Chapter 3 — Victory

ASHES denote that fire was;
Respect the grayest pile
For the departed creature’s sake
That hovered there awhile.
Fire exists the first in light,
5 And then consolidates, —
Only the chemist can disclose
Into what carbonates.
- Emily Dickinson

Preparing to retake the great lake village, Seestæd, Sar divided his men so as to attack from multiple directions. As Sar’s group passed through a copse to the east of the village, a small force of northerners ambushed Lord Sar’s group, catching them off-guard and scattering them.

Sar’s horse took an arrow and threw him from the saddle before bolting. He fell heavily to the ground, sending his trusty spear tumbling from his grasp. As his men clashed with the marauders, he found himself isolated with several enemies advancing upon him. Desperate, he reached for his only remaining weapon — his scorched blade.

As his men dropped one by one around him, he charged hopelessly towards his adversaries swinging his blade wildly, half expecting the thing to come apart in his hands. But as he advanced, a warmth spread along the length of the blade, getting hotter until the handle was searing his skin.

As he swung the sword at his first adversary, a jet of flame erupted from is edge, igniting the man’s clothing and charring his skin. The blast illuminated the night as if a second sun had been born. The blinding light of the burning blade stunned the raiders for long enough for Lord Sar to strike down another two with ease before they fled.

Though Sar didn’t understand how this ugly sword could wield such power, he understood what he could achieve with it. Having unleashed the power of the sword, repeating the act was trivial. Armed with his flaming sword and an army more confident than ever, Lord Sar won fight after fight, quickly pushing the marauders back across the borders to Bristhölm. With success fresh in their hearts, Lord Sar and a band of his finest ventured after them, leaving a large force divided amongst his northern villages for protection.

Sar and his core army pursued the marauders, attempting to cripple them so that they might never venture into his lands again. The unyielding rains moving in from the northern shores made difficult conditions for even the most prepared army. The saturated earth proved hard going for their horses, and even the fire of Lord Sar’s blade could not best the foul weather they encountered. Soon they were forced to retreat to the safety of the Særnt.