Free The Soulblade's Tale by Jonathan Moeller

The Soulblade's Tale
    The 25th of June in the Year of Our Lord 1031, five hundred years after the first High King led his people to the new world through the portal from Old Earth, was the most important day of Nicodemus's life.
    But he stopped to see Julia first. 
    She lay on her bed in the tower room of Castra Taliand, her face gaunt, her closed eyes sunken. She looked worse, much worse, than the last time he had seen her. Yet her chest still rose and fell, and from time to time her eyes twitched beneath their lids. 
    Her father stood over the bed, gazing down at her.
    The Magistrius Alexius looked up as Nicodemus approached. He resembled Julia, with the same hooked nose, blue eyes, and thick black hair. Silver marked the black hair, the blue eyes tight with grief and strain. 
    “Magistrius,” said Nicodemus.
    The older man managed a brief smile. “Nicodemus. It is good of you to come. Especially today, of all days.
    They gripped each other's forearms.
    “How is she?” said Nicodemus. 
    Alexius sighed. “Unchanged. Perhaps a little worse. The illness has no cure. Even my best efforts will only keep the disease at bay for another few weeks.” 
    “That she has lived this long is a testament to your skill,” said Nicodemus. 
    Alexius sighed. “Dux Arban told me the same.” His smile held a bitter edge. “That in all the High King’s realm of Andomhaim, no one has my skill with healing magic. Perhaps that is true. But little good it has done me.” 
    They stood in silence for a moment. 
    “I was going to ask for her hand,” admitted Nicodemus. “After I completed my Trial.”
    Alexius smiled. “I know. And I would have granted it. Once you passed your Trial, of course,” He sighed and touched Julia's forehead. “And perhaps you may yet get the chance. Sometimes God can be merciful.”
    “Of course,” said Nicodemus, though he didn't believe it.
    “Come,” said Alexius, urging him towards the door. “It is almost time. Let us see what Dux Arban has in mind for your Trial.” 
     
    ###
     
    On Old Earth, the histories claimed, nobles defended their lands with sword and spear. 
    But in the High King’s realm of Andomhaim, men relied upon the twin Orders of the Magistri and the Swordbearers to defend them from the orcs and the dark elves and worse things. The Swordbearers wielded soulblades, charged with potent magic, while the Magistri unleash the raw power of magic. Commoners could become both Magistri and Swordbearers, and such a commoner could join a noble house.
    Assuming, of course, that he survived the Trial. 
    Nicodemus waited in the great hall of Castra Taliand and watched as Dux Arban made his way to his chair. Arban always wore armor, even when holding court. He had fought in the front lines of the long and bitter war against the terrible urdmordar, and the orcish vassals of the urdmordar still lurked in the woods, preying upon the unwary.
    “My lord Dux,” said Alexius, “I am pleased to sponsor Nicodemus, a Knight of the Soulblade, to join your noble house. He wields the soulblade Heartwarden, and would make a worthy son of your house.”
    “Approach, Nicodemus,” said Arban, his voice deep and commanding. Nicodemus bowed and approached his lord’s chair. “I have heard great things about your valor in combat, and our realm has sore need of men like you.”
    “Thank you, my lord,” said Nicodemus. 
    “Do you wish adoption into the house of Arban?”
    “I do,” said Nicodemus.
    Dux Arban nodded. “This shall be your Trial. Recently, I have received reports of attacks on the road from Castra Taliand to the High King’s seat in Tarlion. Orcs have abducted travelers from the road and taken them into the mountains, towards the ancient ruin of the Hanging Tower.”
    Alexius frowned. “We drove the orcs from the hills years ago, before the fall of Sithris Ungoth.” 
    "Nevertheless," said Arban. "The travelers have disappeared, orcs have been sighted, and I believe an orcish