The Last Red Shoulder

Chapter 9: Jutes

Khyron was struck by two things as he passed through the gates of the city of Jutes.

First, he noticed how run-down everything seemed to be. He and the rest of his army had debarked at the port town closest to Jutes, a poor little place called Asfer located a few miles to the northeast. It was dingy and smelled of fish, like most port towns, but it was good enough for Levin and Serapino, who parted ways with Khyron there once they'd landed. It also didn't seem to be much worse off than the Etrurian colonial capital of the Western Isles. The city's main road was dirty and under maintained, the homes, though built in a style attempting to be reminiscent of Etruria (clean, rectangular white-finished buildings with large windows and cheery rend-shingled roofs) were in a state of disrepair, and the people themselves seemed to be in desperate poverty. The soldiers were all tired, rings under their eyes and skin seeming to hang from their bones, and the civilians were almost invariably clad in rags and looked to be half-starving. By the side of the road were many shopkeeps and vendors, but long lines were in front of almost all of them, and it seemed few customers would be receiving all they wanted, even as they made way for Khyron's forces.

That was understandable. After all, Jutes had been cut off from Etrurian resupply for quite a long time, and it was only expected the people would suffer under a Rebel blockade. What was much stranger was how the citizens did not seem at all happy to be receiving reinforcements from the mainland. As they watched his troops head towards the castle in which they'd be quartered, the commoners of Jutes stared at them with apprehension, fear, and in some cases loathing, but very little joy. Khyron was startled to see windows slam shut as he passed, and shocked to hear the occasional shout and jeer hurled at his men.

"By the Saint," muttered Khyron to the men walking next to him at the front of the army—Barim and Wayland. "We've come to defend this city and save its people! Why are they treating us like this?!"

"Because we're Etrurian," replied Wayland, quietly and calmly. "The people of the Western Isles have never liked foreigners, and…well, permission to speak freely, Khyron?"

"Don't ask stupid questions. Of course I grant it. Failing in my duty is a dishonor I'll not permit. I don't care what you have to say if it brings victory for the Crown!"

"Thank you, sir. To be frank, from what I've heard our rule over these islands has not been just. The native islanders are overworked and have little personal freedom. Conditions in the mines are truly hellish. The pirate and bandit clans, thuggish as they are, have legitimate reasons to hate us. More importantly, as I've told you before, there are many rumors floating around about Lord Icarus…"

"Just?" Khyron sneered. "What would these islanders know of justice?" He then paused, considering what he'd just said. "Then again, an Ostian and some Ilians knew more of justice than cowards and traitors of my own rank. If Icarus—or anyone else among the Etrurian forces here—has sullied the name of my king or violated their oaths as his knights and servants, I shall treat them as I treated Paptimus!"

Wayland smiled, and it was quite genuine. "Glad to hear that, Mage General. Still, as I said, we've had rumors about Icarus, but not concrete proof. I would keep this conversation between us if I were you."

"Obviously. However, for as much as you've talked about these 'rumors,' you haven't said much about what they actually entail. I expect you to correct that now!"

A hint of what was said about Icarus came from an angry citizen. "Vampires," one old man screamed from the windows, "More vampires from Etruria mean more disappearances among us! Beware!" He promptly shut the window of his house and retreated to its safety.

"'Vampires' refers to the disappearances of young boys and girls which have plagued the Western Isles and Jutes in particular ever since Icarus took power," Barim sighed. "Every few days, with increasing frequency, children disappear from the streets or are taken away in the night. No-one knows who's kidnapping them or what's become of them, but it only started when Icarus became lord here. The islanders think he's in league with demonic beasts from the legends of the Western Isles: Vampires, creatures which swoop in during the night to suck the blood of the unwary. I wouldn't put much stock in superstitions like that, and it's likely Icarus has nothing to do with these disappearances at all. Still, his failure to improve the lives of the commoners does not make it easier for them to believe his innocence."

"I see," said Khyron. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Additionally, m'lord, there's a great deal of sympathy for the rebels among the people, even in areas Etruria still holds. The native warrior clans have allied with them for a reason. The rebels promise the islanders freedom and independence, which they prize over all else. I certainly don't believe they'll keep that promise, but they've convinced the chieftains of the clans and the captains of the pirate fleets. They've also convinced many of the smallfolk, including many in Jutes.

"If we ever hope to secure victory here," continued Barim contemplatively, "We'll have to show the people that we're a better choice than the Rebels. The men we've brought may be able to keep Jutes from falling, but we will not be able to maintain control of the rest of the islands by ourselves. We must either wait for further support from the mainland—which will take a great deal of time, considering the trouble reconstruction is giving us—or win the natives over to our side. This will be doubly important if we are to oppose Bern's encroachment on the Isles."

Wayland gave Barim an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "Great minds think alike, indeed!" He turned to Khyron. "Sir, our supplies are far from empty. We might earn some goodwill among the populace by distributing some of our excess food among the people. Also, we can see how much Icarus has been storing away—I get the feeling he's been living well above his people's means. He may not like it, but since you are the Mage General, his reserves are yours to dispense. Alleviating the crippling misery we see around us may keep the people from joining the Rebels when they arrive."

"Good suggestions, Sacaen," said Khyron absent-mindedly but happily. "I'll leave you in charge of the matter. First, though, we'll have to deal with Icarus himself…"

He said this as he and his army reached the front gate of Castle Jutes. It was a large and imposing structure, and one could tell from its design that it was built to withstand the rigors of the Western Isles. It was extremely utilitarian, its yellowish stone matching the color of the Isle's dirt, no spires rising out of its unadorned cube-shaped body. It lay behind an extremely thick wall of the same yellowish color—nowhere near as beautiful as the alabaster walls of Etruria, but likely every bit as strong.

The massive front gate of that wall—a huge iron portcullis large enough to admit a Dragon—creaked open as the men sent to reinforce its castle approached.

"That's odd," murmured Wayland as the army passed through. "I'd have expected Icarus himself to come out to greet us…"

Someone did indeed come out to greet them, but as it turned out, it was not the lord of Jutes.

"Ah, Lord Khyron!" laughed a blond-haired young man who rushed out into the castle courtyard to greet them. "I'm so glad that you've arrived safely! Believe me, we desperately needed these reinforcements. There's no way we'd be able to stop the coming siege without your help! Quarters have been made ready for your men in the castle and all over the city. Please, allow me to organize them. In the meantime, I'll send a servant to bring you to your quarters!"

"Hm?" Khyron was quite confused by this outburst, especially since he had been told Icarus had white hair. "You'll be organizing my men? I thought you'd be meeting with me, Icarus! Or, as I suspect, are you not him?"

"Er…no, milord." The blond-haired man looked extremely nervous. "I-I assure you, I'm a very capable steward! All your needs will be taken care of, just leave them to me!"

"My needs?!" Khyron seemed as if he was about to explode. "What I need is to see Icarus, now! Where the devil is he?!"

"I-I'm sorry, Mage General! I don't know!"

Khyron stared at him in abject shock. Then, calmly, but with such venom in his voice the steward nearly wet himself, he said, "You. Don't. Know?"

"I don't! I'm telling the truth, Lord! No-one does!" The poor servant seemed to be on the verge of tears. "L-Lord Icarus said he had to complete a secret mission before you arrived. He said absolutely no-one was to follow him. Then he just up and disappeared! He said it was vital to the defense of Jutes, and that he'd return by the time you made landfall."

"How long ago was this?!"

"About two weeks, milord."

"He's been gone for two weeks and you haven't sent a search party for him yet? When the Rebels are at our very doorstep?!"

"His orders were clear, Lord Khyron! Any attempt to track him down would be punished with death. And it's not the first time he's done this, too. He often disappears for weeks or even months before returning, and tells us nothing about where he goes or what he's doing. Yet, inevitably he returns. We have simply learned to trust him."

"Disappearances," murmured Barim. "I wonder if they have something to do with the disappearances of those youths…"

"In any case, if he really isn't here, getting angry won't do us much good," said Wayland. "I recommend we get ourselves set up and then decide on what our next course of action should be. Maybe Icarus really is doing something important."

"Or maybe he's just a deserter. But, as you said, we'll find out later. Steward, get my men quartered and lead my fellows to their chambers. And get a meeting room ready for us. We'll have to modify our plans now to account for Icarus' absence. Let's—"

He was interrupted quite unexpectedly by a surge of magical energy emanating from his personal traveling pack, of all places. Knowing who it was but not expecting contact at this time, Khyron hastily retrieved the scrying crystal from his backpack as his companions looked on in surprise.

"Khyron," came Gosterro's distant voice from within its depths, "Khyron! Are you there? Have you reached Jutes?"

The befuddled Sage held the orb up to his face. "Y-your Holiness! What is it? Why do you call on me now?"

"I've come into possession of some important information, Khyron. First, you've reached Jutes safely?"

"Yes, Reverence."

"Have you met with Icarus?"

"No. He's been gone for a week, from what the steward as told me. I think he's deserted!"

"Maybe…maybe not. In any case, I've received intelligence that the Rebels are plotting something. They've dispatched a small team to this location." The image in the crystal shifted to a map of the Western Isles, with a small X marked on a mountain range near Jutes. "I advise taking a force of your own to surprise them. They're slated to arrive within one week. Set up an ambush there and foil their plans."

Khyron paused for a moment, digesting this information, and then assented. "Nothing's ever easy and simple, is it? Well, by the Saint, I've long gotten used to that! Thank you for the intelligence, Your Excellency. However, do you know what, exactly, they're planning?"

"My apologies, but no. My sources weren't able to acquire that information. They just said it was important."

"And the main rebel force will be arriving soon," said Khyron unhappily. "How large is this team, then?"

"About seven elite Red Shoulders accompanied by twenty regular men."

"Mages wouldn't be a good idea, then. Hmm…" He turned to Wayland. "Knight General! Barim and I will lead the Mage Corps and the soldiers of Jutes in the defense of this city. I want you to lead a team of our best archers and infantry to deal with whatever the rebels may be plotting. I've heard stories about your skill in battle. Time to live up to your reputation!"

"More than happy to, sir."

"Good, very good," Gosterro's voice echoed from the crystal. "I'm sure you'll meet with success…but I will be praying for yours anyway."

The image there faded away, leaving Khyron, Barim, and Wayland to stare at each other in uncertainty, with their unhappy steward not knowing what in the world was going on.

Then, with a shake of their heads, the men went their separate ways: Khyron and Barim to help quarter their forces and set up the city's defenses, and Wayland to gather a small team for this new quest.

-X-

10th Sword, 703 A.S

Entry #34

I have no idea what Oldnar is thinking. I ought to have fai—trust in our leader's judgment, but none of this makes any sense! I feel ashamed to write this, as he's been kinder to me and my team than we likely deserve. Not a single word of recrimination when we told him of the failure of our ambush; according to him they might have caught us with some strange new Lycian invention called a 'scope.' He said our victory at Jutes was assured anyways, even the reinforcements couldn't hold out against both the Red Shoulders and the Natives…

But if that's the case, why has he separated us? Our native soldiers are heading straight for Jutes, but the Red Shoulders are being held back, "in reserve." Why are we not striking together? And I don't even know what my squad is doing here, anyways. We were separated from the main Red Shoulder force and told to await an important rendezvous of some sort here in these mountains near Jutes. He gave us a big bag of money that he said was "payment." Maybe we're to be protecting an important defector? Perhaps someone's agreed to sell us a powerful artifact? That would make sense, actually. Still, I can't be sure. No choice but to wait here, I suppose.

Kain quietly put away his journal and the pen with which he'd been writing. He looked around himself, and sighed again at what he saw. It was another miserable day on the Western Isles: Fog covered nearly everything, and he could only see clearly the other members of Squad Seven standing close by. Beyond them he could see the shapes of about the dozen other Red Shoulders assigned to accompany them. They had arrived in this area a few hours ago, having been told the mysterious defectors with whom they'd be meeting would be here by now. A few hours wasn't an entirely unexpected delay, given the hostility of the terrain, but still, given the strange circumstances, he couldn't help being more than a little anxious. It didn't help that it was so foggy and difficult to see anything. He and his men weren't familiar with this area, but they'd arrived after the mist had fallen, making an advance scouting of the area difficult, inefficient, and time consuming. Kain could only hope there wasn't anything waiting for him.

At last, he saw something approaching in the mist. He squinted and saw the light of a lamp shining dimly in the distance. He, the rest of Squad Seven, and their Red Shoulder allies readied their weapons, but as the target approached, it seemed it was no enemy.

"Ah! There you are," a male voice called. As it neared, Kain could tell its owner was sitting in a posh, expensive-looking carriage pulled by a pair of fine horses, accompanied by a considerably dingier wagon pulled by another quartet of strong horses. There was no telling what was inside, but Kain figured he'd be finding out soon enough. "Hold," he called. "Are you a friend of the Red Shoulders?"

"Yes, I am!" The man got out of the carriage and strode up to Kain, and he could tell that this fellow was a noble. He had smartly combed white hair and popping out of his brown robes was a gilt-silver purple collar. "Oldnar sent you, I presume?"

"Yes." Kain relaxed slightly in relief—this probably wasn't an enemy, then.

"Excellent! I'm sure the lord of the Red Shoulders will be pleased by these goods. Some of them have shown an aptitude for Dark magic, and those who haven't should still fetch an excellent price—particularly the young girls, heh heh. Now, I believe everything in that bag of gold should cover what he owes me…"

"Oi, wait a minute," said Leitner, somewhat suspicious. "What kinda 'goods' are y' talkin' about?"

Before the man could answer, he was cut off by the distinctive twang of a loosed bowstring…followed by a scream of pain from one of the Red Shoulder magicians.

"What the hell?!" Kain heard more shots fired, followed by more screams, followed by a loud clamor above him. He could see shapes descending from the mist—there had been enemy soldiers hiding in the alcoves above, which they hadn't seen due to the fog! They seemed to be led by one man wielding a sword and shield, wearing a Paladin's plate armor. He and his troops fell upon the hapless Red Shoulders, felling half a dozen of them within moments thanks to the advantage of absolute surprise.

"W-wait, this can't be right!" cried the strange noble. "Are you the King's men? Stop, stop! You're not supposed to be here!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" growled Kain as he brandished his spellbook. "You betrayed us, didn't you?"

"No, I swear! I told no-one we were meeting here! This should have been a perfect transfer! Please, you've got to believe me!"

Kain was about to blast him with a Fenrir spell before he cried out in pain, an arrow sinking into his shoulder. His dear Kassa immediately ran over to tend to him, but she carried not a Heal staff but her Warp staff.

"We've got to get out of here," Kassa shouted. "They've completely surrounded us and they outnumber us two to one!"

Kain was about to argue, but the sight before him quickly changed his mind. The other Red Shoulders dispatched with him were getting slaughtered. The leader of the Royalist ambush dove into a quartet of Druids, his blade flashing as he cut through each of them in a blink of an eye—his Paladin's armor was the only proof he wasn't a Swordmaster. From the alcoves above, a hail of arrows rained down on both the Rebels and the strange caravan they'd been sent to intercept. None of them hit the noble, who was cowering on the ground holding his hands over his head, but they did destroy his guard. Only the members of Squad Seven were uninjured, but that looked like it would be changing soon. Even Jann seemed distraught and demoralized, and Kessler was already chanting to activation for his own Warp staff.

"Alright," Kain growled, "Alright! Everyone, retreat! Kassa, Kessler, get us out of here!"

His friends wasted no time following that order. He saw Jann, Zalf, Deckham, and Leitner disappear into balls of white light, followed by Kessler. And, just as another arrow slammed into the ground just in front of him, and that deadly Paladin turned his way, the last thing Kain remembered was holding on to Kassa tightly as his entire world turned white.

::Linear Notes::

A lot of stuff in this chapter, but as you can probably tell, I'm really blazing through this fic XD