Way of The Warrior

[Ovidsidios]

Anundil Sirobeir walked through the stone streets of the city. It didn't at all puzzle him that they were completely empty, or that each stand, shop, and home were opened as usual during the day (save that the patrons were no where to be found). He sauntered up the streets pausing for a moment. The instant was long drawn. The world around him was cloudy, bleak, almost suspended. As if things were stilled indefinitely...and that feeling. A presence. Was he being followed? He looked calmly in all directions as if trying to hide the fact he was looking for someone in this empty place. The world was still so very, very empty. He kept walking, as if he were taking his daily stroll, but the feeling of being followed, being watched, the feeling of something hanging over him seemed to creep incessantly at his heels.

 

A whisper. Was he just hearing things? He grasped at his side to ensure he was ready were an encounter to occur...but his weapon was gone. His heart skipped a beat, did I leave it? Impossible, I'm never...There it was again, only this time, fairly louder. For whatever reason, despite all his years of discipline and training, he felt it surging up inside him. Tiny black hands clawing their way up his spine, groping his torso, licking the back of his hears. He felt like a child, wanting to yell, to cry out. Fear had gripped him firmly, and he was immobilized. No further progress could be had. No subtle motions could be made. The voice was getting louder who am I? but he couldn't discern from where it was coming from

 

who am I? It seemed to be echoing all around him

 

who am I? Louder and louder, now it was directly above him. He jerkily thrust his head skyward

 

WHO AM I?!

 

Anundil's eyes opened sharply. The sudden, near quiet stir of his movement startled the horses surrounding him. It took him a second to assess where he was, but he was back in the stables. The stable boy who was raised to revere the Bladian Sect (perhaps even pity them) has been more than willing to allow Anundil to sleep with the horses, who then had jokingly remarked that more often in life animals were treated better than their respective masters. He passed his hand over his side. His weapon, a somewhat miniaturized saber, was still firmly strapped to his belt. Another dream he thought to himself. He stretched as if to assure is paralysis was but the product of his imagination, and it was. He stood up and leaned on the horse whose hay pile he had used just moments ago. It was the princes horse, and a fine breed of horse it was. "That is some really fine hay," he said as the horse swayed in slight annoyance to such an early morning disturbance. The light of the morning was still tucked well below the horizon. This morning, Anundil would see the mobilization of the entire Bladian Sect, a company of men and women near thirty thousand strong, as the would march to Kings Landing and then north towards the wall. Days ago Juri had spoken in private to Anundil for his advice, but Anundil would not budge on the matter, "I am not one of your counselors, my Lord. Command, and we shall obey."

 

By the Seven, we will be worthy again...

 

He proceeded out of the stables, brushing the last remaining strands of straw from his clothes. Elisa, one of the Seven Blades and in charge of the training of recruits, had spotted him and was now approaching her leader. After the ceremonial salutation, where each party's arms cross the others like an 'x'-back of hands facing the other-and then collapse resting on the other's forearms, followed by a nod and then the words "Of the Sword", Elisa smirked, "in the stables again? If it were humility you were seeking, perhaps you ought try your hand at begging". Anundil did not return her humor with his own, "The Warrior presented himself to our Great Father as a beggar. It is enough that if our god can humble himself, so too can we do the same." Understanding his mood, Elisa snapped to a more formal tone, "The other Blades are awake and awaiting your presence in the Sheath (the tent by which they held council). Another thing," both of them stopped and looked at each other. Words were unnecessary but a formality regarding what was to follow, "the seer has been spoken to. It is indeed that our march northward is no mortal bidding alone..." she paused, as if to keep herself from losing her composure, "could this be it? Is this the redemption we had long been waiting for?"

 

Anundil's cool gaze did not break from hers, though in her weakness she turned away, "I'm sorry. That was unbecoming of a fellow Bladian." Anundil thought it would have been best not to respond, but some token of mercy behooved him otherwise, "and if it turns out that it isn't, do we cease to be Bladians? Hold no expectations as our Great Father did not, and do what is expected of you. Only then can we begin to hope for the return of a life long since revoked." She snapped a clenched fist to her heart, and turned to walk ahead of him into the camp.

 

Father, Mother, Justice and Mercy, Night and Day, Sun and Moon, who suffers the many for so long over the crime of one? How much longer will we, your children, wonder the fields without a shepherd, lay our heads beneath starless skies? Shall your name perish beyond the fold, never knowing pardon? Freedom once more?

 

As the rays of sunlight broke over the tree line, a serenity overcame him as if a part of the warmth of that morning light. He took a deep breath and proceeded into the Sheath, the only tent left standing where once countless others stood among it. Caravans, cavalry, foot soldiers, all had been assembled and were making the final preparations. Any man and woman that looked up soon enough to catch him striding by, bowed respectively to Anundil before he disappeared into the tent.

 

All remaining six members stood around the only table. No maps, no chairs, nothing else was in this tent save those seven members and that single, circular table.

 

"We travel north not for King, land, nor glory. No wealth in all the lands could compel us, nor force of any army. We march always and every day, that we may one day see the forgiveness for that disobedience committed so long ago." He passed his gaze over the council members slowly, and they returned his gaze with pious affirmation, "And if that day shall never come, who are we to stand in dissent?"

 

Each council member responded back in unison, "For the will of the sword is the will of the arm that wields it!"

 

"We are of the sword", replied Anundil.

 

"And the Seven is our will"

 

"May it be so", he concluded and with that they followed Anundil out of the tent. Upon exiting the entire army stood ready and waiting. Each of the seven blades broke company and headed to their respective horse, caravan, or marching infantry. Anundil, motioned for the army to head out ahead of him as he rode into the city for his formal escorting of the king's son. He stopped at the main gate, and pondered to himself, I do very much detest those loud ceremonies... And with that awaited the arrival of Juri on his way out of the Castle hold and city walls. Maybe I should try my hand at begging. Smirking patiently, he basked in the light of the rising morning sun.