by Matt Russell
Corafin, a captain equal in rank to Glavius, fidgeted and said: "Y-you should talk to Legate Darius." Three infantry soldiers flanked the man, and Glavius knew each of them.
"Answer the gods-damned question," he said through his teeth.
Tormin, a young soldier Glavius had rescued once from a Kothla Demon, stepped forward and said: "We found... Lady Gretis, sir." Before his captain could stop him, the youth pointed to a field tent that had two guards standing close together at the door.
"Is she hurt?" Glavius said. The young soldier’s face paled at the question, and Glavius lunged toward him, shouting: "Is she dead?!"
Tormin started to answer, but his captain stepped in front of him, casting Glavius a stern, if sympathetic look as he said: "You need to speak to Legate Darius."
"You can tell him I'm here," Glavius grunted as he turned into a brisk walk toward the tent. When he moved within a dozen paces of the entrance, both of the guards straightened up, their gloved hands moving subtly to their sword hilts.
"Captain Glavius," the taller of the two said, giving a slight nod, "if you wish to enter this tent, you need to speak to Legate Darius. He left orders not to admit anyone without his express permission."
"Where the hell is he?" Glavius said, glancing around. Darius was a smart, capable leader, and probably one of the few men Glavius looked up to in his life. Unfortunately, he could not seem to spot the man.
"The Legate is interviewing shamalak in the hills, where they found—" the soldier hesitated just long enough to send Glavius's nerves even further on edge, "he's trying to get them to track for us, sir."
"Good idea," Glavius hissed with a shrug. He started to walk toward the tent door.
"Sir!" the larger guard snapped, and he drew his sword from the scabbard at his side. "We have orders to—"
"Get out of my way, soldier," Glavius said in a deathly cold voice, staring the young man in the eyes. He did not know this pair, but they would know him. Glavius currently held the informal title of finest swordsman in the Onkai Order. Whoever these young, tattooed boys were, they had seen him fight in the sparring pits and developed a healthy fear of his skill. Their eyes told him this, and he might have felt terrible under nearly any other circumstance bullying brothers of The Order, but it was Lady Gretis inside that tent—the closest thing he had had to a mother since he was five.
The soldier on the left edged away from the door, and then his partner nervously mirrored him. Glavius looked from one to the other as he said: "You can inform Darius I'm here—tell him I pulled rank on you. He can have me whipped if he wants. I don't care."
"Yes, sir," the taller Onkai said with a nod.
Glavius stepped past the pair and untied the knot on the tent opening and then drew back the thick brown flaps. He was not sure what he might find, but as he stepped inside of the small room onto the blanketed floor, his blood turned to ice. Silence… the absence of any of the minute sounds living beings produced. This struck him an instant before his eyes fell on a white sheet laid over the shape of a corpse on the floor of the tent. He stared at it in shocked horror. Gretis could not be dead! She was the Blade Witch—the impossibly skilled, incomprehensibly fast warrior who knew more about swordplay than any ten Onkai soldiers—the wise and stern woman who could dance between the role of a serene master sage and a wild and lethal force held in check only by an unshakable sense of what was right.
Glavius knelt down slowly, his heart a painful lump in his chest as he reached out and drew the sheet away. There she lay, crouched and still gripping the hilt of the sword that had been driven into her gut. Why had they not taken it out? His eyes welled up as he stared at the black blade sticking out of the back of his teacher. Her blood was crusted to the sides...
In a daze, he peered around at the face. Gretis's eyes were shut, and her expression was remarkably tranquil. Seeing the woman’s face brought finality to his disbelief. She was dead—truly dead! Glavius's sense of where he was grew... fuzzy. Rage erupted inside him, and he whirled and bolted for the door of the tent.
"GODS!" he cried, stumbling out onto the grass. His anger was too much to contain, and he rammed his fist downward. Dirt sprayed as his rune-enhanced arm tore nearly up to the elbow into the warm earth. He yanked it back out only to thrust his left fist into the ground where it struck a large rock deep within. The impact might have shattered a normal human hand, but it only served to fuel Glavius’s rage. "GODS DAMMIT!" he cried, punching over and over, thrashing and tearing at the dark soil as if he could take his revenge from it.
"Glavius!" a sharp voice came from somewhere amidst the blur of the world around him, and then he felt a hand grip his right shoulder and yank. He was flipped onto his back where found himself suddenly staring up at Legate Darius.
"She's Dead!" Glavius blurted without thought, and more tears rolled out of his eyes.
Darius clenched his jaw, and then extended a hand, saying: "Get up, soldier."
Glavius reached out by reflex. Distantly, he felt his fingers close around the wrist of his commanding officer, and the muscles in his arm engage reflexively to the pulling force. He rose to his feet and gazed into Darius's eyes, whispering in a chalky voice: "Where’s Kota?"
"Let's talk," the Legate said, gesturing to the tent where Gretis's body still lay.
"Sir," Glavius snapped, not moving, "Where... is... Kota?” His hand moved to the hilt of his sword. "Tell me what you know right now, or I'll go search myself!"
There was a frustrated sigh from Darius, and then the man’s fist came so fast and unexpectedly that Glavius could not dodge it. It slammed into his right cheekbone, knocking him on to the ground. Before he could even catch his breath, the bottom of Darius's boot was pressed firmly into his neck. The Legate stared down, a cold look on his face as he said: "I need you to compose yourself, soldier. There is some small chance you can be of use to your friend if you can pull yourself together." He lifted his boot, and once again held out a hand.
Glavius stared up at his attacker, not caring at all about the punch but focusing on the possibility that he could be of help to Kota. "Yes, sir," he said, reaching up and taking Darius's hand a second time. When he was on his feet again, the Legate gestured to the tent, and this time Glavius walked toward it, despite the anxiety of having to gaze at Gretis's body a second time.
"I want everyone on evening prayers," Darius said as they fell into step with one another. "Pray for the dead."
The Legate opened the tent flap and stepped inside ahead. Glavius hesitated for a brief moment, and then followed. He tried not to look at the corpse, but the tip of the dark blade caught in the corner of his vision, and he choked back a violent burst of sobbing.
"Sir," he, managed to grunt, "why do you have her laid out like this with the sword still inside. She should be—" he paused as he saw Darius hold out his hand and slowly lower it, indicating that he should speak in a much quieter voice. Glavius stiffened, his muscles tensing before he swallowed and went on in a whisper: "She deserves better than this, sir.”
"Look at the body," Darius said in a hushed voice, his eyes deathly serious. "Look closely."
Glavius hesitated, then turned to Gretis's remains. At first, he had no idea why Darius would possibly make him look at the corpse a second time, but then he noticed something... was wrong. Her skin was of the same complexion he had seen only a few days before—a living, human color. Her eyes were shut, and they had not swollen as those of a long-dead body did. What was more, Gretis’s lips had not curled back in the normal pattern of death but still looked smooth and supple.
"I've had this body in here for over a day," Darius whispered. "It doesn't decay or rot." He sniffed at the air and said: "You ever smelled a corpse this fresh that didn't make you want to puke your innards out, soldier?"
Glavius swallowed, his heart starting to race. "No, sir."
"Neither have I.” Darius knelt down next to Gretis and said: "There's warmth coming off her. I
t isn't much, but if you look for it, it's there." Glavius grew very excited and opened his mouth, but the Legate said in a quick whisper: "Before you start bellowing, realize that there are dozens of shamalak outside, and we should assume that each of them can hear as well as Kota."
Glavius hesitated, and he became aware of the chanting of his brothers outside. Darius had ordered them into evening prayer early to drown out this conversation. Why? Yet this question was not nearly as important as the more immediate one.
"Gretis is a-alive?" Glavius whispered.
"Gods know how, but she isn't quite dead," Darius whispered. "That means you and I need to be very, very careful."
Glavius dropped to his knees next to his commanding officer. "What's going on, sir?"
"I don't know, but there are a handful of things that bother me about this situation. The whole shamalak tribe seems to have seen our men die at the hands of a small group of demons. I know this because I interviewed one after another. I used a translator named Narok—an old friend of Kota's. Every time one of them described the attack, he got a glazed over look in his eyes—every single one, whether it was a man, woman, or child." Darius rolled his eyes. "They're the ones that directed me to Gretis's body, yet when I ask these shamalak if they can track Kota—whom none of them report having seen—they all say the same three words: 'Nia voro gas." It roughly translates into something like: "Cannot find the scent." The Legate rolled his eyes. "I took over a dozen of them up there, each one individually, and I received the same answer, word-for-word, every time, and each tribesman had the same glassy-eyed-look. Does that suggest anything to you, Captain?"
Glavius felt himself frown. He understood little of psychic warfare, but he recalled a distant lecture he had heard from a Lucinian monk on memory tampering, and how the victims sometimes caught a strange, detached expression and were prone to repeating the same phrases over and over when describing events that had been psychically inserted into their minds.
"You think an entire tribe of shamalak had their memories altered?" he said.
"That was my guess, and so I took a very close look at the battlefield, and I found something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up." Darius took in a dry swallow and said: "I almost missed it, but the dirt was especially loose in quite a few places—almost like a hole had been there that was recently filled in. Being as careful as I could not to let anyone see, I poked at a few of these sections with my boots. All the holes I found were in roughly the same shape—the imprint of a clawed foot almost the size...of a man’s body."
Glavius’s eyes widened. "An Archdemon," he said in a dry voice.
"Yes, the biggest one we've seen on this continent since the demon war. The shamalak did not report seeing an enormous monster. They only described a handful of lesser creatures of hell led by a nathret. That means that everything we are seeing here is a deception—a carefully painted picture set out for us to tell a false story."
By unthinking reflex, Glavius glanced behind him, looking at the tent door, and again he heard the chanting of his brothers outside. Glavius understood now the reason for Darius’s caution. "Do you know why, sir?"
"Why is not entirely clear, though we can at least guess that part of the reason was to avoid the massive response our order would make if we found clear evidence of a powerful Archdemon in Denigoth. I think that who did this is a more important matter for the moment." Darius glanced at Gretis's still form as he said: "Depending on the skill and talent of the telepath involved, it can take hours or even days to alter an individual's memories. Starborn can do it much faster, but even then—an entire tribe with pre-programmed responses…”
"Hold on," Glavius said, putting a hand on the legate's shoulder. "Do you think that one of the starborn was involved?"
Darius grimaced. "I don't know, but we shouldn't dismiss it as a possibility—not with a telepathic feat on this level. I know that Keska Ethedrine and Arkas Adronicus left the capital recently and are roaming about the countryside, and..." the Legate hesitated, his tattooed face almost seeming to pale as he said: "Actually, I heard reports that the Emperor left as well."
"Tacitus?!" Glavius almost shouted.
"I'm certainly not jumping to any conclusions with him," Darius said quickly. "Why the hell would The Emperor of Denigoth bother with a bunch of shamalak in the wilderness? Then again, why would any of them? In truth, the only starborn I know wasn't here is Cassian Asango, and that's because he was locked in a Nemesai cell when this would have happened."
"What?" Glavius hissed, jerking.
"You haven't heard?" Darius said.
"No, sir," Glavius said, shaking his head. "A starborn in a cell? Are... are they going to kill him? Would Otho let them?"
"I don't know the answer to that, but," he swallowed, "have you passed by any Nemesai temples on your way here?"
"I kept to the country roads, sir."
"Hmmm," Darius grunted, pursing his lips. "I might as well tell you that—so far as I know and can extrapolate—Cassian Asango's men have destroyed every temple on the continent, and all the attending Nemesai are... missing."
"Holy shit!" Glavius hissed. His eyes widened, and though he was a servant of the church and was bound to stand on the side of any of the orders against outside force, his first instinct was to smile. "Asango is one dangerous son of a bitch!"
"Dangerous enough to be killed," Darius whispered. "There will be no question now as to whether Cromlic can execute him. For all I know, my old comrade's head has already been cut off, but as troubling as that is, you and I have more pressing concerns."
"Yeah," Glavius muttered, still overwhelmed by what he had just heard. He looked at the Legate and was grateful that the man was here. In the face of all of this madness, Darius was smart, cautious, and level-headed.
"All the evidence most likely points to either a significant number of sorcerers from the empire colluding with the forces of hell, or that the demon king has more nathret under his command than anyone has guessed, and they are operating in Denigoth." Darius cocked his head and looked into Glavius's eyes "I'm fairly sure you know as well as I do that Kota was no ordinary shamalak—he wasn't even ordinary by the terms of the Sansrit. The fact that he was here—that this was his tribe—cannot be a coincidence."
"No..." Glavius whispered, staring down at the tent floor. "Sir, what do we do? Do you think he's dead?"
"We haven't found a body," Darius sighed. "I haven't found anything really beyond what I've just told you. There doesn't seem to be much here that can tell us what truly happened," his eyes shifted once again to Gretis's body, "except her."
Glavius hunched forward on his knees toward Gretis, looking down at her. Despite the sword through her gut, she seemed remarkably tranquil. He knew more about what an animus could do than most, having recently become aware that one lived inside him. To an extent, they could heal the flesh, but this... He realized why Darius had left the sword through her gut. If it were pulled free, her innards would spill out.
Glavius clenched his jaw. "What can we do for her, sir?"
"Very little," Darius said. "That's a demonic blade. Our healers can't do anything for her wounds." He leaned in toward Glavius and said in an even quieter voice: "That's why I'm sending you on a secret mission. You’re going to go to the elves."
"Sir?" Glavius grunted, staring at the legate, stiffening in surprise.
"It's a long shot, but it's all we have at the moment. In some of the old texts, there are reports that elves have a way of breaking the corruption of demon-inflicted-wounds. If that can be done, then maybe..." he glanced at Gretis's body, his face looking gravely uncertain. "Like I said, it's a long shot, but it's all we have."
"Would the elves even help us? They haven't in centuries."
"One did," Darius muttered. "You will recall that girl who appeared in our temple years ago on Kota's behalf."
Glavius blinked. Of course he recalled Thalice Corostine. Every yo
ung man present that day in the temple remembered her. The absurdly lovely elf was the chief subject of most of their dreams and romantic fantasies. She had become a legend spoken of to new recruits who had not been lucky enough to gaze upon her unworldly beauty.
"In private quarters that night, Thalice invited Kota and Gretis to come to her home," Darius said. "It's possible she would help Gretis now. We have to try."
"Yes we do," Glavius said, his muscles tightening. "I'll take her right now."
"No, you won't," Darius said with a low sigh. "Whoever did all of this has a strong interest in keeping whatever Gretis might have to say a secret, and we should assume that, with everything they have managed to pull off here, they will have some means of keeping an eye on us to make sure we swallow what they've served us." Darius put a hand very, very gently on Gretis's shoulder and said: "Her heart isn't even beating. I doubt it would take much to tip her fully into death. You and I aren't sorcerers, Glavius. We might not even know if someone nearby cast a spell to tie up this loose end." He shook his head. "No, we are going to be extremely careful. I have men building a coffin in the forest. You and I are going to bring it in here and fill it with sand. Then we're going to load it into the back of a cart so everyone can see. In consequence for your outburst a few minutes ago, I'm going to assign you packing duty. You're going to collapse this tent and load it and all of its contents into a wagon. You'll do this while I give a speech to our men and the tribe about the dead and friendship and cooperation between our two peoples, so that as many eyes as possible are off you."
Glavius drew in a deep breath, considering his instructions. "Sir, what if there are telepaths about reading our thoughts right now?"
"If there are, then we are already doomed to fail," Darius said with a grim shrug, "but I don't think we're being observed that way. I've had all of this in my mind for more than a day, and I'm still alive. Until the moment we are defeated, we need to assume that success is possible and press forward, for there is far too much at stake to hesitate."