Arc 1: Chapter 3: Glorysworn
They were knights. I could tell at a glance, from the visible enchantments on their gear to the artistry apparent in the fashion of their weapons and armor. Two held swords, and one a warhammer with a cruel backspike. It was that last who stepped forward. I couldn’t see their face; The same magic illuminating their helm made the interior of the visor impenetrably dark, granting the illusion that there might have been nothing at all inside.
The armor was of a new fashion, more complex in design than anything I’d seen in the war. Possibly even made outside the subcontinent. The guilds were bringing all sorts of interesting new toys across the Riven Sea. I suspected it was alchemy, and not elf-craft, that had fashioned the arms for these.
I didn’t bother hiding. I could tell they were waiting for me, arrayed on the narrow street between the last block of homes and the river docks. I stepped forward, forcing my breath to steady from my long flight, and rested my bloodstained axe on my shoulder.
“So it’s true,” the knight with the hammer said. Their voice was androgynous, made brassy and inhuman through the slits in their visor. I couldn’t guess at gender. I could hear the voice clear through the storm, but couldn’t tell if that was their own aura or some property of the foreign armor. “The Headsman himself, come out of hiding to plague us. What have you to say for yourself, blackguard?”
I shrugged, and let a bit of aura leak into my voice so it would carry as clear as the knight’s. “I say you’re in my way, and you should move aside. We’ve no quarrel, and I’d rather not kill you.”
The other two knights shifted at that, agitated. One of them growled something I didn’t catch. The one with the hammer gave a sharp nod, causing the faint light around them to shimmer like a mirage. “But we’ve quarrel with you, O’ Headsman. Two, in fact; The Earl holds our service at present, so that one is professional. The other…” They shrugged, making their asymmetrical pauldrons rise and fall. “My brothers and I are eager to test the legend. Are you man or devil? You will let us see your blood so we may be sure.”
Mercenaries, then. Glorysworn. I knew the type, and knew there’d be no negotiating my way out of this. Glorysworn Knights, nobleborn fighters with little prospect for inheritance, drifted from liege to liege, going wherever hospitality and excitement took them. Adventurers of a fashion, though they tended to form their own fraternities and were disdainful of partying with more common fellowships. They weren’t paladins — I’d heard no hint of an Oath in that little speech. But they would be skilled, and their magical arms could be trouble. I wore no armor, so they had the advantage in war gear as well as number.
This wouldn’t be as one-sided as the guardsmen from before.
I pointed my axe at the leader, showing them the blood splattered across the bearded blade. Even in the downpour, it wasn’t washing off. The hammer-wielder knew a challenge when they saw one. They stepped forward, harness clattering, and took a stance. A metallic silver sheen encased their hammer, drowning out the paler light from before.
I raised an eyebrow. “No introductions?”
They might have snorted beneath the helm. “I would normally be honored, but I hear you are no longer a knight.”