The Outrider Legion: Book One

by Christopher Pepper

  Aleksander was not unknown in Bricktown. It had been the first place he looked for work upon his arrival in the city. Caravan leaders, when looking for men, would go to a reputable mercenary captain, usually found in the Keg. The mercenary captain would then place an order with headhunters in Bricktown. The Caravans could say they dealt with professionals, and the captains could say that they provided experienced cutters. Aleksander had had no shortage of muscle work, and he needed it at first, coming to The City with nothing but his clothes. Hopefully his successful but short tenure in Bricktown would open some doors.

  Aleksander made his way through the cobblestone streets of the district, finding himself at a specific dive bar. The front door was swung wide open, with two heavies loitering just obvious enough to be the help. Aleksander walked right past the two, who started after him when a dry, rickety voice came from the open door.

  “Leave ‘em be, boys! Trust me!”

  Glaring, the two bruisers let Aleksander pass. Returning their glare with a smile, he walked inside. The bar was as empty and as dingy as he remembered. A battered and rotting wooden slab acted as the bar. A rack of cloudy grey bottles, some full some empty, stood behind it. Off to a corner was the only table in the room, and seated in the only chair was a wizened old man, wearing rags that may once have been noble finery. He cackled as Aleksander extended his hand to him in greeting, and took his hand firmly.

  “Gods, Squint, you still dress like shit all the time?

  “Hah, you still have the grace of a dogs arse, Alek?”

  “I won’t change if you don’t,” Aleksander grinned.

  The old man released his grip and gave Aleksander a once-over.

  “Looks and youth are so wasted on the young,” he said, sadly shaking his head. “So, you have that air about you that says ‘piss off with the questions, old man, I need something’. And I’m guessing it isn’t more heavy work. Pity too. I miss the days of sending you out solo, charging caravans for the cost of seven men, and only paying you three shares. Fashionable bag you got there,” he said, gesturing at the satchel. “Don’t recall you carrying one before. You look like a courier with a gland problem. And I also don’t recall you being careful with money, so I doubt it’s full of coins for ol' Squint.” He beckoned with one hand. “So, open it up, let me see it. What’s it all about.”

  Aleksander’s grin widened a bit. He had forgotten how perceptive Squint really was. The old man may have cobwebs on his legs, but his mind was as sharp as ever. He opened up the bag and handed one of the vials to Squint.

  “I was hoping you could point me in the direction of a chemist who’d be able to tell me what that is.”

  Squint sloshed the brown fluid around the vial a few times, peering at it lazily. His arthritic fingers were like knots around the thin glass. One eye raised as Alek spoke.

  “I’m guessing this isn’t some new kind of coffee if you’ve come to me looking for help.” He kept the vial in his hand as he leaned back in his chair. “Tell me what you can.”

  “Well I’m ahhh working as a…caretaker for some friends of mine. They’ve been gone a few days. This morning, four people broke into the house. I was there and took care of them, of course. Each one of them had a vial like that, but by the time I ah, resolved the misunderstanding, only three were full. I’m not sure if the empty one was put in the well, the food, or what have you.”

  “’Caretaker’,” Squint jeered, “I’m sure. Hey, whatever to get by. But poison, that sort of narrows it down. Your options, that is.”

  “I’m a simple man on a deadline, Squint, you know this. Let’s pretend like you’re all done being cryptic and unhelpful and get on with it.”

  Squint cackled. “Oh, I do miss your backtalk, Alek. Most cutters are so desperate for work, they keep their traps shut, else I won’t hire ‘em. Fine then, we shall bypass our contest of will and intrigue. I know most of the chemists round here who’d take a look at it for you. Your friends there, the ones you are, excuse me, ‘caretaking’ for, are they men of means?”

  Aleksander shook his head.

  “Figures,” Squint grumbled. “Alright kiddo, here’s what I’ll do. Because I love you so, I’ll ask around and get one of the more curious chems I know to take a look. Now, I’m not going to charge you my usual finder’s fee. My dementia is such a horrible thing that I’m even willing to pay the chem for you if he wants coin.” He held up a hand as Alek opened his mouth. “However,” he continued, “that is because I’d rather you didn’t meet some of my associates, and I sense that time is of the essence. I’ll pay the chem, and then we’ll just say you owe me. Where can I find you? I’ll send a runner when I have word.”

  “Newcomb Square. Big three story job with the turret.”

  “Alright then.” Squint slid the vial into a pocket and made a shooing motion with his hands. “Papa has work to do, boy, get lost.”

  “Thanks, Squint. I, ah, mean it. Even though you are a crazy old asshole of a man, and you reek of death, you’ve always done well by me.”

  “A kinder show of gratitude there isn’t, I’ll wager. Get out of here.”

  An hour later, Alek was in the backyard of the barracks, a bottle in his hand. Before leaving, he had left the three dead assassins in the hayloft and covered them up, but they couldn’t stay there long. The warm sun would make them rather obvious in time. And so Aleksander was faced with yet another situation he never thought to be in.

  Just how do you dispose of bodies?

  He had stopped by the Gladiatrix on his way through the keg. Volus seemed pleased to see him, and that smile of hers made him wonder why he didn’t go there sooner. He stayed for a few minutes and killed a pint of Hale, and then he used his credit there to buy four large bottles of cheap whiskey, a small cask of hard cider, and a large bottle of wyrmsblood. A welcome home present for the Outriders when they returned, he told the barmaid. He left the tavern reluctantly, promising Volus he’d bring the Outriders back once they came home.

  It was still daylight, which Alek thought would work in his favor. Before taking a spade from the cellar, he checked in with his pretty assassin. She was still in her cell, thankfully. He also noticed that she had eaten the entire plate of food. He wished that had relieved him more. She could be immune to her own poison, he thought sourly. With such happy thoughts in his mind and a spade in his hands, he went to the far corner of the yard and dug a large pit. He loaded a wheelbarrow with both a body and kindling wood, and dumped it all in the pit, making two more identical trips. For good measure, he dumped three of his whiskey bottles onto the pile, and spread straw over it. Holding a hand over the pile and concentrating, he willed a flame into existence. Draping a wet blanket partially over the pit, he sat and watched the smoke snake out of the opening he left. He sat on the ground, drinking his bottle, watching the bodies burn for the rest of the day.

  “No, I couldn’t tell him what it was,” Squint said. “not just by looking at it. I don’t have enough of the Art in me. Neither could any of the chems I brought it to on the way here. All I know for certain is that he wasn’t the target. Not intentionally, that is. It appears to be a case of coincidence. I hate coincidence, but here we are.” He took a sip from the porcelain teacup held in both of his hands and looked around the room he was in.

  Squint sat at a long, richly carved table of chocolate-colored wood. His ragged clothes had been replaced by a green silken tunic, richly embroidered. Also gone were many years of age that had seemingly weighed him down hours before. He was still rake-thin, but there was color in his face, and he moved with the vigor of youth. The room he was in was high-ceilinged, with bright white marble and a stained-glass skylight depicting the building of The City. A marble column in each corner of the room supported the heavy ceiling.

  “This is…also not the venue I expected to find us in.” He shifted his weight in the high backed chair, unused to sitting on top of such soft cushioning. “I almost find myself missing the grime and dirt,” he said, abse
ntmindedly running a gloved finger along the table, then inspecting the finger for dust.

  “Your concerns about decorum are noted. This ‘coincidence’, as you call it, is far too choreographed. Too many puppeteers are attempting to pull the same strings. It would appear that the apotheosis is approaching more rapidly than anticipated.”

  “That’s too ‘big picture’ for me, I wasn’t made for grand schemes. You assign me tasks, I perform them according to my gifts. Hence me being here now.”

  “Indeed. Give him this. It contains an agent that will neutralize the ink used by the Crimson Fang. It would not have killed them, but it would have made them vulnerable to the Fang’s compulsion. This will counter the ink in their water supply, as well as inoculate against their methods in the future.”

  Squint started. “That is who attacked the Outrider barracks? By the Hells, they made enemies quickly.”

  “Indeed. You will deliver it to him personally. He will understand the import more if he hears it from you. The attached instructions detail what the compound does, but I leave it to you to illuminate to him who the Fang are. It would be best if he understood some of what is arrayed against his new allies. They all must remain alive. For awhile yet.”

  Squint rose, picking up the large flask and paper sealed to the stopper. He bowed deeply before throwing a hood over his face.

  “Your will be done, Lord Akvan.”

  Johan signaled the Outriders to halt. The sky above them was beginning to turn orange as dusk approached. They had ridden steadily all day, and were weary.

  “That should do it for today,” he called out. They rode off the road a ways and dismounted, shouldering their packs off of their horses and began clearing a small area to sit and build a fire. Vegard and Garm slowly exited the wagon and joined their comrades. Leonid dismounted his horse rather unsteadily. Johan dashed over to help, thinking the Weaver was still weak from the morning, but he was waved away.

  “Two bottles of mead and a rum cake have done wonders for my mood, yet they seem to have interfered with my locomotive abilities,” Leonid said with a chuckle.

  Shaking his head, Johan walked over to the others. Nerthus had made a small fire already, and the Outriders had laid down to rest around it. Johan found himself exhausted as well, and joined them. Only Garm seemed at ease. Ryker apparently noticed it too.

  “You seem to be feeling fine, Garm,” Ryker said. And for once, Johan noticed, it didn’t seem like Ryker was baiting the older man.

  Garm shrugged. “As the brains at the University put it, I have a higher tolerance for carnage.”

  “And lucky we all are because of it,” Leonid said as he sat down between Johan and Toma.

  The rest of the Outriders nodded in agreement.

  “Now,” Leonid continued. “As you have all discovered these past few days, I enjoy hearing the sound of my voice. But I enjoy it even more when other people are listening, especially when I’m half in the bag.” Several chuckles broke out among the weary travelers. “Despite that, I am also quite awake. So I propose to take the first few watches, starting now. As long as you don’t mind me singing as I do so.”

  There was a chorus of groans. Toma, sitting across from the tiny fire, raised his hand. Johan burst out laughing.

  “You know, Toma, you’re not in school anymore. You don’t need to do that every time you have something to say.”

  Toma looked confused at first, and then realizing what he was doing, put his hand down sheepishly.

  “Uh, sorry sir, I still do that sometimes. But I was going to ask Leonid if, well, if instead of singing he’d be willing to maybe tell us some kind of story?”

  There were some playful jibes from the Outriders, but it quieted down quickly as they noticed the thoughtful look on Leonid’s face. He looked around the fire, making eye contact with everyone there as he spoke.

  “I most certainly could do such a thing. I do happen to know a great many interesting things. But I don’t know very many happy stories. The Planes are not very happy. You may not like what you hear.”

  “I think he’s bluffing,” Nerthus said playfully. “I bet he only knows funny stories, ones with hamsters flying through space, or fluffy bunnies battling hapless knights.”

  “If only I did,” Leonid said. “Alright, I’ve got just the one for you. It will no doubt be very interesting to you all.”

  He took a pull from a new jug attached to his belt. Despite themselves, all of the Outriders leaned in a little closer to the fire. Nerthus looked around and laughed softly.

  “Boys,” she muttered.

  Leonid finished his drink. “Okay my little ducklings, gather around. For tonight, I’m going to talk to you about Hell. Hells plural, I suppose I should say. Now, I know you are all familiar with the Four Hells. I’ve heard you curse them so much over this trip that if they didn’t already exist, then you would have brought them into being. But the Four Hells aren’t the focus of this story. I am going to talk about the Fifth Hell.”

  “What?” Vegard interrupted. “There’s only four.”

  “SHHHHHHH” Toma and Johan hissed in unison.

  “Originally, there were five,” Leonid explained. “You see, in the beginnings of time, the cosmos was still sorting itself out. There may have been a Creator, or Creators, or scientific chain reaction of creation, depending on your beliefs, but it seems that whoever or whatever made it all, they were content to let the inmates run the asylum, as it were. The Planes were not yet Sundered from each other, and everything was one titanic world. Now, there was a mighty sorcerer there, named Demos. He made the Akvan look like…like a three year old Ryker.” The Outriders chuckled. “Somehow he became so powerful, so cunning, and so ambitious that the Heavens themselves deigned to negotiate with him, to keep him from wreaking havoc on the World. Since he craved power and authority, and to keep him occupied, as it were, he was given the kingship of all the souls of people who died unworthy of entering the Heavens.

  This was known simply as the Arrangement. He was given Hell, and in return he would never trouble the mortal realm again. So he summoned millions upon millions of beings there and founded his kingdom. Those who joined him before the gates closed eventually became known as demons.”

  “You’re only talking about one Hell,” interjected Ryker. “Where’s the rest?”

  “Shut up, Ryker,”

  “Quiet sir!”

  “Gods, shut your mouth!”

  Ryker put his hands up at the onslaught. “Hey he made fun of me!” But under the withering glares of his comrades, he said no more.

  “So Demos had his kingdom,” Leonid said. “He had his nobility, the demons. And as more and more mortals died, he began to have more and more ‘subjects’. And for a long while, he was content. And then came the Sundering of the Planes. Very little is known of how or why it happened. But one thing we do know is that Demos was, one way or another, responsible. Sallying forth from his domain, the King of Demons brought about the shattering of the universe. To this day, we don’t know what he was trying to accomplish. In the cataclysm that followed, however, Demos himself was struck down and destroyed forever. The demons, leaderless for the first time, retreated back to Hell. They were in complete disarray. But out of the chaos, five leaders emerged. These five knew that, individually, they could not hope to rule after Demos. He was a rather tough act to follow. So they formed a pact. Hell would be divided amongst them, as five separate but united kingdoms. They modified the Arrangement so that the flow of souls would be split evenly amongst them. Hence, the Five Hells were forged from the One.”

  Leonid paused again for a drink. Everyone else did the same. There was a moment of silence for a moment as Leonid collected his thoughts.

  “So,” he began, “all was peaceful, or as peaceful as things could be in the Hells. But then, one of the Five, Abdmanak, had an idea. He knew that he couldn’t conquer the Hells alone. The other Four would outmatch him, both in personal power and in military might. So he en
deavored to win the loyalties of the mightiest demons who supported the other Four. Abdmanak, you see, was the most cunning demon who had served Demos. He had been Demos’ spymaster, as it were. And his cunning, far ahead of his peers, brought with it a sense of extreme arrogance, the like of which not even Demos possessed. Abdmanak had laid claim to the most intelligent, arrogant faction of the Hells, and they agreed with their master. Why shouldn’t they rule the other Four? They were the smartest, the most advanced, it was their right! Not surprisingly, treachery among demons was not uncommon. The four other arch-demons grew suspicious of him, and eventually Abdmanak’s plot failed. The Four factions turned on the Fifth, and crushed it utterly. Though possessing a vast advantage in strategic and tactical abilities, Abdmanak’s forces could do little to stem the tide of four-fifths of Hell flowing into their kingdom. Outnumbered, Abdmanak had no choice but to gather his faction and flee. The Four remaining Kings of Hell declared Abdmanak and his ilk fugitives to be hunted down and destroyed.”

  Leonid sighed. “And so began The Infernal Chase. For millennia Abdmanak and his demons have fought a retreating action against a combined force of the Four Hells. They have subverted countless mortal kingdoms to battle on their behalf. They have created hideous organizations tasked with defeating their enemies at all costs. But as time passed, Abdmanak knows that he can never defeat the Four. His gambit failed so utterly that he will spend eternity fleeing, from Plane to Plane, until he and what’s left of his faction are wiped out. For the most part, the Four have already done just that. They have sent their spies and agents amongst the Planes, looking for Abdmanak himself. But they are also charged with a secondary task. Namely, erasing all memory of the Fifth Kingdom of Hell. It’s a brutal two-pronged assassination. They not only want him destroyed, but anything bearing his name or history. He is to be erased from existence. And that,” Leonid said, with a flourish of his hand, “was why I wasn’t surprised when none of you had heard about the Five Hells.”