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Of Valor in Men

Chapter Three: Mark of Valor

Dragonholme was at the top of the world, literally, past it's towering Vasto Mountain range was the infinite frozen wasteland of the arctic tundra. Most of the south of the country was stiff grassy fields and towering basalt cliffs, yet to the east the country was a mess of wetlands, marshes, bogs, bayous. All choked with thick low hanging mangrove trees and tall grass, even in summer the air in the east was freezing as was the murky water. The few roads that snaked this area were wide, made of stone, now moss strewn and slimy, under my boots it made wet squelching sounds that began to really irritate my ears.

Whilst the others all chit chatted away I was out front, eyes keenly peeled for any sign of danger, my left hand on the pommel of my sword. Of all of Dragonhome the east was my least favorite place, I'd been raised down south, near the Shattered Shore. Where Dragonholme's borders met with Mirodel's, or more or less met with the Narrow sea that divided them. No the Marshlands had me uneasy, the murky grey water, the stiff breeze but most of all the lack of natural sound.

My Squire's voice was all I could clearly hear, he was quietly chatting to his new friend about the Dragons pulling the wagons. The other folk accompanying the wagons were all women, young women, some Salt born from Volthume, others looked Ironn born from the highlands. Surely that sick lizard wasn't intending to make them work in a brothel, that was just wrong, though from the looks of things they were sheet workers, laundry maids. Still, the thought kept my vacant fist clenched tightly, quivering with the desire to beat the lizard to death.

I found myself more focused on that then my surroundings, my ears turning in more so to my squires conversation then them urky marsh.

“No I never saw Mayoran, I was born and raised in the Lowlands, very pretty down there, beautiful beaches" the chubbier lizard said, his teeth chattering a bit in the cold air, he quickly slipped a more suitable coat on and bundled up under it.

“Why come here though, it's freezing...and it smells funny…" my Squire asked in response, looking around and scrunching his rounded snout up at some feted smell.

“I'm looking to build and open an Abby, make my own ale! T'is been my dream for years to do so, im thinking something mild, spiced maybe, i'm not sure though" A sigh left my lips, closing my eyes for a moment as my fist relaxed and I shook my head. I had so many voices bubbling away and I was angry at everyone of them, I knew all it would take was a few more and I'd lose it. I brought my right hand up to my chest, clutching at the locket there in the small pouch at my breast plate strap. Ears ringing, voices fading I could hear something else, shouting, hissing, groaning.

“Roderic!" came a voice that of my Squire's, my eyes snapped open just in time to be filled with the view of an attacker. It was horrid, thick chain hauberk plated around the chest with leather, steel helms, muddied Greaves, mercenaries by the looks of things.though the one bearing down on me was clearly not alive. Pale slimy flesh, eyes and jaw forcibly blown out by thick roots, stiff inhuman movement and a coarse screeching voice.

I was caught off guard only for the slightest moment, stepping to the side swiftly, letting the shambling thing stumble past me. Bringing my right hand to my Pommel and drawing my sword, it was nothing special, just a normal bastard sword, dark polished steel, red tanned leather grip, long pommel. A singly flowing motion was all I needed, the weight of my blade arching under arm as I turned on my heel and ran the point up along the things spine.

Blood poured from the wound, the mail having broken apart on the back where more roots threaded through the flesh. Whatever it was it collapsed stiffly without a sound, but it wasn't alone, the caravaners huddled near the wagons, pressed tightly as more of these things slowly clawed up from the mud and water of the marsh.

My Squire most surprisingly had procured a dagger from one of the stiffly shambling things, he now pulled their attention away from the pudgier lizard and the women, cornered by the wagons. A noble act since the Dragons couldn't do much in their current harnessed positions, perhaps I'd finally be ridden of the wretched lizard. There was a groan from behind me, more of the things, more Taken, though as I turned my confidence wavered. I was met with the mauled face of a Vestal, a healer, a sister at arms, her long leather cuirass now coated in mould and moss, the steel gauntlets long rusted, flesh greying. How long had these lain here, what was this, my grip tightened as she stumbled toward me, arms flailing, riddled with sharp root ends almost like claws. She ran herself through on my blade, pushing defiantly to the crossguard, my arms outstretched, head pulled back, those flailing wooden talons just grazing my cheek and pauldron.

Behind me the chubbier lizard was valiantly working to free one of the Dragons, if he was successful this fight would be over rather quickly. But I was too preoccupied to help, two more of the taken wretches slowly bearing down on me as I tried to rid my blade of the defiled Vestal. I resorted to pulling my blade back, dragging her with it, using momentum to send her sliding off it and stumbling to the ground, my backhand took care of the other two, their vine riddled throats spilling out thick clotted blood and sap as they collapsed backward.

I turned to face the Vestal again, this time dispatching her quickly, driving the point of my sword through her as she slowly rose, putting an end to her. My Squire was holding his own somehow, weaving through the taken, crippling them with quick slashes to the legs and knees. I quickly dug a hand into the pouch of supplies William had given me, producing a bound scrap of parchment upon which lay three vertical columns of script and a symbol etched below them.

Turning once more to face the newly risen souls I held the parchment out, I hesitated once more though, it was like we we're on some mass grave, so many just kept dragging themselves from the stinking mud and moss. Though those advancing toward me would quickly burst into flames, as the parchment in my hand slowly burned up, scrap spells, material magic, weak but effective and easy to use. Another three down but more and more seemed to come, what was taking that chubby lizard so long to free the Dragon from the wagon harnesses.

I backed up slowly, looking back, trying to see what was happening, but as my eyes returned forward I found myself staring at something I'd only ever been told tales about. It stood clearly on the road, tall, limbs made of wood and bone, stripped from animal or men, its head was nothing more the then skull of a deer, bleached and clean, antlers and all. The body bore some sort of metal armour, stolen from a corpse, long since rusted and battered and its lower body was coated in heavy mud drenched furs and moss.

“Leshen…" I muttered to myself, a form of golem, so the Necromancer wasn't inept and he did intend to take the Crossroads, no doubt he had some other evil blocking the other roads, preventing help or supplies. I could feel the voices ringing once more, my face twisting into some visure of deep fueled anger as I rose my blade in both hands.

All knights of any worth had a Mark of Valor, a casting seal, devine magic of some sort depending on what they upheld. For knight's like myself it was valor and chivalry that granted strength like no other. I had chosen to bind my seal to my left gauntlet, a circular band within lay interlocking sigils, the center bearing the skull of a Dragon, his Mark, Targon, the God of Valor, deity of Knights.

I took in a deep breath as the defiled corpses shuffled toward me, the Leshen simply watching with its hallow sockets. I could feel power flowing into my limbs, any sense of fatigue was suddenly gone, as was the weight of my armour and sword. Swing after swing the vile husks toppled till I stood before the tall beast of wood bone and clay, its long limbs striking out at me, claws of ivory and hardwood seeking to rend me. The first few swings only grazed me, scoring thing lines in the leatherwork and chain of my armour. Even with surging anger and divine magic coursing through me I could only move so fast, I wasn't particularly young anymore. The next wing I managed to intercept with my blade, cleaving through the twisted roots and wood easily. The Leshen felt nothing though it was a golem, a mindless being of accused teachings,it simply kept attacking with its other limb, silent save the groaning of its body and the surrounding minions.

My next opening would surely bring the beast down though, I ducked down, under a swing before raising, following through with my blade, leaving its head to roll back and slap wetly into the mud. Though to my dismay even this did little to slow the Leshen, it's last remaining limb still lashing out at me as its chest heaved and pulsed till I saw a more human skull rising to take the former heads place.

With one final stroke I pulled my blad back, tucked it down and drove it point first into the chest, right in the center and at once the Leshen recoiled. Its minions all howling as they collapsed like fetal old men whose bones could no longer hold their weight. The Leshen itself simply falling apart till all that remained was a tainted blooming black bulb, oozing a tar like sap that hissed and sizzled on my blade.

The fight was over, victory yet bitter knowing the crossroads and my friends were in danger, but I couldn't afford to let this lead slip away either. If the church had have just let me lead the investigation I wouldn't be in this situation, who were they to deny a father his revenge. My fist clenched tight around the locket again as I cleaned my blade of the bulb and its vile sap, turning to check on the others. My Squire was still alive, painting with a few scrapes, his friend had a nasty gash up his thigh and the women were all untouched if shaken.

“We need to move quickly, to BerryBuckle, we need to warn the garrison there at once." I called out, signaling the Dragons to double their march as I sheathed my blade. Turning back to the road and staring down at the dead Vestal who had came at me before, I stood there, thinking.