Chapter 2.
Gilder’s Field was a small village, little more than a stopping point for merchants heavy with cargo as they went inland to trade. Despite the bleating of panicked animals, and fields ripe for harvest, no one dare attend their business. No one that could was around. There was no plague, warnings of beastmen or orcs, or anything of the like. No it was a perfectly normal village.
Normal save for the shadow that loomed over it. Not from clouds, not from any mountains, but from a floating castle. Houses shook apart as the castle made landfall, and a great ditch large enough to make a large pond come the rains.
The Crown of Darkness had descended upon Fair Bretonia once more.
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Ronan and his squadron of knights swore they could see the lines of ageing on the human slaves around them grow deeper as the door creaked open. They expected to be on the ground for three weeks, hopefully this would be one of the things they fixed. Until then, they had their orders.
“Listen up, Druchii!” Ronan bellowed for all to hear. They answered with a hoot and a howled, followed by a slamming of their weapons on their shields. “Let Go over the game plan one more time! We are to investigate the village! Any traps, any surprises left in store for us. The nobility in this land won’t use any underhanded tactics, but the villagers won’t be that stupid. The shades will follow after us to explore the forest. You see something odd, blow your horn. We will meet in the center of town by sundown. Understood?”
“Yes Dreadlord!” The fifteen strong squadron of knights yelled back. Unlike knights of the Asur High Elves or of men, Dark Elvish knights rode mighty cold ones. What these reptilian beasts lacked in intelligence they made up for in sheer brutality.
“Dreadlord Devix!” Ronan called out to a grey clad elf on a magnificent black steed.
“What is it, Dreadlord Ronan?” He called back.
“My squadron will try to leave you some scraps if we find some fools along the way. Please do us the same curtesy.”
The dark riders gave a salute and ruckus laughter to Ronan and his elves. The coldone was the popular choice amongst nobility, but the horse will always have a place in certain clans. Fast and nearly tireless, the Dark Steed was the perfect mount to scout, harass, and hunt down the enemy.
Regardless of mount, they all waited with impatient anticipation. Nearly a month of travel, with nothing to entertain themselves but the slaves captured, they wanted new blood on their spears and lances. The gate was not fully down before the first knight rushed out. Too late to hold back hot blooded elves and their pack hunting steeds, all Ronan could do was take the lead and follow the path.
It was clean road, with obvious recent construction. Still a dirt road, but impeccably in its maintenance. It should be what he expected, given its importance, but something felt too neat, too clean, too orderly. It only grew worse when they entered the village.
Large enough for forty large families, it should have been the sight of mothers going to the market, daughters milking cows, sons tending to the flocks, and fathers in the fields. Or with a nightmarish castle approaching, disarray from the panicked packing and running. Again, clean as if just built. Not even the refuse from chamber pots or past dinners were on the streets. Even an elf city was not so clean.
But it was the animals that unnerved Ronan the most. Truth be told, he was not born amongst the Dark Elves, but an inland village of their most hated kin. His mother taught him the healer’s arts, and he used them to tend to the animals that made their town’s livelihood. At least before daemons destroyed it and he was forced to live in the city.
The sheep bleated as if frightened, but wondered about as if in arms reach of a beloved shepherd. Their movements jerked in rickety motions. Their eyes, red gleaming eyes, that reflected light in any manner but natural.
Yet it was how the cold one’s reacted. They rocked back and forth, sniffing the air with causal ease. Jaws salivating, but their heads’ tilted in confusion.
“Damn beasts gone stupid again!” Yelled their squadron’s champion. An Elf with draconic embellishments on his armor, and a lance with not a spear tip but a blunt fist at the end.
“They’re confused.” Ronan corrected. “They see moving animals, but they are reacting to them like they see carrion.” Ronan took a deep breath, and regrated it instantly. The taste in the air burned his throat like strong liquor with none of the perks. “Do you smell that?”
“Of course not, fool!”
Ronan cursed himself. He forgot he was unique in this group. He didn’t need to anoint himself with a noxious paste to keep the cold ones from attacking him as they would warm blooded prey. The same force of will that allowed hydra and harpy to follow him gently did the same with these great beasts. The rest of the Druchii race needed to make a concoction from an ill odor musk from these mounts. It allowed their nobility to ride such creatures freely, but the periodic applications numbed the senses till taste, smell, and even touch withered away. A sacrifice many deemed necessary, but one that left a glaring weakness.
“Rickek; do you have your crossbow?” Ronan asked.
“Always!” Said a knight. He tossed his lance to a comrade, freeing his hand for a crossbow that would make any hunter envious.
“Shoot that ewe, wounding shot. No legs or neck shots.
“A little early for lunch don’t you think?”
“Just do it!”
The knight obeyed, hitting the sheep. To his and all their surprise, it went through the animal and into the next before lodging into the spine of a third. Despite pain of a twisting bolt going through them, despite the paralyzing hit on the third, they acted as if nothing was wrong.
“What is happening.” One of the lancers asked, his nerves outweighing his prideful demeaner.
Ronan simply dropped his lance in favor of a longsword. “Run.” He commanded.
No sooner has he said thus, the ground erupted with grasping skeletal hands. Zombified ogres and minotours burst their way out of the shambling wrecks of houses, while would be farmers did likewise. From amongst the heard animals, once loyal sheep dogs revealed their dire nature as snarling undead beasts. The forests came alive with the skeletal remains of beastmen and Norscan raider alike.
There was no room to get a good charge in, much less maneuver. What undead survived being trampled back into the grave stabbed at the undefended underbellies and saddle straps. One by one cold one died and knight fell. The lucky ones didn’t have a nearly ton reptile crushing their legs. Others were covered by zombies fighting to opened their canned meals. A few weapon swings and a few more snaps of the jaws, and mor wiggle room was made.
Despite this, the enemy continued their attack until as quickly as they started they stopped. It took the knights a few more swings of the sword or mace before they realized things had changed, even then their training kept them calm. Show no fear, but be the fear is what every Druchii child was taught.
“Headcount!” Ronan commanded. He had a banner, a champion, and a horn blower, and a company of four other knights still in the saddle. Six were walking home if they survived this. Another shoved a dead knight out of the saddle before claiming his mount.
“I wish to speak to the master of this army!” Ronan bellowed.
A wizened robed figure strode out of a nearby church, his lips dripping with fresh blood. The sun did no harm to his flesh, but he was no more alive than the wretched zombies before him. “I bid you welcome.” He said in a dusty voice. “I am Califec.”
“You are no Blood Dragon.” Ronan shouted.
“Neither are you. I wanted to meet with a chapter master of this parts, but he seems to be, occupied. You will have to do.”
“You have a captive audience.” Ronan said.
The old vampire laughed, unnerving the knights more. With each delicate step it looked as if he would fall apart, but march comfortably he did. “That I do. Pity elves cannot be tainted by the red turning; a squadron of you would e most marvelous to have. Alas, I will have to make due with more dark knights.”
“If that is what you wanted, we’d be dead by now.” Ronan answered. "What is it that you truly want?”
“What are you doing here, dark elf?” Califec demanded.
“Hawkseer cruise. Our group is on patrol. How about you?” Ronan answered. “You look like a Necrarch. A Far off from a wizards tower, don’t you think?”
“I am a lost soul seeking vengeance and a return to my home.” Said Califec.
“We have that in common, vampire.” Ronan replied. “And where is home?”
“Why do you ask?” asked Califec.
“Tell your minions to stow their weapons, allow a rider to ride off to the ship to send a message, and I will tell you.” Said Ronan
“Are you mad?” Asked Ronan’s champion. “This thing will no sooner slit our throats than listen to us."
Ronan grasped the knight by the coif around his neck, nearly throwing him off his mount as he pulled him close. “Neither you nor I can face him. Either we send word to listen to his demands, or we distract him long enough for a rider to get an avenging army.”
“Neither sounds fun, but what will make you so sure I will allow this?” The vampire asked, a trumpet like instrument at his ear.
“How about I tell you a tale, one that may truly impress you. Should you find it to your liking, we can be friends. If not, you make good on your promise.” Suggested Ronan. With a wave of the vampire’s hand, the zombies stepped back, leaving an opening for a single file of knights to run back t the Black Ark. “Trumace, ride back to the Ark. “Ronan commanded his standard bearer. “Tell them to send black guard and sorceresses trained to deal with undead. We either have a new ally or a new enemy. Prepare for both.”
He rode off, banner furled in one hand, his hands tightly around the reins in the other. Spurs sparks as they kicked off the side of the reptile’s hide.
“How soon before he says we’re all dead, and makes him sound like the only survivor.” Asked one of the knights.
“Two gold the moment he arrives.” Said another.
“I’ll take that bet.” Ronan announced. “Double if he cannot keep his lies strait.”
“If you trust him so little, why send him at all, little dark elf.” Asked Califec
“Because we are dark elves.” Ronan answered. “You can’t trust any of us. I just wanted the one who would make the obvious lies go first. I suspect the fear when he sees us again…will be sweeter than wine. Now, are we going to talk business, or shall we go back to fighting?”
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Ronan and two other knights flanked him as they entered the lone church. Its holy purpose long abandoned for the grotesque experiments of the vampire. Humans and beastmen, all with strong signs of chaos, hung crucified along the walls. Scales instead of skin on one; Snail like stalks growing out of their eye sockets on another. All of them not from this land.
“Do not worry. This village was ransacked long ago by marauders. A kindly peasant woman let me stay with them, thinking I was just a weary old man. When those shackled by chaos arrived, they ripped the town apart. I did what I could, but I was weak from sun and injury. For her kindness I avenged them, raising their dead as my army. I kept the more interesting of their ilk alive for my experiments and as a larder. It’s a shame, but it will be some time before I can go without feeding on blood.”
“I thought vampires lived for it.” Said one of the knights. He held an ax in one hand, and a raven headed Warhammer in the other.
“Most, yes. But as your leader acutely stated, I am a Nacrarch. I can simply feed on the dark magics around me. But I was defeated by a rival. He locked me into my coffin, and threw me to the sea. I thought I would succumb to my thirst in there, but the currents threw me against the rocky shore a little south from here.”
“I do not doubt it.” Said Ronan. “Chaos has been let loose up north. Its pull on the currents must have dragged you along for the ride.”
“No doubt. So what is it you want.” Califec demanded.
“Are you aware of the right of passage amongst the Dark Elves, The Hawkseer?” The vampire shook his wizen head. “Every year when a noble comes of age they go on a year long raiding cruise, along with experience corsairs and freshly trained soldiers of the more common stock. This weeds out the weak from among us, and leaves the rest rich in cargo.”
“Sounds reasonable enough.” Said the vampire. He motioned the elves to a spot in the front pews. The two knights examined the seats, no treachery to be seen.
Taking the offer, Ronan made himself at home. “This one is an experiment to see how many dreadlords can go on a single cruise. We have also brought along a fair number of sorceresses who must compete their journey to Supreme sorceress on our trek. A fair number of them are skilled necromancers at the tender age of under a hundred.”
“Quite impressive.” Said the Necromancer. “And you have been raiding Brettonia with this singular castle?”
“We are making the rounds.” Said one of the knights. “We started in Araby, tore through Khemry, fought in Tillaia and Estilla, an found a comfortable rout in Brettonia.”
“A would tour of destruction. How intriguing.” Califec. “Tell me more.
Too intriguing, Ronan thought. He could not smell the feint whiff of active magic, but something unnerved him deeply none the less. Why else would a group of dark elves be so straightforward with him, despite his very nature. Despite their very nature! This was a vampire, and experience told him they were as trustworthy as your average druchii.
“Where is your home, Master Califec.” Ronan asked. Some dark urge was compelling him to tell more of this trip, more of this purpose, but he needed answers too.
Califec put a boney hand near his bare chin and through long and hard on the question. “Why do you ask?”
“Because our next destination will be in Nordland, plucking both servants of chaos and the so called Empire as we see fit.” Ronan said. Through Gritted Teath, he halted the flow of knowledge but the compulsion tightened its grip harder and harder with each heartbeat. “If we are not filled with blood and adventure, we may go further still seeking gold and glory. Maybe past your old home and the enemy that stole it?”
With a gasp, Califec nearly fell back, and the compulsion released its grasp. Just as Ronan suspected, he had something to do with this. However, now that he knew something the old vampire wanted he could have some leverage.
“Among others on our journey are fledgling beastmasters looking for all manner of beasts to collect for our war efforts. Surly Chaos will have fine specimens of such a nature. You wouldn’t know a good hunting range would you?”
“I am more familiar with Kislev and her surrounding territories. That includes that great mountains that keep the vast amount of Winds of Chaos from spilling into your mortal lives.”
“Hmm.” Was All Ronan could think off. Then a smile spread across his face. “I cannot speak on behalf of the ship, but there are plenty of souls that would want to hire your services. But Amongst the Ark, there are three Dreadlords in the making that have the other nobles and a fair number of sorceresses and beastmasters following their commands. There is Gorindo; a princely lord that is skilled at war, and while easily distracted by a pretty female, learns from his mistakes. He is the most powerful of the three. Then there Lacertus, Heir of a city and the one willing to make concessions and have a roaring rampage as they are needed.
“Then there is me, the weakest off the three. I have but one Sorceress that would be in need of your experience, but the others have dozens that chose to follow them. All will want your time and energy in their training.
“What is it you are thinking Dark Elf?” The vampire asked.
Ronan smiled, Rising with an inviting hand. “Help us fend off the Blood Dragons, and lead us to undeath and monsters to conquer, and we can lead you home. I think we might be able to even retake your home for an additional price. But, on your studies, I have one other favor to ask.
“Name it.”
