Faceless

{Excerpt}

This was a period of vigorous economic expansion. This expansion, in turn, played a major role in the many other transformations—social, political, and cultural—of the new age.

By 1560 S.T, the population in most Kingdoms of Udoris had marginally increased after over a century of peace. The bonds within the kingdoms tightened, and the 'wheels of commerce' spun ever faster.

New commodities, many of them introduced by members of the Sanctuary of Scrolls, enriched material life. Not only trade but also the production of goods increased as a result of new ways of organising production.

Merchants accumulated and manipulated capital in an unprecedented volume. Most historians locate this period as the maturing, or at least the beginning, of Eastern capitalism. Capital assumed a major role not only in economic structuring but also in political relations.

Culturally, new values—many of them associated with the end of the Great War and the Reformation—diffused through Udoris and changed how people acted and the perspectives by which they viewed themselves and the world.

But even as capitalism advanced from the east, the once-free peasants of Udoris slipped further into serfdom. The apparent prosperity of the century gave way in its middle and later periods to a "general crisis" in many Udorian regions.

Politically, the new centralised states insisted on new levels of cultural conformity on the part of their subjects, for example, Aries refused to tolerate the major religious bodies, namely the Band of the six divinities, The Wanderers of Radafis and the Creed of the Twins, and forbids the use of the common tongue, Morgar, by its dissidents, isolating itself from the rest of the world. Understandably, historians have had difficulty defining the exact origins of this complex century in the course of Udorian development.

The century's economic expansion owed much to powerful changes that were already underway by the climax of the Great War. The later disasters radically transformed the structures of Udorian society—the ways by which it produced food and goods, distributed income, organised its society and viewed its dissidents

As a result of this revolution, organisations such as the Sanctuary of Scrolls and the Board of Commerce could thrive, leading to the development of game-changing elements. Important discoveries such as the newly invented Gunpowder siege weapons gave armies greater fighting power, hence their nations a greater sense of security.

By the end of the century, Udoris achieved what it never possessed over a century ago: an unprecedented technological leap, accompanied oddly by an extended period of peace and political stability.

...

Excerpt from Jonas Diane’s book on Udorian History- 'Our Origins'

{END}

Algrim,

Souville Province, Redwater county.

Duke Hera’s Keep.

15.13.1623 S.T.

...

GILBERT FELT A SLIGHT PREMONITION as he stared at the thin parchment slip on the table in front of him. In the dim candlelight, his trimmed moustache twitched subtly as he revised the content of the letter.

[Greetings father, how goes the preparations for your return? Mother, sister and little Lan send their greetings. Regarding Greenfields. The annexation goes as planned. Unfortunately, it appears the von Greifenburgs refuse to vacate the fief. I still guarantee we can disseize the lands in a few days. Though it may cost us a few brave men, I have thrown a feast in their name, honouring their projected sacrifices and our inevitable victory, as per your command… At first light, we march. May the ancestors be with us all.]

He read through the message again, and once more for good measure. Somewhat content with what he had written, Gilbert rolled the parchment slip into a tiny scroll before sealing it with a pint-sized wax stamp. The thought of writing more crossed his mind as he stood up from the table, but the tiny slip can only contain so many words. Plucking a rather plump pigeon from a cage by the window he sized it up for a moment before attaching the letter to a pouch on its back and releasing the bird into the night sky.

The odd feeling at the back of his mind refused to dissipate. Maybe it was the excitement for his first real battle or the fact that he had one too many cups of wine tonight. Perhaps he was just worried the letter wouldn't reach his father in the end, the local hawk population have started to become a nuisance after all. Worse comes to worst, he would just have to remember to send another copy or two tomorrow morning before they disembark.

Still, Gilbert felt exhausted... and a bit drunk. He stood up with a stretch and a tired yawn before turning towards his bed. Sluggishly, he crawled into it, turning to face the ceiling as he stifled yet another tired yawn.

Eyelids heavy, he listened to the drunken laughter of his men in the building below as he slowly dozed off into a light slumb― A scream.

Gilbert sat up with a violent start.

Suddenly, out of the blue, there was a cacophony of noises. The ding of blades on stone, the sound of broken furniture and the screams of men. Of pain. Of despair.

The young earl quickly looked out his window, his face rapidly growing pale.

The stables were empty, its equine occupants charging out of the fort via the open gates. The great hall at the right side of the main building... ablaze. A fire growing in size, illuminating the entire keep in a resplendent orange glow. A fight had broken out at the barracks. Cloaked men wielding swords and bows surrounded the building―violently subduing any of his brave knights who attempted to fight back―as they threw lit torches on the thatch roofs. Archers and arbalists on the portcullis wreaked havoc on all that might approach the gates, shooting down men as they tried to escape. Chaos ran amok, flames raging, churning black smog into the starry night sky.

“W-we're under attack,” Gilbert muttered with a stutter. He could feel his blood pumping. His heart racing. His lungs struggling to keep up. Hyperventilating.

He tore his eyes away from the sight, stumbling backwards as he took a sharp breath. Ashen faced, he stumbled again towards his table. There he fumbled as he searched clumsily and found a papyrus slip before he began writing fervently, hands trembling in fear.

[Father. The fort has been attacked by unknown assailants. By the time this message reaches you, we might have already become captives… or worse. If not, we would flee and only return when we receive news of your return. Please return at first light upon receiving this message. Please.]

The note was poorly written, his usual flair and frivolous handwriting nowhere to be seen but this would have to do. Hurriedly, he heated a small pan of sealing wax before dipping a coin-sized stamp. In his haste and possibly drunkness, the stamp fell out of his hand, rolling underneath the furniture. Panicking, he fell to his knees to retrieve the said stamp, only to knock everything on the table astray on his way down as well as startle the pigeons in the cage.

Several seconds later, he heard the sound of doors being forcibly opened down the hallway. He managed to pick the stamp but realised the wax had been rubbed off. Glancing around, he saw the heated pan on the floor with its contents split across the floor.

Gilbert's limbs froze as he stared at the mess on the floor. His vision swam as he stared at the mess on the bear-skin rug, his mind collapsing under the sheer weight of fear, confusion and alcohol.

The door in the next room was forcibly opened and the vexed growls of men in the hallway were now very audible.

“He is not here!” one of the voices announced loudly, its tone laden with frustration and anxiety. Gilbert’s fears ballooned again as his head jerked upwards towards his door now being kicked open at the hinges. Moments later several armed men barged into the room.

All fell silent as Gilbert gazed at the cloaked figures across from him. One who appeared to be the leader walked in. His footsteps thudded mutedly with an unspoken calmness.

He was clad in a suit of armour underneath his blood-soaked cloak, a bloody sword in his right hand and a lit torch in his left. His gaze travelled from the stamp that Gilbert held, to the note on the table, and the spilt wax on the floor before returning to appraise Gilbert. The two caged pigeons cooed softly in the background.

He looked like the devil himself. A fiend, just like the one his mother always told him stories about when he was much younger.

Gilbert stared at the cloaked man for several moments before the figure finally decided to break the solemn silence, revealing his features.

“It is over, Gilbert,” Lancelot said to him.

“You've lost.”

…

Earlier…

An empty clearing, in the woods just outside town.

As Lancelot approached, he saw several men standing silently around a bonfire, a pile of unlit torches by one side. They were all armed. Either with swords, bows or crossbows and clad in breastplates underneath shawls that cloaked their forms. All had tense expressions on their faces and were constantly emitting a solemn ambience.

He smiled faintly as the tensed at the sound of his approaching footsteps. Some even subconsciously squeezed their weapons, glaring in his direction. Cautious.

Good. They understood the severity of tonight's task.

“At ease,” Lancelot said with hands raised as he walked into the clearing causing the men to visibly relax.

“You are still alive? I thought you would be dead by now,” one man, much older than Lancelot himself, spoke in a tone of mock surprise as he extended a salute, his right hand curled in a fist over his heart.

Lancelot glanced at the knight, internally shaking his head.

“Good to see you too, sir Carter,” he replied, poker-faced with a salute of his own, taking the friendly jab in his stride. Although the grinning knight might not appear quite as reliable, if it was up to Lancelot himself, he would rather sir Carter lead the mission. Alas, the choice was never his to make and the young lord was quite adamant.

“Is everyone here?” Lancelot asked as he cast his gaze around.

“Mostly,” sir Carter said. “Five more men stayed behind to ‘help manage’ the situation back at the fort.”

Lancelot sighed, nodding in understanding.

“And the patrols?”

“They have been dealt with.”

'So far so good,' Lancelot murmured internally before taking a position at the head of the group where he was in full view of everyone present.

“I want to be on the assumption that everyone here is aware of the reason we are here tonight?” he asked, scanning the small crowd.

Upon receiving no objections, he nodded relieved. Pulling out a scroll from his belt, he rolled it out on the floor beside the bonfire where the crackling flames could illuminate the parchment sheet.

“This,” Lancelot said, gesturing at the outlines drawn on the sheet as the knights gathered, murmuring, around his crouched form, “is Redwater Keep…”

…

Twelve minutes later.

Lancelot approached the fort’s portcullis, followed by three cloaked figures as they prowled the shadows lingering by the tall wall. The five-metre tall gate was open, but it was guarded by two knights leaning torpidly against the stone walls. He looked up the wall to see two patrols, both illuminated by the torches they held in their hands.

Glancing back at the men behind him, Lancelot gestured towards the patrols on the wall. Both of which were immediately shot through by the arbalists in the group.

He paused, listening for an alarm. Any at all so early would require them to switch to plan B. He hated plan B.

...None. The patrols overhead were fully dead and Lancelot heaved a sigh of relief. Gesturing to the knight beside him, he stalked over towards the guards at the gate.

Sprinting forward, his palm clasped over one guard’s mouth. Lancelot watched as the guard’s eyes widened in surprise, then fear. Swiftly stabbing his dagger up the man’s throat, he held his victim still as he struggled for a few moments. With a gurgling sound accompanied by the spurting of warm blood, the fresh corpse collapsed limply into Lancelot’s embrace.

With complete disregard for his now soaked garment, the viscount dragged the body back into the shadows, only briefly glancing towards his partner to ensure there were no complications. There they hid the bodies before returning to the gate with the others. Peering into the large bailey Lancelot noted the coast was mostly clear. Only five men were in sight, sitting far off in the distance around a bonfire from across a wooden fence separating the inner and outer baileys. The guards appeared to be drunkenly discussing something as they made loud boisterous noises. That's good.

The viscount quickly ignored the group, turning to look up at the wall, scanning its entire length. Three patrols to the right and one to the left, at least of this side. A glance was enough to determine that either group was well outside the effective range of their crossbows.

Hence, the four men walked in the direction of the three patrols, hugging the walls all the way to avoid detection. They soon arrived at the bottom of a wooden ladder hanging off the wall. Two shots and a third later, all the patrols directly above were dead, and all four knights began scaling the wall.

Mounting the structure, they backtracked towards the portcullis to secure the area. There Lancelot noticed another patrol wandering in the direction of one of the corpses they made earlier.

Panic flashed in the viscount’s gaze as he and the knights rushed for the portcullis. But apparently, they were a little too late. The patrolman had noticed the body as he turned to race away from the corpse.

'Oh, shit,' Lancelot cussed as the patrolman escaped.

“Intru―” then a bolt burst out from underneath the fellow's jaw in a splatter of blood.

Lancelot glanced back at the knight who made the shot, giving a brief nod of acknowledgement before picking the two lit torches from the corpses on either side of the portcullis and dropping it down the wall, signalling those beyond

A tense minute later, cloaked figures emerged from the darkness like infernal beings rising from hell, stalking towards the fort’s entrance.

Lancelot breathed a sigh of relief before returning to the ladder, leaving the others behind. On the ground, he watched his fellow soldiers pour into the fort before moving towards various structures, and targets, with swords, crossbows, bows and unlit torches in hand. Several knights, bowmen and arbalists even scaled the walls to secure the structure.

The viscount heaved another sigh of relief. Drawing his sword he jogged towards the fort’s main building with a new knight in tow, this one armed with a longsword. Moving as stealthily as he could mid-run, he crossed the fence with a leap as he avoided the five men he spotted earlier around the bonfire.

A tense, a few minutes later Lancelot arrived at the fort to see another group of men entering the building. His men, some of which scattered to secure the exits with a literal wall of spears and armed crossbows. They entered, mostly ignoring the hallway as they ran up a flight of stairs before coming across a door. It was locked from the inside. With a swift kick, they breached it, entering into another hallway and were faced with a woman, a maid perhaps, resting against the wall with a man leaning suggestively over her.

Without waiting for either to react, Lancelot charged, his men following behind him.

The man reacted, but it was too late. In one clean swing, The viscount beheaded him, his blood splattering on the wall and the maid. Blood dripping down her face, the young woman screamed but was cut short as Lancelot’s blade plunged smoothly through her heart.

“Bloody whore,” he cussed, hearing multiple footsteps behind the other door in response to the maid’s scream.

With a rough rattle, the door across the room opened, and several men appeared peeking in. A moment passed with both groups staring at each other. The next moment, however, was a flurry of motion as both parties reacted, one charging into the other, uttering low growling war cries all the way.

It was a lost cause though, mostly for the drunken defenders. Lancelot and his men pounced on the unarmed and disorientated men who could barely stand upright, swinging their blades and creating corpses with reckless abandon.

Charging forward, Lancelot ducked under the clumsy swing of a fist aimed at his face. He leaned forward underneath the flailing appendage as his sword swung upwards, severing the offending arm from its base. Lancelot's victim screamed up a bloody storm before the viscount plunged his blade through his lower torso. A cruel yank to the left and the enemy soldier was left standing upright, one-armed with his warm intestines and evening meal piled morbidly on the floor. He collapsed dead the next moment as Lancelot turned around to behead him. A quick and merciful ending.

Quickly, the knights of Greenfields murdered the enemy to the last man before moving on in the direction of the chambers, grabbing torches off the wall as they ran. According to popular design philosophies, the chambers of the lord of the keep and his family are usually located at the highest point of the building, which in this case would be the third floor.

Running up another flight of stairs, the knights arrived at yet another hallway. Opening the first door, they were met with an empty room. The next three were also empty, but the fourth one was occupied by five women and a female child. Lancelot didn’t know the first three, most probably maids given their attire, but he did recognise the others as core members of the Hera household. The margrave’s wife, daughter and lastborn.

“Someone stay and watch them, the rest follow me,” he said without pausing as he and the remaining knights sans one person quickly left to search the remaining rooms.

After a hurried search, they kicked open one of the last rooms, there they came across their target. One Lancelot was quite familiar with.

The viscount glanced around at the mess in the room. A letter on the table, spilt wax and two startled birds.

He looked back at the young man's face. Dumbfounded, pale yet utterly frightened.

The two stood staring at each other for a few moments before Lancelot finally spoke.

“It is over, Gilbert,” he said, gazing at the younger man.

“You've lost.”

…

Morning the next day...

An inn.

Levi sat watching as a pillar of smog rose from the fortress on the hill. The peasant street was a buzz of activity as both the common folk and merchants gathered to watch the spectacle. Confusion ran amok throughout the entire populace.

Behind him, the door opened again.

“Well?” Levi asked, seemingly aware of who walked in.

“It’s done, my liege,” Lancelot said, falling on one knee. “By your command, we have taken Redwater. The fort, the roads and the harbour are all under our control. No one leaves this town without your express order. The rebellious Heras and what remains of their men have been detained. We are currently salvaging the situation. Searches have begun to uproot spies, and our knights are suppressing whatever voices of dissent that might emerge amongst the merchants and townsfolk.”

“Good,” Levi said blandly, his detached gaze expressing no visible emotions. A hint of boredom, perhaps?

After a few moments of sombre silence, he spoke again.

“Have sir Carter deal with what remains. We are heading back. Now.

“This room smells funny.”

{COS}

At the fringes of...

Windy fir woodlands

…

Princess Iris had always felt that Duke Aden of Souville province was an enigma of a person. No other day could have affirmed this fact better than today. The middle-aged Lord rode his horse ahead with Iris directly behind him as they conversed, her mother, the Queen trailing slightly behind where she listened in silence.

“...but, he was your uncle?” Iris asked again, mildly startled.

"Yes," Aden repeated without much emotion.

"But―"

"The fool was desperate enough to join the rebellion," the duke interrupted without a hint of frustration in his voice. The princess was impressed. Usually, most noblemen his age would have been itching to snap at her in light of her incessant questioning, only restraining themselves due to her status, but the duke was still holding strong.

"He simply gave me the perfect excuse to execute him.," lord Aden continued. "True, I did mount his head on a pike in the family compound. Alongside his children, wives and loyal servants as well as their families. But, my father always said, ‘give no quarters to traitors’, a mantra that served him well until the day he started overlooking 'small offences' in the name of familial relations."

"You are truly as ruthless as they say," the princess muttered, looking away.

"He murdered my father, his brother," Aden replied calmly. “That’s only fair.”

'...'

"...So, is it true you slaughtered a thousand men during that battle?" Iris finally asked her tone morphing to one of mild awe.

"No, I did not, your highness. That was just the exaggerated babbling of some drunken knights. Probably half that number, from the scuffles and executions. Maybe a little less, give or take.” Aden said. “I am not so sure. I didn't keep count for obvious reasons, but I don't believe I killed a thousand men."

Iris' awe grew. The thought of such a slaughter was still mind-numbing. She had seen men killed and she always believed that the numbers were blown out of proportion by the commoners. Killing another is not so easy―even for veterans―hence, it is also easy to simply dismiss such claims entirely. But hearing the estimates from the duke’s mouth, while it was significantly lesser than the rumours, was still quite terrifying nonetheless.

"...Your sons must be brave, strong men then, given your exploits," Iris finally said after a brief pause, her expression contemplative.

"My sons? Sean, probably. But Levi? Him? No...” Aden scoffed. “ No, he is not. If one day, that she-male decides to leave his study on his own and experience life a little I would throw a feast in celebration. He usually spends all his time buried underneath a mountain of scrolls. No interest at all in knightly activities, wine or even women. The boy’s future worries me at times..."

"Really?.." Iris muttered, surprised. ‘The son of the legendary Dark Gryphon does not like to wield a blade? How unexpected.’

Hearing that the true son of the duke was not the valiant young man she thought him to be was strangely disappointing for some reason.

Aden continued, somewhat forlorn now. "That boy loves books just like his mother. It's a pity they never truly met, they would have been best of friends." The duke fell silent afterwards, immersed in his thoughts.

They continued the journey in silence afterwards with the princess choosing wisely to keep the rest of her questions to herself. Only the sound of birds and the rustling of rodents in the tree kept them company as the sun slowly crept into the morning sky.

Then suddenly, lord Aden stopped, reining back his horse with a raised fist signalling that they do the same.

Baffled, Iris couldn't tell what was wrong, but the duke had yet to fail them so she simply kept quiet and just watched.

After a few tense seconds, three armed men rode out of the shrubs garbed in brown cloaks. On their faces were oval white and black masks, split vertically, marked only by pill-shaped eyeholes.

They had no emblems, no distinctive features aside from their masks. But their appearance caused Duke Aden's movements to stiffen and a wary expression to appear on his face. Iris turned her gaze back to the newcomers, finding their attire vaguely familiar.

"What do you want from us?" Duke Aden asked, clearly recognising them as his hand tightened around his sword's pommel.

"Lord Aden,” one of the masked men said emotionlessly, “We request you and their majesties to please come with us."

"And why should we do that?” the duke asked again, raising a questioning brow. “Given you know who we are, did you assume we would just comply with such demands?"

Iris nodded inwardly at that. The request was well out of place, especially towards a group of their collective statures, but something felt odd about this encounter. The stranger appeared a little too... calm?

"Lord Aden, we both know any thoughts of resistance would be futile,” the masked man finally said unperturbed after a moment of oppressive silence, surprising Iris with both his words and tone. “It would be in your best interest if you simply complied with our demands."

There was another pause. A moment of stillness as the princess awaited the duke's response. She could sense her mother worriedly fidgeting in the background as well, appearing unnerved greatly by the confrontation. Not even the bandits disturbed her as much

"Who wants to see me then?" The duke sighed finally after a momentary pause, lifting his hand from his sword’s pommel in a relenting posture.

"You will find out soon enough." The masked man replied, again emotionlessly.

Iris felt a sense of bafflement. She turned back towards her mother who had moved her horse closer to hers to warily stare at the masked group. Even the queen seemed to possess a glint of recognition in her eyes. One that was heavily laden with caution and distrust.

Iris turned back towards the lead man, once again staring at his face gear. A black and white mask split vertically and marked only by pill-shaped eyeholes.

Then it clicked.

"Are they?.." Iris asked a hint of incredulity then wariness creeping unto her features.

"Yes, princess," the duke said with a resigned expression. “They are…”

"The Faceless."

Disclosable Information:

Portcullis: is a heavy vertically-closing gate system typically found in mediaeval fortifications, consisting of a latticed grille made of wood, metal, or a combination of the two, which slides down grooves inset within each jamb of the gateway. Bailey: is a courtyard within the castle and could contain a variety of buildings, including halls, kitchens, stores, stables, a chapel, barracks, and workshops. A rough sketch of Hera's fort