Resist

by Derek Belfield

  So, I suppose that we’ll need to go to the council chamber to conduct that sort of business, he grumbled.

  Serena chuckled. Yes, you’ll probably need to. She hopped up from the bed, and Slate watched her as she belted on a white gambeson embroidered with the golden symbol of Lucidus. That had been one of the many changes in the last couple of weeks: actual armor for the Scourge. The Guardians had armor created for them when the original city of Woodhaven had been converted to Lighthaven. The Scourge hadn’t had the pleasure. Now that there were more Faithful, more Guardians, and more of the Scourge, capitalism had found an opportunity.

  One of the craftsmen out in town had started making armor for the Scourge. Bastion noticed the handiwork and commissioned the man to outfit the Scourge overall. Slate wasn’t sure where the armorer was now, but if he knew anything about Bastion, he knew the avatar would be driving the man insane with his inane requests. The first Scourge to receive armor were Serena and Shale. They had both chosen the gambeson—armor made from padded layers of silk, with articulated metal armor sewn underneath the cloth to cover significant areas. The metal covered their chests and collarbones with pieces that curved around their ribs. It was strong enough to take a full thrust from even a Vallyr opponent. Additional plates were sewn over their shoulders, elbows, forearms, and spines. There was a set of matching trousers that Slate had a hand in designing himself. He had suggested that the pants have a reinforced crotch, similar to the construction of a martial arts gi. It would allow the Scourge to use the many martial arts moves that Shale was still developing. The knees were adjusted as well so that it would fit around their digitigrade legs. Unfortunately, both pieces of armor needed to be fastened on the sides. Otherwise, it was too difficult to equip it.

  There was a simpler version without the metal plates, and it was common to wear that while inside Bastion’s walls, but Slate knew that when it was time to leave the city, they would don the new armor. Slate, for his part, had refused to wear any armor while in the city. He had scoffed at the idea of someone daring to strike him in the town of Bastion. He knew it was possible, of course, he just found it irritating in principle to wear armor in his own home. That hadn’t stopped Bastion from commissioning a suit of armor for him. Instead of the white silk the women wore, Slate had requested the darkest black that the avatar could acquire.

  Slate sighed and stood up from the bed. Serena watched him as he padded over to the closet. Opening the door, he selected a black robe embroidered with silver thread from the dozen or so that had been commissioned for him. He didn’t see the point of wearing anything more restrictive than a robe while he was in his palace. This wasn’t his old world, where clothes were a necessary part of the many roles he had to play. Here, he could wear whatever was comfortable. If someone had a problem, he could set them on fire. Overall, it was a satisfactory change of pace for the prior politician. He donned the robe and carefully navigated his wings through the clever slits that were hidden in the folds of the fabric. Once he had done so, he draped his wings around him like a cloak. Slate figured that he resembled a giant bat with his golden wings wrapped around him, but he didn’t care.

  Alright, let’s hear what the avatar has to say about the state of the city, he said grumpily.

  Serena gave him an appraising look. You’re the Scion of the Scourge. We don’t HAVE to do anything.

  He shrugged. I know, but I’d rather get this over with sooner rather than later. Besides, Bastion may have good news, and we can begin our campaign. It’s been too long since I felt the blood of my enemies upon my claws and tasted their flesh.

  Serena cocked her head quizzically. She had never understood Slate and Shale’s penchant for bloodshed. To her, it was a necessary evil but not a pleasurable one. It was a means to an end and not the end itself. However, the other two seemed to revel in the ending of lives. Shale seemed to treat it as a martial competition. Slate, on the other hand, seemed like he enjoyed it because offered variety to his life. She realized that there would be no benefit to mentioning it now. Slate would do what he wanted. Her role was to help him get there.

  She opened the door and gestured for the Scion to lead the way. She would follow him and protect him from harm as she always did. She did wish the man would wear his armor, though. It didn’t matter how safe the city of Bastion was. One assassin penetrating the town had been more than enough for Serena to take the security of the palace seriously. She was pleasantly surprised that Matek seemed to feel the same way.

  As they descended the stairs to the main floor that held the throne room and the plethora of smaller chambers designed to handle the affairs of state, Serena was cheered considerably to see that there were Guardians and servants everywhere. She knew that all of the servants were Faithful and that many of them were part of Matek’ s—well, Mella’ s—agents from the Circle. Now that Matek had given up his role as spymaster, Mella had taken to the task immediately. Serena liked her. She was cunning, ruthless, and wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. Since she had taken over, Serena had noticed that many of the servants had been replaced with overtly sexual and flirtatious young women. It was a change that Serena approved of. Serena had been known to use such techniques to get what she wanted. If Matek had a weakness, it was that he didn’t seem to be very aware of the relationships between men and women. Sure, he could flirt and tease well enough—he did so with Lucelynia on many occasions—however, that seemed to be more natural charm than intentional seduction.

  Conversely, Mella knew the value of sexual tension. Each of the young women were trained to elicit information from any willing guests. Serena had found that even women liked to be flattered and praised by other beautiful women. Not only men lost their wits over over an attractive face and the prospect of a warm bed. Serena watched Slate as they descended the stairs. He seemed to be thinking as they walked. She could feel more than see how his gaze would alight upon every single person in a systematic, automatic way. It seemed like he was looking through them, not at them. He glanced at them long enough to note who they were and what they were doing, but not a moment longer.

  He didn’t spend any more time looking at the vivacious young women than he did looking at anyone else. They simply didn’t matter to him. Serena was coming to realize that he didn’t care about a person’s appearance. To him, that was a secondary evaluation to be made. He cared more about their loyalty to him. He trusted the people that had been around him the longest, and he was reluctant to let new people into the small circle of individuals that had been with him since the beginning of his meteoric rise. Everyone could see the tension between him and Fidem.

  Fidem is an insufferable ass, though, Serena noted to herself. He had been slowly inserting himself into the inner workings of the Scourge. Almost everything had a religious component now, and he was at the center of it all, like a spider on its web. Serena didn’t like him. He was always polite and friendly, but he spoke as if every one of his words were the absolute truth delivered from Lucidus herself. Perhaps they were. But his tendency to prize law and order above everything else annoyed the rest of the group—especially Slate. The man didn’t like a rule unless it served his purposes. Many of Fidem’s wishes were as restrictive on Slate as they were on the rest of the city, and when Slate denied his requests, they were followed by soft criticisms on Slate’s decision. They were always worded carefully so that the Scion didn’t have the excuse to execute the man out of hand. Serena felt like the whole game was tiresome and annoying. She liked it when people were straightforward with their feelings. That was probably why she enjoyed Shale’s presence as much as she did. There weren’t any deep currents in her personality that she had to watch for.

  Fidem, on the other hand, had rebuked them for their lack of piety, just last week. It wasn’t worded as such, but he had strongly suggested that they should be incorporating prayer and meditation into their daily lives. At first, it had been a simple insistence that they should be more pious. However, when that didn�
�t get the response he was looking for, the First Enticer had brought it up to Slate. The Scion had very calmly asked the priest whether he would like his head mounted above the entrance to the Crystal Cathedral or at the front gatehouse.

  Serena couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. Fidem had been so surprised that he thought the Scion had been asking a serious question. Although looking back at it, Serena thought Slate could’ve been serious. He had asked the question as casually as if he was asking Fidem if he preferred butter or jam on his toast.

  Since then, Fidem hadn’t pestered Slate about praying. No one bothered Slate with menial matters anymore. It seemed like he had successfully gotten the message across that he didn’t want to be bothered with mundane administrative decisions. The only person—or thing—that didn’t seem to fear the Scion’s wrath was the avatar of the city, Bastion. Serena couldn’t quite figure out the relationship between the two. Bastion seemed to gleefully goad Slate with his disgusting mannerisms, cutting sarcasm, and acerbic wit. Slate, for his part, continuously complained about the avatar but, every time Bastion spoke, Slate listened. He seemed to recognize Bastion’s inherent value even though everyone else—other than Matek—found him off-putting. Slate treated Bastion like an old companion rather than a system-provided advisor. Serena wouldn’t place bets on whether Bastion could appreciate things or not, but if he were, she would bet that he appreciated Slate’s approach to his personality.

  When they arrived at the main hall, Slate strode right past the entrance to the throne room and pressed a hand to his ear at the same time. Serena saw the Scion’s mouth move but couldn’t hear any of his words. Slate had grown adept at subvocalizing his commands to Bastion so that others could not pick up his words. It was a skill that Serena hadn’t mastered yet. She wasn’t sure if it was her lizard-like maw that kept her from picking up the trick, or if Slate had been doing it for much longer than it appeared.

  Matek can do the same thing, she mused. Matek had been able to talk to Bastion for weeks now without others listening in. She guessed that Slate was asking Bastion to summon the rest of the advisors to the small chamber. When they approached the doors to the council chamber, the two Guardians on duty saluted Slate. He saluted back—a single fist over the heart—and continued through the entrance. Serena followed immediately behind him. The Guardians greeted her as well, but she still felt uncomfortable with the sign of respect. As a lieutenant, she had been the one offering salutes. The fact that she was now on the receiving end of salutes was still an odd notion to her. It was even stranger to realize that there were decent odds one of the Scourglings that had been in her body would go on to implant one--or both--of the Guardians saluting her. That was still a new aspect of her relationship with Slate that she hadn’t gotten used to. It wasn’t necessarily the sex—although that was weird too—it was more the investment in the Scourge and in him. Before, she had simply wanted the power that being one of the Scourge would bring her. Now, she was starting to realize that being among the leadership caste of the Scourge had its share of responsibilities. She knew that, like Shale, Slate might ask her to command armies or lead cities. Those were the strategically essential tasks that he was reluctant to give anyone he didn’t implicitly trust. Considering herself among that select few, she figured she would find herself in one of those positions in the future.

  Slate strode to his seat at the end of the table and sat down, still lost in his thoughts. Serena walked behind him and took her customary position in front of a pillar. She glanced up and made sure that the ring of Guardians was still protecting the rows of seating there. She met the eyes of a young Guardian above, and he nodded his head slightly in greeting. Serena had never met this particular man.

  Must be one of the new ones, she thought. It didn’t matter to Serena whether the man was initially from Woodhaven or not; Woodhaven was gone. Lucelynia was more the type to pine over a future that never could have been and a past that was long gone. No, Serena was more practical. All she cared about was that the Guardian was willing to do his job and protect the Scion. That nod had been enough to assure her that he would. Now all they needed to do was wait for the rest of the advisors to arrive.

  CHAPTER 07: THE RENEWED FORCES

  IT WASN’T LONG before the rest of the council filed in. Bastion hadn’t appeared yet, which was likely because he wanted to make a spectacle of his arrival. He took special care to pop into the room in a way most likely to annoy everyone present. Slate couldn’t help but look forward to whoever was going to be the target of Bastion’s taunting today. If he had to make a bet, it would be Fidem. The priest had grown arrogant as of late. He studied the priest. A startling gold robe covered his draconic form with a white flaming sun on his breast. Slate frowned at his observation. The mantle was alluding to the gold coloring that Slate himself possessed. He made a mental note to eviscerate Fidem at some point in the future. The man was growing bold. Even now, Fidem seemed annoyed that he was being summoned by the Scion at all. If he weren’t one of Lucidus’ most prized servants, Slate would have removed the man as a threat long ago. The only reason he was able to sit at this table and be annoying at all was because of Slate’s forbearance.

  If only the priest knew how close he was to a very violent and painful end...Slate idly considered showing him to remind him of his place—serving the Scion of the Scourge.

  After Fidem took his place, Sumnu walked in. I suppose ‘walking’ is inaccurate, Slate thought. Sumnu didn’t walk anywhere; he hulked. He had taken the time to do some hunting and leveling outside the town. He looked even more massive than before, and his copper-colored scales shone with vitality.

  Part of that was due to his new evolution. Sumnu had decided to evolve to a Berserker in the last week since he had the time to get used to the latest form. Slate had to admit that the new evolution was downright intimidating. Sumnu towered over the rest of them by at least a couple feet. He was so large that he had to bend down when trying to enter smaller chambers such as the meeting room. He was even more heavily armored than before, and as a result, his speed had suffered considerably. His scales had the consistency of plate metal, and in most cases, it was even stronger.

  His upper body was disproportionate to his lower one and walked around like a silverback gorilla. He still had four sets of limbs, and he had become more adept at using them to generate momentum in small sprints before transferring it to his two upper fists. The upper arms were adorned with long jagged spikes that turned that natural sandpaper quality of their flesh into spines that could easily stab and impale an enemy. The same spikes now swept back from Sumnu’s head and descended his spine to culminate in the ax-like tail at the bottom. Even his tail had grown smaller in proportion to the rest of his body. In previous battles, Sumnu had used it as a weapon to take enemies out at the knees. Now, it was more of a defensive measure. He wasn’t agile enough to avoid being surrounded, and now the tail allowed him to defend himself from behind.

  Slate had seen the Berserker swing from a tree and use the tail as a club on another tree in front of him. The force behind the blow had turned it into shards no larger than a toothpick. It had been an impressive yet terrifying display.

  The rest of the differences were small. Sumnu’s head had stayed nearly the same size while his body had grown massive. It meant that it was a diminutive target in comparison to the rest of his massive form. Still, even things like the Berserker’s ruby-colored eyes had grown small armored ridges to protect the softer flesh on his face, and the ends of each scale was upturned into a slight, razor-sharp edge. Each scale resembled a holly leaf with its sharp and pointed tips. It would be painful to touch--much less attack--the monster had become.

  Like Slate and Shale, Sumnu’s third evolution had brought a new form of mobility. While Slate and Shale had grown wings, Sumnu’s development had brought the opposite. His claws had been subtly changed and widened until they resembled spades. With his strength and stamina, Sumnu had discovered that he could dig an
d create tunnels with supernatural speed. He had retained the use of his acid, and when combined with the tunnels, Sumnu could dig underneath a fortified wall and collapse it within moments. Slate was suitably impressed with the transformation, and Sumnu himself was inordinately proud of the form.

  When Slate had asked him if he was going to change his title from First Raider to First Berserker, the man had declined. He said that he would always be the First Raider, and it seemed like the other members of the Scourge had agreed. In the time that they had been resting, Lynia, Matek, and Fidem had all closed on their next evolutions. Slate wouldn’t be surprised that they would transform in their next significant battle. Slate was curious to see what their third evolutions would look like.

  In the meantime, he had received reports from Mella that the Raiders had inserted themselves into various platoons of Guardians for training. They went along and provided the muscle for any potential conflicts that arose. The core of them—the ones that had been at Standur—had evolved into Berserkers at well. They were acting as guides and mentors to the newly acquired Raiders.

  Thankfully, Bastion was a mostly peaceful city. The only place that grew rowdy was the docks. Commerce had picked up within Bastion as merchants realized that their profits weren’t going to be seized by corrupt Vallyrian officials trying to skim a quick profit off the top of their goods. That was a fact that Slate was particularly proud of. He had spent considerable time with Bastion figuring out the relative tax rates of all products and forms of biomass moving through the city. Hardest hit by the taxes were the farmers, hunters, and fishers that provided the city with food, because those were the largest sources of biomass. However, Slate had made sure that they were compensated after a certain threshold as an incentive to produce more goods. Bastion needed currency just like every other city, but Slate was more interested in experience and biomass. He had dumped extensive amounts of experience into the city, both to invest in it and to slow his growth, but he didn’t expect that trend to continue once the fight with the Vallyr truly kicked off.