Wrath of the Greimere
By Case C. Capehart
For my brothers from Delta Company; the finest bunch of assclowns I’ve had the pleasure of serving beside.
Chapter 1
As Lieutenant Stratton raised the black flag, Corporal Octavius Nero stood in formation while the pyre raged. The twinge in his jaw still ached during the ceremony, but unlike the previous two years, no tears fell. Just as his sergeant told him shortly after breaking the news to Delta Company of the 8th Regiment, he grew more at peace with the loss with each year.
The formation came to a salute as the black flag reached the top of the pole, replacing the flag of the Winter Guard that normally flew. Sergeant Pledius took to the front of the formation. Normally the company commander would address the company in such a situation, but Lieutenant Stratton understood that the men preferred to hear this message from a veteran, not an untested Faeir. The lieutenant was the kind of down-to-earth Mage Sabans respected.
“Two years, men.” The burly, thick-voiced sergeant stood at-ease and stared his men in the eyes when he spoke. “Two years ago, everything changed. We got arrogant; that’s all there is to it. A thousand years of victory made us soft and the 9th Regiment paid the price for that arrogance. General Tiberius and those tough bastards from the Royal Guard paid the price.”
The sergeant paced the front of the formation, drawing a pained look from the lieutenant. “Today we remember their fall. We let it serve as our reminder, that even after centuries of victory, we must not become complacent. We must stand vigilant, so that we are prepared for our enemy’s eventual strike. For they are coming, men, and an ill wind precedes them.”
Nero thought of his friend, Flavius, during the Ceremony of the 9th. The sting of those memories had faded, but he felt them necessary to recall. Had Flavius succeeded in convincing him to join the 9th, Nero’s bones would litter the Greimere desert alongside the big Wilderness kid. The commander of the Summer Guard would not allow him in, anyway; not as infantry. Sabans from important families did not go to the front line.
After the ceremony, Nero broke away from the group and began his patrol through the small village they had been guarding for nearly a year.
The Denizens of Duransk hustled about the streets and fields making their last preparations before the bitter Wilderness winter set in. The mornings grew chilly, signaling the beginning of harvest and of longer nights ahead. Nero passed the newly finished granary and took in the scent of fresh-cut barley. Nearly ten years ago, the Greimere Invasion nearly wiped the village out. The refugees from the invasion returned as normal, only to have an unexpected and smaller invasion take them by surprise two years later. Like everyone else, they had believed their years of strife over when the King declared the Greimere defeated.
Civil war broke out between the Denizens and what the citizens came to call Rellizbix Proper. Refugees refused to return to their homes, flooding across the Pisces River and setting up camps in Saban fields and Twileen forests. King Helfrick’s Wilderness Defense Proclamation prevented chaos and genocide from breaking out in the south. The 7th and 8th regiments dropped their quarterly patrols and mobilized to defend individual villages, while the Denizens returned to the Wilderness and rebuilt.
Nero matched his pace to the hammer clangs ringing out from the blacksmith’s shop and lifted his shield at a pair of passing kids waving sword-like twigs in the air at him. They cheered and scurried on, fencing each other and arguing which one was a Rathgar. With the protection and assistance the military presence provided, more Denizens abandoned huts in the forest to settle in town. Families focused on their community instead of basic survival. In ten months the town had rebuilt from ruin.
Nero came to the edge of town and looked out over the horizon to where a thin trail of smoke rose over the trees to the north, making his pulse quicken.
Nero hooked his shield over his back and took off at a quick jog.
…
Fresh chickens and goats with shaky new legs mulled about within the formerly-empty pens. Nero scanned the little clearing, looking for any sign of the inhabitants. He stepped out of the forest, his shield lifted in case of sudden attack. He assumed the owners, and town nuisances, had returned but it could easily be another, more dangerous traveler laying claim to the small residence.
An arrow burst from the forest at his left and clinked off his shield. Nero dropped into a roll and kept his shield up as he scrambled for cover. “Hold. You’re firing on a soldier of Rellizbix.”
“All slaves of the Crown must die,” came the response, followed by another arrow whizzing past his head.
“Fates,” Nero yelled, ducking back behind the cover. “Will you cut this shit out? You nearly gave me a haircut with that last one. Where is your father?”
A deeper voice responded. “Sitting here beside her; laughing my ass off.”
Nero looked out from behind the pile of logs sheltering him and watched as the grey-haired Saban with the scar over his eye emerged. Something at his side moved and suddenly the petite, ink-haired Twileen came into view. She had not walked out from the forest or stood up; she had been standing there the entire time. It wasn’t until Nero looked directly at her that she appeared.
“Chev’El. Holy hell, you’ve gotten really good at that,” Nero said as the beaming teenaged-girl trotted up to him. Though she looked more like a girl on the edge of maturity, she was nearly old enough to enlist. To Saban eyes, most Twileens resembled teenagers well into their forties.
“I’m better than any of the clan boys. They hate it when I show up every summer.” Chev’El lifted her bow, presenting it to Nero. “Look. It’s black fir; Master Artisan Du’Anash spent two years on it and I won it.”
“The Elders were very unhappy about it. They didn’t want a Saban-trained contestant competing in the Gauntlet, especially a female one. They pulled out some old rule that allowed her victory to be challenged. The boy who did it was one of their grandsons.” Sevictus reached down and patted the girl on her shoulder. “You should have seen the look on their faces. He chose combat and let her choose the weapon. Anything but bow and arrow.”
“I chose snakes,” Chev’El said, dancing with excitement.
Nero frowned at her. “You what?”
“Gai’Aelen is scared to death of snakes and he said I could pick anything.” Chev’El held an imaginary snake up at Nero’s face. “The Hunter in charge of the Gauntlet hunted up a pair of lightly venomous vipers, nothing deadly, and gave one to each of us. Well, he tried to anyway. Gai’Aelen couldn’t even touch it. He had to forfeit and his grandfather was so pissed.”
Nero laughed and shook his head, looking to the old Saban for some sign of her jest. The grizzled woodsman just nodded and he looked back down to the Twileen girl who stood only as high as his chest. “Good for you, Chev’El. I’m sure your father will be glad for that bow once you’re hunting these woods again.”
Nero followed the grizzled Woodsman and his Twileen daughter into the cabin to hear more about their annual pilgrimage to the west. Sevictus had taken in Chev’El during the exodus from Duransk ten years earlier. When the Greimere came again, unexpectedly, Sevictus took her to her people in the west instead of fleeing across the river. Since then, they have made the trip every summer, in order for Chev’El to carry on the traditions of the Oak Tribes.
Nero ate with the pair at Chev’El’s request. As the sun dipped, he took his leave to return to the town. Chev’El followed him out of the house, walking down to the road with him.
“Did you miss me?” The girl wiped her straight hair behind her ear and her large, Twileen eyes, the color of dying embers, fixed on him. “I thought about you over the summer.”
“
Why?” Nero looked at her and then behind him, toward the cabin. He wiped his hand against his pants and regretted the way he had blurted out the word. “I mean, what made you think of me?”
“I don’t know; it just happened.”
Nero had not spent a lot of time around girls, but he imagined most did not act like Chev’El. She never seemed embarrassed or afraid to say anything.
“All of the tribal youths my age are pairing off,” she continued. “I guess this is when normal Twileens start doing that. Maybe that’s why.”
Nero shifted in his armor and forced himself to look at Chev’El, despite the odd feeling she gave him. “Well, it’s good to have you back. Both of you.”
They parted ways at the road leading into town. Sevictus and his daughter maintained a tenuous relationship with the people of Duransk. Something the old man had done prior to the surprise invasion caused him to be ostracized and horrid rumors about his relationship with his adopted daughter still floated about the populace. With every bit of misfortune that befell the community, someone would find a way to blame the pair living on the hill.
Nero remembered the latest mutterings he had heard and spun, calling out to Chev’El as she ascended the hill. “Hey, you and your father only arrived last night, right?”
The girl turned and studied him. “This morning. Why?”
“The last few nights things have gone missing in the village. People have reported strange shadows and I wanted to make sure...”
“We’re not thieves, Corporal Nero.” She addressed him by rank and his mind reeled back to the early days of his deployment when he was merely a soldier encroaching on her land and not the family friend he had spent months becoming.
“I know you’re not, Chev’El. But you know what will happen if I stop asking and the town leaders decide I’m no longer impartial.” Sometimes Nero hated his job.
“Nero…” Chev’El looked around and trotted back down the path, pressing close to him. “Lately Father has been itching at his scar. I doubt he’s even noticed it yet, but I have. Be careful out there when the sun is down.”
…
Nero thought about what the girl had told him as he made his way back to the barracks. Sevictus had survived three Greimere Invasions. As a young man, he and his family refused to leave their land when the Greimere marched on Duransk. After Rellizbix forces drove the barbarians back, the villagers returned to find him wounded and half-mad, digging graves for his slaughtered kin. No one knew what had really happened, but people became suspicious nevertheless. Denizens did not stand against the Greimere and live; it was an unnatural occurrence.
Chapter 2
Nero had just drifted into sleep when the gentle shake woke him. Faint torchlight illuminated the barracks and one of the privates from the midnight crew stared down at him.
“Sergeant Pledius needs you. Gear up first.”
Nero donned his weapons and armor in haste, waving off inquiries from members of his squad who had not been summoned. Whatever the Sergeant needed, it did not require a full squad.
“Corporal Nero reporting, Sergeant.” Nero entered and came to attention, taking note of the tall Mage. Beside him, Lieutenant Stratton appeared to have just woken as well, yet his uniform bore no wrinkles and his dark green hair, meticulously shaped into vine-like dreadlocks and bundled at the back of his head, remained perfectly styled. The Faeir’s unfaltering attention to their hair remained a constant joke among the Saban enlisted men.
“At ease, Corporal.” The burly sergeant finished his letter and then looked up from the paper. “Your warnings were quite prophetic. The midnight crew captured the creature responsible for all the thefts. Well, they caught one of them, at least.”
“Creature?” Nero chanced a glance at the lieutenant. Officers had always made him nervous, especially since his promotion and increased time around them. “I don’t understand. Animals have been stealing tools and cooking utensils… livestock?”
“Not a creature from this land, Corporal.” The lieutenant’s smooth, enunciated words contrasted the thick, mountain accent of Sergeant Pledius. “It has intelligence. Not a lot of it, mind you, but enough to form language and construct crude armor and tools.”
“Is it Greimere? What did it say?” Nero’s palms began to sweat and he wondered why the company had not mobilized yet.
“It has language, Nero, just not our language.” Sergeant Pledius stood up and strapped his belt around his waist. “We can’t understand what it’s saying, but it’s not from this side of the Hell Cliffs and that’s as much as we need to know. I’m sending a messenger north to Fort Augustus to alert command.”
Nero gripped his sword hilt and took a deep breath. “We need to go on alert; increase perimeter security. If the Greimere are here...”
“No, now that’s the last thing we’re going to do, Corporal.” Sergeant Pledius paused from hooking on his armor and looked Nero in the eyes. “You’re a leader now, Corporal; you’ve got to start looking a few more steps ahead. Our mission here is to maintain order among the village and prevent another mass exodus that will end in catastrophe. If the villagers see us erecting ramparts and increasing our patrols, they’re going to panic.”
Lieutenant Stratton cut in. “Sending strange creatures into a village to loot farming equipment is baffling behavior for a raiding army. The presence of this creature, even if it originated from the Greimere, does not signal an invasion. However, if the Greimere advances on the Wilderness, we will need the full might of the 7th and 8th Regiments. Let Regimental Command decide what’s best, Corporal.”
“Until then, I want to learn as much as I can about this little monster.” Sergeant Pledius finished with his armor and started toward the door. “I’m taking First Squad on a night patrol, just to see what else is out there. We’ve jailed the creature in a cleared-out closet in the converted medical bay. I want you up there as much as possible, studying this thing. We need to know what the hell it is.”
“Understood, Sergeant, but…” Nero paused, feeling his sleepy brain about to cause his mouth to say something stupid.
“Why you?” The sergeant correctly guessed at what Nero attempted to say. “You’re a non-commissioned officer, now; you get the weird shit. Aside from that, you’re also one of the few conventionally-educated men in the unit and you’ve shown a knack for opening dialogue with troublesome people. Are you the right soldier for the job, Corporal?”
“I am, Sergeant.”
“Then get up there and get a good look at it before you rack out.” The sergeant took up his sword and made for the opening of the command tent. “I’m reducing your patrol duties for the time being; this takes priority.”
…
The creature skittered away from the door when Nero entered. Coarse, black fur covered its body and face and it appeared no larger than a young child. Large, yellow and purple eyes overwhelmed its oblong head. Nero caught sight of wicked, carnivorous teeth beneath the concealed line of its curled lips. Tiny bird and vermin bones clinked from the haphazard armor it wore. Nero had never witnessed such a being, but like most Sabans, he had little knowledge of the Greimere Empire. The histories his aunt taught him covered only the invasions; all in-depth knowledge about their enemy remained sealed up in Faeir Universities and the Military College at Thromdale.
Unarmed, Nero sat on a stool across from the creature and watched it. He tried speaking to the creature and after a bit, it made a few sounds, but there could be no open communication yet. After an hour, Nero exited the room and returned to the barracks.
…
The next morning, Nero pocketed his roll from the chow line instead of eating it. Wandering off to the medical bay, he relieved the guard and entered the room. The creature did not immediately inspect the roll, but after some time and encouragement from Nero, it took up the food and sniffed it. After an initial nibble, the beast’s face seemed to split in half as it gobbled down the roll. Nero retreated a step, frightened by the size of the cr
eature’s razor-filled maw.
When the creature realized Nero had no other food, it went back to working on what Nero could only describe as a hut. Shelves and debris that had once littered the room were broken down and reassembled overnight into a residence. Nero stood and inspected the building, marveling at the sheer ingenuity.
“How weird,” Nero mumbled.
“Howerd.”
Nero blinked and stared down at the creature who had met his gaze. It had spoken.
“Howerd.” Its mouth curled at the ends, into a grin.
“You… you just talked.” Nero took a step back as the creature slithered out from under the hut and peered at him.
“Yis. Taak gewd.” The words came heavily accented, but they made sense to Nero.
“How? You know the Rellizbix language?”
The creature grabbed a broken cup from a shelf inside the hut and pressed it to the wall of the room, with his ear against the other end. For a moment he waited.
“Otaytos ober-kookt dis moenin. Da kook mussa bin dunk ageen.” The creature pointed toward the wall and giggled.
Nero went to the wall. He could just hear the sound of two soldiers conversing as they passed by the building. The company had a running joke about the villager who cooked for them being hung over or still drunk during breakfast.
“You’re listening in to the people who pass by.” Nero thought about how little anyone passed by this building, especially overnight. “No, you can hear much further, can’t you? You’ve probably even been listening to us for a while before you were caught.”
The creature pointed at its chest. “Braap.”
It was giving its name. It then pointed at the hut and uttered, “hom.”
…
“Sergeant, it’s learning at an incredible rate.” Nero walked alongside the sergeant as the two wandered in the forest outside the village under the pretense of a patrol. “The hut that it assembled overnight is beyond primitive. It repaired and reused the damn furniture tacks. It’s picking up our language from hearing it through the wall. By the time I checked up on it this afternoon, it had stopped scampering on all fours and had started to mimic my posture and hand gestures.”
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