The Guardians' Blade

“Will these guys ever give up?” Tarn ducked under a cruelly curved blade and kicked the Sihra into two others before swinging around to decapitate another. He glanced anxiously over towards Millianyia who was fighting nearby him, wincing slightly as she received a slash to her arm. “Milli!”

“I am fine, Tarn,” came her response, as she seemed to ignore the injury while dealing with three Sidhra at once, moving with the grace of a cat as she cut them down one by one, demonstrating just why the Silvarians named her the ‘Queen’s Assassin’. She was in a completely different class as a warrior compared to him, and it showed.

Soryn brushed sweat from his brow, as he paused to glance around with a frown. It seemed that they were having to fight their way to Eagle’s Point. “I never realized just how many of these critters were getting through.” He looked over towards Rakkath who was fighting nearby, then kicked another Sidhra into a tree trunk. “Let’s go, no time to waste!” Soryn shouted and hurried towards to where Raja stood. The Sidhra that had currently been attacking them lay dead upon the ground, and at his urging everyone scrambled for the horses to hurry towards the Keep.

Rakkath was even wondering at the numbers of Sidhra that where showing up. Perhaps the Wolf King was willing to risk the Guardians learning of the secret paths for his current obsession. It seemed a little insane to him, but then the Sidhra were just fodder and nothing more. They had but one use. The Dark Krysalith swung up behind Soryn on Raja. He felt the massive size of the beast moving beneath him. These destrider’s were a breed unto their own.

“Look! There it is!” Alixa pointed excitedly.

The hills seemed to open up and reveal a deep wadi that they rode through on a dirt road. It wove its way into the mountains and directly to a Keep built right in the middle of the pass, with its walls spanning from mountainside to rocky mountainside so that nothing could get through without the Guardians knowing. There were two such passes found in the Drakebare Mountains, Dragon’s Point and Eagle’s Point. Black wooden doors stood wide open, allowing entrance to the travelers. There was a pregnant air about the Keep, as if the Guardians stationed here were waiting for something. Soryn quickly dismounted, and watched Guardians hurrying about on various errands. He heard someone call out his name and turned to see the elder Guardian Mycol coming out of a nearby building. “Get your horses stabled, and your friends rested. And meet me up on the ramparts, Sir Krammer!”

Soryn nodded at the instructions then turned and smiled at his companions, who looked tired from the constant raids they had suffered. The travelers scattered, some to the stables, and others to the dormitories or the infirmary to get their injuries seen to. He turned and led his faithful friend and companion into the stables where he would personally remove the bridle and saddle. Then ran hands carefully down over the horse’s body and thick strong legs, before checking the hooves for any stones that might have lodged in the steel of the horseshoes. “My old friend, these sidhran are not acting like normal.” Came the soft voice of the Destrider.

Soryn nodded his head as he straightened up and moved to fill the feed tray up for Raja. “I know, something is up that does not seem to make sense.” The Knight turned to look at the long black face of the destrider. “We have to be patient, all things will be revealed.”

Raja tossed his head, letting out a loud snort. He hated being patient but he would wait and see how things would play out. Soryn let out a soft chuckle and patted the large thick neck of his mount before he strode out of the stables.

The echo of marching booted feet sounded in the night, as a long line of armed Guardians poured through the Keep’s back gates, reinforcements to assist in the battle taking place. A shout tore into the cold night air: “INCOMING!”

Guardians on the Keep walls dropped to their knees, their backs against cold stone. The sky became black with arrows raining death on anyone who did not seek cover in time, as those in the courtyard quickly scattered for cover. When the night sky cleared the Guardians went about their business once more.

“Sir Krammer, it is good to see you again.” Mycol looked tired and haggard and yet there was not one silvery hair upon his head out of place. He offered a firm clasp of his hand in greeting.

“Guardian Mycol, I am surprised to see you out here. Are you not supposed to be at Ramoth?”

Mycol smiled, before inclining his head. “Indeed. However this particular pressing matter has gained the Council’s personal attention and I chose to investigate.” He shot Krammer a glance and continued. “Welcome to Eagle’s Point, my fine friend: the gateway into the Golden Realms on one side and the icy wastelands of the north on the other side.”

Soryn frowned as they took the stairs downwards and strode across the courtyard. He noted the stalls where a certain number of destriders stood in readiness: huge black and well-disciplined beasts. Some novices were seeing to them, cleaning out the stalls and putting in the fresh hay, checking the water troughs and oat buckets. The destriders were likely to kick up a fuss if they were not well cared for. But they had a right to, as they were intelligent creatures who were not dumb like other animals.

Soryn and Mycol stepped through a black doorway and into a comfortable-looking room with pelts spread upon the floor, tapestries decorating the walls and bookshelves standing from floor to ceiling. Mycol approached a large curved oak desk. Taking up a decanter he poured them both a drink, offering a glass to the tall Guardian. “How did you find the Inn?”

Soryn accepted the glass, sipping carefully at the dark liquid before answering. “Well enough, though I did not expect to find such a mixture of races there. I take it that is the only place where this occurs?”

“Yes, it is a very rare place, as is the Golden Realms. That is why we are here. The Warlords are giving an unusual amount of attention to these lands, and we need to find out why.”

“Would it not be the same reason as for all the other lands? To conquer and put the peoples into slavery?”

“I feel that it is more than that. Something else draws the Warlords here, and once we know what it is, we must protect it from falling into their hands at all costs.”

Soryn was frowning at this when the door was flung open and a Guardian entered. “Guardian Wolfbane, it has begun. They are trying to break down the gates.”

Mycol nodded and glanced over at Krammer, as he stated. “It begins.”

Moments later the two men were hurrying outside and up the steps onto the wall that faced into the mountainous pass. Krammer glanced down from his vantage point on the wall. Below could be seen writhing bodies too numerous to count. The dull rhythmic thud of a ram drumming against the Keep’s main gates began to echo off the mountain walls. “What do you suggest?” asked Mycol curiously as he also took in the sight.

Soryn shook his head. His eyes narrowed before turning to face the elder Guardian with a sly smile on his lips. “Ride out and fight them. Test their strength and break up the crew beating on the gate.”

Mycol let out a soft chuckle before he turned and barked out the necessary orders. Pausing, he glanced at over at the younger Guardian. “Will you be riding out with us?” he queried as he headed for the stairs, drawing on his gloves.

“But of course, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Mycol chuckled once more. There was a low rumble of stone grinding against stone as a portion of the large Keep courtyard floor began to slide back, revealing the entrance to a large tunnel. From here came the sound of whickering destriders impatient to enter the fray. Soryn strode to the stalls where Raja waited for him, a smile flickering over his lips as he stroked his friend’s neck. He moved to check the girth strap of the saddle and the chain mail armor that covered Raja’s neck.

“I take it that this was your harebrained idea to ride out?” asked a woman’s voice.

Soryn turned his head to regard Alixa. She was wearing her rich dark hair in a thick braid down her back. He smirked as he thought over her question. “Yes, of course. I thought you liked excitement?”

“Surely I do, but not when it means walking into the maw of death,” was her response, as she moved to a nearby stall to saddle up her own steed. Soryn let out a soft chuckle. He led his destrider out of the stall.

“Don’t discount us so soon, my friend. We have faced worse odds than this before.”

“Back at Hymbroli, yes, but this is a different realm; and I sense we are facing a different dark mind behind the Sidhra.” Alixa moved to follow Soryn, with her own destrider in tow.

“That is possible; but still we must show him that the Guardians are not afraid, even now.” She smiled a little to herself. “I fear not death, I simply desire to live a little longer.”

Soryn shook his head. Alixa had guts, and determination. She was young and had not seen as much in the field as he had. She still had a lot to learn before she would understand. Soryn glanced at her when Alixa halted in front of him and rested a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly. “I’d like for all of us to live a little longer.” Swinging up into the saddle, she rode out into the courtyard where others were gathering. Soryn stared after her a long moment and shook his head. He had to give her her due, she was optimistic. He put a foot into his saddle and swung up. He knew that retaliation was possibly a stupid idea; however he also sensed that this would be the last thing that the Wolf King would be expecting. Normal tactics dictated that they defend the wall, but Soryn liked a change every so often.

“Perhaps she is right, riding out like this may not be wise.”

Soryn patted the thick neck of his destrider, and murmured quietly. “Yes maybe but sometimes it pays to use unusual tactics against the enemy. So that they cannot predict how we will respond.”

“The Warlords have always been unpredictable.”

“Then it was time that we became unpredictable as well.” Muttered Soryn as he rode out into the great courtyard, and joined various other Guardians who were preparing to ride out alongside him.

While the Guardians prepared for battle, Dovelin was seeing to the wounded in one of the dormitories she had transformed into a healer’s facility. Millianyia, Storm and a sulking Serraria were assisting her. “Why do I have to stay here? I want to be out there fighting with the other warriors!” whined the girl. As she peered at one of the bedridden Guardian’s and poked at a foot. These warriors were strange, they fought for the lives of a group of races who barely acknowledged their existence.

“The men have enough to do without having to worry about you,” was the Peacekeeper’s response.

“They don’t have to worry! I can fight just as well as they do!” Serraria retorted. Her mind felt clouded with the air of battle, she felt a need to take up her weapon and ride out with the other Guardian’s.

“My dear,” Dovelin set down a bowl of water and turned to look at the girl. “War is not fun and games. When you spar with Lionheart or Krammer – that is having fun. This …” she said, pointing a finger at a cracked window through which they could see Guardians preparing to ride out from the Keep, “… is not fun.” It wasn’t often that Dovelin came close to losing her temper but she hated war. Seeing so many people maimed and injured always left her emotional. “You have to understand that this isn’t a game.” Dovelin returned to the tending of the wounded.

“You treat me like a child.” Serraria snapped hotly. While she could see the dead and dying around her, she still felt insulted by the Peacekeeper’s words. If only Dovelin knew exactly what she was capable of? “I’ll show you. One day I will be a great and powerful Warlord!” With those words she turned and fled out into the courtyard amidst the chaos.

“WOLF!” Dovelin ran to the doorway, but lost sight of the girl. She frowned and sighed as she shook her head. “Stubborn child.” She gripped the wood of the door framework. As she glanced out upon the Guardian’s busily at work, carrying injured over to her makeshift infirmary, or helping with the fighting out beyond the gates. Her lips pursed into a firm straight line as she turned away and went back to caring for the wounded. War was not a fun place to be for anyone, Dovelin saw the aftermath and saw just what war could do to a man, reducing him from the strong willed warrior to an invalid in seconds from a simple sword stroke. Millianyia rested a hand on Dovelin’s shoulder and smiled slightly at her than spoke softly. “Let her learn. At the moment war is in her veins but later she will understand the value of a healer.”

Dovelin smiled a little at the Krysalith’s wise words and nodded her head slightly. “Thank you Milianyia.”

“I had to learn the same lesson.” Millianyia moved than to bandage up a guardian’s hand or what was left of it with gentle care. Though after a moment she glanced around to make sure no one was looking and let a soft healing warmth seep from her fingertips to heal the hand whole before finishing with the bandaging of it. A little smile touching her lips as Serreria was not the only one holding back secrets.

Dovelin pondered over the words that Millianyia had spoken, she figured every young person probably had to go through the same thing. Get the itch for battle and adventure out of their system before the reality settled in. She sighed softly as focused on the injured, noting how more were being brought in by the hour. This battle was not being kind to the Guardians at all.

“CHARGE!” The sound of thundering hooves bounced like hot rivets off the stony Keep walls. Dust rose as the gates of the Keep swung open and row upon row of Guardians rode out into the mountainous pass, directly into the waiting Sidhran horde. At the head of the Guardians rode Sir Krammer, the plume of his helmet trailing behind in his wake, sword gleaming in the fading sunlight of the late afternoon. Within minutes the sound of steel clashing against steel, screams of destriders and shouts of men and Sidhra echoed from the mountainsides, as the two hordes collided with a heavy chaotic impact. In the midst of this stood the slender disheveled form of Serraria, blood-spattered, her braided hair a tangled mess. She spun around with a shimmering blade, sending Sidhran warriors flying with each swinging arc, proving she was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. She was unaware that she was very different to the Guardians fighting around her, or that she was drawing another’s attention. War was in her blood; she felt its call, and when the Guardians had ridden out she had felt compelled to follow, joining swords with the dark enemy surrounding her.

“SERRARIA!” Boar Lionheart reached her side, a sword clutched in a gauntleted fist. He turned in time to block a Sidhra lashing out with a booted foot and kicked the dark beast away. “What are you doing out here?” came his heated demand.

“Helping you! It’s what I’m here for!” she shouted back, as she spun around and decapitated a Sidhran who got too close.

“But you could get hurt!”

“You have female Guardians fighting on the battlefield …”

“That’s different!” He grabbed her by the arm, peering at her fiercely through the wolf-face on the visor covering his features. “You’re not a Guardian!”

“I know what I am!” she screamed at him, twisting to block the hacking stroke of a scimitar. She impaled the Sidhran before jerking her blade free. Then she turned her head to regard Lionheart. “I can take care of myself!”

“One day you will be in a lot of trouble and you won’t be able to defend yourself!” He gripped her arm and shook her. He knew he was being rough and brutal, but he didn’t want another death on his hands. The loss of the twins still weighed heavily on his heart and mind and Serraria was too over-confident for her own good at times, from his point of view.

“They’re retreating!” rose up a shout, soon joined by the deep blast of several horns that echoed off the pass’s high mountainous wall. Before their very eyes the Sidhran warriors seemed to melt away as if they had never been there, leaving behind exhausted and bewildered Guardians. Soryn reached up to pull his wolf helm off his head, sweaty black hair spilling down around his sharp stern features. He turned to look towards the north. Mist and dust cleared slowly to reveal a tall figure in black armor. The face was different to anything he had ever seen before, and at the same time reminded him of Serraria with the pointed ears. The eyes burned crimson, focusing on Soryn Krammer. In that moment, as the mists of the north closed in again around the figure, Soryn knew he had finally seen the Wolf King and that battle lines had been drawn between the two men.

“Sir Krammer?” The Knight turned to face Serraria, who had managed to break free of Boar’s angry grip. He regarded her for a long moment before resting a hand on her shoulder and turned her back towards the Pass and the Keep as he spoke.

“Come, let us return.”

Serraria was quiet for a moment as she walked with him, casting a shy glance in his direction before looking down; then finally she asked softly, “Are you angry?”

“What am I meant to be angry about?”

“Lionheart was angry because I was fighting with you.” She bit her bottom lip as she looked down at her feet, braids falling forward like a veil covering her features.

Soryn was still thinking about the Wolf King he had caught a glimpse of, his gauntleted hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Serraria, we can teach you what you want to know, but we cannot tell you what to do or what decisions you should make. Life is yours to experience. You will only learn through the various situations you will encounter, and the decisions that come from those.”

Serraria nodded, relaxing a bit, as she had been far more concerned about what Sir Krammer might think of her than Boar or even Dovelin. She held the tall Guardian in high regard. “Thank you,” she said finally.

Soryn smiled as Raja trotted up to meet them, nuzzling Serraria softly in the neck, before allowing her to clamber up onto his back. Letting the girl know in his own way, that he cared. “We simply worry about you my dear,” Krammer stated, before swinging up into the saddle behind her and giving Raja a nudge of his heels. They returned to the keep at a light canter. There was little else that could be said as the girl seemed determined to go where they went, even if it was straight into battle right alongside them. Soryn was almost tempted to give up arguing with her when he felt that he had to tell her to stay back at times. Though he never would, it was far too deeply ingrained in him to not want to make sure she was safe and to keep her from harm. As she was only a young thing in his eyes, and war was no place for a young girl.

Rakkath silently watched the Guardian ride off with Serraria. Keeping to the shadows he jogged off, heading towards the gnarled forest nearby. He had a small window of opportunity before the others would become suspicious of his absence, so he had to be quick. Rounding some boulders half an hour into his journey, Rakkath slowed to a halt, gazing coolly at a small group of tents. Licking his lips, he hastened towards the camp of the Wolf King and announced himself to the guards, who shambled with him towards the main pavilion. He had also seen the Wolf King show himself to Soryn, and thus knew that the Warlord was close by for him to personally give a report to. The tent flap was drawn aside and Rakkath stepped through. He looked around slowly at the furs covering the ground and an empty dragon-bone throne draped with black material. The Wolf King stood at a large table, hands clasped behind his back. A hunchbacked creature stood near him pointing at a map spread over the table surface.

“Ah, Rakkath; you have returned. What news do you have for me?” The Wolf King had a cool smile upon his lips as he looked over at the Dark Krysalith.

“The Guardians are still strong. They called in more troops at the pass to stop the attack through the underground highway,” came Rakkath’s response as he drew closer to the table.

“Hmm. I think we will have to stop that from happening again,” Dargoth mused thoughtfully. He smirked as he looked over at the hunchbacked creature. “I believe it’s time we infiltrated the underground highway, Rangor. Take the cretins and wolf riders with you.”

Rangor shifted and bowed. “As you wish,” he rumbled out in a gravelly voice before limping towards the pavilion tent-flaps.

Once they were alone, Dargoth turned his full attention on the Dark Krysalith. “And now, tell me of the child? Was she there?”

“She’s quite strong. She fought in the battle at the keep.”

“What?” Dargoth blinked then frowned at this news. “Then she is not a novice. She must be a scout.” He moved towards his throne, flopping down upon it. He waved a hand in idle dismissal. “Go now, keep her within your sights, and keep her safe. When the time is right, we will seize her.”

Rakkath bowed low. “Yes, milord.” He retreated from the pavilion and began his journey back towards the Keep.

Dargoth watched the Dark Krysalith take his leave and shifted upon his throne in thought. So the Dragon child was capable of defending herself. This altered things drastically; however he still needed certain signs to tell him for sure that she was the One. He turned his head to look at a woman who sat on the furs near his feet. Her long hair was tangled in dreadlocks, and her face was painted with black, white and red coloring. She wore skins and her jewelry was made out of animal bones, teeth, claws and tiny little skulls. “Tell me something, Calypso,” he said commandingly. “What should I do now to acquire the Dragon child?”

The woman reached for a pouch that hung around her neck and tipped out a series of colored and marked bones. She tossed them up into the air, and looked down intently to where they landed on the furs before her. “War you make, Master, war on the south,” she said. “Guardians will bring Dragon child to all she needs to meet for the signs. The signs come to pass only if war comes to the south.”

Dargoth pondered those words; then nodding his head he rose to his feet and strode to the pavilion entrance. Flinging open the tent flaps he began shouting out orders. If war was the key, then war it would be. He had already made a move against the Guardians by sending his Sidhra to overrun a particular Fortress that they had built in the mountains. It has been said that no one could take it from him, but he had proved them wrong in days past. He had over-run that fortress, slaughtered many Guardians who didn’t manage to escape in time and now waited for word on whether it was fully his or not. It would be the jewel in his crown. A stigma to the Guardians, proof that a Dark Lord could take one of their very own crafted mountain dwellings and make it into his own. It would be a thorn in their side, and he was certain that it would stir up the races against the Guardians for losing the Fortress to him so easily. He smirked to himself as he stepped back into his pavilion, walking slowly over to a large long table that held many maps strewn across its surface. And spun one large map around to look it over before driving a dagger into it, pinning it to the surface as he regarded the Golden Realms. “Soon you will be mine.” He growled out softly to himself.

Maleficent pushed away from the horses where she had been standing, having watched Rangor ride off with a group of men. Her eyes now focused on the Dark Krysalith. She moved to follow him, flinging out a hand to cast a mild stun spell that knocked Rakkath to the ground. This allowed her to get closer with her knife in her hand, but before she could tackle him he was on his feet with an arrow to bow, aimed at her. “You wouldn’t shoot me, would you Rakkath?” she asked in a sickly sweet tone. She drew to a halt, as she had no real desire to provoke him. He was very capable of violence.

“Only if you try to attack me again, I told you Malificant, try anything again and I will kill you,” came his icy response as he stared her down.

“Just remember, Dark Krysalith, I will be shadowing your every move when you go back into the Golden Realms.”

“And how do you know that that is where I will be going?” He didn’t lower the bow. He was thoroughly tempted to just shoot her and get it over and done with.

“The Seer has foreseen it.” Slowly she drew closer as she looked at him. “She said something strange: what has never before taken place will occur and you will be there watching every moment of it.” Lifting a hand she pointed a bejeweled finger at him. “But just remember who you are, and that those you travel with are not your friends but your enemies.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Rakkath threw back his head, highly amused, as he laughed. He fixed her with an amber stare. “You’re afraid I’ll learn the true meaning of friendship.” He slowly lowered the bow and took a couple of steps closer towards her. “Maybe you’re even jealous that I could come close to learning about this concept that you will never understand.”

“Shut up,” she snapped at him.

“Oh, yes – I see the problem now. It shows in your inability to socialize.” Rakkath smirked slightly as he slid the arrow back into its quiver. “It all makes sense now.” He winked at her, which seemed to only irritate her. Then his features became serious. “However, don’t get your hopes up. I know what these men are like; they can say they are your best friend and yet stab you in the back as soon as you turn it. They are no more friends to each other than I am to you.” He leaned on his bow as he looked back towards the pavilion. “Friendship is a thing that we will never know, and that these races don’t really understand because their idea of friendship is shallow, easily scratched away on the surface to show a festering wound of self-want beneath.” He straightened up then, taking up his bow and slinging it on a shoulder.

“I bid you goodbye for the moment my dear, until we meet next time.” With that said, he turned and hurried off into the shadows to return to the Keep.

Malificent hissed as her hands fell to her sides. She hated him as much as she hated just about everyone else that she spent time with here in this camp. None of them realized the truth yet and she would keep it that way. Only Rangor understood the plan so far, and he was an excellent pawn in her game of power. She turned her hooded head to regard the pavilion and the Wolf King it housed. Everyone had their price, and everyone had their weakness. Friendship failed with the right amount of pressure applied. And out here, it was another flaw to be used against the good people of the south. It would also be the undoing of this precious Dragon child that Dargoth wanted to get his hands on so desperately. She would see to it, once the child was broken she would be easily used in the war games she had in mind. And she would pray on the child’s mind, twist her into something like herself until Dargoth would not want the child any more. Malificent grinned to herself and let out a low husky little laugh as she moved back towards her tent, rubbing gloved hands together. Everything was falling into place, the friends that the dragon child was attached to would be the strings to snap, Dargoth would be the means of torture and all she had to do, was wait and bid her time.