Sword of the Spirit

At times, we could see the battle atop the distant mountain.  We rode in our air balloon, and that is how we saw.  We fought the wind that pushed us about, and the cinders that threatened to send us crashing down into the treacherous land far below.

The spirit that appeared from the southeast, and strode northward, was there.  He fought fearlessly, for he was spirit, and his enemy was all that was evil.  We knew that it was he, and we knew that only he, and those who were pure, could tolerate the deadly lands of the fire mountain and it's master.

Now, the battle raged.

Far below, we could see the evil minions as they stirred and raged.  They looked up at their master, and they screamed and beat their battle weapons against their battered armor.  They shot arrows up at us, but for our fortune, we were far too distant for their reach.

To the west of them, we spotted the paladins.  They, who were the brightest and purest of heroes, had arrived, and with their swords and spears, they engaged the evil minions far beneath us.

Our air balloon rocked, and we steadied ourselves, while thunder shook the world above us.

The battles raged.

Vile winged beasts arrived in support of the minions, yet the mighty paladins held their own.  The fearless heroes cut a swath through the raging hordes, and lay waste to their commanders.  Fires and chaos and the sight of the unbreakable force, struck fear in the hearts of the evil minions, and many of them fled.

They turned and fled through the fires, over their broken contraptions, over their fallen compatriots, and they disappeared into the darkness of the dark land.

The paladins cheered their victory, as far above, the last battle waned.

We watched through the rising smoke.  Thunder and lightning shook the world, as the spirit battled the evil master of the mountain.  We watched as the spirit struck down the evil master of the land; it's ruined form fell down and burst into flame as it struck the jagged mountainside.

It's form fell onto the battlefield, and the paladins surrounded it in victory.

We looked back up to the top of the mountain where the fatal strike had been dealt.  We looked about while steadying ourselves in our air balloon.

We could not see the spirit.

Soon enough, we had to return to safer fields in order to land.

It was years after, when I travelled through the icy pass, that I heard stories of the soldier's sword.  It was called the soldier's sword by a shepherd that had witnessed a man of stone pass by that way.  The shepherd and his friends followed the man up into the pass.

They said that the man made his way up to the furthest point, unsheathed his sword, and struck it down into the rock.  After the man of stone had left, the shepherd and his friends attempted to withdraw the sword, but could not.  They called him the man of stone, but I knew that it was the unnamed spirit.

I went in search for the sword.

In time, I found it for myself.  I found the sword where the man of stone, or the spirit as we knew him, had driven it into the stone of the icy pass.  The battered helmet lay beside it.  I tried to withdraw the sword myself, but I could not.  I tried to lift the helmet, but I could not.  I realized that they were to remain there forever.  As I turned to leave, I could see the top of the distant mountain where the last battle had taken place.

It was no longer veiled in fire and smoke.

Perhaps, one day the spirit would return.

Perhaps, when evil would shroud the land once more, and man is once more found unworthy to take up the sword, then the spirit would return to free the land and it's peoples again.