“I know of Sir Sebastian, and we will each mourn him when time allows. For now, we have much to plan.” He paused as the pages opened at his silent arcane command. “You three are the most wanted men in Harlaheim, having you here is a great danger to me, my students, and my college. So what we do from here out, must be done in the fashion of disguise and stealth, with no room for error.”
“What we do? I do not know what you are referring to, old man.” Balric rolled his eyes in frustration.
“If you mean to give up, master D’Vrelle, inform me now. My blood is Harlian, it screams for freedom, tradition, and revolution with every beat of my heart.” Kalzarius looked very serious to the younger swordsman. “We are beaten, but not dead. The fight goes on.”
“I..there is…what possibly could we do besides killing, another war…our true enemy is not even here in Harlaheim. Damn it all to the hells! What do you think we can accomplish?! Who do we target? Phillip? You see, there is no point.” Balric paced, fumed, yelled out his frustrations.
“Balric, I barely know you at all, but I know of whom you have served and trained with. You, my deadly spy, are invaluable here. You have the streets of this city, above and below, memorized. You know the White Spider, you know how they move and where they are. You know our enemy, better than anyone.” Kalzarius turned to Richmond.
“You, sniveling former king that tried to see me ruined, yes you Richmond. You know the nobles, the politics, and who can be bought and who not. I would wager you know L’Herrim like the end of your pointy nose, and that we will need. Not that I want you on the throne again, but at least it is who belongs there in lieu of who has taken it falsely. You are needed, like it or no.” Kalzarius turned to Rodreigo.
“My lord from Caberra, you must be the hope to hold these two together. They both have lost all, or close to it, would you help them to any end and see these atrocities undone?”
“I could have left to Caberra some time ago, had I not known God placed me here for a purpose, old wizard. What is your plan?” Rodreigo bowed.
“How well do we know our Agarian history, gentlemen?” He opened one of the books on the table.
“Well enough, but likely not as well as you.” Balric retorted, sighing yet he approached the tomes and looked.
He spoke as if to a class, watching the attentions of the three men focus on his words. “The last time there was an organized revolt, one that spanned many kingdoms mind you, was the time of the floods over four centuries past. Altestan had occupied every kingdom, save parts of Shanador and Chazzrynn. Against that occupation, men from thrones to trenches, noble and common, all allied in secret under a banner. They---“
“But we do not fight Altestan, Kalzarius. We are not warring against an enemy above ground, one that is obvious. This is different.” Balric argued.
“No, not yet. But, our enemy has woven themselves into every city on Agara. Has not Johnas Valhera taken two kingdoms now by his---“ Kalzarius was interrupted again.
“Three. He has three kingdoms, Willborne is now his ally.” A shorter stocky Caberran man bowed as Cilano led him to the western room on the seventeenth floor. Then he drew his curved shamshir and stared at Richmond the Second.
“Prince Willian dell Barrato, what are you doing here?” Lord Rodreigo bowed low and took a knee.
“I thought you were Wil dell Escada, a noble courier from the courts of---“ Cilano gripped his staff, not knowing what was about to happen.
“We have assumed you were dead Lord dell Amarr. I would have expected, Rodreigo, that this king was dead also. If no, and obviously that is the case, I would have assumed you would have corrected that for my late sister, Rosana.” Prince Willian of Caberra stepped forward with purpose, right toward the former king of Harlaheim.
“My prince, he did not kill her, he executed a likeness in the guise of his seneschal, a seneschal who posed as your sister. We do not know the fate of Rosana, but she was not killed by this man.” He kept his bow, knowing he was not to interfere with the noble family of his kingdom.
“Regardless of your lack of proof, you were rumored wanted or dead, she is missing, and my father and older brothers wish answers. The king of Caberra commands justice!” His curved blade raised regardless, his steps straight at a wide eyed Richmond. The blade struck out, and met the quick drawn sabre of Balric D’Vrelle, a perfect parry.
“You defend this wretch? Then I challenge you, whoever you are that would protect such a man.” Prince Willian stepped back on guard.
Clang
Clang
Clang
Two quick strikes, one at the high edge of the shamshir, the second near the hilt, and the blade was skittering across the stone floor. Balric glared, having just disarmed a foreign prince who wanted Richmond dead, in the tower of Kalzarius of all places.
“Challenge accepted, whoever you are.” Balric sheathed his blade.
Richmond drew his golden rapier, used only once ever in combat, and stood with his chin raised toward the young prince of Caberra. “I accept your challenge. Balric, I will fight my own fights, and accept my death for all I have done.”
“Likely the first noble words you have ever spoken, Richmond.” Prince Willian picked up his blade and stared at the corrupt former king.
Balric drew his sabre out again and held it low at his side. “Should you win, Prince of Caberra, you will face me after.”
“And should you prevail over my prince, I will cross steel with you, Balric D’Vrelle.” Lord Rodreigo drew his shamshir and stood stoic and regal, his smile long gone from his tan face.
“Enough!” Kalzarius boomed his voice, mixed with arcane force that tore shadows from walls and set the candles ablaze in his tower. He tapped his staff to the floor and walked slowly to the brazier, still glowing bright magenta against the wall. “There will be no bloodshed in my tower, regardless of nobility, kingdom, or titles. Understood?”
The four men glared, dark brown stares slowly watched one another, Harlian to Caberran, blades drawn out and ready. No one wished to cross Kalzarius, yet none would lower their guard.
“Here, look here Prince Willian, son of King Marcellian. I beg of you.” Kalzarius focused hard, he was tired, and the distance far indeed. He could not see past into the dark that surrounded the far west, yet he had found the refugees of Saint Erinsburg. “Your sister lives.”
Prince Willian backed up cautiously, and turned a hesitant gaze into the brazier. In the calm purple liquid light, he saw a man he recognized from his youth. He saw Cristoff Bradswellen the Third of Saint Erinsburg. He was kneeling next to a bed, at night, surrounded in white draperies. A woman in black, a priest of Alden, and a dwarf knelt with him. They looked to be praying. On the bed, fast asleep with a swollen belly, was his sister Rosana. Her hair was shorter than last he saw her, yet it was her. His eye teared a bit, his hand went to touch yet recoiled, he knew it was but magical sight. He sheathed his blade. As he turned, Rodreigo, Balric, and Richmond were looking over his shoulder. They sheathed their blades in silence as well. No one spoke. Just stared.
“Is this real, old wizard?” Willian sniffled. “Or a trick?”
“I would never.” Kalzarius replied.
“The child, is it yours?” Without looking over his shoulder, Prince Willian asked Richmond of what he saw.
“No. The queen and I, Rosana and I, never consummated our marriage.” Richmond choked the words out, his eyes tearing up, happy and torn with sorrow upon seeing her alive and well.
“Whose is it then?” The Caberran prince spoke stern now, angry almost.
“Her secret husband, from before we met. The late Lord Knight Errant Savanno Lisario, of the Order of Saint Tarumin. Him, I did kill.” Richmond hung his head and let the tears fall.
“So be it. Where is she, Kalzarius?”
“Far to the west, beyond Shanador, past the city of Freemoore, nearly two months from here.”
“She is with Cristoff, a fine lord, he will keep her safe until we
retrieve her. Obviously his evacuation of Saint Erinsburg and journey into exile has saved many, from a most wicked king.” Willian turned to Richmond as the arcane scene faded from the liquid.
“I am not king, not anymore.” Richmond wiped his face and pulled his chin up, trying to hold together.
“And the wicked part?” Balric asked sincerely.
“I would see it undone one hundred fold, if I had the chance.” Richmond met the eyes of the spy that was ordered to undo his rule, the one who had defended him just now, and the fierce stare of Balric D’Vrelle did not waver.
“Merely to regain your throne?” Rodreigo replied with a questioning stare.
“No, for justice and to right my wrongs. I want no crown.” Richmond trembled, these men had honor, something he knew little of.
“Then, if you are speaking of atonement, words are but something for a priest to hear. Actions are what makes a man forgiven.” Prince Willian turned to Richmond, somewhat calmed that his sister was alive, somewhere safe, and this man here had not killed her as he had been led to believe.
“Then I shall do what it takes.” Richmond nodded to Willian.
“I will believe it when I see it. For you, Richmond the Second, this may take a very long time indeed. So, it seems I will be staying in Harlaheim indefinitely, to see you redeemed.”
“With your permission my prince, I had planned on assisting our Harlian allies as well.” Rodreigo received the nod from his prince.
“Why would two Caberrans want to help a dethroned prince of Harlaheim?” Richmond looked to them both, not sure of their intentions.
“Because we have common enemies, you and I, and our kingdoms are about to be at war with one another. Johnas Valhera holds Harlaheim with Phillip, Willborne with this Valistor Waylen, and his battle for Chazzrynn goes on as we speak. Once it is over, he has mentioned turning his forces toward Caberra. This I cannot allow, so, uncommon allies are made.” Willian spoke solemnly, with a slight bit of fear in his voice at the mention of war.
“And he holds power in the Church somewhere besides the late Cardinal Desmonde. He has eliminated the Broken Wing.” Balric added.
“The new Cardinal is arriving soon, to be greeted by Phillip the First, new king of Harlaheim. I have an invitation to attend the ceremony, but had not planned on attending. Now however, perhaps I should.” Kalzarius interjected with a smile.
“And what will we be doing while you keep them occupied?” Balric shot a questioning glance.
The old master of the arcane walked toward the chests, past the table with the ancient books, and lifted the lids. “As I was saying earlier, before young nobles found their egos more important than the words of an old sage, in these chests lies the answer.” He flipped open the old containers from Soujan Mountain.
“I know that symbol, all too well, yet Altestan saw them all destroyed many centuries ago, they will not be remembered. How did you find this?” Lord Rodreigo spoke as they all stared.
“I have many old and powerful friends, and we leave it at that.” Kalzarius motioned for them to take out the contents and smiled. “The Red Wolves of Agara fought secretly against agents of Altestan, their armies, and in the dark against those allied with the northern empires in their last occupation of this continent, four hundred years ago. They fought hard, they dealt deadly blows, and no one knew who they were. Packs of brothers they were, all from different kingdoms and orders, rulers and peasants, all with purpose and steel. Their identities concealed with red masks and crimson paints of enchanted natures, their wolf lined ruby cloaks were a symbol of freedom and hope, under God. Their banners would raise and inspire revolution in the people, and strike fear into Altestani soldiers. And, their blades of divine and arcane design, cut down both invader and traitor alike in the dark nights and cities of ages past.”
Balric held up a rapier, its golden hilt glistened red, its steel was engraved with old etchings, it was nearly weightless and surely flawless in craft. Richmond lifted a cloak, thick as wool yet soft as silk, the wolf pelt lining seemed to move but did not. Rodreigo picked up a mask, it had a snarling snout and fangs, a hard thing it was made of steel and covered with some sort of red plaster. Willian reached for a curved shamshir, a curved dagger, even steel bracers with the same plaster or paint of crimson upon them . Then, he lifted a flag and let it unfurrel. It was crimson, old and smelled of mildew, yet the deep red and black symbol of a snarling open mouthed wolf head was plain to see. Armors, longblades, shortblades, knives, and more all littered the chests, all marked and enchanted the same.
“There are enough weapons and arms here for about twenty men, we are but four.” Rodreigo dell Amarr handed Balric a sabre, and it was refused. He raised an eyebrow toward the Harlian swordsman.
“Then four is where it starts, as you said to me. The White Spider will have a predator on the field of night.” Balric smiled, he felt something, he looked to Richmond. “Your skills with a blade will have to be honed, your majesty.”
“Agreed. I took a few months lessons from the greatest swordsman in Harlaheim, but I retained little in truth. Now, he is dead.” Richmond stared as the crimson wares and wolf head symbol began to decorate the floor of the tower. “I cannot do what you men do, I..I am not worthy of this.”
“You will have to be.” Balric said without room for question.
“You must speak of Sulian Lisario, master of the rapier. He is legendary in Caberra as well. You were fortunate to have learned anything from such a talented man, many would have killed for the opportunity.” Prince Willian handed some bracers and a shirt of weightless steel ringed armor to Rodreigo.
“You want to learn the rapier, Richmond?” Balric D’Vrelle unbuckled his belt, took of the scabbard holding his sabre, and set it down.
“Well yes, it is the official blade of my kingd…of Harlaheim. But you use the sabre and are most magnificent with it---“
“To blend in with Chazzrynn, to bely my heritage, not by choice. Why was Sulian Lisario the deadliest blade in Harlaheim?” Balric swished the rapier of the Red Wolves through the air, three times, faster than light.
“He trained with the Crossguard Legion, he practiced with them in Shanador and…had over twenty duels he won in three kingdoms…” Richmond looked at the smile of Balric, then to the blade in his hand, and then back up.
“He trained under me for three years, every single day, in the Broken Wing. My orders were sent, as were his, and we parted ways. He was my best student. When I met him, he knew as much about the sword as you do.”
“Will you teach me, Balric?” Richmond raised his blade, it was subsequently knocked away with a quick disarm, too fast for the untrained eye.
“It would seem, if we are to survive and revolt, that I have little choice. The agents of the White Spider are trained by Domenarchs, who are trained by the Emerald Eight, who are all trained by Johnas Valhera. And Johnas is the only man I failed to kill when blades were crossed, it was a draw.” Balric paced, timed his steps, reliving that duel in his mind.
“A battle that will have to wait, for now.” Kalzarius piped in.
“You have our attention, our honor, and our allegiance to cause, great Kalzarius. What is your plan?” Balric, with a Caberran prince, a former king, and a foreign swordsman lord, all waited and listened.
“To raise the Red Wolves once again, and see justice done in Harlaheim, then you spread further and gain numbers where you can. Now listen carefully, this is what I have thought up, rather quickly mind you…”
Johnas IV:III
Valhirst, Chazzrynn
Mikhail withdrew his broadsword, covered in blue and purple blood, then slashed Johnas Valhera across the chest and sent him over the walls of the castle. He watched as the doppelganger reverted to the broken and bloody creature of pale white that it was, then hit the bridge below with a sickening smash of flesh. That was the third Johnas he had killed this battle, the third set of black eyes that stared back at him with inhuman wickedness, and now
he was covered with the blood of shapeshifters alone on the castle walls.
“Retreat, fall back to the west!”
The king of Chazzrynn heard his own voice, nearly perfect, but it was not him giving the orders. He looked across the smoke filled courtyard, full of thousands in bloody battle, and saw himself shouting commands to the forces.
“Stand your ground men! That is an imposter! Kill it!” Mikhail yelled and pointed his sword to the doppelganger on the north wall. He walked down the steps, many men falling in around him. He saw the shapeshifter lose its head, courtesy of a Knight of Southwind Keep.
“No, that is the imposter, archers, fire!” Another shapeshifter appeared on the west wall, looking like the king, and arrows flew like rain toward the true Mikhail Salganat.
He raised his shield, as did the men around him, as hundreds of flights from bows and crossbows riddled the stairs. Six men fell dead to his sides, three more with injury, yet the king kept his march into the courtyard. His shield had at least five arrows lodged into it, yet he did not flinch. His orders had to be heard and executed for victory, so he looked for his captains and knights in the brutal foray.
Lord Corey of Thoranack was dead at the gates, his body full of flights. Lord Dimitri of Addisonia was not to be found, nor his men, yet he thought he saw the banners withdraw with the false order to retreat. Lord Burraine of Silverbridge was in the thick, alongside Sir Jallan of Hurne, surrounded by the forces of the traitorous Lord Unarvin of Saint Gavrielle. Mikhail saw General Fandruss of Loucas and Marcus Mederris to the eastern walls, battling black masked soldiers and the Valhirst legions, outnumbered three to one. Smoke rose heavy to the south, night was coming, yet the king could make out the horror there with the flashes of arcane lights that Aelaine Lazlette was unleashing. She had withdrawn back outside the walls, surrounded by her men, and she was decimating a massing force that moved too fast to see. Black shadows, massive cats by the hundreds, leapt and pounced, tearing apart what remained of the Vallakazz army led by Kendrynn Shilde. It was too much to keep the south gate, and they had no choice but to battle the cats in the open fields and retreat.
The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth Page 31