The Bloodied Shield

by Michael McKenzie

  The Tavern floor of the Stone Samurai was lower than the surface of the street. One had to descend a full flight of two whole steps to reach the bottom.

  Triden Mastershield could have been standing on the edge of a cliff for how he felt, looking onto a crowd of people who moved about their daily business.

  It had not been hard finding the ones who had left the message. They sat there, with a ring of armed men who looked to have been mercenaries. Breastplates over leather armor, shields in hand and swords at the hips.

  At the center of a ring of Dwarves had been Kral, who starred on in disgust at Triden as soon as locked eyes.

  Triden made his way towards the table, pushed passed the Mercenaries who did not hinder him, and sat on the opposite side of the table to Kral.

  "Chose a public place, thinkin' it will ease me mind in comin' to see ye." Triden observed, obvious fear in his voice. "Ye be right to be thinkin' me a coward, never had stomach fer anything up close an all."

  "Took'er sweet arse time comin'ere."

  "Why'd ye kill Quin?"

  "Reasons me ain't splainin' to ye." Kral replied evenly. "Right now we be holdin' Clan business."

  "If ye be in business with Gorgreen, ye got the Clan goin' the wrong way." Triden observed, gaining some control of the waiver of their voice.

  "Ye lost the right to have a say in Mastershield affairs when ye were up here fuckin' yer demon whore."

  Triden's face reddened, and the beardless dwarf straightened, now looking Kral in the eye.

  "She be me Wife."

  "And me don't care. Think me scared of ye getting yer dander up?" Kral grinned, leaning back in his raised chair. "Me ain't seen ye in two hundred years and me know ye ain't got the balls to do much but talk."

  "Me know cause who ye think told'em two to let Gorgreen in aye?"

  Triden leaned heavily against the table, lowering his head slightly.

  "Oh aye, ye old Pa, usin' the same knife ye used to get yerself out of me reach. Me reach be pretty far ainnit?"

  "Ye betrayed the Shadow Guild?' Triden managed to muster, again his voice trembling. But it was not fear this time.

  They did not catch on to it.

  "It serves that Coward Thane and his ilk, damn Stone Well been lying to us for generations." Kral snarled, offering a dismissive gesture. "Times be changin', we need to purge the old and put'en the new, get back right with Ossin. Get the right Clans to lead, not some descendant from a filthy line of lyin' hypocrites."

  "We needs purity, of blood'n'spirit."

  The other dwarves around the table nodded their agreements or thumped their fists against the wood with their knuckles.

  "But that ain'tcha concern no more boy, because we going to find a hole to put ye in. Somewhere nice and quiet, out the way, till o'course ye die of old age, disease or die a coward's death, since ye didn't have the mind to die like ye whore."

  Triden thumped the table hard.

  "She was me Wife!" Triden raged, and he raised into the seat to eyeball them all. "Speak ill of me all ye want ye daft bastard but ye will respect me Wife!"

  Kral laughed.

  "Or ye what? Swear at me?"

  Triden calmed down, breathing heavy at first before the trembling cease. "Nah, not gonna swear at ye."

  "Gonna fight me then lad? Show me the balls ye been missin' fer years."

  Triden settled down at the table.

  "Nah, not much for the up close stuff." The Former Lorekeeper looked around as he repeated, "Though ye made a small mistake,"

  "Oh me know who owns this place. Me know bout yer filthy half-bred brats. Me know bout that big, scary man Reikard's Shield is callin' the Worg Rider."

  "Me not really concerned bout them, see, they gonna get whats comin' to'em. All these demonkin filth be getting whats comin' to'em. But me'ere for ye, and ye alone."

  "Nah, not that." Triden continued, tapping his fingers on the table.

  "What mistake me make then boy?" Kral demanded, the cheer slowly fading from their wrinkled face.

  "Never visited in two hundred years, and ye chose the Samurai a'for this meetin'." Triden stated, before leaning once more on the table.

  "Yeh know me lad, Grigs, be always short on his knife throwin'?" Triden observed, before flicking his wrists. Two knives escaped the Former Lorekeeper's sleeves and he held them expertly in his hands.

  "Who do ye think taught'em how to throw?" Triden questioned, before flinging both blades across the table. Kral managed to duck both, and the other Dwarves scrambled. As the thrown weapons sank into the wood of the chair once occupied by Kral, Triden produced two more and immediately dove at a Mercenary who turned around to grab at him, diving the weapons into their knees.

  The Mercenary shouted in fright and agony, and Triden scrambled to his feet before being snatched by another.

  Swords were drawn by the Patrons, axe’s helfted and maces snatched from belts of the Patrons of the Stone Samurai, even as Triden shouted, "Help!"

  "Ain't none of ye affair!" Kral shouted at the crowd that turned towards the commotion. He glowered, attempted to look intimidating, and the Mercenaries rattled their shields.

  "That's Grigs' Dad!" shouted an elven fellow near the front.

  Kral soon realized as the crowd surged forward why it had been a mistake to choose the Stone Samurai.

  <><><><><><><>

  Jeria had been the first one inside the Stone Samurai, followed by Charles, Zansui, Hertwire and a curious Hayabatsu. Guards followed as well, but they sidestepped the door as others were being carried out on stretchers.

  The Tavern, which could fit fifty patrons easily enough at the tables, had a standing crowd as well, easily packing the this popular establishment well beyond what it could hold at the seats.

  Today had been no exception.

  They were on their way when they were met by a Waitress who had flagged them down to tell them that Mercenaries had pushed some of the Patrons out, and Dwarves had taken chairs from other tables.

  Then another with Guards following came to inform them that a full blown battle had broken out.

  It had been an exaggeration to say the least. There had been no deaths, but there were plenty of injuries.

  What many did not seem to realize about the Stone Samurai, was that it had been a popular place for off duty Guards, Adventurous Souls, and the common folk who just want a drink or a meal. They were tight nit group of wayfarers and what have yous who there for various reasons of their own.

  They were there for good food, the assortment of booze, or the friendships they made at the bar counter. Yet they all in truth, there to bask in the glow of one of Bel's popular Heroes, Zansui and Grigs Warstalker, who had given a great deal to their Community.

  Jeria had done violence to Thieves Guild Members here once, and found that the crowd, despite its appearance went from helpless onlookers to an armed mob when it looked as if Jeria would threaten their bartender, Grigs.

  No one ever comes into the Tavern to start trouble, because the patrons of the Stone Samurai would have none of it.

  Ten of the Customers were hurt in the fighting, as well as six of the Mercenaries. The crowd had pushed the rest of the Mercenaries out the front, with the current Bartender rescuing a Dwarf from another cadre of other Dwarves who had been nothing but rude customers.

  The six mercenaries, most former Rilstarin Soldiers of the Royal Army, were being questioned by the Guard. It was a polite exchange mainly, with many yes sirs and no sirs, but Jeria did not focus on them.

  Triden Mastershield sat on the bar counter, their right eye swollen and a bloodied lip. A waitress had bandaged an injured hand and tended to the Dwarf's hurts.

  The bartender, a retired merchant named Devin, watched on while leaning a very heavy looking club against a thin shoulder. There was blood matted along the length of the solid mass of wood, suggesting that the scrawny man had given a few good shots to whoever attempted to claw after the Dwarf they had rescued.

  On s
eeing Zansui, Devin shook their graying head. "I'd ask for a raise but you pay me more than half the taverns in the province."

  "What happened?" Zansui questioned, looking between the bartender and Triden for an explanation.

  "I'd say bar room brawl." Devin observed dryly. "But dwarves were involved, so I'm leaning more towards a mild disagreement in dwarven cultural folk dance."

  "Family affair." the Dwarf grunted painfully. "Me and me pa had a disagreement."

  "Dwarves do tend to punch over disagreements." Zansui sighed, looking over the mess that had been made. "I didn't know your Father was coming for a visit."

  "Tried to kidnap me." Triden wringing his hands lightly.

  "Glad someone recognized you." Zansui nodded, "I don't recall introducing you to anyone here."

  "An Elf singled him out, one of the regulars." Devin answered gesturing towards the door. "We didn't rightly believe it but we weren't going to let these rude bastards drag someone off."

  "Me paid'em to watch out fer me." the Dwarf offered, still wringing his hands. "Case Pa tried somethin' like what he did."

  "But why would he do that?" Zansui frowned, putting her hands on her hips.

  "He had me Wife murdered." Triden said as if it was something casual and nonchalant.

  Everyone in hearing distance could not help but simply stare at the Dwarf. Even Hayabatsu drew closer with a look of concern on their face.

  "Me pa betrayed the Guild. And he betrayed me, cause me Wife had demon blood." Triden teared up, trying not to cry. "We ain't done nothin' to'em. We kept our distance'n'all. We just wanted to love each other."

  Triden attempted a sigh, but it turned into a sob.

  "And me Pa has'er killed. He took me Lulu away from me."

  Zansui engulfed Triden, who buried his face into her flesh and blood shoulder, weeping.

  "I am going to find Grigs." Jeria announced moving towards the back door. "He needs to be told so we can find this bastard and gut-"

  "-Don't!" Triden shouted, and Jeria froze, half turning to regard the Dwarf who managed to regain themselves. "Don't be hurtin' me kin."

  "After everything your Father's done?" Jeria questioned, a genuine look of disbelief on his face.

  "He be me Pa." Triden said helplessly. "Don't kill me Pa."

  Zansui also did not look altogether forgiving. "But he had your Wife killed."

  "He ain't the one who put'er to the sword." Triden admitted reluctantly.

  "You know who killed your Wife?" Zansui frowned darkly. "Why haven't you said anything?"

  "Cause me be a coward." Triden spat, looking away in shame. "Afraid me boy would do something stupid and challenge the man. Ain't seen anyone fight like that a'fore."

  Triden then glanced up. "Not till me see ye that day at da Guild,."

  Jeria turned on the spot, making a sweeping gesture towards the door. "Everyone who isn't blood related, get out."

  As tavern floor started to empty, Charles stepped forward towards Jeria, looking rather reluctant.

  "That includes me or?"

  "Get over here." Jeria nearly snarled, yanking Charles closer and shoving them into this growing circle of Warstalkers, before locking eyes with the retreating Daimyo.

  There had been a silent invitation to stay, but Hayabatus had a keen memory of Warstalkers and their Family issues, and with equal silence, abstained..

  Hayabatsu bowed slightly, and barked an order to the nearby Samurai to aid in moving everyone else out the Tavern floor, and pointed to the stairs to keep anyone in the bed rooms above to stay there. Jeria and Hayabatsu exchanged a nod to each other, before the Daimyo left through the front door.

  Triden looked around once, first to insure if anyone else had been left within the Tavern, then to see the expecting faces of those around him.

  When the name, "Indbore Fel" finally escaped quietly from the Dwarf's blood caked lips, Zansui looked to have taken it as a shout.

  Even Charles became somewhat unsteady on his feet.

  Jeria took a step forward, staring unblinkingly into the Dwarves dark eyes.

  "Does Grigs Know?"

  "Me told'em me took care of all those responsible. All of'em." Triden's express turned into rage. "Knife'em all in the dark, nice and quiet when they thought they'd be safe."

  "Fel? Fel be to close to that Dalitrous. And Dalitrous has powerful, powerful friends everywhere, and me be just a dwarf."

  "But me never told me Grigs bout Fel. That's why me told Grigs to stay away. Me knew what would'appen if they found out if he be me boy."

  "The would have been more aggressive." Zansui covered her mouth. "Dear Gods Triden, why didn't you say anything?"

  "What would've Grigs done?" Triden shot back. "What would any of me boys would've done? He be a Noble's Personal Champion against common, gutter born demonkin trash. What then eh? What then!?"

  "So Fel doesn't know, does he." Jeria stated more then questioned. "Was it a duel, or a straight murder?"

  Triden took a very long time to respond, but when he did, it hammered a point across very clearly.

  "Lulu was the best Thief me ever seen. Think a thief stands'o'chance against somethin' like that even in a fair fight?"

  Jeria shook his head, then turned towards Charles. "Grigs is a Lord now, correct? A Noble of Westwatch."

  "I, well, when did this Lulu die?" Charles questioned, frowning as he found himself the center of attention.

  "It happened well before we could secure a seat in the House of Nobles." Zansui observed, cradling Triden. "We can't do anything to Fel Legally."

  "Fel is like myself." Jeria growled darkly. "It is not Fel who had your Wife murdered. It was your own flesh and blood for petty reasons."

  "Dad, Fel-"

  "-Will be dealt with, as well as Gorgreen who I imagined arranged it all to transpire." Jeria fumed, pacing as he made passing glances at Triden. "I will not deprive Grigs at a chance to exact vengeance on the men who killed his Mother. That concerns me but that is not what is the heart of the matter."

  "If your Father killed the Wife out of petty reasons, what makes you think he will not target your children now that you have escaped his clutches? What makes you think he will not turn his eyes on the grandchildren?"

  "Me don't wanna kill me own pa."

  "Then I will kill him." Jeria raged, and Zansui could see that the Samurai was clearly upset.

  Then it dawned on her. Jeria and Elandra's own Fathers were not only unsupportive of their children's love of the other, but actively made attempts against each.

  "Father, Trilanson did not try to have you murdered."

  "Tried and failed." Jeria reported smartly, with a hateful curl of his lip.

  Zansui opened her mouth to say something, but closed it after, now regarding her Father with shock.

  Obviously, Elandra had the mercy to spare her Daughter of the truth.

  Jeria would not, for he had no mercy.

  "He hired Mercenaries to kidnap your Mother from our bedchamber. Then Adventurers under the impressions I was using her as some sort of sex slave when the Mercenaries Failed. Then Assassins when the Adventurers failed, then on to political means to force Elandra and I apart." Jeria vented, and Zansui's balked at the red face of her Father. "And when it was not him it was my own Father who found no end of joy in sending prostitutes to my very front door signaling to my Elandra that I needed more than a point-eared whore for my fancies."

  "It ended after I marched in the Elven Enclave, where I hat to cut my way to Trilanson. I had to fight his guards because he refused to see me and listen to what had been decreed.”

  “So I slaughtered them all, all of them, and flayed the last alive before Trilanson and warned him that if he ever put tear to the eye of his Daughter again he would share the same fate."

  "The warning I gave my own Family had been simple enough when I crippled that fool who called himself Oni the Red when they attempted to bar my entrance into my Families estates."

  "Not even Markus
stood in my way when I told Reikard, my Father, that if he did not leave us alone I would burn the entire Warstalker Estate, there and in Rilstar, to the ground and piss and the ash.”

  "And what of your Mother? The Woman’s name you incur on me to keep me in line?" Jeria demanded mockingly. "Who do you think set her rabid animal of a husband on whomever would threatened our love for each other?"

  “Against those who threatened the happiness of our Daughter?”

  Jeria paced, fists clenched and calming down from roaring anger to a gruteral snarl. “They ran, they hid, and they stayed away then. And we were happy. Happy before the Din came.”

  “And the Din payed for that in an ocean of blood.”

  "You!" Jeria snapped on Triden, there was still a mask of sheer rage that had them all cower before him, yet there had been quiver of it now in his words. "Are you completely adamant that the filth that spawned you will be allowed to breath?"

  Triden's expression hardened, a spark of defiance Jeria not only respected, but was not sure Triden had been cable of it.

  "Do not kill me Pa, he be Family!" the Dwarf repeated his objection stubbornly.

  Jeria's face twisted again, and he paced, as if barely able to contain himself.

  "Fine." the Rilstarin Samurai shouted, yet stepped closer, thrusting a finger at Triden.

  "But I will not tolerate another attempt of his malice on my Zansui, my grand-children, or our son, Grigs." Jeria warned, his voice holding on to that sinister edge that made them all shift in discomfort. "If your 'Pa' does, he will wish for a quick death."

  "And I hear that you dwarves are exceptionally sturdy."

  Chapter 15

  Indbore Fel was Dalitrous Gorgreen's Champion and Bodyguard. Yet as of late, one of the best swordsmen within the Kingdom had been relegated to message delivery and inspection.

  Fel understood the need. It did not mean he liked it.

  Everything was coming into place. Every last bit and detail needed to be overseen with meticulous detail. Absolutely nothing can go wrong, no mistakes or misunderstandings in instructions.

  The Darkscales would launch their war soon and Dalitrous Gorgreen would reap the benefits of what has been owed to them. And all those who were loyal would enjoy the finer things in life.