The Immolation of Balinor
A version of the miracle at the Great Duel of Kalimbor, as recorded by Perekoss
The sun blazed high up in the sky over the grassy hillock where the tournament was being held. The stands rose from the long green grass and were built in a half-circle around the raised ground where the actual duels were fought. There was a gentle breeze, just cool enough that the sun’s heat was bearable for the crowd. They had come to see action and sport, to be amazed at the talent that would earn the place to cross swords with the beloved Captain of the Guard, Balinor of the South.
Little was known of Balinor’s life prior to his arrival in Kalimbor, but those that knew him best were aware that he come north as a young man, journeying from the warmer and more desolate southron lands. Few lived there forthe soil was not rich like that in most of Ar’rin, and it was covered in shrubs and prickly groves instead of the lush forests and wetlands the riverfolk and the plainsfolk called home.
But he had come with a fierce look in his eye and learned the ways of sword and shield protecting merchants along the great rivers, even visiting Arised a time or two before he headed West to Kalimbor. Balinor was known to prefer the trading hub of the free peoples of Kalimbor to the merchant guilds and arcane mages that frequently crawled the streets of the much larger city in the center of Ar’rin.
He had become famous in the Green Grass War, which was a conflict between the Wolf’s Head Tribe of herders and the farmers of Kalimbor. Initially, acting as a paid swordsman, he that had served the nomadic tribe of plainsfolk, who had used the fields around Kalimbor in the spring monath for many generations. He had been instrumental in winning the day for the Wolf’s Head Tribe by defeating the militia commander of Kalimbor in single combat.
Balinor chose to reside in Kalimbor for the next yiar, and worked to prevent a repeat of the ongoing feud. He did this by joining the town guard and rising through the ranks. The following yiar he was able to negotiate terms when the tribe returned to use the fields, and he fought a duel to seal the accord. These actions had propelled him to fame in the region, and soon after he was Captain of the Kalimbor Guard.
The tournament was held in his honor, to commemorate the end of the war in the fourth yiar, and signify a new chapter in the town’s burgeoning legend.
But it resulted in a tragedy.
Now as the crowd was assembled, the champion of the tournament, Constancios Grue of Kell City, a fortress city nestled in a volcanic valley in the north of Ar’rin, was meeting Balinor blow for blow on that hill in full view of the crowd. The champion was a fierce warrior, who had defeated many well-known combatants over the previous days of contest.
But Balinor wished to make a spectacle of the engagement, evading and parrying many blows from the northern champion, in fitting displays of derring-do. But this only appeared to enrage the young warrior who was determined to make a name for himself amongst the attending nobles and warriors.
The tragedy, and the miracle that followed, are well-known across Ar’rin.
Constanicos wielded the serenfaen blade The Darkthorn. Which had been forged in the north, one of a dozen weapons that can be traced to the dark fortress: Frostmantle. Its blade was a dark blue, an effect caused by a boiling process the north used to cool the ore with specially treated oils, crafted by the dvarfolk. The blades’ appearance at the tournament remains a hotly debated topic a dozen cyclath’s later. How did it get there? Why would a prince of Kell be wielding a weapon forged in Frostmantle?
Some wizards of Shar have speculated that Constanicos was gifted it from a tribal lord who obtained it after slaying the original owner. The church holds to the belief that the blade was an omen from the Sky Shepard and that destiny lead the weapon to be used that day by the young prince.
The seen of Balinor’s first death is documented by many sources, but the killing blow is described as a gambit by Balinor to trap the blade between the pair of weapons that he was using, a warhammer and a flail chosen from the various arms that had been placed around the dueling ring. Balinor was adept at using paired weapons together in unusual combinations and this decision required the chain and the flails’ head to wrap around the sword, then the hammer hooked the blade pinning it near Balinor’s left shoulder. He intended to talk the young man down from his hotblooded rage, but he would not listen.
The curve of the blade provided an opening for Constanicos to thrust forward and drive the tip into the hauberk of the honored duelist. But it dipped low, piercing the heart of Balinor as easily as a hot knife cleaves through butter.
Constanicos letter as read at the trial of Bruchon:
Our eyes locked after the blade pierced, his wide with wonder and mine suddenly sober from the severity of the action. I refused to yield to the clever maneuver. I declined to listen to reason. And as the mystical blade proceeded to slide deeper into Balinor’s heart, my soul bled in kind.
I had slain him. I watched the life drain from his eyes as we both floated toward the ground. I felt the grass on the hill envelop us in the bosom of the land. I felt the wind on my face. I felt the warm blood cascading down onto my hands and thighs.
And all the while my heart stopped beating as the chill of destiny gripped my whole being. It only stopped when I looked up and saw the blazing sun watching us, casting its blessing down upon all that were assembled.
The first thing I recall after my own screams died upon my lips was Bruchon standing above me, his hand over my gauntlet, releasing my grip on the sword and the man whom I had killed.
He said to me, “Relax young man, the sword has performed its task, but you have yet to live up to yours.”
I looked at him and asked, “What have I done? How can I seek forgiveness?”
He responded with one word: “Faith.”
The next hour was a blur of action and desperation, the farmers and I held the guards at bay while people screamed everywhere around us, in the stands, in the dueling ring, everywhere.
Bruchon implored the Sky Shepard to show us the beauty in this tragedy and attempted to heal the man with the tip of his staff held at the wound. The crystal flared in the sunlight, and a blinding rainbow of light filled the area around Balinor’s body, bathing Bruchon in a shimmering of multi-colored light. Then there was a crackle of flame as the crystal shattered and Balinor’s body burst into a bonfire.
The armor, his clothes, and many of the weapons nearby all became consumed in a blue and red flame, with yellow fire appearing afterward.
It burned and burned, hotter than anything I had seen before and the wind seemed to turn from a gentle breeze to hot gusts around the arena.
I cannot explain to anyone what happened. But it was a miracle. Balinor arose from the fire, which seemed to extinguish itself when the work was done. No hair remained on his body, he was naked as the day we were born. But his flesh was changed, it glistened in the sun, the color of gold.
You can read more about Balinor in the newsletter “The Wold of Ar’rin.” Subscribe above.
Also read the first 3 chapters of my novel “The Lorebook” set in Ar’rin at the end of the Age of Shadow.