Knights of the Holy Mother – 9

Dwarves are stubborn.

As the firstborn of the Sorrowheart clan, you know that better than most. You, Bjorn Goodhammer, gave up your position and your very name to your younger brother so you could lead the clan’s knight order. You and your father butted heads over it for years before he finally relented.

Perhaps if you hadn’t been so stubborn…

You cycle the energies of your order’s artifact. Your doubt, your anxiety, your fear, all settle in your chest like sediment, solidifying into resolve.

“Another demon battalion.” Blade Darkstorm looks over the edge of the airship.

She barely flinches as the Solar Knight’s ship fires their mana cannons, obliterating the demons below. Normally, the two airships would stop and send troops to decimate whatever forces remained. Even now, you spot a few survivors escaping into the forest.

Atypical of demons.

“I suspect you were right. They’re letting us see them.” Darkstorm grips her scabbard tighter.

A few days ago, you approached Blades Darkstorm and Goldheart with critical information. As a major member of the Sorrowheart clan, you are privy to certain secrets. Dwarves are a stubborn bunch when it comes to grudges and secrets. Many ore veins have been lost to time simply because dwarves refused to share past their dying day.

Some secrets were worth more than any ores. And the Sorrowheart clan kept one such secret from all but Great Patriarch Bolin. One that predates Prillian Unification.

The natural tunnels beneath the Weeping Mountain. They go deep, and they go far. They were stripped of valuable ores long ago, yet their worth as a strategic asset is immeasurable. The winding maze of lava tunnels stretch beyond the Dwarven Range, surfacing in several locations throughout the southern part of Prillia.

The original patriarch of the Sorrowheart clan worried that the alliance with the elves, centaurs, and newly arrived humans was a ploy. The tunnels remained a secret even as the Dragon Lands receded south, even as the harpies, the blooddrinkers then the goblins joined Prillia. The existence of these tunnels ensured that a dwarven battalion would be able to surface anywhere south of the Feldspar River to surprise any hostile forces.

It was difficult to reveal the existence of these tunnels. You were never under a geass, honor alone bound you. Yet that same honor demanded you speak up when it was revealed that the demon tactics revolved around a crying mountain.

The pieces fell into place. How the demon forces could move around without being caught. Where the victims of the razed towns disappeared to. And why demons always tried to lead you away from Weeping Mountain.

You channel the power of the silver fist to bring your emotions under control.

“This is fucking bullshit.” Darkstorm flinches from the high-pitched voice. “A real chance to fuck shit up, and we’re just…ignoring them?!”

“Knight Halloween.” Darkstorm grips the hilt of her sword tighter.

“’Sup.”

You understand Blade Darkstorm’s apprehension. Your new allies, the Knights of the Holy Mother, are an odd bunch. Harpies are typically too brittle to work as front-liners, minotaurs are rare enough that civilians might think them myths, and Halloween…is whatever she is. One might think this odd group to be a disorganized mess that causes more damage than harm. Yet their unconventional tactics and devotion to the protection of innocents mark them as reliable in your book.

Far more reliable than this devilish airship separating you from terra firma.

Halloween herself is a major reason for Darkstorm’s caution. She viciously mutilated one of Cynthia’s knights, and the only reason she was still on this ship were the numerous warnings she gave to the Lunar Knight that was trying to establish a pecking order by forcing her to remove her helmet.

You already secretly tested her and the rest of the Knights of the Holy Mother. Any creature without a soul would have burned their hands when you offered them drinks in silver goblets. That confirmed none of them were demons, fae, or angels in disguise. You have suspicions as to what Halloween is, but you have no concrete proof. If she is what you suspect, the result of an unwilling union between an orc and a dwarf, then her temperament is understandable.

“Lady, tell me you’re not still pissed about the shitbag.” Halloween clenches her fists. “I told you already, he should be happy he’s still alive.”

Her rude attitude aside, she’s telling the truth. You’ve seen her throw a demon through a boulder. Then dance on its corpse until it was mush.

“Both Saturday and March apologized in your stead. I think Brett would appreciate an apology from you personally.” Blade Darkstorm doesn’t back down.

This is the reason why Knight Orders have difficulty working together. Centuries of diverging codes and a strict sense of honor allowed pride to fester. Much like how the forces of evil could not abide each other during the incursion a millennium ago.

“I don’t apologize to anyone…except my mama.”

Pride is a disease. One you’ve struggled to remove from yourself during your tenure as leader of the Silver Fists. Darkstorm may be intelligent and careful, but her pride has brought her to Halloween’s level. She glares at the Blade through her helm, the tension between the two thickening by the second.

“Enough. Both of you.” Their ire homes in on you.

Trapped between two people that could destroy you. You could shrink away and stay quiet. But you are of stone. Whatever pressure they put you under, you must be like the earth. You must have faith you will be reforged, stronger than before.

“Blade Darkstorm, you are allowing anger to cloud your judgement. I and many others witnessed Sir Brett Salottabones harassing Halloween. You conceded that he was a troublesome element.” Darkstorm relaxes and Halloween puffs out her chest. “Halloween, I understand you have…strong emotions. But because of you, we are down one skilled fighter. Furthermore, your appearance and unique strength inspire many rumors, none of which paint you in a positive light.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck—”

“You will,” you interrupt, “when that negative perception taints the decisions of your allies. Do you think Darkstorm’s knights will be willing to help your Order when the first thought that passes through their minds is how you hurt Brett?”

“You…I’ll…Fuck!” Halloween looks like she’s going to punch a hole in your chest.

Instead, she grumbles and stomps off. The tension leaves you and the Lunar Blade.

“You manage her well.” Darkstorm lets out a sigh of relief. “Rather, you managed us well. You’re a fine leader.”

You squeeze the railing, the peak of the Weeping Mountain appearing on the horizon. Years ago, on that very peak, your father said the same thing. You can only hope that Sven proved capable in your absence.

The two airships approach the mountain. Vast walls spiral around it, stopping a mile below the peak. They are lined with massive mana cannons, still steaming from the relentless barrages they’d unleashed. The Sorrowheart clan had been under siege by demons for weeks now. All that was left of the attackers were hills of ash and burnt corpses surrounding the mountain. Yet, you could spot things moving below the canopy of the forest around the mountain.

At the top of the mountain, a dense city carved in stone awaits. As you approach, you notice dwarves slowly congregating at the airdocks. When you dock, you’re surprised to find a crowd of hopeful civilians meet you there.

Dwarves are stubborn. Which is why you’re so surprised to find the crowd cheering at your arrival. Blade Darkstorm insists you take the lead to soften the blow of non-dwarven assistance, and the citizens easily make way for you.

Their cheers don’t diminish when the other knights follow, and there are only a few spare glances when they see the odd group that make up the Knights of the Holy Mother. There are no jeers, only relief for the reinforcements.

A glimmer of hope warms your chest and you take off your helm.

“I am Bjorn Goodhammer, leader of the Silver Fist Order.” The crowd quiets at your introduction, then a wall of jubilation slams into you.

Their happiness is like a dagger in the chest. The Silver Fist is their local knight chapter, yet you weren’t here when they needed you most. Yet, here they are, cheering for you. Once you get their attention, you introduce Blade Darkstorm, Blade Goldheart, and Saturday.

“We are honored to be here.” Darkstorm bows her head.

“Solaria’s light will purge the evils from this mountain!” Goldheart’s assistants keep the parasol over his head as he waves his sword around.

“Believe it!” Saturday poses dramatically in agreement.

A roar of approval cascades from the crowd, and someone pushed through them to reach you. Chisel, your brother’s steward, looks much worse for wear. His beard, faded to a patchy gray, is almost as frayed as he is. He manages to have the crowd clear the way for you and the knights and explains what’s been happening while you’ve been gone.

By the time you reach the garrison, you feel like your beard may be graying as well. A month after you chased the reports of minor demon activity on the border between the elven forests and the dwarven range, the railroad leading to Weeping Mountain was sabotaged and radio transmissions were suppressed. Not long later, a powerful army of demons put the mountain under siege, destroying any chance to call for help.

The lord of the mountain, your brother, declared a state of emergency. The personal guard was outfitted with strangely designed armor and weapons, food was rationed, and the mana cannons were given a rotating contingent…yet the way Chisel talks makes you think there’s something he’s hiding.

Once everyone is settled, you insist you need to see Sven. Chisel hems and haws, saying he’s busy and that you should rest up. You go home for the first time in months, and your wife is happy to see you.

You want to stay with Roxxanne longer and enjoy your time together. You both know you have duties.

You try to see Sven the next day, but Chisel explains that Sven is too busy dealing with managing the city. He recommends you join the dwarves on the walls fighting against the demons. You join your brethren on the walls, and the most restless among the other knights go with you. The demons attack in the morning, sending wave after wave of monstrous demons towards the walls.

Few manage to make it through the concentrated blasts of magic, and those that manage to climb their way up are quickly dispatched. The fighting lasts for hours, a constant clash between good and evil. The only one enjoying themselves is Halloween, who eagerly jumps into the fray to tear the demons limb from limb.

Day after day, you wake up, try to see your brother, and end up back on the walls. One would think that nothing changing since you got here would dishearten the citizens…yet some of them are practically glowing despite the dire situation.

Apparently, while some of the Knights of the Holy Mother fight demons, the others participate in some sort of community outreach. Quite a few dwarves come up to them in the street and invite them to their homes for dinner.

Goldheart was right, they are true knights.

After over ten days of being given the run around, March makes a chilling observation. The strongest demons never attempt to breach the walls. Occasionally, a large monstrosity would shamble closer and succumb under the concentrated fire of the cannons.

None of the truly powerful demons got close. As an experiment, she tried to lure them closer to the wall. She soars close to them, slashing at them with her talons until they get angry enough to chase her. They always shrink back when they get too close to the wall, and they’re old enough to grow wise to her strange magic after she kills a couple of them.

It all comes to a head after March leaves you to oversee Halloween. She mentions something about spending some training time with Emancipation. The fighters on the wall have grown used to Halloween’s presence, to the point where they make bets on how quickly she dispatches her foes.

Even the dense concentration of fury that is Halloween needs to rest sometimes. She jumps back onto the wall after several hours of carnage. You’re helping her clean the blood off her armor–That is to say, you clean her armor alone as she squirms and fusses about—when she crosses her arms.

“I’m trying to clean your breastplate.”

“Shut up! I like the blood!”

“It is foul.”

“Like the shithead lord’s excuses.” She grumbles and you pause.

“That’s my brother you’re insulting.” You warn firmly. “And our host.”

“Your brother is refusing to talk to you, even after the sackload of bullshit he’s making us fuckin’ wade through.” You can hear her teeth grinding inside her helm. “All the tough guys fuck off after I jump down, it’s no fun.”

Normally, you’d wave off her words as paranoia. These are not normal times.

Halloween tends to cut through the restraints of politeness and good sense. Furthermore, some things haven’t been adding up. Perhaps it is time to confront the Lord of Sorrowheart peak.

“Thank you.” You pat her on the head.

She shivers in what you can only assume to be rage.

“Fuck off.”

You are Emancipation, and March is upset.

Understandable, you’ve been cuddling in bed for the past hour and her mouth was inches from your dick when Saturday sent a message. You both got dressed quickly so you’re ready to answer the door to find the leaders of the knights, headed by Bjorn. He ignores March’s sour look and insists you arm yourselves.

At first, you think you’re going down to the walls to fight. Instead, you climb the peak to the manor at the highest point.

The steward blubbers something about not having a meeting. Bjorn angrily pushes him aside.

He leads you into the manor, deep enough within that no light from outside touches the polished stones. The hall, lit by glowing crystals and lined with dwarves in strange plate armor, had a large stone slab that acted as a table.

It’s dwarf sized, so March, Saturday, Darkstorm, and Goldheart loom awkwardly over it. You’re on the shorter side, so you don’t stick out as much.

Bjorn stands on one side with you and the knights, looking like he was born to be there. Another dwarf, the only one in robes, stands at the other end with two warriors flanking him. He must be Bjorn’s brother, Sven.

There’s tension in the air, their polite conversation quieting down as you approach the table. Sven’s smile, faker than plastic, widens and he bows his head.

“My dear brother! I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you earlier. I’ve been so busy, with, you know, defending our home from invaders.”

“I understand the traditions, Sven—”

“Patriarch Sorrowheart.” Sven corrects. “And do you? Do you really?”

“Yes.” Bjorn doesn’t react to Sven’s tone. “I was raised here too, Patriarch Sorrowheart. I needed to bring my fellow knights to report our findings. They could lend credibility to my words.”

“Harpies are flightier than the wind. Their words, more so.” Sven leans on his arm and sighs. “So be it. Enlighten me.”

You recount your journey, starting from Greenbrook and your meeting with the Silver Fist, then all the way to your most recent battle in Glowshroom. Sven listens with a bored expression and waves you away once you finish your story. Before he could dismiss you, Bjorn steps in.

“The demon army led by Grixum Bloodbather is using magic and advanced tactics. Worse, they can move around without being seen.” The dwarf knight discretely puts his hand on your back, and you could feel March’s glare return in full force. “Our walls may be holding, but there’s a possibility they have a way inside.”

“They won’t get past the walls.” Sven states.

Truth.

“Maybe.” Bjorn steels himself. “Sorrowheart Peak has held against these demon armies for the longest. Do you have an idea how they could move around so stealthily?”

Sven is taken aback.

“You said it yourself. I suspect they’re using advanced magic to hide their presence. Probably invisibility spells stolen from a careless wizard.”

You tense. He lied.

Bjorn feels you tense up and trembles. If Sven lied about his suspicions, does that mean he has another theory? Or does he know for sure? Sven’s smarmy attitude, the guards in full plate, these lies…You’re not liking the picture this is painting.

<March. I think something’s about to happen.>

March goes into full alert, her eyes darting to each of the guards and the knights. Darkstorm is ramrod-straight, her hand hovering inches from her sword. Goldheart, for once, isn’t smiling or singing the praises of Solaria.

“Patriarch…no, brother.” Bjorn reaches for his weapon. “Are the demons using the Sorrowheart tunnels?”

Sven sucks in a cold breath.

“Not only are you bringing strangers into our inner sanctum, you are revealing a secret that our family has guarded for over a millennium.” He gnashes his teeth and the dwarf guards level their weapons. “Do you have any grasp of—”

“Answer the damn question!” Bjorn roars. “Are the demons using the tunnels?!”

Sven, flinching back, switches tracks.

“Bjorn…brother. How could you think such a thing?” His greasy smile sends chills down your spine. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Lie.” You blurt out. “Why are you lying? Bjorn is your brother! The people of Sorrowheart Peak are in danger! All so, what, you can pretend that you’re keeping the tunnels safe?”

Bjorn pulls you behind him before you can keep talking. They’re supposed to be family. Allies! What happened for things to get to this point? Sven’s expressions shift from confusion, to resignation, to anger, and finally…laughter.

“Sven.” Bjorn grits his teeth as Sven’s hysterical giggling dies down. “Are you affiliated with the demons in any way? Did you make a deal?”

Sven pulls himself off the table, running his hands through his beard.

“You don’t understand. Things went out of hand…I did what I thought was right, I followed father’s advice, did as our clan’s oldest friend suggested—”

“DID YOU CONSORT WITH DEMONS?” Bjorn’s roar echoes with enough force that it feels like the entire mountain trembles from his fury.

“There’s no point lying before your harpy…friend.” Sven sighs and stands up. “Yes. I did it to protect the people of this mountain, those you abandoned.”

“Betrayal.” Bjorn picks up his hammer.

“Yes. It wounds me.” Sven snaps his fingers and his guards pull out syringes full of glowing blue liquid. “Guards, Bjorn Goodhammer has committed treason against the clan. He and his allies are to be executed. Do not hold back.”

The guards jab themselves with the syringes, the blue liquid glowing through their veins. Glowing blue eyes stare from behind their helms, and you feel a great pressure emanating from them.

Glowing blue liquid that strengthens people? Quinn’s tits, that’s…

“Prana vials!” Saturday yells. “Watch out!”

Bjorn, Darkstorm, and Goldheart don’t know what prana is, but they take Saturday’s warning seriously and ready their weapons. Sven claps again, and the lights go out just as his guards begin their charge.

Leaving the six of you in complete darkness.