Chapter 12: Bad Omens

The Bernese were supposed to be his allies. Kain should have felt no apprehension at all when he first arrived at their headquarters. But when he saw the spires of Castle Idina, on the 24th Sword of the year 703 A.S, he got the impression it marked the beginning of a journey towards death rather than glory.

Granted, at this point Kain would have been more than a bit justified in harboring more than a few misgivings. While he still trusted Oldnar, his leader's recent decisions, most notably his failure to offer support at Jutes, had planted a distinct seed of doubt in Kain's mind. And even though the Bernmen were supposed to be his allies (a contingent of them had greeted the Red Shoulders when they'd laid anchor on the beaches a short distance away from the castle town), they hadn't been particularly friendly or even happy to see them either. They seemed to accept the Dark mages as allies, but that was it. Not exactly a warm welcome, and certainly not much to lift his spirits.

As usual, he didn't let it interfere with his duties. He led the members of his squad through the main castle gates (flanked by a group of stone-faced Bern soldiers) and through its winding halls, to the chamber of its lord. There was little to say about this castle—it had been built two hundred years ago by an ambitious, upstart Etrurian mercenary who had been cast out of the mainland and wished to make a kingdom for himself on the Isles. The natives waited for him to complete it and then promptly invaded, killed him and his men, took the castle for themselves. They then proceeded to fight each other over it for the next two hundred years before the Bernese invasion force has taken it over just recently. As a result, aside from being very battle-weary, the castle was similar in size, shape, layout, and architectural style to most of the older buildings of Etruria, such as Castle Thagaste. The Bernites hadn't changed anything about it and they did not appear inclined to waste time doing so.

In the time it took Kain to ponder this history, he and his squad had arrived at the lord's chamber in the second floor, and were promptly ushered in to meet with Wyvern General Zedal Gustav. He certainly looked the part—six feet tall, sturdily built, and with shoulder-length purple hair framing an unremarkable face. His armor was almost entirely functional; only gilding around its pauldrons gave away his rank.

"You're Squad Seven, are you? I've heard much about you." The thin note of disdain in his voice was enough to tell Kain that he hadn't heard much good. "Let's not waste time. I'll make one thing clear to you, rebels: I don't trust you. My countrymen never did—we see you only as a means to the end of defeating Etruria. We've certainly no love for your disgusting magic, and the Eliminean faith is strong with many of my conscripts; they certainly don't trust those who oppose the Church. And, honestly, your inability to win makes me trust you even less. Your forces were crushed and your leader killed on the mainland, and I've received word of your failure to capture Jutes. Not at all impressive for the supposedly-terrifying Red Shoulders."

Behind him, Kain could hear his friends begin to grow angry (particularly Kassa) but he held up an arm to silence him. "You don't trust us? The feeling is mutual. But you must have some use for us, otherwise you wouldn't have let us in here. Out with it."

Gustav nodded, and this time there was a small smile on his face. "Good. I like that attitude. The truth is, Red Shoulders, we need all the help we can get to pacify this island. My men are well-trained—the best Bern has to offer, in fact. However, there aren't many of us, and the sailing here was not smooth. We lost a ship and many supplies to a storm, and I've had to quarantine some of my men to stop the spread of disease. Additionally, the natives here are strong fighters on familiar terrain who outnumber my forces—pacifying these groups is easier said than done. I need some support to ensure Caledonia does not fall into Etrurian hands, and your Oldnar has graciously agreed to give it."

"If it's his orders, we'll follow them. How can we help?"

"In short—terror."

Zedal reached for two pieces of parchment on his table and handed them to Kain. Upon examining them, Kain saw saw that one was a map of Caledonia, covered in markings which corresponded to the apparently exhaustive notes written in small but legible print on the other document.

"These are complete notes on the various tribes of Caledonia, their leaders, characteristics, and locations," stated Zedal. "I want you to examine these carefully, and learn them by heart. Take particular heed of which tribes seem friendly to us and which have most obstinately opposed Bern. Your mission is to scare the anti-Bern clans into submission—they are a superstitious lot, and your dark magic will likely be awe-inspiring to them. Failing that, you are to exterminate them. At the same time, you are not to touch even a hair of a man belonging to one of the clans I have marked as allied or possibly allied to us. You are also ordered to leave any Elimineans you find alone. I know how much you Rebels hate them, but they have a degree of respect among the natives and many of my enlisted men, and harming any Church missionaries or envoys will make my job here much more difficult."

He raised his gaze to Kain's, his eyes cold and calm. "Do you understand your mission?"

"We do."

"Then get to it. Prepare your men. Squad Seven will be given its first assignment tomorrow."

-x-

Blood and corpses all around him. He saw Zalf, Deckham, Kessler, and Jann, all rent into so many pieces that he could only make out their decapitated heads atop the pile of charnel. He heard Leitner screaming, torn apart by hideous black beasts which seemed to warp in and out of the shadows cast by the burning red sun above him. And then he saw her…

He saw his dear Kassa, her neck lolling at a horribly unnatural angle, yet, somehow, still alive and mouthing his name. She was naked and covered in blood, floating in the air, and as he watched helplessly, something appeared behind her. Shrouded in darkness, he could still tell it was gigantic, larger than anything he thought he could conceive—and somehow, he knew that its true form was simply too horrible for his mind to conceive. It drew closer and closer to Kassa, extending two clawed appendages Kain knew were hands, and when it reached her vulnerable body-

"AAAAAHHHHH!"

Kain shot up in his bed, completely drenched in sweat. He was breathing heavily and his heart was going so fast he could hear it slamming into his chest. He looked around frantically, still thinking he was in that horrible nightmare world, and only when he noticed he was gripping nothing but his warm bedfurs in his white-knuckled hands did he realize it had all been nothing but a dream.

"A nightmare…What a hellish nightmare…" Feeling his breathing steady and his heart return to normal, Kain shook his head and got up from the bed, wrapping his thick blankets around him as he was assaulted by the freezing chill of a winter night on the Western Isles. He walked up to the window of his personal quarters in Castle Idina to look at the stars in the clear night sky. He hoped it would calm his nerves and clear his minds…though after a nightmare like that, he wasn't certain it would help. He couldn't even figure out why he'd had that nightmare in the first place.

Things were going well, after all. Gustav was playing a classic game of divide-and-conquer. While virtually all the warrior clans of Caledonia hated each other, some hated Etruria above all. Zedal was able to recruit those to his cause, promising them that Bern would respect their independence and that only under Bernese protection could they defend themselves against the hated Etrurians. On the other hand, most of the other clans simply hated foreigners in general, even forming alliances to drive out the upstart, newly-arrived Bernites. It was against these stubborn natives that Squad Seven fought. For the past couple of months, Kain and his men had cut a bloody swath through the ranks of the anti-Bern Caledonians, while hewing absolutely to Gustav's orders not to harm either the Eliminean missionaries or the friendly clans. It had worked very well; several of the smaller clans had been terrified into submission to Bern after witnessing the might of Squad Seven. Despite his initial misgivings about them, Zedal was beginning to respect the Red Shoulders, at least to an extent. They had managed to subdue almost all the natives south of Idina, and now they would move on to the north. Squad Seven and many of the Red Shoulders were resting here in Idina for a while before moving forwards.

Yes indeed, it seemed like he and his friends had nothing to worry about. So why did he have that strange premonition of their deaths?

Kain did not think he'd ever have an answer, and a gust of chill wind blowing through the window encouraged him to just forget about it and head back to bed.

Before he did, however, he saw something very strange.

"Hm?" Kain blinked, still staring up at the sky, not sure if his eyes were deceiving him.

The stars seemed to be disappearing.

No, that wasn't correct…they were being covered by something. It was too dark to make it out, but it seemed like it was some huge black cloud. That didn't make sense, though. It had been entirely cloudless just a few moments ago. And that black mass was moving far too fast to be just a cloud.

It seemed even darker than the surrounding sky, somehow. And Kain's blood ran cold when he thought he could see it writhing, twisting and turning in ways no cloud could.

Twisting and turning just like the shadows in his horrible nightmare.

He knew they were related. There could be no other explanation. And yet, Kain still couldn't tell what that cloud was, or what it meant for him.

He could only watch it stream across the night, farther and farther away, towards an unknown destination to the East…

And he thought—he wasn't sure, but he thought—he saw it descend upon the island of Fibernia.

-X-

"Oldnar…Oldnar…"

Gosterro's face twitched impatiently as he sat in front of the crystal ball, Rhia waiting anxiously at his side. Assuaging their fears, the face of a man appeared within its murky depths.

Rhia stared at him for a moment, then smiled in relief. "Yes, that's Oldnar."

The man smiled back. "It's been a long time, Rhia. I'm glad to see you're well." He shifted the crystal he was holding himself to get a better view of her patron. "And you are…Gosterro, I presume?"

"I'm glad to see you've not kept your head in the sand," said Gosterro dryly.

"Don't underestimate me, Your Excellency. I was Trunicht's co-conspirator, not his pawn. Both of us knew the difference."

"I am glad to hear that, too. From what I've heard, you've been doing his bidding quite well, which means you've been doing mine. But, unfortunately…you've heard the news, haven't you?"

Oldnar nodded at Rhia. "Yes, her bond gives me as much information as it does you. I've heard of what happened to Trunicht. I couldn't imagine he could ever die like that…" The smile disappeared from his face. "You should be worried, Gosterro. Who's to say you won't be next?"

"I've taken precautions. But from what my reports have mentioned, the problem should have solved itself. The culprits in Trunicht's murder were a pair of Royalist mercenaries. Famous ones, but one of them died during the battle and the other wandered off into the mountains with his corpse. He's surely dead by now, and all indications point to them acting alone. However, it does raise an issue we must solve as soon as possible."

Gosterro gave Oldnar a very stern look. "I need to know one thing, Red Shoulder. Are you willing to assist me as Trunicht did? Now that he's gone, I need your help more than ever…and rest assured, you will be very well rewarded when all this is over. You might become one of the wealthiest men in all of Elibe…that is, if you lend me your aid. Are you willing?"

Oldnar considered the offer for a moment, and then nodded.

"Trunicht was my co-conspirator, but not my friend. I feel no sorrow at his death, so why not use it as an opportunity? I knew he was simply using you and your Church for his own material gain. Why should I not do the same? Yes, Gosterro, I'll take his place in your plans, as long as I also take his place in your largesse."

"Excellent! In that case, I'll inform you about our real situation." Even the disciplined Archbishop could not keep a slight tremor of fear from entering his voice.

"Oldnar, do you know of the Armor of the Berserk?"

"Yes, I've heard of it. One of Trunicht's toys, and a rather dangerous one, to boot."

"'Rather dangerous' is an understatement. Have you any idea of what it can do?"

"I've heard stories about it. It's from the Scouring, and supposedly has the power to devastate the entire continent. But Trunicht deployed it twice and it succeeded only in killing its wearer. I suspect its reputation has been overstated."

"I only wish your suspicions were correct," said Gosterro urgently. "The important thing is, the Armor is now out of my hands!"

"What? But Trunicht told me he locked it underneath his monastery!"

"It escaped when he died. How, I don't know. The important thing is, we need to find it!"

"I take it you want my help? Well, I'll be gla—"

"I need more than that, Oldnar. I need the Isles in my hands, and I need them there now." Gosterro raised his voice, causing Rhia to flinch. "You have no idea what a dangerous artifact the Armor of the Berserk is. Trunicht played a dangerous game, handing it to as many people as he did, but at least he knew how to keep it contained. Now that it's on the loose, even the Saint herself might have trouble locking it down were it to fall into the wrong hands.

"If the war on the Isles continues, the chances of that happening will greatly increase. The Armor feeds off war. The more blood that's shed, the more power it absorbs, and the sooner the day of its true awakening comes. We need peace as soon as possible. And the best way to do that would be to unite Bern, Etruria, and the natives themselves against a common enemy."

"You mean the Red Shoulders. My Red Shoulders."

"Yes," said Gosterro. "Sacrifice the Red Shoulders, Oldnar. You and Trunicht were already planning on doing so, weren't you? I ask only that you speed things up a little. In return, after the peace negotiations with Bern, Etruria, and the natives, when the Church takes control of the mining operations on Fibernia, as we're poised to do, I'll make you my head there. Do you have any idea how much wealth the Isles contain, in both mineral and metals? You'll easily be the richest man on Elibe. If you can help me contain the Armor, you'll be its savior as well. Doesn't that sound like a wonderful deal?"

Oldnar paused again, considering this latest request from the Archbishop. And, relieving Gosterro yet again, he accepted it as well.

"It will take some time, but the war will end within two months, your grace. Khyron has already set up a nonaggression treaty with the pirates, and soon enough he'll have reason to make an actual alliance with them, the natives, and the Bernites. Those combined forces will turn against the Red Shoulders, who'll fortify Castle Ebrakhm under my orders.

"There, of course, they will be slaughtered."

"Allowing my Church to come in and broker a peace treaty to keep the wartime allies from killing each other," Gosterro concluded. "Yes, that arrangement will work perfectly, Oldnar. I've only one caveat: If any of your forces encounter the Armor of the Berserk, do not interfere with it."

"You really want it quite badly, don't you? Well—"

"I speak from more than mere avarice, Oldnar. I know my talk of it is interesting you, and I suspect you may try to take it for yourself. Let me ask you this, though. Have you any of the spells of control I have or Trunicht did? Do you even know how the Armor works?"

"…No," he admitted, before throwing up his hands in frustration. "You've made your point. The first lesson a novice mage learns, be he of the Dark or the Anima, is to never tamper with magic he doesn't understand. I learned that a long time ago, and I haven't lived this long because I forgot it. If any of my men catch sight of this artifact, whatever it is, they will know better than to investigate. Your priests will have to deal with it."

"Very good." Gosterro grinned. "I think I'll like working with you, Oldnar. With that out of the way, can you tell me how you plan to bring the war on the Isles to a satisfactory conclusion?"

Oldnar smiled deviously. "It's quite ruthless, but I'm sure you'll have no problems with it…"

At the time, Gosterro did not. But he would have more than a few problems with it eventually.

::Linear Notes::

Nothin much to say here either, except, as always, check out mah blug at gunlord500 dot word press dot com :D