Never since the 2nd Schism had Militia set foot beyond the Curtain. The tables had turned; besides the Winged Sentinels, there were no Praetorians in sight, and the Sanctum was under the guard of the Militia. Pious had never really understood the division between the Militus and the Praetorian or agreed with it. He didn’t like being elevated amongst others; it didn’t seem right. However, it no longer bothered him, because he could see that conflict – the great equaliser – had levelled the field, and it would never be the same again.
“Do you think it would be an injustice to let these men die for Sanctum, while the Praetorian are nowhere to be found?” asked Frederich, looking at Pious, gesturing to the Militia.
“Yes, it would be an injustice,” said Pious. He saw some Militia playing a round of Fight Dice in front of a small wall made of crates, with some spaces between them to fire their arrows and bolts if the need arose. He strode towards the group of young soldiers – in their late teens and early twenties – who were laughing as they threw their dice into the ring.
“Ha! Ambush! Looks like these dice are mine, losers!” shouted one of the soldiers, as she scooped up all of the dice into her hand and took a sip from a large metal cup.
“What is going on here?” shouted Pious at the group, infuriated by the sight of the gross and disorderly conduct in front of him. “To your feet!” he commanded, and the group of six young soldiers jumped to attention.
“Gambling?” screamed Pious, as he pointed to the crude Fight Dice ring. “And what is this?” He pointed to one of the metal cups from which the soldiers were drinking. He walked towards it, knelt and picked up the cup, before rising to his feet again.
“Well? What is it?” he screamed into the face of an acne–covered teen, her face frozen in shock. Partly from the volume, but mainly from the concept of the presumed dead Prime Prefect yelling at her.
“It is… it is booze, sir,” said the frightened young woman, staring back at Pious. Pious stared at her, and then looked at the other soldiers, all equally frightened. Pious continued to scan the area as nearly every soldier in earshot stopped and stared in their direction.
Pious looked back at the young woman. He saw fear in the youth's expression, but he saw something more. He saw something more in all of them. He saw courage – enough to pull through the carnage that might ensue.
“Where did you get this?” he asked quietly.
“Uh, I made it, sir. It’s Noxshine, made from my bread rations,” replied the soldier, staring at the cup.
“You know that alcohol and gambling are illegal, yes?” asked Pious, as he stared at the cup of cloudy liquid. He sniffed the liquid; it was potent, very potent – burning his nostrils with its pernicious vapours.
“Yes. Yes, sir” replied the soldier.
Pious put the cup to his lips and drank the virulent liquid in one go, and handed the cup back to the soldier. “By the Nines!” shouted Pious, as he shook his head and breathed out a deep breath.
The soldiers stared back at him with slight smiles on their faces – shocked at the sight before them.
“Is that more?” asked Pious as he pointed to a cup by the foot of another soldier. His face still showed signs of irritation.
“Yes, sir!” replied the soldier, picking up the cup by his feet.
“Give it to me,” said Pious, and took the cup from the soldier’s hand.
“All of you, pour yourselves a drink!” commanded Pious, panning his finger across the young soldiers, who scurried to find more cups and top them to the brim with bootleg Noxshine, poured from a large flagon wrapped in an old shirt. Pious sniffed at the Noxshine again – the smell of the pewter cup added depth to the slightly effervescent booze.
“It’s, it’s Pious Argentum,” said one of the soldiers, as he tapped the soldier adjacent to him on the shoulder, staring at Pious in awe.
“It’s the Prime Prefect of the Fallen Four!” shouted another of the soldiers, pointing at Pious, as he raised his cup in the air.
More Militia began to come closer to them, crowding around the group, with the light of a bonfire illuminating them under the still descending darkness of Nox.
“A Soldiers Fire! To the Fallen Four!” said the soldier, with his cup in the air.
“No!” shouted Pious, and the entire group stopped, giving their full attention to Pious.
“No, not to me – not to the Fallen Four,” he said, as he looked back at the young soldier.
“Then, to what – or whom – do you propose, Pious?” said Frederich, who had walked alongside Pious, smiling at him in respect, nodding his head in acknowledgement of Pious’s sign of camaraderie.
“To driving these filthy spawns of Rapax back into the darkness once again!” shouted Pious in a loud, powerful voice, pointing to the north as he downed the contents of his cup in unison with his fellow soldiers.
The gathered crowd cheered in a unified war cry as Pious threw the cup to the ground, stamped three times with his right foot and pumped his right fist into the air.
“Honour!” he shouted, and the crowd shouted back in unison, stomping their right feet and pumping their fists into the air.
Pious grabbed the young woman by the collar of her breastplate, punched her three times in the armour and pumped his fist into the air again. “Valour!” he shouted, and the crowd joined in, in chorus, with expressions of exhilaration on their faces, as the female soldier reciprocated the attack on Pious, as did the other soldiers amongst themselves. Pious smashed his right fist against his chest three times, with the sound of steel on steel crashing through the air. He pumped his fist into the air one last time, holding it higher than ever.
“Pride!” shouted Pious in a war cry, his voice booming through the air, as all within Sanctuary who were loyal to the defence joined in with dignity. All stood invigorated, their eyes and hearts brimming with a newfound energy and an upsurge of morale.
“Enjoy your game,” said Pious, as he grabbed Frederich around the shoulder, guiding him away from the group and heading towards the Fosse bridge and the ominously dark Arboretum, as Aldrich followed on behind.
The Curtain Gate of the 1st District
“Merusul, the Unending High Priest, refuted Lumerus’s claims, strictly observing the adherence to the veneration of the Unending Eighteen and their fate determining divine intercession; and regarding the root of all knowledge as a gift from them. The adherence to this veneration, and the authority that ensures its purity is what is now known as the Ancient Observance of Merusul.”
A facsimile of various notes from the recovered journals of Lan’Tsa Nichon regarding the Idoloclasm,
Qan’Fu Ensan, Imperial Archivist.
1139th Revolution of the Grand Míngxīng.
Pious, Frederich and Aldrich reached the 1st District Curtain gate, which was obscured by a large improvised fortification built up around the portcullis, with a protected and covered entry through the barricade. The unnerving tunes of the Attaran War Ensemble carried over the Curtain.
A large wall of Militia stood a few spans back from the entrance, shields on their arms and spears in their hands. They looked uneasy, watching the three senior officers approach the entryway through the fortification. The air was strangely still and tense. A guard standing by the entrance saluted them as they approached.
“She is on the other side, Commander,” said the guard to Frederich, dropping his salute.
“Pious, let me do this,” said Frederich, tapping Pious on the back as he walked through the entrance. Pious and Aldrich followed Frederich through the small entryway. On either side of the inner entrance were two stern-faced soldiers, staring into the portcullis.
As Frederich and his two companions walked through, a figure stepped towards the opposite side of the portcullis – a striking woman, almost the same height as Pious, her slender yet athletic physique partially hidden by a silk–covered black brigandine embroidered with exquisite imagery in gold bullion wire. She appeared to be a few cycles younger th
an Pious, with judiciousness and power exuding from her persona.
Her fire–red hair was held back in a braid, ending in a long ponytail. Flanking her were two fearsome–looking and heavily armoured Knights of the Strict Observance, each with a mighty looking double bladed–lance in his fist. Each of them had a piece of white fabric in his free hand.
Standing behind her was a Hexenjaeger, his grey hair partly obscured by the hood of his mantle. His wise and travelled eyes locked onto Pious, and would not divert their gaze. This unsettled Pious slightly, but he thought best not to pay something so insignificant too much attention, especially in such a tense moment as the one he had just willfully walked into.
The woman took a step forward and raised her hand. Almost instantly, the music of the Attaran War Ensemble fell silent. As the music stopped, so did the dancing of the 1st District’s populace. She lowered her hand and clasped the wrist of her other hand behind her back. “Commander,” she said in a firm, expressionless voice, her pale yet eye-catching visage dimly illuminated by the amber lodes mounted on the Curtain walls. “We wish to speak terms.”
“Terms of what?” snapped Frederich, taking a step closer towards her.
“Your surrender, of course,” she replied, with a smile.
“We shall speak no terms,” replied a stalwart Frederich, holding his hands behind his back and puffing out his chest.
“Don’t be so foolish. You are fortunate that we wish to speak at all,” she replied, as she took a step closer to the portcullis.
“But, alas. How rude of me…,” she said, as she looked through the portcullis towards Frederich, Pious and Aldrich.
“I am Kylita Fey–Leucetios, First Field Marshal of the Reclamation Army,” she said, as she placed her hand through the portcullis in a greeting gesture.
“Field Marshal? Such a grand title for such a small army,” quipped Frederich, as he pointed to the people amassed behind her. He smiled briefly. “Sorry, where are my manners,” he said and took a step towards her, shaking her black–leather–gloved hand.
“Magister Frederich Leonis, Proxy–Commander of Sanctuary,” said Frederich. He let go of her hand, and she withdrew it from the gate.
“Pleasure,” she said, nodding her head. “Trust me, Commander Leonis, there are much more to come,” she said with a smirk. “Now to business – the Strict Observance shall take custodianship of Sanctum.”
“You’re mad,” Frederich said with a smile, as he turned his back on her and started to walk away.
“Maybe I am. If you accept our terms, any may stay, or any may leave. The Sanctum will be ours, and the Structuram Civilitatis will be no more – thus ending the oppressions imposed by Lumerus.”
Frederich let out a sarcastic and forced laugh. “She is mad,” he said to Pious, who stood next to him.
Pious leant towards Frederich, placing his mouth next to his ear. “Let’s see what their terms are, anyway. It may show a motive – or a weakness that we can exploit.”
Frederich nodded and turned his head, as he looked towards Kylita. “Well, out with it, woman. What are your terms?”
“Hand over the High Imperator to us and banish the Ecclesiasts from the walls of Sanctuary. All of those that remain shall fall under the governance of the Strict Observance,” she said, as she stared back at Frederich.
“None have been harmed willingly thus far, except for those who drew steel against us,” she continued. “Commander, you should see by now that we do not intend to bring harm by choice. Do you think the people of this District were coerced to give us free access - to willingly accept us with open arms? The sins you commit, are the loose stones at your feet, mixed with the blood and ash of the innocent. You are soon to slip and fall of your own accord, and we are here to ensure you stay down,”
“Your words will not soften my heart, Field Marshal. I am a soldier of old, and well know the ways of war, the world and your pervasive armies. You try to tell me that you wish us no harm, while your Navy crosses the Hydraen, enters our harbour and fires upon civilian and merchant targets like regular bandits?” asked Frederich.
Her eyes squinted slightly in thought. Kylita turned her head to one of her Viziers and began speaking in the Old Tongue. An intense argument ensued before a large group of her guard ran towards the Northern Stately Gate, directed by the commanding point of her hand.
Kylita turned back to the portcullis, her visibly distressed face returning to its calm resolve, as she cleared her throat. “Give us the Imperator, or his head – it matters not. Against those puppets of the Dark Ones - we have come to take revenge, for all the lives they have stolen,” she demanded.
“Turn and leave now. You shall leave unharmed, and we will all forget about this little transgression,” said Frederich, pointing past Kylita to the north.
“Do not try and bluff me, Commander Leonis. Are you accustomed to the principals of surgery?” asked Kylita quietly.
“Yes. Well, field surgery anyway. Why is this relevant?” he asked, looking back at her in frustration.
“The deepest of rot requires the most radical of excisions, Commander. When a foot contracts the rot, the surgeon knows it must be removed for the survival of the patient. Yet, the patient wants the foot to stay and doesn’t want it removed. You are too blind to see that you and your people are infected with a rot. A rot that must be cured, by cutting you off from the villainy of the Ecclesiasticum and the Inquisition,” she said, with zeal and passion.
“Guess what? Your analogy is wrong… this isn’t a foot. This is Sanctuary, and we will hold. The only thing that will be amputated is your head, from that neck,” said Frederich with a smile, pointing at her. Pious couldn’t help but laugh at Frederich’s attitude.
“Your people have spoken, Commander. The Daggers of Merusul are hoisted high above your districts. Their people offer no resistance. They dance in your streets, to the music of our victory. Their Militia and Authoritor stand behind me,” she said, gesturing with her hand behind her to the large combined force of Attarans and Elysians.
“All traitors, who will be punished,” snarled Frederich with a hate-filled scowl, pointing to the Militia and Authoritor standing behind her, before pointing at Kylita herself. “Once we finish with you.”
Kylita took a step back to stand alongside her knights, and let out a laugh. “You stand no chance. We will soon break through the walls of Sanctum, and when we do – the Queen of Mercy may not stay our hands. You have my warning and my last plea. Open the gate,” she said, staring at Frederich fiercely.
“Never,” replied Frederich.
“So be it,” said the Attaran. She took hold of her mantle and turned on the spot, marching through the menacing detachment of Vizieri Guard behind her. The two Knights of the Strict Observance dropped their white pieces of fabric to the ground and stepped on them in unison before following behind her – leaving the Hexenjaeger standing alone, still staring at Pious.
A small group of Vizieri Guard returning from the north stopped the Field Marshal and began reporting to her in the Old Tongue, all showing signs of distress.
A young man stepped forward from his post at the entrance. “Commander,” he said to Frederich, “they say that the Northern Gate has been closed, and locked behind them.”
Frederich looked at him with curiosity. “Intelligence Cohort, Commander,” the young man stated. Frederich chuckled, then looked towards the Field Marshal.
“Problem, Field Marshal?” he shouted.
She turned her head and stormed back towards Frederich, grabbing hold of the steel grating of the portcullis. “Pray to Tostura that you do not see my face again!” she snarled at him threateningly through the gate before turning and walking off.
“Good job, son,” said Frederich, tapping the young soldier on the shoulder as Frederich exited the small fortification along with Aldrich, and stood still at the entrance waiting for Pious.
Pious took a few steps toward the portcullis to get a better view of the Hexenj
aeger – who stood still amongst the madness that had ensued, almost in a meditative oblivion, his grey Hexenjaeger Guild surcoat atop his brown leather armour. Atop his surcoat, was a bandolier holding blood-filled Hexen Vials that glistened red in the lode light.
The Hexenjaeger moved – reaching for his Naetherblade, somewhat startling Pious. The Hexenjaeger took a step forward towards the portcullis, with the handle of his sword held comfortingly in his hand, and closed his eyes.
“You – you have a taint, a streak in your Animaura. Your mother – one of the Hexen – Ormish, maybe…,” said the Hexenjaeger, as he raised his head slightly, revealing a small glistening of lode light reflected in his open eyes.
“What?” said Pious, as he tried to examine the Hexenjaeger further, his face still partially obscured by his hood, wisps of long grey hair leaking from the bottom of the hood.
“You cannot deny it – it radiates from your Animaura, bleeding into the Aether… but do not worry, you are not Hexen’Darq – you are spared from my Naetherblade,” he replied with a slight smile, tapping his fingers on the handle of his blade. “You do show signs of binding though – to spectre of vengeance, no less. Your leash runs back to a vestige in the Sanctum. It will call to you soon enough, if it has not done so already,” said the Hexenjaeger and turned to begin his belayed pursuit of Kylita.
As the Hexenjaeger walked away, he stopped and looked at Pious over his shoulder. “Watch yourself, son of Hexen – you are on the wrong side of the fence. Those deluded followers of Lumerus will have you smoulder for such taints,” he said.
Pious watched the Hexenjaeger walk into the distance, towards a commotion further within the district. Pious walked out of the barricade, where Frederich and Aldrich stood waiting for him.
“Who could have locked the gates?” asked Aldrich, looking at Frederich.
“Any suggestions, Pious?” asked Frederich, looking at Pious in turn.
Pious tried as hard as he could to figure out a logical explanation, but nothing would come to mind. Why would someone would open the gates and let the enemy inside, only to close the gates and lock them in? It didn’t make any sense to him at all. Maybe time would tell. “It could only have been the same person who unlocked them in the first place,” replied Pious.
Exhumation: An Epic of Existentia (Acts of the Sojourner Book 1) Page 28