The Capturing of the Eye of Cyrus

       The air was dry and tasteless among the hills south of Sena. Dark feathered vultures and taloned hawks scoured the arid land in search of unwary prey that crawled beneath. Raucous hyenas slobbered amongst bones and burrows, awaiting their next morsel. These times were propitious for them. Wars for lost relics brought many battles to the badlands, leaving hapless ones wounded or lost. From north and south, the fools would come, nescient of the vast quandary and its perils. Winged raptors settled amongst stones would wait for them by borders while famished beasts of land hid aback hilltops.       

A cackle and flutter was heard from a hawk. Atop a plucked rod, it eyed the grains ahead of it. Footprints were engraved amongst a dune. From its perch, it soared atop the lofty mounds. Its fierce eyes scoured them for their trail. These were not the marks of the wild that scavenged the land nor the prey that hid within the sand. These were the brands of foreigners to the land, ones that had journeyed a long ways.  

Not a ways far from those steps, it saw the ones who had made them. They were six in all and could be seen following one after the other. They were not the injured ones nor fledglings it hoped for. Though they walked with less wear than their warring brothers, a callous aura was about them. Scavengers of the desert knew to leave them be and merely watched from afar.  

These ones were all of the same height except for the tallest whom was in the rear. Each wore a nightly wool, silver etched along its brims. The cloaks covered them from head to knee and were slightly opened at the neck by drawstrings. Gritty loam covered the lower ends of their trousers and boots.  

It was a long passage from the Great North. From the frosty lands of the southern end of Norsia and past the vast desert between Luxum and the Geshrum River, they maneuvered themselves steadily and undetected. No guard posts were ready during the reign of Sanak since most Unitus soldiers were off to battle with others of the North by Akta’s border and not far beyond Sundum.  

These Bomusian Wars were an opportune time to recollect an artifact that was of great importance to their cause. An artifact that would lead to the whereabouts of the legendary Hammer of Engor, the treasured keepsake of Norsia. It had been wielded by each Norsian king since Engor‘s end. It was said to have been a gift from the heavens, one that had crafted the lands of the world.  

“There it is”, said the eldest of the men. “The loot of the land abides here”.

He pointed at a lone building that rested within congeries of trees. This building was broad and made of hardened mud brick from Sundum and ceran from Sena. Its height rivaled the hills beyond it. Four pillars rested at each corner of the building, separating roof from ground. The mark of the Unitus Sun was engraved midway along its top. This mark was of the king of Unitus, given to the chambers for his majesty’s conquests.  

After surveying the building and its surroundings, the elder of the lot faced the others.  

“This is what we came here for men. Not even the brethren of Nord could reach this far”.  

“What would you expect? Blood of the trickster fools even the wisest of men”.  

“Can’t argue with that Agmund. He fooled me into leading you men to this scorched wasteland. And on a whim at best”.  

The giant of them grubbed some grist. He sniffed at the grains and glanced at the tall chamber. His grunts and snorts rivaled the ashen wolves of the Great North.  

“The big one says we should wait”, said Agmund. “He’s always been right about his smell”.  

The old one scoffed.

“Wait for what?!” he said.  

The large one gave a few more grunts then looked to the sun.

“He says we should wait till sundown”, said Agmund. “The night will hide us”.

“Remind the oaf of who he belongs to now”, said the elder. “We hide from no one”.  

The elder turned to the large one and another of his near men.  

“Magni and Valborg”, he said. “You two will take the entrance first”.  

The tall one stood glum while Valborg fiercely eyed the King’s vault.  

“The rest of you will follow me into the chambers after they‘ve finished”.  

Though some were reluctant, they all agreed with him and hid within the trees, watching Magni and Valborg head towards the steps. Two guardsmen were talking to each other near the doorway when they saw the two foreigners approaching.  

“Halt there you two!” shouted one of the guards.  

He quickly grabbed his spear and pounded its shaft’s end on the ground.

“No one comes within this area without the crest of the king’s royal guard!”  

The other looked at the two men and saw that their wear was unfamiliar to the region.  

“Strike them down!” he said. “They’re marauders!”  

Just as he said those words, the two Norsians rushed up the stoned steps. Magni unhitched his cloak and removed the sledgehammer trussed to his back. It was as tall as him with the blunt side of the hammer wider than his head. The sight of the colossal forager was daunting yet the soldiers withheld their fear and brandished their spears at him. Swing after swing, they dodged the doughty blows of him. A jag at his cloak was all they could manage. His onslaught had pushed them by the chamber’s doors. With them trapped, Magni swung his hammer strong enough to uproot an oak tree. Cuts and scrapes beleaguered the guards as they rolled across the cracked floor, evading his mighty swing. Disgruntled with Magni’s laggard assailment, Valborg quickly removed his spear from the rear of him and hurled it.  

“Hurry and warn the others!” said the stricken guard to the other. Valborg’s spear had impaled him, leaving him to fall by the door. He felt around the long spear. Its cerate rock was different from their bronzed heads. Before the other guard could reach the door, Magni had pinned him to the wall. It was unfortunate for him that he rarely missed on the second of his mighty swings.  

“I see why our master chose you two now”.  

The two Norsians looked behind them to see the eldest one. He had reached the top of the stairs along with the others. Magni removed his hammer from the battered guard while Valborg yanked his spear from the other. Magni felt a pat on his back. The elder had directed him towards the fallen soldiers.

“Patience is not needed for ones like us”, he heard him say. “Only fools would dare challenge us”.  

Magni grunted and walked with him towards the others. They stood before the tall bronzed doors of the vault. These doors were wider than them, standing side by side, with unlit torches at each end. The men stepped back as Magni stood alone. With a powerful thrust of his sledgehammer midway about it, a loud crackling sound resounded throughout the nearby area as the doors were broke open.  

“We’re under siege! Stop the trespassers!” bellowed a voice from within the chambers.  

Several guards emerged from the many doorways that were on the ground level as well as each of the several floors of the grand structure. Magni and Valborg stood at the opening of the pillared hallway and watched as their comrades marched inside.  

“Since the lot of you came to greet us, tell me where the bounty is you stole from us so long ago!” said the old Norsian as he walked into the middle of the lower room.  

“This place is off limits to all, especially barbarians like yourselves!” shouted back one of the closer guards.  

Stomps and crackles echoed throughout the room as the nearest soldiers charged towards the intruders. The guards on the higher levels readied their spears and began hurling them at the Norsians.  

“I guess you all will be of no use then”, said the old Norsian as he quickly whipped open his cloak along with the others.  

The staves of two sharply carved mauls were held in each of his hands. Held within the hands of his fellow men were a long sword, two spiked chain links, and a ragged axe. With the first five soldiers reaching them, the one called Herlof swung one of his spiked chains at them. The small whetted blades on the end of the long chain shredded through their chest armor, causing them to stumble backwards. The one known as Agmund of Lundsun firmed his grip on his long sword with both hands as three more guards approached from the left. In three swings, Agmund cut down each of them. Another of the guards approached from their rear with his sharpened spear aimed at the back of Herlof. The Norsian called Haward quickly turned and chucked his axe at him. The rugged axe spun several times before chopping into the guard’s left shoulder.  

Seeing that their fellow guardsmen had been defeated so easily, the rest of the guards retreated to the upper floors.

“Kill them all and search every room for the Eye of Cyrus!” exclaimed the old Norsian.  

Before the men could reach the stairways, the voice of one from the highest floor shouted down to them.  

“Stop right there!”  

The Norsians looked above. A man donning a brownish gold cloak and hood stood with his hands pressed upon a railing. His face was hidden in the dimly lit insides of the building even though flickers of flames along candles of the room stood near him.  

“And who might you be?” asked the elder Norsian. “If you’re in charge here, tell us where the eye is!”  

The robed man reached in his garments and removed a brightly glowing object. Yellow flashes of it lit the room. Its bronzy surface and etching of an eye caught the elder’s attention.  

“This makes our job easier”, he said. “Now come down and hand it over to us”.  

Near guards of the sacred chamber watched as the hooded one plopped the treasured eye back within his right pocket.  

“I know who the six of you are, Vidkun of Amux”, said the hooded one.

“You Followers of Lok have come to retrieve an eye that others have failed to”.

Vidkun gave a haughty laugh.

“Well, we’re not them. We don’t fail when we want something”.

“And you certainly aren’t them. I’ve never seen ones so bold as yourselves to storm the King’s vault. Where others would have only planned, you pursued”.   

“Then you should know not to interfere with our task. Just hand us the eye”.  

Without a moment of hesitation, the cloaked man leaped from the top floor of the building. The guards watched as he landed onto the hardened ground before the Norsian warriors.  

“Kill him and take back the eye”, Vidkun said to Agmund.  

With his sword held above him, he rushed towards the hooded man. A swift forceful thrust of his blade pierced into the cloaked man’s chest. Darkish gold grains began to pour through that man’s wounds.  

“Agmund move back!” clamored Vidkun. “He’s of that wretched guild!”

The hooded man’s body and wear had turned into the sand of the outside then headed about the ground like a serpent. Though moving about erratically, it condensed by the rear of Herlof. Vidkun and the others turned to him but were too late. The hooded man had already removed his blade and a pair of chakram from within his cloak. Herlof turned to him and swung his spiked chains. The hooded one dodged the blades of both links and flung the circularly bladed chakram from his left hand at him. The rapidly spinning weapon shredded into the brass chest plate beneath Herlof’s cloak, knocking him to the ground. With his axe retrieved, Haward along with Agmund charged at the mysterious warrior. The long sword of Agmund collided with the hooded one’s blade as he tilted his head to avoid the side swing of Haward’s axe. Agmund’s bulk aided him in pushing back the strange man. Outmatched by the Norsian’s strength, the hooded one rolled across the ground and away from the two of them. Seeing that there were too many skilled warriors for him to handle alone, he darted for the entrance.  

“Magni and Valborg! Stop him from getting away!” roared Vidkun as he and the others pursued him.  

The hooded man pointed his left fingers back at Herlof. The residue of sand that lied along edges of the chakram merged together and pulled it from Herlof’s armor. Like a hawk, it flew past them and glided towards his left hand. With his weapons hidden once more within his cloak, he dived through the small opening amongst the sledgehammer and spear that were swung at him. A quick maneuver of his hands and feet upon several of the stairs below landed him onto the scorched desert. Frustrated and aggravated at that guildsman, Vidkun pounded his fist into a nearby pillar, forcing a small crack into the structure.  

“Master Lok will not be pleased with this”, he said as he watched the brownish gold hood fade beyond the dunes ahead. “But we will return and burn that guild to the ground when we retrieve Cyrus’s eye”.  

With these last words, the Six Warriors of Lok gathered their weapons and began their perilous journey back to the icy mountains of Norsia.