by Eli Steele
Blood & Iron
Part II
Eli Steele
[to table of contents]
* * * * *
This is a work of fiction. Obviously. All of the characters, organizations and events in this novel are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously; any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
* * * * *
The events in this book are a direct continuation of Blood & Iron, Part 1, available on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07XCTWXLH
Reading Part 1 prior to Part 2 is necessary to understand the story contained herein.
* * * * *
Copyright © 2019 Eli Steele.
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, copied or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
* * * * *
Acknowledgements:
My son, my padna’.
My wife, my best friend.
Hammer, for the feedback.
* * * * *
Map:
Visit my blog for a map of the region: https://elisteele.blogspot.com/
* * * * *
* * * * * Table of Contents * * * * *
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue I
Epilogue II
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Chapter 14
Eldrick D’Eldar
Braewood Keep
Kingdom of Beyorn
Footsteps echoed up and down the stone stairway. Eldrick followed Griffon as they made their way to the third-floor throne room. He started to speak, but thought better of it. There was nothing that needed to be said that wouldn’t have to be revisited with Lord Baron. Instead, he exhaled and continued his ascent.
Eldrick’s chest was still tight. His mind raced. Inhaling, he focused on his breathing and tried to push back his last moments with Creedon, or whoever had used him as a conduit. Despite his efforts, the man’s final words resounded in his head.
Beyorn will pay for its sins, and so will the others. Leave now, D’Eldar, and leave with your life… Stay, and forfeit everything…
Eldrick sighed. What the hell have you done…
Grim faced, Baron Alexander sat alone in the throne room, awaiting their arrival. Eldrick averted his gaze for the time. Instead, he took in the space.
Heavy tapestries, each telling a different story, hung on the walls. Tales of the region, the Alexanders, and the Brae itself were memorialized on rich fabrics. Eldrick recognized the story of the first Eleksandr and the bloody Battle of Cairn Island, just off the Colored Coast.
And when the battle had been won, the sea foamed red for three days thereafter…
Following Griffon’s lead, Eldrick took a seat on a braewood bench positioned before the throne, beyond the dais. It was too low, and forced those seated to crane their necks.
Ever the tactician, Baron… But you wouldn’t be an Alexander if you weren’t…
The lord of the keep scowled, but remained silent for a time. Finally, Eldrick looked up and met his eye.
Here we go…
“Why is there a gray-eyed corpse in my dungeon?” Baron snarled.
“My lord-“
Baron interrupted Eldrick. “Father Alden suspects prattlesap.”
“The old healer is astute,” Eldrick replied, regretting his tone the moment he spoke it.
“Indeed. The sap is forbidden by church and crown. So, why have you brought it into my keep, Eldrick?”
“My lord,” the spy replied, reaching into his coat pocket, “I’m authorized by the king’s words in its use.” Producing a note, he passed it to Griffon without averting his gaze. “I apologize for not seeking your counsel first, but the courtyard was frenzied and I had my orders.”
Looking up from the note, Griffon added, “It’s the king’s hand and seal. Father, Eldrick has done nothing wrong.”
“The hell he hasn’t,” the elder Alexander snapped, aiming a finger at his son. Pointing it at Eldrick, he continued, “And you, you owed me the courtesy, as a friend...”
D’Eldar sighed. “Baron, I’m sorry. I am. And I’m sorry for this too, but I must take my leave for my chambers, and then to your rookery. I’m owed our king a message, and you’re keeping me from his majesty’s business.”
“I am but a squire in my own castle.” Sinking into his throne, he eyed them both, before conceding. “Fine, Griffon, show him the way.”
The younger Alexander stood. As he did, Lord Baron added, “But when you’re finished, I want both of you back in here. And no one shall leave until I’m satisfied.”
* * * * *
The Brae’s rookery was atop the keep, near the southern edge and facing the same way. Its stone walls were spattered with pigeon shit. Braving the bitter winds, the fancier scrubbed the facade, his coat tail whipping behind him.
Leaning into the gale that never slept at these heights, Eldrick shoved his hands into his coat pockets and followed after Griffon. His teeth chattered. Wispy clouds rushed by overhead, seemingly just out of reach.
Approaching from behind, Griffon placed a hand on the fancier’s shoulder. Startled, he spun around. “Oh, sir, I didn’t hear your approach...”
“It’s alright, Birch,” Griffon replied. “May we?”
“But of course, sir. I’ll just be out here.”
“Why don’t you get out of the cold for a while?” Griffon said. “I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”
“As you wish. Thank you, sir,” Birch said, before descending the stairway.
Stepping into the shelter and out of the biting winds, Eldrick followed Griffon around an interior windbreak wall. Beyond, the cramped rookery opened up before them. The space was dark and damp and heavy with the stench of bird droppings. Dander hung in the air, irritating Eldrick’s eyes. Pigeons cooed and preened and hopped about, craning their necks and studying the visitors.
Sneezing, Griffon stepped forward and retrieved an Avendor-bound bird from its cage, before handing it to the spy. Eldrick inserted his message into the pigeon’s carrier case, stepped out of the rookery, and released it. Climbing high, the bird aimed southwest, eventually disappearing over the high peaks.
Peeking back in, Eldrick said, “I guess we’re done here.”
“Not yet we aren’t. I want to know what that prisoner told you.”
Sighing, Eldrick said, “Shouldn’t we be doing this in the throne room?”
“No,” Griffon replied, stepping forward, “I think we both know things that we’re not ready to speak about with the Lord Baron. He won’t believe us, not yet.”
“What do you know, Griffon?”
Eldrick watched as the young Alexander studied him, perhaps gauging how much trust could be placed in this old friend of the Brae. Finally, Griffon spoke. “I saw this place fall. And rivers of Beyornian blood spilt... and...”
“And?”
Griffon sighed. “...and I saw death follow a raven, but I have no idea what that means.”
Eldrick could feel his chest tightening again. Dread crept across his face.
“What is it?” Griffon asked, before adding, “You know what the raven is?”
Rubbing his forehead, the spy replied, “I might...”
&n
bsp; “What did you learn from the prattlesap?”
Eldrick snorted. “First, perhaps let me explain what the sap is, and what it does, so that you understand what I’m about to tell you. It’s been forbidden for so long, that few know much about it other than the myths. Fewer still have ever seen a prattled man.
First and foremost, it’s a poison, and it carries an unavoidable death sentence. But before that happens, it renders a man compliant. He’s a thrall, willing and obedient to any request made of him.
While Creedon, that was the man’s name, was prattled, I asked him who was leading their army. He rattled off a dozen names, titles, the Shadow Seer, the Olde One, the Dark Unifier, and the Raven... something...”
“The Raven what?”
“...I don’t remember,” Eldrick replied, “And then I stopped him, but he didn’t listen. Griff, that doesn’t happen. A prattled man always listen. Always. And then he dies. That’s how the poison works.”
“Except not this time...”
Nodding, Eldrick continued, “He argued with me – threatened me. Told me to leave now and I’d keep my life. And his voice changed; it was... fiendish...”
“You think you were speaking to this Raven?”
“I don’t know,” Eldrick replied, “but I know I was not speaking to Creedon. I’m convinced of that...”
“What sort of power would it take to speak through a man like that?”
Snorting, Eldrick remarked, “Hell if I know. More power than I would’ve believed to exist.”
“Power enough to take the Brae...” Griffon mused aloud.
Eldrick sighed. “We’re going to need more men.”
“I think it’s time we go back down.”
“We should be figuring out how to convince the old man of our situation.”
“Let me worry about that,” Griffon said.
* * * * *
Back in the throne room, Griffon began before Lord Baron could. “Ten thousand soldiers, that’s what the prattled man spoke of,” he said.
“Is this true?” the elder Alexander asked, turning to Eldrick.
Nodding, the spy replied, “The first thousand men are just the vanguard...”
“That confirms what the Uhnan’akk told me,” Griffon added, “that the Brae’s in grave danger.”
“We need more swords,” the elder Alexander said, sinking into his seat. “We’ll send riders back to Perk, and on to Ashmor… And pray we can hold out until they return.”
In their deep tones, the trumpets sounded twice, echoing through the Brae. Eldrick wasn’t certain what two blasts meant, but one look at the Lord Baron’s face confirmed his suspicions. The hair on the spy’s neck stood on end.
“Go,” the lord of the keep said, “both of you. See what waits for us at our gate.”
* * * * *
From the north gatehouse, Eldrick watched a dozen riders emerge from the forest. Helmeted and heavily armored, their swords were drawn, save for two. At the front rode the apparent commander, shield in hand, the black cross of Meronia emblazoned on it. In his other hand was a small burlap sack, and in the hand of the rider beside him a larger one still.
“What do you suppose is in those sacks, sir?” Roke asked.
Leaning against the parapet wall, Griffon replied, “Nothing good. Do we have any riders out to the north?”
“No, sir.”
“Then it’s not one of ours...”
Pulling back on their reins, they stopped short of the gate. Without saying a word, the commander lifted the bag, end over opening. A single head fell to the ground with a sickening plop. Rolling onto its side, it lay facing the keep with hollow eyes.
Griffon gasped.
“Do you know the man?” Eldrick asked.
Ignoring him, Griffon withdrew the sheathed sword of the man beside him. Eldrick watched as rage smoldered beneath the surface of his calm facade.
“Griffon don’t...” the spy urged.
Without a word, he descended from the gatehouse roof, blade in hand.
Outside, the second rider emptied his sack. A pile of severed heads poured out and spread across the ground.
“Leave now, and leave with your life,” the commander snarled. “Stay, and forfeit everything...” Pulling at the reins, he turned back towards the Braewood Forest. Behind him, the other riders followed.
A shiver rushed through Eldrick. Those had been Creedon’s last words.
Pagan emerged from the stairway below and shouldered up beside him. “Ah, damn it...” he bemoaned, “Those are the farmers to the north... Shit, where’s Griffon?”
As the riders neared the wood, Hell’s Gate yawned open. Griffon stepped forward. A crisp breeze tousled his hair. Save for the creaking hinges, there were no other sounds.
Glancing back, the commander paused.
Griffon aimed the sword at the man. “You,” was all that he said.
“Who challenges me?” the commander called out, chuckling.
“Griffon Alexander. Of Braewood Keep.”
“Oh, I’ve never slew a lordling before...”
Striking off towards the man, Griffon snarled, “On with it, then. Take the head of a willing man.”
“As my lordling wills it,” he remarked. The other riders chuckled. Spinning his gelding around, he approached.
At a position of his choosing, Griffon planted his left foot and leaned into it.
The top of the gatehouse had swollen with men. Ezra shouted, “Just like before, my lord!”
“Yeah, bury that sword in his arse!” Pagan roared. Chants and cheers rose up with his voice.
Gripping the parapet wall, his knuckles white, Eldrick remained silent. Single combat was a harsh mistress, and always ended with at least one side disappointed, and sometimes both.
Oh, that it not be our side today...
Stopping a couple dozen yards away, the commander shouted, “It’s not too late, lordling. And if you ask, I may yet let you back behind your gate…”
But it’s too late for that, Eldrick mused, standing overhead.
“Surer words of a cur bastard have never been spoken,” Griffon countered. “On this day, I will run you through.”
“Yah!” the commander shouted, digging his boots into the gelding’s side. The horse leapt forward with a snort, aiming for Alexander.
Pivoting, Griffon adjusted his stance to the commander’s angle of approach. With his sword low, he exposed himself more than Eldrick thought was prudent.
What are you doing?
“Guard your head!” Ezra shouted.
Focusing on the rider, Griffon ignored them.
The commander raised his blade high before chopping down. As he did, Griffon swung his sword up with all the strength he could muster. A guttural groan spilled out from within him. The wind settled. Both sides were silent.
Steel met steel at full force. The song of the sword grated the battlefield. Griffon braced his rear foot, but the impact was too much; he landed hard on his ass.
Teeth rattled, the commander slid to the low side of his saddle. Hanging on by the reins, he struggled to stay atop the gelding. As the horse spun at the gate, the men overhead threw rocks and scraps of timber at the rider, peppering man and horse. The gelding reared and neighed, bounding away from the wall. Pulling himself upright, the commander hurled his shield to the ground, before tearing at his chinstrap and doing the same with his helmet.
Both sides roared.
A shock of black hair fell to the commander’s shoulders. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. The man on the ground was more of an adversary than he’d anticipated.
“It’s not too late,” Griffon growled as he stood to his feet, “And if you beg, I may yet let you back into the wood...”
The rider squared his horse up.
“But first,” Griffon continued, “you’ll have to come through me...”
With a shout, the commander and his horse lunged forward again. Again, Griffon held his blade low and shifted his stance to
counter the rider’s approach. This time, no man corrected him.
Griffon tried to spit, but his mouth was too dry. Instead, he cleared his throat and focused on his breathing and the approaching foe.
As the commander neared, Alexander took a step to the side, distancing himself. The mounted man sneered, perceiving fear. Raising his longsword high, he planted his boot in the stirrup and leaned out, preparing to end the lordling.
When he did, Griffon rushed back in and swung his blade straight up. Instead of clashing with steel, his sword sliced through the commander’s forearm, separating it and sending it sailing through the air. Still careening inward, the belly of the horse bounced Griffon backwards and to the ground. Landing hard, he rolled onto his side and grimaced.
White faced and in shock, the commander cradled his stub. Swooning forward in the saddle, he tottered as the gelding carried him back to his men. A low moan filled the air.
Both sides looked on in silence.
Standing, Griffon stumbled for a moment, before righting himself. The men of the Brae roared in response.
A coppery taste filled Eldrick’s mouth. Only then did he realize he’d bitten through his lip. His knees weak, he placed all his weight against the low stone parapet wall atop the gatehouse.
Limping towards the severed hand, Griffon eyed the Meronians, wary of a charge. Pagan and several armsmen stepped through the north gate, ready to aid him. Clouds rolled by overhead, casting a shadow across the battlefield.
Kneeling, Griffon retrieved the grim trophy. He shook the hand from out of the gauntlet, before pulling it onto his own. With the commander’s sword raised, he shouted across the plain, “Before this ends, I will find you on the field and finish what I started. Hear me!”
Without a word, the riders disappeared into the wood.
Upon reaching the gate, Griffon said to Pagan, “See that Barda and the others receive a proper burial...”
Nodding, Pagan retrieved the large sack and collected the remains.
Atop the gatehouse, Eldrick turned his back to the scene and slid down the parapet wall. Exhaling deeply, he closed his eyes.
And so, with a whimper, the Second Battle of Hell’s Gate begins...
