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The Quartz Key Chapter Sixty-Nine
by Lianne Burwell
October 2003
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The moon rose before sunset on the first day of the full 
moon. For three days they had sat and watched as the enemy 
gathered, just north of their own camp. They were so close 
that Judas could smell the smoke of their fires in the air, 
and when the wind blew in the right direction, he could 
almost hear the sound of hundreds of voices as the soldiers 
went about their business.

Judas did not understand why they were waiting. With each 
day, the odds against them grew, and the tension in their 
own camp grew until it was something you could almost 
touch.

But when he asked Chiram the chief had only said that the 
signs were not yet right. The battle would start with the 
full moon. How he could be so sure that the God-King would 
wait so long, the man could not say.

Strangely enough, though, he was right. Every day Judas 
waited for the sound of battle trumpets being sounded and 
the rumbling of countless feet marching in unison, but they 
never came. Every night he was displayed before the army, 
and spent time practicing with the sword, wondering if he 
would die the next day. If they would all die.

But now that the moon was rising full above the plain, the 
atmosphere of the camp had changed, sharpened. Metal rings 
sewn to leather tunics jingled as armor was donned. The 
light scraping of metal against smooth stone as blades were 
sharpened set his teeth on edge. The sense of anticipation 
grew by the hour. This was the night when the enemy would 
be engaged.

There was little for Judas to do as the army prepared. Even 
the pages who had tended to him were needed for more 
important tasks. Food was delivered, along with battle 
garb, but other than that he was left to tend to himself.

He had forced himself to eat, although anxiety made the 
food sit uneasily in his stomach. Then he had dressed 
himself as best he could in the unfamiliar garments.

The pants were made of a heavy linen that had been bleached 
so that it was white. His tunic, made of leather, was the 
same color, and covered with metal rings polished to a 
bright shine. It was so heavy that he had to stiffen his 
back to keep it from pulling him down. The boots and wrist 
guards, however, were black, and the wrist guards were 
studded with more metal. He wore more metal in his armor 
than most warriors could afford, no matter how wealthy. 
Most of the army had to be satisfied with layers of stiff 
leather quilted together, if even that. Finally, Judas put 
on his cloak and pulled the hood up over his head to 
protect himself from the setting sun before leaving the 
tent.

"Ah, good, you are ready."

Judas turned to face Chiram. "As ready as I can hope to 
be," he said with a sigh. He rubbed his damp palms against 
the sides of his pants, no doubt leaving dark smears on the 
pristine white.

"Do not worry yourself. All will happen as it is supposed 
to," Chiram told him. "Now, hold out your arms."

Judas did as he was instructed, and Chiram took a sword 
belt from a soldier standing behind him. He buckled it 
around Judas's waist, then took a sword, still in its 
distinctively curved sheath, from the man and stood holding 
it for a moment, staring at Judas.

"This sword was the sword of the Lords of the Clans," he 
said formally, holding the sheathed sword in front of 
himself. "The lords seldom rode into battle, but when they 
did, this was the sword that they carried. For long years 
it has been cared for in secret, waiting for the day when 
the clans would have a lord to carry it again. That day is 
come."

With those words, he knelt before Judas and attached the 
sword sheath to the belt so that it hung at Judas's side. 
Judas froze, realizing for the first time that there were 
many eyes fixed on them. All preparations had come to a 
stop as the soldiers in the immediate area watched the 
ceremony, for a ceremony it was.

Chiram stood and bowed, and all the others bowed as well. 
For as for as Judas could see, all he saw were the tops of 
heads.

Except for one set of angry eyes. Hamar stood at the 
opening of his own tent, a glare on his face, and behind 
him Judas saw a second figure. A flash of bright eyes and 
the swing of long hair teased at his memory.

And then the drums started to beat in the distance and all 
heads turned. Anticipation turned fierce. "Come," Chiram 
said, taking hold of Judas's arm.

They hurried through the camp, and it was all Judas could 
do to keep from stumbling on the rough ground, so fast was 
the pace Chiram set. In short order they reached the edge 
of camp. Soldiers of were already forming into ranks facing 
the army of the north. In the east the moon was rising, 
while the sun slowly sank in the west.

Chiram came to a stop, and five men with the harsh faces of 
warriors who had seen too many battles joined them. "Here 
you will stay," Chiram instructed him. "These guards will 
protect you, but be ready with the sword. The enemy will 
try to take you if they can."

Judas nodded. It seemed as though he had been numb for far 
too long, but now that the time was at hand, fear made his 
blood race and his heart beat ever faster. He was no 
warrior, no matter how many lessons Chiram and Nemir before 
him had given him, but this man and all his people were 
depending on him to do something that he still had no idea 
of how to.

Chiram seemed to see the doubt running through Judas's 
mind, and a sad smile crossed his face. "Do not look so 
unsure," he said, touching Judas's cheek tenderly. "This 
day was promised to us, and all will be right in the end. 
Trust in the Lady."

He lowered his hand to brush the back of Judas's where it 
clutched the hilt of the sword so tightly that his knuckles 
were white. "This was meant for you, and I am glad that I 
was able to see it in your hands."

Chiram turned and left to take command of his clansmen for 
the battle and Judas felt a wave of sadness pass over him. 
Something in the way Chiram spoke reminded him of his 
grandfather's farewell before his death from an infected 
wound and Judas fought the urge to chase after the man. 
Chiram may have been one of his captors, but he had also 
been the kindest, taking the time to talk to Judas and 
teach him.

But he did not, for a shout rose up from the army on the 
other side of the battlefield and a matching cry from the 
clansmen nearly deafened Judas.

Then the battle trumpets joined the pounding drums, and it 
was too late to do anything but brace himself for the clash 
of the armies.

>>>~~~<<<

As Chiram had said, while the guards were there protecting 
him, once the enemy saw Judas, they began to send sorties 
to try to kill him. Wave after wave of soldiers were cut 
down trying to reach him, but a few made it through.

The first time it happened was a surprise to Judas, and he 
was barely able to get his sword free of its sheath in time 
to meet the attack. But it seemed to swing with a life of 
its own, and he blocked the first blow easily, then, almost 
without thought, he brought the sword back around in a 
swing that cut through the man's neck, nearly decapitating 
him.

Blood splashed his face, warm and tasting slightly of 
metal, blinding him momentarily. He wiped it away with his 
sleeve, leaving a bright red stain on the pristine white, 
already starting to turn brown around the edges.

Judas's stomach heaved as he struggled with the realization 
that he had just killed a man. Then a thrown spear struck 
him in the chest with bruising force, barely stopped by the 
ring armor, driving him to his knees. All thoughts of guilt 
vanished as he fought to stay alive.

The battle came to an end as the moon set and there was no 
longer enough light to see by. Those who could walk 
returned to camp to bind their wounds and seek what rest 
they could before the next attack came. Searchers with 
torches to light their way went through the battlefield 
looking for those too wounded to walk, calling for 
stretchers for those who could be saved and giving mercy to 
those who could not.

Judas had managed to escape injury, due to the vigilance of 
his guards, but they were not so fortunate. One was dead, 
and another was likely to lose his arm before the healers 
were done with him. The other three were all wounded, but 
would be able to continue the fight.

In the first battle, neither side had been able to gain the 
upper hand, but Judas knew that that could not continue. 
While the clansmen had skill of arms and desperation on 
their side, the God-King had strength of numbers, even if 
many of those numbers were untrained in the art of war. 
Eventually those numbers would wear the south down and 
overrun them.

The only hope was to kill the God-King; a task that seemed 
hopeless.

Judas returned to his tent and cleaned as best he could 
with just a basin of water and a cloth. His blood-stained 
clothing was whisked away, and fresh left in its place. 
Food was brought, and he forced himself to eat.

Then, exhausted beyond belief, he collapsed onto his pallet 
and pulled the coverlet up to his ears, and surrendered 
himself to dreams that were thankfully free of screams of 
pain and blood.

>>>~~~<<<

Judas woke late in the morning from dreams of soft music 
and moonlight to the renewed beating of drums. Confused, he 
sat up and looked around the tent, trying to interpret the 
unexpected sound. Then he realized that the enemy was 
attacking. He scrambled to his feet and dressed as quickly 
as possible. The sword had been cleaned of blood and left 
for him, and he belted the scabbard to his waist. But what 
he would be able to do with the sun high in the sky, he did 
not know.

Now dressed in clean clothing with the sleeves hanging down 
over his hands and his hood shading his face, Judas 
hesitated at the tent flap, then stepped out. Already he 
could hear the sound of fighting. He waited a moment, then 
squared his shoulders and headed to the slight rise where 
he had watched the previous night's battle.

Of his surviving guards there was no sign, nor of Chiram, 
and Judas began to wonder at the wisdom of his decision to 
leave his tent. But the warriors around him cheered when 
they saw him, then turned with greater eagerness to face 
the enemy. Judas drew his own sword, wishing idly that he 
had gloves to protect his hands, and readied himself. These 
were still not his people in his mind, but he had grown to 
respect some of them, and did not want them to die.

The fighting was quickly approaching his position, and from 
time to time he saw a strange golden glow over one place, 
when he felt a prickling sensation. The world twisted and 
took on a dreamlike haze. Suddenly, no one seemed to be 
looking at him, or even realizing that he was there. Judas 
turned and found two familiar forms behind him. Hamar.

And Nahanna. Singing softly.

Memory rushed back, and he now remembered that it was 
Nahanna who had served him the poisoned cup. "Why?" he 
asked, bringing up his sword.

"Because you are not worthy," she said fiercely, then 
returned to her singing.

Hamar attacked, and Judas lifted his sword to defend 
himself. But Hamar had much more training than he did. He 
was forced to retreat before the hostile young man's 
attack, wondering that no one seemed to notice. There was 
something in Nahanna's song that kept anyone from coming to 
his aid, he realized. He would live or die on his own 
skills.

Step by step he went backwards, knowing that this was a 
fight he had no chance of winning. Then Hamar stopped, a 
cold smile on his face. Judas wondered why. He was answered 
by a burning pain in his side. Looking down, he saw the 
hilt of a dagger protruding from his side, having been 
slipped through a gap in his armor. The white leather was 
already stained bright with blood, as was Nahanna's hands.

Judas slowly crumpled to his knees as the world began to go 
dark.

END CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE