Tales of Mantica:Steps to Deliverance v042219

by Mark Barber

  “You’re right,” Aestelle nodded, casting her eyes casually over the simple label on the wine bottle, “I was once a Basilean nun, just as you were. And given your powers, I imagine you’re also aware that my apprenticeship was as a demon hunter.”

  Aestelle averted her eyes from the temptress, in case her hatred of the being was too obvious. She knew well that succubi were, in general, created by the energies of dark magic to take on the forms of whatever their foes desired, to lull them in close enough for the kill. For a mortal woman to gain the favor of the lords of the underworld to advance within the circles of the Abyss to become a succubi, let alone a temptress, would require the very depths of cruelty and depravity.

  “And you think that gives you the power to take me on, along with my slaves here?” the temptress asked in a husky voice as she leaned closer.

  “I’m confident I could take your head,” Aestelle answered honestly, “and then they’d run. But I’m not going to do that.”

  “And why, pray, are you extending such mercy my way?” the horned temptress purred, running a hand along Aestelle’s thigh.

  Again, Aestelle chose not to react, knowing the frustration it would cause, despite the rising anger and hatred she felt welling up within her.

  “If you wanted me dead, you would have attacked me already,” Aestelle shrugged as she finished the wine. “So clearly you have something in mind for me. My guess is that you’re here to make a statement for your masters. You want me to take a message somewhere.”

  “That’s quite a gamble,” the temptress hissed.

  “The odds are in my favor.”

  The temptress leaned back and grinned.

  “I like you. I’m glad I decided to let you live. For now. Go back to your masters. Tell them that Captain Dionne sends his regards.”

  This time, Aestelle could not hide her surprise.

  “Dionne? He ordered this?”

  “He has returned to Basilea,” the temptress whispered, “at the head of an Abyssal legion that will crush all who stand before him.”

  “Well, that’s not true, is it?” Aestelle flashed a smile as she placed the empty bottle down by her side and rose to her feet. “Because you’re all a long way from the Abyss, and that means you’ve used portals, and the amount of power required to move a sizeable army through a portal would need to come from the depths of the Abyss itself. And if that had happened, I wouldn’t be talking to a mere temptress.”

  The red-skinned demon woman finally stopped smiling. She stood and faced Aestelle with folded arms. Aestelle met her glare. Much of her indoctrination at the hands of the sisterhood left her feeling bitter and in contempt of that institution, but not when it came to their teachings regarding the Abyss and its denizens. Aestelle hated them all to her core for everything she had seen them do. The dead villagers that surrounded her only cemented those feelings.

  “And to answer your earlier question properly, why am I showing you mercy?” Aestelle walked back over to her sword and heaved it back over one shoulder.

  “Why indeed?”

  “Because I know enough about your kind to know that if you fall in the mortal realm while in the service of your masters, you will be rewarded with power in the Abyss. So slaying you is the last thing I want to do with you. You see, this, all this around us? Dead innocents, needlessly killed to make your petty point and try to intimidate? All you’ve done is make me a little bit angry.”

  Aestelle paused and fixed the temptress with a steady stare.

  “So here’s my promise to you. I’ll take your message back. But next time we meet, I will cut you down. I won’t kill you. For the sake of these people you have murdered, I will hurt you. I will take a limb, maybe two, maybe your eyes and tongue, I don’t know yet. But I will leave you as a simpering, quivering wreck whom will have to spend the next few years dragging itself on its knees over those frozen mountains to arrive in shame, failure, and agony back to the Abyss. That’s my promise.”

  The temptress burst out laughing gleefully.

  “You think you can morally judge me? You were ejected from the sisterhood, the same as I! You took the Sixth Step! You failed the steps to deliverance! All that separates you and I is one bad day! So make your ludicrous threats and speeches all you want, because there are only two eventualities from our next meeting. Either I will kill you, or you will join me in my new sisterhood. I’ll even let you choose. Now go, you bore me.”

  Aestelle backed away, keeping her eyes fixed on the black orbs in the temptress’ face. She pointed the tip of her greatsword at the demon as she departed.

  “Remember my promise, sister,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

  ***

  The embers of the fires scattered across the campsite glowed a dull orange to match the sun as it rose above the horizon. The hushed tones of quiet conversation across the encampment were steadily replaced with louder discussions as the camp awoke. Squires brushed their master’s horses, tents were carefully collapsed and packed, soldiers washed and shaved with water warmed by the night fires. The view to the east was spectacular from the low mountains on the edge of the Tarkis range; the sun’s rays painted the sparkling waters of the Low Sea of Suan in glittering shades of yellow and orange beneath a cloudless sky that boasted every shade of blue, from the lightest at the horizon to fade up into the dark dawn sky above.

  Constance pulled her mail coat on over her padded, cotton under jacket, sighing as her limbs complained of days of marching over inhospitable terrain. She buckled her sword belt around her waist and heaved her heavy pack onto her shoulders. Around her, her mercenaries completed their final preparations for another day of marching. She cast her eyes across her comrades - Wulf scrounged the leftovers of breakfast as he did every morning, somehow putting all of the food away and maintaining his thin frame; Mallius finished shaving and used the water to plaster his dark hair back into a tight ponytail before carefully arranging his long fringe in a small mirror, ignoring the teasing of his vanity from his friends; Jaque hurriedly rolled up his bedding and shoved his possessions untidily into his pack, late to prepare as always; Hayden sat on a smooth rock and scribbled a few words onto a battered piece of parchment as he looked pensively off to the south.

  “Who are you writing to?” Constance asked as she walked over to Hayden, keeping her voice low so as not to attract attention to what was most likely a personal letter.

  “My daughter,” the big man replied. “I’m letting her know what this is all like, warts and all.”

  “How old is Maya now? Fifteen?”

  “Sixteen in spring,” Hayden replied with a fond smile, “and she is desperate to find her own way in the world. A lot of her friends seem content to tide life over with a simple job until they are married. Not my Maya. She wants to… how did she phrase it… ‘set the world alight, even if it’s only my little corner of the world’.”

  Constance sat down next to her old friend, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands as she watched the paladins kneel in morning prayer together on the far side of the camp.

  “Is that so bad? Setting a little part of the world alight?”

  “It depends what she means,” Hayden shrugged. “I don’t think even she knows what she means. But I’ve spent years hiding the truth from her, and now she seems to think that life on campaign is something glamorous. She doesn’t see this for what it is.”

  “Perhaps she wants to set the world alight with her music,” Constance flashed an optimistic smile. “That talent comes from you.”

  “Nice of you to say,” Hayden gave a short chuckle, “and maybe you’re even right. But I can’t help but wonder whether I wasted a gift given to me by the Shining Ones on blowing a few simple notes on a battlefield. Maybe I could have done more. Hopefully that’s what Maya means to do. I don’t know. If you could have your time again, Constance, would you do it all the same?”

  Constance paused to contemplate the question. Her instant reaction was negati
ve, thinking about the effect her imprisonment had on her life. She thought of the friends she had lost and the atrocities she had witnessed, and how much misery and pain had surrounded her vocation at seemingly every turn. But she had always prided herself on her optimism and switched focus to think on the happy times, on the camaraderie and the bonds of friendship she had forged over the years, of the places she had seen from the frozen peaks of the Dragon Teeth Mountains, across to the breathtaking plains of Ardovikian, and even as far south as the Twilight Glades themselves, far away and across the seas. But was it worth it? If she could do it all again, was soldiering really the life she would choose? Or should she have heeded her father’s advice and followed him into a comfortable existence as a successful merchant?

  She opened her mouth to voice her thoughts, but her attention was dragged away from her introspection by the pounding of hooves on the southern slope. A lone rider, cloaked in black, sped up the slope in a gallop toward the encampment. Two sentries rushed out to confront the rider, but after a short exchange, they quickly allowed admission.

  “She’s back,” Constance exhaled, “I had best go report to our friend Hugh and see what we’re up to next.”

  Constance trudged up the hill to where the Dictator-Prefect’s impressive tent was in the process of being collapsed and packed by his entourage of servants, under the aggressive guidance of Trennio. Tancred also clearly had a similar idea to Constance, as he too made his way over from the paladins’ area of the encampment. They both arrived only moments after Aestelle had dismounted to deliver her report to the Dictator-Prefect and Captain Georgis.

  “This far south?” Hugh exclaimed.

  “It is rare, but not unheard of,” Aestelle said, her tone serious and concern showing in her eyes. “How many there are remains to be seen.”

  “What was it?” Tancred asked as he arrived. “What did you find?”

  “Abyssals,” Aestelle replied.

  Constance let out an audible breath as the familiar sensation of anxiety took an immediate and violent clutch at her gut.

  “You are sure?” Tancred demanded.

  “Yes, I’m sure!” Aestelle snapped. “I killed two of them and spoke at length to another! They burned a fishing village, killed nearly everyone! That place is full of bodies if you’d care to go and look, and what they’ve done to those bodies? Not even orcs treat their captured so badly.”

  “How many of them?” Hugh asked sternly as he beckoned for Trennio and Platus to approach.

  “I saw a couple of dozen,” Aestelle said, “nearly all lower Abyssals. They were led by a temptress. She claimed there were many more that were already further south. I don’t know how many.”

  “What now?” Georgis exclaimed. “We can’t keep chasing Dionne! We’re duty bound to stop these monstrosities!”

  “They’re one and the same!” Aestelle growled breathlessly. “The temptress said that Dionne sent his regards. She claimed he was leading an entire Abyssal legion.”

  “Nonsense!” Constance intervened. “There is not a shred of evidence that Dionne would do such a thing! Disobeying orders and going rogue from the legion is an entire world away from selling a soul to demons and turning to the Abyss!”

  “I’m telling you exactly what I was told,” Aestelle said, “I heard…”

  “Then you are a fool! An idiot!” Constance yelled, her fists clenched. “You believed the words of a demon? They lie, how could you not know that? They seduce with lies! Perhaps if you’d spent more time in the field, actually fighting, and less time worrying about your damn make up then you would realize that!”

  Aestelle drew herself up to her full height and towered over Constance, leaning forward to fix her blue eyes dangerously on Constance’s.

  “I know demons,” she seethed, “more than you can know. I’m well aware of how they operate and I’m well aware of…”

  “I’m well aware of the man we are hunting down!” Constance cut her off angrily, again. “I marched under Captain Dionne’s banner for long enough to know that he is not the sort of piece of shit who sells his soul to devils! He would never do that! Ask any of my men who served under him!”

  The tall adventurer folded her arms and flipped her beaded locks over one shoulder.

  “Then if you think your beloved former commander is some sort of deity with enough willpower to resist the temptations of the Abyss, it is you that is the fool. The idiot. Now is the time to take action, not simper and cry like some sycophantic puppy.”

  Constance lunged forward and swung a fist for Aestelle’s jaw. Before she could connect, she was shoved back with enough force to make her stumble a few steps. Tancred stood between Constance and Aestelle, both of his arms extended as he pushed the two women apart.

  “Enough!” the red headed paladin commanded. “This is getting us nowhere! The situation is dire and now is not the time for petty bickering!”

  Aestelle looked down at the short paladin incredulously.

  “If you ever lay a finger on me again, little man, I’ll take it off.”

  “Listen to him!” Hugh bellowed. “I don’t have time for your squabbles! I have made up my mind. We are heading south. We are chasing down that Abyssal horde. I think it will lead us to Dionne. It might not. But there is no way in all seven circles of that hell they’ve come from that I am allowing those monsters to proceed through Basilea! Get your soldiers ready to move, we are heading south immediately.”

  Constance swore and turned away, struggling to contain her anger and frustration at such a poor decision. Hugh turned back to Aestelle.

  “You, mercenary,” he said, “how confident are you that there are indeed any more of them than the mere two dozen you saw?”

  “I’m all but certain,” Aestelle replied coolly. “It is almost impossible that any Abyssals could have made it so far south into Basilea on foot, so they would have used a portal. Portals take a phenomenal amount of power to open and somebody with the arcane skills and loyalty to the Abyss to activate a portal stone at the destination. Such effort would not be wasted on a force so small. There are more of them, I’m fairly sure.”

  “Then go,” Hugh ordered, “get back on your horse and ride south as fast as you can, get past them. You must get word back to the Duma that there are Abyssals within our borders. The Duma must know.”

  “This is not what I agreed to,” Aestelle shrugged. “This is more than you paid me to do. Much more.”

  “You have just seen innocent people slaughtered,” Captain Georgis whispered, “men and women with families. And you really think that now is the time to negotiate more payment?”

  Aestelle looked down at the tubby legion captain. For a brief moment, her features softened. Wordlessly, the tall woman swung herself back up into her saddle and dragged her horse around to the south before spurring the animal back into a gallop.

  Chapter Twelve

  One foot tapping restlessly on the marble floor of the waiting chamber, Valletto fixed his eyes anxiously on the tall, highly polished doors on the far side of the lavishly decorated room. The midafternoon sun poured light in through the balcony to his right, still ferocious in its heat despite summer begrudgingly giving way to the fall. He glanced down at the length and angle of the shadows to calculate the time; he would be late to walk his son home from school. His wife would not be happy if the message did not get through to her.

  “Stop looking so worried, Val. You’ll get me started.”

  Valletto looked across to where Saffus sat on a long bench opposite him, his arms spread out lazily along the back of the carved, ornate furniture. Saffus fixed him with a look combining concern, deep concentration, and mild irritation. Valletto knew from years of experience that it did not pay to anger the sorcerer; his mood swings were the stuff of legend amidst the gossip of trainee mages. The tall mage gave an almost sinister smile, his thick, black eyebrows marring with the pure white of his receding hair.

  “How long will they leave us waiting here?” V
alletto asked, half to himself, as he stood and resumed his restless pacing in front of the grand doors.

  “As long as it takes!” Saffus exclaimed. “This is the Duma! The democratically elected representatives of the most powerful nation in Mantica! They’ll take as long as they want to!”

  Valletto let out a frustrated sigh and walked out to the balcony, leaning on the rails running around the small platform as he looked down on the city below. The Quarter of Governance sprawled out beneath him, basking in the warmth of the sun. Rows of buildings in white marble and dull terracotta housed countless government offices and officials, all supporting the decisions and policy of the Duma as it enacted the will of the Hegemon. The Plaza of Exchange, the largest and most prosperous marketplace in the entire world, lay a mere stone throw from the extravagant entrance to the Duma complex. Merchants hurriedly prepared their wares outside their shops or, for the less successful, in smaller temporary stalls. Tomorrow would be another market day, as was one in three, where anything could be purchased from sandals and bread up to the deeds for mansion complexes outside the city. Even after six years of living in the City of the Golden Horn with his family, Valletto still marveled at the luxury and power that was displayed in even the smallest of details around him.

  Valletto turned around as the double doors opened behind him to admit a short official of the Duma, clothed in a toga of white with a purple sash denoting his rank and position.