Free The Soulblade's Tale by Jonathan Moeller Page A

warlock lurks within the Hanging Tower. This, then, is your Trial, Nicodemus. You will investigate the Hanging Tower, and if the orc warlock is there, you will destroy him."
    Nicodemus bowed. "As you say, my lord."
    "This is too dangerous," said Alexius, frowning. "If a warlock has hidden himself in the Hanging Tower, he will be a cunning creature. Too powerful for one man, even for a Swordbearer, to overcome alone."
    Nicodemus frowned. "I have slain orcish warlocks in battle before, Magistrius." Not that he had any wish to repeat the experience. 
    Alexius shook his head. "No one doubts your courage and skill, Nicodemus. Yet when you fought warlocks in the past, you had the help of other Swordbearers, even Magistri. I myself would not wish to fight alone against an orcish warlock."
    "But you have, Magistrius," said Arban. "So have many Swordbearers. And if a man wishes adoption into my house, than he must have the courage to face an orcish warlock in battle." He looked at Nicodemus. "You need not take the Trial. You may remain in my service as an honored Swordbearer. But if you wish to join my house, then you must go to the Hanging Tower." 
    "And so I shall," said Nicodemus, bowing again. 
    Alexius sighed, and stepped forward to grip Nicodemus's shoulder. "Then I will wish you good fortune, and pray that God and the Dominus Christus watch over you. I am going to lose my daughter. I have no wish to lose the man who would have been my son." 
    "You said yourself," said Nicodemus, "that sometimes God can be merciful." 
    He bowed once more to the Magistrius and the Dux and left. 
     
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    Nicodemus paused only long enough to equip himself.
    For armor he chose a hauberk of chain mail, light enough to allow movement and heavy enough to offer some protection, along with a helmet, leather gauntlets, and heavy boots fitted with steel plates. His dagger he sheathed in his belt. From the citadel's stables he took a sturdy pack horse, filling its saddlebags with supplies.
    His soulblade Heartwarden went into its scabbard at his belt, and he felt the warmth of the sword’s magic beneath his touch.
    Nicodemus hesitated and looked up at the citadel's high tower. He had said his goodbyes to Julia already, when she had first fallen ill. He could best honor her memory by completing his Trial, by defeating the orcish warlock in her name. 
    Nicodemus left by Castra Taliand’s fortified gate, taking the road north.
     
    ###
     
    No other travelers passed him on the road. Dux Arban’s lands had been devastated during the war with the urdmordar, and petty orcish tribes still infested the land. Very few settlers dared come this far north, and those that did preferred to live within sight of Castra Taliand’s fortified walls. 
    After a day's journey he came to a fortified keep on the banks of the River Moradel. Here the realm of Andomhaim ended, and beyond lay the ruined land blighted by orcs and worse things. 
    But the ancient road did not end. It veered to the west, towards the mountains, and Nicodemus followed it, one hand leading his horse, the other resting on Heartwarden’s hilt. The road lead into the foothills, through the silent woods, and Nicodemus felt eyes upon him, though he never saw any movement among the trees. 
    The trees thinned on the rocky slopes, and Nicodemus saw the Hanging Tower. 
    It perched on the edge of a precipice, seeming to hang in midair, four hundred feet of gleaming white stone rising against the mountains' dark bulk. The dark elves had built it long ago, and after the urdmordar had destroyed them, the orcs had occupied the Tower. Then the urdmordar had been vanquished, and the orcs driven away.
    Or so Nicodemus had thought. 
    In the tumbled ruins surrounding the Tower, Nicodemus saw yellowed human skulls and spines atop wooden stakes. 
    Orc totems. 
    He drew Heartwarden, tied his horse to a tree, and strode past the grisly totems, into the tumbled ruins surrounding the Tower's base. More of the