Knights of the Holy Mother – 4

You bank left over the Feldspar River, tracking the trail of destruction into a small valley cutting between a couple mountains. You are Emancipation, and you’re worried.

Not just because you and the others have been travelling with demon-killing knights for the past week. Nor because you have a hard time lying to their faces. Not even because you’ve passed through two other destroyed villages, blood splatter and a few discarded limbs the only evidence of their former inhabitants.

You’re worried because the demons you’ve been tracking seem to be part of a much larger force. One that may have destroyed far more villages than you’re aware of. Murdered thousands of innocents. You steel your heart and fly back to the others.

You land between March and Saturday, who are looking over a map with Bjorn and his second. It’s so cool of March to step up as Saturday’s vice-leader. She looks awesome in a uniform, and she’s well-liked by Bjorn for tempering Saturday’s goofier antics. She even got him to wear the sigil you designed: An airship with a sword piercing through it.

“Sirs!” You salute, March likes that. “The battalion went into the valley west of here. Estimate between 70 and 150 troops. Obvious trail and location indicates high chance of an ambush!”

“Gratitude, Ser Emancipation.” Bjorn nods and rubs his beard. “One wonders why so few knight orders recruit harpies if you make such great scouts.”

You’re still beaming at the praise as you join the others at the camp. Since you started travelling together, you’ve learned a lot about Prillia, Avalon, and Knights in general. For one, your demonic strength wasn’t even questioned because most knight orders pull their power from relics or patrons. Some minor spying revealed that the Silverfist order have a magic silver gauntlet they carry around in a warded chest.

The other thing was how much manpower it takes for an Order to function. Cleaning, cooking, armor and weapon repair, training, ward maintenance… No wonder there’s at least two squires for every knight! Stronger orders have even more squires to manage all the extra stuff like airships and magitech.

You and your kin managed, though. Mostly by scavenging real clothes and weapons from the destroyed villages. You would have been screwed if the knights realized how little of your things were actually real.

The ‘new’ goblin squires know you guys are sketchy. Thankfully, they like you guys. So when December asked Tongs to help maintain weapons for the first time after a couple days of fighting monsters, he raised an eyebrow but took the weapons without saying a word. Even when it was obvious the weapons he brought were scavenged from the nearby battlefield. Even when you got him a forger from a hammerspace bag.

What a great friend.

There were a couple close calls. Mostly because Halloween is a bit sloppy. Even so, the mostly dwarven knights got comfortable enough to share food, exchange fighting tips, and hold casual conversations.

Today is different. There’s an air of nervousness. Everyone knows you’re about to go into battle.

The fear is present in the silence as you walk through camp, the downcast eyes, and the stern preparation of weapons.

“Attention!” March calls everyone to order.

Heads turn her way and she rigidly steps aside to let Bjorn speak.

“My fellow compatriots! Dear warriors in the eternal struggle against the forces of evil, hear me! Ahead of us lies danger, a trap yet to be sprung upon any brave or foolish enough to follow the demons into the valley.” He holds his hands up to silence to grumbling warriors. “And yet…we have a plan. One that will ensure we all reach victory!”

You frown. The sourness of a lie taints his words. The rest of his speech rallies the knights easily. When you approach him afterwards to ask him about it, his surprise is quickly replaced by sadness. He claps you on the back and wishes you good luck.

A couple hours later, you are walking into the valley covered in blood.

Not yours. You, Saturday, Halloween, Bjorn, and a few of his knights covered yourselves in monster blood and limp into the valley. You think you’re all being a bit obvious. Especially Halloween, who practically dumped a tub of raptor blood over herself.

“Bwahahaha! Fooools!”

Apparently not.

A spiny demon spreads his purple wings over an outcropping, casting a long shadow over your group. A barbed tongue slips out of his mouth and runs over the lips of his pointed snout.

Of course, Halloween’s DESIRE spikes.

“Poor little fledglings! You are caught within the grasp of General Bloodbather’s greatest strategist!” His claws rake through the stone.

“Who are you to make such a claim?!” Bjorn calls out.

Interesting thing about knights, there’s an official handbook. There’s rules of conduct, commonly applied strategies, a monster bestiary, and a plan of action for the major enemies of Prillia. First rule of fighting demons: get their name.

Either someone escapes to use it against them in a ritual, or you capture them and force them to tell you information before killing them. Best part is that demons tend to be too arrogant to lie. You’re not sure why…though none of the Knights of the Holy Mother have any right to criticize. You all used your own names without really thinking about it.

To be fair, you can’t be forcefully summoned with your names. It must be awful to not have a soul. You’d almost pity them if they weren’t cruel monsters.

“Fah, you think you can escape with my name?!” He cackles. “So be it, your hope is but a prelude to the delicious despair coming your way! Soon, you will beg for death!”

What are the chances that you can goad this demon into showing his hand?

“Oh yeah?!” Bjron gives you an alarmed look when you shout out. “You and what army?!”

“KWAKAKAKAKAHAHA!” The demon’s spines along his body clatter together in a sound that makes the mortals shiver. A subtle bit of demonic mind magic washes over you and you grip your sword tighter.

“Let my name be seared into your minds! I am Krakkelaxit, captain of Grixum Bloodbather’s army!” Over a hundred demons creep from the shadows between the craggy cliff face and along the top of the valley. “Face your doom!”

The demons hanging along the cliff laugh evilly and scuttle down to meet you in a tide of claws and corroded weaponry as the demon captain poses like a gargoyle. Intimidating, if you didn’t spot the flash of green speeding at the top of the valley.

The demons along the edge of the valley are waiting for the weaker troops to reach you first before joining the fray. They don’t expect a minotaur to shoulder-check them down the cliff at two hundred miles per hour. An avalanche of demons tumble down the cliff, crushing imps and other small demons as they slam into stone.

The few who can fly try to orient themselves in the air, but March’s wings, glowing with her strange magic, tear though their bodies like paper. Bjorn slams his foot on the ground, signaling the others to come out.

The ground around you collapses, causing the demons charging at you to stumble. The rest of your forces charge from a newly opened tunnel with a roar.

Chaos.

The knights capitalize on the confusion and drive their weapons into the demons before they can get their bearings. Yet they’re still demons; your forces only put a dent in their numbers before they recover and fight back.

The edge of your scavenged blade is nearly as dull as the demons’, sharpened only by a thin layer of magic. It does the job easily enough, slicing through a chain demon’s arm and then its neck in two swift movements.

Bjorn slams his warhammer through an ice demon’s skull, dodging an imp’s rusty scythe in time to see Saturday rip out its throat with his talons. He cries out a warning when a ten-foot demon’s sharpened street lamp pierces through his chest, only for him to be replaced by a log in a puff of smoke. The demon and Bjorn stare at it confusion.

And Saturday drop kicks him towards Halloween. Who is having the time of her life. Her high-pitched giggles resonate through the battlefield as she swings her club around, demons being torn to pieces by the sheer force of her blows. She laughs even harder when the ten-foot demon stumbles too close and she bats his mangled body into a gaggle of imps.

Bjorn and Saturday lock eyes and nod, aiming their weapons at a seething Krakkelaxit. The demon captain jumps down to fight them, his claws ablaze with broiling black magic. He lobs a blot of energy at Saturday, but the ninja poofs behind him to drive a pair of kunai into his wings. Bjorn jumps up and slams his hammer across the spiny demon’s snout in a staggering blow.

The squires aren’t doing half bad, either. They join the shield line with the knight’s squires, pushing weaker demons at the point of their spears towards the more dangerous fighters. A stony demon charges at the shield wall, but Burdock jumps forward with a snarl and slams him backwards. Plum and Spruce dash at its sides and unleash a flurry of slashes until they break through its stone skin.

A trio of insectoid demons try to jump on them while their backs are turned, but Iris’s arrows tear coin-sized holes through their heads.

You dodge out of a bloated, half-rotten demon’s makeshift flail, using the dust cloud from the impact to hide the flurry of shadow magic feathers piercing through its body. It slumps towards you, already dead, and you jump over its tumbling body in time to hear one of Bjorn’s men scream.

Bjorn is too busy dodging Krakkelaxit’s magic to help.

“Redplate!”

An ice demon froze his arm off, smiling cruelly as it lunges forwards with its spear. Not on your watch. You zoom over and decapitate it with a single swing. You grab the knight by the pauldrons and drop him behind the shield line. And you hear another yell of pain.

The knights are losing the advantage. Though you’ve reduced the demon’s numbers by a lot, fatigue is starting to affect them. Their moves are slower, their stances more guarded. The demons sense this and press on cruelly. You spend more of your time saving the injured from deathblows instead of dealing damage.

But it’s the right thing to do. These knights are risking their lives to avenge the victims of these demons, to protect any more deaths at their claws. It’s only right that you do the same for them.

Either way, the numbers are almost equal now that December has joined the fray. He speeds past demons with a bored expression, his saber splitting through dozens in seconds. You swoop over Halloween as she chokes a burning demon in one gauntlet, a gored chain demon struggling to get off her horns. Your wing gets clipped by its whipping chains, and you nearly crash, only for March to catch you.

Your eyes meet in the middle of this chaotic battle, her stern gaze softening as she purses her lips. You’re about to tell her how great she looks in a uniform when an imp charges at you. With a primal scream, March’s talons tear into the creature, lacerating it until it’s a pile of black mush.

What was that about?

December yelps in pain, Krakkelaxit having swung around to slam his barbed tail into his midsection. Thankfully, December is only a bit bruised due to his new armor, but it’s impressive that the spiny demon was able to react. He’s flinging spells around with deadly precision, uncaring that his battalion is nearly gone. His magic slams into the knights distracted by their own battles, disabling them or outright killing them.

He needs to be stopped.

You slice through a staggering demon and rush to help Saturday and Bjorn. Krakkelaxit flings Saturday away with a gust of wind, leaving Bjorn to face him alone. You feint for the demon’s ankle but go for his arm. Krakkelaxit smirks and twists around, grabbing you by the throat with his lower claws. He slams you into the ground with a cackle, forcing the breath out of your lungs.

You can dully hear March scream in rage as you struggle to get your bearings. The demon captain juts his sharp elbow down, on an unstoppable trajectory to your heart. Something jumps in front of you.

“March…?”

“No, lad.” Bjorn’s crimson blood wells from his shoulder and splashes onto your face.

He shudders as he struggles against the demon’s infernal strength, bracing himself on his hammer. He saved you? You smile weakly.

“Typical.” Krakkelaxit snarls. “Oh well, two in the hand and all.”

He raises her other arm. Except this time, March is there. Her eyes blazing with her strange magic, she catches his arm in her talon with a perfect split. Krakkelaxit arrogant grin grows as his spiky limb slowly overpowers March, then falls as glowing cracks spread across his arm.

“Wha—”

His arm explodes. He howls in pain and staggers backwards, pulling the spike out of Bjorn. He clenches the burning stump in confusion. December surprises him and swings his saber through his legs, and the demon captain falls to the ground.

He raises his remaining arm to cast another spell. A sharpened street lamp pierces through his last limb, a black and red splattered Halloween standing ominously over him. Before he could move, she gently pressed her armored foot on his head.

“Please give me an excuse to crush your skull like a grape.” She says in a cute voice.

Krakkelaxit doesn’t.

Bjorn winces as he gets to his feet. He looks over the battlefield, sorrow passing though his features when he sees the bodies of his fallen compatriots. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

He knew. Maybe they all knew not everyone would survive. But they fought anyways.

“There are fewer casualties than I expected.” He puts his hand on your shoulder. “I have you to thank for that. You, and the rest of the Knights of the Holy Mother.”

Before the battle, you weren’t sure you were going to survive. You’ve heard rumors about the death rates for fresh squires in smaller Knight Orders. But vengeance has found a place in your heart, just as it had with Tongs and Libby. You wanted to do something, anything, to stop the demons.

Joining a rag-tag group of weird knights seemed like the best option at the time. Not like they were any better than the goblin knight orders that spring up now and again.

You are Vanilla. Former baker. Current squire. Alive.

A lot of it is thanks to the knights that took you in. When you started out, they organized a training regimen for you guys. Weird stretches, lots of focus on your back, legs, and butt. Turns out, your back, legs, and butt muscles help a lot when holding a shield.

Who knew?

Never mind that the shield was made from a sled, remade in a forge that they’re casually carrying around in a spatial artifact. How do these guys have enough money for such advanced artifacts, but no real weapons?

Tongs, the oldest of you three by a decade, just told you to stop asking questions.

You try not to. But the knights are just so weird.

Weird, but alright. They’re actually super nice, except for the strange horned being in armor. She’s foul mouthed, mean, and should probably be on a chain before she hurts her big kobold squire. Thankfully, December the minotaur has a good handle on her.

He’s not as strict with the others as he is with her, mostly easy-going when you’re not doing drills. Then he gets really lippy: Mocking you guys for missing with your slings and bows, bragging about how fast he is…but once he slows down he gets better.

Not like March. She’s the vice-leader of the order, and the one responsible for discipline. The harpy woman is the picture of aloof perfectionism, down to her creaseless black and red officer’s uniform that she wears every day. The only person she’s soft on is Emancipation.

Everyone except Emancipation knows she’s got a major crush on him. She doesn’t exactly look professional when she’s doing the laundry and spends twenty minutes sniffing his clothes.

As for the harpy himself, he’s the best of the bunch. Kind, friendly, and always willing to help. Emancipation’s a giver, who’s only hangup is his strict adherence to honesty. He could be a Paragon with that attitude, and you suspect that he’s one of the major reasons the Holy Mother Knights saved Greenbrook.

Weirdest of all is their leader, Saturday.

You’ve met a few harpies when they stopped by Greenbrook for migration season. They’re typically claustrophobic, but Saturday is unbothered as he explores the caves with you, blabbing about everything and nothing. You don’t want to interrupt him because he might get to the point and drop some wisdom on you, like Elder Nobble did.

Nope. He just likes the sound of his own voice. Which is probably the most harpy thing about him.

“Sir Saturday,” you interrupt him. “What are we looking for?”

You turn around and hold the magic torch higher. It’s on a lower setting, but you can see fine. Unless you’re imagining things, Saturday’s vision isn’t impaired by the near-darkness either. Or maybe he was looking at your butt and thighs to better follow you instead of wondering if you’ve been training enough.

You can’t seem to lose weight back there.

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “And don’t call me sir. If you need to call me by a title, go for Chunin—No, Jonin!”

More nonsense. He must sense your exasperation, because he gives you a straight answer.

“Bjorn and March agree there’s something about these caves. We found dried blood and a few humanoid footprints. Apparently, demons have never organized like this, let alone taken prisoners.” He frowns. “And war demons who use arcane magic and strategize? Whoever this Bloodbather is, he doesn’t follow the standard patterns outlined in the knight manual. If they left anything behind, we need to find it.”

“But why bring me?”

He steps around a corner and stops.

“To help us figure out the ritual circles like this one.”

“Hey, not all goblins know ritua—” Your words get stuck in your throat.

What’s in the cavern the size of a squatball field makes your stomach turn. Hundreds of mangled bodies arranged in macabre patterns, their rotting blood drawing lines into the stone. If you hadn’t already lost your lunch after the battle, you would have lost it here.

“That’s…that’s a summoning circle. A big one.” You stutter out.

Okay, so you know ritual circles. Not because you’re a goblin, but because your aunt was a decent ritualist. You know enough to recognize extraplanar rituals like this one. When you tell Saturday that it’s probably where the battalion was summoned from, he gets closer to investigate. He stands in the center of the circle and looks around.

He approaches an alcove and pulls out a couple scrolls and a monocle. He unrolls them and hums. He wears the monocle and tries to read the scrolls, flipping them upside-down and even holding them to the light. Your ears twitch to hear him mutter under his breath.

“Almost looks like Japanese? The monocle is translating to another language.” He passes the scrolls to you and you blink away the stars in your vision. “Can you read this?”

One of the scrolls, yellow with ages, is in a strange script with flowing lines making up blocky pictograms. The other scrolls are written in a jagged language that make your eyes prickle uncomfortably, like you’ve been staring into the stove for too long.

“Looks, and feels like, infernal.” You wipe your eyes. “Demon language. Hurts most mortal races to look at.”

Not him, though. Weird.

The two of you exit the caves with the scrolls. You stop and stare, stupefied, as you come back to camp at the mouth of the valley. Hovering a few feet from the top of the cliffs is a dark-hulled airship, silver halo humming with magical power.

People in navy blue armor and deep purple accents are speaking with Bjorn and March. You don’t believe it.

Celeste’s personal order, the Lunar Knights, are here.

One of them briskly approaches and gives a perfect salute.

“Sir Saturday. Sir Bjorn has brought us up to speed on your fledgling order’s contributions.” The woman’s voice is smoother than moonlight. “Alas, we don’t have time for formalities. Prillia has not seen a demonic incursion of this scale in centuries.”

“I think we haven’t seen anything like this one.” Saturday holds up the scrolls. “Squire Vanilla and I found these in the tunnels. Mostly in infernal.”

The knight raises an eyebrow at your title, and more so when she realizes what the scrolls signify.

“Demon intelligence? That is a first.” She sets her jaw. “Perhaps the Holy Knights are correct in calling this the fifth crusade.”

…crusade? There are old goblin horror stories about the crusades. From before Grand Matron Booba’s corralling of the goblin tribes, during the times of Madness. When knights would hunt goblins for sport, eradicating your kind from the lands in the name of an older, more violent Prillia.

Are you working for the bad guys?

“Psst.” Saturday leans over to you as the Lunar Knight walks off. “What’s a crusade?”

Scratch that, these knights are just good-natured wackos. Wackos that make you feel weird when you smell them or when they touch you to help during exercises. Especially as you pass by the leaders’ tents when they’re giving personal lessons to their more senior squires.

When are they going to give you a turn? With the upcoming troubles, probably soon.