Chapter X: Inner Circle [1]

THE GLOWING EMBERS in the near fire pit filled the air among the circled cluster of men. They sat silently in the logs girding around the fire pit, yet there minds were screaming in fury at the notion mouthed by their interim leader, Zallack the he-bear warrior, merely moments ago. None dared to speak, not when soldiers of enemy kingdom were in close proximity, weary of their every move.

"Zallack, are you out of your mind?" said a lanky warrior who found his courage to voice out the mutual sentiment he and his companions shared, yet he spoke in hushed voice, careful not to be overheard by the sentries overlooking their camp. "You… of all people, you. You are mad."

"I am quite sane, Gideon," Zallack replied calmly in an indifferent tone. "You know our situation. We are captives of the Ironfolks; completely powerless in our current state. We should take what I said earlier into consideration and decide our fate. Either we die as disgraced warriors or return as heroes to our people."

"Stop your delusions! We are disgraced either way," retorted Gideon.

"I would rather die than lick the feet of those Ironfolk scums," added another man.

"We only follow the rules of the tribe and the orders of the chief-thane. Yet, you wanted us to demean ourselves by serving as that brat's minions. Cease this absurdity at once, Zallack!"

"Shameless, where is your pride, warrior-thane!"

"Stop this foolish act now, or else…"

"Am I really the fool here?!" Zallack asked in a sharp tone, raising his voice without a care in a world for eavesdroppers. He then gave a momentary pause as he stared at the five pairs of eyes before him. His outburst had gathered the attention of half-asleep warriors and weary sentries, too. "If we do not commit ourselves to that young noble's proposition, what do we do, then? Remain idle as we rot in their prisons? Or foolishly court death at a futile attempt to escape capture? Either way, our fates are sealed if we make such choice. So what say you, proud warriors of Norsmund?"

His questions were met with silence. Some of the men gritted their teeth, some had merely bowed their heads in resignation whilst silently cursing their fates. At the back of their minds, however, they knew how true Zallack's words were.

"Can we truly afford to keep our pride knowing that we are endangering the lives of our fellow tribesmen as a result?" Zallack continued to ask, which was met yet again with silence. "The cycle of hatred, it has led us astray from the things we value the most. Our kinsmen, friends, and family. A true warrior is not someone who decimate his enemies, he is someone who protects whom he cherishes. Your petty pride, such a shame you call yourselves warriors. You all cling to the idea of pride and honor, babble about despising the Ironfolks, but look at your shameless actions! Barbarians… mindless brutes, they call us! How fitting!"

* * *

Sweat had trickled from her temples, the dampness also permeating her back as she stood erect in the corner. The tips of her fingers were twitching as she held the flagon of wine, yet she still tried to hold onto it firmly, lest she suffered flogging from her irascible master. Despite knowing the dread of offending her lord as she had known from experience, what the female serf felt at this moment were incomparable to the pain of a dozen whip lashes. She closed her eyes, fighting her impulse to dash out of the room. At first when she received her orders from Lord Damsworth, she was relieved by the simplicity of the task. She had but one order: to listen. And that she did for the past three minutes. However, as she stood in the corner of this room for what seemed like an eternity, she found herself on the verge of soiling her dress out of fear. No sound can be heard from the room, save for her audible gasps as if she was suffocating. From the time of her entry, she had yet to hear anything, yet she was screaming inside her head for what she felt on those grueling minutes she spent in the room. Of curses, pleas for mercy, but above all else, of repentance for whatever sin she had unknowingly committed.

Suddenly, a sudden memory came bursting to her mind. She had heard from her deceased brother once who was a former soldier that certain warriors can project an intangible force; an aura of some sort that can intimidate their opponent without even lifting a hand, or worse paralyze a person with it. Veterans had the term for it: bloodlust. Some say bloodlust was an uncontrollable desire to kill somebody, and the more experienced a warrior or the more hatred they feel, the more corporeal bloodlust can be to the point that some say you can even smell or see it oozing from someone. However, for a person to sense bloodlust, he or she must be a certain caliber of a warrior first, according to her brother. When she heard it from her brother, she thought his stories to be stupid. Yet here she was, too stunned to even move a muscle because of something intangible. She may not see or smell it, but she can sense it nonetheless. The six people gathered on the intricately decorated table several paces away from her may not look directly to her, but she can perceive their undivided attention, as if predators ready to pounce unto their prey.

May Lamellia grant my fragile soul salvation for I have entered the den of beasts, she prayed silently. The serf had no idea of her sin, but she repented nonetheless.

And then the door creaked open, gathering the attention of the female serf and the six knights sat around the wooden table. It revealed a young man and a woman, the former garbed in dark tunic underneath an azure waistcoat with trousers, while the latter was clad in gilded plate armor that fit her curvature and the entirety of her figure. The female knight's armor also resembled the plates that encased the other knights' bodies, all of them were dark and daunting. Almost at the same instant of the arrival of the young lord and his female companion, the knights all stood up in unison, fists balled in their armored chests. The female serf's body jerked instinctively, her bladder bursting as a result. Piss wetted her dress as she trembled at their sudden gesture. She wanted to shriek and burst away from the room.

The young lord slowly approached her, noticing her pitiful state as she made an awkward bow, much to her humiliation. She was too frightened, however, to mind her soiled dress and the impression she gave to the young noble.

"Careful with the flagon, young lady," the noble warned serenely, calming her nerves momentarily. She knew that she was a couple summers older than the youth, yet she felt no insult as to the way he had addressed her. Quite the opposite, even, as she managed to recover her wits and snapped out of her agitated condition.

The noble then turned towards the still saluting knights. "You may lower your heads and please be seated." The knights halted their salutes and reoccupied their seats. The young noble then sat at the head of the table, and his female companion sat beside him. "Pardon me for my tardiness."

"Nonsense, my lord!" a knight exclaimed, raising from his seat with vigor. "Reona and William have told us what happened, and you must have been busy gathering information from the messenger."

"Barone is right, my lord," another man nodded. "You showing up after us is anything but tardiness. We just arrived early."

"Nevertheless, I apologize for making you all wait," the young noble said, which the female serf overheard to be named Lord Velmund, third son of the Regalian Duke. "But alas, we have more important matters to address, thus why have I summoned you all here." He then surveyed the table momentarily, switching his gaze from one corner to another. "Before we begin, may I inquire about the whereabouts of fifth, ninth, and tenth seats?"

"I have entrusted them the task of procuring our supplies at three separate villages, m'lord," the female knight beside him said, bowing. "Would their absence be of concern to you?"

The young noble diverted his gaze towards the center of the table, raising his hand up to his chin, as if pondering. "No, let us proceed, then."

The noble then turned his gaze once more upon the young woman beside him, nodding. She stood up and uttered the words, "In light of the recent events concerning the rebellion of Marquis Quillton, lord of Ruggleford, against the authority vested upon by the monarch to the Duke of Regalia, a war council is requested to be convened to plan the future actions of the chivalrous Order of the Raven Knights. As First Knight Commandress of the Order, I, Frenda Ferndale of House Walruse, hereby commence the second war council of the Raven Knights. May our oath endow us with wisdom and our hearts be steeled with resolve."

"And may we serve with purpose true to our loyalty!" the knights said in a chorus. Silence permeated the room for a several moments afterwards.