Chapter 6 - The Hall of Swords
The Hall of Swords was the most intimidating chamber in the entire citadel. Two hundred paces long and vaulted with black stone arches, its walls were lined with thousands of ancient blades donated by fallen heroes throughout Aethelgard’s history. For twelve years, those blades had remained silent, gathering dust in the cold darkness.
Leo pushed open the massive iron doors at the southern end of the hall. His footsteps echoed loudly in the cavernous space.
Waiting for him at the far end, sitting casually upon a high-backed iron chair, was High Lord Cassian. He wasn't wearing his ceremonial robes; instead, he was clad in gleaming black plate armor, a broadsword resting across his lap. Flanking him were fifty elite guards, their crossbows notched and aimed directly at the boy.
"I must admit, Leo," Cassian’s voice carried clearly across the vast hall, dripping with mock admiration. "You have exceeded my expectations. I thought you would cower in the alleyways until my hounds found you. Instead, you marched right into the heart of the lion's den."
Leo kept walking, his pace slow, steady, and unhurried. The silver signet ring on his finger pulsed with a cool, soothing light that cast long shadows against the stone floor.
"You murdered my family," Leo said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "You stole a crown that never belonged to you. And you turned a city of light into a cage of smoke."
Cassian stood up, hefting his broadsword. The metal scraped against the stone with an ugly, grating sound. "Power doesn't belong to those who share their blood with peasants, boy. Power belongs to those who take it and hold it with an iron fist. The old kings were weak. They cared for poetry and peace while the borders bled. I brought order to Aethelgard!"
"You brought terror," Leo replied, stopping twenty paces away from the usurper.
"Call it what you like," Cassian sneered. He raised his hand, signaling his guards. "Fire!"
Before the archers could release their bowstrings, the thousands of ancient swords lining the walls of the hall began to vibrate. A low, musical hum filled the air, growing louder and sharper with every passing second.
Suddenly, hundreds of historic blades lifted from their mountings on the walls. They didn't fall to the ground; they floated in mid-air, suspended in a shimmering grid of golden light, their points directed straight at Cassian's guards.
Cassian’s smug expression vanished, replaced by sudden, frantic disbelief. "What is this? Strike them down! Kill him!"
The guards hesitated, terror gripping their hearts as the ancient weapons hummed with lethal intent.
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Before Cassian could swing his sword, the massive oak doors behind him burst open with an explosive crash. Master Tomas, Lyra, and a roaring wave of armed citizens flooded into the Hall of Swords, their torches illuminating the darkness like a rising sun.
"For Aethelgard!" Lyra shouted, loosing an arrow that shattered Cassian's left shoulder guard.
