The Bloodied Shield

by Michael McKenzie

  "And that is?"

  "Let me kill him."

  Xander's face hardened. "Excuse me?”

  "It will be painless and he will not suffer." Sol'reve nodded. "Send him to that place where the Shadow Guild once resided, that way I can perform the task while you secure your Barrier."

  "I have arrangements at that place, I do not want them to get their claws on him."

  "I know you do. I will deal with him before."

  Xander shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It is a sad thing to do, but in order to proceed without hindrance, it has to be done."

  "This way he will remain faithful to you, not knowing you intended him to die like the rest."

  "It would be better that way," Xander observed, offering a mournful sigh. "Do not let him suffer."

  <><><><><><><>

  Indbore Fel stood uncomfortably before two lines of heavily armored beings.

  One had been the Crusaders of the Blue Rose. Their decorative, blue armor covered in motifs of roses and thorns. Their weapons a wide variety of swords maces hammers and shields.

  Their helms were dawned and the visors lowered, they all looked ready and prepared for battle.

  And then the line directly behind Fel did not make him feel confident either.

  There had been more men in black armor, that had twisted visages of wilting roses and skulls adorned on every visible surface. They all had one weapon, two-handed swords with great, slithering blades that were as sharp as they were sinister.

  Fel had never remembered actually seeing any of them with their visors up, but Gorgreen’s mockery of the Crusaders stared blankly ahead at their counterparts.

  The armor Fel wore nearly matched the ones in black, a suit of leather with dyed plate with claws and roses. It all marked them as Gorgreen's, the drab, unoriginal color that even as Fel looked on it, was becoming tiresome to see.

  Both of the armored contingents lined the grand hall of Jakuul, essentially given an appearance of an approaching confrontation more than simple security details.

  Fel's head twisted when he heard doors at the top of the stairs, cracking open with two people obviously having a pointed argument.

  "But Mother-"

  "-Do not presume that I am going to let you slide out of your obligations."

  The chastising voice had been Rebekka Jakuul, being escorted downstairs by Charles Jakuul, one of her only surviving children.

  The man wore armor, it was a white mesh of leather and chain, with a snarling wolf's head as a shoulder pauldran. A purple half cape with the Jakuul Family crest, a black jackal clutching a rose in its teeth, pooled from the mouth of the other canine and fluttered as Charles followed after his Mother.

  The silent Elf with a red scarf over their face trailed behind them both, leaning on an elaborate black and silver Halberd had been Razzar the Red, the walking Legend of Rals.

  An old man who was more than what they appeared.

  Yet Fel focused on the City Liege and Charles, the old women did not seem thrilled at something her Child may have said prior to coming within ear shot.

  "You are home now, despite how you got here. And the deal stands, you are to take over the Jakuul interest in the Port District. They need healthy supervision considering the Kallaxian and Din are at each other's throats."

  As Rebekka came down to the bottom of the Stairs, she gave Indbore Fel a very stern glare.

  Normally, Fel would simply smile coyly at the woman, but as of late, the Blond Swordsman bowed earnestly to the City Liege, even before this arrangement with Gorgreen.

  Rebekka did not like the change.

  "More so the Kallaxians than the Din." the City Liege turned to their Son after inspecting Fel. "I want the man who murdered that poor family in chains. And I want it done soon."

  Charles offered a slight cant of their head. "Yes, Mother."

  "Good. And do not be like your Uncle and stab the problem away." Rebekka wiggled her finger, now approaching Fel. "And when this sorted mess is straightened, then we can discuss my replacement."

  "Mother, the only way to resolve this issue is by the edge of a sword." Charles frowned stubbornly. "If those people are willing to murder an innocent family then they are worse than scum and deserve no better."

  "They deserve a Summary Trial, then a Summary Execution," Rebekka observed, then placed her hands on her hips. "Lord Fel, is Lord Gorgreen ready to depart for the Castle? If he does not come soon he will have to take another carriage to see the Royal Scribes."

  "I will check again my City Liege, though I would imagine he will depart with another Carriage." Fel bowed to her, then turned to leave.

  "Oh, Lord Fel, I have heard you have been spending time at the Temple," Rebekka observed, and the Swordsman twisted slightly to regard her, a frown on his lips.

  "Losing your former Instructor has taken a visible toll on you, young man." Rebekka pointed out, looking Fel up and down.

  "It has been-" Fel walked away, pausing at the door that the Black Armored men guarded so vigilantly to turn, finishing the confession with a very thoughtful expression. "-harder, than I thought it would be."

  Rebekka look after the Swordsman, before making a dismissive gesture at the man, and headed for her carriage.

  Razzar had watched Fel as well with a look of disbelief in his eye. Razzar turned slightly to look up the stairs, seeking someone else.

  There, just outside the touch of the sun, had been a hooded woman, Trezzar. Razzar made a soft gesture towards Fel as if questioning if she knew of Fel's strangeness.

  Trezzar shrugged.

  Razzar shrugged back, and then they both went their separate ways.

  <><><><><><><>

  The meeting at the Castle had started somber.

  The first announcement had been from Trilanson Waters, Rebekka's Father In Law.

  The Councilor for the Usfoundly Elves, Uthinmal Glimmersnow, had passed away in their sleep that morning at four hundred years old.

  Trilanson would be taken over as Intern Council Member until the Usfoundly Elves could decide on a suitable replacement. Trilanson would normally be a perfect choice, but Rebekka Jakuul, oddly enough, was related to the Elf through a marriage.

  Even if the being in person was dead, the Elves felt it would be seen as favoritism by the other Kingdoms.

  However, after the initial formalities, and words of respect, all eyes turned on the Red Scarfed Elf, who stood next to the King.

  With a silent motion, Razzar the Red bade them to open a side door.

  In walked Illindan Ilithorn, clad in the armor of his race marking them a Paladin. The armor was mirrored, highly polished and gleamed in the torchlight. What had caught all of their eyes, however, had been the blood red scarf wrapped around their neck and dangling from their shoulders.

  The only one who did not take the news that Illindan had been made a Red quietly, had been the Dwarven Thane, Erinmore Kilkrock.

  "By Ossin's Left Bollock." the Councildwarf rose to stand on their elevated seat. "That cannae be good news."

  "There is more to it than that," Illindan spoke, in common, and Rebekka's face twisted even more. Illindan had never spoken any language in public other than Din.

  The shock, however, turned into a smile, having realized they had all been fooled by the crafty Din once more.

  Subterfuge had never been the Din way, but Illindan had been changing what the Din would do by leap and bounds.

  "Do not ask me how, but I have recently returned from Der'doun, home of the Knights of the Mists."

  "I would imagine that would be quite the tale," Trilanson observed, looking to Razzar now. "But I would assume our Ancestor would have to be the one to tell it."

  Razzar tugged their scarf down to reveal those segmented lips. They were peeled into a canny smile that told them all that Razzar would of course, never tell them anything.

  "Regardless, I have come across records of the Nameless Cult from the last days of the Dragon Wars, and the information
, though as official as it can be from the Knighthood, does not paint a pretty picture."

  "Then there was another source. One that could explain my, return, which confirms the tale, and the horror of it." Illindan turned his one eye towards Razzar. The Elf, without looking, nodded that Illindan should proceed.

  "I can confirm that the Invaders are the greatest threat to the Life of our World, even more so than the Dergathian Scourge of the Fall. More so than anything we've ever had fortune and ill luck to have ever transcribed." Illindan reported, their lips pulling into a frown.

  Illindan then turned, looking directly towards Rebekka, and as he spoke, offered her a bow of his head, "And with that in mind, I am taking inspiration from a gentleman I have met very recently. Someone I could, and would respect as I respect the Blue Rose Herself,"

  "Council Inumint has passed on what you propose, King Wingsteed, and the plan is sound." Illindan now directed towards the King and gestured towards Urthane, the Mingor Broodling who had been similarly decorated with a Red Scarf. "However the Invaders will be coming in such a number that it will dwarf what the Darkscales have arrayed against us, even with your help, Lord Urthane of the Black Wall."

  "What you are asking for, however, is ten thousand souls from every Alliance Member for a strategy that will be defensive in nature, until at such time the Darkscale Empire throws off its shackles with the Nameless Cult and fight alongside us."

  Illindan started to pace where he stood. "This relies heavily on Lord Urthane honoring his side of this agreement, but the Alliance has no immediate guarantees that the Darkscales will Honor said bargain."

  "That is not directed at you nor your Emperor, there are other factors we are not aware of." Illindan turned and held a gauntlet up towards the Mingor Broodling, who straightened as Illindan was speaking. "My apologies, but let me continued."

  "In order to guarantee the Safety of the Citizens of Westwatch, as well as the North of Bel, I am afraid that the Din cannot, nor will not offer ten thousand souls."

  Ein's brows furrowed, but it had been the Ferios Brood Representative, Yerlaxis, an ancient Broodling whose scales were starting to turn white due to their age, had been the one to speak.

  "Then how many will the Empire willing to part?"

  "All of it," Illindan replied curtly.

  Silence had been the answer to that.

  "And when I mean all of it." Illindan continued, their gaze shifting to regard the Rilstarin King. "In your tongue, it will be three hundred companies of infantry, three companies of Paladins, a full company of them, I might add, wielding Sacred Firebrands. Every Healer. Every Mage."

  'The Entire Din Empire will be here." Illindan pointed at his feet again. "And we will not leave until the Cult of the Nameless has been exterminated."

  "That is-" Rebekka's mind froze a moment as she tried to remember numbers.

  "-three times what we had thrown against you during the Din War." Illindan observed respectfully. "The relative peace has been, good, for my people. Many of them, however, will be farmers and the young. Barely trained a year in our ways of war."

  "We will have our own supply line. We will be able to sustain ourselves. And we will ensure that if the Darkscale Empire does not fulfill its bargain, then the Din Empire will stand, and fall, with the Alliance that has graciously accepted us after the Folly of the Din War."

  "That is, unexpected." Urthane rumbled, and even tapped the side of their snout. "But I ask, what do the Din intend to do once the fighting is over."

  "The Paladins that survive will seek out the Nameless Cult wherever it will try to hide on Bel and we will stamp it out completely. Once it is over, they will depart these shores and return to our current arrangements," Illindan, once more, replied instantly. "There is no choice in that matter. We will turn this tide, then find the flood at its source and destroy it."

  "And how are you going to get your Mage Lord to agree with this?" Rebekka questioned, still mostly shocked that Illindan was speaking Common, and fluently. "Who is to say that they will change their minds in the matter?"

  Illindan hesitated, then their face hardened as the realization dawned on them. "I do not answer to the Lords of the Empire or the Alliance. I speak and they will listen.”

  "I am not just Illindan the Scar, I am Illindan the Red." The Din announced sternly, regarding them all with his one eye, which seemed to hold as much power as Razzar’s own. Yet they all knew he just flaunted that Title, the Red. The title itself meant power. It meant that Illindan was willing to fight, to the death, on the spot with anyone and everything, because they felt it was the right thing to do.

  And they all knew, even with quiet misgivings, even with the only person to ever fight this one particular Din to a standstill in the room, that the title was not simply passed to Illindan on a whim.

  "Who do they have that will to stop me from enforcing my word?" Illindan questioned, then added with a light sneer, “Who do you have to stop me from aiding you?”

  Erinmore laughed, and it may have cut off people before they were able to say something that would lead to more arguments.

  "A decisive action there lad." the Dwarf smacked the table. "Me like it. We of the Stone Well will march North with just as much fervor, though me thinks we be late for the party then."

  "And how goes the stirrings South of the Crags?" Ein diverted the subject from the Din, for the time being. Another Red walking over their Authority did not sit well with the King, but they bit their tongue.

  "I trust the Ironguard made it to Keystone in a timely fashion?"

  "Oh aye, and some Muun baggage." Erinmore offered a political smile. "The fighin' South of the Crags is not as we be expectin'."

  "Gryson Brood seemed to have a very large surplus of Orc and Goblin, and in some things are to be belivin', even Ogre. The whole stinkin' lot rose up out of their swamps and struck out towards the surface folk there at Kessel, one of Mebane's Cities."

  "Seems the Pyras Brood marchin' down there was a boon for me kinfolk, cause the red-scaled bastards have been a right hurtin' on the Gryson. But as for me kin?"

  The Dwarf shrugged, unsure on how to reply at first.

  "Word is the Greenskin's got as far as sackin' Kessel. Armies are positionin' and posteirn', but other than a few major scraps, looks like we're gonna be down there for a long time."

  "Sounds like a Proper War." Yerlaxis grunted, then turned to pointedly eye Urthane. "Why can't we have something more straight forward here?"

  "Because we do not have Portals in Kessel or the aptly named Fire Isles." Urthane retorted, slowly losing their patience with the elderly Ferios. "Otherwise I do not know why we need to much subterfuge. I simply do as I am instructed to do."

  "Yet there is one in Icewyrm?" Yerlaxis stated, leaning against the table with their weight, making the wood creak. "Which is why the siege there can be indefinite."

  "And one in Westwatch, that we cannot find nor have an inkling in knowing where it is," Yerlaxis growled in disgust. “If we knew where that one was we could position our troops and blunt the assault,”

  Illindan immediately whirled to face Razzar. The one-eyed Elf, raising a thin brow, simply gestured once more towards the Alliance as if whatever silent exchange they just had was obvious.

  "I know where the Portal to Westwatch is!" Illindan reported, once more earning the shock and attention of those present in the room.

  "It is in the Tower this City was named for."

  "Not even my people know where the Portal is." Urthane blurted, now looking as shocked as the rest of the room.

  "Razzar is the one who showed me." Illindan singled out the legendary Elf.

  All eyes turned on Razzar, and a Fox pup crawled up their body from nowhere.

  "What?" Spoke Gray the Fox, looking around the room in a mild show of bewilderment. "What did I miss?"

  Razzar rolled his eye a moment as the Fox caught up to what was happening in another, silent exchange.

  The little Fox seemed
to laugh nervously at whatever thought the Elf had directed to them.

  "Oh." Gray sighed out loud. "Oh, that."

  Chapter 8

  3rd Month of Spring, 749, Age of Fire.

  The Southern Gate was filled with well-wishers, cheerers, and even fanfare of bards and celebrators.

  By the time Jeria, astride the back of the mighty Grok, came within view of the Archway of what was known as the Forest Gate of Westwatch, there were more people to greet the number of troops than the approaching force combined.

  However, despite being in the lead of Din, Humans, and a scant few Orcs, Tieflings and the one Ferios Dragoon, Jeria coaxed Grok out of the way of the advancing soldiers, and slipped off the Worg.

  The King, Rebekka Jakuul, an assortment of the Nobility, including one Dalitrous Gorgreen, all watched along with the Crowd.

  The Samurai tilted their head forward and clamped a fist over his chest, offering a show of respect to the Din Lessers who marched passed in their perfect unison in their gleaming armor.

  The Raiders, even in their multi-colored, Kallaxian Armor and fur cloaks cut the image of fierce Veterans, and all, even the Orcs, stopped long enough to salute both Jeria, then the King, Ein Wingsteed before moving on.

  As Zansui approached, with her Husband nearby, the entire Crowd cheered with genuine enthusiasm. She raised her artificial arm to them all with a beaming smile. Soon, the Half-Elf drew closer to where the King on her Relatives were standing and slipped off her horse to Join them.

  The Guards quickly let her through to the King and gathered Nobles, and Rebekka could see more clearly that Zansui had been wearing borrowed armor with a yellow half cape marked with the Warstalker crest.

  Both Zansui and Rebekka exchanged a hug, with Charles reaching out to squeeze the hand of their cousin.

  Rebekka, of course, held her tightly, and chastised her. “I nearly died of heart break when the reports said you did not return from the sewers.”

  “I know I know, next time send someone else.” Zansui leaned into the embrace.

  “No you were perfect for the task from all the accounts I’ve read.” Rebekka sighed into her shoulder, “Nassin, though, is a hard blow.”