by Mark Barber
Tancred almost pitied the man as he drew his own sword from his side – facing a Basilean paladin on horseback in single combat was as good as suicide. Tancred watched the man approach, gauging his attack. As the two closed, he saw the mixture of sadness and desperation on the young man’s face as Tancred leaned into the attack and plunged his sword straight through the man’s chest, killing him outright and barely slowing down in the process. With one man left to face, Tancred blinked the sweat out of his eyes and continued the chase.
Threading through the trees as blurs of lush green and earthy brown flashed to either side of him. Tancred closed with his quarry again. Pillars of sunlight broke through the canopy of leaves overhead, shining down in columns of misty white. Up ahead, the trees opened out into a small clearing, but at the far end a sheer cliff face of dusty brown rock barred any further progress. The final horseman hauled back on his reins, dragging his steed up onto its hind legs into a frightened halt. He turned to face Tancred as the paladin entered the clearing, slowing his horse but holding his bloodied sword aloft.
“Stop!” the dark haired man shouted, holding his hands to either side in a gesture of surrender. “Enough!”
“Throw your sword down!” Tancred yelled as he closed with the rider. “Do it, now!”
The tall man obeyed, casting his sword aside before slowly climbing down from his saddle. Tancred rode over to him, keeping his own blade held at the ready and looking anxiously around him for other enemies. He heard the drumming of galloping hooves from the woods behind him.
“Who are you?” Tancred demanded as he looked down at the dark haired man. “Why did your man attack me?”
His vanquished opponent offered an insolent smile but remained silent. The rumbling from the woods was replaced with another rider as Jeneveve galloped into view at the far end of the clearing. Orion appeared only moments later, and the two paladins rushed over to Tancred.
“What is going on?” Jeneveve breathed. “And who is this man?”
“That’s what we are about to find out,” Tancred kept his eyes fixed on the smiling man who stood in the center of the three mounted paladins. “We’ll take him back, the others will be wondering where we have disappeared to.”
“Not likely, my lord,” Jeneveve replied, “the river was clearly visible from the hill to the south of the town, they all would have seen us pursuing these men.”
Orion’s eyes narrowed pensively before opening wide.
“I should head back to the town,” he said suddenly, a note of something akin to panic in his voice, “with your permission of course, Lord Paladin.”
Tancred eyed the older paladin suspiciously, feeling his anger rising at the mockery he felt was intended in the use of his title.
“Go,” he commanded, “Jeneveve and I are more than capable of bringing this thug back.”
Wondering what he was missing, Tancred watched in puzzlement as Orion dragged his horse around and kicked the animal into an urgent gallop back toward the town.
***
Orion’s suspicions were confirmed the moment he arrived back at Emalitos. Six legion men-at-arms were gathered in front of the inn, with a crowd of perhaps fifteen townsfolk in a loose circle around them. Two of the soldiers restrained a fair-haired woman in her thirties, who was screaming and pulling frantically at the men who held her arms, blood dribbling from her mouth and nose. Three of the soldiers were gathered around the crumpled figure of a man of a similar age who lay curled up in a ball in the dust as one of the soldiers kicked him repetitively in the ribs. Orion was enraged but not surprised. He knew of Hugh’s reputation. He knew of Hugh’s role in putting down the Peasant’s Revolt of Karathos three years earlier.
The crowd hurriedly opened up as Orion arrived, galloping his warhorse to the inn before hauling the reins in to bring the animal to an abrupt halt.
“What do you think you are doing?” He yelled as he dismounted, pacing toward the men who were assaulting the injured farmer.
One soldier paid heed to the paladin as he arrived and walked out to confront him. Orion pushed him down into the dirt before arriving at the man-at-arms who was kicking the injured man. He picked the legion soldier up by his throat, dragging the choking man to his feet and staring into his terrified eyes as he closed his hands around the man’s neck.
“I asked what is going on here!” Orion bellowed, throwing the soldier down to the ground and turning to face the rest of the soldiers. “You two! Release that woman, now!”
“Orders from the Dictator-Prefect!” exclaimed a short soldier, barely out of his teens. “The townspeople have been harboring criminals! We were ordered to get information out of them by any means!”
“Release that woman, boy!” Orion pointed a finger at the young soldier, feeling the rage rise up within him at the injustice that had been allowed to transpire. “I will not tell you again!”
The soldier let go of the woman’s arm, but the older legion man next to him stood firm and continued to restrain the panicked woman, even as she smashed her hands ineffectually against his armored sleeve. The other four men-at-arms shuffled around to stand with the first two men, leaving the injured farmer to crawl over to the edge of the growing circle of townsfolk who had gathered to witness the spectacle.
Orion paced toward the soldier who refused to release the woman, his fists clenched. The soldier looked up at him, his resolve finally breaking, and let go of the frightened woman. Orion looked down uselessly at his left hand, wishing not for the first time that he had spent more time studying divinity magic. As it was, he knew only the most simple of spells, whereas many paladins of his experience could easily have utilized their powers to heal the woman’s injuries. But Orion had dedicated every spare minute to using the weapons of war. Healing magic had never been his priority. Time studying the arcane was wasted time that could have been spent on swordsmanship. Arcane mastery would not have stopped the sword that killed his Uncle Jahus.
“Go and gather every man-at-arms in this town!” he yelled as he turned his attention back to the legion men. “Tell them that their orders are rescinded! Get them back to that hill to the south of the town. Right now!”
Not waiting to find out whether his commands were to be obeyed, Orion flung two of the soldiers to either side and stomped over to the front of the inn, kicking one of the doors off its hinges and striding inside. The scene that greeted him was not dissimilar to that outside. Hugh and his two aides stood by the inn’s bar while ten men-at-arms restrained or beat four bloodied townsmen in a space cleared in the center of the floor. Two serving girls cried in the far corner of the room, cowering at the foot of a staircase leading up to the next floor. Smashed furniture and spilled drinks littered the room.
“Stop!” Orion shouted. “Now!”
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to face him. The Dictator-Prefect’s eyes flashed in a rage.
“Just who in blazes do you think you are!” he roared. “I’m in command here, not you!”
Orion turned to two of the soldiers who had been assaulting a gray haired man of fifty until his arrival.
“Put him down, or I will put you down!” Orion pointed a finger at the men-at-arms.
“I give the orders here, not you!” Hugh screamed as he barged his way past one of his men and rushed toward Orion. “And these men are carrying out my orders! These bastards here are providing shelter and food to rebels! Scum who have betrayed the Hegemon and Basilea! You don’t have the authority to…”
“You do not have the authority to assault these people! The Hegemon’s citizens, who are innocent until proven guilty by a trial conducted by their own magistrate!” Orion snarled.
“I’ve heard enough!” Hugh spat. “Restrain this man!”
The soldier closest to Orion, a stern looking man in his mid-twenties with cool eyes and a scar across one cheek, reached for his sword. Orion turned to face him and glowered down at him, well aware of his terrifying appearance and how best to use it.
The soldier gulped and slowly moved his hand away from his sword. The ringing of metal echoed from the far side of the room as Hugh’s two aides drew their own weapons. Galvanized into action by the statement, four of the men-at-arms also drew their own blades. Orion scanned his eyes from man to man, assessing each and every warrior in front of him.
There was not a single man he thought he could not beat, but even in a cramped fighting area with his back to the wall, he faced thirteen armed men alone. Some looked too afraid to enter the confrontation, but even with the odds slightly evened, he knew he could not win. Orion prioritized his targets, picking the easiest kills out of the men who faced him, so as to quickly even the odds further and possibly panic a few of them into running. He still did not favor his chances, but it was the principle of defending the helpless against oppression. It was everything that his Order had drilled into him; everything that Uncle Jahus had taught him was right and true. It was something he was willing to die for.
“You,” Orion stared at Hugh as he drew his heavy, two-handed sword from his back, “have exceeded your authority.”
The remaining door behind Orion swung on its hinges, causing the paladin to turn in place and raise his sword. Tancred looked up at him, an expression of utter bewilderment plastered across his crooked features. The young paladin stared from man to man, his red hair plastered with sweat against his face.
“By the Ones!” he exclaimed. “What is going on here?”
“Your man has raised a sword against a Dictator-Prefect!” Hugh spat. “And I’m having him restrained for trial!”
“These men have assaulted innocent…”
“Shut up!” Tancred growled forcefully, cutting Orion’s retort off. “I’ve seen what happened outside!”
“Lord Paladin,” Hugh seethed through gritted teeth, “restrain your man. Now.”
Tancred looked across at Orion. He turned to face Hugh and then looked across the room, his eyes finally coming to rest on the two girls crying in the corner. His eyes screwed up tight and he let out a gasp of frustration before swearing under his breath.
“Dictator-Prefect,” Tancred said slowly as he opened his eyes again, “you are carrying out an illegal act. Have your men lower their weapons immediately.”
“What?” Hugh roared. “I am a Dictator-Prefect! I’m well aware of the law of the land! I answer only to the Duma! I enact the laws here! I do not answer to you!”
“Oh, you very much do,” Tancred took a pace forward, “you forget that my father is one of the most shrewd politicians the Hegemony has ever seen. I, like my father, fight with my words first and my blade second. So let us examine your words in more details. Your legal authority is only in place with the permission of the local magistrate. I am sure you intend to counter that with your right to enact the law in the magistrate’s absence, but both you and I know that the law states that every effort must first be made to contact the magistrate, and you have made no effort. Thus, you are carrying out an illegal act.”
The Dictator-Prefect’s face dropped as Tancred recited the law of the land. Clearly not satisfied, the red headed paladin took another step forward before continuing.
“In addition, the Hegemon himself has empowered every holy order of paladins with enacting his will. Not the will of the Duma that you answer to. The will of the Hegemon himself. So to that end, in matters of the law you do answer to me. You also answer to Brother Paladin Orion. You all do. This is your last chance before I escalate this. Put down your swords.”
The seething Dictator-Prefect looked across at his aides and gave a curt nod. The two men sheathed their swords. Without a word, Hugh stormed past the two paladins and out of the inn. His aides followed, both men fixing threatening glares at Orion as they left. The ten soldiers sheepishly followed, leaving the four injured men to limp over to the bar where the two serving girls immediately set about tending to their injuries. Tancred immediately paced over to the injured men and waved a hand of glowing white over the first of them, using his expertise of divinity magic to heal the man’s cuts and bruises.
Still surprised at his response, Orion turned to face Tancred.
“Well, that was…”
“Shut up!” Tancred snapped as he spun to face Orion. “You idiot! You bloody fool! Drawing a sword against a Dictator-Prefect! What were you thinking?”
Orion felt his temper flaring again as his shoulders hunched up and his teeth clenched.
“What would you have me do?” he growled. “He ordered our soldiers to attack innocent people!”
Tancred shook his head, one hand dropping to the Eloicon at his hip. Orion heard the younger man mutter a brief prayer quietly as he turned his back. For a moment, he felt some genuine respect for the man who so far had earned nothing but resentment from him. Outside, the unmistakable rumbling of a large group of horses came from the south. Orion moved over to the doorway and breathed a sigh of relief as the thirty paladins of his group rode along the narrow street from the edge of the town, coming to a stop in front of the inn before dismounting and quickly separating into smaller groups to offer assistance to the townsfolk. It was abundantly clear watching them that the assistance was not welcomed.
“Go and help the others,” Tancred said quietly. “I need to think.”
Orion opened his mouth to speak, but he thought better of it and turned to leave.
***
A staccato series of thuds sounded as the handful of well-placed bolts from the salvo found their targets. The line of ten crossbowmen peered across the hastily constructed butts, staring at their targets to assess their accuracy. The wind whipped across the exposed mountain plateau, rustling the clumps of long grass that sprouted up between every nook and crevice amidst the jagged rocks. A veteran crossbowman who had been in Dionne’s service for nearly a year now paced along behind the shooters with his hands clasped at the small of his back, bellowing advice and reprimands in equal measure. Half an acre down from the crossbow range, another twenty men practiced spear drills as Vassia, another of Dionne’s veterans, bellowed out commands, expecting them to react with precision as one unit in unison. He seemed disappointed.
From his vantage point at the edge of the plateau, Dionne watched his latest batch of volunteers respond to their training. He cast his mind back to his own training in the legion at the age of sixteen, remembering the fire and fervor that came with volunteering to travel the world with a professional fighting force, expanding the Hegemon’s influence and defeating evil. Dionne allowed himself a sad chuckle at his naivety back then, and then cast his eyes across the motley collection of the middle aged and unfit men who he commanded now. They did not have the gullibility of youth that could be molded into fanaticism, but they did have maturity and, to a man, the insurmountable sense of drive and purpose that only stemmed from true loss. That in itself was enough to give Dionne confidence that they could be trained into effective soldiers. He had spent the last year doing just that, and it worked well.
“Dionne?”
He turned to face his addresser. Teynne stood before him, his red robes flowing in the wind and his perpetually tired, red-rimmed eyes narrowed pensively. Dionne had not had a chance to confront Teynne since Phellius’ accusation, and now seemed as good a time as any to have that discussion.
“We need to talk,” Teynne said before he could speak.
“Strange, I was about to say the same thing.”
Teynne’s brow lifted a little.
“Oh?”
“Something Phellius brought to my attention.”
Teynne suppressed a smile as if the response was one he was suspecting.
>
“Perhaps we’d better go somewhere more private,” he suggested.
The two men walked in silence away from the plateau, picking their way along the rocks to a small, shallow cave not far from the path leading up to the peak. Despite his trust for the man, Dionne gestured for Teynne to enter the cave first. Again, Teynne suppressed the smallest of smiles at the gesture and entered without a word.
“I’ll come straight to the point,” Dionne began as he entered the cave, shuddering a little as a small trickle of moisture from the earth above the entrance caught the back of his neck. “The men think you’re a spy working for the Duma.”
Teynne paused, nodding slowly.
“I can see how it looks that way. But I’m not.”
“Not the most compelling defensive argument.”
“What do you think?” Teynne enquired calmly.
Dionne fixed his eyes on the blond warrior mage. The younger man looked back without a hint of fear.
“This came from Phellius,” Teynne said, “but that is part of what I wish to talk to you about. Phellius is gone. He took some men to Emalitos for supplies, as you ordered. The Duma has sent a force of over one hundred soldiers to apprehend you. They have Phellius in custody. Your other men are dead.”
Only a mere moment’s shock at the words caused Dionne to pause. Not only was this bound to happen one day, but he had also faced worse a hundred times over. He knew he would have to face the legion at some point and that had always pained him greatly, as he had nothing against the soldiers he once stood alongside and led; it was the leadership he despised.
“When did this happen?” Dionne demanded.
“Less than an hour ago.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Dionne said with deliberation. “I know you have arcane powers, but nothing I’ve seen that indicates to me that you are a great sorcerer who can see all over incredible distances.”