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The Misfits of Dametreos IIChapter 5: Judas Nightblacke
The tavern was dimly lit, a large fireplace at one wall, Forestmen gathered around it. Two small candelabras hung from the ceiling. A bartender watched the surroundings vigilantly from the bar. Some grizzled old rangers drank from mugs of ale, and one eyed the silvery Black Falcon Shield and sword that were placed on the wall. The door creaked open, and a man clad in an exquisite blue Falcon coat strode in from the night, cocking his plumed hat to the tender. He sat in a small corner booth, and when the brewer walked over to ask what he wanted, he replied with simply brandy, and then slunk back into his seat. Minutes passed. The door slammed open again, this time a wiry Wolfpack soldier in a Wolf raider's tunic, a large sword hanging in the sheath on his side. He sat with the Falcon man.
“So you are Judas Nightblacke?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You are much more masculine than I believed you to be.”
“A man does not need brawn or bulk to kill or kill well, as in your case also.”
The wiry man looked at himself, as if the Falcon didn't know what he was talking about.
“Well, let’s get to business shall we,” the Falcon interrupted.
“Yes, that is a capital idea.”
“Whom do you want me to kill again?”
“He is the king of the Dark Forest. He has already driven us from his lands and defeated us in war. It will not be long before he decides to invade us.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“You have your syndicate, your men, take them and track him down. Do not stop until he is dead.”
“What if other hunters get in the way?”
“Get rid of them.”
“And if I fail?”
“Then we will kill you.”
“Is this authorized by the King of Three Daggers?”
“No, it is not. He has no idea of this entire thing. In his absence, General Grimtongue has decided to take the burden of leadership himself.”
“What if he returns?”
“Our men will be waiting for him.”
“Sounds good to me,” replied Judas Nightblacke, and he slipped out the door and into the night.
Judas Nightblacke boarded his ship, the Heron, early the next morning, eager to get on track with the assassination. His crew of mercenaries pulled out the sails, and they unfurled into a fabulous blue-striped display, complete with an emblazoned hawk.
Yes, if this were to continue, he thought, with that madman Silandro in South Ninjara or "Silandra" as it was called, and this new ruler in the Dark Forest determined to break the mold of his predecessors, the Black Falcons would have to react sometime or another.
The wind blew out from the West, and the ship crept off to destiny.
With Radjar's coronation nearing, emissaries from all of the allies of the Dark Forest: Ninja, Black Knight, and Dragon Master- were gathered near the ships at the bustling Port Hemlock, which had been under construction during Fallmir's reign. Now it was completed, and a new ship was to be christened in honor of the fallen heroes. The mood of the day was happy and cheerful, and a golden sun rose, peeking out from behind wispy white clouds. Radjar sat in a carved oak throne, drinking from a silver goblet alongside Firar, Valus and Vos. The emissaries presented their gifts.
“A fine war steed, armored in the best chiffon and clothed in the most ornate barding,” presented the Black Knight ambassador, “And for each of his trusted advisors, a traditional Slayer blade, the kahli." he ended, handing a wavy, golden sword to each.
The Dragon Master, a great, armored fellow, in billowing red pantaloons and a dragon tunic, bellowed, "The Master of Dragonar, Lord Void the III, presents you with his finest obsidian, forged into a runic shield, and a fiery Dragon Blood pendant to bring you luck and power."
He handed Radjar the shield, and he exaggeratingly fell sideways because of the weight. The men laughed. Next, the Ninja, clad in white silk robes and a deep blue sash, came followed by four men bearing an ornate chest.
“For your honor, Great Shogun Kath, the Black Dragon Clan grants to you the Legendary Matsushima Armor. This armor channels the rage of the wearer, and is a light piece of equipment used by the great demon Shogun Matsushima in battle.”
Radjar remembered the incident with the Vampires. His scar must’ve been a shadow wound. He’d had no magical experience before...
Time passed. Peasants bustled through the port. Finally, a great cargo ship pulled into port. Gereld looked inquisitively.
“What’s going on?” he said to one of his lieutenants. “The port was supposed to be closed today!”
The ship stopped near the busiest area, close to Gereld.
“Oh, Chodan, no…” he drew his sword.
The ship exploded, flames bursting from its barrel hull, debris was flung into the crowd. The explosion wiped out the wooden supports of the stone dock. It began to sink. Gereld rose coughing out of the smoke.
“Megabloks! All troops, get everyone out of here! We are under attack!”
The Slayers warriors in gilded black chain mail rushed to save the civilians from the ruined dock.
“Get them out! Move!” demanded a sergeant.
An arrow whizzed by, and he fell dead.
“Buildit!” Gereld cursed. “Falcons!”
Sure enough, emerging from the mess were a band of Falcon soldiers, led by a flamboyant swordsman. He unsheathed his silver saber and pointed it at Gereld.
“You and me! Now!”
Gereld took out his wavy-long sword and his golden kahli.
“It’s about time you arrogant best-locks came and faced a real Black Knight!” he cried as they clashed swords.
“Best-locks? You’re the megabloks who said you could handle things without us!” shouted the swordsman. The two clashed again.
“Well, we probably could, with your corrupt King causing bloody rebels to spread across the megabloks building world!”
The two clashed, this time louder, sparks flying around them. Gereld’s cape billowed in the wind, the swordsman’s hat plume almost flew out of its socket.
“I’ll kill you and your fatherless prince, and then I’ll get my pay and your head!”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, best-lock!”
Gereld lunged at him, his long sword piercing through the man’s shoulder brooch and through his arm. Blood spilled out, and the dock grew lower and lower each minute.
“Sir! We've done our job!”
“Good! Part two later! Let's go!” yelled back the swordsman.
Gereld was about to pursue, but he decided to flee the crashing dock first. He’d meet that best-lock another day, he thought to himself.
Judas Nightblacke surveyed the remnants of his force. Only five out of thirty men dead. It was good, good for an attack on a busy capital port. He was proud of his job, even though he’d failed to kill the king. Now they had to meet up with a Forestman contact downriver, and find out the next chain of events. Rumor had it that Willem Blackcloak, the Wolfpack king, and some of his friends were headed to Hemlock to settle their own vendetta. Well, if they laid hands on Radjar first, he’d head after them, if Defoe didn't get them first.
The tents of the mercenary army lay scattered around the banks of the wide Hemlock River, the men of Baron DeCanis' on one side, Judas’ men on the other. Small fires glowed orange in the twilight, and Forestmen carts rattled on the gravelly forest road to the outpost of Caernbridge. The campaign had begun, and now the Wolfpack vassal Baron DeCanis and his troops were supporting Judas. The goal was to take the river as a choke point; if they could achieve that; despite a resurgence in Dark Forest patrols, they could sack Hemlock with relative ease. They'd destroyed the docks, so the fleet was stuck were it was, and soon Grimtongue’s men would surround the city. The rumors that Willem Blackcloak and two of his companions were dismissed by Judas as lies designed to frighten the renegade Wolfpack away, and even if they did come back, Defoe would show no mercy. Judas knew what he had to do, and he planned to execute it.
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