Blade's Fall Chapter One

He awoke with a start. His heart thudded in his chest and he felt sweat beginning to erupt from his pores all over his body. He sat up in bed and looked groggily out the window. He could hear rain pounding the mottled glass window beside his bed and see only a feeble blue light on the horizon. He hoped he had just had a bad dream and could go back to sleep for the brief time before the sun rose. But as his heart rate increased and tendrils of panic rose in his chest he knew it wasn’t going to happen. He sighed and swung his feet off the bed and got up. He walked into his closet alcove carved out of the rock rear wall of his house and grabbed some ratty pants and a ripped and holey shirt that he used for just such dreary occasions like rain harvesting or other dirty work. He put on his sword, boots and coat by the door. His boots were new and he dreaded getting them muddy. His coat was a well worn dark brown hooded affair that had become his signature. Everyone knew him by his coat and either bowed respectfully in his direction or looked pointedly away. His sword was another of his trademarks. No one had ever seen a sword like it and inspired much talk whenever he was inclined to use it. With it’s plain black corded hilt and straight wide blade it looked like any other broadsword but when it was about to be used the blade blazed with a hellish ghostlike fire and strange symbols only known to magic wielders shown etched into to blade with liquid fire. It was not brought out often. It seemed to the villagers around that it was his last resort weapon. No matter if a person was a magic user’s friend or foe they all were glad when Loflan and his sword came to save them. He opened the door and groaned. The rain was glancing down in frigid sheets. He took his coat off deciding it would just weigh him down. He thought for half a second about ignoring the summons but remembering the last time he had decided to ignore it flashed in his mind. He had just gotten through a rather difficult banishing and was dead on his feet tired. As soon as he had fallen across his bed the now familiar pricklings of panic started. He had groaned and tried to go to sleep anyway. It proved impossible. After almost three hours of fighting the panic attack he had given up and went out searching for whatever it was that needed searching for. It had turned out to be a comet. It was the most amazing thing he had ever witnessed. The comet was large and dazzling and trekked slowly already three quarters across the sky. If he had went out when he was first summoned he would have seen it from its beginning to its end. He not only learned from these summonings they always seemed to feed his magic. He could not be certain this was true but after a summons his magic seemed to always go perfectly for several weeks. He sighed deeply and walked out into the rain. He lifted his left hand and made a fist. His hand began to glow between his fingers with a dark yellow light. He flicked his fingers open and a mass of light shot out a foot from his open palm. “Follow”. He said quietly to the light. The light lit the ground all around him but with the rain visibility was still low. He wandered around for a few minutes until his magic found the current of the summonings magic and lead him in a definite direction. From what he could gather he was headed parallel to town towards the road to Jakko and Silverstongue. As the sun gained strength at his back the rain waned to a light sprinkle and his light faded. It was barely a flicker of pale yellow when he saw a dark shape laying several yards from the main road on the boarder of a corn field. He walked cautiously. The dried corn stalks swayed in the early morning breeze. That same breeze carried the metallic sent of blood, human blood mixed with the light fresh sent of wheat. He drew his sword. Never before had a summons had anything to do with people. It had always been things of nature or a rare phenomenon. He bent down next to the figure laying his blade across his lap. The person was laying still on it’s side. He gently turned the figure so that it faced him. It was a woman. She was badly beaten. Her face so swollen and discolored he couldn’t make out any features. Her long black hair was matted and hung in bloody clumps around her face. Her right eye was black and blue and swollen shut. The whole left side of her face was bruised and swollen. Blood trickled slowly from her split and swollen lip. Her clothes were torn and barely covered her. Her body was also bruised and by the look of the unnatural angles her feet lay both ankles were also broken. . He took all this in a glance and knew why he was summoned. She was yet alive. Barely but alive. It was his duty to save her. He carefully took her into his arms. He thanked God he left right away when the summons came. If he had waited three hours this time it would have been too late. That was saying he could save her. Healing magic was not an ability he was born with. He had never healed anyone besides himself before. He hoped he could do it now. He trudged briskly back the way he had come while chanting a subtle warming charm to take the edge off the morning chill. Wisps of orange smoke trailed from his mouth and settled around her, warming her slightly. After twenty minutes of walking he arrived at his door. He gave it an exasperated look and it swung open. He took her into his study. It was the best place he could think of to take her. Everything he would need was there and his large wooden table would be perfect to lay her so that he could work his healing spell. The table was pilled high with books, ink bottles, scales and many other Magic user’s paraphernalia. He shouted at them to clear off and not being used to being yelled at vacated the table haphazardly spilling themselves or fluttering their pages. Not at all like their usual fluid and silent grace. After the things had arranged themselves neatly against the wall, out of the way he gently laid her down. She had not stirred once during their entire trip home and it troubled him. He left the room and returned shortly with a bucket of warm water, washing cloths, towels and a knife. He used the knife to cut away her clothing. He knew he would not be able to save her hair so he cut it too. Making it as even as he could while still trying to be swift. Once free of her clothes and hair he began to wash her body. He started at her hair and face. He chanted softly, putting her in a deep restorative sleep and easing her pain as much as his ability would allow. The magic would keep her in her current state of health, or lack of, until he could get her cleaned and access her wounds. As he moved lower despite the fact the woman was in a deep, restorative sleep be began to feel embarrassed as he cleaned the mud and blood from her breasts. The embarrassment quickly turned to rage as he saw the bite marks that still oozed small trace amounts of blood around her nipples. He clenched his teeth to the point it hurt and moved on. He cleaned her obviously abused privates trying to control his mounting fury at seeing her brutalized here as well. When he had cleaned her front side he gently laid her on her stomach to clean her back. When he had turned her a sharp hissed escaped his lips. He trembled as he stared in utter disgust and her bitten and bruised backside. He got up and left the room. In the hall he rested his forehead against the wall and ground his teeth. He punched the wall and the wood groaned. He vowed he would find the sorry excuses for men who did this to her and he would kill them. Slowly. He did this knowing that once the words left his lips he was bound to them. He didn’t care. He breathed deeply several times before he was able to go back to her and finish cleaning. Once he had finished he took inventory of what her injuries seemed to be. She had broken ankles, at least two cracked ribs and most definitely a concussion. That seemed it be it for her serious injuries. She was badly bruised and swollen pretty much everywhere. She was also malnourished and dehydrated. All of these combined were definitely a deadly recipe. He wondered just how long she had been with those men. More than a day for sure. How long had she lain not fifty yards from the main road? He got up and went to a counter that ran the length of the back wall of the room. Shelves and niches carved out of the rock were filled with jars and rolls of paper. He grabbed one of several mortar and pestles and began grabbing bottles and pouches. After he had finished mixing a curiously shimmering burnt orange substance he picked up a large bristled horsehair brush and daubed some of the liquid onto it. A string of words issued from his mouth from deep in his chest. He took the brush and started to make a line down her chest and abdomen starting on her neck and ending just below her navel. The orange paste made quite a contrast to her blackened, bruised skin. Loflan waved his hand almost impatiently and the substance slowly dissolved into her skin. He waited a minute, then two then three. He painted the line again. He waved his hand over her and again the orange faded into purples and blacks and blues. He waited. Again he drew his line and again he erased it. Almost instantly this time her chest rose a bit more than before and her breathing became audible through her nose. He waited several minutes until her breathing was no longer shallow and her heartbeat less erratic. He released his hold over her sleep and she fell into a deep , restorative sleep of her own which was more healing than any magic sleep he could create for her. He sighed with relief. “Third times the charm.” He said under his breath.