The Sword of Cataclysm: A sword lost to time, yet not forgotten. Before the Durmaddons had been overthrown, no army could match the strength of the sword. The mere thought of the weapon used to instill fear in any fool thinking of rebelling. Until a power user had figured out a way to negate the artifact by creating a special armor that protected its user from the power. That invention had allowed the rebellion to rise and overthrow the Durmaddon family. There was no mercy, and many had thought the Durmaddons had been wiped from existence. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Kyrad had read the history of his ancestors many times. He never wanted to forget the cruelty inflicted on his family. There were no notes on why rebels had risen and fought Emperor Talberon. He had asked anyone who could possibly know and was given the same answer: 'it was a group of individuals who incited the common folk to rebel because they wanted to seize power for themselves.'

  Most of his family accepted such things, but not Kyrad. He had stopped asking, for if there was another answer, he would never find it here. In his search for the Sword of Cataclysm, he hadn’t asked anyone about the rebellion, for he didn’t want anyone to be suspicious of him. It was something he was going to change on this trip. He had to know the reason, even if it was one he didn’t like.

  Regardless, Kyrad wouldn’t betray his people, even if Talberon deserved to be overthrown. His ancestors had worked hard for over 1500 years. Once the sword was in his hand, the war for which they had been waiting would start.

  After informing his father, Bazeir, about the sword's location, Kyrad had done nothing but wait to be given the command to go. For some reason, Bazeir didn’t want him to leave yet. Kyrad couldn’t figure out why. Delaying the mission was only postponing their victory in this conquest, giving the enemy more time to prepare.

  His last trip to Aidris had given him the location of the Sword of Cataclysm, although he didn’t know the exact spot. It was in the capital of Azzellia, Carhan, and he had a general idea of where the weapon was. The delay in his father's mission was infuriating.

  A knock on his door caused him to lose his train of thought. “Enter,” Kyrad said. Rising from his seat, he ran his hand through his thick black hair, his curved sword dangling at his hip. A slave entered.

  “The emperor is ready to see you,” the slave announced.

  Finally. Kyrad thought to himself, not bothering to speak as he walked past the slave without a second glance. The island's natives had been enslaved by his ancestors a long time ago, and most of the time, they weren't worth his breath. Inside the palace, his father stood alone in the room.

  Kyrad stopped a few feet from his father and waited. Bazeir smiled, as if finding his silence amusing. Several seconds passed. “Your patience is about to be rewarded,” Bazeir said, uttering his first words to him in over a week. Anytime he had tried to see his father, he was told the emperor was busy and to come back tomorrow.

  “Are you ready to send me?” Kyrad asked.

  Bazeir nodded. “I have been praying to the gods, waiting for a sign. Only now have we been given the blessing to proceed.”

  “Which sign was given?”

  “Dalmanus sent a rock that collided in a farm three days from here, creating a fifteen-foot crater; one not seen since our endeavor to conquer the natives of this island.”

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  “Then the god of war is with us,” Kyrad said.

  “My son, there is no better sign. You must retrieve the Sword of Cataclysm. You will need to gather a small force and enter Aidris discreetly, for the people there will know you are an enemy,” Bazeir said, putting his hand on Kyrad’s shoulder, his eyes shining with pride. “We were blessed to be born in this era. Our ancestors have waited for this moment for 1500 years. It is time we make them proud.”

  “I will make them proud,” Kyrad said. “I shall assemble a few of our elites and sail immediately. I will bring back the sword, and we will conquer Aidris, together.”

  “Will you bring a Mardimer?”

  “No,” Kyrad said quickly, “if we bring any power users, there is a good chance we may be detected. There are plenty of mages, and I would rather not risk detection.”

  “You are right,” Bazeir said with a sigh. “It's a shame, as a Mardimer would make this mission much easier.”

  Kyrad wasn’t so sure. The Mardimers were strong power users, but they were cocky, especially with those who couldn’t use the power, and he couldn’t. They were also aware of how special their powers were and could get away with much more than a normal person. No Mardimer could act arrogantly around him once he had the Sword of Cataclysm in his hands.

  “I know you have your issues with some of the Mardimers, but they will be necessary in the war to come,” Bazeir said.

  “I'm not a fool,” Kyrad said.

  “Then go. Get your elite soldiers and recover the sword. I will prepare our fleet for your return.”

  With a bow, Kyrad walked away, feeling his entire body shiver with excitement. During his wait, he had thought of five people he wanted to accompany him on this mission, all of whom would be considered legends if they were given the opportunity to showcase their skills.

  The problem with being cut off from the rest of the world was that a man named Arturo Pentori had been considered a legend, and he had killed him with ease. The people he was bringing were equal to his skills.

  Ahalfor Dimanachi was a skilled bowman who fought adeptly with two short swords, considered one of the finest bowmen in the Neverus Isle. Cainon Archmeister, a two-handed sword specialist, had helped train Kyrad as a child, and he doubted anyone in Aidris could challenge him. Buthomar Moradis wielded a spear, and some said he could beat any swordsman. He wished he could see Buthomar and Cainon fight, yet they both refused to spar together. Ithric Lamrace was a sword and shield fighter, and his defense was considered nearly impenetrable. Kyrad had sparred with him once and hadn’t been able to break through the man’s defense, though it had been a short spar. Perhaps, given more time, he could have landed a blow. Samot Peranth was a man who fought with a one-handed sword. His speed and strength were remarkable, though he never understood why Samot refused a shield since he didn’t like dual-wielding blades.

  With that team, Kyrad saw no way for his mission to fail. These five were some of the best, and each would be useful on this mission. He stepped outside, and the sun shone brightly. The sky was clear, making it the perfect day to leave. It was energizing, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

  As he walked, there was a strange energy in the air. He needed to speak with the five elites he was bringing with him. Even the slaves seemed happier than usual. Blacksmiths lined the streets, and the pounding of hammers on steel could not be missed. Weapons were being forged, and young soldiers talked excitedly with one another, all knowing what was about to happen. So many wanted to make names for themselves in the coming war.

  Kyrad remembered his first fight to the death—the adrenaline that filled his body as he fought, and the exhilaration when his sword plunged into flesh, killing his first person. That was when you knew whether you were a soldier or a coward. Some froze or chose to run over fighting. Those people were put to other uses. How one could fear the thrill of battle eluded him.

  Wagons full of supplies were moving across the street, and people from all over the isle were arriving. By the time he returned, tens of thousands of people would be ready to sail across the ocean and into Aidris. He couldn’t wait for that day to arrive.

  With one final glance at all the people, Kyrad picked up the pace. There was no more time to waste. He would gather his men and leave. It was all he could think about, for he was ready to conquer Aidris and bring peace to a troubled nation. Only then could he allow himself to rest.