by Jez Cajiao
“Oracle, you ready for this?” I asked, and she flew over to land on the table by the girl’s side. She began to examine the damage again, and I motioned the older prisoner to step back. “You owe me for this, you old fart, I’d have done it anyway, but you offered payment and then acted the arsehole, so now you’ll be helping me get my people out when we get to Himnel, right?” I snapped at him and he nodded.
“Now, see here!” The second elf said, stepping forward before being shushed by the first, who watched me with calculating eyes.
“We can wait…Jax…” The first elf said, and I looked into her eyes, recognizing the voice as the one who’d spoken earlier. I mentally tagged her as Yen and went back to the girl.
“I’ll be with you soon.” I said, before gently easing the peeled skin back into place on the girl’s back. I pressed it down, shifting it to rest as close to where it would naturally as I could, hearing the hisses of pain from the girl as the paralysis began to wear off. “I’m sorry,” I apologized, crouching down to look at her, and I saw her eyes track to me for the first time, before I stood up.
Oracle and I began to cast ‘Battlefield Triage’, focusing on her head at first, purging her of any damage as far as we could. We slowly moved down, the first few seconds building up a picture of the greater damage, as the spell attempted to fix everything at once. We examined the injuries to her back, guiding the skin to knit together, flowing like thick cream to join up with the careful slices that had been used to peel her skin back.
I sank my consciousness in deeper, feeling the skin on her back as I did so, it’d begun to die, being without blood for so long, but as we worked, the cells began to spread, slowly rebuilding. The cells that were totally dead began to slough off, while healthy cells grew in their place. Injured cells stayed, gradually repairing, and Oracle and I went on. She provided the majority of the specialist knowledge that made the spell work, combining her own magical knowledge with the spells she had known details of, while I brought the actual power, and ideas from my own past.
Skin regrew, sealing the peeled slab back down, even as a band of fire whipped out, passing between the skin and the muscles, making her scream in pain, but removing anything that was alien to her body.
The Drow had left all sorts of crap behind: hair, crumbs of food, and worse when he’d been working. The only thing he’d cared about was clearly making sure the skin was perfect. Her body would have died from infection just as surely as blood loss and dehydration if she’d somehow survived the experience.
Minutes passed, and I chugged the second potion; still I was gasping as the final sections reattached, and I fell to my knees, totally drained.
It was done. Her body was repaired, and judging from the shaking and sobbing, she was both alive and conscious.
I forced myself to my feet, shakily drawing in great gasps of air, as Lydia and Miren undid the leather restraints and helped the girl free.
After everything that I’d just done, the last thing I was expecting was the slap that sent me staggering.
“I hate you!” The girl screamed, before running the waiting arms of her grandfather.
“Are you shitting me?” I growled, rubbing my chin, and glaring at her. The previous inhabitants of the cage were glaring right back at me and I threw my hands up in annoyance. “I just saved you all, and I get this?” I turned back to the waiting three, noting they looked unconcerned by being surrounded by my people, and I wondered if that was down to the Oath or….
“Don’t!” Oracle said in the silence of my mind, and I turned to look at her in confusion.
“If you use a spell on them under a truce it’ll be broken!”
“I was just going to…”
“To cast a spell on them!”
“Yeah…’Examine’, not fucking Firebolt!”
“Is it a spell?”
“You know it is!”
“Well, do you want to die?”
“Noooo….”
“Then don’t! Besides, if they’re who they say they are, you need them. Be nice, and for all our sakes, don’t annoy them!”
I shook my head, turning from Oracle, and looked the three over again before gesturing to a handful of chairs that had been knocked about during the fighting.
“Let’s take a seat, then…” I offered, and the eagle-looking motherfucker snorted through some hugely impressive nostrils on the top of his beak.
“Arrrrrk! I do not….’sit’…!” He screeched, then shook his head like a dog, turning on the horizontal, and fluffed his wings up. A huge flanged mace clattered against his armor where it hung from his waist.
“Well, no offense, but I’m going to,” I said and walked over to the chairs. I could feel Oracle facepalming, but I was past being sociable today. “Nice mace, though,” I told the bird, and he patted it in response.
“You have a good eye…” he said, nodding jerkily.
“I’m a fighter,” I smiled faintly. “I know the difference between something that’s built to look pretty, and something that’s a real weapon.”
“Hmmm,” said the second elf, stomping over and turning a chair over. He sat down with a smooth grace that surprised me. I’d heard in fantasy that elves were graceful, but so far most that I’d met had just been regular people. These fuckers, though, they moved like silk. While he sat, the first elf, Yen, pulled up another chair and reversed it, sitting down facing me.
“Why do you do that?” I asked her, and she blinked, glancing down at the chair.
“Sit like this?” She asked, and I nodded. “Makes it harder for someone to stab you in the belly.”
She had clearly done it so many times, it was reflex now.
“Sooo, you’ve either not a lot of faith in the Oaths, or…?”
“A bit of both.” She admitted. “I’m always going to distrust any that claims to be a Scion of the Imperial Line after so long, and I expect that there are several ways around the basic Oath we exchanged.”
“So, what do you want then?” I asked gruffly, unsure of where this was going.
“I want proof of who you are,” she said simply.
“Well, I want a cold beer and a blowjob, but I don’t see me getting either of those,” I replied without thinking. “Ah…look, what proof do you want, and who the hell are you? What are you expecting out of this truce?”
“Do you know who we are?” Yen asked, and I shook my head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
I turned to Oracle and gestured her forward from where she’d been hovering behind me, for some reason.
“Okay, Oracle, this is Yen, and…?” I asked, gesturing to the other two.
“Tang. Speculatores Cohortes Praetoria.” The second elf stated proudly, glaring at me.
“I be Amaat! Speculatores Cohortes Praetoria!” The bird man said, and I nodded to them.
“Well, I’m Jax, as I said, and this is Oracle.” Oracle settled gingerly on my shoulder, nodding to them.
“Very well; perhaps your companion would like to explain who we are?” Yen asked, and Oracle shook her head.
“I know who you claim to be, and I know who the Speculatores Praetoria were.” She said slowly. “If you want us to treat you as Speculatores Praetoria, we want proof, too.”
“Okay look, I’m clearly the only one who doesn’t know what the fuck is going on here.” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “So, do you have any proof of who you are? And how can we prove who we are?”
“I suggest a second Oath. The Oath of Truce would have failed if we didn’t use our identities correctly, but it is…too generalized for something this important. Use these exact words in the Oath…. ‘I’ then your name ‘swear by my Soul and the Empire to speak no lie for the next five minutes. I swear by my Soul that every word I utter will be the absolute truth, as best I know it…’and I will swear the same.”
“You swear it first.” I said, looking from one to another of them, “And you all swear it, not just Yen.”
“I, Tang of the Speculatores Cohortes Praetoria, swear by my Soul and the Empire to speak no lie for the next five minutes, I swear by my Soul that every word I utter will be the absolute truth as best I know it.” said the second elf, taking up the Oath next.
“I, Amaat of the Speculatores Cohortes Praetoria, swear by my Soul and the Empire to speak no lie for the next five minutes, I swear by my Soul that every word I utter will be the absolute truth as best I know it.” the bird dude repeated, and they all looked to me.
“I, Jax of the Imperial Line, swear by my Soul and the Empire to speak no lie for the next five minutes, I swear by my Soul that every word I utter will be the absolute truth as best I know it.” I repeated after them, feeling my mana dip drastically before taking a deep breath and meeting each of their eyes.
“I am Jax. My Birth name was Jack, but I chose Jax as the name to call my own. I was acknowledged as a Scion of the Imperial Line by Amon, Eternal Emperor,” I said, and I felt a quiver run through me as the magic of the Oath examined me, then relaxed its grip. I could feel it inside me, my own mana prowling through my body, examining my words for truth.
I looked at the three of them, seeing shock clear on their faces, and I gestured to them.
“Come on, then…your turn.”
“I…I am Yen. The name of my Birth was Yen’ma Rultahir, and I chose Yen as my common name."
"I am a scout leader in the Dravith Cohortes Praetoria, and I serve the Empire. I acknowledge my Oath, and its validity.”
There was silence as the other two looked at Yen in shock, and I frowned as I pieced together the meaning behind the ritualistic phrases.
As I did, I realized I felt something. I’d been feeling it all along, but compared to my panicked need to reach Oracle, I’d been ignoring it. I felt something that tied me to Yen. I felt a…pull…a need… and then Tang spoke up.
“I am Tang, the name of my Birth was Ta’angint Theron, and I chose Tang as my common name. I am a scout in the Dravith Cohortes Praetoria, and I serve the Empire. I acknowledge my Oath, .and its validity.”
“I am Amaat. I took my name in battle, and I chose Amaat as my common name. I am a scout in the Dravith Cohortes Praetoria, and I serve the Empire. I acknowledge my Oath, and its validity.”
With each statement, I felt the pull grow, a feeling like a trio of strings pulled taught and struck inside my soul, making them vibrate. The vibration built gradually, rippling through me, and I felt a fourth added to them, as another series of notifications sprang to life, making the world shake around me.
I felt HIM as he…moved forward somehow, I felt my conscious mind pushed gently aside, as Amon moved into primacy.
He opened my eyes, and I felt my lips move; my mana was used as I was wrapped gently in the threads of souls.
“I am all that remains of Amon, Eternal Emperor, and I formally claim my host Jax as Scion of the Imperial Line. I acknowledge your Oaths, and I accept them in the spirit offered. I pass them to my Scion; may he be worthy of your devotion.”
I blinked as he settled back, releasing his hold on me. The world seemed to shake as I flowed forward, back into full control of my body.
“I…I…” I muttered in shock as the vibrations grew…
All three of the newcomers dropped to one knee on the floor and looked up at me.
“All Hail Jax! Hail Scion of the Empire!” they chorused in unison.
Epilogue
Thomas spat blood across the flagstones and gritted his teeth, pushing hard with both arms and coming back to his feet.
The aspirant across from him grinned and gestured for him to step back into the ring. Thomas growled in anger and swept up his gladius again, flipping his shield over and tightly gripping the leather bags sewn into its reverse.
“Still want to play?” Coran shouted out to him, and Thomas nodded, saving his breath. “You’re a stubborn fucker, you know that?” the aspirant said, shifting his stance into a ‘ready’ position again, as the sergeant called the round to resume.
“Yeah, well, blame my brother. He hits harder than you,” Thomas replied, dropping his shield, and throwing the sand he’d concealed in that hand forward, blinding his opponent.
Coran backed up quickly, blinking and trying to see, only to have Thomas’s sword smash down on his forearm, making him drop his own weapon.
“Oh, you cheating bastard!” Coran cursed him, shaking his hand and trying to get the feeling back as Thomas grabbed his shield and yanked him forwards, his gladius coming to a rest over Coran’s clavicle.
“Maybe, but I won, didn’t I?” he asked, stepping back. He picked up a water skin and poured it over Coran’s face, giving him good natured abuse as he washed the sand away from his training partner’s eyes.
“Thomas!” came the shout from his left, and both men straightened reflexively, their hard taught, and now instinctual, response to the voice of their master, Sir Edvard Tunnik, Paladin of Nimon and Lord of the Third Legion.
“Sir!” Thomas responded, ramrod straight as he stood at attention.
“I saw the end of that fight, boy; what did you do?” Edvard asked, and Thomas swallowed hard before replying.
“I cheated, Sir! I threw sand in Aspirant Soldier Coran’s eyes when he wasn’t expecting it.”
“Cheated? Did someone make up a fucking rulebook for war when I wasn’t looking?” Edvard’s response came, and the tall man stepped up close to the pair standing in the ring.
“No, sir,” Thomas responded, and Edvard nodded.
“Damn right, son. I don’t give a shit how you win, just that you do it.” The Paladin turned and shouted out to the rest of the training cadre, bringing a momentary halt to the afternoon session as the baking summer sun reflected off his black and gold armor. "Fall in and assemble on this pit!”
Everyone dropped whatever they were doing and sprinted inward, in response to the order, sergeants and corporals quickly surrounded by the aspirant soldiers of Nimon’s Legion.
“Since this boy arrived, he’s fought easily half of you, and beaten most. Does anyone dispute his rise from Slave-Aspirant, to Aspirant Soldier?”
Thomas felt his heart speed up. To move from a Slave-Aspirant to an actual Aspirant Soldier was a huge thing. It meant he’d been accepted; he’d gain the right to move around the barracks freely; his slave collar would be removed! He could pick his specializations!
“I dispute!” A voice rose from his left, and Thomas locked eyes on Frankin, a huge half ogre recruit from the prisons, the same as he’d been.
“I dispute!” came the inevitable shout from Frankin’s bootlicker, Grey Rat. In short order, a dozen other voices rose. The obvious approval that Edvard had shown Thomas since lifting him from the rabble had fostered simmering resentment, and now it was coming to the fore.
“Well, Thomas?” Edvard asked, and Thomas let an evil grin curl his lips.
“I claim the right to face my disputers!” Thomas growled; the words had been beaten into him since he’d joined. The Legion of Nimon trained its Aspirants well, and the ritual aspects of service combined with the hard training, good food, and Spartan methods to create a force that excelled. He’d been waiting for this day to come; that it had come so quickly had only angered others even more.
The ritual of challenge usually only had two or three Aspirants stepping forward to take out disagreements on each other; Thomas had thirteen opponents moving forward.
“That’s what I wanted to hear, boy!” Edvard grinned and stepped back, clearing the ring.
“I claim the right to stand beside my Battle-Brother,” came a voice from Thomas’s right, and he looked over, shocked at seeing Coran still standing beside him.
“Granted.” Edvard replied, and he nodded to a corporal who stood next to the iron
bell.
“This day, Thomas, Slave-Aspirant, fights to advance his soul. He fights for the right to stand as a full Aspirant Soldier in the service of Nimon, hoping to one day earn his place as a Legionnaire of the Third Legion. His Battle-Brother, Coran Steelswitch, claims his right to stand with him, as he faces thirteen Disputers. This bout will be decided before the eyes of the Death God.”
The bell was rung three times, its iron celebration filling the air, and everyone gathered felt the attention of a God settle on them. The air grew heavy and oppressive, colors seemed to dim, and the sun vanished behind a veil of dullness. The aspirants shivered, feeling the touch of Nimon for the first time.
Thomas looked over at Edvard, watching the man shiver in ecstasy at the presence of his Dark God, before they locked eyes. Edvard gave him a nod of approval, and the final, fourth clang of the bell filled the air, before being drowned out in the growls of bloodlust that rose from the thirteen men and women surrounding Thomas and Coran.
The pair moved fast, shifting to stand back to back, Thomas grabbing the large square shield that he’d been using back up from the floor and gripping the worn leather bands.
“Thanks, Coran,” he muttered to his friend, and got a grunt in reply.
Thomas had worked his ass off to get this chance. He might never be free again; he’d accepted that when he’d sworn his Oath to Nimon, but at least he wasn’t being beaten and tortured daily anymore…well, no more than anyone else.
He’d resigned himself to Nimon’s service, knowing the only way he’d ever be free to walk the world again would be if he could reach the rank of Legionnaire Specialist and become a Stalker, or by becoming a Legionnaire and serving his full term of thirty years.
The only way he could do either of those things was by kicking everyone else’s ass here.
A scream from his left was all Thomas needed to hear as they all started in on him, the first running and smashing his sword down into the middle of Thomas’s shield, only to have it shrugged off. A wooden Gladius took the eager beaver in the chin, lifting him off his feet to collapse moaning on the floor, two teeth lighter.