The Bloodied Shield

by Michael McKenzie

  With terrifying grace, Jeria flowed around the enemy Samurai all like a predator through a flock prey, picking out the weakest first.

  Every swipe of the Masamune that had been meant to defend him, turned into an attack. Every slashing blow of the mithril blade that left pain or death, turned away a strike meant to end the yellow and black clad Jeria.

  It was as if Jeria had planned their movements. Knew what they intended to do before they even knew what they intended.

  And then there was the fear. A relentless sensation that rolled over Kallaxian Samurai, causing the resolve to those standing well behind the rank and file to whither before any even had a chance to lay eyes on what cause the ones ahead of them to stumble back.

  A din of battle had filled the air, having gone unnoticed by those within the side street. There had been the crack of thunder, the crash of steel on steel, and the men the alley ignored it all to focus on what lay before them.

  Yet a piercing howl filled the confined space, followed by the sounds of splintering wood, and all immediately sought the source.

  Grok had entered the fray. Not knowing where Jeria or Grigs had gone to, the Worg immediately set on finding them. Their end of the alley in which the Worg had sought refuge from the arrows had been blocked off by a wall. It had been hastily constructed plank barricade to block off access to the street behind the row of stores along the main roadway.

  It had been several layers thick, and eight feet high, reinforced at the base with cobblestone piled around the bottom.

  Sensing that Jeria and Grigs lay on the other side, Grok did the only thing a sizable creature like himself could do. Grok let out a long, loud howl, and charged it.

  Throwing its entire weight against the wall, Grok smashed through, bringing down wooden planks and scattering the rest. Toppling over half a dozen men Grok sprang to his gray furred feet, before backing away, growling. The Samurai prepared to rush the large Worg but found that it was not alone.

  Charles had dispatched men to seek out the Lords Jeria and Grigs, and some followed Grok through the hole they created in the wall. Royal Infantry surged past the Worg's exposed flanks and their fore, seeking to protect two of Rilstar's Nobility.

  They cut down and chased after the Akuza Samurai who stood before them, brandishing sword and shield with as much zeal as Grok used fang and claw.

  The Infantry secured Grigs first.

  The Tiefling Lord and their Black Sword had been avoided as the Samurai yielded ground to oncoming soldiers. Even the Infantry gave pause to the ice-ridden carnage before Grigs Warstalker.

  Yet Grigs was out of breath and faltering, an Infantrymen stepped forward to keep them up.

  It had been the same Sergeant that had arrested Grigs earlier who helped steady him. They both froze when their eyes connected.

  Grigs narrowed his eyes on the man, then turned, gesturing on with a sword that more than matched the chill in those violet eyes. "To Lord Jeria! Secure our flanks!"

  The Sergeant saluted before moving around the Tiefling, barking the same order and making the same gesture.

  Grigs, needing to catch his breath, shuffled to a wall to lean against it. Grok, having to press themselves up against the alley wall to allow more soldiers to pass by, sniffed at the Tiefling in worry.

  Grigs sheathed his weapons and patted Grok’s muzzle and scratched beneath their chin where the armor did not protect the Worg's fur-covered flesh.

  "I'm fine," they reassured Grok. "Not done yet, come on, we need to get to Jeria."

  The Worg nodded, rubbed their muzzle across the damaged breastplate still dangling off Grigs' chest, before brushing past them.

  Grigs again drew his swords as he limped after, wincing with every step.

  "Dammit, I should have asked to ride him to the next fight."

  The Samurai wearing Uginaga Green fell back from the side street and towards the Warehouse.

  Jeria did no let them retreat unopposed.

  Flowing with them as they tried to reform their ranks, they turned around to find the grinning fiend of a man was on them yet again. He slashed, kicked, stabbed and pulled people out of position. That wicked blade Jeria bore continued to aim for every weak point and weakness without need nor did the enemy seem to be able to stop it.

  There had been twelve more men at Jeria's feet before the Royal Infantry poured out behind him. The Akuza's footing had been that much weaker when the Infantry crashed into them, breaking into their already thin ranks and nearly cleaving the formation in half.

  Jeria paused, taking a step back to watch how longsword and shield fared against the katana. Despite the lack of defensive measure as the shield, the Kallaxian were holding against the Rilstarin Royal Infantry individually. They had been trained to battle someone with a shield, more than likely trained to fight Din.

  However the Rilstarin Infantry had the advantage in number, and when one defended with their shield, another lashed out at the Samurai's exposed side. Some were capable of defending themselves from one or two of the Infantry.

  But not against three, or four, the numbers were quickly stacking against the Akuza.

  Jeria's smile faded when he realized that this was not going to be a proper battle. The Entire Rilstarin Force beneath Hertwire's command had been mobilized, all ten companies, a thousand men of the Royal Army, backed by at least that many Guards that could be mustered in dealing a decisive, ending blow to this criminal threat.

  Grok come bounding up out of the alley and settled next to Jeria. The Rilstarin Samurai would have crawled into the saddle, but there was no spear or trident to use. Instead, Jera stood up on one of the stirrups, and Grok held still.

  Peering around from his vantage, Jeria could see the entire street before the Warehouse engulfed in fighting. The Infantry and come in from all roads, and more then likely held the side streets and alleys around the Ware House, yet the fighting had been thickest here at the front of this large, bland building.

  Jeria could make out Charles Jakuul raising a glowing, blood stained sword overhead and shouting commands from the very point of the battle. That magical infused blade came down over and over as the Lord Jakuul demanded ladders to reach the rooftop.

  Peering up, Jeria could see a smoldering hole, and dozens of arrows lodged into the wooden frame.

  Yet Grigs' voice drew Jeria’s attention, barking orders to rope prisoners. Grigs was limping obviously, and gesturing with that odd, black weapon they had given an unfortunate name to.

  Yet instead of looking the part of a Master Thief, Grigs cut a striking figure of a warrior with a morbid obsession with a color that Jeria himself was beginning to grow tired of.

  Pride, however, swelled Jeria's chest, seeing the Tiefling take charge of those around them as they had once done at Warstalker Manor.

  Now there was someone worth being a Husband to his Daughter.

  Grigs and Jeria locked eyes a moment, and the Worg Rider lowered himself from Grok to offer the Master Thief a salute.

  "Shadow of Westwatch!" Grigs pointed towards Jeria, shouting the title over the roar of the battlefield. "End this, now!"

  An order. Grigs Warstalker dared to give his Father by Marriage a direct, commanding order.

  A smile spread across Jeria's face, and instead of arguing the order, Jeria bowed respectfully towards the black skinned Tiefling, then turned away.

  "Watch Grigs." Jeria instructed and stormed past Grok.

  Grok offered a bark after Jeria as Grigs walked up beside the Worg.

  "Right, let's do some good," Grigs grunted, then quickened his pace to join the fray.

  With a howl, Grok joined him.

  <><><><><><><>

  It was not all going according to plan.

  Alari Kufang could hear the fighting outside, and it was intense. Then someone came and told him that it was more than the local Dock Guard coming to try and force their way into the Storehouse.

  The Royal Army had been outside.

  Cursing
the Warstalker's impertinence and the Crown's interference, Alari ordered the retreat. The had more than enough to recover and start again when it all died down, but Alari had been assured that the Warstalkers would pay, and pay dearly. In fact, all they had to do had been entice them here.

  And here they were.

  Offering a smug smile to his loyal men who surrounded him, Alari headed to the secret exists dug by the Dwarves for them. It would connect to the area of the sewers that had been cleaned and renovated to be a small manor house. Alari would stay there until it was safe to leave the City and muster another small contingent of like-minded individuals and return.

  Hopefully to more favorable conditions.

  The Storehouse was large, and still filled with Akuza Samurai, with others pulling back into the warehouse, swearing and cursing. This drew Alari’s attention, noting some were not just coming in an orderly fashion.

  They were fleeing.

  It did not take long to see what hounded them. A yellow-clad Samurai streaked with blood and wielding a gleaming sword with wicked bite. They tore through the ranks with a smile on their blood streaked face, as if on the verge of cackling

  Alari watched as this man lay waste to all that came before him. Every turn, sway, and motion of this man brought him closer and closer to the only man in the room not wearing armor, nor wielding a weapon. And then Alari realized whom they were looking on, and felt a terror grip him so hard it he could see the breathe escape his own lips.

  Jeria Warstalker.

  Alari scrambled backwards, their finger darting towards the Rilstrian Samurai as panic gripped at Alari’s heart.

  (Slay that man! Slay him!) Alari nearly screeched as they rushed out of sight down a flight of stairs.

  Jeria Warstalker suspected the man wearing the green and blue kimono was of some importance. And with throwing men at the Rilstarin, it only confirmed what he already knew.

  Yet despite slaughtering anyone who had the nerve to get in reach, Jeria knew he would not catch that man as they fled like the cowardly dog they were.

  But Jeria could remember that face. The fat jawline and the thin mustache and beady brown eyes. The look of outright terror.

  Unable to keep his reckless pace any longer, Jeria took on a more defensive stance, his eyes darting left and right as he smiled at them all. The Akuza aligned Samurai who encircled him kept their swords poised and ready, none wanting to immediately attack a man who had slain many of their comrades strewn at their feet. It was a rare pause, and Jeria took a deep breath, flicked his sword clean and sheathed it.

  (You honor your Master.) Jeria saluted the green-clad Kallaxians, offering them a respectful nod. Many offered the salute back.

  (You honor your own.) one of them returned. (Glory to your House.)

  (Glory to yours.) Jeria smile widened, he placed a hand on the Masamune once more, and rushed them.

  Chapter 18

  It was midday.

  The birds were singing their songs. The Hawks fluttered and shifted from branch to branch.

  The children were laughing, running about and making merry, chasing after the Hawks who squawked at them from on high. One of their Grandfathers, Triden Mastershield sat on a stool, watching with tired enthusiasm.

  The Dwarf was drained. Very drained. More so with worry and fear for his children, for Grigs. Of that pretty girl of theirs, Zansui.

  Of his precious, precious grandchildren, who were blissfully unaware of the dark business that happened beyond their own little worlds.

  Zansui, Dratin, and the Lord Hayabatsu were having a meeting it seemed, standing off to the side and making whatever final arrangements needed so the Kallaxian Lord could use the Stone Samurai as their base of operations.

  They were all in the back enclosure of the Tavern, that closed off Forest, surrounded by Samurai and those Raiders belonging to Jeria. All of them were simply idling around, just outside of the clearing this little meeting was taking place. They too were lost in the scene before them, of birds singing, of the dance they seem to put on for all to see.

  Triden ignored them and the singing. He just wanted to find a good place somewhere away from everything, and just die.

  He felt so tired.

  So old. So heartbroken.

  And then Triden noticed the birds had stopped chirping. The Hawks had stopped their fluttering and were now looking around themselves.

  The Children had stopped playing and glanced around as well, curious on the sudden silence.

  Zansui seemed to take partial notice but continued to talk until words failed her.

  The silence had been so profound, that Triden heard Zansui breath. "Intruders."

  Silver streaks flew into the rank of Samurai and Raiders right behind Triden even as the Dwarf stood to take part of the searching. One of the bolts that sailed by Triden traced to where it landed barely inches from one of the Children.

  Men fell, some screaming in agony as other drew swords and weapons to defend themselves.

  Chaos erupted. Screams of fright from the young ones who did not understand. Shrieks from the birds who scattered into the air. Battle cries of hawks that shot into the foliage, seeking those that dared enter their sanctum.

  Cover was sought, Zansui shouted for her children, calling them by name even as another wave of those things flooded in, and more men died.

  Triden rushed to where the Children gathered

  "Go younglings, come to Grandpa, come on." Triden smiled reassuringly, "Jeria lad, be a brave'un and take hold of ye brother's'hand. We gonna run to ye mommy right?"

  Jeria was frightened, that much was sure on the boy's face, but they nodded and did as instructed.

  "Ellen get Ozok there, there ye go good girl." Triden tried to hide the panic in his voice. He heard another thunk, and he did not need to look far to see where that spike had landed in front of him.

  Turning slightly Triden could see a spike come right at him. This was it. He was going to get his wish right when his Grandchildren needed him most. Yet something flew right into its path followed by an explosion of-

  -feathers?

  A bird fell dead, a little robin intercepted the missile meant for him.

  No. Meant for the Children.

  Another bird fell, landing just at his feet. Yet another. And another. The poor little things were throwing themselves in the path of the spikes, forming a living cloud to protect the young ones.

  Triden turned, and for the first time, there had been no fear in his eyes.

  "Go, let's go!" Triden ordered gently, and held out his arms, rushing behind Ellen as she dragged their brother Ozok behind, who was wide-eyed and screaming at the top of their lungs. Jeria had just been ahead, having picked up Lacen bodily and shambled forward as fast as they could.

  Both twins were screaming. Their little bird friends were falling down and they did not know why. They knew it was bad. They knew it was very bad.

  But they did not know why the birds were falling from the sky.

  Triden kept behind Ellen, and when Ozok slipped from her hand, Triden scooped the child up.

  "Run!" Triden shouted as Ellen turned to fetch her brother. "Don't stop!"

  There had been another wave of those deadly spikes but the sounds of battle erupted soon after. The Samurai and Raiders who survived rushed forward towards the direction the missiles had flown from.

  Zansui had been held in place by Hayabatsu, who had a death grip on the woman from behind the tree that had spikes in it as well. Jeria and Lacen she scooped up and dragged to cover, and then Zansui quickly greeted Ellen who had been barely a pace behind.

  Seeking Ozok, she could see Triden had managed to push the four-year-old in their direction, yet the dwarf himself had fallen to his knees.

  "Triden!" Zansui cried out, quickly passing Ozok to Hayabatsu before reaching out to her Father by Marriage.

  Behind him, there had been many of her flock, with one twitching and chirping a painful song. They had thrown themselves
in the path of spikes meant to kill or main her children.

  Yet they could not stop them all.

  Triden had taken several of the spikes right into his back while acting as a shield for the little ones. There was blood bubbling freely up from his beardless mouth, and the spikes had worked straight through his body and protruded from his chest.

  But the Dwarf smile at Zansui. A pained, happy smile. He did not reach out to her, instead, Tridan’s eyes drifted behind her, and his fingers stretched outward to someone else.

  And then Triden Mastershield fell forward, never to rise again.

  Zansui closed her eyes and then snapped her gaze to a rush of movement to her right. It was a man, Kallaxin in ancestry with a green sash around their waist. They held a Din Spike Sword in both hands high over their head and murder in their eyes.

  Just as they drew closer, a warhammer collided hard into the man's sternum and sent them flying bodily in the opposite direction.

  Dratin held her warhammer in one hand as if it were little more than an elongated mace, and she thundered her rage at a crowd of them who had attempted to flank the defenders. Though the Enemy faltered for a moment, the charged anyway, even as the Broodling, without armor, charged them.

  "To the Tavern!" Zansui shouted, wishing she had not left her sword at in her little cottage. Hayabatsu trailed behind her, sword ready and his red eyes hunting the trees.

  They were mere steps away from the Tavern door when another of the green sash wearing men charged at her as she clung to her children. They were immediately intercepted by red-clad Samurai, and Hayabatsu shouted to them in Kallaxian. They shouted back, and charged after the Daimyo.

  The two crossed swords, though Zansui did not stay to watch. She had to get her Children out of here.

  Zansui stumbled into the kitchen, and when she could settle, she drew all of her Children close to her.

  This was an assassination attempt. She knew it deep down in her heart. They were trying to kill her and her Children. Zansui repeated it, and it made her disgusted, angry and inflicted with a state of panic she never thought she was capable of having.