by Mark Barber
“Captain?”
Dionne turned to face the familiar voice addressing him.
Lourne, his most loyal lieutenant who had fought by his side on a dozen campaigns, stood awkwardly on the rocks a few feet below the mountain precipice that Dionne used to view the world around him. Lourne wore the same mail coat and white tabard as the rest of Dionne’s men, but as a unit leader, he was allowed some extravagance. He had three blue feathers emerging from the helmet he carried under one arm, rather than the standard single feather. His cool, gray eyes appeared tired but had lost none of the spark that sustained him through ten years of fighting.
“What is it?” Dionne asked.
“Four armed men, approaching from the south.”
“Our own deserters?” Dionne stepped down from the rocky precipice.
Lourne shook his head.
“Too well equipped, sir. From this distance, they look to be paladins.”
Dionne stopped, a burden of responsibility suddenly falling on his shoulders that was so heavy he could physically feel it.
“It was always inevitable,” he whispered, mainly to himself, before glancing across at Lourne.
The blond haired soldier fixed him with a defiant glower.
“We all knew the consequences of our action, sir. We stand with you now, as always.”
Dionne allowed himself a brief smile as he stepped down from the precipice, patting Lourne on the shoulder as he passed. The two made their way awkwardly through the rocks back to the main encampment on the mountainside below. A ring of wooden stakes, taller than a man, had been driven in between the rocks to form an uneven defensive palisade that acted as the encampment’s perimeter. A rickety guard tower stood over the one gateway leading into the camp, where a motley assortment of tents and wooden huts acted as accommodation and storage. Some forty soldiers had chosen to side with Dionne after he had struck out and began to act on his own initiative following a series of disagreements with his seniors in the Basilean Legion; but while many of his men had chosen their loyalty to their senior commanders over their own captain, some locals who had heard of Dionne’s exploits and choices had thrown down the tools of their trades to join his cause.
The buzz of conversation immediately died down as Dionne and Lourne approached, replaced by the calm crackle of torch flames and the distant chattering of mountain bats rising from their slumber for the night. Dionne’s forty soldiers stood in a loose semi-circle ahead of him, looking at him expectantly. Some stood rigidly to attention, while others pulled on their mail hauberks and strapped their sword belts to their waists.
“You’ve no doubt already heard that armed men are only moments away,” Dionne addressed the soldiers, “only four, but it is the principal which concerns me the most. This is but the beginning.”
A mixture of emotions greeted him from the faces of his men – some were visibly scared by the reality of official intervention into their actions; others seemed cool-headed or even proud of the attention.
“The lookouts believe they are paladins,” Dionne continued. He held up a hand to still the nervous conversation that was immediately and predictably generated by his last statement.
“We’re expected to kill paladins, sir?” an aging swordsman standing in the front row asked incredulously.
“I pray it won’t come to it,” Dionne replied earnestly. “The paladins fight honorably for what they believe is right. It is the system that is corrupt, not them. I hope they will see reason, but I doubt it. So alas; yes, if necessary. Have your weapons ready. This is our direction now. More men are on the way to join our cause, many more. We are but the vanguard; the foundation of what is right and just. Remember that, if we are forced to draw blood tonight.”
The assembled soldiers parted wordlessly to allow Dionne and Lourne through as the two leaders walked to the rickety guard tower by the camp entrance. By the time Dionne had clambered up the crooked ladder to the tower’s exposed lookout platform, four silhouettes were already visible on the winding path leading up through the rocks to the encampment entrance. Dionne’s heart pounded in his chest, more so than before any battle he had faced for the last decade. This was merely four men; but it was not the physical danger that scared him.
The two lookouts glanced across to their leader for guidance, their crossbows at the ready. Dionne nodded to them but held one hand up. Both men raised their weapons and aimed at the approaching warriors. As they drew closer, the features of their arms and armor drew more visible in the bright twilight. Two of the men were undoubtedly paladins, clad in shining plate armor trimmed with gold and wearing robes of deep blue. A third man, taller and thinner than the others, wore a simple coat of mail and carried two heavy packs on his back. A squire, most likely. The last of the group was a woman, clearly identifiable by her feminine physique, although she too looked tall and powerful. Her white and blue robes and hood marked her out as a fighting nun; very nearly the equal of a paladin in open combat, but perhaps more dangerous in Dionne’s opinion due to their fanatical zeal.
“Stop there!” Dionne bellowed out as the four approached the encampment gates.
The group halted by the gates. One of the paladins stepped forward and removed his helmet. A broad, sturdy looking man in his forties, the warrior’s face was dominated by a thick, black mustache that hung over his upper lip. Dionne noticed one of the two crossbowmen on the platform next to him was fidgeting uneasily. This was not the time for proceedings to be ruined by an accident.
“Lower your weapons,” he mumbled under his breath.
“My name is Brother Jahus, of the Order of the Sacred Ark,” the paladin called out. “I’m here to talk to Captain Dionne.”
“I’m Captain Dionne. What have you come here for, Brother Paladin?”
“Perhaps you could come down here and talk to me face to face, rather than leaving me at your gates like an enemy?” Jahus called up.
“You come bearing arms,” Dionne replied.
“We were attacked,” the paladin replied. “Not far from here. Do you have men guarding your perimeter?”
“You were not attacked by my men,” Dionne answered, hoping that none of his patrols would be stupid enough to attack paladins.
Jahus looked up at Dionne expectantly. Dionne looked across to Lourne. The old soldier narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“Be ready,” Dionne warned the two crossbowmen before making his way back down to the ground.
At the foot of the ladder, all of his men waited expectantly by the gates. Dionne gestured to Lourne and picked out six of his best soldiers.
“Come with me. The rest of you, be ready to fight if this negotiation breaks down.”
The hastily constructed gates were drawn open to allow Dionne and his seven men through to face the four visiting warriors. Dionne walked boldly forward, making a conscious effort to ensure his gait did not betray his apprehension. He stood in front of his men and cast his eyes across the visitors. Next to Jahus stood the second paladin, his armor resplendent and one hand ready at his sword. Much of his face was visible through the slit at the front of his helmet – a dashing man in his mid twenties whose eyes looked eager, excited, and ready for confrontation. The man worried Dionne more than the older paladin.
To the other side stood the nun, a strange companion for a group of paladins sent to negotiate with a suspected traitor. Under her hood, a mask covered much of her features except for beautiful, crystal blue eyes. Her expression was cold, even callous; utterly dispassionate. Behind her stood the tall, thin squire. He was visibly terrified; his eyes darting from man to man in front of him as his narrow shoulders quivered.
“We’ve been sent to bring you in, Captain,” Jahus said, his tone regretful.
“Under whose authority and what charge?” Dionne demanded.
“The charge is Willful Disobedience of a Lawful Order. It comes from the Duma.”
“And what would you have had me do, faced with such orders?” Dionne snarled, his fists
clenched in fury at the wording of the accusation. “Let innocent women and children die?”
“They did die, Captain!” the younger paladin retorted. “When enemy forces broke through defenses which were weakened by your orders!”
Dionne opened his mouth to snap back a response, but Jahus stepped forward between the two men.
“Gentlemen, please. We are all just soldiers. I am not here to pass judgment, Captain, merely to carry out my orders. My orders are to bring you in to address the charges which have been brought against you.”
Lourne stepped forward to face the younger paladin whose words had angered Dionne.
“The captain isn’t going anywhere,” he growled. “None of us are. Three warriors and a whelp won’t move us.”
“That saddens me to hear,” Jahus said, “as it forces me to depart and return with many more men. Captain, does this man speak for you? Will you not resolve this peacefully?”
Dionne looked across at Lourne. His lieutenant faced the younger paladin, both men’s eyes locked on each other’s. A decision was needed. It did not take long to formulate.
“Return with more men, if you must,” Dionne replied. “The Duma is well informed. It already knows that hundreds of men are on their way here now to flock to my banner. Allow me to take the fight to the Abyss in my way. If you do not, you are an army who stands in the way of good. And that, Brother Paladin, makes you my enemy’s friend.”
“There may be a few dozen on their way here, but not hundreds,” Jahus began.
His response was cut short when Dionne heard the almost simultaneous ring of two swords being unsheathed. Who drew first, he would never know. Lourne and the younger paladin brought their blades slashing out toward each other with well-drilled expertise.
“Wait! Stop!” Dionne yelled in desperation as he witnessed the violent reaction to a clear misinterpretation by one party.
Lourne, the very best of Dionne’s warriors, brought his blade around in a second, faster attack. The young paladin raised his shield to deflect Lourne’s vicious attack, and then followed up with two lightning fast strikes of his own. The first severed Lourne’s sword arm at the elbow; the second took his head clean off his shoulders.
“You bastard!” Dionne screamed as he watched his friend’s headless body crumple down to the ground.
Unsheathing his own blade, he tried to run at the paladin, but a body moved in to intercept him. Jahus stood before him, sword and shield raised for combat. Then his men screamed as one and charged, and all hell broke loose.
***
Staring in confusion and disbelief at the melee that escalated from nothing, Orion fumbled clumsily for the sword at his side. He watched with pride as Antoni kept three soldiers at bay, skillfully trading sword blows with the trio of warriors as he held his ground. Jahus faced Dionne, the two leaders slowly and methodically circling each other while aiming precise, well measured attacks. The nun had charged forward, forcing two men back toward the gate to block off any reinforcements attempting to provide support from inside the encampment.
That left one soldier. His hands shaking, Orion looked up as a tall, powerfully built spearman advanced confidently toward him, the broad blade of his traditional koliskos spear gleaming in the moonlight. Orion drew his sword. It immediately slipped out of his fingers and clattered down into a narrow crevice in between the rocks at his feet. The spearman laughed and dashed toward him.
“Orion!”
Antoni shouted out the warning, batting aside an attack from one adversary with his shield to create an opening. The paladin stepped across to cut off the advance of the spearman, lashing out with his sword to cut open a great wound across the rebel soldier’s torso. Immediately one of the three soldiers behind him took advantage of his opponent turning his back and plunged his own sword through Antoni’s ribcage to emerge through his chest. A cry of pain escaping his gritted teeth, Antoni turned in place to hack his killer dead before the remaining two soldiers descended on the mortally wounded paladin to cut him down.
Orion let out a cry of anguish and found himself sprinting toward the two soldiers, flinging his left arm out to smash his shield into the back of the head of one of his adversaries. The short man collapsed forward, allowing Orion to viciously kick at the soldier’s ribs until his second opponent lunged forward to attack, forcing him to raise his shield. Still enraged, Orion let out a long cry and charged at the taller rebel soldier, crashing his shield into the man’s body, He pushed him back against the wooden palisade and slammed a clenched fist into the man’s face again and again.
A powerful grip wrenched Orion off the wounded soldier and he was flung back. He looked around and saw that he was surrounded by ranks of enemy soldiers, perhaps thirty or forty armed men in mail hauberks and white tabards. The nun, bleeding from a wound on her arm, had also been pushed into the center of the circle of rebels. She stood her ground, her back to Orion, her heavy flail raised and at the ready.
“Stop!” a commanding voice boomed out. “Stand fast!”
Orion looked across to where Dionne, the rebel captain, stood by the gateway behind his men. The soldiers parted and Orion saw a crumbled body at Dionne’s feet.
“Uncle!”
Orion threw his shield aside and dashed across to crouch down next to Jahus, who lay at Dionne’s feet with blood trickling from both sides of his mouth. His eyes, clearly struggling to focus, shifted across to Orion as a shaking hand slowly raised. Orion took the armored hand in his own and looked down in desperation at the bloody wounds which covered Jahus’ body. A faint aura of white surrounded his uncle’s hand as he pressed it against the vicious wounds across his chest. The flow of blood stopped a little as Jahus used his powers of divinity magic in an attempt to heal himself. But even Orion could see that it was not enough.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Dionne snapped, whether it was aimed at Orion, the rebel soldiers, or himself he did not know.
“You’ll burn for this!” the nun pointed a finger of accusation at the rebel captain. “You’ll burn in the fires of the Abyss for what you’ve done!”
“Take your uncle and go, boy,” Dionne closed his eyes and shook his head. “Just go.”
Orion stared wordlessly at the soldiers who surrounded him and his dying uncle. All stared at him, some clearly sympathetic, while others glowered with their weapons ready. Orion looked up at the captain but found no words. He placed his hands under Jahus’ arms and dragged his armored bulk away from the encampment, back down the path they had taken together. The nun walked to his side and assisted him, hissing in pain from her own wound. She, too, held a glowing hand to the aging paladin’s wounds and used her own mastery of healing magic, but again it was not enough. Orion looked over his shoulder with every few paces. The rebel soldiers watched them in silence until the darkness swallowed them up with their encampment.
It was only minutes until Jahus grasped frantically at Orion’s arm. Orion gently laid his uncle down and dropped to one knee next to him.
“I…I…”
“I’m sorry, uncle!” Orion blurted out as tears streamed down his face. “I’m so sorry! This is all my fault! I dropped my sword and Antoni…”
Jahus shook his head, his face twisted in pain.
“No… you must…”
He fell silent as his eyes closed.
“I know, uncle!” Orion urged. “I know what I must do! I’ll never let anybody down like this again! I’ll never let down my brothers! I’ll be a better warrior, a better person! I’ll be the best soldier the Order ever saw!”
His uncle again shook his head. He opened his eyes one last time.
“Please… don’t forget me.”
His eyes shut. Orion held his uncle’s hand and stared down in disbelief. He did not know how long passed, whether it was minutes or hours. He was numbly aware of the nun speaking.
“You need to grow up, boy,” she said with contempt, “and quickly.”
The nun walked away, leaving
Orion knelt by his dead uncle.
Chapter Two
The midmorning sun blazed unopposed in a cloudless sky, reflecting off the gold trims off the rooftops and sparkling across the surface of the Sea of Eriskos beyond. Some miles away from the hustle and bustle of the Precincts, the Temple Quarter of the City of the Golden Horn lay in relative peace for much of the day. The splendor of the temples was the envy of the known world. Their opulence, even decadence, stood as a proud testimony to Basilea’s love and respect for the Shining Ones; the gods of morality and virtue who came to power after the great schism ended the era of the Celestians. Twenty three towering temples of differing designs and aesthetic appeal formed a rectangle which defined the boundaries of the Quarter, each breathtaking structure standing as a tribute to one of the remaining Shining Ones and housing hundreds of clerics, servants, slaves, and guards. Within the boundaries stood countless shrines, chapels, and other places of worship, as well as monasteries, convents, and chapter houses of fighting orders.
On a small balcony of one such chapter house, Tancred looked down the shallow hill of the Temple Quarter and out across the Sea of Eriskos to the south, watching the endless lines of trading ships coming and going from the city’s harbor; the hub of the entire world. Weaving lines in between the creaking cogs and caravels were tiny fishing boats, equally as vital in keeping the great city alive. From his vantage point on the balcony, Tancred looked down into the courtyard below where a dozen squires had been assembled in a neat line, ready for instruction at the hands of the Order’s paladins. On the far side of the courtyard, a quartermaster bellowed commands to men and a handful of lumbering ogres who unloaded supplies from wagons which had arrived an hour earlier; stable hands tended to the huge warhorses housed in the north of the complex; while an order priest led a small, intimate service in the open air chapel near the chapter house’s guardroom. The Order of the Sacred Ark was one of the largest and oldest fighting orders in all of Basilea, being made up of twenty cohorts each consisting of hundreds of paladins, squires, and supporting personnel made up of storemen, cooks, cleaners, clerks, and a dozen other trades. The 15th Cohort currently occupied the Chapter House of the Golden Horn.
