"Tell me my boy how you felled the great giants of the forest with Soul-shard? Tell your noble kin of the many that met their ends upon your great axe." My stepfather claps me on the shoulder, his voice warm but his eyes brim with hate when they meet my own. He'd sent me to die with rangers hoping that the giants would have stove my head in with their clubs carved from ancient oaks. Hundreds of us fell to the giants having rallied no less than 10 score to clash with us. The battles had lasted for weeks, us falling victim to ambushes almost daily, the great beast storming from the woods to lay low dozens of men. In the first ambush I had my helmet crushed by a glancing blow, metal shattering slicing open my head, but I was used to pain. I threw Soul-shard, the starsteel biting deep into his throat, drawing my saex I leap from my horse, ripping my axe from its still warm sheath. Another beast charges me, his crude spear leveled at my chest. Sidestepping I hack into his side bone crunching under my blow, yet the beast lives wrapping his massive hands around me and begins squeezing hard. My face pressed hard against his chest. I bite hard, tearing through muscle leaving bone bare. The beast howling drops me and I bury my saex deep within his now exposed heart.
My stepfather releases his hold on my shoulder and shoves me a bit roughly into my seat, I wince as the raw wounds on my back slam against my chair. As my stepfather turns his back I drop a cube of sugar into his drink. He toasts to the victories over the giants and drinks heartily, the feast begins. The feasting lasted long into the night, the wine flowing freely. I stumble up the stairs stopping to stare at the painting of my mother running my fingers across its surface. I wander down the empty hallways and enter my room. It is bare, filled with the meager possessions I have gathered over the years. A few blades, a stack of medical texts, a few changes of clothes and my runes. My runes I grin sadly, my blessing and my curse. I slump into my bed wincing as my torn flesh pulses and I rest.
Jerking awake on my throne I see one of the new Raven Guard, Raphael, I think his name was standing at my side quietly. His eyes watching everything. He is young, 17 at the oldest, boy must have been a farmer or perhaps a blacksmith as he is well built like a solid slab of muscle. From his build you'd assume he was a dullard but his eyes are sharp as though peering through the walls into the hidden passageways beyond. He looks over at me and inclines his head, nodding slightly. I wave him forward, the room empty save for a few servants cleaning.
"Raphael isn't it?" He nods, "tell me who are you? Where do you hail from?" Speaking quickly he explains that he grew up as a blacksmith, where his father taught him to smelt armor. Upon his 15th birthday he'd decided to strike out on his own and adventure, eventually he'd joined the Lejemord warband fighting in several battles before he was assigned to the Assault company shortly before the siege's end. Grinning, he boasts of his warhammer his father forged for him, a huge slab of iron with a cruel jagged spike on its rear. Smelling the scent of roasting meat I ask him to join me at my table during dinner. Talking late into the night I find myself trusting his calm, confident nature.
"A TOAST!" The men stand quickly, "to my new Lieutenant Raphael!" The men down their flagons of mead and I begin to plan our next campaign. Leaving the mead-hall I enter my chambers pulling maps I'd spent a small fortune gathering. Lighting my lamps, I roll the maps out on my table. Finding Wolf Blight I look to its north near three weeks hard riding away, Castle Blackfang my ancestral home. To the east the lush and prosperous Kingdom of Askyne its royal family is almost as old as the Blackfangs and far wealthier. To the west lies Grandtonia, a new upstart Kingdom only a century old, snarling to myself I can almost see Prince Alex's grin, the greed in his eyes gleaming like a thousand torches. Alex hungers for lands to expand his wealth and influence. To the south lies numerous duchies, baronies and minor kingdoms. Prone to infighting and insurrections they always have gold for men willing to take blood money. Leaning back in my seat I begin drumming my fingers. I brought just over 200 men with me and the mountain tribes could rally around 14,000 and 20,000 men. More if I were willing to leave my hold abandoned. Assuming I can only rally 14,000 men I could begin a conquest and seize holdings in the southlands. However this runs the risk of Prince Alex attacking and setting fire to Wolf Blight. Years of war has shrunk his army to no more than 10,000 men but he fields a considerable number of mercenaries. Resolving to think more tomorrow I climb into bed. I snap my fingers and snuff out all the lamps. Darkness overtakes the room and I dream.
Blood drips off Soul-shard, his maw hungry for blood. So I fed him, charging into a mob of brigands I hacked into them, skulls splintering, shields shattering under Gorechilds weight. They start to flee but I fall upon them sinking my fangs into their throats, thrashing their bodies. Fire streaming from my saex as I plunge it over and over into their bodies. I scream blood dripping from my fanged maw, gore caught between my teeth. I trip and an armored boot or gauntlet smashes into my face. I wake with a jolt sweating drenching my sheets. Rising quickly I move to my washroom, the cool water waking me, energizing me. Wiping my face I don my armor, A Blackfang is never unarmed, I slip Soul-shard into his sheath, his hungry gaze upon me. Striding out of my chambers I eat a small meal of porridge and bacon. Waving my hand a servant rushes forward.
"M'lord?" He says, grinning, I reply in a warm tone "Bring me Raphael." Nodding he walks off and within minutes Raphael appears with a shortsword on his hip. Grinning, I began to inquire his opinion on the planned areas.
"Would the men fight against the Lejemords? Can I rely upon them for that?" Raphael without hesitation states, "the men see your ambition and they hunger for the glory you promised them. Would they fight against the Lejemords? Absolutely! They would view them as no different than any other enemy! Hell, some of them would absolutely want to settle old scores with the other companies!" Grinning, I clap my hands together.
"It's decided that when we prepare to march west we'll hire troops along the way and set fire to Prince Alex's new holding. Offer money to the fiefdoms for men to join the Raven Guard. Give them two months to rally here then we'll arm them and train them on our way west. Tell the men as well, in two months we'll be raiding The Kingdom of Grandtonia." Raphael grinning like a madman strides out of the Hall, soon I can hear shouting and cheers. The men are excited, good we'll need their enthusiasm. My coffers are not as deep as Grandtonia's but my men, well, they're far more experienced killers than that slapshod army the Prince leads. Soul-shard hums against my leg. Murmuring quietly I whisper to him, "Soon boy, soon." Perhaps we should find some brigands I'm sure there's some near the Southern foothills. Rising quickly I find a horse and ride off, Gorechild hungers and I must feed him. A rider stops in my path, and pulling hard I halt my steed. My brother's crest. Reaching in his satchel he extends to me a parchment. Tearing it open I quickly begin scanning it.
"Brother, I am dying. I fear it has come too early as I have sired no children. My wife, as much as I love her, cannot lead the Blackfangs. I know we have had our differences since Mother died, and I know you still feel a great anger towards me. But I offer this as my peace offering. Take up the mantle our grandfather left when he died, restore our family to what it once was. We owned all of these mountains and many of the western lands, we could own them again. You must hurry to Castle Blackfang. Our cousins would steal the throne from you and only this paper can prevent it. Hurry and reclaim our throne."
Rolling up the parchment I and the messenger, ride hard to the North, to my home, To Castle Blackfang.
YOU ARE READING
Call of The Lost
RomanceRave of Blackfang. A knight trying to restore his dying noble branch. He doesn't need anyone else. Just his soldiers and weapons are what calls to him. Just wanting to have a land of his own. Until, his life was almost lost due to a certain assassin...
