Sarq Part Three

Sarq encountered the Crooked while working for the kingdom of Miaz to clear out a large infestation of ghouls that had been tormenting the eastern villages of that land. The ghouls had been released from an ancient crypt by a bungling grave robber and the horde of the hungry dead had swept quickly down upon the unsuspecting villagers in the area. The army of Miaz was quickly overwhelmed by the creatures and the dead soldiery, transformed to hideous unlife by the ghastly touch of their slayers, rose up and increased the numbers of the undead horde.

This was when Sarq was called.

Despite their direful powers, the living dead had their weaknesses, and thus it was that the army of Sarq fought not only with sword and bow, but with fire as well, for the undead have no love of the living flame. Great iron carts filled with a blazing fire followed the army on the march and whenever one of Sarq's men fell his twitching corpse was hurled in the furnace before it could arise in dark resurrection. And such was the fate of the grievously wounded as well, for if they later died of their injuries than they would arise in field hospitals filled with those unable to protect themselves from their dark attentions. Thus Sarq's army in battle was grim indeed, for the cries and screams of the wounded as they were thrust into the furnaces echoed across the battlefield. But such was the loyalty of Sarq's men that even this did not deter them, and they fought all the harder to avoid such a fate themselves.

Mile after mile Sarq and his army drove the ghoulish horde back. For two months the armies fought on the hills of Miaz. The undead fought for hunger and Sarq's army fought for Sarq. And in the end Sarq's will was the stronger.

At last the undead were driven back into their original hole, forced to flee back into the eternal night. They crawled, squealing, back into the dark, their hateful eyes flinching at the burning torches wielded by the living. But this was not enough for Sarq. Not enough that the evil be driven back into its cage. For in some distant age, when the things that dwelled in the dark were forgotten again, some other fool might pry open the ancient stone to see what imagined treasures might lie within.

So Sarq, who left no work half finished, led a hundred of his best soldiers into the dark of the crypt to end what they had started.

I know little of what transpired there, for only four of the hundred who followed Sarq in ever came back out, and they were insane and gibbering for the rest of their days. What I do know was that they were in that crypt for five days, and it was only the escaping smoke of their torches and bonfires frmm the crypts dark door that let the rest of the army know they were still alive and still using fire deep beneath the surface.

It was on the fifth day, the day when the ground trembled and a great black smoke poured from the mouth of the crypt, that Sarq and his madmen emerged from the darkness.

And in his hand, Sarq held a sword. And that sword was the Crooked.

And the Crooked laughed to see the sunlight again. After so many years, decades, and centuries spent in the dark, the Crooked laughed to feel the warmth of heaven heat the cold metal of its being. And the laughter caused Sarq's men to grasp their hands to their ears and cry out for it was the laughter of no living thing, but of cold steel. It was the laughter of crashing blades and the squealing cacophony of metal on metal. It was a laugh beyond madness for it that laughed had never been alive or sane.

It was the laughter of a sword. It was the joy of the cutting edge, of chopped meat, and streaming blood.

It was the laughter of the Crooked and it was terrible to hear.

To give an unliving thing a mind is a perilous thing. For such a mind, awakened by magic, is not the same as one born and grown slowly and deliberately into life. It is a mind composed totally of what the thing is. The mind of a wheelbarrow would be totally and utterly of the hauling and moving of objects. The mind of a door would totally consist of the opening and closing of itself.

And the mind of a weapon consists entirely in the dealing of death.

Such was the Crooked.

In form the Crooked looked nothing like what it was. It was a crude sword of some three feet in length. It had bad balance, a misshapen grip, and, most prominently, a slight lean to the left in the blade itself, hence its name.

No apprentice weapon smith would ever show such a blade to his master. He would quickly melt the steel back down and start over. And he would be looking over his shoulder as he did so, afraid that some witness might connect him to the crafting of so clumsy a weapon.

It was the sort of sword that a wizard might make, in other words.

Who crafted the Crooked I do not know. So ancient was the blade that few Sages have a knowledge of its history, or he, she or what that crafted it. Most of the blades history is naught but rumor and legend. The only fact of its history which we possess is that the Crooked was created to destroy some great power of the ancient world. Be it a demon king, an alien destroyer from the outer void, or some great calamity risen from the depths of ancient earth I do not know. But the Crooked was crafted to slay the vast and powerful. And he that would wield it became a power unto himself.

So it was with Sarq.

What passed between Sarq and the Crooked no one can know, for while the Crooked could speak to any it wished, it only wished to speak to Sarq. And Sarq spoke little enough as it was and of the Crooked he said nothing. But what is known is at this time Sarq's reputation, which had been considerable, now became great and terrible. With the Crooked in his hand and the power it granted him there was nothing Sarq could not accomplish, no foe he could not strike, and no reward he could not earn.

In this time he fought against the Demon Hounds of Kell, the Vampire Lords of the Fell March, and he killed in single combat the God Thing that lived in the Maelstrom at the edge of the world. The Crooked could slice the flesh of Demon, Vampire, or God Thing with equal ease and Sarq was unstoppable. Had he wished, the civilized world would have bent its knee to him, and all their treasure, their lands, and slaves could have been his.

But such was not the way of Sarq. All he wished were wars to fight and assignments to fulfill. But as time passed and the Kings and Lords of the world began to treat Sarq as an equal and not as a servant. They came to Sarq not to barter for the swords of his men, but to treat, plead and cajole for his good will. They sent him ambassadors, presents, and unearned tribute. All wished his friendship lest they become the target of some rival and all envied and hated Sarq for his new and dreadful power. Of hatred and envy Sarq cared not, for he had none himself. And the power was merely a thing to control in order that other goals might be accomplished.

I said before I knew little of what passed between Sarq and the Crooked, but I know that the Crooked told him many things. It whispered to him constantly, in wakefulness and in dreams. Those standing near to Sarq came to recognize the strange metallic flicker that passed through the Crooked when it spoke to Sarq. For the Crooked spoke though the mind and it could send its voice to all and sundry, as it had on the day of its pleasure at seeing the sun again, or it could speak directly to Sarq's own mind.

It had much to say, apparently.

For the next twenty-two years Sarq carried the Crooked wherever he went and he did much good and much evil in that time, depending on whom you asked. He threw down kingdoms, destroyed many monstrous things, and saved and destroyed many lives. The armies of Sarq grew ever larger as every freesword and mercenary with a yen for a share of his riches flocked to his banner. The world belonged to Sarq, for no force could stand against him and kingdoms made peace rather than take a chance that their opponent could afford Sarq's price. And over time the world began to grow, for lack of a better word, peaceful.

It was on the peak of Mount Taravel, also known as the Wounded Mountain for the great fissure at its summit, where Sarq and the Crooked had their last conversation. On the plain beneath them the army of Sarq and its countless followers seemed to fill the world, stretching from horizon to horizon. It had begun to be a mighty burden to keep them all fed, and several lands that been granted to or seized by Sarq now did little but produce food for his mighty army.

"Look upon what I have given you," the Crooked spoke into Sarq's mind with a voice of rending metal, "Look at all that we have wrought!"

Sarq said nothing

"I have made you the most powerful in the entire world! All who hear your name tremble and are made afraid!"

Sarq said nothing.

"I am a thing older than any kingdom in the world. I tell you now that it all my long existence never has there been one as mighty as you. The world is yours! All you have to do is reach out and pluck the fruit from the branch! Sarq! Lord of All!"

Sarq said nothing.

"Do you doubt this? Who is there to stand against you? All the great powers have been thrown down and laid waste by you! The Demon Spawn of Kell are gone from this world! The Vampire Lords are staked and beheaded! And the God Thing shall not rise again in the lifetime of a mountain!"

Sarq said nothing.

"Yet you are not content! I can sense it in your mind. You desire more? Name it and we shall achieve it! I serve you Lord Sarq, more loyally than I have served any master since my creation, for only you have been worthy of me. You with the soul and mind of the cutting knife, the slashing blade! You were great before I came to you and now you are the greatest of all! Tell me thy wish! Tell me what it is that mars your contemplation of all that you have wrought! Tell me..."

"This great fissure in the earth at my feet, how deep is it?"

"Let me ask the ground... The fissure goes to the very bottom of this mountain and then further! To the underworld it goes, to depths so dark and dead that not even the creatures of the Harati or the Fallen burrow there. It is the deepest darkest pit in the world, created when Hrugir dropped his axe to earth form heaven in the forging of the fifth star!"

"So I have heard." Sarq replied, and then he dropped the Crooked into the fissure.

The screams went on for some time in Sarq's mind, but finally, as the distance between sword and man grew greater and greater, the screams faded away. Sarq contemplated the rift in the earth for a moment, and then climbed back down the mountain.

And then he disappeared.

The great army searched for Sarq for many weeks, for such was their loyalty. But after that time even the most steadfast commanders had to admit something was wrong. And then the ambitious among them began to get ideas, or rather expressed out loud ideas they had been having since the first days of Sarq's disappearance. Various officers claimed that they were Sarq's favorites/best/most loyal and they should command. A will was presented, examined and proved false. Those who produced the will, which incidentally confirmed they were the true inheritors of Sarq, waged war to protect the will of Sarq. The other side, now in possession of their own version of Sarq's will and a Sarq heir to back their claim, (a lanky farmhand who had the same color hair as Sarq), fought on behalf of the heir's rights. A third faction arose around a man who claimed Sarq had spoken to him in a dream and instructed him to command his armies in his absence. A fourth arose around a woman who claimed to carry Sarq's offspring. A fifth claimed to represent Sarq's long lost brother. A sixth claimed to represent Sarq's horse. And so on.

After several pitched battles, the factions of the army each went their own way and most went to work for this or that lord or king. And the Lords of the land, hoping that Sarq was indeed dead and would never come to trouble them more, and now armed with armies trained by Sarq himself began to resume their old ways.

Within a scant handful of years the lands were enveloped in their old feuds and their old disputes. Wars were once again waged over scraps of land that grew nothing but stones and jackals. Great battles were waged on behalf of a tangled web of shifting alliances and betrayals that only a lawyer could hope to comprehend.

And after even more time passed and long after the old veterans of Sarq's mighty army had fallen in battle or retired to whatever destiny they could forge out of soldiers wages, a man called Sarq appeared in the lands of Miaz. There was nothing remarkable in his name, for in the aftermath of the age of the Crooked many children, most of them the offspring of soldiers, had been called Sarq in hopes of gaining a little bit of his skill and power through his name.

And this Sarq was nothing but a small, scrawny man with a sharp face. There was nothing in him to suggest anything extraordinary. He was just a poor woodcutter whose only possession in the world was an old wood axe he carried on his back. The Sargent nearly rejected him when he came to join the army, for such a specimen would barely do as a carrier of water, the only military profession he seemed capable of.

But in the end he had units to fill up and a warm body was a warm body. The man named Sarq took his place in the armies of Miaz and no one expected much of him. And while Sarq proved to be a very good soldier, and would far outlast others on the battlefield, he never tried to become an officer. He was offered promotions several times, (an uncommon event when only those born of wealthy sires or noble blood were offered such), but Sarq would always refuse. All he wanted was a war to fight in and weapon to fight it with.

And Sarq was content.

But in the depths of the fissure of the Wounded Mountain, the Crooked was far from content. It brooded with the dark and terrible hatred of the inhuman and the inanimate. It hated with the cold, relentless hatred of a steel forged heart.

And what it hated was Sarq.

End of Part Three

Next: Sarq and Love