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Count Razin, the archmage and current elder of the Charoden clan, was exactly as a foreigner would have imagined him, and something more. His towering figure was unlike the normal mages, someone that could have been easily mistaken for a retired warrior. Only his slick steel staff and his great white beard betrayed his position. In the small council room, he dominated the scene.
The small beaked eyed man that stood opposite of him was like a bug compared to him. Regardless, his voice was clear and steady, his tone like reading an announcement rather than requesting a deal.
“Clan Lermaine has decided to unite all small clans that are around its borders in one great kingdom. In the name of the great charity that my clan is known for, we shall provide guidance and protection for all those people who are bound to be attacked by foreign forces. All we ask in return is something small, a token of your apprehension for this great act. Something to signify, that the clans joined in this agreement on their own accord, something to show that it is we who protect them.
Already the great falcon of clan Damar flies under the protective wings of our dragon banner. Of course, your clan has a greater history that one must think about. We do not want one of the most ancient flags seem lower than ours. So, we have decided that a simple trinket is enough. We humbly ask for the sword of Kaidin as a return for your protection.”
As the messenger spoke, his eyes slowly rose towards the back of the Count, towards the sword that was hanged by the wall. The light in the room wasn’t too much, but the beautiful, gem-encrusted sword, seemed to absorb and multiply it, as if it was a light source of itself. Its blade the most shinning steel, its hilt made of pure gold, the sword was considered a masterpiece of art, its slightly magical aura paled in front of its beauty.
“The sword of Kaidin eh?” The count’s tone was obviously sarcastic. “So it’s either this trinket, as you put it, or our complete genocide?”
The diplomat’s blank stare was enough to convince anyone that they were in the verge of extinction.
“But clan Lermaine should know, messenger, that this sword has two phrases etched in its blade, one older than the other. They say that the newer phrase was written by Charoden himself.”
The elder closed his eyes and started to chant the small passage that every Charodian knew by heart.
‘And as we stand alone in here, our only witness this blade; let it be known to all, that I forfeit my destiny to join yours. Let this blade be the symbol of our unity, for my lethality and your beauty, is equally represented in this sword. Let this blade be the symbol of our children, let them use its light to become one, as we have.’
“Our written history is over five thousands years old, and even then, the sword was already thought as ancient. For all those thousands years of our existence that our ancestors gave to us, they asked nothing back. And now here you come. Demanding that we give to you the blade that they left us? Asking from us to surrender to you their symbol of their union? Thousands of years, messenger, we were grateful to just honor our ancestors for everything that they have given us, for our blood...
This sword that you named a trinket IS Charoden. This blade IS this clan. This masterpiece doesn’t belong to Charodians; it is us that we belong to it. If you want it, you must earn it. Now leave pest. And say this to your master. Charoden will fight, and Charoden will perish. But warn him to make certain that there is not a single Charodian left alive when he finishes, because it would be by his hand that he will die.”
The diplomat was stunned. He wasn’t expecting a small clan to choose death over a sword. Regardless of the history of the sword and its material worth, its magical nature was well known, and it wasn’t something that great. Yet those people were ready to die for it. It was against all sense.
Silence ruled the room when the messenger left. The elder looked at the rest of the people that were in the room. Their firm gazes showed him that he has acted right. Not one of them, or of the rest of his citizens, would have accepted a different answer. Death or honor, cower or fight, regardless how one asked, the Charodian answer would always be the same.
It was Raymond who broke the silence. “So how many of them are here already?”
The head of the sorcerers, until the count retired from his position as elder to reclaim that place, answered. “About seventy thousands soldiers and four hundred dragons so far have teleported. They are just outside the anti-teleportation field that protects the city, about two days travel by foot.”
Raymond smiled. “At least we will fall gloriously. If Lermaine wants to become an empire she would need a larger army than this for the other large clans. But for now, let’s see how many of them we can squash.”
“Well, that’s a null question isn’t it? Our force is ten thousands blades and fifty dragons, add some dozens of mages, and this is our military force. But shouldn’t the question be, how many will fight? For I count at least forty thousand more civilians that can wield a blade better than those weaklings that come against us.”
“Ha! You underestimate us civilians general”
“ENOUGH” The elder cut them. “They are not stupid enough to come with only seventy thousands. I reckon that by tomorrow morning, we will have to face more than three hundred thousand soldiers. What I say stands. We are fighting the largest clan that there is currently out there. We cannot hope to survive. As our dear general has said, we can at least fall gloriously. That is to die to their eyes. Tonight we will start the necessary preparations to repeat Aldair’s plan. It is our only hope.”
The Aldair’s plan… Gazes fell down at the mention. Realization struck them. They couldn’t hope to win, but there was always pray to survive. It has worked in the past. But no one wanted to put his children through the centuries that have followed since then… no one could think of a better alternative either…
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