Fanfic:Ogier's Blade
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Dawn was slowly gaining strength in the city of Sulandre. The pale spring sun rose over a decimated city. Only half it's citicens had survived the winter, where the front in the war aginst the blight had been right on the city. Battles had been fierce and everyonbe who could had fought. Everyone, from children barely able to swing a sling, to men too old to lift a sword, had fought to protect their homes. And so, one day when the dawn rose, the ogiers had gone to battle. They were only five, ut with their huge axes and clubs they did the work of fifty men. And the citicens rejoiced, for the ogiers wrath had inspired the weary defenders to efforts they thought impossible. And when the day was done, no ogier had fallen.
And so the battles continued, for weeks. And slowly but surely, the defenders were whittled down. Their walls were crumbling, their courage saggin. Only the ogiers steadfast fury held the 'm together, and even that were crumbling, as two of the mighty warriors had already fallen. Three where left, Chiol, Drogia and Samui. They were family, Samui being the child of Chiol and Drogia. They fought with what they had, axes and clubs, sung from the trees they loved. But one day, Samui experienced terror, in it's deepest, most dangerous form. A myrdraal, clad in black armour, it's cloak hangeing completely still around it, rose up before him. It's eyeless gaze held him, froze him in utter terror as the thing raised it's sword and prepared to strike. But with an effort of will, with an inners trength he hadn't known he possesed, Samui wrestled his gaze from the myrdraals and swung his club enough to beat aside the sword. But alas, the baneful weapon cut through the wood, leaveing Samui with only a stump of wood. As the myrdraal rasied it's sword again, fear gave unknown strength to the young ogier. He grapped the myrdraals arms and with an effort he thought beyond him he pushed the thing back into the trolocs behind it and grapped a schythesword from the ground. Swingeing the blade like a club, he soon found out that it was a lot more effective than his wooden club. The sharp sword cut like a scythe through the trollocs that came at him, and strangely he felt familiar with the weapon. It felt good in his hands, much better than the clumsy club had.
And so he fought with all his strength until a group of warriors managed to get to him and push back the tide of trollocs he had been holdeing back. And as they retreated, weary after a long day of fighteing, the others eyed Samui, the youngster of the ogiers, with a respect akin to fear. Alone, a lad barely an adult among ogiers had held back a group of trollocs ten men would have been hard pressed to stop.
But things didn't get better. Slowly but surely, the defenders fell, one by one. The situation was desperate. They needed aid, now! And if they didn't get it, Sulandre was doomed. And so men were called in to carry messeges for the other cities, citites not yet hit byt the war against the trollocs. Among these men were Samui. The young ogier had been fighteing almost constanly, and his face was setteling in a nearly permanent grim mask. His long eyebrows had been cut so they barely reached the middle of his eyes, and his eartufts were almost always turned back. But he had a problem. There were no weaponin the city to match his size, standeing well over eleven feet tall. The scythesword he had been useing was broken and he hadn't had time to fnd a new one. So he walked around the city, starteing to despair. There was no point in leaveing the city unarmed. What happened then some call luck, other call it fate and others again call it the hand of the creator.
Samui met a man. A man called Grandos, a man weareing a cloak that seemed to shift a change as Samui looked at it. A man who was a warder. A man who took Samui, the ogier warrior to see the woman who should change his life. She was tall and dark, a goddess by human standards. Grandos clearly adored her, as did the other warder she had, Erindar. Her voice was like the night, soft and velvety when she spoke.
"I have heard of you. Samui the Brave... That's what they call you. 'Samui held a whole horde of trollocs by himself!' they say in awed voices. Are they right? Are you really the mighty warrior they say you are? " She looked at him with eyes that would have pierced a humans soul, would have compelled him to answer her truthfully. Samui didn't care. The horrors of war had long since burt the tender feelings that most ogier had away, and left only a hard, cynical young man who knew nothing but the war.
"I am Samui. Just Samui. What they say matters not. I fight where I must, when I must. Or I fought, would be the word. My sword is broken under the body of a myrdraal, it's deaththroes takeing my weapon away. " He stared back, as if dareing her to smile. Both Grnados and Erindar fingered their swords, uncomfortable.
"Yes, you are Samui the Brave... Never did anyone speak to me that defiantly. Very well, Samui. I shall give you a sword. But with that sword, you will carve a desitny that you will only know in the moment of your death. " She paused. "Will you accept that sword, and the knowledge that you will only know your destiny when you die? " Her gesture as she spoke was both pleadeing and warning. But Samui didn't care. A new sword would give him what he needed to fight on. His destiny mattered nothing to him.
"I accept your sword Aes Sedai. I accept what you have told me, for my path is clear. " His eyes were hard as steel as he spoke and his bearing proud. One would not have thought that the ogier had once been a peaceful gardener. The Aes Sedai sighed and bowed her head, motioneing him to follow. She led the ay, closely followed by her two warders, into a smithy. It was large, with a tall, arched ceiling, great forges and huges bellows. The Aes Sedai waved a hand, and the bellows started, the forges suddntly burned bright and a long bar of metal flew to land on an anvil. Erindar had eplaced his cloak and shirt with a coarse linen overshirt and a leather apron as where used in forges. Samui was told to stay out of the way and soon work was proceedeing. The iron was heatd and Erindar was hammering away at it with a huge hammer, shapeing the steel into the shape of a sword. The Aes Sedai was at his side, with a concentrated lok on her face, sweat batheing her, makeing her dress cling to her body n a way that would have made human men look mjore the three times at her. And there was a feel in the air, as if just before a thunderstorm. Only this was the tangible feeling of the one power being wielded in quataties larger than most people could handle. And as the sword formed, under hammer and Power, samui was called to stand by the Aes Sedais side, instructed to envison the blade he would carry to battle. And he did, imagineing a blade, long and slnder, a blade he could swing with one hand, sharpened only on one side, and grcefully curved. He imagined a nobler version olf the trolloc scythesword, a long graceful instrument of death, used to deal justice to the creautrs of the dark. And before his eyes, hangeing in midair, the rough outline of a sword change and altered, becomeing the blade he had imagined, as visible strands of Water, Fire, Earth and Air wove around it, knit together by a gossamer web of Spirit.
The makeing of the sword took the whole night, and as morning came it was cooled a last time, and when taken out of the water it shone brightly, as if newly polished.Samui took it and held it high, swingeing it through the aiur to enjoy it's song. And he looked at the Aes Sedai, and grinned,the first happy look he had worn in days. She smiled back and said in a weary voice as she collapse in Grandos' arms.
"Go now, samui the Brave, go and carve your destiny with your sword. " And Samui left, running from the city, sword by his side, to the great citis of the south, askeing for aid, and whenhe returned months later he brought great army with him to battle the trollocs at Sulandre. They fought a massive battle, the fields being covered in the bodies of the dead and dying. And though it al, Samui's sword sung it's song of death, slaying everything that stood in his path, Darkhound, myrdraal, drakhar and trolloc. The trollocs weere beaten and sent running, but it ws not enough for Samui.
Years passed and the war continued, great generals fought and died alongside their men, but Samui the ogier lived, carrying his mighty sword into every battle, spreadeing death whre he came. He didn't age a day to human eyes, but his eyes lost ther shine, became flat and dead as the klling went on, the thing within that had been ogier long gone. He was a killer now, and nothng more. He fought with abandon, and whereever he came, soldiers took heart and roared: "The Ogiers Blade! Follow the Ogiers Blade! " and followed Samui into the thick of the battle, spreadeing death among the followers of the Shadow.
But it had to end some day. And it did, on the slopes of the Mountains of Mist, a sumer morning when the hopes were high. Samui stood in his platemail, surveying the enemies stretched out below them. Beside him stood a young soldier name Janner, a knight of much courage but little experience. And in the valley below them, thousands of trollocs milled around among each other, whilke the Myrdraal walked among them organizeing the confused creatures into units of battle. And suddently Samui smiled, a grim smile, but stil a smile. In his deep rumbling bass voice he said to Janner.
"Your looking glass. I think I spotted siomething important. " Wthout question the knight handed the precious item to the huge ogier and said:
"Looks bleak eh? You think well make it? We only got a thousand man after all... " The young man fell silent as he thought of their chances of leaveing the vally of Turanne that day. They where indeed bleak. But Samui merely grinned and handed him the looking glass.
"See that spot of black? That's no myrdraal. It's the lord Syracas himself. We're lucky this day! " The ogiers voice sounded almsot cheerful.
"You mean they've got a dreadlord downthere? " Janner asked calmly as he searched the groups of trollocs. "I can't see him but I trust your word Samui. So what do we do? " Samui merely picked up his heltmet and place it on his head, makeing sure his large ears protuded from the openeings made for them.
"We do what we must do. We fight. " Was the ogiers only respons as he took his place in the front rank of the Ogiers Blades, the mercenary unit that had sprung up around Samui and his famous sword. And soon the army marhced down to meet it's foes on the floor of the valley of Turanne. And suddently, with the clarity of a man who had seen the creator, Samui knew. Thgis was the day he died, died killing Syracas. And so he smiled and started singeing the song of war a bard had once composed for him,a song in the getnle ogier language, of the trees in the summer, of the peace that had been and whya young ogier had left family and home to battle the shadow beside the warriors of man. And the Blades sang along, feeling the words echo in their heart as surely as they knew that this day they died.
Too soon the battle was joined, and Samui and his blades waded into the fray, all armed with the long, serpentine swords that Samui used, only the humans weilded theirs twohanded. They sang on as they fought, singeing, killing and dieing every step of the way, towards Lord Syracas. The number of Blades got fewer as they proceeded, and soon they weere surrounded by foes, and stil they fought on. Samui saw Janners Chancers strand in the sea of Shadowspawn, saw the courageous knight being dragged from his horse as the last of the Chancers fell, and still they pushed on. And soon, Samui was along, wadeing through a sea of death. His huge sword was blinkeing in the light or morning, and red trails of blood was running through the air whereever it passed. All fell where he struck, trolloc and myrdraal alike. But he was feeling it. He was wounded agina and again, as scythswords and myrdraal blades penetrated his armour, as maces battered him and axes shattered on his platemail. But still he continued, until he stood face to face with the lord Syracas himself. And the two faced of, that dreadlord and the ogier, blades draw and a web of power settled around them, closeing out all. And they danced the forms, Syracas' twohanded sword strikeing sparks from Samuis serpentine blade. For long minutes they dueled, and many wounds were given and recieved by both. And then, Boar Rushes Down the Mountain met Low Wind Riseing, and Syracas' balde shattered, and Samuis sword embedded itself firmly in the dreadlords skull, biteng through plate chan and quilt to split the mans head in two. And as the dreadlord die, the web disappeared and Samui let go of his blade. And then the strange thing happened. All over the battlefield, myrdraals and trollocs died rapidly, as if their lifeforce had been torn away. And in the mddle of a sea of dead, Samui stood, still as a statue, the handle of his sword risaeing into the air from whre the dreadlord lay. He was dead when the few survivors of the Blades found him. They buried him in the mountans and set his blade in the stones of his grave, to remind everyone of a fallen hero.
Many years after, the blade disappeared. No-one knew where it went or how, but facts are that it was found many canturies later, by a young warrior named Urikanu shin Larithan, Drin'far'ji of the Grey Tower and heir to the lands of the Crystal Lake, and the unknowing descendant of the Aes Sedai who once forged the Ogiers Blade.
