Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

Side Story – Blackwater Crisis X

The King stared at the wall of Iyrmen ahead of him. 

His scouts had not seen signs of the Iyrmen, and yet they had suddenly appeared along the hills, with East Wing behind them, yet they seemed unbothered by such a fact. 

“They’ve sent a bunch of old men to fight us?” King’s Sword said, in utter disbelief. Each man was at least ten years his senior, and some were as old as his father, who could barely walk.

“An old Iyrman is a deadly Iyrman,” King Solomon said. He noted the Iyrmen’s equipment, for each of them wore cloaks of varying colours, though they were grouped by such. Those with yellow cloaks stood to one side, those with black cloaks beside them, and so on. Their weapons varied wildly, on the other hand, from spears, to staffs, to blades, made of a myriad of materials. ‘Just how many dragons have you slain, Iyrmen?’

He continued to gaze all along the Iyrmen, noting two cloaked figures who were casually sitting and drinking tea with a pair of Iyrmen, who finished their cups and began to make their way down.

Elder Wrath and Elder Peace walked side by side, without any other Iyrman to follow them, going down towards the King and his army. 

“King’s Sword, Commander, come with me,” the King called, riding forward to meet with the pair of Great Elders. He was keenly aware of the blade at his side, the very same blade which he had been gifted by King’s Sword. It filled him with great power and confidence.

The Royal Guards glanced between one another, wondering if it was fine to allow their King to leave with so few men. “It should be fine,” one said. “King’s Sword and Commander Roger are two of the most powerful warriors here.”

The King looked down at the Iyrmen, who stepped about twenty paces in front of the bottom of the hill, staring down at them from atop his horse. “I’ve heard great tales about the Iyrmen,” the King said, bowing his head to the Great Elders. He should have expected to meet them, but had thought that he would meet with the Chief, who he had met before. “You can only imagine my disappointment to hear that you would so suddenly slaughter my people.”

“Save your propaganda for your own people, whoever remains once we are done,” Elder Wrath grunted. “You can only imagine my excitement to hear that you would break the treaty.”

King Solomon just bowed his head slowly. “Your man commit treason by marching into the capital armed without my permission. It is forbidden. He took command of my Royal Guard, with their bloods on his hand, and brought back the last living Royal Guard, pregnant with his child, another act of treason, with him to blame.”

Elder Wrath almost snapped in a rage at the King, but Elder Peace stepped forward, placing a hand on Elder Wrath’s shoulder. He understood what Elder Wrath wanted to say, but it would have only escalated the issue. He was aware of all the Iyrmen ready to burst given the chance. Oh how badly they wanted to make these golden fields red with blood.

“That was not in the treaty,” Elder Peace said, his voice calm and low. “The treaty was clear. I am certain you’ve read of it, as have I, dozens of times in the past few days. Iyrmen were to be tried within the Iyr, by our own, for any crime they committed.”

“The law is very clear on the matter,” Solomon replied. “Treason is to be judged by the King and the royal family, alone.”

“We followed your rules and laws, and had they been broken, the treaty made it very clear how the such a crime would be punished.” Elder Peace shook his head, understanding that the King couldn’t give in order to save face.

“He marched and fought for a hundred days for you,” Elder Wrath said, being careful not to allow his tone to falter. “He pushed back Antalia the Silver. He forced Rogryaen of the Lightning Sun back. He slew Daegyar the Dark Wing, whereas your King’s Sword only managed to slay the dragon’s Commander.”

Elder Peace allowed Elder Wrath his simmering rage. He hadn’t been able to fight this entire way, and he was so hungry for blood. The Great Elder needed time to cool off, to get his thoughts out, finally. “He fought for the Kingdom, as expected of an Iyrman,” Elder Peace said.

“He returned your Royal Guard to you only when his body was battered and bruised, and yet you killed him.” Elder Wrath narrowed his eyes.

King Solomon understood that he was only angering them further with his words. He didn’t wish to fight the Iyrmen, even if they had slain so many of his people. “I am certain we outnumber you,” the King said, trying to appeal to their intelligence.

“At least three to one,” Elder Wrath replied.

“It is closer to four to one,” Elder Peace acknowledged. 

The King stared up at all the Iyrmen once more, each of whom were ready to fight to the death. He certainly did outnumber them, four to one as the Iyrmen had said, but most of his soldiers were naive children. In front of him were hardened veterans, each worth at least two or three of his own men, and willing to fight until the bitter end.

"His name was Akrat," the King said, bowing his head. "I met him once before, five years ago. It was at the Battle of Westhall, though it appears that the results of that battle are now irrelevant. I saw him there, a young man no older than twenty. He fought like one of yours, like an Iyrman.” The King recalled the battle from long ago and sighed. “When he came to the inner city, armed, with a pregnant Royal Guard, by whatever means that occurred, he spat on my authority. He commit treason by taking command of my swords without permission, killing them to pursue his own means. It was not just he who I killed that day, but another, one of my own. It was a hard choice to make, but it was a choice that had to be made. Do you truly wish to war over one Iyrman?”

The figure from above, who was sitting and playing dragonchess with the other hooded figure, sighed, shaking his head. ‘Really, did I raise such a fool?’

“One Iyrman?” Elder Wrath growled, with Elder Peace bowing his head slowly. “We will go to war over a single Iyrman, for any fool of a King who-“

“Stay your tongue!” Commander Roger exclaimed.

“You!” Elder Wrath snarled, glaring at Commander Roger. “What else would I call him but a fool of a King? A King who dared to earn the ire of the Iyrmen and then try to spin a tale! He should be so lucky we have allowed him to live for so long! If it were not for-“

Elder Peace placed a hand on Elder Wrath’s shoulder, watching as he shook violently. 

“It was not a single Iyrman, oh King of Blackwater. You slew a brother of the Iyr, yes, but you also slew a sister of the Iyr.” Elder Wrath inhaled deeply. “And the soul of our unborn child cries! This unjustice shall be paid by blood!”

The roaring of a thousand Iyrmen echoed along the hills, the howls of their rage filling the plains. 

The King’s horse pulled aside, and the King slipped off as the beast fled away, running through the plains. King’s Sword and Commander Roger managed to leap off their own beasts to stand beside their King, not thirty paces from the other Iyrmen.

“You’re right,” the King said, managing to stand. “I broke the treaty that my grandfather, Garld Blackvatr the Wise, signed, and now our armies meet.” He stared at the pair of them, seeing the staff and the greatsword upon the Great Elders’ backs. “I heard tales of the Iyrmen when I was but a boy. You were all savages, beasts, and that you could fight in a war until you were passed dying. Iyrmen were both vilified and deified. When I was born, I heard that there was a war which had started the same day. The War of Third Ice."

Elder Wrath nodded. "I know of it,” he said.

The King stared into the Iyrman's eyes for a long moment. "I heard the only reason my grandfather had managed to survive the war because of an Iyrman. Within our Kingdom he goes by many names, but the most popular is White Wolf of Northblood."

"Razfan," Elder Wrath replied. 

"He fought with two axes, each beautiful as they were deadly, seemingly made of ice.”

"Frostaxe, Icemaiden," Elder Wrath said, nodding his head slowly.

"They say he slew King Votr, the one known as the Mighty Giant King."

"That is not the entire tale,” Elder Wrath said.

"Is it not true?"

“The Iyrman you executed, Akrat son of Ikrat, his grandfather died to Gantalia during the bout. It allowed Razfan to slay the King, and forever earned the service of the great silver wyrm.”

The King swallowed. He had heard that an orcish Iyrman kept the dragon at bay, but hadn’t realised the connection would be so relevant this day. He looked all along the Iyrmen once more. Those of the white cloaks all bundled together, but there were three who stood side by side, near the hooded figures playing chess. He noted the weapons on the three, the late afternoon sun barely revealing them. “They say Razfan was only thirty years old." 

"He was twenty five," Elder Peace corrected, understanding why the Kingdom would try to minimise the accomplishment.

"That would put him in his mid seventies this day, if he were alive."

"Yes."

The King glanced all around once more, not just to those he feared the most, but every other Iyrman around. ‘War with the Iyr? What a fool I was.’

Elder Peace almost smiled, seeing the look of eternal regret. “We come, not for the blood of all your people, but for justice. You have already lost thousands of your people, and the Iyr has expanded, both in land and population.”

“Population?” the King asked.

“The culling does not extend to the children, who have been adopted into the Iyr. They will be raised accordingly to our traditions, as Iyrmen.”

King Solomon bowed his head, though noted the word he had used, which caused him to shudder. “I see. It is good to hear that the youth of my Kingdom are safe.”

“They are no longer a part of your Kingdom,” Elder Peace said sternly.

The King bowed his head, understanding that the only way he’d be able to retrieve them was to take them back during the Iyr’s surrender. He blinked at the thought of the Iyr surrendering. “What justice is it that you seek?”

“Your unconditional surrender.”

The King swallowed carefully, staring at the older Iyrman with the staff upon his back. He wore thick clothing, and held within his hand beads, rubbing his finger and thumb along a red bead.

“You should be careful with your words, Iyrman,” Commander Roger growled. “We outnumber you four to one, and your army is but a bunch of decrepit old men! I could cut the pair of you where you stand!”

“You’d be hard pressed to stop us from killing your King before he managed to scurry back to your front line,” Elder Wrath replied, simply. 

“Peace is preferred,” Elder Peace stated, raising his voice the slightest amount. “You would not believe our words, not unless you saw it.” Elder Peace placed a hand on Elder Wrath’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Since peace is what we wish for, then perhaps we should speak to that regard.”

“I can’t accept your terms,” the King replied. How could he? What would happen to his people? If it was a conditional surrender, perhaps they’d be able to negotiate something reasonable, but an unconditional surrender. “I am open to discussing your surrender.”

“You believe you can defeat us,” Elder Peace said, cracking the smallest of smiles. “Do not take it wrongly, oh son of Blackwater. Though we wish for peace, many of ours hunger for blood, and even if we talk of peace, it will only be proceeding a slaughter of thousands more. You should first be informed of our strength, as taking Westhall, which you had defended all those years with ease, had fallen so quickly. Perhaps you do not believe it, for you haven’t seen it, so we shall show you. What say you, King of Blackwater, to watch a series of duels?”

“Duels?” The King asked. “This is a war, Iyrman. We are not here for sport.”

“Perhaps for you it isn’t,” Elder Wrath replied, throwing a quick glance to Elder Peace. He certainly hadn’t expected Elder Peace to offer something so fun. 

“We will have a series of duels, at least ten, but we will stop once you wish to surrender. If you win the majority of them, we will surrender, unconditionally. If we win the majority of them, we will continue this war, and we will march our way to your capital, and slay half the population, leaving them to the whims of the various Lords.”

“You sound confident in your victory,” the King said, wondering what the Iyrman was planning. “I’d be a fool to decline a chance of peace through the lives of a handful of Iyrmen.” His voice was full of bravado, but his heart was unnerved. The knot which had unfurled had returned, tight within his gut.

“We will allow you to seek counsel, and we shall remain for a short while before we begin the slaughter of your soldiers,” Elder Peace said.

The King bowed his head, returning to speak with his General and Majors, the soldiers formed a protective wall around them.

“If we are able to defeat the Iyrmen through these duels, we can cause their unconditional surrender,” King Solomon said, eager for the duel. This way, they would only lose a handful of Knights at worst, rather than hundreds of their own.

“Do you believe they would surrender so easily?” King’s Sword said. “What if it is a ploy?”

“Iyrmen have held true to their word thus far,” Solomon said. “Call forth the greatest Knights we have, at least ten, but we may need more.”

“Allow me to fight for you, your Grace,” called a voice from one of the Majors who had arrived from Eagle Wing. He was a handsome man in his forties, adorned in breast plate armour with the sigil of his town, his ancestral blade at his side. 

“Sir Harvey the Eagle,” King Solomon said. “I should have expected you would step up. Your family has always been full of great Knights, and in the last wars, has always been a bastion of hope for the Kingdom.”

“Your words honour me, your Grace.” Sir Harvey bowed his head. 

“I will fight too, your Grace,” called another warrior, not a Knight, but a man with chain and a blade made of shimmering silver. 

“I do not recognise you, great warrior,” the King said.

“This is not the place for vagabonds,” Commander Roger said.

“I am Marten Silver Sword,” the man said, dropping to a knee. 

“Silver Sword?” King Solomon said, throwing a look to King’s Sword. “I recall of your aid at Westhall, but I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting you.”

“I am but a simple mercenary, your Grace.”

“Your blade is as good as any Knight,” King Solomon said, nodding his head. He was uncertain whether he could defeat the mercenary himself. “Should you fight in my name, I will reward you greatly.”

“It is my honour, your Grace,” Marten said, bowing his head. 

Several more Knights appeared, as well as various soldiers and mercenaries, each of whom had several feats. 

The King stared at them, filling with confidence as he stared at them. These were some of the best warriors in the land, and though he would have liked Knight of Death at his side, he would have to make do with these great warriors.

The King returned, with well over a dozen great warriors at his side, including King’s Sword and Commander Roger.

The soldiers behind began to blow their trumpets, to call the Iyrmen’s attention, though they were already noting the approaching lambs.

Elder Peace and Elder Wrath stepped down, followed by a group of Iyrmen, each who had been picked by the pair of Great Elders. There were at least twenty of them, but the next thirty had been chosen as well.

“Sir Harvey the Eagle!” declared a soldier from nearby, with the Knight stepping forward.

Tova stepped forward, but she looked back to the Great Elders and growled something in their tongue.

“Are you surrendering already?” Harvey asked, smirking. “A good choice.”

“No,” Elder Peave said. “She is annoyed that it would bring her family great dishonour to face against someone so weak. She requests a pair of warriors to face her at once, or she will forever be shamed.”

Harvey narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "You should be careful, Iyrman, for you may trip upon your ego and skewer yourself on my blade.”

Candal yawned loudly, bringing his one hand to his mouth. "Then let's have it as a two against two." He winked at Tova, grinning wide as he stepped forward. 

"What say you, King of Blackwater?” Elder Peace asked.

“It will quicken the surrender,” King Solomon said, before nodding his head. “Let us not waste our time.”

“This duel is to the death, so do not shame your family,” Elder Peace said, placing his hands on her shoulders. 

She took off her necklace, which was made of chain, a dark gem a the bottom of it, before stepping forward. 

Candal stepped forward, still wearing his necklace, standing a few steps behind Tova. He placed down his greataxe and leaned against it.

Opposite them were the pair of warriors, The Eagle and Silver Sword, their blades drawn as they readied for the duel of their lives. 

Tova shouted, roaring as she allowed the anger to fill her, before she charged forward. She slammed her warhammers against the warriors, who barely managed to contain her with her rage.

“Go for the other,” Harvey said.

Tova swung wildly at Marten, who coughed up as his chest was struck, and he stumbled back. 

“Perhaps we should deal with the one ahead of us together,” Silver Sword said.

Harvey flushed, in anger and embarrassment, as they battled the short woman. Even this singular Iyrman was too much for them, as Tova beat the pair down. She focused her attention on the Eagle first, as his dueling ability, though great against civilised fighters, was nothing before the might of a vicious Iyrman. 

Candal watched, yawning once again as he stared at the fight. He shouted a few words at Tova, who crushed the knee of the Eagle, crippling him as he fell to the side.

She then turned to Silver Sword, who managed to deflect two of her blows, before she slammed her warhammer down against the man’s chest, breaking his ribs and puncturing his lungs. She gave him no time for pain as she struck him through the skull with the point of her warhammers. 

“You fight well,” the Eagle said, only to watch her approach, dragging her warhammers behind her. “What are yo-“

She crushed his skull in with her warhammer, bludgeoning his helmet into his skull. Her bestial roar filled the air. 

"The first two points to the Iyr,” Elder Peace said, simply.

The others stared as she picked up their weapons and then dragged the bodies away from the field, towards the Iyr.

"How savage!" shouted a Knight, stepping forward. 

"Savage?" Elder Wrath asked. "Did she execute a defenceless pregnant woman? This was a duel to the death."

"Allow me to fight next, your Grace!" Commander Roger shouted. “I will deal with these savages myself!” He was full of hot blood, ready to fight. 

The King sighed, nodding his head. “Go with my blessing, Commander.”

Candal grinned wide, lifting up his axe before pointing it at the Commander. “You shoul-“

"No!" a voice cut through the air. "I will do it!" Appearing from the crowd of Iyrmen was an orcish Iyrman, his blade already drawn. He was near foaming at the mouth as he glared at the Royal Guard.

“Calm yourself,” Elder Peace said. “The duties have been assigned.”

“This coward cut my brother down from behind!” Shakrat stepped forward, his entire face contorted in rage, his face red.

“The duties have been assigned.”

“You would deny me this?” Shakrat roared, his muscles twitching, ready to plunge forward, even against the order of his Great Elder.

“Come, Shakrat,” Candal said, resting his greataxe against his shoulder as he walked away from the battle. “I would dare not take this honour from you.” Though he had been eager for a fight, he could not bear the sight of the pained boy. 

Elder Peace placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Do not let it consume you, Shakrat. Return back to us with your brother’s honour.” He lifted the necklace off of the young Iyrman.

Shakrat’s eyes were wet, but he snarled out in affirmation. “I will feast upon his blood!” he declared, raising his blade into the air. He stepped forward with strained steps, trying to stop himself from immediately darting forward.

“A boy still wet behind his ears comes to face me?” Commander Roger growled.

“It was not I who ran from the silver wyrm,” Shakrat said, twisting his head about. “It was not I who needed to approach an exhausted Iyrman from behind.”

Commander Roger leapt forward into action, stepping into the jaws of an enraged Iyrman. No, he was no enraged Iyrman, he was a beast. 

The pair fought brutally, with Shakrat’s rage consuming him. He swung wildly, allowing the Commander of the Royal Guard to cut into his body with ease. However, the wild swings also tore into the Commander, cutting across his armour. 

The Iyrman’s blood covered the field, only able to stand on his feet due to his mindless rage. Yet, as his legs quivered, they did not beg for him to retreat. His mind and body had been overcome by utter rage. 

As the Commander cut into the Iyrman’s gut, he snarled. “You savage! I’ll put you down like the dog you are!”

A chill spread through him.

The Commander stared down to see the hilt of the black blade had been stopped by his armour, the black as death blade had pierced through to the other side. 

The Iyrmen violently coughed up blood, expending his life through the black sword, channeling the blood magic of the sword. 

The magic tore through the Commander, who howled in pain as the deadly chill filled him. “What are you…” The Commander’s voice became raspy, before he dropped to one knee, his strength fading from his body. ‘What is that? What is happening to me?’ His sword slipped out of his grasp, dropping to the floor without his permission. He tried to reach down for it, but he dropped to his knees.

The Iyrman gasped, feeling his life drain from him at such a rapid pace. He coughed up again, this time spitting up blood. More blood poured from his eyes and ears. He pushed the Commander down, finding the straps of his armour with his fingers, before tearing them off using his blade. 

The Commander couldn’t even struggle, his strength having left him long ago. His breath came to him raspy, and the King watched as the Commander of his Royal Guard was being dismantled by a half dying Iyrman.

“Isn’t that enough?” King’s Sword asked. “You’ve won the bout.”

Shakrat couldn’t hear anything, for he had no use to expend any strength on hearing. He had the Commander right where he wanted him, seeing the terror in his eyes. Shakrat could have slit the Commander’s throat, but that would have been easy. 

With the Commander’s breastplate off, the Iyrman now had free rein to do as he pleased. He thrust his blade into the Commander’s chest, dragging his blade down as he dissected the Commander.

“You’ve won, Iyrman!” King Solomon exclaimed, unable to bear the sight of watching his loyal Commander being butchered no better than a pig. “Enough!”

King’s Sword stepped forward, only to find the Iyrmen stand a little straighter, and Elder Wrath reaching for his greatsword. 

“Isn’t this a little barbaric?” King’s Sword asked.

“Barbaric?” Elder Wrath asked, hearing the squelching sounds of Shakrat tearing apart the dying Commander. “Had he not been beaten unconscious by his closest friend, he would have stormed in to try and stop his brother’s execution. To think he would be unable to hear the tale of his brother from his own lips. To think you would try to silence the truth.” 

Elder Peace placed a hand on Elder Wrath’s shoulder, but even so, the Great Elder continued to shake. Though his voice had been calm, his eyes had rolled back into his skull, seconds away from charging in.

“They only shame themselves with their lies,” Elder Peace said. “With each lie escaping their lips, the debt will increase, and it will be repaid.”

Elder Wrath grit his teeth, but sighed, relenting. 

King’s Sword stepped forward again, but Elder Peace stepped forward towards the Iyrman. However, instead of stopping the boy, he remained at the boy’s side, waiting. 

Shakrat looked back at Elder Peace, seeing the older Iyrman’s gentle smile. “Will you stop me?”

“No,” Elder Peace said, calmly. “I will escort you back once you have had your fill. I will allow no one to stop you from your justice.”

“Is this justice?” The King asked.

Elder Peace smiled. “You certainly had the thought that we would not come to war over the life of an Iyrman, and so you brought upon injustice. The Iyr has long known only the strong can seek justice, and so we will show it to you, the true face of justice.”

Shakrat pulled out the Commander’s guts, roaring out. “Akrat! The shame brought to you has been paid by blood!” He tore apart the Commander’s intestines, before his arms dropped to his side, his head rocked back, falling unconscious. 

Elder Peace calmly pulled Shakrat away from the Commander, and Elder Wrath stepped forward. Elder Peace carried the unconscious Iyrman back, whereas Elder Wrath grabbed the Commander’s body. 

“What are you doing?” King’s Sword asked.

“You still hold the body of our Akrat,” Elder Wrath said. “Unless you mean to say you can keep the body of those you butchered, but we can’t keep the body of those we butcher?” Elder Wrath’s lips twisted into the most despicable smile.

“These are duels for peace,” King Solomon said. “Isn’t this unbecoming.”

“No,” Elder Peace said. “This is the appetiser for the next slaughter.” 

“Have you already forgotten the terms?” Elder Wrath asked. “Once we have won the duels, we will continue the slaughter.”

“That is three points to the Iyr,” Elder Peace said. “Unless you are so civilised to believe that your dead Commander had brought it to a draw using his torn guts?”

The King glared at Elder Peace, but did not say a word.

The next was an Iyrman against one of the Knights from the capital, a veteran of several wars. The Iyrman used a spear, though she had left her own behind. “You, hand me your spear,” she said, pointing to a soldier in the crowd. 

The soldier stared at her, shocked. He had almost stepped forward to hand over the spear, but was stopped by his King’s words.

“What need of you of such a spear?”

“I don’t wish to sully my spear,” the Iyrman replied, simply.

The King’s brow pulsed. Their words grated on him, from one Iyrman to the next.

Elder Peace shook his head. “Mingal.”

She glanced back towards Elder Peace, seeing the look within his eyes, and bowed her head. She grabbed her spear. “I will return soon.”

She had done as she said. The fight had been quick, her spear raining down against the Knight. She had quickly cut the tendons of the Knight, and had done as Elder Peace had requested. She made sure the soldiers could see her toy with the Knight, who they had known to be one of the greatest within the capital. Yet, here he was, on his knees, begging for mercy, to end his suffering.

The came an Iyrman, adorned in a breastplate, with two longswords in hand. One longsword engulfed the mercenary in flame, and the other decapitated his screeching head, allowing silence to fall through the plains.

The next Iyrman used no weapons. The battle was over within a single blink of the eye, as the Iyrman grabbed onto the Knight’s throat, and the Knight fell still in an instant, his skin turned completely black. 

The next duel was almost the same, with the Iyrman charging forward and slamming her two fists into the Knight’s chest, causing him to fly back. Then, she stood still, allowing the Knight to strike her, before his skin turned completely black and he was gasping for breath. She battered the Knight with her fists, until he was a mess of broken bones.

“May I continue to the next bout?” she asked, politely, as though she were asking for another slice of cake.

Elder Peace nodded his head. He would have denied it, but seeing the look of hopelessness on the King’s face had changed his mind. 

One by one, the greatest warriors in the King’s armies fell. Only the Commander had managed to beat an Iyrman within an inch of their life, but it had been a young Iyrman, and the soldiers soon understood why this armour was so confident whilst outnumbered four to one.

“Ten points to the Iyr,” Elder Peace said. “Do you wish to continue?”

The Iyrmen’s blood lust had only increased, and their mood had risen greatly. They watched silently as the Knights and mercenaries were dismantled, but the soldiers of the Kingdom could feel the way they revelled in it.

Ten duels had passed, and each had resulted in the Kingdoms loss. 

Some of the Iyrmen had stepped forth to speak with Elder Wrath, hoping he’d be willing to allow them to expand the scope of the duels, but this was Elder Peace’s domain.

‘Impossible,’ the King thought, still unable to believe his eyes. 

The Iyrmen were powerful, that was for certain, but for them to be able to deal with their strongest warriors so systematically. He stared at Elder Peace for a long moment, seeing the knowing look within the older Iyrman’s eyes.

This entire duel, it had been a warning to him. 

‘This is the Iyr,’ the King thought. Those tales his grandfather had told him, he had thought they were greatly exaggerated. Yet, this entire time, they were true. Every last one of them.

“Your Grace, the morale of the army has been shaken,” King’s Sword said. Even he had no words to help his fellow soldiers, as he had quickly understood the gravity of the situation.

“How could it not be shaken?” King Solomon whispered, sighing. His hope had been battered with each duel, having lost ten great warriors. Each Knight he had lost was a mighty force for his Kingdom, and not just his Kingdom, but specifically to the Blackwater family. 

“I will regain the morale,” King’s Sword said, stepping forward. “Come, Iyrmen! Bring forth your greatest warrior if you dare!” Even if they lost ten duels and the Iyrmen had won, if he could slay one, then the morale of the army would return. They would meet in a battle immediately after, for the Iyrmen would have won.

Several Iyrmen stepped forward, most from the lot of thirty Iyrmen who had been numbered. Since King’s Sword had asked for their strongest, it was only respectful to answer in king. However, the Iyrman with the pair of axes made of ice, stepped forward. 

The Iyrmen who had stepped forward, stepped back, leaving three Iyrmen to claim the title of the greatest warrior.

“Falgak, daughter of Fetgak,” an Iyrman said, adorned in full armour, with a sword and shield. Her armour was purple, made of puthral. The blade at her side, though sheathed, seemed to be made of out some sort of dark gem.

“Bozkat, son of Eskat,” said another Iyrman, who wielded a large glave made of shimmering silver, with a shaft of white wood. It was simple in design, but as the moon caught the edge, it seemed to vibrate.

“Razfan, son of Uzfan,” the Iyrman with two axes said, crossing his arms together, staring down at King’s Sword. 

King’s Sword hadn’t heard of the first two, though he had no doubt they were powerful. However, he had certainly heard of the last Iyrman. 

Razfan, White Wolf of Northblood. 

Standing in front of him, the Iyrman wasn’t as imposing as he expected. The Iyrman’s eyes faint, staring down at him. 

No, not staring down at him, but through him. 

The Iyrman had come here because it was his duty to come here, but he had long lost the need to spill blood. 

Razfan, White Wolf of Northblood, was bored.

‘Bored?’ King’s Sword thought, his mind going blank for a moment. ‘He dares to look so dejected at the prospect of facing me?’

He had almost stepped forward, when there came a shout from behind, and a horn was blown. He dared to glance back, seeing where the other soldiers and the Iyrmen were looking.

In the distance, they could see it. It was a small speck, but as it drew near, the thousands of people standing, understood the danger.

It was as dark as death, with a wing span which could put a town under its shade. Long thought mystical, the arrival of a beast, which hadn’t flown over these lands in centuries, filled the soldiers of the Kingdom with alarm.

“What is that?” King Solomon gasped, staring at the creature as it flew over them. It circled around, and they noted that there was another figure upon its back. 

As the giant black bird fell, the soldiers formed together, readying their weapons. King’s Sword had stepped towards his King, drawing his blade.

Yet, no Iyrman moved. 

The beast flew low, before it stopped, landing on a nearby hill. As it stopped to land, the wind thundered across the grass, tearing it with its force. Hopping off the giant bird was a man in his late eighties, a man who had spent the last fifty years away from the Kingdom. He wore a heavy cloak and thick scars all across his body, each from a different weapon, as well as marks from the elements. At his side was an axe roughly carved out of dark rock, and a shield made of dark scales.

On his forehead, there was a tattoo. A single blue circle, followed by rows of blue diamonds.

“Looks like I wasn’t late,” he said.

“I thought you were dead,” Falgak said, the Iyrmen approaching one another.

“I’m sorry to disappoint.” The Iyrmen grabbed one another’s forearms, and the new Iyrman quickly scanned the area, before approaching the pair of Great Elders. He bowed his head, greeting them respectfully. “I apologise for taking so long. The others will arrive in thirty days.”

“I’m sure you have many stories to tell,” Elder Peace said, greeting the stranger.

All the while, Gantalia was glaring at the huge black bird. Such beasts had long been forced away from the Kingdom’s lands, and they had dared never to return due to the various dragons who had hunted them for sport. 

“Last time I was on this land, peace had been signed,” Jarot said. “I didn’t expect to return like this.” He threw a look to Gantalia and then to Razfan. ‘I’m sure his entrance must have been more spectacular.’

“You’ve returned,” Tarot said, approaching his brother. 

“How strong you’ve grown, little brother,” Jarot said, embracing him tight. “I never once doubted that you’d be able to take lead of the family.”

Tarot looked to the Rukh, before glancing back up at his brother, raising his brows. Jarot looked to the silver dragon, and then back to his brother, before they both sighed.

King’s Sword stared at the giant Rukh, which was currently nesting atop the nearby hill, staring at all the prey it could feast on. 

The King watched the Iyrmen size one another up. His heart was heavy, his body filled with a cold sweat. 

“We will surrender,” the King said.

His voice had cut through the silent air.

“We will give you the land from the hills of the Iyr, to a javelin throw beyond Five Bends. I will formally apologise to the Iyrmen, and make a formal declaration that we have wronged you. I will also surrender the Drakkenslayer of my ancestor, Kal Blakvatr.”

Elder Peace stared at him for a long while. “Unconditionally?” Elder Peace asked, for it was the only thing which mattered to him.

The King swallowed. He could only pray that his good will had been portrayed. “Unconditionally,” he said, his voice almost cracking.

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