Roanoke: The Price of Power

The Sword

Arnold and Doc broke from the dispensary at a run, then finding themselves in the midst of absolute chaos.

Screams of women cut the night air, as did the growls of fighting men mixed with the agonized cries of their wounded brothers. The colony reeked of smoke and death, and Arnold saw that a few of the cottages had turned to rolling infernos, their thatch roofs collapsed and serving now only as fuel for the consuming flames.

They made their way, Doc and Arnold, toward the former's cottage. Around them, streaks of gray and brown darted and lunged and buried their teeth into the throats of the men in panic. Arnold saw in passing that the western gate had been opened. Scores of wolves were inside the walls.

When they reached Doc's cottage, Arnold turned to make way for his own home, but the man in black seized his shoulder.

"I have to protect them!" Arnold shouted over the howls and panicked cries of Roanoke.

"You can't help them now," Doc called back. "The only means of stopping this is with me. We must kill Shaberdge! Come!"

Arnold watched Doc push into his cottage, then surveyed again the unfolding destruction of his colony. Wolves moved from one dead or dying man to the next, ripping flesh and organs with their snarling muzzles. Men fought back with cutlass or knife or whatever they could find. Above it all, the green light cast its pallid hue over the spreading hem of carnage.

He would never make it to his wife and son. Not through this, and not alone. Arnold sprinted into the Doc's cottage braced the door shut with his back. He saw the Doc, kneeling as if in prayer. The man had belted a sheathed sword over his black coat.

From the hilt and scabbard alone, Arnold knew it was the finest sword he'd ever seen, or ever would.

He truly is a knight.

The sight was such that Arnold's astonishment overwhelmed his rising concerns for the welfare of the colony.

"Do all men of your order get such fine weapons?" he asked as the Doc rose to his feet.

"None but me. It's a family heirloom and very, very old," he replied. Then added, pointing to the window, "look."

Arnold rolled his neck toward the window and saw a man garbed in a long coat. He looked remarkably similar to the Doc with the black garment trailing behind him as he walked. The man took no notice of the wolves, made no concessions in his movements for the chaos all around him.

And he was walking directly toward the Doc's cottage.

Without thinking, Arnold rolled back behind the concealment of the door. His heart raced, his body poured sweat.

"Come to me!" a voice bellowed from beyond the door, and Arnold knew it was the man's. No one else could be so calm and confident amidst the destruction that raged outside.

"Come to me, Kingsblood! Come and face your end, you Order puppet! You fool!"

Arnold swallowed hard and looked to the Doc, who stood steady with his hand on the hilt of his magnificent sword.

Arnold grinned, the expression requiring every ounce of courage in his soul, and spoke:

"I think he's talking to you."