DemiGodChapter 16 Betrayal
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Demigod Of WarChapter 29 free porn video
Day 85:
When the Raiders came to rouse them the next morning, they found the group already awake and ready for whatever the day might bring. Kort led the contingent, his blood-shot eyes zeroed right in on John. He beckoned the leader over, and shook his head when Rorik and Sygraid made to follow.
“Good morning.” John smiled at the man’s wince. “Feeling it this early, are you?”
“Aye.” Kort grunted, frowning. “I have asked the blacksmith to use someone else for his anvil, but he continues to pound my head.”
John wondered idly if they had bloody Marys in this world. Probably not. Pity.
“What may I do for you? I do not forget that we owe you a map. We just need the materials, and it will be yours.”
Kort rubbed his eyes. “The map, yes. If I give you enough, can you make three? This will go far to show others that you bargain in good faith. I knew you had women and children with you, but Syv the Far-eye only told the King how many he thought you were. Other possible Kings are of a mind to put you out of the city.”
Heart pounding, John kept his expression even. “Not a problem, you bring the materials, and we will make them right away. Do you need us to leave now?”
Kort sighed. “I must ask further forbearance. You and your warriors must remain here, and the women and children must exit the Arena. We shall hold them under guard, as hostage to your good behavior. Your warriors must remain,” he pointed at the far end of the stands, “over there, and they may not keep their spears or shields until all is decided.”
It took every ounce of willpower to keep himself in check. But they had no real choice. At this point, refusing would directly to lead to a battle. One likely to result in most of the noncombatants being killed.
“We will do as you ask.” John replied after a minute. “But one in three warriors will keep their shields. We are not your enemy, and won’t let you just kill us all at your whim. I don’t know what stories you’ve heard about me, but the only reason I’m here is that the orcs overran our towns near the Ice Crag. We are only a small part of those we started with, and have nothing left to lose. If you betray us, I will exact a heavy price for it.”
Kort smiled for the first time. “I can see you are weary, but if we are able to add your warriors to our raid-group, we shall be at least as strong as before we fought you. We respect those who refuse to break, no matter the cause. If you will speak with your people, and direct the women to depart, then we may speak of the Conclave, and the requirements to enter the Melee.”
John agreed and returned to Rorik and Sygraid. He waved over several of the women who’d displayed leadership during their trek. Surprising many (but not John), Lada was one of those who quickly showed her strength and unyielding core. He explained their situation to them all, directing that the women take the Watchmen’s spears, and two thirds of the shields.
“I’m sure they expected us to just hand them over, but this Kort never said we couldn’t give them to you.” John told the women leaders. “You may not be as well-trained, but if they try to split you up, or anything else, you fight back. Got it?”
There was little cheer left in them, but the women’s grim smiles told him they would do as he asked.
“Lada,” he pulled her aside after the others got the main group moving out of the Arena. “I need you to do me―us a favor. Get the women who are the best at attracting men’s attention, and have them work on the guards. We want these Raiders to hesitate if they are ordered to kill or enslave any of you. Can you do that?”
The former madam flashed a genuine-seeming smile for a moment, before dropping back into a scowl. Her worgh let out a low-toned growl.
“I can play the part.” She assured him.
“And find out anything you can about factions and leaders here. It’ll be to our benefit to play them off against each other, so they don’t gang up on us.” He added.
Lada stared at him for a long moment. “You are wise, to think of this. I will do so.” She bowed slightly. “My lord.”
John watched for a few minutes, making sure everybody was doing as they had to, before returning to talk with Kort.
“I see the way your people look to you.” Kort remarked. “You are much respected. I see no dissension among them. This bodes well for you here. But no one here knows you. Have you ever served with a raid-group before?”
John shook his head. “No. All I know is that there are many Raider Kings, that you travel south and east and sometimes even up the Emerald River when you go out. That’s it. Nothing else. Why do you ask?”
Kort mulled over what to say before explaining. “We are a hard people, living a dangerous life. The Alfyr hate us.” He pointed at John’s ear. “As do the mer-folk, and the men of the Islands. The frost giants fear us enough to leave us be, and even the mountain giants stay to the high reaches. Usually. Death in battle is our highest honor, and though each man is permitted to chose his own fate, only those who do fight are respected. Your men have fought against us, and so have earned that respect. But if you wish to be truly accepted, you must fight with us, willingly. Readily. No matter who is made King today, he must prove himself worthy to retain that status by leading the raid-group successfully. We shall likely depart in less than a week, to raid. Our normal targets are the smaller island villages in the Bay, and a few coastal towns farther south. We will be away from here for several months. Will this be a problem, leaving your women here?”
“Who protects the town while the raid-group is away?” John asked.
“Older, experienced men, like myself are chosen by lot to remain behind after the raid is announced. Should we fail to successfully guard the city, we receive no portion of the raid treasure, and may be banned, or even killed if the Kings believe we betrayed our charge. If your women remain, they will be as secure as our own.”
John nodded thoughtfully. “Then I don’t see the problem. I’m sure many will be nervous our first time out, but between me, Rorik and Sygraid, we’ll keep the boys in line.”
“Ah, the woman, she is your companion, the Shield-Maiden from the End? We have heard of her, too. It is said she is part giantess, is this true?” Kort leered, questioningly.
John just snorted. “She’s my companion, but she’s Rorik’s wife, not mine. I wouldn’t know.”
“Truly?” Kort looked astonished. “This is surprising. Why would she accept your second, when you are clearly without a woman?”
“They were already married when I met them.” John smiled. “I helped keep a draugyr from killing her son. They’ve been traveling with me ever since.”
“You have fought orcs, and giants, and now say that you faced a draugyr.” Kort leaned forward. “Have you truly completed a Challenge? The Diamond Dragon’s Challenge?”
John patted the Tooth. Make yourself visible.
The engraving and runes glowed briefly. Kort nodded knowingly. He put a hand on the dragon’s-head pommel of the sword sheathed at his own waist. Scaly leather wrapped the hilt, and engraved dragons, inlaid in platinum decorated the ‘S’-curved cross-guard and attached ring.
“He is called Sword Eater.” Kort bragged quietly. “With him I have shattered even Dvergyr enchanted weapons.”
“Her name is the Dragon’s Tooth.” John answered, as the ax faded from view.
Kort smirked. “As Esbyon found out.”
John shrugged. “I made no promises.”
“That you did. The King was an Evolved Explorer; he should have recognized that you carried something.” He paused. “Are you a ... what did you call it, Adept?”
“No, but I am protected.” John explained. “Cold has no effect on me.”
Kort blinked. “This is powerful, here in the North. Am I to understand, you wish to be considered for the Melee?”
John tilted his head. “Maybe. You said something about meeting the requirements?”
“Ah, yes, this is what I was going to tell you.” Kort launched into an explanation. “To be considered by the Conclave, a member of the raid-group must put you forth. Another must agree to support you, and they may not suggest or support any others that day. Your weapon must be examined by those who know of such things, and they must declare that it was Challenge-won for you to enter the Grand Melee.”
Thinking of the King’s real killer, John asked, “Would you support me, if I were put forward?”
Kort shook his head. “I may not. I know my own supporters will put my name forth. So I am not allowed. Do you believe someone will suggest your name?”
John looked away. “I’m not sure.”
“We have heard many things about you.” Kort admitted. “Should someone else say your name, I will get a supporter of my own to agree. But if I do this, you must agree not to be the one to force me from the Circle, and if I am King, you must agree to serve on my personal guard for three seasons.”
“And what if I get to be King?” John countered. “Will you be one of my guards?”
Kort threw back his head, laughing. “If you become King, if, and if you succeed in your first Raid, I shall gladly guard you for three following seasons. Do we have an accord?”
John’s hand slammed into Kort’s forearm. “We do. Go get the map making stuff.”
Humming to himself, Kort sauntered off.
John sat in the front row beside Rorik and Sygraid, with the rest of the Watchmen arrayed behind them in five rows of six. They’d placed those with shields at the end of each row. John fervently hoped there wouldn’t be a need to use them. The rest of the stands contained the nearly four hundred men and women, young and old alike who lived in the Harbor. Those men who looked physically capable carried various weapons, and wore either stiff, brand-new or worn, high quality leather and metal armor. Most of the fighting men sat as a group in the first two rows. Some were busy, moving back and forth, talking to others, while a few ignored the discussions to focus silently on the ring in the middle. John spotted Kort seated in the the front, ignoring the men whispering all around him. The Raider met John’s eyes and gave a small nod.
In the center of the Arena floor was a thirty-yard-wide circle, bordered with a rope thicker than what he could wrap a single hand around. It was staked in place, with five Raiders posted around the circumference. Each had a wooden truncheon hung from his belt, and no other weapons. The floor was hard-packed dirt, speckled with several large, dark stains.
When the flow of people dried up, a line of four much older, stoop-shouldered men limped and shuffled their way into the center. They wore visibly ancient, well-made leather armor, and each had a large knife sheathed at their waist. The line of men, in what looked to be ascending order by age carefully stepped over the rope marker to stand in the very middle and face the bulk of the Raiders.
Graybeards. I like it. John smiled to himself.
The one on the end closest to the Watchmen raised both hands, and the audience hushed.
“The King is dead.” He intoned.
The audience made a sound halfway between a shout and a gulp.
“The Raiders need a new King.” The next in line continued.
The audience repeated their odd, somber noise.
“Are there any present, among the Raiders, who are not worthy to add their voice to this assembly?” The third asked.
This time the people were silent. John noticed several Raiders craning their necks to look down the rows of armed warriors. All shook their heads in obvious disappointment.
After waiting for a few minutes, the final Graybeard spoke. “Then we shall choose our next King. Does any Raider have a nomination?”
The man sitting behind Kort sprang up, drawing his ax and holding it just beneath the head.
“I suggest Kort be our new King. He rallied the Raiders when the last King was killed. All here know him. He is a canny Wizard, and a powerful warrior. He would lead us well.”
“Do any others support this man?” The first Graybeard asked.
The man seated to Kort’s right stood, unsheathing his sword. He held it by the blade, just below the cross-guard. “I too support Kort to be our new King.”
“Kort, will you accept this honor, and bear this burden? Will you fight for us all? Will you lead in battle, and be the last to quit the field? Will you strive to protect all who live in Final Harbor?” The second Graybeard asked.
Kort stood up. “I will, your majesty.” He bowed.
“Then step forward, to the edge of the circle.” The third directed.
Kort unbuckled his belt, leaving everything but his sword in his seat. Holding it by the sheath, he vaulted the wall that marked the Arena floor to take his spot.
“Do we have any other nominations?” The fourth asked again.
A man nudged the one next to him, who swallowed and stood.
“I nominate...”
There were six men standing at the circle’s border when silence greeted the fourth Graybeard’s invitation. Next to Kort was Knyut, then Tait, Svend, Enar, Aric and finally Mar. Kort met John’s gaze again, eyebrows raising in question. The Overlord was just shrugging when a solitary warrior, sitting at the far end of the second row rose. He held his longsword by the blade as well.
“I nominate Shon, Overlord of the Watch at the End of the World. He was the first to lead his people in Challenging the Diamond Dragon, and bears that dragon’s full protection. He has killed an orc Warmaster, and faced the Horde Lord himself in individual combat. He is known to the Valkyrie leaders, and has brought much needed additional people to our city. He led them through the high reaches to get here, which is no easy feat, and the Northmen all know him for a great leader.”
A stir rumbled through the stands at this announcement. Several other Raiders were staring in amazement at the man who’d spoken. The Graybeards all turned to look at John. Their faces showed no surprise at this turn of events.
“Do any others support this man?” Graybeard number one asked, then repeated himself when nobody spoke up.
The second time, Kort turned to glare at the man who’d been sitting to his left. With a frown, that one stood, pulling his own sword free.
“I too support Jyon to be our King.” Kort’s man announced.
The Raiders who’d been staring at the first man, now whipped their heads around in shock at the second. The rumbling in the audience got louder. And there was a sizable contingent who were opening shaking fists and heads at him.
“Jon from the End, will you accept this honor, and this burden? You are not from the Harbor, nor any other Raider city. Will you still fight for us all? Will you lead us all in battle, and be the last to quit the field? Will you strive to protect any who live in Final Harbor?” The second Graybeard asked, his eyes boring into John’s single orb.
John stood. “I will, your majesty.”
He copied the others, dropping everything but the Tooth in Sygraid’s lap.
Let’s do this.
John took a spot at the circle, closest to his seat. Because their group was seated a quarter of the way around the oval from the bulk of the Raiders, he stood by himself, while the others were closer together. Several glared daggers at him, so he made a note not to let any gang up on him.
After asking for more nominations three times without success, the Graybeards split up at some unseen signal. Each one picked a candidate, holding a hand out into which the nominated Raider placed his weapon. A Graybeard examined each one closely, before side-stepping down to the next man. When the first one finally reached John, after checking all the other candidates’ weapons, the Overlord asked the Tooth to make herself as completely visible as she could.
Red and blue and black runes, and dragon designs glowed faintly as the ax dropped all her illusions. The Graybeard stared at the weapon in silence, before glancing up at John.
“The Diamond Dragon gives beautiful rewards.” The Graybeard rasped.
“Beautiful, and deadly.” John added.
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