"Just when will the gods end this storm?!" Herald Gwynaoir cursed.
"No matter, Herald," Novice Knight Kaedon guessed, "We can still battle, can't we, ma'am?"
"Surely we can!"
"But we are at a disadvantage, ma'am!" Novice Knight Kinea warned, "The spells don't stop by mere mud, but our legs can only work so fast!"
"I have to agree with the Novice, Gwynaoir," Sir Knight Gansson yelled, "We can't move as fast as we should because of the flooding, and yet the Magon can cast their spells in any condition."
"Then we will diverge from the Aelveil army," Gwynaoir commanded, "We have the main objective, and that is to kill the Count! Ready, Knights of Aelveil?"
"Aye!" all knights growled.
"Let us move through the alleyways and past onto the bridge! We will sneak into the palace under the disguising rain!"
The Barking Knights yelled in return, and they and the ex-noble Vi Eslient moved through the rising waters and into the alleys between the shops and houses, battered and burnt beyond repair by trebuchets and catapults.
The squire accompanied Vi, who was in the middle of the circle of knights, staying close to him despite the rushing flood. The Barking Knights, twelve in total, marched to their first destination: the bridge. The bridge between the Market District and the Authority District was the only means to find the manor that the Count resided in, as the flooding made the river rise in width threefold. The Herald and leader of the group, Gwynaoir, counted on there being several guards at the bridge, but knowing full well that there was an insurgency of Nigon guards fighting within the Authority District itself reassured her that resistance would be minimal.
Eventually finding themselves close to the bridge, they saw that it was an island amidst the floods. It was a clear vantage point, and should the Aelveil army be able to seize it, it would prove useful for their archers, who used crossbows that would be able to fire upon the Academy defenses should the angle be right, ignoring most of the wretched wind and rain. Up ahead, however, the knights did see that there were some Magon perched on the bridge, using ranged spells against a band of peasants that struggled to fight in the storm. But even with the storm, it seemed the peasants had enough resolve to continue the battle, even should their morale reach rock bottom and their numbers to absolute zero.
And so the knights charged up, shields in front, deflecting some incoming spells. A few knights were already injured, and kept at the back of the circle, now formed into a two-ranked shieldwall, with Vi and his own wooden shield in the middle of the back rank. Gwynaoir and Gansson led the charge and they reached the bottom of the bridge, the flood rising even more and threatening to topple the knights and peasants alike.
Gwynaoir tucked her longsword under her sword-arm, switched her shield to her sword-arm, and grabbed Gansson's arm to her immediate left, trying her best to stay standing. The two of them marched forward and created a barrier between the Magon and a line of knights and peasants, some knights following suite. Soon they were on the slippery cobblestone of the bridge and pushed against the Magon. The peasants and soldiers behind the shieldwall used spears, pitchforks, and other long polearms to poke their enemy back, gaining upper ground and then striking the Magon while they were in the flooding waters. They went well on their way into the Authority district, where copper-armored Nigon were fighting leather-armored and clothed Magon at the Academy gate, the palace gate, and the prison yard.
Inside the district, the knights continued a circular formation while the peasants roamed across the road and scene, picking fights with any near Magon. In great numbers, the peasants were able to distract a good amount of Magon soldiers and fighters while the knights marched to the palace gate. Behind them, the knights saw the army's soldiers using the bridge as a checkpoint, setting the wounded and some archers to stay on the dryer-than-elsewhere ground, and some soldiers branched to attack both the Academy and the palace, ignoring the prison as a whole.
With Aelveil troops catching up behind them, the Barking Knights made their advance, bashing through the gate, leaving the rebels and soldiers to deal with the straggling Magon guards. In the palace grounds, they noticed that bandits had already vaulted a section of the wall and breached the palace. Several buildings were already filled with Rutsk bandits, although the manor was still heavily guarded by spell-casting guards.
The Knights kept their shields as an ever-evident defense and walked up the manor steps. The injured men were ordered to stay behind, setting up on the steps while the others, along with the Aelveil soldiers, took care of the guards blocking the entrance to the manor. Having only five Knights, the squire, and the Herald, the Barking Knights led the charge against the few dozen enemies at the top of the steps.
Vi, with his new shield and waraxe, followed the Lady Herald until an opening to the enemy came into view. Above the flooding water, Vi barged towards a robed Magon, barely blocking spells with his wooden convex shield, and raised his axe to bring down on the Magon woman's torso. The Magon stumbled to the ground, only to be executed by a blow to the skull by Vi's axe. Vi stood up and continued onto his next enemy, prepared to attack again.
The squire kept close to Vi, stabbing enemies that the man missed to catch. The boy judged Vi's fighting style as chaotic, yet relentless. The vagabond did not search dutifully for a target, rather charging the first one he lays his eyes on. But when he reaches that enemy, he does not hold any strength back, taking many-a lives by the end of a fight. Truly vicious, but truly reckless.
The knights continued into the manor, now shielded from the rain. The injured knights kept near the doorway while the Aelveil footmen accompanied their advancing comrades. Gwynaoir once again took the lead, followed closely by her Barking Knights, Vi, and the squire.
Injured Magon lay around the manor and bandits searched different rooms, not minding the Aelveil folk whatsoever. Some peasants joined everyone inside buildings, including the manor. Everyone was cautious, but they felt confident in their number of combatants.
Suddenly, Magon walked up out of the cellar, causing everyone to look towards them, weapons readied. The Magon soldiers, however, held their hands up. Not many of them had sustained injuries; it was purely cowardice.
On note, a bandit spat at the craven enemy, while Aelveil soldiers detained them. Several bandits and peasants didn't take kindly to this, though, and some stopped the Aelveil soldiers, trying to drag the unwilling Magon out into the rain. Insults were thrown, kicks were sent, and blood mixed with the flood.
Gwynaoir signaled her knights. "Let's find the target," she ordered. Obediently, the knights followed. Not wanting to be involved in the scene, the Aelveil soldiers followed as well. They hastened up a single staircase to the second floor of the manor.
"'Ey," a sergeant soldier tried to get Gwynaoir's attention, "Where are you heading?"
"We have a specific mission, sergeant," the Herald answered, "Something important. Your party should search this upper floor for any enemy Magon. Try not to let the peasantry up here."
"Uh... aye, Barking Knight." The sergeant and his few remaining men started searching for anything of a threat or of use on the floor, and some men reluctantly stationed themselves at the top of the stairs. They didn't really want to piss of any bandits or peasants.
The knights left the soldiers to their work, finding themselves another staircase. Up on the third floor, they found some wandering people. Upon inspection, they were mostly servants taking refuge in their master's house, and so while they cowered in fear, the Barking Knights did not mind them. Still on alert, however, the knights started searching rooms in groups of two, leaving Gwynaoir, Vi, and the squire to patrol the hall.
They took a right in the maze of a manor, down an abandoned hall. There was only one lonely door at the end of it.
"Oi," Herald Gwynaoir whispered, "Before we might happen upon a trap, where does this lead to?" She leaned to Vi, expecting an answer.
"I think this is the greenhouse," the man responded, "But it was never used. Sometimes I would go there, but it was always empty of man and full of overgrowth."
"Well, I feel it's reassuring. Who would set up in an abandoned room?"
Slowly, they reached the door. As they were closer, they could faintly hear voices.
"And damn, who is that?" Gwynaoir listened with her head low.
"Must be someone on the other side of another door," Vi guessed, "But not this one. The greenhouse has two doors." Vi held his breath to listen again. The voices sounded too close.
"Ah, well, again reassuring." To that, she barged open the door.
The three of them walked inside. The overgrowth did indeed seem full and natural, perhaps due to years of neglect. Some floorboards had popped up due to vines and roots, and many flowers grew here. There were only those vines and flowers, though, but there were many, making a fine, little garden in the hell of battle. The rain pattered on the glass roof, and the only other sound was the voices.
Definitely, the voices were inside the room. The overgrowth made it nearly impossible to see around with the flora at an extreme size. The Herald slashed through the plants, whispering to the other two to be quiet. Whoever was in the room must not be alerted, the Herald thought, but they're probably just servants hiding away. Hopefully.
Through another wall of growth, the two voices' sources were found. They were not servants.
"The hell are you two?" Gwynaoir demanded, catching sight of one blue head of hair and another of green.
But Vi held his arm in front of the Herald in a dismissing manner. In this small stowaway corner of the room, he saw what he could swear was his mother, aged but still recognizable, but he did remember his mission when he saw Dei Eslient beside the woman. Instead of dwelling on an illusion, he lunged at the elder man with his axe. He was centimeters from killing his target, until a force stopped him in his place. It felt like a grip on his arm and on his body, making him frozen in place.
"I thought I taught you better manners," a womanly voice tsked, "Honestly, after all these years, you don't even greet your mother?"
"What?" Vi wondered, confused and scared, nervous in a way that made him sweat on his forehead. He kept his gaze focused on the old man, who held an equally confused face, yet content to some degree. Yet, with all of these observations, Vi could not believe what voice he had heard. She was... dead? Or no? What happened?"
"What happened, Vi, is something I was reluctant to do, yet I was required to do it."
"Mother?"
"Who else?" Vi looked at the source of the woman's voice, the voice he remembered only as his mother's. There she was, aged but identifiable. "Here I am." Vi's only response to her was astonishment. "I was living nearby the whole time, but in order to start a war, I had to stay silent."
"But... why?" Gaining resolve, Vi tried to ask a most important question. "Why did you... why did it seem you were dead?"
"I was supposed to cause a war. I failed, really, but after all these years, it seems you have helped it start again."
"A war?"
"Reminiscent of the Freir War."
"She is a Freir," Dei muttered, "Her real name is Taltimia, the direct daughter of Avdaviel II."
"I told your father here everything. I must... make amends for what is to happen..." Something choked her throat, water welling up in her eyes, yet she kept the ever-pleasant and calm face that she held so well.
"Make amends?" Vi asked, "What? What... what do you mean?"
"He must die." After the words were uttered, the old man in the corner simply nodded, not in concrete understanding, but in somber realization.
"Then..." Vi tightened his grip on his axe, glancing to his companions. Behind him, the Herald was frozen, as if time had stopped, yet the squire stand breathing, steady, and blank-faced as always. What is happening? Vi pondered.
"Forbidden Magic. I learned this from a friend. He was friends with some Mrvde nomads, and from him I found out how to manipulate... anything. A handy tool."
"The Lady Herald is frozen, yet the boy is not?"
"That boy is quarter-Freir. If I had to guess, he is the son of my brother, Darien."
"Darien? Have I heard that name before?"
"Perhaps. He was executed not long ago, accused of leading bandits."
Vi gasped. "Deron, you mean? My friend, as if a brother to me..."
"Aye, that might be him. He could probably sense the Freir in you. Maybe he tried to find me, maybe he tried to find another, but it is true that you are half-Freir."
"Wait, wait, wait." Vi gestured his free hand, waving it in front of him is dismay. "I am no Magon, Deron was no Magon—"
"Darien was reluctant to use magic, and you, unfortunately, were never taught how to harness magic. If this were a simpler life, and not one of war, then I might have taught you, Vi."
"I... I have so many questions." Vi felt in himself a fear and an extreme tangle in his mind. His thoughts swam in the sea of questions.
"You may ask another time." The lady gestured towards Dei. "But this man... I must reluctantly say, will die. I am not willing to carry it out."
"And you need me here? To commit the foul deed you had birthed me for?"
"Your life was... a miracle in darkness. It was never meant to come to this, but the Scentral Empire must fall, so... do what you will."
"I will not—"
"It does not matter what you wish to do!" Vi's mother slapped him across his cheek, leaving a red mark, the first act of anger the man had seen his mother commit. "What you will do is finish what you had needed these past, lengthy years. Vi, my son, I do love you, but this is not about you, nor myself. This is about a world. This is about extreme circumstance, about war, about ending war. You will do what is right." The lady stepped away from the scene, disappearing into the foliage.
"Wait! Please, I have so many questions! W—"
"She won't heed you," the old Eslient interrupted, "Face it, Vi, this is not about any of us, but about ending a legacy. Since Omnus Scentre, this world has been a chaotic law. It should be an orderly evil, no? A chaotic good, hm? Nay, it is a chaotic evil and a chaotic good. It has no balance."
"And you accept your death, mad man?" Vi's axe-arm was still stalled, but he brought his other hand up to throw an accusing finger at the older man.
"I have caused much of the chaos. Of course I must die. I do not accept it, no, but at least I have wit, unlike a bastard like you."
"So we will end it here? I know you have questions for Mother, just like I do, yet we will end it anyways?"
"Yes, Vi, it ends here. I have caused suffering, have I not? Thus I must be struck down. So, son, face me as a man. Kill me."
"I would say 'gladly', yes, but my confusion suffers me. But of course, I would kill you for what you have done. All I am worried about is that my original inspiration for your murder was the death of my mother, yet she is alive?" Vi's axe-arm had movement again, and he brought it away from the evil man's skull, swinging it slightly as a crane would when guessing its attack against a prey.
"No questions, bastard-of-a-son. Move your damn axe to my head." Vi took a glance at his elder father's visage. To his surprise, tears ran down the cold-hearted man's face.
Saying no more words, Vi brought the axe to the other man's neck. The Count and Martial sat as still as a statue, his breath and his tears the only sign of life. Vi nodded solemnly to his father, his hate having subsided into a strange, mutual understanding of what is to come, yet the same mutual confusion of why it must occur. His axe brought up, Vi braced himself, contrary to the old man's seemingly calm demeanor. Vi took two hands, and swung them hard. A loud thud! mixed with a crack! occurred, and blood sprayed into the air. A gurgle was heard as another swing was brought to the already-mutilated neck of Dei. After the third swing, there was only the sound of blood streaming down. Vi faced away from the corpse, unwilling to see what has finally been done.
"The storm has only begun, cousin," the squire muttered, catching the surprised attention of Vi, "But, sir, now the Herald is here again." Truth be told, the Herald swayed side-to-side in a strange trance.
"What in Hel's name happened?" Gwynaoir mumbled, "I feel... ill." The Lady Herald held her breath, but to no avail! Kneeling over a plant, her belly's contents were vomited onto an unfortunate patch of flowers. After she successfully stood up again, she took in her surroundings. 'Ah, I see. So when I was... drunk or something? I suppose you did the job. Pretty gruesome, but good job, man."
"Yes, the job's finished," Vi said, "Let's get going, then?"
"Yeah, Eslient man, let's bring the news to our knights. The soldiers can find out later, and the peasants will figure it out last, okay?"
"Keep our mouths shut, sir?" the squire inquired, receiving a nod from Gwynaoir, "Aye, we can do that. Come, sir Vi, let's leave this place."
"Of course..." Vi replied. I wonder about all of this, he thought, The squire called me 'cousin', my mother called me a 'Freir', and supposedly Deron, my dead friend, was her brother?
"Aye, sir," the squire said, pulling Vi to the side, "You and I are cousins. I am a quarter Freir—my father was half—and you are a half Freir. Taltimia, my aunt and you mother, is the direct daughter of Queen Avdaviel, as well as your uncle and friend and my father, Darien, or as you know, 'Deron', is a direct son of Avdaviel, the eldest of his siblings, yet a bastard son with half-Lowborne blood." He took a breath. "We also have a cousin named Nattia Flau at the Flau farm, though she is technically my half-sister. My mother was a harlot and her mother is a farmer. Now, we also have another relative around here, I think by the name of Davo, the youngest of Darien's and your mother's siblings. We can find him at the Flau farm soon." He sighed, tired now from following Gwynaoir down the stairs and onto the ground story. "I think that is all the information I have so far, sir, or at least what the spirits have told me. For now, just follow the Knights."
"Whoa, squire, that's a long string of speak. But yes, I see, you must be a Freir. Interesting to know you can speak with spirits, do you think I could get that trick?"
"Nay, cousin. It was bestowed upon me by Mrvde black magic. It is a dangerous process that nearly cost my mentor his life."
"Your mentor?"
"My father."
"Ah. And how does everyone know this Mrvde Forbidden Magic?"
"One Freir is in the Mrvde deserts, and he visited on one occasion and taught my father and your mother the black magic spells."
"Interesting." Vi and the squire caught up with Gwynaoir again. "Say, Squire of the Barking Knights, what's your name? Forgive me that I've forgotten."
"I never told you, sir, had I? My name is Benn, two n's."
"Benn, eh? A simple name..."
"Aye, sir. My father rather indulged in simple things."
"Nice chat, you two?" Herald Gwynaoir chipped in, "Time for the news to our knights. Let's gather in the rain, now, so that we're not overheard."
"Aye, sir," Benn obediently replied, following the lady warrior into the group of knights.
Gwynaoir made a gesture with her hand, and the eleven knights understood, following her into the subsiding rain. Vi strode along as well, his bloody axe now sheathed, receiving a clean wash from the trickling rain.
Out in the drizzling rain and calming flood, the knights gathered in a small garden. Peasants, bandits, nor soldiers were there to overhear as the Herald and leader of the knights gave a small speech of victory and a successful mission. There were no more screams of war, there was no more drowning rain, there was no tyrannical Magon in the Eslientium seat.
The next step, however, was to ease relations with the bandits and provide the peasants with a new home and Count. These would be no easy tasks, yet it must be done. With so much blood and death and confusion, one can hope that the rest of this new war will not be as unforgiving. But however unforgiving it is, the reasons for this are to rid the world of evil and oppression, bringing good and prosperity to the countries of this land.
Surely, in the end, all good will prevail.
ns 15.158.61.18da2
