The Wrath of the Red Knight

Ailox’s gaze shifted then from the First Keep to a lone tower safely erected away from the eroding edges of the cliff face.  Here atop the tower could be seen a flag flying dramatically of yellow with undiscernible symbols of white and blue. He clenched the reigns of his horse in frustration as he thought about the man sitting in that tower. Hidden inside, his brother Fezlon the Azure undoubtedly sat resting his smug ass on a throne that belonged to Ailox.

He shifted in his blood red armor as he looked back over his flaming crystalline pauldrons; they rippled with an inner light as if a glowing fire solidified atop his shoulders. He lifted the face plate of his massive visored helmet. This too was accentuated with same flame like material erupting from the crown of the helm. He glanced back at the lines of soldiers he had collected as tribute from the villages he had conquered along the way. They marched in loose formations carrying simple weapons and shields. They were untrained for the most part and only a handful of them were veterans of any real fighting. They were more for show than anything. ‘A large force on the doorstep of an awakening city should get the job done,” Ailox mused to himself.

The threat of invasion was the only illusion he needed. He honestly didn’t need them to enter that city. If he wanted he knew that he alone could cut through the masses that stood in his way. Ailox could burn down the gates with but a thought, and melt the old portcullis before riding his massive smoke colored steed onto the tower. From there things would become uncertain; His brother would be fortified in that place. He would have difficulty getting to the man by means of force alone. His magical gifts granted to him would be of little use when his brother’s gifts both mimicked and countered his own. Ailox of the Grim Hills, the Exiled Prince, The Red Knight of Inferno, and the Branded Warlord, waved his army forward. His was a plan of deception, but also of honor with less life being lost this way, ‘preferably only one.’ he thought with a sigh.

With each step of the Red Knight’s forces the tempest seemed to surge. Red Banners went from fluttering steadily to whipping wildly against their poles. The flaming standards of Ailox had a border of teal and a white diamond behind the brand mark in its center. His was a heraldry that spoke of pain, but also of power. Ailox led the field atop his steed, flanked by two forces of vanguard spearmen at either side. A larger cavalry unit made up of his conquered lords divided his archers and heavy infantry as they marched behind them in a staggered formation, a sound military strategy at the formations core, and hopefully an unnecessary one.

It was less than an hour until the setting of the daily sun, when the rains began to fall in sheets of torrential hampering force. The walls of the city loomed ever closer across the field as the soldiers pressed on. The sky continued to darken, and an unnatural feeling shifted in the air as the clouds darkened beyond any normal storm. Lightning flashed on either side of the marching soldiers and despite instructions they halted their progress. Out there in the open fields with no cover they were soaked through and risking electrocution with every footfall. The men grumbled and bemoaned as the officers simultaneously stood confused on how to safely proceed.

Ailox knew that it was Fezlon causing the storm. The lightning was sent as a warning to slow their progress, maybe even deter them completely. He also knew that he needed to save his power for the battle ahead. He ordered his forces to keep marching regardless, lifting his flaming morning star to threateningly encourage obedience. The rain turned sideways then and the swirling winds quickly took shape into a funnel cloud before the advancing troops. There would be no choice as the deadly twisting mass of air charged forward.

Ailox raised a gauntleted hand and dropped a massive column of hot air into the eye of the vortex, causing it to dissipate like it was never there. The rains still fell and Ailox decided that it was time to play along. A great warm breeze blew in from the sea and the clouds began to move again. The air pushing the rain from above his men, while the last rays of the setting sun shone across the land causing a spectacular prismatic rainbow to appear over the city itself.

The retaliation of Fezlon came in the form of hail, as it cascaded furiously down, shattering off of the Red Knights full plate with deafening clinks. The rest of the men were less fortunate. Those with shields huddled under them to some effect but others found themselves bleeding or unconscious. The cavalry broke ranks as the horses galloped off in all directions fleeing from the painful projectiles that were striking them. The size of the hail continued to expand, causing even more damage. Ailox became even more infuriated with each passing second.

Ailox was surprised that his brother’s powers were being amplified somehow. The hope that he would come out and face him one on one was fading and the inevitable and familiar feeling of rage was building in his gut. He stood amongst the chaotic scene of his so called army, stalled by the storms. It would need to regroup before it would be of any use to him. “We don’t have time for that!” he growled through clenched teeth and he put his hands into his cloak pocket and removed a red crystal. It flared to life expanding a moment later into an orb. Red tendrils of light and mist wreathed along his hands, arms, and head as his eyes began to glow with ruby fire. Then he turned and threw the expanding ball before him. A portal of pure flame sent a wave of heat in all directions. The front rows of his own forces were thrown backwards from the surge of intense heat.

Immerging from the opening flew a legion of small diminutive, impish forms with barbed tails and flaming wings that dropped flaming pitch as they flapped towards the city. Their little horns and razor like teeth sharpened to render flesh. They wielded little iron pokers that were forged in the hell fires, ready to pierce, prick, and impale any that crossed their path. Then they were on and over the walls of the city like insects swarming fresh crops. The screams could be heard from where Ailox’s army stood in the muddy field. Fires were set ablaze in half a dozen locations within the city and the Siege of the Searing Devils finally brought Fezlon the Azure down from his tower.

His sky blue robes whipped around him while the white turban that covered his head shifted slightly as he floated downward on a pocket of air, ultimately to stand before the gates of his city. “Enough!” He demanded to his older brother who sat trance-like upon his horse. Ailox smiled then, his eyes turning from glowing red orbs to blackened pools under the helm. He had stopped and just like that all of the little demonic creatures dissipated into little puffs of smoke. Leaving a blackened, smoldering mess behind in their wake.

Ailox’s men had reorganized some, but still looked a beleaguered group; their unimpressive countenance making him slightly self-conscious. He lifted the visor of the helmet and stared at his pompous little brother, half-brother really, always favoring the look of the mother they shared. Ailox of the Grim Hills was his father’s son though, a King’s first born and rightful heir to his father’s holdings, which included the half of an ancient keep that stood on the edge of this particular cliff, and as far as he was concerned all of the lands and the city that had grown around it.

Fezlon held out peaceful hands that were still drained of color from tapping into the Frozen Well as it was known. Ailox was still seething and he resisted the urge to spit fire into his brother’s seemingly calm face. When he spoke it was if a dagger pierced his heart, the soft spoken and gentle manner of his mother echoed in the tones and note of his melodic voice. “Dearest Brother” he began. “Why have you come to attack this community, so undeserving of your hostilities?” Ailox’s grim façade remained unchanging as he spoke through clenched teeth. “You are to blame for the assault that took place here this day!” Ailox left the words hanging unnaturally hollow before proceeding. “It is you, whom should have come to face me from the start.” Ailox growled. Fezlon nodded in acquiescence, “Perhaps, but you bringing an army to a land you have no claim to…” Ailox interrupted, losing his composure, I HAVE EVERY RIGHT!” He wailed. “It is you that has no rightful claim, second son of a King born by convenience.” If this rattled Fezlon the Azure, he made no show of it. His eyes remained steady, his smile was half-cocked and it made the volcano inside Ailox’s seething soul even more agitated.

The truth was that the younger prince did not have a strong a claim on the lands of Ailox’s father. Their mother had remarried, while Ailox was away during his ninth year. She had given birth to Fezlon on the exact day of Ailox’s birth a year later, yet another affront in Ailox’s mind. Then when Ailox reached the pinnacle of his young life and his choosing ceremony found him to be a worthy candidate to attune with the power of the Entities, his training and new powers poising him for greatness, his mother passed away unexpectedly. He found himself quickly exiled from his father’s lands by Fezlon’s father, the insolent king.

Now twenty years later he stood before the cocksure little prick. The memories made Ailox’s hands clench in rage, one against the horn of his saddle, the other squeezing the haft of his morning star resting against his right shoulder. To make matters worse Fezlon had never claimed kingship. He announced that he would act as steward of the lands in question; allowing the blossoming city to practice a loose form of democratic aristocracy. Fezlon was dangling the title in front of Ailox like a piece of rancid meat for a rabid dog to sniff from afar.

With every passing thought, Ailox grew more irritated. Fezlon had kept speaking words that Ailox chose to no longer hear, his lips were moving, his breath inhaling and exhaling with constant even measure. It was daring Ailox to end its repetition. Then one phrase broke through the barrier of Ailox’s furor. His mother’s voice echoing in his mind as his half-brother spoke them aloud, “You will never know peace until you give up this foolish crusade, and for a land that has no king, and honestly needs no king, especially a king that would rule such as thee.”

Ailox’s arm was swinging before he realized it. The morning star was pure star fire in that moment; empowered by the heart of the dragon, and wielded like the swinging fist of the fire giant. Fezlon’s feeble defenses did almost nothing to slow the weapons descent. It broke through the barrier of energy and smashed him square in the pompous turban, crushing the skull, and squashing the head, face, and neck into a smoldering bloody explosion of ick and gore. The weapon stopped somewhere between the shoulders and torso. Ailox was off his horse then in a flash and with every incinerating swing of the great weapon he kept pummeling the already mutilated body. The years of pain and resentment escaping from within him, as the wrath of the Red Knight reached the crescendo of climactic ecstasy.

All things large and small and within a very significant radius were cremated in those furious moments. As the cries for justice so long deserved in his mind rang forth with each powerful burst of might, so too was the earth scorched. The few men in the Branded Warlord’s army that were left alive were fleeing, running as far and as fast as their legs could carry them. The horsemen that had remained were scattered and unsure if they should flee from the scene of the carnage or risk the rage of their commander.

Grey smoke and ashes were blowing across the blackened earth. Piles of dust where the bones of men should have been were all that remained. Only the Red Knight and his steed, obviously magically protected lingered at the epi-center of destruction. Ailox stood staring at the soot covered walls of the city. The wooden gates that were as thick as a man was tall were gone. The people in that city were hiding in fear of the apocalypse that was surely waiting to befall. The Red Knight took a step towards the city, when the earth began to tremble. He watched then to his dismay and horror, the rest of his legacy, his father’s ancestral home, the First Keep of Men, slide from the top of the crumbling precipice into the waiting maw of the sea below. The thunderous collapse could be heard for miles. The Exiled Prince had won his vengeance, but lost his birth right.

Story written by: Thomas Faessel

Art by: Pedro Lara