The Bloodied Shield

by Michael McKenzie

  But Illindan could not bring himself to deny it. The claim that left from those supposed God like lips had a ring of Truth. Their mere presence had forced the Nobleman, Charles Jakuul, and himself to their knees.

  The only one who had not been affected by the words, or the aura this strangely armored man had projected had been the mute.

  An Ancient Elf of the name Razzar the Red.

  A living legend that had no equal, not in this age at least. Their name was spoken on almost every Continent of Rals and whispered in either reverence or dismay of Nobles and Kings. Tales were woven of Razzar defeating Armies single handed. Defeating Dragons with his bare fists. Defeating Demons like they were peasants rioting over spilled milk.

  Defeating Gods of War in Duels.

  Though fact or fiction surrounding the Elf could be speculated and theorized, one thing was positively certain. Razzar was on a mission that affected the entire World.

  And they have chosen Illindan Ilithorn to lead a combined force that would determine it all.

  Razzar had bestowed a title, the Red, on Illindan's shoulders. It was the price to pay for the secret knowledge they were to reveal to the former Din Paladin. Of Razzar's access to the Portal Network. Of what the Invaders are.

  And both were frightening aspects.

  More so than sitting at a table with a supposed God.

  "So in order to glean what we can from the only man to sit across the table of the Invader God, and live, we need to go back to Bel." Charles broke the silence.

  The young human male still had gull to spare it seemed. Despite having been forced to the deck by something neither he nor Illindan could see, he was quickly on his feet.

  And there was no edge of fear in his voice.

  "I will inform the Captain to go back."

  "No need." Mordrim made a gesture, which immediately put both the Din and the Human on edge. "I will send you along your way when I am finished with Rein. It should be a fairly short meeting."

  "And what do you have to do with him?"

  The one voicing had been a Fox Pup that curled itself around Razzar's shoulders. It glared at Mordrim just as balefully as the Elf did.

  "A matter that does not affect this tale, though your own will affect the outcome of mine." Mordrim shrugged indifferently. "Until I am besieged on all sides by Invaders I will carry on my own story till it is resolved. Or maybe not? Who knows with someone like me."

  "You seek the Ravager." Gray accused, mockingly. "Still?"

  "Watch your tone rodent." Mordrim looked vaguely insulted. "He is as sly as they come."

  "Ravager a title or a beast?" Illindan questioned, swallowing hard when Mordrim turned their gaze on him next.

  "Before the Fall, Gods used Champions or Chosen to fight in their behest on this World." the Fox, Gray, explained, though did not take their eyes off the Godkin before them. "They still do now, before they themselves would dare walk the Mortal Realm. but none are as powerful as those that were forged before the Fall."

  "Mordrim here sought to return to the old ways when he made an Immortal Champion to fight in his name on the Fields of Kirran. The Problem is, the God of Guile was tricked by a being of pure Bloodlust."

  "You cross a line, Rodent," Mordrim growled threateningly. The sound emitting from the Godkin's throat mimicked crackling wood as the God turned their eyes on the Fox. "I said that was a tale that did not have an effect on this one. Take heed and keep your lips sealed."

  Razzar planted his feet and looked ready to defend the Fox pup around his neck.

  Illindan slapped the table, garnering both of their attention.

  "The Invaders," Illindan demanded, having finally gathered their own thoughts. "Tell me what you know."

  "Or you will what, Cat?"

  "Or we will all drown," Illindan said with as much seriousness as they could muster.

  Mordrim for a moment offered a look of perplexity. Then they smiled, remembering it was the same threat they offered to Razzar when Mordrim first arrived. Mordrim pointed at the Din as they looked to the Elf. "I like this one. You did tell him the title is self-inflicted suicide, right?"

  Razzar remained squared and ready to lash out at Mordrim. Gray, his only source of verbal communications, had kept their ears pressed against their skull, giving the God of Bloodlust and Guile the same, undaunted stare.

  Relenting, Mordrim settled in their chair. "I am a God of War, and thus I have seen conflict on the High Planes as well as the Mortal Realms. As of late, however, I may have spent far more time on this Plane than I desired. Otherwise, I would have killed us all by now out of spite."

  Mordrim tapped their fingertips on the table top. The God of War looked among the occupants. A teller of stories was not something they seemed keen on being. With another look to Razzar, the Elf had folded their arms across their chest and appeared far more relaxed than a moment before.

  Mordrim scratched his chin, before coming to a mental conclusion.

  "In the High Planes, death is meaningless to us. Feuds, battles, and even spirited debates can be eternal and unending. When the dust settles so to speak, we will eventually return to our full potential in a few of your years, maybe a decade. Depends on how badly my sister beats me into the dirt."

  "Here? As I hinted, Gods can die. It is called the Mortal Realms for a reason." Mordrim grinned devilishly. "We lose a limb here, it would take decades of concentrated healing arts to replace it. Wound us enough, a feat that would take considerable effort I assure you, or even claim our head, and we will fall forever. For us, there is no after, just the absolute nothing that we call Oblivion."

  "That, in itself, is Our Nature as Gods. As what had been written into the existence of the First Ones, those Ancient before our Ancients were Young. Immortal on the High Planes, vulnerable on the Mortal Ones. Fundamental and simple."

  "There on those Planes on High, we are aloft and beyond your comprehension and reason. We are safe there. We are eternal there. We use Fate to effect your day to day lives if need be, but we do so from there." Mordrim pointed off to the side where they could not see.

  Then the God pointed at Illindan's scarred over eye. "Where none can touch us in a manner that Jeria Warstalker touched you."

  The God relaxed again and looked away a moment, contemplating how to continue. Mordrim was picking and choosing his words very, very carefully.

  "It is how one, our Eldest who bothers to partake in our affairs, has decreed it. Non-direct interference in the lives of Mortals. Instead, we are to review their Fate and alter their course to favor different outcomes we desire. This allows Mortals to choose their own destiny, or simply swept away by our machinations and plotting."

  "Even the Knight's obsession to preserve knowledge on pages of metal was something derived by pushing and pulling on the right cords."

  Mordrim paused, glancing towards Razzar again. "In fact, it was Ossin's very idea to Faed, their patron god. Faed is a Goddess by the way. Just don't tell the Knights."

  The God chuckled at a joke only they knew. "She likes to see their faces when they realize who she is. So no spoilers."

  "Carrying on. The only exception to the non-direct interference rule is when it comes to Godly Affairs, which, I happen to be on. We are allowed to directly apply ourselves at a reasonable measure to see to our own personal business then return to the Planes on High so we do not endanger ourselves."

  "Unless of Course you are a Corsair," they smirked, gesturing towards the wall as if indicating the spoken of Gods. "Rein and his ilk do as they please within their territory, and because of prior services rendered, everyone else leaves him and his alone."

  “And then there is Char, the World Dragon,” Mordrim pointedly glanced to Razzar, “Not rightly impressed with Ossin at all is he?”

  "Where am I going with this you are wondering?" Mordrim asked, raising a brow at them. "Well, I'll tell you."

  "The Invaders can slay Godkin in the High Planes. Kill us dead. Done. To Oblivion and no re
turn. That is the truth as blunt and as simple as I can make it." Mordrim said, still smiling that odd, sick smile that looked, for a moment, oddly familiar to Illindan. "And they number in a tide that is so incomprehensible. So unfathomable, that Infinity would be the only way to describe it."

  "And each one of them. Each. Can lay a Godkin low as if they strode this very soil."

  "Yet how were they beaten?" Illindan questioned sternly. "That is what we must discover."

  "That is a question for someone who was there." Mordrim grinned on. "I was not. None of the Gods, other than our wayward Sol'reve who had been Mortal at the time knows how. The Brytshards were given the rights to say they ended the Invader threat on Rals for the time. But in truth, they were meant to kill the Invader God, not just defeat it."

  "That is a little-known fact by the way." the God added, glancing towards Razzar. "I know how you like little things like that."

  "Regardless, The Brytshards could not kill it on the Mortal Planes, and when it fled to the High Planes, weakened and exhausted, we set on it to end it. Even we could not dispatch it. It would wither and flinch, yet it would not die."

  "And even then, as we lay it low time and time unending," Mordrim continued, stressing his words, "The Invaders poured into the Mortal Realms and the High Planes like a ceaseless flood. Even when my Father did what he did to it. Hid that profane God from all things in a place beyond all sight. Their sick children just would not falter or waver."

  "And then they stopped. The Brytshards were dead on the Field at the time, so yes, that tidbit of their Death and Return is true. They do not know what transpired on the Mortal Realms that made those things cease in their endless assault." the God shrugged his shoulders. "Only one would, because he was there when it happened, however, it happened. And that would be the current Corsair God of Assassins, Sol'reve."

  "Once known as Gabriel," Illindan stated the obvious.

  "Yes, well, I think I have interfered enough" Mordrim declared with a wave of the hand. "I do believe I can speak to Rein another time. I think I will observe the comings and goings of you lot from nearby."

  "What do you mean?" Charles questioned, obviously curious. "I am finding all of this fascinating, if not Heretical in more aspects than one."

  "Is there any further doubt in your mind that I am a God?" Mordrim asked, turning his gaze on the Noble.

  "Look around." Gray blurted, even going as far as rising on Razzar's shoulders. "He weaved a spell as he spoke."

  Illindan shifted to look around himself.

  No longer were they sitting on a ship. No longer could they hear the constant song of the ocean, or the creak of wood on salty waters.

  Illindan Ilithorn and Mordrim had been sitting across from each other, but instead of a round table, they were sitting at the simple square one located in a spartan office, with little more than a bookcase and a throw rug on a stone floor.

  Somehow, without their knowledge, Mordrim had magically inserted them into Illindan's Personal Office within the Din Enclave.

  The Din stood up, his mouth hanging loose.

  "How?" Charles looked around himself, wide-eyed and confused. "Wait, oh Gods-dammit."

  All three looked to the young nobleman as he had turned to his bunk where his things had been.

  Putting their hands on their hips, Charles' confusion twisted in disgust as they stared balefully at the bare stone wall. "My fucking luggage!"

  Illindan scowled immediately, then it soften as he turned his attention to Mordrim, who was grinning wickedly the whole time.

  At the sound of someone stirring in an empty office, Din in shining armor poured forth, shields presented and weapons raised.

  Illindan raised his hand upward towards them for them to halt. When Illindan had been recognized, the Din were as confused as Charles had been.

  "Not only have I told you everything I know, but I told you everything the Pantheon knows." Mordrim continued, standing up. "I told you everything even the Corsair Rein can remember of these things, and they are supposedly of his world,"

  Mordrim shouldered his massive axe. "Now if you excuse me, I think I am going to find myself a vantage point and ready myself for the coming tide. This is going to be fun."

  “Will you not help us find Gabriel?!" Illindan demanded. "That in itself is a Godly Affair."

  "Is it?" Mordrim questioned with that same smile. "I suppose it is. But I pose a question to you, Mortal."

  "If I knew where Gabriel happen to be, do you not think I would go there and strangle the treacherous wretch?"

  Silence lingered in the room, and Mordrim nodded.

  “Take comfort. This is one of those few, rare opportunities in your lives you can actually say the Gods are with you. We will be right next to you the whole way right to the very end."

  Mordrim turned, and the Din, who did not wish to move, found themselves stepping away from the red headed man in the sinister armor and their massive axe. Their bodies resisted, but even now, Illindan could feel that powerful, immobilizing aura radiating from that Godkin.

  The God of Bloodlust and Guile paused when they were at the door, that smile spreading wider as they locked eyes on the single ocular of Illindan. "Unlike last time, when your armies displaced millions of people, annihilated an Empire, then crippled the North of Bel."

  And with a laughter that deepened the verbal blow on Illindan, Mordrim disappeared down the corridor.

  <><><><><><><>

  The Pantheon Hall within the Noble Quarter grew quiet as of late. Though the Royal Guard's presence remained, for the last several weeks had been genuinely hectic. Mourners. Opportunists. Bards. Fools and Curious onlookers, all of them had flooded the Pantheon’s quarters like flood to see the Fallen for one reason or another.

  The poor, dead soul who found themselves at the center of this much attention, had been Captain of the Royal Guard, Nassin Weavering.

  Indbore Fel had been their most frequent visitor.

  In life, they were once Master and Student. Then they were rivals of skill. Pawns on a political Battlefield of Rilstar. Opposites in the spectrum of fame and glory.

  One loved, cherished and honored.

  The other notorious feared and loathed.

  Fel was also the last man to see Nassin Weavering alive. Unbeknownst to the world who believed that Nassin had died of their injuries against overwhelming odds in the sewers of Westwatch's Port district, it was Fel who killed him.

  It was Fel who had driven the rusty sword that pierced Nassin's heart when none were looking.

  The Blond Swordsman had always felt joy in slaying others. Fel enjoyed it more so when he was taking the life of someone right before the eyes of a crowd. Taking them apart, piece by piece in quite a literal sense, just before finishing them off.

  Sometimes, Fel did not even need a crowd.

  To see the helplessness in his victim’s eyes just before the killing struck. Oh, the sheer pleasure that coursed through his veins as they bled to death at his feet!

  But there was no joy in seeing the life drain from Nassin's eyes. From the eyes of a man too proud to use their skill for their own gains. From the eyes of a man who lived their life in the complete service of others.

  From these dead eyes, that were forever closed because they were too slow, to dulled with age to stop Fel from killing him.

  And Fel felt no joy, just the pangs of grief.

  They were alone in the Antechamber. Fel leaning over his mentor’s body with a bowed head and his mind adrift in this unexpected sorrow.

  Nassin had taken Fel into their school when the boy had no money to pay for it. Taught Fel how to use a sword in ways one would only hear from bards tales or read in story books.

  Fel laughed quietly at the sudden realization and leaned up.

  “You taught me how to read. Taught me how to count with training swords in the dirt. Showed me the difference between right and wrong. Gave me my first real friends.”

  “But you just, would not l
et me have any sort of fun.” Fel sighed despondently “I liked to show off and you chastised me for it. Called me a disappointment. I did not want to be poor ever again, so I sold my skill to the highest bidder. Again I was a disappointment.”

  “I never understood what you gained from nothing. Saving people for nothing.” Fel curled his lips in disgust. “You and that Wolf Pack of yours. Saving everyone without so much as taking a single thing for yourself.”

  "I wanted power, never to be helpless. And I have it. I have more than most Lords. I wanted for nothing. Nothing but your head for berating me."

  "For trying to cheat me out of glory."

  “And then Ulimax came back.” Fel stared off through the Antechamber. He moved from Nassin's body to stand in a particular part in the room.

  Pointing at his feet, Fel turned towards Nassin once more, as if holding a conversation with the swordsman's spirit.

  “I nearly died here,” Fel confessed. “I should have died here. I was brought in here with my Mother, and I outlasted her. The Whispering Plague nearly took me. And a Warstalker saved me. I was the last soul Elandra Warstalker saved before she died.”

  “I never thought of my mortality since then. I did not fear death, just the prospect of mewling away like a sick kitten.” Fel walked towards Nassin's resting place and leaned over his remains. “Until another Warstalker embarrassed me twenty some odd years later, in the very arena I thrive in.”

  “So my question to you, Master. Am I grieving your loss in my world? Or am I afraid of what Jeria will do to me if he ever finds out I disregarded his warning?”

  A long silence followed. The answer came in that quiet stillness, and Fel nodded to it to himself in acceptance.

  Adapting a march, Indbore Fel stormed out of the Pantheon and headed straight for Gorgreen's Estates.

  Located in the Noble Districts, surrounded by its own battlements with its own courtyard. The Estates themselves were actually typical in design to other such constructions within the District. But like Fel's Master, it was more than what it appeared.

  Beneath the foundations, carved out by some ingenious human beings, had been a complex, similar to what had been lost from the Shadow's Guild.