by Sandell Wall
Dour Face gave Fire Hair a nod, and the column moved out. Remus did not have to call the cadence this time, so the only sound was the clinking of their shackles.
They ran the entire morning without stopping, without ever speaking. The first few hours were tense. Even Fire Hair looked like he expected a monster behind every tree, but when the forest stayed quiet the barbarians relaxed their vigil and pushed for speed. Remus was certain they would stop to rest at midday, but the sun climbed high overhead and then began its descent, and they never stopped. After midday the prisoners started to suffer.
Remus was thinking that the pace might kill him when the man in front of him took a bad step and tripped. The man’s weight jerked the metal clasp on Remus’s ankle across his shin, shearing the skin off like a peeled apple. He cried out. In spite of the pain, Remus reached out and grabbed the man, helping him stay upright. The rest of the prisoners slowed down as Remus and the man recovered. Tears stung Remus’s eyes. Blood dripped down his leg with each step.
Fire Hair was annoyed. Remus could tell the barbarian loathed slowing down for the sake of the prisoners. But Dour Face was in command now. Fire Hair grumbled and scowled, but stayed with the group. As the day wore on, the pace slowed, the prisoners stumbling and limping through the forest. Soon they were supporting each other, knowing that to falter meant execution.
Remus’s lungs and throat burned. He could not feel his feet, and his shackled leg was a throbbing mass of agony that screamed with every step. He was so lost in his own world of pain that he did not hear or see the command to stop. Omen’s hand on his shoulder prevented him from falling flat on his face as they crashed to a halt. He looked up and saw three barbarians in full leather armor conferring with Fire Hair.
“Scouts or guards,” Omen said from behind them. “They came from the trees and challenged our group. I assume they’re asking who we are and what our business is.”
After a brief deliberation the guards turned and walked into the trees. Fire Hair gestured for the column to follow. Several hundred paces ahead the trees gave way to sky where a large, rustic village had been hacked from the forest. The place was filthy. Huts of wood, mud, and turf huddled around a large structure in the center of the settlement. Hazy smoke lingered like a cloud over the squalid buildings. The smell of burning wood made his body ache for warmth.
The village was swarming with warriors and soldiers. Barbarians towered over their dark-armored comrades. One of the grey soldiers walked past without a helmet on. Remus’s jaw went slack in surprise. Instead of ears, the soldier had a complex vortex of ridges and grooves embedded flat against his skull. Quickly, Remus looked for others. None of them had ears.
They’re not human!
Astonished, Remus stumbled through the huts in a daze, not really comprehending what was happening around him. Not even the legends mentioned any race but human. To encounter one so unexpectedly made him doubt everything else he thought he knew.
“Eyes up, kid,” Omen said from behind him.
Remus snapped out of his funk and looked up. In front of them was a line of giant wooden cages. Built against the edge of the forest, these cages were separated from the village by a large area of packed dirt. The rudimentary prisons were full of people. Some healthy and alert, others wounded and dying, they all looked hungry and miserable.
Dour Face halted the procession and removed their shackles. They were stripped of their Legion armor, tossing it onto a growing pile. One of the grey soldiers opened a cage and motioned for Remus and the other prisoners to enter. Too exhausted to fight or argue, they filed into the crude pen. Remus turned to watch the gate be closed and secured behind them. Dour Face stood on the other side, watching Remus. Remus could not identify what he saw in the grey man’s eyes, or even decide if he should think of Dour Face as a man. As the grey soldiers turned to leave, Dour Face nodded at Remus before walking away.
Chapter 16
AVENTINE WOKE SLOWLY, a rhythmic grinding sound penetrating her groggy mind. She opened her good eye and waited for the world to swim into focus. Covered in dried mud, her left eye felt like it was sealed with mortar packed tight inside her helmet. What she saw made no sense. A barbarian leaned over her; lank, grey hair obscured his face. He stood up. In his hand he held a destroyed saw, its teeth melted from trying to cut through something it could not damage. He muttered to himself in a language she did not understand. When she became fully aware, fear and shock jolted through her.
My armor, he’s trying to cut through my armor!
She tried to scream, to struggle, but could only moan. Locked in place by her armor, she could not open her mouth—she could not even move her fingers. She panicked. In a fit of madness she strained so hard she almost passed out, trying to just lift her arm. All she managed was a twitch.
Her mind raced to catch up, and she remembered Centurion Durost’s lifeless eyes staring into hers before she lost consciousness. She tried to focus on the important facts to make sense of where she was.
We lost the battle. We were betrayed. And Brax is gone.
The barbarian noticed her body tremble and glanced at her face. When he saw her open eye, he smirked. Aventine went still. Insanity burned like a fire in the man’s eyes, and the way he looked at her made her wish she could run and hide behind her father for protection. He made soft soothing noises at her, the way a parent would comfort a child. Gentle and delicate, he caressed the side of her helmet. Without warning his face twisted into a horrible sneer, and he jerked his head down and put an eye directly over hers. He held her gaze for a long time. Angry red veins throbbed in the whites of his eyes.
Not satisfied with her reaction, he pulled back and shook his head, scolding her in his alien tongue. His face was so expressive that Aventine did not have to understand his words to know that he was disappointed. As he talked, his face contorted with anger. He wanted something from her, for her to do something, but she had no idea what.
When she made no response, he shouted and slammed a wooden mallet down onto her helmet, aiming for her open eye. She felt nothing, not even the force of the impact. The man went into a frenzy and smashed the mallet into her head over and over. Wood splintered and threatened to pierce her eye. Again she tried to move with every ounce of strength she had, screaming behind clenched teeth.
As abruptly as he had started, the man stopped his assault. Aventine was crying now, tears leaking from her good eye. The insane barbarian studied her, fixated on her open eye. He ducked down out of view and she was left alone, staring at the darkening sky. She was on her back on some sort of platform. She could hear noise that sounded like a camp, but that’s all she knew. The runes in her armor were pulsing gently, and this madman was unable to crack it open, so she knew her armor was powered. But by who, and from where? If only they would power runes of strength that would allow her to move at the same time, then she could kill this fool and escape.
The lunatic came back into view. He moved close to show her what he held in his hand. It was a giant chisel that looked like a tool for breaking stone. He gestured with it, talking animatedly. After he finished whatever he was saying, he paused and looked at Aventine. She knew he had asked her a question. That much was clear from his expression. When she did not respond he shook his head in disappointment and raised the chisel to her face.
He carefully positioned the tool over her eye and then struck it with the mallet. She moaned and tried to recoil from the blow. She was saved by the width of the chisel. The blade was just wide enough so that no matter how he angled it, it could not fit through the hole. But that did not stop him from trying. With single-minded determination the crazed barbarian twisted and turned the chisel, trying to find a way to punch it into her head. At one point the edge of the blade brushed her eyelid, but he could force it no farther.
Frustrated, the man stepped back and assessed the situation. Aventine could see him working through the problem, trying to find a solution. His face lit up with inspiration and he
dashed out of her view.
Why am I at the mercy of an idiot? Where am I?
Sooner than she had hoped, he was back, this time with a large nail instead of chisel. The spike tapered to a needle-sharp point that would easily fit into her helmet. He gave her a knowing look, tapping the business end of the spike on the metal next to her eye.
New horror exploded within her. She could not die like this, trapped in her own armor and impaled through the eye by a maniac. He watched and waited as she strained against her armor. Her muted cries of rage and frustration sounded pathetic in her ears. Exhausted, she finally slumped, defeated. Inside her breastplate her chest heaved, great sobs of sorrow and despair imprisoned by the very protection that was supposed to preserve her life.
With a sad look on his face her tormenter raised the nail to her eye. Aventine refused to shut her eye, deciding she would look death in the face as it came for her. But before the blow could fall, a harsh shout sounded somewhere to her left and the man’s head jerked towards the noise. The shout was repeated, and he dropped his hands and moved away from her in a hurry. A few heartbeats later, the runes on her armor went out.
The sudden darkness was a shock. She had not realized how much light the runes gave off. Aventine did not hesitate. She rolled off of the platform and onto her feet. Her armor made a terrible racket with the movement, and her body screamed in pain. Her wooden limbs did not want to cooperate with her immediate need for action. In one sweeping glance she took in the crude camp before her. Mind racing, she distilled the sensory input down to two important facts: the camp was surrounded by a wall of logs with Aventine-sized gaps between them, and it was full of enemy warriors.
Without waiting to see if anyone had noticed the noise, she whirled around to find the log fence only fifteen paces from where she stood. Forcing her aching legs to move, she leapt for the nearest opening in the palisade. A cry went up behind her.
The wooden barrier grasped at her armor—her breastplate caught, stuck solid between the pieces of timber. Her arms and head were outside the camp; the rest of her was stuck inside. Sounds of pursuit were close. Not looking back, she braced her arms against the outside of the stockade and pulled with all her might. She roared, kicked, struggled, and shaking with effort, finally jerked herself free and pulled the rest of her body through the gap.
As she fell to the ground on the outside, a huge hand flashed through the fence and caught her foot. Sprawled in the dirt, she turned and looked back. Her grey-haired torturer was on his belly on the other side of the fence, long arm reaching through the gap, his face pressed against the wood. She lashed out, smashing her armored heel into his surprised face. His nose caved in with a wet crunch. He yelped like a struck dog. And then she was up, running for the forest.
Battered and weary, her body stumbled under the weight of her armor. Branches scratched against her helmet as she lurched through the trees. Behind her, voices called out and were answered by unseen guards in the darkness ahead of her. With only one eye open she could just barely avoid the giant tree trunks as they loomed out of the blackness.
I’m not going to make it.
She knew there was no way she could escape her pursuers. Maybe if she had been able to sneak away, but in a footrace through the night she had no chance. Firelight from torches bobbing behind her flashed off of the trees. The light allowed her to run faster, and the huge shadows of her hunters pushed her to a reckless pace.
With one last gasp she put on a burst of speed, but the forest was not her ally. Like a hand out of the darkness, a fallen branch twisted her foot and sent her sprawling. She groaned, turning to glance over her shoulder as she scrambled to her feet. Before the enemy could materialize from the trees, the forest blazed with brilliant red light.
A voice boomed out, so loud it shook the trees, “You have found the wrath of the emperor! Stand and die!”
That’s Brax’s voice!
Aventine shielded her eye as she squinted into the light. The shape of a huge man launched itself from the branches of a tree and landed between her and her pursuers. He fell like a star, the blinding red light exploding from a runestone in his hand. She saw him throw off a cloak; beneath it he held a great sword.
Brax looked to Aventine and shouted, “Fly, Aventine! Warn the emperor of the betrayal!”
And then the enemy was on him. His sword crackled with a red lightning that matched the radiant runestone in his left hand. The first warrior charged from the trees and Brax caught the man at the waist with a vicious horizontal cut, swinging his great sword one handed in a scything arc. The rune-charged blade melted armor and tore through the attacker as cleanly as the executioner’s axe divides a melon. Aventine saw a great splash of blood silhouetted against the light as the assailant's torso toppled off of his legs.
She only hesitated for an instant, unable to tear her gaze from the otherworldly visage of Brax fighting like a demon whose dread light eclipsed and extinguished all others. But she could not waste Brax’s distraction. Aventine jerked herself to her feet and ran headlong into the night. The light had destroyed her night vision. She ran blind until the afterimage faded from her retina.
Before long she slowed, the weight of her armor forcing her to walk. And it was loud. Unlike Brax, she had not learned the art of moving silently while wearing armor, and she did not have the strength to escape out of the forest wearing full battle-plate. Seeing no other choice, she stopped and stripped the armor off, trying to be as quiet and discreet as possible. She hissed in pain as she removed her helmet. Dried mud clung to her face and crusted her eye shut. Clothed in nothing but her padded undergarments, she moved silent and fast. She suspected she was abandoning a small fortune in runed armor, but it was not worth her life.
Aventine was not in shock, but she could feel panic lurking on the edge of her mind. If she paused even briefly to think about where she was, and what her chances of survival were, she knew she would collapse in terror and not rise again. She identified the weak parts of her mind and shut them down. The soul-devouring doubt and fear went into a box; she slammed the lid and locked it tight. All that was left was cold calculation and a fierce will to live.
When she was chained in the camp, the dying light of the sun had come from behind her. They had marched into the wilds from the eastern border of the empire, which meant that all she had to do to get back to the border was run in the direction of the setting sun. In the dark, barefoot, and with one good eye.
When her dark vision returned, she discovered that the forest was not pitch black. Celestial light did not penetrate the gloom under the trees—the woodland had its own source of illumination. A faintly glowing lichen climbed the titanic trunks. The light was so dim that had she been carrying a torch she would never have noticed it. The glow was faint, but it saved her life. She picked up speed, aiming for the gaps of blackness between the luminescent pillars.
At first Aventine expected to be challenged at every step, refusing to believe that all of the guards had converged on Brax. Soon, though, she relaxed. After running for what seemed an hour, she started to believe that she had escaped. When she paused get her bearings, she noticed a uniform gap in the glowing columns to her left. A closer look revealed a wide trail cut from the forest
No doubt it leads back to the camp. It’s probably the path they carried me in on. Maybe I can follow it out.
She made much better time on the trail. The crude road allowed her to jog easily through the woods. Tense and alert, she was ready to dive off of the path at the first sign of movement. Hours ticked by and she could feel her body growing weak. She could not remember the last time she had eaten. Her mud-covered eye throbbed, but picking at it only made it worse.
Ahead of her the trail widened and the trees that lined the sides fell away. At first her heart surged with hope, thinking she had won free of the forest, but then she remembered the battlefield on which she had been captured. She slowed to a quiet walk, some inner sense warning her against running acr
oss a large open space without scouting it first. In contrast to the eerie glow of the lichen, the moonlight bathing the clearing seemed brilliant to her light-starved eyes. Bodies and fragments of weapons and armor littered the ground.
They made no effort to hide this slaughter. Why?
Aventine took a step into the clearing, but stopped short as a wet smacking sound echoed across the corpse-strewn battlefield. Alarmed, she crouched low and strained her senses, trying to identify the source of the sound. Out near the middle of the open space she saw something massive moving low to the ground. She heard the wet sound again and saw a corpse near the dark shape shiver and jerk. Horrified, she realized that it must be some forest scavenger feeding on the slain. Hot anger shot through her at the desecration of the Legion dead. They deserved better than to be digested in some monster’s belly, but without armor and weapons she could do nothing but avoid the beast.
She skirted the site of the battle, careful to keep a tree between her and the creature as she moved. On the far side of the clearing she found the path they had marched in on. She paused only long enough to look longingly at the light of the moon and then plunged back into the dark woods. Despite her weariness she pressed on, encouraged by the knowledge that the edge of the forest was not far ahead. It had taken them several hours to march in, so it should only take her one to jog out.
Sooner than she anticipated she reached the end of the trail. As she stepped out of the trees, the faint glow of the sun rising behind her illuminated the fields to the east. Tears stung her eyes. Until this point she had not realized that she never expected to see the empire again.
Now free of the forest, and surveying the borderlands of the empire from the outside looking in, the trials and terrors of the last few days stirred an icy fury in her heart. That a power existed strong enough to defy the emperor, to threaten the sovereignty of the empire, was an insult. An insult that could not be allowed to stand. And yet the empire was poised to tear itself apart. She had no idea what to expect to find. Had Lorent’s betrayal been the trigger for a revolution, or a civil war? Was the emperor so weak and ignorant that he could not protect his people from threats, both outside and in? Questions threatened to overwhelm her. She shook her head violently.