Brian Anderson - The Sword of Truth

It was all the Dark Knight could do to keep his teeth from chattering. The chill mountain air was thick with a dense fog that soaked into his skin, making every movement of the wind like torture. The only sounds were the crunch and clatter of his horses hooves and his own labored breathing.

He could feel that he was drawing near to his destination, yet he could see nothing but dull gray fog and the gnarled and vicious shadows of long dead trees.

He steeled his wits and warily urged his steed onward. He knew what was to come, and it unnerved him. The prospect of death had never bothered him. He had faced it many times before, but this was something different. After today, everything would change. After today, the whole world would tremble. For the first time in his life, he was uncertain. Decades of struggle and planning were culminating into this one moment, this one action. He should have been excited, but for some reason was unable to shake his sense of foreboding.

His horse spotted the edge of the precipice just before they both would have plummeted to their deaths. It reared fiercely, nearly throwing him from the saddle onto the hard, jagged stone path. Calming his nervous steed, he dismounted and walked to the cliffs edge. He strained his eyes, attempting to penetrate the fog, but could see nothing. Yet he knew what was out there. Reaching down, he picked up a small stone and tossed it over the cliffs edge, but heard nothing.

The trial begins, he thought to himself. He turned and retrieved his sword and scabbard from his saddle and fastened them to his belt. As he peered into the nothingness, his armor felt heavy and cumbersome. Feats of prowess in battle were far different from what he was about to do. Armor would certainly be a hindrance, but he dare not leave it behind. He backed away from the edge of the cliff and closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his ears. For a long moment, he stood motionless as stone.

Suddenly, the sinews of his thick, powerful legs burst to life, and propelled him forward at amazing speed. In a flash, he was at the edge and jumped with a heavy grunt. Time stood still as he flew through the air. For a split-second, a flash of fear filled his chest as he felt himself begin to fall, but relief and triumph quickly replaced this as his boot struck solid rock. With a great deal of effort, he managed to keep his footing and stumbled to a halt. As he slowly stepped forward, the fog lessened and he realized he had jumped atop the first in a series of immense natural rock pillars.

At last, he muttered.

Each pillar was about eight feet apart and could easily accommodate a dozen mounted men. He could make out twelve pillars, but beyond that the fog thickened again. Experience told him not to get too excited; nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. He could leap the distance easily enough, even with armor. However, considering the prize that awaited him, something told him there was more to it than that.

Without warning, the ground began to shake violently, and the Dark Knight could feel the rock start to give way beneath his feet. With no time to think he leapt to the next pillar, only to feel it start to crumble the second his boots landed. From pillar to pillar, he raced for his life. In seconds he knew he would reach the fog again and be unable to see. As he reached the last column, he planted both feet hard on its edge and pushed with all his strength, propelling his body into the void.

His upper thigh struck hard against a lip of rock, flinging his head and torso forward. The sound of grinding metal tore through the dank air as his armor crashed against rough stone. He scrambled and clawed as he felt himself begin to slip off the edge. Just as he was about to fall, his hand caught a crack in the rock and he pulled himself up. He lay there for a moment, taking stock of his hurts. Nothing serious. His thighs would be bruised, and the hilt of his sword had jammed into his kidney, but overall he was fine. He listened as the thunder of collapsing pillars echoed, then disappeared.

He rose to his feet, checked his sword and surveyed his surroundings. Before him lay a square courtyard of plain black granite. On either side were smooth, sheer walls one-hundred feet high, and at the far end, carved into the living rock, a flight of steps leading up.

In the center of the courtyard stood a ten-foot obelisk of unadorned white marble. As the Dark Knight neared the obelisk he heard a low hum. His eyes narrowed and his muscles tensed as his hands slid to the hilt of his sword. The hum grew louder and deeper the closer he came, until his body shook with its intensity. He desperately covered his ears, but to no avail. He felt his knees begin to weaken; each step became agony as the loud hum grew to a deep roar. As he stepped directly beside the obelisk, he felt blood trickle from his nose.

Almost there, he thought, taking another step.

The moment he passed the obelisk, the hum stopped. It was then that his legs gave way and he collapsed, his chest heaving and ears ringing. After several minutes he lifted his head and looked toward the steps. Slowly he rose to his feet, wiped the blood from his nose, and began his climb.

In the distance, he could see a bright light that obscured his vision. As he finally reached the top, the light lessened and his eyes began to adjust, revealing an immense stone alcove, fifty feet high and nearly twice as wide. The stone was polished white marble, inlaid with veins of pure gold and precious jewels. Standing tall and proud at its center was a gold statue of an ancient warrior. It was ten feet tall and adorned with fine chain mail. Its grim features told of countless battles as its deeply set eyes stared-penetrating and unwavering- with a sense of keen understanding that gave it the distinct impression of life. Atop its brow sat a crown of opal laurels, each leaf veined with silver inlay. Its arms were outstretched with its palms held aloft, and there the Dark Knight saw it. The sword. Its gleaming steel glowed with an unnatural light that spilled down onto the marble floor like a ghostly mist. Its hilt was plain steel, with neither jewel nor marking to tell of its true worth, and the handle was wrapped in hard, unremarkable black leather.

The Dark Knight felt his pulse quicken as he slowly walked forward. It was his; the Sword of Truth was finally his. Closer and closer, he came to his prize. With each step, he drew nearer to the end of his quest. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a tall figure.

He was dressed in a pure white linen robe bound at the waist by a thin, white silk rope. A pair of simple calfskin boots could be seen beneath his robe, and he wore a circlet of silver on his brow. His face was smooth and ageless with a long, hawk-like nose and pronounced chin. His eyes were deep blue and full of sadness and pity. He held no weapon that the Dark Knight could see.

He turned to face the Man in White and unsheathed his sword. I thought Id find you here, he said grimly. Do you intend to fight me unarmed?

A sad smile crept over the Man in Whites face. I do not intend to fight you at all, he replied.

The Dark Knight burst into laughter, Some protector you are. Youre a coward, unworthy to bear the sword.

Youre right, he said. Im not worthy. But neither are you.

Really? the Dark Knight mocked, stepping forward menacingly. Well see about that. With that sword, I will be able to break the bonds that have held us back for an eternity. We will finally be free! Cant you see that?

Regret washed over the face of the Man in White. Free? You mean free to rule? Free to murder? Free to do evil with impunity?

No, you fool! the Dark Knight shouted. Free to show the world what we truly are. Free to take my- His voice calmed.