A Tale of Infidels

by Erik A Otto

  He dug himself out methodically, stacking the rectangular pieces to the side, being careful not to cut himself on the sharper silverstone pieces.

  His eyes adjusted to the darkness. Through the dusty shadows, he could make out a wall on his right with a large oval shape embedded into it. The wall looked like it was pocked and sweating, and the oval shape was made of a series of crosswise cylindrical bone fragments with a clean line from the floor to the ceiling, bisecting the two halves. If he were to tilt his head to the side, it would almost look like he was staring into the maw of some gigantic subterranean beast, the cylinders of bone like huge teeth.

  Perhaps this was a door of some kind?

  To his left, the room was too deep and the gloom too prevalent for him to make anything out.

  Although he was curious about this find, Nala’s injury and the potential that they had violated any number of Sandalier protocols urged him to find a way out of their predicament quickly. At worst they could call the others and ask them to lower some rope or a vine to pull them out, but there might be an easier exit if this oval door was accessible. Or there could be a way out on the other side of the room. Either option would be more preferable to calling for help.

  He cautiously made his way over to the oval bone-laden door. Nala stayed in the shaft of light, holding her foot and watching him.

  The oval looked to be large enough for at least two horses to go in side by side, and the cut in the middle of the maw went deep. It must be some kind of door, he reckoned. Despite this, there was no clear handle or other way to open it.

  That left the other side of the room.

  He moved cautiously, able to see only a few feet ahead of him.

  The room extended ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet, and continued on.

  He called back toward the dwindling aperture of light behind him, “nothing yet, Nala. The room is quite deep in this direction.”

  He began to make out something in the distance, seeing a dull blue glow to his left and an even duller red glow on his right. Were there wyg lamps down here? He headed first toward the blue glow, hoping it was some tunnel to climb up to the surface through another part of the ruin.

  It wasn’t a tunnel. Rather, the blue glow came from the floor. He thought it could be covered by some sort of fluorescent moss, like they had in the caves of southern Thelonia. Kneeling down and looking closer revealed that it wasn’t moss, though. In fact, it appeared to be more a hard bony substance once he felt it. The floor had what looked to be an array of miniature canals, like a small circular labyrinth. At its center he saw a depression.

  He touched the ridges of the labyrinth. It didn’t appear to be fragile. He cautiously took two steps forward onto the array to better see the depression in the center. It seemed sturdy enough. The depression was a series of seven circular indentations of different depths. Inside, the surface glistened with a coating of slime.

  This was all completely foreign to Sebastian. He’d never read about anything like this in the Book of Canons, nor heard stories of such things in Pyros. He stood there a moment, trying to ascertain its purpose but coming up short. Was this a Fringe machine? It wasn’t silverstone, so he doubted it. But why did it glow?

  “Sebastian, are you okay?” He heard Nala call to him, her anxiety again resonant in her voice.

  “Sorry, Nala. I’m trying to find an exit. Please be patient,” he called back.

  He was wasting time. “Focus Sebastian,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t let your curiosity get the better of you.” He had a flashback of his father’s stern look from when he’d taken apart the plough two years before.

  He forced himself to head back toward Nala, leaving the odd configuration behind him.

  Before he turned to her beaconed figure waiting in the shaft of light, he looked ahead and saw the faint red glow he’d seen before. He paused for a moment, trying to discern what it could be. If he returned to Nala and called the others for help, he might never know what it was. He would always be asking himself if it was important information about the Forefathers, information the Sandaliers would honor him for finding.

  With some hesitation, and with a pounding heart, he turned toward it. He told himself that after looking at the red glow, he would give up. If it didn’t show an exit, he would swallow his pride and call the others. His curiosity had gotten him in enough trouble already.

  “Only one more thing to check, Nala. Please be patient,” he yelled out.

  As he approached the red glow through the gloom, it dispersed into two faint points, and a contour started to take shape. It was at least ten feet tall, and he could see gray nodules on its surface.

  It reminded him of something from his Canonical teachings that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  As he came closer the familiarity became more apparent. A full picture from the Book of Canons projected in his mind. The image was of an old statue that once had taken its place in the Old Keep courtyard long ago. He remembered the features of the statue vividly; carved out of inlays of Matar bone was a creature wrapped in sinuous black wings that were laden with ulcerous tags. Glowing red eyes were sunken into its head.

  The image in his mind overlaid on the form in front of him with full precision. Standing in the gloom of this lost chamber was a gargoyle, its eyes burning with life.

  The narratives of the Book flooded his mind. The gargoyles were scourges of Matteo’s lands. They were demons of the night that skulked through villages to terrorize and maim, feasting on the blood of the sleeping. They breathe the foul air that brings night.

  But all were thought to have been exterminated. None had been seen in two generations, according to Sandalier reports. Most common folk believed they never even existed.

  Yet here one was, standing less than a body length away from him.

  Sebastian’s discomfort at his situation was acute. An unsaid prayer ran through him. Matteo save me. He was ready to fight, or run, or cower on the floor. He froze for precious seconds, then finally made up his mind to run.

  Alas, it was too late. The red eyes brightened, his presence somehow awakening the beast. Noxious fumes coughed out of the demon’s protuberant mouth into Sebastian’s face. Sebastian dizzied from the gas and fell to his knees. With a dark sweeping movement, the beast approached him, and its mouth bit down on the flesh of his arm. Then the world began to spin and collapse around him.

  Chapter 7

  The Imbecile

  It took another day for the marshals to round up all the cadets and several more days of nervous games and drills before they were finally given insight into what was actually happening.

  It all started about a hundred miles from where Darian and his league mates were orienteering. According to farmers who had escaped the initial surge, the Sambayans had crossed the border en masse and started rounding up people as prisoners. Those who had fought back were slaughtered, including a ranger outpost with ten rangers. While they weren’t told the exact numbers of Sambayans, figures between a thousand and ten thousand swirled around the camp. The Sambayans were moving south in a hurry, according to scouts.

  It felt surreal to Darian. Sambai had always been a backward nation in the shadow of its greater Thelonian and Cenaran neighbors. Thelonians generally stayed away from the Sambayans because they were always sickly and savage; not to mention they always smelled as if they bathed in their pungent food. The only inklings he’d heard that might have hinted at trouble were the stories of Sambayan refugees being denied entry into Thelonia. But this intelligence came from his brother Clyve, his highly credentialed sources being the local tavern and his own vivid imagination, so Darian had never paid the stories any mind.

  The marshals spent much time in the main tent debating what to do next, aided by the comings and goings of various rangers and scouts. Finally, a tired-looking ranger issued orders to them. The orders seemed simple enough: they were to march south to the city of Marsaya.

  Darian’s intuition warned him tha
t this could have troubling implications, but he didn’t think much more of it until Reniger approached him and confirmed his concerns.

  He had been busy sorting rations into the packs of his squad when he noticed Reniger approaching on a powerful-looking steed. Reniger paused in front of him with his hands together on the horse’s mane, watching Darian wrap the cord around the top of a satchel of cereals. “Darian, what do you make of today’s announcement? How does this bode for us?”

  “How does this bode for us?” Darian whispered to himself in emulation. Then he said aloud, “Why are you asking me?”

  Reniger shrugged. “I know many stories surround your family, but whatever the stories say, if you’re in any way like your kin, you’re no fool.”

  Reniger might change his opinion if he knew of Darian’s disorder, or more of his brothers Clyve and Myron. But it wouldn’t hurt to answer, and maybe Reniger could shed more light on the situation. Realistically, few others would speak with Darian.

  “Indeed, it doesn’t bode well,” Darian answered.

  “And why is that?”

  “Why were we immediately promoted to privates? They would only do this if they need people to fight, and quickly. It’s not a good sign. Either the host of Sambayans is significant, or it could be help is too far away, or both.”

  Reniger nodded in agreement. Darian was sure many had already come to this conclusion.

  Darian continued, “And why would we pull up camp and head deep into Thelonia, all the way to Marsaya? It could be the action is that far south. Or maybe we’re to give up the countryside and defend the cities. Either way, it’s not good. It again tells me we are facing a significant Sambayan force.”

  Reniger frowned and nodded, then summarized more bluntly, “Yes, I agree, Bronté. It’s war, then, not just a rabble. Protect yourself.” Then Reniger drew a scabber, held it in his open palm, and then lobbed it at Darian. Darian caught it gently in both hands, being careful not to cut himself on the serrated bone blade.

  The bone looked strong enough. He guessed it was harvested from the Astridge bone mound in the north of Thelos. The scabber was enough for skirmishes in close quarters but not really a proper weapon for a soldier. Darian stealthily put it away in his leather jerkin regardless. They were to be issued weapons soon, and the scabber wasn’t standard, so it could be confiscated.

  “Thank…thank you, Reniger,” Darian said in response, unaccustomed to thanking any of his league mates for anything.

  Reniger grinned slyly. “I would hurry up if I were you,” he said, “you don’t want to be at the end of the column.” Then he spurred his horse away.

  Darian envisioned his feet kicking into his horse like Reniger’s did just so. Then he followed Reniger’s advice and continued to finish his packing in haste.

  The column was attacked before dusk on the second day of the march.

  Column was the word used by the marshals and rangers, implying some kind of controlled military formation. But really it was a disorganized crowd hastily put to horse that happened to be riding in a straight line.

  It wasn’t until the first scream of a skewered private that the Sambayans sounded their battle cry. Darian was near the middle of the line, guiding his steed amongst the rabble as they ascended out of a small valley. He turned to see a surge of Sambayans come from a hilltop behind them. They were grimy-looking men with rough-spun, ripped garb, yelling emphatically.

  The column spread like a bowl of peas dropping on the floor; fresh, undisciplined privates heading in all directions, sometimes into one another. A few stayed to fight, but too few. They were mowed down by thrown axes and crossbows before the Sambayans even arrived at the line.

  The random dispersion of soldiers began around Darian’s immediate vicinity as well.

  Darian didn’t think of himself a coward, but some might call him that for what he did next. It was one of the less flattering monikers his family had been given at times, principally for his father’s controversial actions in a salt mine collapse in the south. Unfortunately, Darian might reinforce the rumors on this day. But it was simple: the Sambayans were too many, the league was a pitiful force, and only a few of them had any weapons.

  If he didn’t flee, he would die.

  He jettisoned his tent from his horse’s back and kicked the flanks hard, targeting the biggest congregation of fleeing soldiers. This group was on the hill above him, moving directly away from the surge of Sambayans. He could see that the pathway bottlenecked at the crest of the hill, and many were stuck. Some were even thrown from their horses in the maelstrom. Despite this, heading in this direction—away from the Sambayan attack—was the only sane direction to go.

  Instead of gunning for the bottleneck, he slowed his horse and walked it carefully up a small ridge on the side of the path, around some trees, then back down onto the path below. It took an extra minute, but he didn’t suffer the trampling that quite a few others had experienced after choosing the shorter path through the bottleneck.

  A marshal called, “League members, stand and fight. It’s our only chance!”

  No one was listening.

  Darian raced on as the path continued to ascend. The trees drew farther apart after the bottleneck, giving him room to drive his horse into a sprint. His blood rushed with adrenaline, and he jerked his neck every which way looking for Sambayans.

  He saw Reniger ahead of him, cantering heavily forward behind the largest surge of fleeing men. Darian had thought to ride alone, especially now that his life was in danger. He didn’t want to be encumbered by his league mates in his escape.

  Reniger was different.

  Darian approached the back of the large pack of horses that Reniger was trailing behind. They couldn’t sprint much faster without trying to break through the wall of horses ahead of him. But Reniger hung back even farther than needed. Wouldn’t they be the first to be picked off from behind? When Darian looked back, he could see there were still privates streaming through the bottleneck, barring passage for the Sambayans just as much as for the Thelonian forces.

  Among distant screams and the flood of hoofprints on the ground, he heard another marshal yell out, “Everyone retreat! Retreat to the south!” Which was exactly what Darian was doing. The man had a nasally voice, discerned easily even from his yell.

  “Everyone retreat!” Darian whispered to himself in emulation.

  Reniger had pulled up to him. He tugged on Darian’s sleeve. “On my mark, break right into the forest, okay?” he said.

  “Okay,” Darian responded. Reniger must think they would be attacked again. Perhaps there was more than one division of Sambayans.

  “Mark!” Reniger yelled, then he dropped back and swerved into the forest, jumping over a ditch on the side of the path. Darian followed more cautiously, looking back to try to see why Reniger had decided to cut off. There was no apparent reason. Maybe it was for no reason at all.

  Like most forests of Thelonia, the trees were tall and far apart, and the foliage sparse. Their horses certainly couldn’t sprint here, but they could move at a light gallop.

  The screams started again, somewhere to the south.

  Just before the view of the path behind them completely obscured, through the trees they saw the line of horses scramble again, with some darting into the forest as Reniger and Darian had done. The trap Reniger anticipated had been sprung.

  They moved tensely ahead, jolted occasionally by the sounds around them, whether it be a yell in Thelonian, a yell in Sambayan, or even just a snapped branch. As Reniger and Darian navigated the forest, they maneuvered away from these sounds, directed mostly by their fear.

  After a while, they couldn’t tell which direction they were heading. They had no map, and the clouds obscured the view of Matteo’s moon.

  Whatever their path, whatever their diligence and caution, it proved pointless in the end.

  It happened suddenly. The Sambayans jumped out from the trees not more than fifty feet ahead of them. No sooner h
ad Darian realized this than his horse had an axe in its throat and was falling to the ground. Darian landed painfully on his side, his horse’s body pinning his leg.

  He cried out, but it was more in surprise rather than pain. It didn’t feel like anything in his leg was broken.

  Two Sambayans ran at him with axes ready, and he knew that in his compromised position he would be an easy victim. He struggled desperately to get his scabber out, but it was sheathed into the backside of his pants, and he couldn’t access it with his leg pinned down.

  Just before an axe was about to cleave Darian’s arm, the attacker’s neck was met with a deftly arced scabber. The Sambayan spurted blood from the neck-wound and collapsed on top of Darian’s dying horse, adding further weight to his pinned leg.

  Reniger’s horse had found a position between the remaining assailant and Darian. The other attacker took a step back and hacked down at the horse’s front with his axe. The axe rung true, and Reniger’s horse squealed and reared, ejecting Reniger. Then the horse bolted away from the scene, listing to the side with the axe implanted in one of its front haunches.

  Reniger had recovered from his fall and was still in the action, brandishing his scabber menacingly. The Sambayan drew a short sword from his belt and exchanged it from one hand to the other, shifting his weight back and forth, preparing for an assault.

  A third Sambayan made his presence known as crossbow bolts whizzed past Darian in Reniger’s direction. He heard a thump followed by Reniger swearing. For a moment Darian thought Reniger was down, but then there was a flurry of action as Reniger came into view again, jumping at the sword-wielding Sambayan and slashing at him with his scabber.

  A crossbow bolt missed Darian by only a few inches, landing in the flesh of the horse lying on top of him with a thud. Darian struggled feverishly to extricate himself, while at the same time trying to reach his own scabber behind his back unsuccessfully.