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The BloodVaine EpicChapter 99: Taking A Breath
Green Fox did not know how many hours he staggered around the hell-on-earth where the Wolfpack lived. Everything was reduced to piles so charred timber and smoking ash. But yet, he was familiar, he always had been, with this place. He picked through the ruins of a charred rum-store and could distinctly make out the smell of a rum fire long passed. Then, he found it, his old haunt: The Wolf’s Head.
He touched the door and it collapsed under him. Inside, was devastation. Everything burnt to a crisp, skeletons littering the floor or slumped on the remains of tables. Behind what was the bar itself, the corpse of the innkeeper lay. Green Fox rolled him over with his boot. The body lay over a small trap door. Green Fox opened it, thinking, It had better be alright...it has to be...
He extracted a long silver key with the Wolfpack symbol at the end. The eyes were set with rubies. He left the inn. Looking up, he say his target, the Wolfpack Tower. Set on a high pillar of rock, it had survived the fires. He ran towards it, as quickly as he could. Outside, a signpost read:
WOLFPACK TOWER: PRISON
This was it. He unlocked the door and slipped inside. It was dark, dank, and smelt vile. There was a corridor leading down, with doors on both sides. At the end was a staircase, leading to another corridor. He assumed this went on and on ad infinitum. Every door had a name-plate beside it. Most of the cells contained skeletons, or were empty. He ran down the corridors and charged up the staircases, pausing only to check the names written on the doors, finally, he passed one that aroused his interest. The door read:
CELL 12472: J’anrya
This was it. He pushed open the door. It happened to be locked. He shouted, “J’anrya!? You there!?”
A faint voice sounded back, “Is that you, Marcus?”
He cringed at the mention of his real name.
“Yeah, it’s Green Fox here. How do I open this door?”
“How the megablocks should I know?”
“I assumed you would, bearing in mind you live here!”
“I don’t know...a key?”
“A key. How inventive of you.”
“Well, do you have any better ideas?”
“Ah....no. I’ll be right back!”
He ran up the remaining 18 flights of stairs to the very top floor. T here was a door at the very end of the very last corridor reading: COMMISIONER’S OFFICE.
The door was strangely unlocked. Green Fox opened the door and drew his sword. The room was empty save for a table laden with gold and silver. He could hear a voice coming from behind a large pile of money.
“So...two ruby goblets plus that silver chalice is worth…”
Green Fox scattered the pile of money from the table.
“Hey! I was counting that…”
He looked up at Green Fox.
“Oh...Ah! You! I thought I told you to…”
He drew a sword and knocked the sword from Green Fox’s unready hand. Green Fox picked up a large, heavy ruby from the table.
“Ah! The Wolf’s Eye...thought I would never see you again...caused me enough trouble…”
Green Fox battered the commissioner’s head in with it. On the desk was a pile of keys. He ran back to J’anrya’s cell and, after trying most of them, found the right one. J’anrya looked rather bedraggled and was wearing dirty prison clothes, but she seemed unharmed.
“Well...Fox...you look different…”
“J’anrya...we have to go...it’s Bjarn…”
The soldiers, healers, and everyone in the Allied camp did not know of BloodVaine’s end, and many were far too preoccupied to even observe it if they did. Radjar had gotten up and was watching warily as Jack Craft, jacket thrown on the ground, sleeves rolled up, shirt spattered with blood, operated on Bjarn, and Searil and the Lone Ranger barked incessantly between themselves a few feet down the hillside. Night fall was casting evening rays upon the camp, and the sounds of fighting could still be heard coming from within the walls of what was known as the Golden City.
“I was sent here my his almighty-ness, to stop you and your evil trinkets from entering this camp!” Searil snapped at the Lone Ranger.
“Well then tell your almighty to protect you from this!”
The Lone Ranger’s arm snapped forward, his sword narrowly missing Searil’s chest. Searil drew his sais with a flick of a wrist, deflecting the other blows the Lone Ranger sent his way. Some of the soldiers gathered around to watch the fight, laying their petty money down on either candidate.
Fraun, leaning against a tent-pole, couldn’t but help a chuckle at seeing his men scramble over the two arguing men. It had been a grim and dark day, but it would not end any time soon. It was a bloody beginning for a gore-spattered chronicle.
Gladwheel was reviewing the day’s results with Gonderin and the generals from the other armies, including Gereld. Barbod was at Bjarn’s side, along with Willem, Rosa, and Jack, while Shainya and Reno were attempting to comfort each other amidst the dead and dying.
Without warning, Aethelred Dractor limped over to Radjar, leaning on a broken pike shaft. His clothes were considerably faded and tattered, and Radjar had rarely seen the knight out of his armor. He looked just as strong without it, though his current condition and hobbling walk betrayed that feeling.
“Radjar, I-” Dractor paused as he carefully eased himself down next to him, “I heard you and Graygon bested a legion of Cross Knights today,” he continued, a friendly smile sweeping across his face.
“Ah, ‘twas more like five or so each,” Radjar replied modestly, “The Dragon Masters and Slayers took the rest. But I heard you took on thirty-five...single-handed!”
Dractor laughed.
“Ah...but if I’d have killed the thirty-sixth...I wouldn’t be in my current disposition,” he said jokingly.
The two patted each other on the back, and Dractor went to see what he could find out of the armory. Radjar, meanwhile, went out to find Fraun, and a keg of ale to boot.
With BloodVaine dead, the main allied king, Bjarn, wounded far past the point of being able to take command, and with the two armies exhausted beyond the ability to fight further, the battle had temporarily drawn to close.
It was not, however, anywhere near the point where it could be considered over. Although the Allies held Orion’s Gate, and although they had as yet been victorious, a large contingent of Cross Knights and Dragon Masters continued to hold the western side of Orion. It was rumored that they were being led by Lucius van de Morte, or one of his lieutenants, was their leader. And unknown to the Allies, they were holding out in the hope, false though it might soon be proven, that the Black Falcons were coming to their aid.
As much as possible was being done in both camps to recuperate as quickly as possible. Those soldiers able to fight were being regrouped and sent to sleep, in preparation for an attack the following morning. The wounded soldiers were being carried off the battlefield, and were being tended. It was hoped that many would be saved, if not to fight, at least to go home and live their lives in well-earned peace.
And both armies had new leaders. With the loss of BloodVaine, Aezazel, and Del Grakken in the course of one battle, the command of the defending army was a lot shakier, but there was undoubtedly a new commander, one who would accede overall control to Falconis.
In the Allied camp, there were three kings who could take command: Barbod, Radjar, and Willem. Although the Wolfpack-Dark Forest feud was weakening as the result of their alliance in the war, it was thought prudent nonetheless, to allow Barbod, an experienced warrior in any event, to take command of the Allied armies.
In addition, the allies were gathering into their camp many of local people. Most, it was true, were not soldiers, but with all the wounded, healers and cooks and general handymen were more useful than soldiers. But there were, here and there among the people trickling in, an occasionally city guard, imperial infantryman, Tridentine Knight, or retired soldier, all will to bear arms for the recovery of their city.
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