by Jason Jones
He danced and weaved with direct thrusts and sweeping slashes, positioning himself closer to Liogan and the wall. The green glow and vibrating hum from the kris blade was unnerving now, nearly distracting Lavress with every parry he made against it. Vermillion kept his stance, a well trained swordsman indeed, yet his blades were half moments behind those of the elven hunter of the Hedim Anah. Half moments were enough.
Jehrale charged in, stopped at the slight motion of a stop cut from Lavress, then chopped down toward the falcata with both his weapons. He hit twice, thought he saw the blade fall loose, and lunged his kris blade toward the chest of his disarmed foe. Somehow, the falcata spun full vertical circle, a feint of being disarmed, and it rose up perfectly to deflect the deadly lunge. Vermillion impaled himself into the sudden punching kukri dagger of the waiting elf, the curved steel went deep into his chest. He swung on instinct with his shortblade, and that too was parried by the falcata, and then the dagger tore upward to his neck in a vertical line as he fell backwards.
Lavress did not stop with the cut of the dagger, turned his body and arm in a circle, and flung it underhand end over end into the back of Oggidan Chilar.
“Aaarrhhh!” The boy screamed in pain, grabbed the kukri just before he fell over, or he would have driven it deeper. Oggidan let it go, squirmed as he bled all over the stone, and began crawling for his shortblade in between gasps of anguish and trying to reach his hand to the wound.
Liogan walked past, kicked him square in the jaw, and took his broadsword from the ground. His bare foot ached, yet he limped to get Oggidan’s blade away. He thought to finish the boy, but it looked as though he was out from the hard kick. His honor would not allow him to kill someone helpless, an ogre perhaps, but not a human boy. Liogan glanced over as he heard steel meeting steel again. The young knight of Chazzrynn charged toward the still battling elven hunter and his cloaked foe.
Vermillion felt the kris blade hum and start to scream a terrible song, piercing his own ears and those of his attackers. His chest and neck were pouring blood, his ribs and shoulders as well, and his parries were weakening. Jehrale stepped back, toward the throneroom underground, deflecting everything Lavress was unleashing at him with that forward curved blade. Two blades on one, he knew that he would take this elf easily now, despite his injuries.
Lavress dove ahead, rolled, and came up deep into the guarding stance of his injured foe. His falcata slashed left, then right, low then high, countering both blades with his one. He began feinting with his elbows to give false direction to Vermillion, then spun full circle and chop blocked both the swords to his right. Before his opponent recovered his stance, Lavress swung up hard and deep at the elbow of Vermillion’s right arm and rolled with the cut to avoid the shortblade. He heard a yell of pain, felt his blade take the arm, and saw the green kris blade hit the floor still in the severed grip.
The shortblade disarmed the falcata that parried, slashed at the elfs’ neck, but Lavress ducked under. His arm gone below the elbow, Jehrale knew he would not live long, but would at least kill this savage first. Vermillion roared and dove at his unarmed foe, off the steps, and led with an airborn blade down toward the chest of Lavress.
“Damn you!”
Just as Vermillion leapt at him, Lavress picked up the emerald pommeled kris blade from the bloody appendage on the ground. It burned his hand with invisible pain, it shrieked so loud his ears lost sense, and the green glow was glaring through the whole chamber. He gritted his teeth and raised his arm straight up. Then all went dark. The green pommel flickered and hummed, almost as if a sad ballad were about to begin. The kris blade was all but buried, all the way through Vermillion’s throat, and out the top of his skull.
Jeharale shuddered, his reflexes spasming, eyes staring right at Lavress as the blade that held his mother took his life. The shortblade fell to the stone, then his body, his face first fall smashed into the ground and bounced once as the kris blade throbbed and hummed. Jehrale Valhera, known as Vermillion of the South, bled all over the prison chamber floor, and let out one last gurgling breath as he died.
“Mother…”
The moaning blade grew louder, the shadows seemed to darken, and the blood that was puddling on the stone began to seep back toward the emerald pommel.
Lavress retrieved his weapons, glanced at Liogan, and ran for the cells. There were so many, yet one they knew for sure held the heir prince of Chazzrynn. The elf of the Hedim Anah took the keys from the wall and unlocked the lock on the bars. Without words, he quickly entered and began searching for the key to unlock the manacles that held the barely living Bryant Salganat.
“Who…are you…is it time for me to…die…?”
Liogan Andellis knelt next to his prince, and put a his arm behind him. Just as Lavress got the chains off, he lifted his prince up with all his strength. He tried not to look, but it was not easy. Bryant had a swollen jaw that was crooked, his eyes were swollen shut from beatings, and there was old blood on most every part of him. His ribs shown through the filthy rags, and several of his bones did not look to be where they should. His brown hair was matted with dirt, and his notrils were crusted with dried blood.
“No, my prince. I am Sir Liogan Andellis, Knight of Southwind and of Chazzrynn. My friend Lavress Tilaniun and I are getting you out of here.”
“I know no knight…by that name…is this more…torture?”
“No your highness, your father knighted me in the field, not two weeks past.” Liogan waited until Lavress took the other side as they would both have to help him walk.
“He does… that often…not the first…time…ha…ha…Is the war…over?” Bryant could not see his rescuers, yet he heard faint sounds of battle and a strange hum and song of a most eerie tone.
“No, your highness, it has just begun.” Lavress walked with Liogan and the prince toward the stairs, hoping there was help on the other side. He motioned to set him down, then snuck up to the door. He listened. Soft steps, several, perhaps ten or more. He shook his head, knowing they could not fight that many with a dying helpless prince to protect.
“I warned…them…all of them and my…father…of Johnas and the…spiders…he has…no one…listened.” Bryant felt weak, starving, and he wished he could see.
Liogan looked to Lavress upon his return to help the prince up again. He saw the stare and the shake of his head, meaning they could not go out the easy way.
“Your highness, can you hold your breath?” Lavress began walking them toward the outer tunnels that held the sea serpent, the way they had entered.
“Perhaps… a bit, it… hurts to… breath. Why?” His mind was thinking of his lost family, his father fighting his war above, and all that Jehrale Valhera had told him. The sorrow was only contained by his lack of strength to cry.
Stepping over the still breathing and crawling Oggidan, the very dead Vermillion, Liogan and his elven companion made for the tunnels that led to the docks. Liogan looked down as the hum grew loud from the blade and the last traces of blood soaked into the emerald pommel.
“We will need to swim to get you to safety, my prince.” Liogan nodded to Lavress.
“Leave me, I… am dead… weight to… you. Tell my… father you killed… Jehrale Valhera, tell him… to get me when the battle… is done.” Bryant whispered as loud as his voice would allow.
“I am afraid I cannot obey that order, your highness. I have orders to infiltrate and rescue you, from the king.” Liogan rounded the watery chasm, looked down to see if his boots had surfaced, then went around, still barefoot.
“Two weeks into knighthood and already disobeying, eh?” Lavress chuckled as they reached the submerged tunnel opening they had come up from.
“It would seem so. Once out, we head south, Lady Aelaine Lazlette should be waiting for us with Captain Shilde. Ready?” Liogan Andellis tightened his straps and buckles as Lavress did the same.
“Ready.” Lavress took a deep breath, heard the doors open far behind them, and j
umped in the water.
“By the way, master Lavress, thank you for saving my life again. Your blades were nothing short of amazing.” The young knight nodded with sincerity.
“Time for gratitude and celebration will come when we have your prince safe and away from here. Come, Sir Liogan. It is time to swim again. Take a deep breath your highness.” Lavress reached up and took Bryant’s arm, treading water with a brutally beaten noble lowering to his grasp. He looked up and saw motion.
“Liogan, now!”
Liogan jumped in with Bryant Salganat just as crossbow fire littered the chamber. All three heads dove under the ocean water before the agents of the White Spider could reload and take another shot at them. They looked, twelve black masks with wide eyes in disbelief, yet one pointed to the water. No prince, no bodies, yet they all saw a trickling stream of blood that looked rather fresh. They had hit one of them, which one, and how badly wounded, none of them knew.
Blades IV:II
Sanctuary of the Broken Wing
City of Harlaheim
The edge of the sabre pushed open another old tattered curtain. For fear of catching the place aflame, Balric D’Vrelle kept his torch back behind him and walked slowly. This room was the same as the others. He stared in disbelief at the swollen bodies rotting and swarming with a weeks worth of flies. Most of them he had known or met, some not, but it mattered little now. This was the underground sanctum of the secret order of the Aldane Church, known as the Broken Wing. Obviously, Harlaheim or the White Spider, had found it.
The swordsman spy passed by the corpses, perhaps fifty throughout the hidden fortress of unknown tunnels, and covered his mouth and nose with his forearm. He turned to the right, to where he had hoped to find the Lord Bishop Trebaine, instead he saw men hanging from the support beams. Balric turned away as he saw Trebaine, leader of the secret order who was his superior, dangling motionless in the dark. His tongue was gray as stone and a letter was held by a dagger wedged into his chest. Summoning his strength and resolve, Balric walked up and took the letter. Trembling with anger and hopelessness, he reached up and closed the eyes on the rancid body.
Balric looked down at the letter, it had the royal seal of the Aldane upon it, the seal of the Cardinal as well. Even before he opened it, he knew Johnas Valhera was behind it. The parchment smelled of perfume, the writing was exquisite, and the blood was dark and soaked in the envelope. He thought of his two cousins in the other room, his uncle, and his young nephew Aidrin D’Vrelle. All dead, hung or beheaded, and no one on the surface would ever know of it. They were not members of the church, but Balric recalled the promise of Johnas Valhera. The promise was to find his family in Harlaheim, if ever he escaped. And so he had.
Lord Rodreigo was taking bodies down and laying them in alcoves as Balric had searched ahead. Sir Sebastian had died, leaving a devastated Richmond the Second incapable of anything more than whimpers in the dark.
Balric read the letter, trying to keep his composure as the sights and smells washed away any hope of help from his order or the church. He had trained with these men, many years ago, after his years with ths Crossguard Legion of Alden. The Cardinal was dead, recently to the populace, but Balric knew that Johnas had replaced him with a doppelganger well before his supposed passing. Fear gripped his chest, as he now felt more alone than ever before.
By order of Cardinal Desmonde of the Aldane Church
Acelinne, Shanador
13, Cavikkan, 345 A.D.
Let it be known that the Crossguard Legion has within its unwanted numbers, a secret group of assassins known as the Broken Wing. These discharged vigilantes have no affiliation with the Aldane, the Church hierarchy, and are considered dangerous men capable of murder in any fashion. Anyone belonging to this unofficial and clandestine operation is summoned to Acelinne, to confess, to be forgiven, and disband.
Should this order continue to operate in any regard, they are subject to the laws of whichever kingdom they may be found residing within. The Church does not hold any ransom nor offer for said agents, and will not trade coin nor word for their welfare. They are in grave action against the Church and its beliefs, and will receive no merciful judgement should they be found still in operation.
From the time of this letter, anyone belonging to this supposed Broken Wing may reach Acelinne and confess. Such an action will bring forgiveness, and immunity to any punishment---
The rest of the letter was too soaked in the blood of Lord Bishop Trebaine to make out. Balric did not need to read more, he had read enough. The tapestries around him were cut and torn, the feathered cross disgraced, and the men were all dead. He knew there were others, in other kingdoms, but the secret order had no banners. They had been based here, in Harlaheim, and he knew of no way to contact anyone. With Javiel dead, the Cardinal gone, and the order disbanded, Balric was indeed alone.
Something moved behind him, too quiet, softer than the far off moans of misery from the former king of Harlaheim. Balric turned, sabre on guard, and stared into the shadows of what was now a tomb to unknown soldiers of Alden.
“Trebaine?”
It was Lord Rodreigo dell Amarr, he had gotten within the room unnoticed, and was staring up at the dead Lord Bishop. Balric followed the Caberran man’s eyes, he saw it, Rodreigo knew this man as well.
“How did you sneak up so close to me, and how do you know him?” Balric pointed his blade and circled through the hanging bodies of the dark underground room.
“What do you think, Balric D’Vrelle, that every Caberran noble sneaks around in guises to root out the wicked? Do the Knights of Saint Tarumin here train in stealth and secrecy?” Rodreigo smiled, his slicked back hair and oiled goatee shone in the torchlight. His accent was heavy as his eyes welled with tears.
“No, Saint Tarumin is a pious order, they…you belong to the Knights of Saint Tarumin, you are a lord of…” Balric kept his distance, blade on guard, trying to figure this man out.
“I am the Lord of San Tevida, in Caberra. I am the Lord Knight of the pious order of San Tarum there, and I lead prayers to Alden. As far as my ability to blend in and sneak up upon you with ease, that is from my position in---“
“The Broken Wing, you are a member with no banner or home, just as I am.” Balric knew it, members in the Wing never knew anyone outside the kingdom they trained in, so he would never have met Rodreigo.
“Close. I have a symbol, here.” Rodreigo pulled his sleeve up on his left arm, revealing a wreath of black feathers that were tattooed in spiraling fashion from his wrist to his shoulderblade. Then, he revealed the same on his other arm, in red ink.
“In my country, we are the Order de Pierra Mora, as you would say, the Broken Wing of Alden.”
“Why the markings on both arms?” Balric rolled up his sleeve, revealing similar designs on his wrist and forearm.
Rodreigo walked over to Lord Bishop Trebaine, lifted his sleeves, revealing the same markings on the corpse that hung, much like his own.
“I knew Trebaine well, we trained together nearly twenty years past and kept in touch often. Until Richmond the Second took the throne, Bishop Javiel became corrupt and involved, and the chaos of Harlaheim overtook your order here, that is.”
“You are a Lord Bishop of the Broken Wing?” Balric sheathed his blade.
“I was, in Caberra, by guess at your letter though, we are officially ordered to no longer exist.” Rodreigo hung his head.
“The letter is fresh, unopened until just now, yet dated three months prior.” Balric handed it to Rodreigo, who declined with a wave of his hand.
“I need not read it, its message is here, hanging and littering the sanctum with corpses. I knew you were a member, you spoke of it, yet I assumed you had left or had no contacts here. It is forbidden to ask---“
“To ask of anything pertaining to us of differing kingdoms. I know, to keep us honorable in assisting our own countries. Well, now we know. You need to get help from Caberra.” Balric tossed the letter to t
he floor just as Richmond walked in.
“Ha! Help from Caberra? You know as well as I that those letters went out in secret, months ago. I would wager my lordship that the same has occurred in my country. So, should I go to find a tomb, and leave you alone here? I think not.” Rodreigo dell Amarr made the sign of the feathered cross on his chest as he let his eyes wander the corpses.
“What…what is all of this?” Richmond the Second wiped his eyes of the tears for Sebastian. He took another look, the bodies were still there.
“This, is corruption at its highest degree, courtesy of Johnas Valhera.” Rodreigo put his hand on the shoulder of the former king.
“Who are these men?”
“Who were these men, you mean.” Balric sighed. “They were the Broken Wing, a secretly trained arsenal of deadly blades for the Aldane Church. Many who you may have met, belonged in secret. Myself, Bishop Javiel was a contact of sorts, and even Sir Sulian Lisario. I trained some of these men, personally.”
“And the man who invited Johnas to Harlaheim, was me.” Richmond stared, unable to fathom all that went on below his kingdom and behind his back.
“No, you sought power through many means. One Madame Florin, was a Domenarch for the White Spider, for Johnas. You had no way of knowing what you empowered her to, and I had no knowledge of the plans against Harlaheim, until it was too late.” Balric kicked a crossbow bolt across the floor.
“So, what do we do now?” Richmond looked to them both.
“We? There is no we, Richmond. I have lost my woman Vanessa to treachery and betrayal, my Order through murder, and now my family to execution. He has won, Johnas Valhera has won. Even the kingdom I secretly fought and killed to protect, even Harlaheim, belongs to him as well.” Balric glared, not wanting to list the crimes that Richmond partook in now, but his eyes said it anyway.
“I remember my oath to the Pierra Mora, all too well Balric D’Vrelle. Perhaps after you Harlians train in your Legion, your oaths are different, but I would expect not. So while there is the blood of the savior in the ground, the broken wing not forgotten, and a feathered cross upon holy…” Rodreigo paused.
