by Mark Barber
***
The Dictator-Prefect, clearly in a foul mood, had ordered a stop to the marching drums not long after the detachment began its march north at sunrise. Footsteps from sixty soldiers echoed across the wet cobbles underfoot, the clipping of hooves from the knights and their squires not far behind. Constance glanced around at the town of Torgias as she marched to the right of her mercenaries, pain still flaring up in her injured thigh despite the healing magic of the paladins and two weeks to recover.
The town seemed to be an odd mixture of poverty and affluence with not much in between. The outskirts of the town were littered with cramped, shoddily constructed huts for the scores of miners, while the center of the settlement surrounded an impressive town hall and square, complete with an ornate fountain and a small collection of marble statues of well-dressed merchants, perhaps the town founders. A large church sat opposite the town hall on the other side of the square, complete with a tall, open steeple boasting some new looking brass bells. A dozen black birds fluttered up into the air with a noisy caw as the soldiers marched into the town square, their movements silently followed by the eyes of every man, woman, and child they passed.
Atop his impressive steed at the head of the column, Hugh held up a gloved hand to signify a halt. An indistinguishable order was immediately barked out by Captain Georgis, and the men-at-arms of the 32nd Legion immediately snapped to a standstill.
“Company… halt!” Constance ordered, smiling proudly as her ex-military men and women came to a stop with exactly the same precision and smartness as their legion counterparts.
Three horses waited by the church steeple; only two with riders. Constance made out the familiar figures of Tancred and Orion. Hugh immediately rode over to them, flanked by Platus and Trennio. The foot soldiers and knights waited in silence as their leader spoke with the two paladins. It occurred to Constance that there was absolutely no need to stand on ceremony, not when her soldiers could be enjoying some lunch or a drink.
“Company… fall out,” she shouted, before adding, “don’t go far.”
Ignoring the disapproving glares of the legion men, the mercenaries broke off into smaller groups and walked away amidst the buzz of casual conversation. Only Hayden and Jaque remained behind to walk over to Constance.
“You coming for a drink?” Hayden offered with a smile.
“Yeah, I think so,” Constance winced as she massaged her thumbs into her injured leg. “Let’s go find someplace we can afford, though.”
“Shall we see if Orion wants to come?” Jaque offered. “We haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks.”
“Sure,” Constance shrugged, remembering her few conversations with the tall knight with some affectation, “why not?”
The three walked across the square toward where Hugh and his aides faced Tancred, Orion, and the riderless horse. Orion saw them, jumped down from his saddle, and walked out to meet them.
“Hello,” he greeted with a slight smile, “welcome to Torgias. Not much of a place, I am afraid.”
Jaque stepped forward and shook the huge paladin’s hand.
“Glad you’re still in one piece,” Constance offered. “I fancy you and your leader there might have gotten into trouble if you’d met Dionne alone.”
“Maybe,” Orion gave a slight shrug, “maybe not. How is your leg?”
“Yeah, nearly there.”
“I am honestly sorry,” Orion bowed his head. “I led that charge away from you with a very heavy heart. But I saw what Lord Paladin Tancred was trying to achieve, and my job was to support his plan.”
Constance furrowed her brow as she tried to pick apart the meaning of his words.
“Sorry, you’ve lost me.”
“The battle,” the bearded knight explained, “outside Emalitos. The Dictator-Prefect ordered me to lead a charge against the rebels attacking you, but then the order was countered by the Lord Paladin. It pained me greatly to turn away from helping you all.”
Constance glanced across at her two comrades. Jaque appeared confused, even amused by the sentiment. Hayden folded his arms and frowned.
“Just orders, Orion,” Constance laughed, “it’s never personal. None of us expected you to break the line and make up your own plan just because we’ve enjoyed a conversation of two. I wouldn’t worry.”
“Besides,” Jaque grinned, “we all heard about you nearly breaking the arm of one of Hugh’s little lap dogs afterward! That would make up for anything!” Constance remembered Orion’s hand shooting out to defend her from Platus’ attack.
“Likewise, that was nothing personal,” Orion confessed. “There is a special area in the darkest recesses of my heart that is reserved for bullies.”
“Well, it made me laugh!” Jaque smiled. “We’re off to find a tavern for lunch and a drink. Would you like to join us?”
The tall knight took a step back, his brow lowering as his dark eyes flickered from man to woman in suspicion. After a moment of silence, his mood seemed to lighten just as quickly.
“I would like that very much,” Orion answered, “but I fear we will not have the time. We are awaiting our new guide for our move up into the mountains. Once she arrives, we will be off again.”
“I’d best round up our lot again, before they get drunk and start fighting,” Hayden exhaled. “Excuse me.”
Constance watched the big man walk off in the direction of her mercenaries. She turned to look up at the spectacular church above them, taking in the intricate details of the small stone arches carved atop the walls, just beneath its terracotta roof tiles. A stiff breeze swept across the open town square, adding a bitter chill to the air.
“Why do you shave your head?” Jaque suddenly demanded.
“Pardon?” Orion asked quizzically.
“Why do you shave your head?” the thin man repeated. “I thought only paladin’s squires had to do that. All the other paladins here prance around sporting all sorts of fancy hair, and you go out of your way to look like a squire. Or to look intimidating, whichever. I was just wondering why you do it.”
“Jaque!” Constance snapped uncomfortably. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit intrusive?”
“It is alright,” Orion said impassively, “it is a reasonable question. I… suppose it is rather petulant, even self indulgent of me. All of my childhood there was always such pressure to succeed as a squire and to become a paladin. So many failed. My father expected, no, demanded that I succeed. But I was a terrible squire, and I should have failed a dozen times over.”
The tall knight paused, as if unsure whether to open up about his past any further, but continued tentatively.
“But one day… something happened and it gave me the anger and drive to change who I was. And when I was knighted, I suppose I rather resented the implication that I was suddenly a better person and accepted in this elite group. So I continued to shave my head to show them all that I was the same person, and I did not care for their acceptance.”
“Is it to look scary?” Jaque grinned his gap toothed grin. “Because we were all terrified of you when we first met you!”
“Jaque!” Constance snapped again.
Orion’s face cracked into a broad grin.
“In my vocation, an intimidating appearance has its advantages,” he admitted.
Jaque laughed, a well natured but silly sounding laugh. After a few moments, Orion joined him. Constance watched them both until they stopped, her mind racing as she considered the deeper implications of a pointless tradition that must have lasted for years.
“You should stop shaving your head,” she suddenly found herself declaring. “You don’t need to look intimidating, and you don’t have any point to prove to anybody. Besides, it scares people away from trying to get to know you. And that’s their loss, as well as yours.”
Orion regarded Constance with serious eyes. His features softened.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely, “that is a nice thing to say. Fine, I will stop.”
<
br /> The moment was ruined as Jaque let out a crass expletive. Constance glared admonishingly at him, but found his attention diverted to something over her shoulder. She turned and saw a tall, slender woman of staggering beauty striding confidently across the square. The blonde woman wore skin-tight armor of black leather, her arms left bare, save for a series of leather straps which crossed up to her elbows. In one hand she carried an exquisitely jeweled greatsword while in the other she carried a bow; a dwarven flintlock pistol dangled from her belt alongside a pair of throwing knives. The eyes of every man in the detachment followed the beautiful woman as she walked over to the horse next to Tancred and buckled the two weapons to the saddle before elegantly swinging herself up to a seated position.
“That is our guide,” Orion explained wearily.
“Where did you find that?” Jaque exclaimed.
“Never mind that,” Constance grimaced as she saw Hayden returning with her disappointed looking contingent of mercenaries, “our lot are back. Come on, looks like we’re moving again.”
***
The unsettling marriage of ethereal beauty with rampant breaches of the laws of nature left Dionne simultaneously astounded and uneasy. He lay back on a hill of purple grass, looking up at a lime green sky as thin wisps of cloud rapidly shot over him, linking, forming, growing into elegant shapes, and then silently dying all in the space of a few seconds. The hill he lay on was at the center of a small island that floated steadily through the sky; many others of similar dimensions drifted gently around him, each with a picturesque waterfall that bubbled up out of the middle of the island to then meander down over gently sloping rocks, to then fall over the lip of each island and plunge down into the abyss of nothingness that lay somewhere in the darkness, miles below.
“You seem to prefer this scenery to the First Circle,” Am’Bira remarked casually from where she sat to Dionne’s side, still in her human form.
“I’m not sure how anybody could ever feel settled in that place,” Dionne replied as he gazed up at the dancing clouds.
“That is why it is as it is,” Am’Bira shrugged, her fingers idly playing with Dionne’s hair. “It is the place where sinners are punished. It is but one Circle – there is much more to the Abyss than that.”
Dionne exhaled slowly, consciously fighting to defeat the clawing discomfort in his gut. The warm wind blew gently over him, the soothing sounds of the waterfalls pleasantly accompanied the rustling of the long grass, yet he remained far from contented.
“How did you end up here?” he asked the dark-haired woman.
“You know that already,” she replied. “I saw you looking at my belt buckle earlier.”
“But how did you come to leave the Basilean sisterhood and… well… end up here?”
The temptress let out a short laugh.
“I took the sixth step,” she replied nonchalantly, “I was expelled from my order. Ironic, really. As a fighting order of nuns, we were charged with keeping Basilea safe from evil; and yet when I did so, I was charged with being… too extreme. The problem with Basilea is that it is all well and good preaching, but when it comes to making tough decisions, one needs tough people. People like you and I. People who realize that there are some in this world who do not need forgiveness and a chance to repent, they require punishing. They need to know the error of their ways and pay a price for their actions.”
“So how did you end up in the Abyss?” Dionne looked up at her.
Am’Bira looked down and narrowed her red eyes quizzically.
“Why, I was drawn to it. Just as you have been. We belong here.”
Dionne met her captivating gaze for a few moments before continuing.
“You said earlier that we’ve met before. When was that?”
Am’Bira smiled slyly.
“It was only the briefest of encounters,” she smiled. “You may not have noticed me, but I certainly remember you.”
Before she could continue, a small portal tore itself in the air in front of the hill. The tall, imposing form of Teynne stepped through to tower over the two. He folded his powerful arms and smiled a sharp-toothed grin. Am’Bira immediately sprang up to drop to one knee and bow her head.
“My lord.”
Dionne stood up. Teynne looked at him expectantly for a moment before turning to the temptress.
“Go, Am’Bira, leave us for a while.”
The dark haired woman obliged, leaving Dionne alone with the Abyssal Champion. The demon looked out across the green skies at the skyscape of floating islands.
“It would be more appropriate if you were to pay me the correct marks of respects from now on,” he said sternly. “Particularly in the presence of others.”
“I didn’t ask to be brought here,” Dionne countered assertively.
“My friend, my rank and status in this place is far higher than yours ever was in Basilea. Yet in your realm, I had the courtesy to submit to your authority and address you with respect as a subordinate. I’d have thought that after all we’ve been through and all I have offered to you, you could extend me the same simple courtesy.”
Dionne sighed and nodded, feeling shame welling up from his proud outburst.
“My apologies, my lord,” he muttered.
“Not here, not now,” Teynne gave a dismissive gesture. “Just in front of others. How are you doing? Is Am’Bira looking after you?”
“Yes… yes,” Dionne stammered uncomfortably.
The demon turned to regard him with a knowing smile.
“You needn’t feel any guilt, my friend,” he frowned, “she is a temptress. It is one of the things she is there for. But more importantly, I have spoken to my lords and masters about you. You are to return to Basilea.”
“I’m no longer welcome here?” Dionne planted his fists on his hips.
“No, no, far from it,” Teynne replied evenly. “A man of your ability and reputation is most welcome within our fold. But you are being hunted by the same men who killed your friends and comrades. It will send a powerful statement to the Hegemony when you defeat their force, and that is what you must do.”
Dionne turned away to consider his situation. He certainly had no love of the Hegemony, but killing legion men and paladins was another thing entirely. He took a few deep breaths and looked across at the next purple island drifting through the warm sky. These were the men who had killed all those who remained loyal to him for years of exile and hiding. They had given him no chance to explain his actions. They were there to bring him in and execute him before their corrupt masters for the simple sin of trying to save women and children from the ravages of war. He owed them nothing. Dionne stopped to think of the faces of the men who had resolutely stood by his side for years of running, leaving all to fight alongside him. His mind listed their names as he thought of them lying dead in a forgotten field in the foothills of northern Basilea, massacred in a small battle that would already have been forgotten by all.
He fought to control his breathing. Even if he knew he was being used as a pawn to make a statement in the great strategic game between Basilea and the Abyss, he felt no turmoil. Only anger.
“I shall need an army if you wish me to defeat paladins and legion men,” Dionne said as he turned back to face Teynne.
The tall demon smiled broadly.
“Dionne, my friend, you needn’t worry about that.”
***
The wind had whipped up enough to audibly whistle across the jagged rocks that punctured up through the lush green vegetation covering the mountainside. A thin pathway cut through two gentle peaks of rock, meandering lazily northward toward the very boundaries of Basilea and the tallest mountains in the Tarkis range. With the approach of the fall, the mountains ahead already glistened white with snow at their very peaks, although the temperature of the lower ranges was moderate, at least without the wind chill to contend with. Off to the east was the ever-present sparkle of the Low Sea of Suan, its deep azure waters starkly contrasting the gentl
e blue of the sky above.
Settling lower in his saddle in a fruitless attempt to guard himself from the wind, Tancred turned his attention from the gentle sea on the eastern horizon to the line of soldiers struggling up the steep slope ahead. The ever changing gradient of the path over the last three days of travel had forced a frustrating change of pace and a tedious necessity to dismount almost on the hour, every hour, to guide the horses by the reins. He dreaded to think how the baggage train was faring behind him.
A mild commotion began amidst the ranks of men-at-arms up ahead as a lone soldier struggled to move against the flow, fighting his way back down the slopes, much to the frustration of his comrades. The young soldier looked up to make eye contact with Tancred and then changed direction, waving a hand above his head in an attempt to gain the paladin’s attention. Tancred swung himself down from his saddle and moved to the head of the line of cavalry to meet him.
“My lord,” the soldier exhaled breathlessly, “we have encountered a problem at the head of the column. The Dictator-Prefect requests your presence.”
Tancred nodded, handing the reins of his warhorse to Jeneveve.
“Have our knights dismount and rest,” he ordered. “I will be back as quickly as I can.”
Tancred followed the soldier back up the slope, the crammed ranks of men-at-arms wordlessly parting to either side of the muddy track to allow him through. His thighs burning with the exertion of continuing up the ever-increasing slope, Tancred reached the top of the peak and let out a groan of despair as he saw the delay up ahead. The track stopped at a sheer drop, leaving a gaping chasm between the end of the track and where it started again at the next peak north; significantly higher, lying across a gap of perhaps a hundred feet. At each side of the gaping yawn, attached to the ground at the edges of the pathway, were the broken remnants of the wood and rope bridge that once crossed the gap.