Crimson Blade

by Corey Soreff

  Copyright © 2010 by Corey Soreff

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations for commercial purposes.

  Cover design by Kip Ayers

  Any inquiries may be forwarded to the author at xlive4honorx@gmail.com

  Prologue

  Darnillus stroked his long white beard in contemplation as he glanced around the gigantic chamber at his fellow Gods. A meeting of this nature had not been called in almost one thousand years, in the days when Sargath broke the peace treaties and waged a surprise war upon the world. The days when Nil'thanak the Liche King reigned. Darnillus did not like to be reminded of such events. Usually such meetings only contained the deities of a single alignment. They all met on the mortal plane, taking on mortal avatars. No God would invite another to their own plane.

  They sat at a massive table divided into three sections, one side for each alignment. Light, darkness, and neutrality. Darnillus sat at the end of the side of light for he was their leader, and the most powerful among them. In the center of the adjoining section sat Gurnac, the God at the head of the neutral hierarchy. The section of the dark ones still had an empty seat, and Darnillus tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. Sargath called the meeting, and Sargath was late.

  "Have you any idea why we are here, Herreleck?" Darnillus asked.

  The God of deception's eyes flickered up from the table at hearing his name. He was second in power among the Gods of darkness. He was known for his lies and trickery, and not the first whom one would wish to garner information from. But Darnillus had to acknowledge his position, and the mischievous smirk adorning Herreleck's face showed he was well aware that Darnillus did not expect his question to be answered satisfactorily. "I believe it is concerning Eucibous Dan'anti."

  Darnillus raised an eyebrow at the name, and whispers flooded the chamber as Gods took turns telling their neighbors what they had heard of the man. Eucibous Dan'anti, the man who had just recently wiped out two armies singlehandedly. Legions of the Knights of Darnillus, and the armies of darkness. Ever since the downfall of the Liche King, the forces of evil had had a tough time finding strong leaders. Dalin Kilindar had been the champion of Darnillus, and the man made legend by destroying the Liche King after centuries of terror. The latest Dark Lord had been a human by the name of Beithus. By no means weak, and one of the strongest men on the continent, surely. But not quite the makings of legend. After several successful conquests by the Dark Legions, Darnath had decided evil was getting too close to their doorstep, and they dispatched the Knights of Darnillus to march on Nelthak and put an end to their campaign. Although Dalin Kilindar was at the ripe age of seventy, he had come out of retirement to lead the Knights as Lord Commander one last time. What happened next, neither side expected.

  Eucibous Dan'anti appeared, an infamous human mercenary that has been feared across Adanantus ever since the day he had won the decennial tournament in Darnath at only sixteen years old. If eyewitness accounts were to be believed, he had also cast a fireball in one of his matches. A fireball, one of the most powerful spells a mage could learn, at an age when most with the talent were still learning to light a candle. He had a reputation of seeking out the strongest of fighters, driven by his desire to feel alive in battle. Apparently with the Dark Lord and Dalin Kilindar along with both of their armies being in one place, it was like extending him a personal invitation to make an appearance. Running into the fields outside Nelthak in the midst of the battle, he had decimated all in his path. Orc, human, goblin, didn't matter. Both sides were torn to pieces as if they were nothing. Those who had survived the massacre told stories of deadly gusts of wind forming at every swing of his blade. He had no allegiance to any nation, nor to any God. Usually when he showed his face somewhere, it was to fight one person and be done with it. Never before had he attacked armies as he had just done. He was getting bold. Both the Dark Lord and Dalin Kilindar fell in that battle to the sword of this man. Dalin had put up a small fight, but at his age it was not enough. Likely the only reason he lasted as long as he did was due to possessing the holy shield of Darnillus, a temporary barrier given to the champion of the God. Each God had a gift to bestow upon their champion, should they have one.

  "Sargath has never wanted to speak with us before, why should recent events make it any different?" Darnillus asked.

  "Ask him yourself," Herreleck responded.

  As if on cue, a rift in the mortal plane opened and another God stepped in the hall. He was short, and wore a simple black cloak, torn with age. No matter how hard one strained his eyes to look within the depths of that hood, it seemed as if nothing was within that darkness. Scrawny arms with bulging veins ended in hands tipped with sharp yellow fingernails. He silently walked over and took his seat at the head of his pantheon. "Brothers, sisters."

  Gurnac scoffed. "You are no brother of mine, Sargath, nor I of yours. Drop the falsities and tell us why you asked us here." Gurnac had never liked this particularly evil God.

  Sargath's right hand briefly curled into a fist, then quickly retracted as if he had recalled he must be civil. There was a time for anger, and this was not it. He must be careful of his actions, and his words. "It is good to see you as well, Gurnac. Always a…pleasure."

  "Is it true you come to speak on the crimson one?" Darnillus inquired. Those who had retained their lives after glimpsing the man had always spoken of his rare attributes. Crimson hair, red eyes, and crimson armor. It was a small wonder he had earned the nickname the crimson blade.

  Sargath nodded, or seemed to as his hood dropped and rose again. "He has dealt us both a great blow, has he not?"

  "He has, but that doesn't explain why we are here." Darnillus answered. "Last time we had such a meeting, it was to discuss why you had betrayed us all."

  Sargath ignored the jab. "We have both lost much of our forces, as well as our champions. I propose a truce between us so that we might recover."

  What is he up to? Darnillus wondered. "Truces can be brokered between our clerics, did you ask us here just for that?"

  "Not quite," said Sargath. This would be the part that started an uproar. "I have watched Eucibous often throughout the years, even before he made a name for himself. Did you know he was a mercenary as a mere child? No matter. Well, the point is, he's dangerous. I would not be here now if I only worried about him attacking our forces. I believe he is a threat to us personally."

  Gods once again began murmuring among themselves. It would not be the first time a man had been a threat to the Gods.

  "I can see why you would be inclined to worry, considering how you earned that seat." Gurnac said with a sneer. A few of the other Gods snickered at the remark. Sargath had once been a mortal, but he had killed a God. Not just any God, either. He went from being a peasant to being the leader of the hierarchy of darkness in a moment, for he had killed the strongest of the dark. It was a perfectly acceptable way to earn one's position in the forces of evil.

  "You think him stronger than us?" Darnillus asked honestly.

  Sargath chuckled at the notion. "Of course not. Not yet anyway. But I have not seen such talent since Nil'thanak. The difference is that I had Nil'thanak chained, he served me. Same with your Dalin. The strongest of warriors tend to be loyal servants of one of our own. To be as strong as this Eucibous, without the gifts of a God and as young as he is…it is unheard of."

  Eucibous was currently twenty five years old, if Darnillus recalled correctly. Only twenty five, and likely now the strongest man on the continent of Adanantus. "You think he can find a way to our planes? Here on the mortal plane, he is of no threat to us unless you confront him in
your avatar."

  Sargath's shoulders rose in a shrug. "Perhaps. He learns at an incredible pace, and has mastered most schools of magic already. Most mages can spend a lifetime in training and not make it to his level. If anyone can find a way to trespass into our planes, it would be him. Especially considering his number one motivation in life." To fight the strong. "What will happen when he realizes the only ones who can present him with a challenge are here in this room?"

  "What are you proposing then, that we kill him ourselves before he gets too strong? I am not one to meddle personally," Darnillus stated.

  "No, I'm sure none of us want to risk battle in mortal form. Even if I am sure I could defeat him. I mean to reincarnate Nil'thanak," Sargath said. He braced himself for the response. He had not even wanted to have this meeting, to tell them of anything. But if he was to break protocol, he at least had to notify them he was doing it. "I spoke with Eucibous myself. After he killed Beithus, I offered him his place as Dark Lord, as is our tradition in the Dark Legions. I also offered my gift if he would be my champion. Not only did he refuse, but when I berated him for his actions he insulted me, and dared me to take a mortal form. He wanted to fight me, there and then, the fool. Well at any rate, I don't mean to stand by as he kills all our men and finds a way to reach us. I will train the Liche King reborn to be a Dark Lord of epic proportions. From the moment of his birth he will be prepped for greatness. Even at Eucibous' s current level of progress, I doubt he could discover a method by the time Nil'thanak is at fighting age. Not even we can enter one another's planes without permission."

  "I should have known you had called us here to tell us you'd be breaking our laws once again," grumbled Gurnac. "Any reincarnation must be approved by all of us."

  Darnillus ran his fingers through his beard in thought. Nil'thanak had ruled with terror for centuries before he fell. He recalled the horrible state of the world, and how small his own holdings were at the time. He was also unmistakably powerful, an undead drow liche that had struck fear into the hearts of all mortals. Dalin had almost died in the final battle that had ended Nil'thanak's reign.

  "You should reincarnate Dalin as well, we might need them both." Suggested Sargath. "Our truce would allow us to regain the strength we have lost as we raised them to fighting age, not worrying about war."

  Darnillus recalled how the spirit of Dalin had come to him after death, begging for another chance to fight the crimson one. Dalin would surely jump at the opportunity to abandon the afterlife for another chance at glory. Honor drove that one more than happiness. But was regaining Dalin worth the trouble that the Liche King would surely bring again in the future? Perhaps, if he raised Dalin from birth to be even stronger than before. But he considered the people that would live within the territories of the Dark Legions, what they would face with Nil'thanak as their leader. Darnillus shook his head. "Tempting as it is, I cannot allow that. I demand you abandon any plan you had of reincarnating your drow. Remember the consequences of breaking our laws."

  Sargath grimaced. He had been half expecting this response, though he hoped that gaining back his little hero would placate Darnillus enough to ignore the down sides. "I will obey the laws, Darnillus. But consider your situation. Half of your knights were wiped out by Eucibous, and they are in disarray. They are without a leader, and most of those left alive remain in Darnath. Any other holdings you have would be easily taken. If you do not allow me this, I will raze all of Adanantus to the ground. I do not wish to do so, but I will."

  "You forget that you had similar losses," Darnillus pointed out.

  A wide grin appeared on Herreleck's face. "His forces on Adanantus are slim, to be sure. But if all of us work together? Remember, Darnillus, that Kol'thakal is my champion. I will not hesitate to bring him to Adanantus."

  "The lot of you are always self-serving, and now you claim to unite? What do you gain from this plot, Herreleck?" Darnillus asked. He tried to remain calm, but this was not a good situation. He was being coerced into cooperating, and he didn't like it. Kol'thakal was the King of the drow, the dark elves. They generally kept to themselves, and resided on an island a few days from Adanantus by boat. Kol'thakal was said to be one of the best fighters in the world, perhaps he could even challenge Eucibous. But that was irrelevant, the problem was that he was the King of the dark elves. He couldn't afford to have an army of drow at Darnath's doorstep. Not now.

  "If Darnath falls? I have much to gain. I have a little wager with Sargath, I was betting you'd try to stop his plans, and I still hope you mean to. The drow itch for a battle." Herreleck smiled arrogantly. "Not to mention my agents work best in the shadow, and the shadow once thrived under the Liche King."

  Darnillus turned his gaze to Gurnac, as if seeking a hint at what to do.

  "As much as I despise that damn liche, I would not have Adanantus overrun by drow. The balance must be kept. I do not like it, but if you bring back Dalin as well…perhaps it will not be so bad as last time." Gurnac offered.

  Darnillus sighed. He had no doubt much bad would come of this, but the other option wasn't so great either. "I will agree to this reincarnation should you swear an oath to not break the truce."

  "Naturally," responded Sargath. It was not as if he cared about oaths anyway. When they are at fighting age, we will attack Eucibous together and then I shall strike down the knights from within. Naïve fool.

  "The last reincarnation was before your ascension, Sargath." Said Gurnac. "There are rules. Both of them must agree it before they leave the afterlife, you cannot force them to live again. Also, they will not have knowledge of their past life, nor will they be told of it. It must remain a secret to all except your highest clerics. They must know this when they agree."

  "Not a problem," replied Sargath.

  Gurnac wanted to strangle the disgusting God. Nothing good would come of this, and the truce would never hold for long. No matter how neutral he tried to be, he couldn't help but hate Sargath. Gurnac considered for a moment how Eucibous seemed to be quite neutral himself. Then Gurnac smiled as he decided he would play along in this little game. Gurnac's gift was everlasting youth, and perhaps when their champions reached fighting age, they would discover Eucibous hadn't aged a day.

  Chapter One

  Aftermath

  Nervous glances repeatedly shot to the dark corner of the large tavern ‘Warriors Retreat’. Located in the southeastern port city of Caldar, many mercenaries and military personnel gathered here in between jobs to relax. Seeing groups of armed men was not uncommon in the least, but today everyone wondered if the group in the corner was the legendary mercenary band ‘The Crimson Blade’. One could not enter a large city without hearing of their unbelievable accomplishments. The rumors were that they only took jobs that sounded difficult, regardless of how much pay they were offered. The ones that they did accept were always completed with ease, no matter how bad the odds. The men in the corner table this night matched the descriptions in the rumors. Mercenaries all around the room worried if possible jobs might be stolen from them, for they could not compete with such a reputation. Not only did the legendary mercenary band always complete their jobs, they did so with only five people, and often completed jobs alone.

  Mugs of ale clanked together and shouts of congratulations echoed throughout the room. Four men and a dwarf were seated in the corner, all with the same tabard over their chest, a crimson blade on a black cloth. These men were a group of wanderers, but any passing by could easily mistake them for a small contingent of an army. They were heavily armed, with weapons and armor that looked as if they cost that of a castle.

  After the Gods declared war on him, Eucibous wandered the land with his only friend Lok, even leaving the continent a few times to pursue adventures unknown in Adanantus. Along the way over the past twenty years, they had met several other warriors he did battle with and decided worthy. They formed ‘The Crimson Blade’. To them it was a way of life; to others they were merely wandering sellswords. Men clappe
d each other on the back as they shared tales of recent adventures, but most of their attention was focused on cheering for the man they were here for.

  Lok chuckled as he downed another mug. “Guys, this is too much. It’s just another year!” He was fully outfitted in tough leather armor dyed the color of green. He was the only member of the party that did not outfit himself in crimson colored armor. He once wore platemail as well, but to suit his agile fighting style he had switched to a lighter set as he aged. A large halberd lay against the wall behind him, also green with enchanted rubies equipped in sockets along the pole. He wore a green headband, with his dark hair lapsing over half of it.

  The man sitting next to him wore the most extravagant armor of them all. It was platemail, also the shade of crimson red, but it looked as if it weighed more than he. Dragon teeth, or so the rumors said, stood menacingly on the shoulders; Thick neck guards protected his head from being taken off, assuming anyone could ever do so. Any that saw this man pass them by stared in wonder. On his back was sheathed a thick blade the width of an ogre’s chest and the length of an average female. It appeared to weigh a hundred pounds, but he carried it with ease. His long, dark red hair hung over his shoulders, and a long black cloak rested on his back.

  “Good Lok!” Eucibous yelled. “You have reached your fortieth year, and we are glad to have you. To Lok!” He grinned and downed a pint of ale in one swig.

  Lok laughed as he refilled his mug. “I am five years younger than you, yet I appear your father! I plan on living forty more by your side, my friend. Thanks, all of you, for coming here. I know a few of you traveled far.”

  Another comrade, Jarec, nodded. “We would have traveled to the ten hells to be here, Master Lok.” This man would likely survive it too, judging by all the scars on his body from near fatal wounds. A deep one was carved into his face going from the top of his right eye to the bottom of his lip on the opposite side, and his seasoned plate mail had many marks of battle. Two scimitars were buckled at his waist.