Chapter 10: Dark Prophecy
Sparrow found herself standing alone on a battlefield strewn with dead bodies as far as the eye could see. In the distance, a city built into the side of a mountain was in flames, the screams of the dying carried to her across the still night air. The smell of decaying flesh filled her nostrils, making her gag involuntarily.
A strange, dark, and yet somehow seductive voice crept into her ears, warning her that this was the inevitable outcome, that her death would be meaningless, all her sacrifices in vain. It warned her of the true horrors yet to come, of unspeakable evils and vile corruptions. Her mind was assaulted with images of women and children, begging for mercy even as they were cut down. Farms, not unlike the one she had been born on, burned, the sky thick with their acrid smoke. She could feel the heat of the flames on her face, the kiss of hot embers arms, the crumbling of charcoal beneath her feat. The visions blurred, and she was no longer in Rohan, but back in Albion, watching helplessly as Bowerstone burned, Castle Fairfax illuminated by the flicking light of the fires as the river ran red with blood. The forests around Bower Lake were turned to ash, while the Temple of Light in Oakfield lay in ruins.
All this and more was shown to her, a dark promise of the things to come. But there was, the voice assured her, a way to not only survive, but thrive in the chaos. A way to regain the lost glory that her ancestors had once known.
A new image came before her; a tall figure, clad in black armour, surrounded by a halo of eldritch energy. It stood atop a mound of skulls, the steel of its sword stained red with the blood of countless victims. Before them stood an army, ready and willing to commit any act, no matter how vile, if the order was but given. The dark and terrible knight raised up its free hand, dangling a severed head by its hair. The image swum into sharper focus, and Sparrow was shocked to see that it was Theresa's head, the old seers eyes and mouth open in one final, eternal scream of terror. Throwing the ghoulish trophy down to the baying masses, the knight reached up and removed its mask, and the very breath was stolen from Sparrow's chest. It was a sick and twisted mirror of her own face that looked back at her. Her skin and hair had taken on the lifeless hue of alabaster, while her eyes were two solid orbs of red that glowed with the promise of dark power. A faint scar traced down from just below her left eye to pick at her upper lip, turning her mouth inter a determinant, leering snarl. Ever since the awakening of the powers within her at the Chamber of Fate, Sparrow had know that she had the capacity for great darkness, the same flaw that had led her ancestors to bring the glory of the Old Kingdom crashing down upon their own heads. And here she was, remade in that image, little more than a puppet, dancing to the tune of a greater evil.
A torrent of images assaulted her mind; her army sacking a town, displaying the heads of their enemies on their pikes. A forest burned, the smoke turning day into night as the horde under her command killed and devoured anything in their path. A fleet of ships, the biggest the world had ever seen, scoured the seas for fresh targets, spreading the dark shadow of war to the furthest corners of the earth. None her stood before them lived, while those who tried to run were cut down, be they man, woman, or child. She drank the blood of the fallen from their skulls, savouring each and every kill, every travesty and atrocity, as her appearance grew ever more twisted and demonic, until no one would have been able to call her human.
The images faded into the mist, and she was once again alone, only now on an empty mountain top. Before her, hanging in the air, was a sword with a long, curving blade that was split in two down the middle. The hilt and grip were blood red, while its pommel the colour of bleached bone. She know, somewhere deep down inside, that to take up the blade was to surrender her very soul itself. Her arm reached out, almost of its own accord, but she managed to stop herself before her fingers touched the cold metal.
"What can you offer me?" She demanded of the darkness that surrounded her, "I sacrificed my family for the sake of others; my husband... our daughter! I turned my back on a mountain of gold!" unbridled rage filling her voice, the guild tattoos on her exposed flesh glowing a bright, perfect blue, "WHAT MORE COULD YOU OFFER ME?"
"Death..." The voice hissed in return, the shadows coming together and coalescing into the form of an armoured giant. It raised a massive, gleaming mace over its head, ready to bring it down with enough force to crush the life out of Sparrow, "DEATH!"
"YOU SHALL NOT TOUCH HER, FOUL DEMON-SPAWN!" A deep, booming voice commanded, thunder and lightning splitting the skies and a painfully bright light appeared behind Sparrow, causing the demon before her visible pain, "She has rejected your empty threats and treacherous promises, Dark One; you can lay no claim on her!"
Sparrow glanced back over her shoulder, and was shocked to see a tall, withered figure in a tattered royal blue robe with white fur trim, the tarnished remains of golden armour hanging off in places, and his skin was drawn and had the colour of weathered leather. While much of his face was hidden behind scraps of the same blue cloth that his robe was made of, intricate Guild tattoos could still be seen. In his gauntleted hands he held a massive scythe, the blade of which looked sharp enough to lay a god low.
The armoured spectre with the mace hissed like an enraged snake, but the newcomer raised his weapon and took a step forward, evidently ready to stand and fight.
"We are not finished, little sparrow." A howling wind filled the air, and the creature started to fade back into the darkness from whence it come.
The world around them changed, the storm clouds overhead parted, the once dark and foreboding landscape replaced by rolling hills of soft sun and velvet grasses, while distant streams of quiet waters offered to sooth a beleaguered soul.
"Am... am I dead?" Sparrow asked, unsure if she was more afraid the the answer was yes or no.
"Death is not your destiny this day." The robed stranger smiled down at her, his voice and eyes now warm, the hard edge they had held melted away like the first mists of dawn. The light behind him grew until it became all-consuming, enveloping everything, "Perhaps one day, when the world has no more need of you, you will walk these hill with me, and we shall talk again."
Sparrow woke again, only this time she knew it was for real; there was simply no way the human body could hurt that much in a dream.
Opening her eyes slowly, and with some trepidation, she found herself laying on a blanket in the cave behind the Hornburg, surrounded on all sides by others who had been hurt in defence of the keep and the wall. But unlike their wounds, many of which they would carry to the ends of their days, her own body had almost completely healed itself, leaving only a few faint scars. Looked down at herself, she was somewhat shocked to see that she had been stripped of her armour, which was now laid out beside her bed, along with her weapons and pack. Instead she was dressed in a plain white cotton gown, stained red with her blood in places, but more than up to the task of keeping her warm and protecting her modesty.
"My Lady!" Éowyn appeared at her side, a relived expression on her face, "We did not expect you to awaken so soon."
"I told you before; I'm a hard person to kill." Sparrow pulled herself up into a sitting position, her head spinning slightly, but the aches and pains she had felt upon first awakening fading away, "How long?"
"Two hours." Éowyn explained, holding up a cup of water, "We still hold the Deeping Wall and the Hornburg, thank Eru, but I hear the enemy are massing for an assault on the gates."
"Then I am in the wrong place." Sparrow started pulling on her armour over the top of her gown, "I have seen the face of the enemy; I will not let others stand in my place against him while there is breath left in my body."
"You're hurt!" Éowyn protested, surprised yet somehow happy at the fact that her companion was so willing to re-enter the battle that raged outside. "You need rest."
"I'll rest when I'm dead." Sparrow responded as she gathered her weapons and made for the doorway that lead into the keep proper, "If I am destined to die this day, then I intend to make such an end that it is not easily forgotten." she warned as she made her way though the main hall and out into the courtyard, flexing her fingers to make sure her gauntlets, and their augment crystals, were firmly in place, "I don't know what emotions Saruman gave the Uruk-hai, but I for one intend to teach them the meaning of fear."
The rhythmic pounding against the main gates indicated that the Uruk-hai had managed to get a battering ram up the ramp, despite the best efforts of the archers on the battlements and wall. Boromir seemed to be organising a party carrying beams and hammers, no doubt to shore up the one remaining weak spot in their defences, while Aragorn and Gimli slipped through a side door on a mission of their own.
"Anything I can do to help?" Sparrow asked.
"You have yet to cease amazing me." The Captain of Gondor chuckled as he looked her over, "When I pulled you from the water, I felt sure that even your luck had run out."
"I've survived worse." Sparrow had to stop herself from reaching for the scar over her right eye, just under her hairline; it was a constant reminder of the night she had first met Lord Lucien Fairfax, the night she had watched her sister die, unable to do a damn thing about it.
"Of that I have no doubt." Boromir laughed as the pounding the battering ram stopped, only to be replaced by the clash of steel on steel, "Let's see just how strong you really are."
Grabbing a thick plank, Sparrow held it up against the weakened gate and held it in place while others worked to secure it with nails. Peering through a narrow gap in the wood, she could see Aragorn and Gimli battling the Uruk-hai, buying the those inside time to work. Once the first plank was held in place, Sparrow grabbed another that was passed forward and placed it lower, holding it in place with one knee so she could pick up a hammer of her own and work to hold it in place. All the hours she had spend making swords and horseshoes at the forge in Bowerstone meant that she was an expert at hitting a target as small as a nail with even the biggest hammer.
With the last board in place, she dropped the hammer and ran up to the battlements overlooking the causeway. Two of the Rohirrim were preparing the send down a rope for Aragorn and Gimli, but the Uruk-hai were massing for a fresh attack. Reacting on instinct, Sparrow summoned a trio of burning blades and flung them into their ranks, followed by another attack, and then another. She didn't have the time to summon a larger more powerful attack, so instead she just kept summoning and flinging the blades. They sliced through the thickest armour, burning as they cut, turning a few of the Uruk-hai into living, writhing touches, if only for a little while. The sudden ferocity of the attack was enough to force them back long enough for Aragorn and Gimli to make good their escape.
To Be Continued...