Helmold Brecht found he liked Beroh Keep.
The housemaids and the kitchen maids and even the washerwomen were prettier. The kitchen was larger and better stocked. It had a fine library, and there were plenty of normal folk around who were impressed when he revealed his status as an Imbued. He’d even been to Taracon once, he told more than a few of them.
He hadn’t truly been to Taracon, but he knew enough about it to make it seem like he had. And the women here ate it right up.
Unlike that wench Letha back at H?erz Castle.
The best part of all of this was that Aric Morholt’s cousin or brother or whoever he was, Aerin, was out with a Coterie of Imbued this very evening on a quest to retrieve a weapon capable of destroying Redmane for good and all. After they dispatched the beast, they could reclaim their ancestral castle and join its domain with that of the Defenders of Volos Faction, making it by far the largest in the land.
And they would all have Helmold Brecht to thank for providing such useful and timely information. And also for rescuing little Aric from what would surely have been a gruesome fate.
Ah… What a relief it was.
The rewards would undoubtedly be substantial.
Helmold Brecht found it difficult to find humility on this occasion.
At the moment he was down in the kitchen with Aric, who had been following him about like a lost puppy since they arrived here. He seemed relieved by Aerin’s absence but uncomfortable around strangers, and so, since Aerin had gone, he appeared to have latched onto Helmold for lack of anyone else to latch onto.
Just then they sat at an unoccupied table, out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. A pitcher of milk and a tray of steaming cookies sat between them, fresh from the oven, delivered by a lovely kitchen maid named Ana, whose girlish smile and fetching waistline just begged for a man to sire a pile of children on her.
Helmold watched Ana work while he stuffed another hot cookie into his mouth, made a pleasured sound as he chewed, raised his cup to gulp down milk and then wiped the crumbs from his face with a happy sigh. It burned his mouth a little, but he didn’t care.
His gaze fell upon Aric when he set his mug down. The lad sat with bad posture, staring at the floor.
Helmold kicked Aric’s foot under the table. “Have a cookie. Perhaps it’ll warm those cold, dead eyes.”
“No thank you,” said Aric.
The Magister rolled his eyes. “You need to find yourself a lass. That’s your problem. When Ser Aerin comes back, you should have him teach you how to swing a sword. That’ll put some muscles on you, give you some spine.”
Aric made a face like he’d just tasted something sour, but he said nothing.
“No? The sword’s not to your liking? Perhaps you should take Astral Communion then. Become a Magister.”
Aric glanced at him. “And what do Magisters do? All I’ve seen you do is eat and drink and harass women.”
Helmold’s face reddened. He opened his mouth to retort, but the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs to the kitchen interrupted him. And everyone else, it seemed. Most of the cooks and maids down in the kitchen stopped to turn and look at the door at the bottom of the stairwell in anticipation of whoever was barreling down it so fast.
It was a young page. He stopped at the bottom and threw the door open, his face sweaty, eyes alight with excitement.
“Krum’s challenged someone to a fight!” he said.
Everyone’s eyes widened.
Half the kitchen staff abandoned their duties on the spot, setting down their tools, wiping hands on aprons, making for the door in a little crowd.
Helmold stopped a cook on his way by. “Pardon me ser, but who is Krum?”
The cook gave him a funny look. “Leader of the Faction, of course. And a damn good fighter. Best in the land, if you ask me.”
“Is he a knight?”
“Naw he was a hill tribesmen. But when he took Astral Communion, he became a right beast of a warrior, I’ll tell ya that.”
Helmold’s eyebrows rose. Interesting. A commoner outranking knights. Perhaps that’s why the knights hadn’t spoken of him.
He looked over at Aric. “Shall we watch this performance?”
Aric shrugged his shoulders, looking uninterested.
“Well, I’m going,” said the Magister, as he stood and snatched a few cookies off the tray. “You’re welcome to sit and stare at the cookies in my absence.”
Aric clearly did not want to go, but he appeared to weigh his options for a moment and decided he’d rather keep following Helmold around than sit there by himself. So he stood, and the two of them joined the group of people making their way up the stairs to the main yard.
They came out of the stairwell to find a crowd of impressive size. But the action was hard to see at ground level, so Helmold looked around for a higher place. He spotted a stone staircase leading up to a second story terrace, led Aric up there and then the two of them shouldered their way through the crowd as politely as possible until, at last, they had a front row view of the duel below.
Both Helmold’s and Aric’s eyes went wide at the same time.
Not with excitement, but with terror.
Because while they did not recognize the burly pugilist with the mohawk and handlebar moustache, they most certainly recognized Redmane.
Helmold’s face turned ashen white. His heart raced, and for a moment he felt so dizzy he had to put his hands on the parapet in front of him. Suddenly his stomach, which had been happy to take in cookies and milk mere moments ago, became a cold rock.
They had to leave. Now.
He side-eyed Aric, who was looking back at him with the same naked fear in his eyes.
At least they understood each other.
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The two of them turned around at the same time and shoved their way through the crowd much less politely than they had the first time, and took advantage of the distraction to steal out of Beroh Keep as quickly as possible. Aric made for the back gate but Helmold stopped him, rerouted them to the stables so they could steal two mounts and cover more ground.
Helmold didn’t want to leave, damn it all.
But it was fine. All would be well.
Aerin’s return with the storied God Breaker was imminent, and everything would be set right.
Redmane rolled backward and sprang to his feet in time to avoid becoming one with the fresh crater in the ground.
Krum of Asgoph landed, remained in a kneeling pose for a moment as the dust cleared around him, then he stood, threw his head skyward and roared, to the sound of cheering and applause from the whole gathering.
A fine roar. But Redmane could do better.
Roar of the Elder
Gnosis: 1507
This roar made all the torches gutter, not just the ones close to him. And it drowned out the roar of Krum of Asgoph and the counter-roar of the approving crowd as well.
It silenced everyone.
And it also made everyone in the front rows groan and cry out in pain and clutch their ears. His opponent included. Krum of Asgoph spent about one instant awed by the power of Redmane’s roar, before flinching from the force of the sound wave and covering his ears with gritted teeth and crazed eyes.
A perfect time to go on the attack.
Redmane streaked forward, the sharp edges of his claws gleaming in the torchlight. Those claws appeared to cleave through the very air itself, leaving behind ethereal trails, distortions in the atmosphere, a suggestion of the power contained therein. The assault was as ferocious as any Redmane had ever unleashed. But as furiously as he moved, as savagely as he pressed the attack, his eyes remained ice cold. Fixed on their prey, unwavering.
Flicker
Gnosis: 1457
He prepared a contingency, while he had the presence of mind to do so.
Against a man this fast, it wouldn’t protect him from everything. But it would at least spare him one mistake, which alone was worth the expense.
Krum’s body was a fortress. Impervious to fatigue. Seemingly impervious to the ever-growing number of claw marks all over it. His fists whooshed through the air with the force of boulders launched from a catapult, but with the speed of pebbles shot from a sling. The ground beneath his feet shook when he stepped. And it cracked when he stomped.
Redmane was still on offense, but barely. Just as often as he struck, he had to slip and weave his way around an endless barrage of punches. The effort to evade was substantial. Each dodge required split-second timing, precision, awareness of the surrounding space. He noted that Krum of Asgoph was no mindless berserker; he was boxing the way a boxer would fight, with perception, with intelligence, with an awareness of his positioning and with a sense of timing.
Ser Velibor was much easier to manage.
The young knight had much yet to learn from this man, it seemed.
Evidently Redmane did too. He was losing momentum, losing the advantage. Krum of Asgoph cut off his retreats, corralled him back into inferior positions before he could escape. His punches filled the space, denying it, walling Redmane in. Without Bloodlust and Venom to give him a decisive edge in speed, and without a true level advantage to lean on, the Imbued looked to be tightening the noose around his neck with every exchange.
Redmane couldn’t shake the feeling that his style was being rapidly learned.
Very much like a seasoned pugilist was supposed to do when faced with a new opponent.
But Redmane was so much more.
He had many surprises to employ. While he desperately defended himself, slipping and rolling, dodging and leaping around, he spared some brain power to choose one.
He thought of Samo, Keeper of the Well.
And Great Grandmother Gruu.
Bleeding was out. Venom was out. What about fire?
There was only one way to know. But this time he’d do it just a bit differently.
Redmane saw the next punch coming, and instead of trying to slip it, he smiled and stood still.
Even amid their duel’s furious speed, he noticed Krum’s eyebrow rise just before the blow landed.
Flicker
Redmane appeared behind the Imbued at a safe distance. This time, however, he did not charge in. For he already knew Krum of Asgoph would immediately turn around and deliver a punishing counter, his speed and reflexes more than a match for the Skill of the Sicarius.
Instead he threw up his arms, palms presented to Krum as he whipped around.
Carnivorous Metamorph
Gnosis: 1427
Fanged mouths sprouted across the palms of his hands.
And on his stomach, from his navel to the lower arch of his ribcage, the great maw of the Manticore opened, revealing row after row of sharklike teeth.
Redmane’s eyes burned.
He opened his mouth, and all three of his other mouths opened the same instant. All of them glowing orange-white with an upwelling of flame.
Flame Breath
Flame Breath
Flame Breath
Flame Breath
Gnosis: 1327
Four streams of fire combined into an immense gout of glowing death. It engulfed the wide-eyed Krum instantly, and an entire section of the crowd had to flee screaming to avoid being consumed as well, several of those in the front ranks frantically trying to put out the fires on their trousers and cloaks.
Roar of the Elder
Roar of the Elder
Roar of the Elder
Roar of the Elder
Gnosis: 1307
This time the cones of sound were directed squarely at Krum, but even so, the sound forced many of the assembled onlookers to fall to their knees in pain, their eyes tightly shut, hands clutching their ears. The shockwave blew much of the fire off of Krum’s body, revealing that he too was down on his knees with his eyes rolled back in his head, blood streaming from his ears. The fire had badly singed his mohawk and mustache.
Flame Breath
Flame Breath
Flame Breath
Flame Breath
Gnosis: 1207
Redmane let loose another torrent of fire. Four streams merged into a single, overwhelming inferno, blasting towards Krum and enveloping him a second time, the brightness of the fire casting stark shadows against the high walls ringing the courtyard. Heat rippled in visible waves, the ground near Krum scorched, small fires catching on nearby debris.
The crowd recoiled again, the front rows scrambling back from the intense heat, their faces illuminated by the fierce light of the flame. Krum's figure became a silhouette within the blaze, the roar of the fire drowning out the murmurs and gasps of the spectators.
They all saw that silhouette drop to the ground, face first.
Redmane cut the fires off.
His foe lay prone and motionless, his body smoking. He couldn’t immediately tell if Krum of Asgoph was alive or dead.
Shaman’s Heal
Gnosis: 907
Redmane channeled Gnosis into Krum’s body. Just a bit a first, to see what happened. The warrior twitched, coughed. Slowly he moved, placing his palms on the ground and lifting himself upright, looking about as if he had just awoken from an especially deep sleep.
His beady eyes widened when he saw Redmane standing over to him.
Then he grinned that mad grin again.
“Your victory,” he croaked.
There was no cheering.
Everyone stared mutely at Redmane and Krum. It was possible that a goodly number had temporarily lost their powers of hearing.
The warrior got to his feet, wobbled a bit once he was upright, shook off the daze. Then he looked around at the people of Beroh Keep with chagrin.
“You don’t cheer? Why?” he bellowed. “Give us a cheer for Redmane!”
The stunned silence remained.
Krum frowned. He raised his arms out wide, voice blasting across the courtyard.
“Let us not be churlish about a defeat! A great battle was fought before your eyes and a great victor stands before you!”
He turned to face Redmane and clapped his massive hands together wish such force that the sound echoed all over the courtyard.
“For bravery!”
He clapped again.
“For ferocity!”
He clapped again.
“For honor in combat we cheer. A cheer, for Redmane!”
Krum’s voice, though rough from the battle, carried a contagious enthusiasm. Already many of the onlookers were smiling sheepishly. And slowly, a few hesitant claps emerged from the crowd to join his, followed by more and more as Krum’s eyes swept over the onlookers, challenging them with his gaze to recognize the prowess they had just witnessed.
Redmane stood silently, watching all this. The mood of the crowd was indeed changing. Seeing their leader in high spirits, even in defeat, made the clapping grow louder.
“For Redmane!” Krum boomed.
“For Redmane!” repeated a handful of voices in the crowd.
“For Redmane!!” he repeated, louder.
This time the answer was more robust.
“For REDMANE!”
Now they all joined in, shouting his name at the top of their lungs.
Redmane found he liked Beroh Keep.
But he’d have to find his quarry, and quickly. With all these people yelling his name, he had a feeling they were likely to flee.
PATREON
