The Bloodied Shield Read online

  The Bloodied Shield

  BOOK IV OF THE SHADOW OF WESTWATCH

  A Novel By Michael McKenzie

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  Cover by Joe Pykett

  Copyright © 2018 by Michael McKenzie

  All Rights Reserved.

  Story, Characters and World belong to Michael McKenzie ([email protected])

  Cover Art provided by Joe Pykett. @ http://sangheili117.deviantart.com/

  Please do not use material contain here-in without seeking permission from Author.

  (What would your mother think of you stealing?)

  1st Edition

  THE SHADOW OF WESTWATCH

  Book 1 - The Stone Samurai

  Book 2 - The Worg Rider

  Book 3 - The Whispering Dead

  (-) Book 4 - The Bloodied Shield (-)

  Book 5 - The Faux Lord

  (Release TBA)

  Book 6 - The Red Death

  (Release TBA)

  Dedicated to

  The Writer/Artist, The Tired Orange Cat

  of

  The Plush and Blood Webcomic Series.

  Damn you and your Mashing of the Feels.

  Damn you!

  ;n;

  Introduction

  The High Planes. The place where Gods ruled.

  Immortal. Infinitely Wise. Shepherds of the Lost Souls who have earned Paradise. Spoilers of Children. Lavishing of their Gifts.

  Or so the Stories go.

  The Pantheon Hall itself was beyond the scope of imagination in size. It extended as far as the eye could see in any direction. The floor was laced with soft twinges of gray, spiraling in the marble white. It's matching marble pillars, laced with gold, disappeared upward in a haze of brightness that surrounded the hall on all sides. The sheer number of Pillars gave more of an appearance of a forest of highly decorated trees more than a place of worship.

  A place of Gathering, of Debate and Knowledge.

  A place of where the Gods of Light held Court.

  The color of this place carried on by many who wore robes or clothing, or even armor. Glaring white or brilliant silver. Marked on cloaks and tabards, on shields and weapons of those the Pantheon Chosen to watch for the approach of an enemy, were golden letters written in a tongue of the Elder Gods.

  The words shone, written backward and forward, penned and etched in a credence. Repeated as scripture from the old works hidden away in dwarven vaults with rusted hinges on the Mortal Realms.

  No Matter how Dark, There Will Always be a Light.

  It was a line spoken by Lokyrim's Father, the original God of Magic, Cataran.

  Cataran.

  It was a mortal name the Elder God had clung too. It was the first name Cataran had been known by on Yergithorn.

  Before Yergithorn became Graystone.

  Before Graystone became Rals.

  Lokyrim missed his Father, and it pained him to think of them so close, yet unreachable. Lokyrim had once paid his predecessor lengthy visits. They had looked on helplessly as an endless battle raged in a still silence.

  Then Lokyrim just stopped going. It ached his heart so much to see his Father stride forth down a long stair towards countless, twisted shapes of the Dergathian Hordes.

  With one hand outstretched, basking their attackers in red lightning, the other closed on the hilt of a rapier shimmering with a chilling blue hue, Cataran's last moments were captured even with the cocky grin on their face. It was as if this doomed God had just one more trick up their sleeve. One more layer of a grand strategy yet to be peeled away.

  Yet Cataran was frozen in this grand last stand.

  Frozen, forever, moments before their inevitable death at the rending claws of rapid Vampire Spawn thirsting for the Blood of a God, Eldest of the Eldest.

  And then Assassin God, Sol'reve, passed a relic of the Ancient Times to another who God who should have been dead.

  Lokyrim had to look on his Father one last time, and to his horror, he discovered the truth of it.

  Cataran's Pearl.

  The hammer that forged the World as it is now; was missing from the pedestal behind Cataran himself. The Former God of Magic used almost every ounce of magical power hidden away within the artifact to freeze the frenzied masses of the Dergathin Armies. To seal them away in a pocket dimension sealed within a Silver Mirror, frozen forever in time so that World still had a fighting chance.

  And the Pearl that had always been there, was gone.

  The Guardians who had been charged with defending the Mirror of Blue Rock Mountain? Slain.

  The Mirror that held the pocket dimension? It had been displaced from its original resting place and was now found on top of a Tower. The Tower itself stood in the Crater that had once been Blue Rock Mountain.

  Someone had it placed there, specifically there.

  Then that someone had entered the Frozen Battle, transversed it as if they had done so like the New Lokyrim and done, time and time again. They entered that Eternal Nightmare and disturbed it.

  Thanks in part to the nature of whatever complex weave of spells Cataran had crafted, it did not advance time forward too far to endanger what held it in place, a doomed last stand.

  Yet someone had been there.

  Not only that, the New Lokyrim had not been aware of it.

  Someone in the Pantheon had to know. Someone had to be, it was well within their territory, warded and guarded to an extreme measure. If the Mirror shattered, it would unleash an Army of Vampires, numbering in the millions, driven mad by Godsblood unto a World already teetering close to yet another Apocalyptic War.

  That was something that just did not get shuffled off to the side. It was hidden as smartly as the Invader God. With the same sort of powerful wards, spells, immortal denizens, even a family of Dragons tasked to guard it.

  All of them bypassed, dispelled and the slain!?

  And not a single warning. Not a single disturbance? There had been no way unless a God had been involved.

  Lokyrim marched into the Pantheon Hall. He marched passed the Worshipers who bowed. Past the Pantheon Guard who stood their posts.

  The God of Magic only slowed to put eyes on a dark skinned man still wearing battle-ravaged armor. Strands of gold, translucent to Mortal Souls, coiled from them, the Strings of Fate that had been severed prematurely and would fade from a Godkin’s view in time. When they locked eyes, the Mortal Soul, who had a tattoo representing devotion to the Pantheon on his face, offered a sad smile, before returning to admire the Hall itself.

  Lokyrim regarded the man with a smidgen of interest. Simply looking on them told the God of their history, of their glory, and of their death. It told Lokyrim that they were content with the Fate that had been dealt them. There was no outrage over their murder at the hands of a man who could have been called a son, simply peace, and compliance.

  Compliance to Fate.

  It was then Lokyrim realized Fate had been used in dealing with the Mirror and its Contents. And there was only one God in the Pantheon Hall mad enough to do so.

  Lokyrim's frown deepened, and he proceeded further into the Hall. Soon, he came to a place that was empty of pillars, a round clearing filled with a large, stone table, with stone chairs, wrought from the marble of the floor.

  Seated there were Gods either of the Pantheon or of their own Hall or Credence. All of them considered Gods of Light and Justice or Neutral in the aspects of Good and Evil.

  Lokyrim did not focus on them, instead his sparkling eyes focused on a dark bearded individual who could pass as a short man, or a very tall dwarf. They were broad of shoulder, armored in diamond blue war gear, with a sword before them on the brilliant white table.

  “Expecting Trouble, Cousin?” Lokyrim shot as he st
opped a respectable distance from the head of the table.

  “Your mood is projected clearly through the Hall, Cousin.” the tall dwarf returned evenly.

  “I am not amused, Ossin.” Lokyrim said, expressing his disbelief with his tone as well as his words. “I, of all the Gods you managed to collar with your decrees, find happenings on Rals have transpired without my knowledge.”

  “If you did not need to know-” Ossin begun, almost indignantly as he regarded Lokyrim.

  “-The Mirror of Blue Rock Mountain has been moved!” Lokyrim nearly shouted with an edge of rage trembling in his voice.

  The other Gods at the table looked to Ossin for an explanation. At first they were uncaring of this dispute between the God of Magic and the God of Justice within these Halls. But the Mirror itself affected all of them just as much as the Invaders.

  “The defenders dead and cast unto the River without so much as one single warning to me. In fact, as I walked through this hall I come to realize that there are few ways for something of this scale to go unnoticed. One of which is divine interference from you.” Lokyrim pointed an accusing finger at Ossin.

  “I did not make such an interference.” Ossin answered honestly, “Nor did I know how it was moved.”

  “But you did know that it HAD been moved yet you said nothing!” Lokyrim scolded.

  “Fate had been heavily in our favor,” Ossin replied, keeping their composure. “Razzar the Red himself insured the Mirror's safety.”

  “Fate-” Lokyrim grimaced as if the word itself was leaving a foul taint in their mouth. “-is used when Mortals are concerned. The Mirror is a Godly affair and should have been handled by Gods and the Chosen of the Gods. The Mortal, Razzar, is neither.”

  “Agreed.” spoke up a God with Red Eyes, leaning forward to be identified. Malinor, the Vampiric God of Blood, partially rose to be recognized, yet neither Lokyrim nor Ossin bothered to do so. “The Dergathian Menace trapped in the Mirror is a threat as great as the Invaders. And on that subject, why is the Pearl of Cataran still in the clutches of that mad god Xander?!”

  Ossin gave Malinor a long look after they made what sounded like an accusing demand, before turning his gaze forward. The Dwarven God did not want to be looking in anyone’s eye when he said with a hint of finality.

  “Because arrangements have been made with Fate.”

  "And what is the certainty that this will work? What does Fate say?" Malinor asked, then rolled his red eyes as he sat back down. "Of course, we can't see the end results because Fate is still in Flux."

  “And how long did you know Xander walked Rals?” Lokyrim questioned, obviously agitated. “How long and how can he? We cannot exist on the mortal realms for more than a century before returning here.”

  “I've suspected Xander's orchestrated the Dragon Wars,” Ossin replied evenly. "As for his constant-"

  “-You knew and you did nothing?!” Lokyrim hissed as he took a step forward.

  Ossin turned away sharply as they contained a fresh surge of indignation. “I suspected. I had no absolute proof. Even still Fate-”

  “-is for the affairs of Mortals. Not Gods!” Lokyrim vented angrily.

  “We have had this discussion before.” Ossin continued patiently. The tone of the Dwarven God was one of a teacher to an unruly student. “Faith in Fate has preserved our World through the Fall, through the Invader War, and through the Dragon Wars.”

  “Look at Rals now. What would it had been if we did not rely on Fate?” Ossin pressed, trying to keep his temper in check.

  "And what do we see now that we cannot rely on it?" Lokyrim countered, making a sweeping gesture. "The Pantheon is Paralyzed so long as we sit on our hands and do nothing."

  "We are doing something!" Ossin frowned angrily.

  "What?!" Lokyrim demanded, moving closer to the table. "What are you doing?!"

  "While you were gone we have chosen a Champion."

  Lokyrim turned, his gaze sweeping over the Gods present. "Who?"

  They told him. When they did the God of Magic sank into a chair that slowly rose up to keep him from sitting on the Floor. The anger Lokyrim had displayed openly subsided if not momentarily, and long fingers played with the arm rests of their chair.

  "And what reason would you choose that particular Mortal?" Lokyrim finally questioned, leaning back in that chair after thinking long and hard on their next line of questioning.

  "No objections then?" Ossin asked with a sly grin.

  "I see the reasoning behind it." Lokyrim nodded once, but no smile touched their lips. "But are we really going to rest our hopes on that one?"

  "Magus has his Champion. We have ours." Another God spoke up, but Lokyrim did not peer to see them. "It is an inspired choice, really."

  Then the God of Magic asked what, to him, had been obvious. "We will march?"

  The question Lokyrim levied to them all had the entire gathering grow still. The silence lingered before the God of Magic slowly nodded his head.

  "The Halls of Valkyre are mustering their forces for Battle," Lokyrim reported quietly. "There is nothing I can do to sway my Wife, nor my Children."

  "You are her Elder." Ossin pointed out, but Lokyrim gave him a dismissive gesture.

  “Am I?” Lokyrim remarked with a twitch in his eye. “You know, since you brought that up,”

  Lokyrim’s legs crossed over one another as he laced his fingers between each other, temporarily reversing the role of Teacher and Student.

  "The Corsairs are infuriated. And the way I see it, Rein is younger than you by a few centuries. Why not go to the Misting Isles and see if you can deter him from marching on Bel and drowning everything North of the Crags in Rivers of Blood."

  "It is not the Mortals-"

  "-they turn their eyes on the Darkscale Empire. If the Corsairs march, with the Knights of the Mist backing them, you know as well as I do that Rein will march at their head. And what about your precious Fate then, Cousin?"

  Malinor was the one who noted the obvious, and added to Lokyrim’s rant with far less rage in their tone.

  "It does not take a tactical genius to point out that if the Darkscales are wiped out by the Knights, that would eventually lead to further conflict with the Stone Well. The Knights do not live long lives, but they do have long memories written within metal pages. They have never Forgiven the Dwarves for taking their Legends from them.”

  "And with the Invaders looming overhead, it will weaken us further." said another, but Ossin did not immediately see who.

  "Yes." Ossin conceded with a twist of his own lip. "And my wayward Children are already stirring trouble for themselves aplenty, they do not need help in that matter,"

  "There are Clans questioning the Thane King's acceptance of the Pyras Brood on Bel Shores, and opportunists are dredging up past slights and Family intrigue from thousands of years ago."

  "Civil War for the Dwarves is on the Horizon. Fate promised such before her cords were thrown into a tempest." Ossin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And Marching beneath my Banner will more than likely quicken the problem more than hinder it."

  Lokyrim arched a purple brow. "Does that mean you intend to march?"

  "Xander believes we will use Fate to keep ourselves directly out of the fight. That we will appear too late to make much of a difference in the coming Battle." Ossin shifted in his chair. "Of course, you and I both know what you intended to do before you even came here."

  Lokyrim nodded once.

  Ossin returned it with his own. "If my Children survive the oncoming carnage, then a Civil War will be the least of their troubles."

  "The Pantheon of Light will Muster." Ossin declared, raising for his chair. "Any and all Gods, or even Demon, are welcome to march against the Invaders."

  Malinor rose himself. "It will take time to muster enough to even stem the flow. The Mortals will only be able to do so much before they are overwhelmed."

  "I know." Ossin nodded once. "Xander has a head start on us. We do not
know what he intends until he reveals it, the best we can do, however, is to see what sort of defenses he has in place."

  "At best we march to late to stop what he intends to do. At worse, we lose the whole of the North of Bel. I will say this, Magus will get what he wanted." Ossin swallowed hard. "Gods will bleed on Mortal Soil again."

  Lokyrim stood slowly, "I will prod Xander's defenses."

  "So you do plan on going through with it."

  "Someone has to."

  “Be wary of Sol'reve." Ossin warned Lokyrim. "I do not know what game he is playing, but he sent his Wife and Children here before consorting with Magus."

  "Whatever game Sol'reve is playing, he will not find me to be some dabbler of cantrips and illusion." Lokyrim offered with a grim scowl.

  Ossin nodded solemnly. "I should have told you about the Mirror."

  The God of Magic straightened, looking Ossin up and down. Lokyrim was still angry about that. That, for all intents and purposes, was his Father's tomb. Ossin allowed someone to defile and desecrate it without so much as a word.

  Or perhaps, if the God of Magic had been more respectful, and paid more attention, none of them would be here plotting to prevent another Fall.

  "Apology accepted," Lokyrim replied after a moment more, than simply ceased to be.

  Chapter 1

  1st Month of Spring, Year 749 Age of Fire.

  The ship creaked, rocked, shifted and moved. The occupants however, rarely reacted to the motion of their cabin. There was an uncomfortable silence amongst them.

  Chiefly because one of the occupants did not speak at all. Second had been the shock on the faces of a former Paladin Lord, a Din, and a Human Nobleman. The other reason was because sitting across from the mute Elf, was supposedly the Kirran God of Bloodlust and Guile, Mordrim.

  Illindan Ilithorn, the Former Paladin Lord of the Din Empire, still wanted to deny it. It was heresy to admit one was a God. Doubly so if one was claiming to be a God from the Pantheon of Darkness.