by Jason Jones
“Saberrak, where is Gwenneth, tell me it is not true, tell me, please. Tell me they did not kill her.” Shinayne whispered as well, unable to see, just like James, but she had heard the soldiers. Her tears fell from blinded eyes.
“I do not know.”
Saberrak lied, hard as it was for him, but he looked to James and Shinayne and saw their tears. The minotaur refused to describe what he saw, he could not, not now. He pulled again on the chains, it was no use, they would hold a giant. They were held on the outside of a great red circle, full of infernal designs, and he could smell the blood. A legion of soldiers was spread out through the ruins, yet here he saw the man he had met in Evermont, Harron, with other blue painted Armondi nobles at his side.
“Do not lie to me, minotaur, where is she?” James trembled, his hands grasping as his chains drug on the stone.
Saberrak looked to Gwenneth, to her open mouth and blank stare, to the pool of dark blood underneath her still form, and he hung his head. Saberrak closed his eyes, the anger rising inside, and he whispered.
“Be strong, James Andellis, Knight of the Black Falcon, be strong now.”
Blades IV:III
L’Herrim Square
City of Harlaheim
“You are the sworn swords of the Church, and blessed by Alden, the heavenly father. However, there is that deciding moment, in the life of every man, where it would be nothing short of madness to follow through with ones chosen course of action for God. For you, in the Crossguard Legion of Alden, you will embrace that moment, and seek the glory of what is far beyond it, always and forever.” ---Words of High Lord Bishop Parmaine, General of the Crossguard Legion in Acelinne, Shanador.
Circa 339 A.D.
The royal balcony was constantly moving with servants carrying fruits and wine. The Crossguard Legion was formed in dozens of honor brigades throughout L’Herrim castle and the Square. The masses were innumerable through the streets, from adjacent stories and balconies of other grand structures, and they packed in tight by every sidestreet of old Harlaheim. All waited in the early afternoon heat for a glimpse of Cardinal Ganaire d’Hegnout, the High Bishop from their own Harlian city of Saint Etienne, the man confirmed as the holy voice of God to replace the late Cardinal Desmonde here on Agara. Despite their lack of divine leadership here at home, Harlaheim had more elected Cardinals in their bloody history than all the other kingdoms combined.
Kalzarius ate a grape as he watched the feathered crosses wave from the crowd. Some were golden, some sparkled with design, and some were but banners or old clothing with red paint. He smiled and waved his hand as people shouted his name from below. It was seldom he was seen in the public eye, and even more rare that he was beside the ruler of the kingdom in any peaceful fashion. The old master of the arcane took another grape that passed by on a tray, and put his hand on King Phillips shoulder.
“You must be nervous, your majesty. This is quite a gathering, largest I have ever seen in the capital.”
“I not deny that I have a few butterflies in my stomach, Kalzarius.”
Phillip closed his eyes, reapeating his planned speech over and over. His short hair was curled and perfect, his purple sashes and surcoats of dark red and gold were splendid, and his crown was under his arm. Still a soldier, still a knight, even his rapier was at his side with the thousands armed to protect him.
“Try being the voice of God Alden for a continent, my young king Phillip. Then, will you understand a bit of pressure.”
Cardinal Ganaire was old, not as much as Kalzarius, yet his curled mustache and trimmed silver beard were the only white hairs left to be seen. Spots of sun dotted his tan complexion, when the wrinkles allowed them to be seen. Still, he was showered in white cloth, red sashes, and golden feathered crosses galore. His hat, the pointed and draped regalia of the Cardinal, also sat aside due to the heat of the season.
“Yes Cardinal, but you have spoken in Acelinne, all over Shanador, and you will visit every kingdom on this continent to speak your words. I have been king for but short of two months now.” Phillip retorted with a smile and a bow.
“Yes, but if your words be true, they come naturally, my son.” Ganaire smiled back and stood, his sceptre of the feathered cross of solid gold, was heavy for him.
Phillip faked a smile now, he hated being called son, by anyone. He detested his real father, even after his death so many years back. The king of Harlaheim went back to his recitations.
“May I, your graces?” Kalzarius walked toward the balcony, staff in hand, and motioned toward the rowdy crowds that chanted his name now in their early afternoon wine and spirits.
“I do not have any opposition, great wizard. Your legend has been a fixture of Harlaheim for many decades, I need a few moments in any regard. King Phillip?” The Cardinal went for his hat and a bit more wine.
Phillip hesitated, then felt his nerves go in too many directions. “Fine, fine Kalzarius. But, make it short.”
“Your graces.” He bowed to them both, and walked forward onto the castle balcony far above the masses.
His hand went high, his staff flashed with red and purple sparks, the colors of Harlaheim. Then, a blast of purple and crimson erupted from his hand into the bright blue skies and swirled into a feathered cross for a moment before the winds had their way with his arcane display. The crowds roared and cheered, tens of thousands, over one hundred thousand in all, and the deafening applause thundered into Harlaheim. Kalzarius smiled, seeing a flash of light from across the square, near the flagpoles that had yet to raise the banners of Harlaheim and the church. Cilano was ready.
“My kinsmen, my brethren of the great kingdom of Harlaheim, today, we honor our new king, a new Cardinal to our city, and a new age for both this country and the continent. Without further display or delay, would you---“
“More lights, more magic, come on!” A heckler, a loud one and well practiced, boomed his pleas over the crowds. He was soon followed by the masses.
“More!”
“More!”
“More!”
Kalzarius held up his hand and staff once more, thinking of a beautiful crown and rose, and he smiled as his powers flowed. He looked back to Phillip, received a disgruntled nod as he placed his crown atop his head, and then nodded. He looked past the Cardinal, into the foyer of the great dining hall of L’Herrim Castle, and the two servants he knew, nodded back to him.
“You want more? Than I, the great Kalzarius, shall give more.” The crowds roared even louder as his staff sparkled with arcane majesty that they had heard of, but rarely seen.
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Clang, clang, slice, slice, clang, slice
Balric D’Vrelle slashed his rapier through two more agents in black masks, parrying their every attack with the enchanted steel. His face was painted red beneath a crimson steel mask of his own, one of a snarling wolf. His bracers were the same steel, his armor was light chain with a red dyed fur cloak over it, and he moved like the wind through the underground. Richmond was close behind, dressed the same.
“I must say, you are fantastic with the rapier, Balric.” Lord Rodreigo came up beside him with a slash of his shamshir, dispatching another agent of the White Spider with ease.
“Agreed. Richmond, you could not find a better master of the blade to teach you, I am envious.” Prince Willian dell Barrato of Caberra parried with his curved blade, then the dagger, and sliced down with both across the open chest of another black clad agent. He was pulling up the rear, keeping Richmond safe, while Balric and Rodreigo led them under L’Herrim Castle.
Richmond drew his rapier as five more agents came from the bend in the sewers. “He has taught me for three straight days, all day, all night. My arm is still twitching, but I can fight.”
“Good, but remember, those were beginner lessons, Richmond.” Balric feinted a lunge, as did Rodreigo and Richmond, and they saw the whites of the eyes behind the black masks.
Before the agents could
take in the strange red garb and masks, they reacted to the short lunges of these men. As they parried blades that were not there, three steel tips redoubled forward into their chests.
“Who are you?” One of the agents withdrew, leaving the blade of Balric to make quick work of his comrade, which he did with two simple strokes of his rapier.
“We are the Red Wolves of Agara, and we hunt spiders.” Rodreigo spun fast and disarmed the shorblade with two flicks of his edge. Before the man could run or question or beg for his life, Richmond plunged his sword into his chest, cleanly and perfectly.
“Kill quickly, men. Remember, these agents work for Johnas Valhera, the brand is for life, they will never betray. So you leave a sword in the night for someone else, if you let them live.”
No one spoke, no one disagreed, and behind these four men laid over twenty spies and agents of the White Spider. They ran left, then right, then up stairs that were unlocked from above. The sewer smell faded, the stone turned marvelous gray, and they came upon rows of cells. Balric led with Richmond now at his side, running in the dark of the prison ward. More spiraling stairs, more open doors, just as planned.
Richmond gasped, three hands covered his mouth, as he realized where they were. His hand reached out, touching the crimson cloth behind the thrones. Balric turned his face toward him, lifted his mask, and shook his head to the no. He pointed to Richmond, then to the wall to their left, a secret passage that was also convieniently left partially open. Richmond nodded.
Up the stairs between walls they went, in total darkness, yet Richmond knew this passage well. They passed the floor with the royal suites, the floors with the barracks of the royal guard, the guest rooms, the noble prisons, and even the great dining halls of L’Herrim. He wanted to go in, he wanted to see his former castle and home, but up past they went, unseen and unheard.
The wall at the end of the stairs pushed in, opening to an attic at the top of the castle proper. They ran for the window, it was open, ropes and banners there as they should be. They untied the banners of Harlaheim, then fastened the old crimson ones in their place.
Balric peered out, seeing a flash of light from Cilano, half a mile across the city, he saw it glistening from his staff. They were ready.
“I have never done this before, never, oh this is madness.” Richmond was breathing heavy.
“What, you never broke into a castle and plotted revolution?” Rodreigo commented.
“Not that.” Richmond stated dryly.
“You never planned a symbolic assault on a kingdom during a ceremony, with but ropes down the side of a castle as your only chance of escape?” Prince Willain asked.
“No. Not that either, though this is insane. No, I have never spoken to..said that…well I…” Richmond stuttered, the words were stuck.
“You have spoken speeches that inspired your kingdom beyond most kings. Surely this is---“ Balric was cut off.
“Yes, but I never spoke, never spoke the truth. Not ever, it was all lies, fancy words to sway people from the truth, to overlook the things I was really doing. Now, I have to tell the truth.” Richmond sighed, grateful he had gotten it out.
“There is a first time for everything, Richmond. What you do now, will plant the seeds for the future. I am with you.” Balric grabbed his shoulder.
“And I.” Prince Willian nodded with his wolf mask.
“And I.” Lord Rodreigo bowed in grand fashion.
“You are not Richmond the Second up there, the former king. You are Richmond, a Red Wolf of Agara, a hunter in the night, a warrior unknown for the freedom from tyranny that has overtaken your kingdom, and others.
Remember that. Do not reveal it until the right moment.” Balric pulled his mask down, drew his blade, and grabbed a rope.
“You wished atonement, and in this, I cannot think of a better fashion in which to begin that long humbling road.” Willian nodded.
“You now stand for hope, Richmond. And we stand with you.” Rodreigo followed.
“Very well, let us go then.” Richmond breathed in deep, grabbed a rope, and stepped out the window at the top of his former castle. He pulled the mask down, and cleared his throat.
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“Today, as you all know, is our honorable welcome of the new Cardinal.” Phillip was sweating, never had he seen so many people gathered in one place. They all stared at him, applauded his words, yet his stomach was turning flips inside.
“It is also a day for our Agarian allies. We give honor to our friends to the south, to the newly seceded King Johnas Valhera of Chazzrynn, who was here through our most difficult times at Richmond’s murder. In years and kings past, Chazzrynn was our strongest ally, and so it is again.” It was applause he heard, scattered and solemn, but it helped him continue.
“This day also marks another alliance, our brothers to the west, from the kingdom of Willborne. I have heard this day, that their council, their new king and queen, have entered alliance with Harlaheim. Long ago, our kingdoms were allied against Caberra, in terrible wars, and I have the honor of stating to you, my people, that King Valistor and Queen Katrina shall once again honor those old friendships.” Phillip raised his hands high, receiving a little more bolstering cheers than his last pause, yet his nerves were still on edge.
“The culprits responsible for the murder of our former king are still loose, yet one, Sir Sebastian Caunrenier, has been killed after another vicious attack on our sanctity. Many men died in that fight, but make no mistake my people, I will see justice done. The Caberran Prince will be found, even if it means war with his kingdom.” The people were cheering now, hearing blood, wanting justice, and listening to finely polished promises. King Phillip smiled and held his hands up to continue.
“Long has Caberra held naval threat over our lands, and now their nobility has assaulted and insulted us on such a level, a low level of murder and conspiracy, one that I, as king, will tolerate no more!”
Phillip drew his blade, the people roared like thunder, and he felt like the king of his people at last. He saluted with his sword to his chest, then the sky, and his men went into action. The flags on flagpoles were raised, his banners hoisted everywhere, and the massive ten story curtains with the crown and rose of Harlaheim began to unfold down either side of him on the castle walls.
“Now, may I introduce the Cardinal of the Aldane, from here---“
The sudden lapse of applause held his attention and his tongue. The people were pointing, gasping, confused. Phillip had expected thunderous shouts, and nothing less, for the spectacle of pride he had spent days planning in honor of the new Cardinal. Phillip followed the confused stares of his masses.
Where feathered crosses should have risen, there were wolf head designs on crimson flags. Where his banners of Harlaheim should be flying in the Square, snarling wolf heads of black looked back on fluttering red tattered cloth. And on either side of him, where the picturesque hundred foot draperies of scripture and where Phillips image should have fallen in his Harlian glory, wolf heads with long tears in the cloth to resemble claw marks fell instead. He was horrified, beyond words, Phillip was suddenly frozen with embarrassing terror and shock. Words would not come, his posture held the pointing rapier, and he looked as the peasants did at that moment.
Kalzarius covered his mouth and stared with wide eyes. Cardinal Ganaire shook his head and walked onto the balcony, eyes unblinking. And then they saw it, from directly over their king, atop the roof of L’Herrim Castle. Everyone turned, every Harlian present, all eyes were on an armored man with crimson boots and bracers, a matching mask shaped like a wolf head, and his red fur cloak. He lifted his golden rapier as he spoke, three identical forms stood behind him, all four of them with their blades out glistening in the summer sun.
“People of Harlaheim, you have been mislead by your rulers, your soveriegns, and your own blood! This man here, this king below me, is but a player on a stage, and he is responsible for the murder of your form
er king Richmond! He and Johnas Valhera, and so many others! What does he sell you, what do you buy that he flaunts with his words?! Fine promises of justice, beautiful vows of war, another enemy country, or are you purchasing rubbish from another false crown and another name?!”
Richmond yelled it over the masses, they cheered as he paused, some yelled toward the balcony in vicious tones. He felt it, he felt the revolution in their blood, his blood, he knew his Harlian people well. He waited, he waited for the question from the crowd.
“Get me archers, get me soldiers, and get me their blood, captain. Get those banners down, or your head will roll in the square tonight!”
Phillip turned from the crowd for a moment, then turned back as he heard his soldiers begin their march through the castle.
“What do you offer that is any different?” Cilano yelled over the masses, well timed and loud. Hidden in peasant garb, there was no way anyone would find him there.
“I offer freedom, a new start, and the truth! Your queen Rosana lives, your knights were murdered, and the alliances Phillip speaks of are all the result and cause! Black masks upon branded white spiders move through every city at night! They placed Phillip on the throne, look in his eyes and see if I lie! The war he wishes with Caberra is merely another takeover, another ploy to keep you blinded, and Johnas Valhera takes another country from below with our Harlian lives! Your men will die, ladies of Harlaheim! Your children will grow up thinking their fathers died for their kingdom, when in truth, they died for land and power of a foreign warlord!”
Richmond stepped back, seeing many archers funnel and push through the masses. He waited, another question, one more, and they had to leave. Otherwise, they would be captured or filled with flights.
“Kalzarius, do something!” Phillip was still in shock, unable to see the voice from above him, only hear the words. They sounded familiar, the voice, he had heard this man before.
