Victor Deus (Heritage of the Blood Book 1)

by Brent Lee Markee

  *****

  Year 3043 AGD

  Month of Preparation

  Eighth Day

  Continent of Terroval

  Northeast of Lakeshire

  Scarlet Road

  Shawnrik, Ashur, and Dunnagan had been traveling for six days, and were now headed northeast along the Scarlet road. The day before they had stopped in the village of Lakeshire, and the small community had been an interesting experience for the young man who had grown up in a city that numbered in the millions. Dunnagan and Ashur had assured him, repeatedly, that Lakeshire was in fact a large community as far as settlements outside the walls of Safeharbor were concerned. In fact, head count coming in somewhere near five thousand, Lakeshire was considered a city by many of the lesser communities in Protectorate lands.

  It seemed to surprise the two older members of the party little when Shawnrik decided to wander the streets of Lakeshire. Having both grown up in smaller communities such as this they remembered their first experience with the sprawling city of Safeharbor, they could only imagine what that feeling might be like from the other end. Shawnrik was surprised to find that there were really few differences between the people of Lakeshire and the people of Safeharbor. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, so he seemed to stick out like a sore thumb as he meandered through the streets. He almost welcomed the slightly hostile looks more than the smiles that the people gave one another, as the hostile looks were common in the Docks District. The only one who had ever smiled and nodded to him like these people were doing to each other had been Watchman Tanner, and even that smile had held a look that said, I'm watching you. These smiles seemed genuine and personal, it all felt... wrong.

  What would it be like to know most of the people that lived around you? Shawnrik mused. He realized that these people relied on each other daily just to survive. The constant struggle against this dangerous land had left little room for individuals that lived only for themselves. The walls around the city stood at around fifteen feet in height. A few feet shorter and the Grim'le that roamed the area might be able to jump on top of it, Ashur had explained this to him as they entered the city earlier that day. Shawnrik had not seen any of the large two legged reptiles on their journey north, and he was ok with that after hearing some of the stories from his traveling companions about encounters with the creatures. The Grim'le were only one of many of the dangerous things that lived in the area that threatened the village on a daily basis, and not necessarily the biggest threat.

  Living under constant threat of annihilation took a sturdy type of individual, and when you gather a city full of people of a like mind it makes that burden easier to bear. Shawnrik envied these people as he walked through the streets of Lakeshire, the evening sun tinting everything a light shade of red. Here was a place that everyone knew their purpose, everyone had a role to fulfill, and if one person failed to fill that role the whole place would fall apart if someone else didn't quickly pick up the burden. The trust that such a lifestyle would foster was difficult for a kid raised on the streets to put his mind around. In his life so far Victor was the only one he had ever felt such a bond of trust with, and even that he hadn't realized until he had seen these people interacting with one another. Looking around Shawnrik couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to create such a community with people you could trust.

  Every person in town moved with the gait of someone who was trained well in the arts of war. Shawnrik knew that he would be hard pressed to last a few minutes with any of these hardy folk in a fight, and that thought did more to humble him than any of the beatings that he had received during training with Ashur. A young woman walking down the street, only a few years older than himself, held herself with a poise that reminded Shawnrik of the lion statue in the front of Nim's manor. Beauty and strength wrapped up in one deadly package, his heart almost stopped beating when the girl he had been admiring winked at him.

  As he wandered Shawnrik overheard several interesting conversations. A lot of the talk he heard had to do with how good of a year for planting it was going to be, and other trivial things one might expect to hear in a place that supports itself nearly completely. There was one conversation that stood out above the others however, and he couldn't help but linger in the area to listen. Several of the older men had been sitting on a porch enjoying a pipe, and talking to each other, and anyone who else who would listen. They had just finished having a conversation about how little the young men seemed to know when one of them chimed in about the towns growth. Being a topic that was freshly on his mind Shawnrik found a seat nearby as the men talked to one another.

  “I tell ya, our population has nearly doubled since I was a kid.” The oldest man of the group said.

  “What was that? Two hundred years ago?” His friend next to him jibed, who Shawnrik thought couldn't have been too much younger than the older man.

  “Oh your funny Amar. I'm not a day over one twenty and you know it! I still have a few years to go before I kick the bucket.” The older man laughed and puffed out his chest showing he was still in fine shape, an effect which was ruined by the racking cough that followed.

  “Forgive me young man!” Amar said mockingly.

  “Well, he's right you know. It won't be long until these walls won't be able to support the whole city. Another Generation or two and we're going to burst at the seams.” A third man added.

  “Well, from what the Mage says war is brewing in the east. War always seems to thin populations a bit.” Amar stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

  The other men winced at this remark, before nodding sadly to themselves at the truth of it. The men sat for a time without another word, and Shawnrik was just getting ready to move on when the third man spoke again.

  “Our men shouldn't be pulled into the ranks until the army loses a few companies. Some of the younger men who have been thinking about enlisting will go. They'll seek glory and honor just as we did in our day. I'm glad our sons were spared the wars, but it seems our grandsons and great grandsons will learn what it is.”

  The three men went on sharing war stories, which Shawnrik felt had been shared hundreds of times before from the way one would finish a story for another, or say a punchline to a joke. He sat for some time and listened to the old men retelling portions of their lives when he noticed that the sun had gone down over the horizon. The only other thing of note that occurred was a small brawl that was just coming to an end as he walked up to The Friendly Maiden, the inn they were staying at that night. The offending parties had been tossed out of the inn by the large Innkeeper, and his even larger sons. The men picked themselves off the ground, made a few rude gestures towards the front door and then began to laugh and sing as they wandered down the street physically supporting each other.

  Shawnrik brought his thoughts to the present as the group rode along the Scarlet road. He had heard Ashur and Dunnagan talking about the road earlier, but he hadn't expected that it was a literal name at the time. The road was such a deep red that Shawnrik almost felt like they were riding along a large tract of blood, if it wasn't for the clopping of their mounts hooves he might have had to dismount to prove to himself that they weren't.

  “What makes the road this color?” Shawnrik asked in a voice just above a whisper, not expecting anyone to hear him, or reply.

  “Well laddie,” Dunnagan obviously hearing the question replied. “Tis said that when the lords of the other continents decided to come and see if the Protectorate was facing the threats they claimed to be, the fools landed their armies not too far from here. Some say this road marks the farthest point that those armies made it into this land. Their folly would remind people for generations that this is a foolish place to walk in unprepared.” Dunnagan laughed, finding humor in the destruction brought down upon those foolish lords by their own stupidity.

  “For those of us that are a little less cynical we know that it's a clay easily found in the foothills over to the east of us. Tis an easy to mold, light clay th
at dries quickly and easily without cracks. Once heat is applied it becomes as hard as bedrock, some even say it is as hard as good steel. As you can see, it holds up well to time. A fact which lends credence of those that tell such tales. It has been here nearly a thousand years, and has been worn down an inch or two, but there are few scars along the way.”

  “That has got to make even you a bit more humble my friend.” Ashur grinned at Dunnagan.

  “Ho Ho!” Dunnagan shouted. “We Dwarves work with the rocks and in the mountains enough to be humble. However, we take our attitudes from Terrazil herself!”

  Taking on a more somber tone Dunnagan continued. “Now, you two listen good to this, cause I'm not likely to ever explain it again. The mountains rose from the ground knowing that someday they would crumble and fall. They also knew they would have a life of constant struggle against those forces that would bring them low. Wind, water, trees, and eventually even parts of themselves would test their fortitude in a way that is hard for any creature to imagine. Even knowing the struggle that was to ensue, they stood tall, taunting those forces to do their worst. Wind and water slowly tore away at the edges, and patiently, unrelenting, they would stand. Though their battle seemed a blink of an eye to Terrazil herself she would take strength in the knowledge, that against all odds, they had stood.” Dunnagan's look was thoughtful as he stared off into the horizon before continuing.

  “Terrazil took strength from each pebble that fought on through the years to help her maintain the fight against the cosmos itself. She would face debris from other worlds that fought through the very air itself to damage her. The sun's light, which brought life, also brought death as it dried up the water and baked her skin. When she herself should eventually perish, as all things do, the Universe would know that through it all she had never wavered: no regret. She had taken it all to protect the life that had been put in her charge. Should all that remains somehow fall into darkness, that spark of resistance would give birth to a new universe to continue the fight. We know, as the mountains know that they stand, and in the countless years to come they will continue their vigilance; Not because they must, but because they can. So yes, there is plenty to be humble about...” Dunnagan looked at them both in turn before finishing in a firm voice“...but we stand.”

  Shawnrik and Ashur were left speechless for many minutes after their companion finished speaking. Dunnagan had just explained how the universe itself was grand beyond all measure, and yet linked each of them to its eternal struggle. Shawnrik and Ashur realized at the same time that they had been holding their breath, and took a deep lungful of air. Shawnrik thought he understood what his newest mentor was saying, but his mind couldn't seem to grasp the enormity of the idea just yet. To be compared with the cosmos itself, was awe inspiring. To find that no matter the vast difference in size, or the fact that his life would be but a blink of an eye for the universe, that he shared a common bond was indeed humbling, and yet empowering at the same time. It was the most profound idea Shawnrik had ever heard. And the most profound idea that I'm ever likely to hear. He thought solicitously.

  “My friend, I never realized that Dwarves were so philosophical.” Ashur's voice seemed to startle even himself after the profound silence only moments before.

  “Well laddie, when you live as long as we do you get a lot of time for introspection and philosophy.”

  Shawnrik couldn't think of anything to say after his friend's speech. He found himself mulling over the idea even as the day progressed onto evening.

  Ashur leaned over toward Shawnrik and Dunnagan, making it look like he was checking his stirrup. “Looks like we have some un-friendlies.” Ashur indicated a direction with his hand, keeping it out of view of anyone watching the group. Shawnrik stretched his neck, and then his upper body as his eyes did a scan of the thicket that Ashur had indicated. His gaze fell across several shapes that stood out in contrast to the trees around them, but gave no indication that he had seen anything amiss. Ashur's head nodded in approval at how natural Shawnrik had made his examination look. “I make out at least five. Blood Orc hunting party from what I can tell. This road curves up on the other side of the grove, that's where they'll jump us. We can ride through and maybe avoid a confrontation or… we can fight.”

  As Ashur gave them their options Shawnrik found his thoughts drifting back to the idea that Dunnagan had laid before them earlier in the day. Those thoughts mingled with the threat of the Orcs, and it all seemed to click together in his mind. He realized then that Dunnagan had been speaking to him especially. 'We stand,' didn't simply mean facing needless odds or a futile battle with things that you could do nothing to control. That was fine for things like mountains or the planet that didn't have a choice in the paths that they followed, but it was the perfect ideal for a protector. The mountains and the planet stood protecting what they held most dear. They didn't do it out of a self possessing urge to face the inevitable stoically, they did it to allow others the time and chance to do the same.

  “If we don't fight 'em they will just jump the next group to pass by.” Shawnrik looked from Ashur to Dunnagan and smiled. “We stand.”

  As they began to round the bend Dunnagan pulled his axe and said. “Aye lad, I knew ye'd get it. Now, let's whittle away at the ragged edges.” He winked.

  The three were laughing together when the charge came.

  The Orcs never knew what hit them.

  Chapter 12

  Unwelcome Guests

  Year 3043 AGD

  Month: Preparation

  Fourth Eightday

  Continent of Terroval

  City of Safeharbor

  Nim's manor

  Nim came awake suddenly, years of dangerous situations had honed his mind into warning him when something was not right. He realized that the doorway into his room was slightly ajar a moment before he sensed movement towards the foot of his bed. Pulling the dagger he kept under his pillow he was able to parry the first blow from his would-be assassin. Rolling off the bed he grabbed the hilt of his longsword and unsheathed it as he completed the roll to land on his feet. His opponent, seeing that his initial attack had failed and his prey was now armed pulled his second dagger.

  Looking at the man who had tried to take his life while he was sleeping, Nim knew that the fellow was a member of the Guild of Shadows. Assassins for hire to the highest bidder. Nim had dealt with the Guild before, usually it was fighting them, but occasionally he had hired them, and considering the predicament he was in now, he rather favored being the contractor rather than the mark. Another thought then went through his mind, someone wanted him dead, and he didn't appreciate that very much.

  “Your days of meddling are over Nim.” The man shrouded in black said icily.

  Instead of replying verbally Nim responded with a high thrust of his longsword aimed at the man's head. The assassin tried to get in low and take advantage of the opening Nim had created in his attack. Nim's dagger had been at the ready for such a maneuver however, and deftly diverted the path of the assassin's leading dagger, throwing the man slightly off with his second attack allowing Nim the time to dodge out of the way. As he turned he used his still extended sword to bash the side of the assassin's head, he didn't have the leverage to do any damage with the blade, but it was enough of an impact to make the assassin move backwards quickly, slightly dazed.

  Not allowing the assassin time to shake off the blow Nim moved in quickly with a fast series of blows, keeping the assassin on the defensive. To the man's credit he was able to block every blow as he was forced steadily backwards. His flaw however was in his limited knowledge of his surroundings. It took the man only a moment to realize that he had been run through from behind, as the man looked down at the point sticking out of his chest he saw realization flow into the assassin's eyes right before he died. The man had backed up into the statue of a unicorn that Nim had on display in his room, it's horn had broken through his armor and body like it wasn't even there, as it had been designe
d to do.

  Taking a moment to catch his breath Nim realized he could hear fighting outside his door. Taking up a defensive posture, Nim opened his door to find Bartholomew and Jenn standing side to side holding back three other assassins. Jenn held her twin daggers out before her, ready to fend off attacks, while Bartholomew held a pair of sticks in each hand. When the door opened, showing Nim instead of their fourth companion, one of the assassins lunged in between Jenn and Bartholomew trying to strike him down.

  Ever protective, Jenn plunged her dagger towards the man who dared to strike out at Nim, unconcerned about how her own opponent might use this to his advantage. He fell to the floor with a dagger sticking out of his armpit, his heart having been punctured cleanly by the blade. The look of surprise on his face nearly mirrored the one of his companion who tried to take advantage of Jenn's attack. Before he had even begun to leap for her exposed side he felt a piercing pain in his skull as Nim's dagger entered his eye and ended his life.

  The final assassin, in the room, saw that the odds had quickly changed against him and decided to take out the old man as quickly as he could. As the assassin moved in one of the sticks in Bartholomew's right hand darted out and struck the man in his gut, knocking the wind from him. The assassin realized too late that the man he was facing wasn't as old or defenseless as he had initially thought. Having only heard stories about the weapons in Bartholomew's hands the assassin was not prepared to face a master of the weapon simply known as chain sticks. The assassin tried to take a swipe at the old butler while his body recovered from the first blow. Instead of backing away from the blow however, the chain of Bartholomew's wrapped around the blade of his dagger and ripped it from the assassin's grasp. His eyes went wide a moment before the end of the chain sticks in Bartholomew's other hand struck his temple, and the world went black.