man, Blade could see small, short, serrated spines going down the middle of his neck and back, moving to beyond Blade’s vision beneath the cloak.

The lizard-man hissed something to the young man, and the dark-haired youth nodded his accord, replying in his sharp tongue. Blade, hearing the two in contrast, noted that the language was the same, and the young man even had a slight hiss to his own words, almost sounding like a younger version of the tall, dragon-like humanoid.

The humanoid man turned to Blade and hissed something that sounded like a question to him. Again wracked with confusion, Blade merely shook his head and shrugged, indicating that he didn’t understand.

The tall lizard man pondered a moment. Then he lifted his hands high and wide, and violently clapped them together. A shower of blue sparks shot outward, sprinkling the young man, the lizard man and Blade. When he turned back to Blade, he was assaulted by astonishment.

“Is this any better?” The lizard man asked. Blade’s eyes widened at the change of languages in so short a time. And so completely, too! The lizard man’s speech, while still hissing, was nearly identical to Blade’s own tongue.

Blade, dumbfounded, and really not sure what to say, nodded. He was certain he looked idiotic, but knew he could nothing about it.

“I am Xyrcan. This is my grandson, Cloack.” Blade looked to both in turn. The silent young man, Cloack by name, smiled widely when he heard Xyrcan introduce him as the lizard man’s grandson. “What might we call you, oh freezing soul?” Blade smiled as he caught the sarcasm in Xyrcan’s voice. He was mocking him for being in a blizzard on a high-up mountain!

“I am Blade.” He said, and felt truly insignificant for having nothing more intelligent to say.

“Blade?” Cloack asked, his head cocked in curiosity. “Like a sword?”

Blade nodded, noticing a few oddities about this Cloack as well. His pupils were narrow slits in the irises of his eyes, and his canines were elongated, revealed when he spoke. “It’s because I can wield one well. I don’t remember my real name.”

“You haven’t used it in so long?” Cloack asked.

“Be mindful, hatchling!” Xyrcan snapped. Cloack shrank away, a silent apology for his insensitivity. Xyrcan turned to Blade. “Surely, you have many questions, but before we can answer them, we have some for you as well.” Blade nodded in understanding. He knew he was trespassing, a foreigner here. In order to be sure they could trust him, they had to garner the truth.

Truly, Blade had nothing to hide.

“Where have you come from?” Xyrcan asked.

Blade’s answer was immediate, having expected such a question. “The city of Medavesus.”

“In Carsus?” Cloack asked. “That’s three countries away! How did you get here?”

Blade closed his eyes. “I’m not entirely certain. The journey here is muddled in my head. I can’t remember much.”

Xyrcan made a motion with his hand as if he were stirring soup in a pot. Immediately, two chairs materialized, seemingly of the ground itself. Indeed, the legs were melded with the stone of the floor, and could not move unless broken. One chair was much larger, able to accommodate Xyrcan’s much larger stature. The other was suited more for Cloack. Xyrcan took his seat, but before Cloack did, he put his hands to his mouth, and puffed into them, making the chair rise a few more inches. When he sat, his legs were able to freely swing, and he did so, leaning in close to Blade, expecting a story of epic proportions.

Blade managed a smile at Cloack’s expense, marveling in the childish personality of this young man. Xyrcan spoke, taking Blade’s attention from the amusement of Cloack. “Tell us what you do remember.”

Blade pondered where to begin for a moment. Then he told the two everything that had happened since he woke up in the desert. He moved on to  explain how he got into the Medavesus, his affiliation with the two orphans, Hides and Frost, and the purchase of the clothes and armor he now wore and the scythe he had left behind. He even explained in detail the use and danger of each of the potions, still left intact within the bag of holding at Blade’s hip.

He described his venture out of the city, the clues he discovered, and tied them in with the dream he had had the night before. At the mention of Steve, however, Cloack and Xyrcan groan. Blade intended to ask them about that later. He continued to describe what he remembered of the conflict with Steve, his memories violently resurfacing, and his half-control of the situation, as well as his decision to spare Steve’s life. At this, Xyrcan nodded in appreciation.

Blade described what few fractions he remembered of the journey to the cold mountain and what he remembered of his fall. Cloack smiled widely as he finished, and Blade wondered why. “You want to know who it was that saved you, don’t you?” Xyrcan asked. Blade, of course, nodded. “It was Cloack here. He saw you collapse, and brought you here. He should not have been in the blizzard!” Xyrcan snapped to Cloack, stealing his smile of pride. “But what he did was right, and is deserving of praise. You would have died out there, and now we know why and how you came so close to death.”

Blade smiled in gratitude. “Thank you. For all you’ve done.” Blade took a deep breath, thankful that he wasn’t yet dead, that he may yet have the chance to apologize to Hides and Frost for abandoning them, and repaying Steve in full for what he had done. “How long have I been here?” He asked the two.

Croack and Xyrcan looked at each other knowingly. “Three days. It should have been much longer.”

Blade’s brow furrowed. “Why wasn’t it?”

“We’re not certain. It wasn’t aided by our magics, nor did we use any sort of medicine. It’s something about you, your composition. You don’t know what you are, do you?” Xyrcan asked, gesturing to Blade’s pointed ears.

Blade bowed his head, truly without an intelligent answer. He slowly shook his head, for he truly did not know. Now that he thought on what he might be, any possibility eluded him. He was clearly not a Lamadan or a Shri Kan, but he didn't believe himself to be human. The first aspect that came to his mind was his agility and strength, both seemed inhuman. He had, when combating Steve, transformed into something that he was not. How was that human? And if his dream was anything to go off of, supported by his haste in healing, something about him was infused with magic.

“Indeed,” Began Xyrcan. “I had hoped you were one of us, the Dracos, but your aura does not match.”

“My aura?” Blade queried.

“Most every creature has an aura.” Began Xyrcan. “It is the magical eminence that everything is made of. You, of course, know of the stories of Gaia and the Gods?” Blade, having learned that story in he city, nodded. “Good. You see, Gaia used his power to create the races. Therefore, he used magic. We are all magical beings, but our power and our aura differs from race to race. We, the Dracos as a race, are attuned enough to magic to discern another  creature's aura.”

“And mine doesn't match yours.” Blade finished.

“Indeed. Ordinarily, we would be able to use the magic about you to discern your race, as you do not remember.”

“But?” Blade said, almost expecting this to happen.

“Each race has a certain aura to it. While the exact aspects remain individual among specific life forms, there is an inalienable trait about their race that affects their aura. Always. This is how we tell what is what if the answer is not readily apparent. But yours eludes me.

“Yours is similar, yes, to that of a Dracos, but it is also far removed. I cannot tell you what you are.” Xyrcan saw Blade's immediately disheartened expression. “I can tell you, though, that you are a powerful creature indeed.”

Blade looked up. “Why is that?”

“Dracos are among the most powerfully attuned magical creatures there are. And I can tell you now, your aura outshines my own.” Blade felt dumbfounded at this. He was more powerful than this impressive creature before him? From what he had seen of Xyrcan's power, he did not immediately believe it. “If you ever learned magic, I would ask that you revisit me. It would be refreshing to duel with another that rivals me.”

“Nobody else is as strong as you?” Blade asked.

“My grandfather is the most powerful Dracos in our land.” Cloack gloated. Xyrcan, though, did not silence him this time. It appeared the young man was telling the truth; the whole truth, which was no reason to be reprimanded.

“Yes, as the leader of our race, I am the single most powerful known Dracos alive.” Xyrcan finished.

Blade sat humbled. He, who as far as he knew, had come from not reputable background, and had nothing to his name aside from the clothes on his back and the scythe he had left behind. And he was in the presence of not only a form of royalty, but one of the most powerful creatures on the planet. He didn't doubt that Xyrcan could blink and Blade would be gone of the Dracos had felt so inclined.

Then a thought popped into his head. “Can you get me back to Medavesus?”

Xyrcan smiled, apparently expecting the answer. “I can, but not through magic. It is far too great a distance for me to do that. Not even I am that powerful. But I have a personal airship we can use.”

Blade watched Cloack as Xyrcan spoke, and noticed he was unusually pensive. He was thinking hard, and Blade hoped nothing was wrong. Then he paid his full attention to Xyrcan once more. “An airship?” He asked. He could readily guess what it was. He had seen them floating above Medavesus, lazily drifting about, dropping low every now and then to drop supplies to the ground. It was, apparently, a form of commerce, a method of trade.