The Bloodied Shield Page 3

  And having no real need for guests, Gorgreen had converted much of the ground floor into a barracks for his own, personal, and perverse version of the Crusaders of the Blue Rose.

  Indbore Fel marched for the building, bound and determined to carry on his duties. No more distractions. No more grieving. They had work to do and Gorgreen would need his skill.

  And then the entire second floor of the estate erupted into a thunderous explosion.

  Chapter 2

  Business had been concluded for the morning.

  Dalitrous Gorgreen had issued edicts, made payment arrangements, and had seen that he had guests due to arrive, and soon. Events within the City had both closed off most of the Criminal Underworld of Rilstar to him, and he had to play a Reserve Piece earlier than intended.

  All thanks to the Warstalker Family, or more accurately, Jeria, the now the famed Worg Rider.

  Unlike the rest of the Man’s kin, Rebekka with her narrow minded, by the Law and Tradition approach, and Zansui’s Kindness and Bleeding Heart Rhetoric, Jeria had been neither. Jeria did not care for the Laws or Traditions, nor did was he overly kind. The only hearts that seemed to bleed around them was what they could stab.

  Neither did Gorgreen’s Champion, Indbore Fel, or a Magically Created and Induced Plague could bring Jeria down. And reasoning? Reasoning had thrown out the Window the first few days Jeria had arrived to Rilstarin Shores. This, Rilstarian Samurai was more akin to a rapid animal then a Noble, and could not be addressed, diplomatically, or even forcefully, in the normal fashion.

  And then there had been the Razzar connection.

  The last time someone claimed one of Razzar’s Blood, the Elf burned an entire Empire to the ground and scattered their Armies in a fit of rage. That was not myth or legend read from binded parchment or told by a fevered old sage looking for coin. Dalitrous Gorgreen bore witness to Razzar’s might on more than one occasion, as a distant spectator, yet close enough to see the bodies piled to lip of the ceiling.

  The Empire of Angelos as it had been, never recovered from Razzar’s Rampage before the Demons Invaded their Countryside shortly after. The Empire that eventually reformed from the ruin of the Old did so without Dalitrous’ schemes, mostly in part that Razzar watched it like a wary dog.

  But now the Elf was in Westwatch.

  Dalitrous had plans for the Elf, and also had to make arrangements to occupy Razzar’s Daughter, who in truth may be more dangerous than her Legendary Father.

  Trezzar the Red as she is called, is not only Razzar’s Firstborn, but she had been a Dergathian Stalk, more commonly referred to as a Vampire. Razzar could be avoided. The Vampire Daughter, however, poised an immediate problem to his plans once executed.

  Jeria, Razzar and Trezzar had to be curtailed. With hope, the associates he had enlisted would keep the three blind to what was really happening.

  The rest of the day would be reading over spy reports, browsing messages from other potential threats and-

  -there was a God here.

  Normally such a sensation would pass. Gods came and went on Rals just as easily as a being would open and close a door. Sometimes they were Continents away, or more so close that it would send a chill down the man's spine.

  However, Gorgreen, or in reality, the Godkin known as Xander, felt the sensation directed at their very being.

  Solely at him.

  As if to say "I see you."

  With hardly any time to spare, Xander dropped the image of a red-headed lord, Dalitrous Gorgreen, and assumed his rightful glory of a tall, blond Deity. It was necessary to free up reserves of magic typically used to hold the physical aspects of that frail form.

  Erecting a shielding spell before him, the entire room around Xander disappeared in a blinding flash, followed by the crack of thunder.

  It was a blind shot of spellcraft.

  Xander knew that much even before he was blinded and deafened by the explosion. The shock wave rolled over a dome of pure energy before it dispersed like a bubble. It had not been a direct strike, whoever lashed at him only knew of the area of the building Xander occupied.

  Otherwise, that blow would have shattered every bone in the Godkin's body.

  "Xander!" rang a voice, as if it knew exactly when the ringing in their ears would stop.

  It was clear and filled with the familiar authority that shocked Xander to the core. For a fleeting heartbeat, true fear for the golden blood in his veins ran its course. A moment of despair took Xander. The sort that twisted the guts of lesser beings into knots when facing down a Dragon with little more than their small cloths to defend them from its flame.

  As his vision cleared, standing before him had been the sole being Xander knew would see through everything he had done.

  Cataran Gray, otherwise known as Lokyrim, Eldest God to walk the High Planes of Yergithorn. The God who shaped the World. The God who taught the next that came after in how to be Gods.

  Yet as Xander's started to take in more detail, the wave of disparity evaporated as quickly as it took hold.

  It was still the God of Magic, Lokyrim, standing within the smoke and rubble. They wore armored robes of azure blue, complete with a rapier at their hip. Their hair a deep purple, and they shared the same hook nose as their Father, the same drive in the same eyes.

  They both stood in what had been essentially the remains of the entire second floor. The stone had been charred or melted. Wards meant to keep even the most powerful mages and nightmarish things at bay were shattered like glass.

  This being, this God, commanded Magic so ancient and awesome that any other Godkin would hesitate to invoke Lokyrim's Fury.

  But they were not Cataran.

  "Thoren." Xander grinned fiercely as he spoke Lokyrim’s mortal name. "Little Nephew out and about without their namesake on a leash. How are the Kobalds by the way? Completely extinct? Good."

  White hot rage flooded Lokyrim as Xander spoke the name their Father had given them at birth. The Second God of Magic could barely contain themselves as their teal gloved hands sprang forward. The twisting words of magic rushed from their lips as they traced runes at a blinding pace.

  Xander laughed as he produced the Pearl from a hidden place beneath his own armored robes.

  A crackling ball of lightning, dark red and as sinister as Xander's nature, was thrown like a boulder at Xander. Lokyrim’s entire body strained in the effort, roaring a command as much as the sheer exertion of the spell work. The ball, no bigger than a man's head, had been expertly thrown, but Xander quickly summoned a barrier that matched the Lightning's color.

  They were both the same kind of magic, and though typically they would cancel each other out, the energy behind the attack rebounded the still intact ball away into another section of the Manor.

  The resulting explosion kicked up debris high into the sky, and tiny rocks and bits of furniture would fall all over the City. The shock wave broke windows in every house in the block and threw people down into the cobblestone street or against walls.

  There had been nothing of the second floor on Xander’s right. Even with through the gloom they could see the cityscape of Rilstar, as well as the floor below.

  However, only two were standing as the dust started to settle. They stared each other down. A History of Hatred repeating itself between them with overwhelming silence.

  Lokyrim put their hand on the Rapier, and Xander summoned forth a large, snake-like sword of gold and silver. The silence lingered on, neither moving immediately, as if watching for the other’s next move.

  "So no banter then?" Xander leered quietly, trying to give an air of indifference to mask the fact that he felt that reflection of spellwork down to his ankles. "Your Father would be disappointed."

  "You are only stalling. I can see it now, you don't have the Magic you once commanded." Lokyrim shot back. They had taken the bait, and Xander could not help but feel mildly disappointed with his nephew that it had been that easy to get him to speak. "You are drai
ned. Your aura is pathetic."

  It was true. Even now the Pearl’s power flowed into Xander's body like water over dry skin. It was not pleasant initially, but it was soothing.

  "And you do not have the Magic to take me." Xander grinned, holding up the Pearl. "Not while I have this, full to the brim and teeming with Souls."

  "How dare you defile the Mirror!" Lokyrim started to vent. Seeing the item in Xander's hand the God of Magic ripped the Rapier from its scabbard, and more crimson lightning licked the stones from the equally red blade.

  "The Mirror?" Xander questioned, then made a dismissive gesture with his own blade. "I've never once stepped foot in that place, Cataran probably has a spell that would trap me in there with those Dergathian fools I fed Kodae too."

  The statement made Lokyrim's face twist a moment in disgust.

  Xander offered a sly grin. “I stumbled across it some hundred years or so beneath Mistfire.”

  "You lying filth!" Lokyrim snarled, and then lashed out from where they stood. Though nowhere close to their intended victim, the sword's arch left a trail of crimson in the wake of the blade. Xander had seen this magic before and had already side-stepped it before the lash took flight and burned into what had been left of the stone behind him.

  The next crimson streak Xander intercepted with his own sword and swept it down into the floor where it smoldered, curling up thin whips of smoke from an already ruined carpet.

  "Please, that is a trick I've seen your Father do a hundred times before." Xander chided. He was honestly disappointed in his Nephew. Using the same, tired old tricks that Cataran once used? How droll.

  "Really?" Lokyrim questioned, then outstretched their free hand. "Did you not see that they burn explosive runes on the surfaces they lay in contact with?"

  Snapping to look back at the ruined wall, and then down at his feet, Xander could make out the exact lines of Magic in which their Nephew described.

  "Well, that is new," Xander muttered in complement, just before Lokyrim closed their hand to pull on invisible strings.

  Xander shielded himself from the shrapnel of wood and shards of stone, but the force of impact tossed him upward and away. The renegade Godkin fell through what was left of the roof and landed across the grass of what had been the backyard.

  It was not a light landing, and Xander rolled to his feet as fast as he could manage.

  Lokyrim was a mere heartbeat behind, bring down that wicked red sword.

  With a quick lashing sweep, Xander redirected the blade away, then thrust upward with the Pearl, crashing it right into Lokyrim's face and crushing their nose.

  Even with the white hot pain flashing through their skull, and golden blood spurting over the Pearl, the God of Magic kicked Xander down into the ground as a beam of magical energy erupted from the Pearl and soared harmlessly upward towards nothing. The attack had been meant to incinerate Lokyrim's head.

  Lokyrim retreated, covering their face as golden blood vaunted from it, spraying the ground. Wherever it the Godkin's life fluid landed, the grass shot upwards, having been invigorated by the essences of a being from the High Planes.

  "Enough!" Xander declared and dropped their sword to thrust the Pearl over his head. The Renegade God shouted a command word for a spell that had been prepared well in advanced.

  Though there was no wind, yet Lokyrim found themselves against a wave of magical pressure. It was like a man trying to hold against the oncoming turret of wind from a hurricane.

  Xander stood, smiling as he spat a mouthful of bitter blood to the side, again sending what grass coated in gold to erupted upward.

  "Pity. So close, but so far away." Xander grinned, reaching down to claim his sword. "Give my regards to the Pantheon. If you cowards came at me all at once instead of prodding at me like the craven fools you are, you may have stood a chance."

  Lokyrim's eyes narrowed a moment more, and they pressed against the pressure. They tried to force themselves to stay.

  But as soon as they leaned forward, the invisible wind seem to grab at Lokyrim, then sent them careening through the sky.

  Then Gorgreen's Guards came. The ones in the dark armor and twisted swords that matched the one held in Xander's hand. They knew who this golden haired being was as soon as they laid eyes on him.

  They all did. They were all Members of the Dark Pantheon that had been as hidden as their God. A Secret Order older than the grass beneath the feet they crushed. They were gathering, knowing that soon Xander would be the one, true Black Lord, the sole God, would rule all.

  Yet there had been one amongst them that did not know the true glory of the Black Lord.

  And when Indbore Fel finally managed to break through the crowd, they found a bloodied and wounded Dalitrous Gorgreen standing in a patch of knee high grass, looking dazed and confused.

  <><><><><><><>

  Lokyrim fell out of a tree some distance from where he had been cast. Though he had survived the throwback, the fall, and the initial impact, it was still an undignified manner in which a God could gather themselves to stand on their own two feet.

  There was a brief, muffled chuckle that told Lokyrim he was not alone. A moment more and the God scowled at a red headed, armored warrior with an axe.

  "Do not look at me like that Father, how hard did you laugh when I was forced to surrender to the Elf with my face in mud?"

  "Not now Mordrim." Lokyrim waved his son away dismissively.

  Lokyrim then touched his nose a moment, muttered words of power before the broken bone straightened with a crack.

  Mordrim winced in sympathy.

  Falling momentarily to his knees and clasping his hands on his face, Lokyrim fought back tears stemming from the pain.

  "How you and your sister can stand punching each other in the face I will never know." The God of Magic declared weakly, struggling to rise to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

  "Interfering." Mordrim smiled brightly. "Mother did not like your tone when you sent us all gallivanting across Rals to ask questions."

  "And what did you discover?"

  "Magdrim discovered that Razzar does not have Magus' hand, and I did not talk to Rein." Mordrim shrugged his shoulders and remained indifferent even as his Father snapped around. "There was no point to. We both know that I ask questions and it leads to fighting, so I instead helped Razzar and his little group along."

  "You did what?" Lokyrim demanded in a soft, slow and confused demeanour.

  "Razzar and Illindan are back on Bel." Mordrim made his statement clearer. "I told them everything we knew of the Invaders."

  Lokyrim stared at their son for a very long time, before they wiped their golden blood from their nose. "That was a very smart move. The Din will have troops here faster than the others."

  "I am not completely useless, Father."

  "I never said you were." Lokyrim waved at Mordrim dismissively. "You are smarter than myself sometimes,”

  "And I see where I got my temper." Mordrim lamented, turning slightly to observe the Bulwark. "Did you really just sucker punch Xander the Goblin King?"

  "Before he threw up a Hollowed Wall, yes," Lokyrim grunted, moving to stand beside Mordrim.

  The God of Bloodlust and Guile reached out and clapped his Father's shoulder. "If you had asked, I would have gone in with you."

  Lokyrim shook his head slightly, "No. He may have thrown that up faster. I've heard my Father talk about this. It was the reason why they started using Champions like Thoren so long ago."

  "What is it?"

  "It keeps Godkin out."

  It had not been Lokyrim who explained it with those four, simple words.

  They both whirled, finding a purple haired man, in a black long coat, wearing black clothes, and white gloves.

  "Sol'reve." Lokyrim growled and reached for his sword. It was not there, instead, it was found in the Hand of the Assassin God.

  "You dropped this in your flight." they offered the weapon, hilt first towards Lokyrim. The ev
er present smile was on their face, and though their eyes were coals, with no way to tell where they looked, it had been obvious to them they were watching Lokyrim exclusively.

  Neither moved to take it. But Mordrim did step around Lokyrim to stand before their Father, their axe in hand and ready. Mordrim did not like being ignored, nor did they appear to trust Sol’reve.

  "What game are you playing?" Lokyrim demanded, obviously infuriated. Rage had quickly taken over, and Lokyrim japped a gloved finger in Sol’reve "Did you take the Pearl from the Mirror!?"

  “No, I claimed it from Ulimax and returned it to whence it came.”

  “We would have known if that Lich had it.” Lokyrim replied dismissively.

  “Did you?” Sol’reve asked, tilting their head to the side. “Like you knew about Xander? Or Ossin’s little Cover Up?”

  As Sol’reve spoke, Lokyrim’s face reddened, and they clench their fist. Yet the Assassin God continued in a rather friendly manner, “Calm yourself, God of Magic, we are all on the same side.”

  “Why did you give the Pearl BACK to Xander then?!” Lokyrim nearly exploded, and even Mordrim growled at Sol’reve.

  "I am but a Pawn." Sol'reve grinned a sly grin. "And from one Pawn to another, learn to duck."

  Before they could retort, Sol'reve tossed the Rapier up towards them to catch. Head and eyes turned up towards, and Lokyrim had to step out and away from their son to catch.

  Lokyrim snatched the weapon by the hilt, but by the time the God of Magic sought out Sol'reve, the Corsair God of Assassins was gone. It had been the oldest, the oldest trick in sleight of hand, and both Mordrim and Lokyrim fell for it.

  "Pawn to another," Lokyrim muttered before his face twisted painfully. "Magus."

  "Father?" Mordrim asked, raising a brow to regard his Elder.

  "Magus put attacking Xander in my head. I did exactly what he wanted me to do." Lokyrim turned to face the Bulwark.

  Only Godkin and powerful Magi could see the bubble that arched over the walls of Westwatch. As if Anchored by the very stone and tethered by words of pure power, older than even Lokyrim.