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Bloodsworn Ch. 15
🕑 Added 2024-11-07 19:42:49 +0000 UTC15.
Erak stilled his fast beating heart as he walked out of the shadows to stand before them. The rest of his party crowded right behind him and he heard their gasps of shock as they stared down the nine figures jogging across bodies and stone without a care. Genderless in their thick armor and furs, they looked like spirits of wrath drug out of the ancient histories.
Erak lifted his spear in greeting and waited as the leading figure slowed. A giant hammer spear sat on its shoulder and it lifted it in response before tugging their helm free. Long hair, white with age, was bound with ivory and bone rings. Dark features carved by harsh winds and unrelenting sun, with a bushy beard tucked into his breastplate. Emerald eyes, filled with fury as he ground to a halt before Erak.
“Little one, why are you not with your oathkeeper?”
“Hail old one, I seek them, but the way is blocked,” Erak signed with elegant speed, trusting in the old warrior to know what he spoke. The old scion simply shook his head in disgust, turning to spit on the ground.
“Meet it then as is the old way! Steel vs. steel, skill vs. skill. With honor!” His voice was a thunder that rattled Erak’s bones and the eight behind him nodded in agreement, horned helms making them look as demonic as the invaders.
“I wish to serve my Queen with my life, not with my death. I shall commandeer that ship and clear the way,” Erak stopped and pointed with his spear at the warship sitting unused.
“Ahhh, you serve the Queen. Honor matters not then, only duty. Our oathkeeper lays dead. Grachus the Twisted! He slew half a hundred of these foul creatures in only moments before falling. A great warrior on a dread steed, armor soiled but resplendent, the night sky woven into steel. Five times they clashed and on the fifth Grachus fell. The warrior took Grachus’s weapon, our tribe’s ancestral sword, and fled. We seek the blade now, those of us still living. He headed that way,” the old warrior pointed toward the portal.
“Only death awaits you there, senior. Join me and help me lift the siege here. Then we shall travel together and retrieve your tribe’s honor.” The warrior laughed, throwing back his head, great white beard dancing on his face, tinkling with carved wyvern bones and steel rings.
“Little one, this foe is far beyond us. Only the ancestors could have faced that thing,” he spat as he spoke looking upon the chained being in the portal.
“We seek death with honor now. Let us carve our stories into the flesh and memories of our enemies and may they tremble as they tell our tale. Find us then, in our enemies legends, in their cautionary tales they whisper to their recruits. I wish you well brother, for I shall see you no more. Let us go my brothers in steel, let us meet death with a smile and embrace like the old friend she is!” the warrior tucked his helm back on and lifted the polehammer up and pointed forward. He sprang forth with a laugh and the others followed behind in a stampede of armored death.
“What the fuck was that?” one of the soldiers, Podzki, asked. His eyes were saucers as he watched the scions race forward without hesitation towards the portal.
“There are many tribes in the Polar Fields, the descendants of the treaties between men and giants. A martial culture that prioritizes hunting, fighting, and oaths to the highest regards. The Lords of the Polar Fields often have several Tribal Warchiefs sworn to them at one time, acting as wardens and enforcers across the great distances and as ambassadors to the giant’s in the Northern Peaks,” Rutledge replied without hesitation, her voice shifting from discerning to lecturing in a heartbeat.
“No, ma’am, I meant them laughing as they go fight that fucking thing,” Podzki said as he kept his eyes locked on the portal’s guardian.
“Ahh, while it is not my main area of expertise, I believe the once the oathkeeper has died, the cultural norm is to pass the oaths to someone else. If the oathkeeper dies in combat, then normally the sworn brothers will try to avenge their fallen leader. It seems these Deathsworn are intent on trying to meet their former oathkeeper in the next life as fast as possible.”
Erak didn’t say anything. Their presumptions were close enough, thought missing the nuance. The nuance none who did not grow up under the frozen boughs and in the steaming pools could understand. There was honor and there was duty. Erak was bound by duty, they were seeking honor. If he was not so chained by duty he might have been tempted to chase after them, those old wolves with glory in their eyes.
“We move forward. There is a weapons embankment close by. We will clear it and proceed to the Armory,” Erak signed. It took a moment for Julius, as starstruck as the rest, to translate for him.
“We don’t know the strength of the enemy, sir. We don’t have the numbers for a firefight of any type of magnitude,” Nevia whispered as best she could so only Erak could hear.
Erak waited for Julius to meet his eyes before he started to speak his plans. The annoyance that none knew the Silent Tongue was frustrating. In the Polar Fields, all knew it as well as the Spoken Tongue.
“You will follow behind me. I will engage and when they are fully distracted you will finish them if you are able. If not, push forward to the Armory and regroup there. I will follow after.”
“And if the foe is too great for you. If there are too many and you fall? If the throne is still occupied my bloodline will be culled for abandoning a Ring Bearer. Better me, and the rest of my command, die by your side. You begin the engagement, my teams will take flanking positions and fire down upon them. I beg you though, that if there are too many or they are too great in strength, that we rely on stealth and not strength,” Nevia spoke earnestly and with sense. Erak could not deny that she had wisdom, but the sight of his brothers marching off with deathsongs on their lips, reignited that desire to test himself.
“We must try to relieve some of the siege. If they are beyond us, I will consider moving forth in silence,” Erak said. He was honest, if they were beyond him, he would not engage.
“That’s all I ask, Lord Bloodsworn. I wish for my men to see the next dawn, however clouded it is.” She turned back and started organizing her few remaining troops as they crossed the boulevard. There wasn’t much to organize, the plan was simple in the extreme.
Erak entered the last of the alleys before he reached whatever it was that was spewing the fire upon the Armory. The heat was enough to make him sweat even from blocks away. The moments grew longer as the sound of his armored feet hitting stone filled the air.
Harsh cries in a language, foul and barbaric, stung his ears. He slowed, growing more cautious to the clang of his armor as he left the false comfort of the alley and looked at the group of demons. A bloody smile spread warm across his face as he tightened his grip on his spear.
