by Mark Barber
The first thing which leapt out at Orion when he cast his eyes across the encampment was the group of warhorses penned in to a field adjoining the farmhouse. His eyes widened as his instantly recognized his own horse; the huge, lumbering animal plodded vacantly across the field, his tail swishing away at a small cloud of flies in his wake. Orion remembered the charge against the Abyssals from the hilltop, the animal bravely following his commands until he was dragged from the saddle to face the bloody melee below.
Orion jumped down from his saddle and quickly made his way across the field. He had never been the sort of person with a particular affinity for animals; to him, a warhorse was merely a weapon and a means of getting somewhere more quickly, but he felt a true warmth surge through him when the horse noticed him and immediately plodded over. Smiling broadly, Orion rested a hand on the horse’s head, stroking the loyal animal with genuine affection.
“Hello, boy,” he said quietly, “how in the world did you survive all that? It is good to see you again.”
The warhorse nuzzled his snout into Orion’s outstretched hand. He opened his mouth to continue talking to the animal but realized that the horse did not have a name. Having served him loyally for years, braving the bestial charges of orcs, the thunderous fire of Abyssal dwarves, and the hellish terror of the Abyssals themselves, Orion had never even bothered to give the poor animal a name.
“Kell,” he breathed quietly, “it is a strong name.”
He closed his eyes in regret, thinking of the commonalities in how he had let the two down; his warhorse and his squire, both of whom had quietly and obediently put up with him for years.
“Sir?”
Orion span around to face the voice behind him. He took a step back in shock when he saw his squire stood hesitantly at the edge of the field.
“Kell?” he exhaled. “I thought you dead!”
“Likewise, sir,” the boy nodded, his face a confused mixture of surprise and anxiety.
Orion looked down at his squire, his heart heavy as he recognized the apprehension in the young man’s eyes came from knowing that he must face his master again. The cold, unfeeling demands for perfection in preparation of weapons and armor, the fierce rebukes if service was anything less than perfect. Kell had weathered it all with quiet dignity.
Orion held out his hand. It was the best he could do, all he could think of. To shake hands with a squire was unthinkable, to acknowledge a subservient inferior as an equal with a handshake would be scorned by others. Orion kept his arm outstretched. Kell looked at him nervously.
“It is not a test,” Orion said softly, “it is an apology.”
Hesitantly, Kell shook his hand. Orion smiled, patting his shoulder and then taking a step back.
“I was just naming my horse after you,” he said uncomfortably, “to remind me to appreciate those who help me.”
“He already has a name, sir,” Kell said. “If you pardon the liberty I took, sir. When you did not name him, I called him Star. After the pattern on his flanks.”
Orion smiled again and nodded.
“Star it is, then. I have to talk to the Lord Paladin about our next steps. Come and find me in an hour or so and let me know what I can do to help you with your education. If you want to go through swordsmanship, riding, scripture, divinity, you have a think and let me know. I shall do the best I can to be a better teacher.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kell gave a slight smile before taking a step back, nodding his head politely and turning to make his leave.
Orion watched him go, wondering if he was overcompensating. Had he been such a bad master? He had never hit the boy, never resorted to name calling. But he could certainly do better.
“I suppose that’s the end of the road for poor old Henry now you’ve got your proper warhorse back,” Aestelle said as she walked over, leading her own horse by the reins into the paddock.
“I shall get Henry back to that farmer’s boy,” Orion replied. “I owe him that much.”
“You’re not going to leap upon the opportunity to make a joke?” Aestelle narrowed her eyes. “The opportunities for innuendo are plenty right now.”
Orion eyed her in confusion.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Nothing about having a powerful animal between your legs again, straining under the size of the thing, absolutely nothing?”
Orion met her inquisitive gaze for several long and uncomfortable moments in complete silence.
“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about,” he said in all honesty.
Aestelle exhaled and nodded, smiling at him sadly.
“Nevermind. I see you have taken to shaking hands with a squire. There are some who will think you have lost your mind.”
“I am not after their approval,” Orion replied, patting Star’s head gently. “There are a lot of things about the way that I conduct myself that need to change.”
“Oh, by the Ones,” Aestelle sighed, rolling her eyes, “if I have to hear about your life changing visit by an Elohi one more time, I think I shall shoot myself.”
Orion breathed out slowly through his nose in an attempt to counter the anger he felt rising in immediate response to her words as he watched her take a bottle of wine from the saddlebag of her horse and pull the cork out with her teeth.
“If you had been visited by an Elohi, maybe you would take the time to have a good, long look at yourself and try to change for the better. There is plenty I need to change about myself, so I am trying my best to do it. Perhaps you could start with something as simple as cutting down how much you drink.”
Aestelle lowered the bottle from her lips and stared angrily at Orion.
“I don’t need to be visited by Elohi,” she hissed under her breath, her eyes checking to either side as she spoke. “My father was one of them! I have a close enough connection to your sacred angels, thank you very much!”
“Then why do you resent me so much for the visit I was honored with?” Orion demanded, turning to face her square on and folding his arms.
“Because they didn’t visit me!” Aestelle snapped. “They never did! My father was one of them, and they never came! How many people do you think there are in Basilea, no, all of Mantica, who have an Elohi as a mother or father? Half a dozen, perhaps? Across the entire world? Your hero, Gnaeus Sallustis, is well known for having been born of an Elohi mother, and look where that’s got him!”
Orion frowned, unsure at what had caused the pent up anger to overspill. Gnaeus Sallustis held the rank of Grand Master of Paladins, in charge of every individual paladin Order in all of Basilea. The great paladin was the shining example to all; devout, courageous, a peerless warrior, and a genius strategist, he was famed and loved across all of Basilea and rightfully feared across the rest of Mantica.
“The Grand Master earned his position at the head of our Orders,” Orion said defensively. “I have never met him. I know some who have, and none have anything but respect for him. He is a great man who has worked tirelessly for the Hegemony.”
“He is half Elohi!” Aestelle growled. “Just like me, and a tiny number of others! He is faster, stronger, and more intelligent than all of those around him! He was born with an unfair advantage! That is not the stuff of heroes! Just effortlessly dancing into a position of respect and authority while those around tire and toil with little or no reward for their efforts, neglected and ignored for the crime of being born normal!”
“And so you resent him,” Orion nodded, her frustration now making more sense to him. “You hate him for his crime of being admired, respected, loved, and successful. You resent me because the Elohi saw fit to save my life, and my soul, and put me on the right track. You think you deserved that visit more than I. You think you deserve the love and admiration Basilea heaps upon Grand Master Sallustis.”
Aestelle turned her head away from him but remained quiet. Content that he had hit the crux of the problem, Orion continued.
“But you do not
deserve it. Because the Grand Master did one thing, one huge, pivotal, vital thing that you did not. He stuck it out. Training as a paladin is difficult, immeasurably difficult. Most fail. Some are even killed just in training. But the Grand Master stuck it out to the end. When he tired, he continued. When he fell, he stood back up again. But you? The moment you encountered difficulty in the sisterhood, you turned your back and fled. You ran away. If you had stuck it out, who knows what would have happened. You could be the Grand Abbess of the entire sisterhood by now, Sallustis’ opposite. You could have achieved that with that unfair advantage you yourself admitted you were given. But you did not. You ran away. And now you dare to judge my Grand Master, and you dare to judge me.”
The tall woman nodded slowly. She took another swig from her bottle of wine and looked at the ground for a few moments in silence. Orion almost immediately regretted his words. He opened his mouth to apologize, but pride immediately beat down humility and the words failed to materialize.
“There are so many things I could say to you,” Aestelle said softly, “but you aren’t worth it. You’re just the same as they were, the women who I left the sisterhood to get away from. You have the last word, if that is what you want. I’m above this. I’m above you.”
Aestelle slowly walked away, leading her horse by the reins with one hand and swigging from the bottle of wine with the other. Orion watched her walk away helplessly, unable to find the courage to swallow his pride and run after her. He found himself dwelling on her words, on what she had said when she had first found him after the Elohi had visited him. She had told him that she would never let him down. She had been right.
In all of their encounters with the Abyssals over the days they had traveled across the region, in every fight they stood back to back, surrounded by greater numbers of the hellish demons, she had never let him down. She had always protected him. He had never once needed to worry about her having his back. He realized then how much he cared for her. Far more than he should after knowing her for only a few days.
Orion’s attention was dragged away from gazing regretfully at the beautiful woman when he heard footsteps approaching him. He turned to see Tancred making his way over from the small, tented encampment.
“Come on,” the shorter man said, “everyone is together. It is time for us to discuss exactly where we are and where we are going next.”
Orion nodded.
“Can you go and get Aestelle?” Tancred asked.
“Probably best you do,” Orion offered an uncomfortable smile.
“Oh.”
Tancred returned the smile sympathetically and patted Orion on the shoulder as he walked past the older knight toward the brooding woman who walked alone at the far side of the paddock.
***
In Tancred’s mind, the clucking of hens and other assorted farmyard animal noises went a long way to detract from the severity of the situation as he unrolled the parchment map and spread it across the table in the farmhouse’s small kitchen. The room itself was clean but austere, indicating that the family dwelling in the house were not particularly affluent and had not left the area long ago. Gathered around the table were the other five paladins from the Order of the Sacred Arc, Brother Paladin Silus of the Order of the Blades on Onzyan, Valletto, and Aestelle.
“These are the sightings we have of Abyssals in this area in the last few days,” Tancred started, pointing to marks he had made on the map. “We have heard many rumors, but these are reported sightings that are most likely. You can all see that they congregate around Fresh Creek as a sort of central point.”
Orion leaned over to point at the map.
“These are the four places that Aestelle and I fought against them. They tie in with what you have heard.”
“Six,” Aestelle corrected, “I fought them twice before I found you. Here… and here. While we are not sure entirely how many of these red-skinned bastards Dionne has with him, we’ve knocked that number down quite significantly by hacking away at them when they break off from the main group in small numbers.”
“I’m afraid not,” Valletto offered a regretful smile.
Aestelle glared across at the dark haired mage.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m afraid not’?! We’ve killed enough of them to make a difference!”
“It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid,” Valletto continued awkwardly, “not with this sort of army. The portal stone that Dionne or one of his lieutenants is carrying is the key. You see, if it was a simple case of this being a portal without much power, it could be opened periodically to keep trickling Abyssals through. Fortunately for us it does not work like that. It works on capacity.”
Confused as to whether that was good news or bad news, Tancred leaned in closer. Valletto looked around the assembled paladins and, clearly convinced that a more in depth explanation was required, he continued.
“Abyssals do not belong in the mortal world. In the same way that a mortal could not survive within the Abyss, not for a protracted period of time at any rate; Abyssals will wither and die in our world. The portal stone not only allows them to physically travel to our world, it allows them to stay here. So, if you are killing lower Abyssals then it is, I’m afraid, simply a matter of replacing them. As long as the portal stone is still in the hands of somebody who can wield its power, it is easy enough to open another gateway to the Abyss and bring replacements through.”
“So we’ve achieved nothing!” Aestelle slammed a gloved fist into the table. “All of that was for naught!”
“No,” Orion said softly, shaking his head, “we showed the people here that they were protected. We gave them some hope, even if only a little. If forcing Dionne to waste time and effort to bring replacements across impeded his progress and saved a singe innocent life, then it was all worthwhile.”
“That is the past,” offered Reynauld, a tall paladin with plain features punctuated by a long scar running down to his chin. “What of the future? What now?”
“They are looking for a larger portal stone, that much we know from the magistrate,” Tancred continued.
“Magistrate?” Aestelle asked. “What magistrate?”
“The magistrate of this region,” Xavier replied, “we crossed paths a few days ago. His interrogators were able to… derive some information from an Abyssal agent we encountered, the same man who poisoned the Dictator-Prefect. He has also promised us some soldiers.”
“Magistrate Turius?” Aestelle narrowed her eyes. “Tall, white hair, looks halfway to being undead already?”
“That sounds like the fellow,” Tancred agreed.
Aestelle looked away, her eyes narrowed as a seemingly involuntary shiver pulsed through her for a brief moment. Tancred decided it was not prudent to query the reaction in front of the others and continued.
“If Dionne’s portal stone is already at capacity, both for how far from the Abyss he is and how many Abyssals he can keep sustained, it makes perfect sense that he is looking for a much larger stone – something far too heavy to move. He knows the rough area but is, I would wager, following up every tale, legend, and local folklore story he can torture out of anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. But when he finds that stone, he can use it to bring a much larger force here?”
“Precisely,” Valletto confirmed. “It is a long, complex and dangerous ritual to activate such a portal stone, but if it wields enough power, then Dionne could bring forth an entire army. Thousands, if not tens of thousands.”
Tancred winced, a numb pain pounding at his temples. The only reason that an entire Abyssal invasion had not occurred was through luck rather than a well devised and prepared defense.
“Why?” Reynaud asked. “I understand that he is angry for the accusations leveled at him, but fully turning to the side of darkness? Carrying out actions that would bring about the fall of an entire nation?”
“Sadly, I do not think it matters why,” Jeneveve said quietly. “It matters that it is so. But we have an
army? Traveling north as we speak?”
“We have the vanguard of an army,” Valletto said. “I could not keep the connection to my master for long enough to ascertain how many soldiers are heading this way. But they had already been dispatched. They could be very close. The main force will leave soon, Grand Mage Saffus will ensure that.”
“And until then?” Silus said gruffly. “What do you propose?”
Tancred paused. He cast his eyes across the other warriors in the small kitchen. Orion appeared pensive, stonefaced; Silus and Aestelle both seemed angry and impatient; Jeneveve looked hopeful if anything, while Valletto’s nervousness was obvious.
“We are not heading south, that much I am sure of,” Tancred began, voicing his thoughts as they rushed through his mind. “Self preservation is tertiary at best, given the stakes. We will remain here. I see two options – we either find this stone first and do what we can to hide it or defend it, or we confront Dionne head on and attempt to slow his progress until reinforcements arrive.”
“I say head on,” Aestelle said immediately, “not across an open field of battle, his force is too powerful for that. But if we can find him, then instead of whittling away his Abyssal minions, there is a chance we can slay his lieutenants, perhaps even Dionne himself.”
“Agreed,” Xavier nodded.
“Aye,” Silus nodded.
“No,” Jeneveve shook her head, “we are all that stands in his way until the forces of the Hegemon arrive. A noble sacrifice is not what is called for. There is no guarantee of victory if that is the case. If we stop him getting to the portal stone, we stop the Abyssal invasion. In my mind it is that simple. We must find the stone first.”
Tantus, the youngest of the assembled paladins, gave a curt nod of agreement.
“I also agree,” Valletto said quietly. “That is the arcane solution rather than the soldier’s play. Keep the stone and the demon apart and all are safe. The main force will arrive and then this entire problem is resolved.”