by Mark Barber
Tancred turned from the hum of activity below and caught his reflection in a tall, gold trimmed mirror that stood by the doorway back inside the Chapter House Command Quarter. Standing a little shorter than average, he still cut an impressive figure in the plate armor of a paladin. The sun shone off the highly polished silver surfaces of the expertly angled metal that covered his body from neck to foot, while shining chains of gold held his blue surcoat in place over his breastplate and secured his copy of the Eloicon to his hip. A heavy sword hung at his left side, its ornate pommel obscured by the grand helmet that he held under one arm. The helmet was new, completely unblemished, specially commissioned to mark the occasion of his recent promotion to Lord Paladin. The helmet protected the entire head and curved around to cover the wearer’s cheeks, leaving the face open to allow maximum visibility. Atop the helmet, Tancred had ordered a splendid plume of black and white griffin hair to echo the style of the legion officers of previous ages who had forged Basilea. While his armor was resplendent, Tancred felt his heart grow heavy as his gaze fell upon the reflection of his face; his nose was broken in three places from previous battles while his freckled cheeks were crowned by a mop of red curls. His mother had always doted on him for his fiery golden hair which she said made him look like one of the beautiful, immortal Elohi who dwelled atop Mount Kolosu, while the same hair had caused him to be bullied remorselessly as a child.
If only those bullies could see the armed figure that stood before him in the mirror now. Growing up as the oldest son of a prominent senator of the Duma, Tancred was accustomed to wealth and prestige – even though the other sons of senators who he was educated alongside had as well. However, Tancred was the only boy in his class who was accepted into the illustrious ranks of the paladins, and now stood proud as a Lord Paladin – even if, at the age of twenty five, he considered himself two or three years behind schedule in terms of the advancement path he had chosen for himself.
“Lord Paladin?”
Tancred’s attention was taken away from the mirror to a short servant girl, about his age, who stood by the doorway to the balcony. Tancred immediately found himself sucking his gut in, puffing his chest out, and turning away from the mirror.
“Yes?”
“The High Paladin will see you now, my lord.”
Tancred followed the servant inside and along a long corridor lined with sculptures, tapestries, and trophies from foreign lands. They arrived at the High Paladin’s audience chamber where Tancred was admitted without ceremony. The room was spacious, with a large balcony allowing an abundance of sunlight to augment that which poured in from the dome shaped skylight in the roof. The chamber’s furniture was austere enough, but ample grandeur was provided by the ceremonial armor that hung behind the High Paladin’s desk and the racks of displayed weapons and shields liberally sprinkled around the room.
High Paladin Augus stood and walked out from behind his desk to greet Tancred. Augus was a tall, lean man in his early forties with cropped silver hair and a thin, hawkish nose. He wore simple leggings and a shirt of blue, matched by a slightly more flamboyant cloak emblazoned with the symbol of the Order – a white phoenix. Tancred stood stiffly to attention and saluted, raising his right hand to shoulder height; the symbolic gesture that showed he carried no weapon. Augus returned the salute.
“Tancred, welcome!” He flashed a warm smile. “And congratulations on your promotion!”
“Thank you, High Paladin,” Tancred forced a smile, well aware that as High Paladin and commander of the entire order, it was Augus who would have vetoed his previous recommendations for promotion.
“That’s quite a statement,” Augus nodded to the helmet Tancred carried under his arm.
“The men need to know where I am on the battlefield, if I am to command, High Paladin,” Tancred offered, realizing too late how defensive his tone was.
“The men, and women, will know you well enough; it’s your foes who will benefit most from you standing out,” Augus warned. “But you must lead in the manner which you deem most suitable. Would you like a drink? Spiced tea, lemon water?”
Tancred shook his head.
“No, thank you, High Paladin.”
Augus shrugged and walked back to his desk, pouring a glass of water for himself and adding a slice of lemon before walking out onto the balcony. Tancred followed him.
“I’ve summoned you here to discuss your first command,” the taller paladin said as he looked down at the sprawling city below. The noise levels rose from below as a minor commotion was caused by an argument between a trio of bearded dwarfs and a street vendor selling religious artifacts outside one of the smaller temples. Tancred paid little interest. The High Paladin’s words were what captivated him. Perhaps this was the apology he felt he was owed? Overlooked for promotion for several years now, he had been summoned to The City of the Golden Horn itself, to where the 15th Cohort was based in the most prestigious of all the chapter houses. He was to take command of the 15th? Aside from the elite 1st Cohort, there was no greater command for a Lord Paladin.
“Certainly, High Paladin,” Tancred replied. “Which cohort am I to command?”
“Oh, I’m not giving you a cohort, not just yet,” Augus smiled. “I have a task for you.”
Tancred felt his entire body tense, his muscles clenching and twisting in rage. His face felt unbearably hot and his jaw ached.
“I am not to command a cohort?” the statement narrowly escaped through his clenched teeth.
Whether the High Paladin noticed the rage he had caused, Tancred could not ascertain.
“You’re young and newly promoted, there’s plenty of time for that yet. No, I’ve got something important I need you to do for me. I need you to command a detachment to carry out a special task. Only a small group of soldiers, but this is important. The tasking has come from the Duma.”
Tancred exhaled slowly. He took a moment to compose himself, relatively content that his status was still being taken seriously.
“A special task? What is required?”
“You’ve heard of Dionne of Anaris, no doubt?” the High Paladin asked as he took a sip from his glass.
“Of course.”
Everyone who had ever visited northern Basilea had heard of Dionne. A legion captain who had disobeyed his orders and sent vital supplies back to the local population, he was a folklore hero who had sacrificed himself and his men to stop a famine from tearing through the countryside. However, from a military point of view, it was a disaster, as the subsequent weakening of defenses had allowed an Abyssal force to smash through his area of the defensive line, and many of the now well fed peasant population instead ended up victim to the ravaging invaders.
It was difficult to separate fact from myth with Dionne, but after he disappeared – probably starved to death in the Mountains of Tarkis – he had become a hero of the people, praised every time local bandits were repelled or Abyssal forces to the north were pushed back. It had been eleven years since a small expedition had been sent to bring him before the Duma, resulting in the deaths of two paladins, both from the Order of the Sacred Ark.
“The Duma believes he is alive,” Augus said grimly. “I want you to lead our contribution to a force which is assembling to apprehend him and bring him before the Duma.”
Tancred’s emotional journey plunged from the peak of a wave down into a trough for the second time in nearly as many minutes.
“You want me to go wandering around the Mountains of Tarkis to look for a man who died a decade ago? Is this a joke? Am I being punished?”
The High Paladin’s smile faded instantly.
“I think you forget yourself,” he said simply.
Tancred stood up straight again, inwardly cursing himself.
“My apologies, High Paladin. Sincerely.”
Augus regarded him through narrowed eyes for a few long, uncomfortable moments. Seagulls cawed in the sunlit skies above, the buzz of conversation from the temple merchants continued
unabated from below.
“You are to lead the paladins I am sending to this force,” Augus continued coolly. “Thirty paladins, with warhorses and logistical support. The entire force will be under the command of Dictator-Prefect Hugh of Athelle. He will be leading some fifty men-at-arms from the 32nd Legion.”
“Do we have ranged support?” Tancred asked, hoping his interest in the tactical considerations would detract from his earlier insubordinate outburst.
“The Dictator-Prefect has hired a group of mercenaries, all ex-legion men. You’ll meet them on the road north,” he paused. “This task is important to the Duma. You know as well as I do that there are many legends about Dionne, and we know few actual facts. But information that was recently acquired would indicate that he is very much alive and well. Eleven years ago, when he first struck out rogue, it was our very order that dispatched two paladins to bring Dionne before the Duma. He killed both of them. That’s why I volunteered to provide assistance to Dictator-Prefect Hugh. This rebel bastard killed two of our brothers. You find him, you bring him to justice in a court of law before those appointed by the grace of the Shining Ones themselves. But if he resists, you take off his head. Clear?”
Tancred felt his anger rising again, but this time in was in support of the High Paladin rather than at him.
“Yes, High Paladin.”
“Good. The detachment will be ready to leave tomorrow. One more thing. Your deputy. I want you to take Brother Paladin Orion of Suda with you.”
“Orion? That animal from the 9th Cohort?”
“Your Brother Paladin,” Augus snapped in response to Tancred’s baleful glare. “And I’ve moved him from the 9th to the 15th to give him a fresh start. He’s a good man, he just needs some guidance. Some responsibility will do him well. That’s why I am making him your deputy. Provide guidance. Don’t look at me like that, man! What did you expect from your elevation? Did you honestly expect you’d just be given a cohort and a cushy garrison in the sun so you could prance around in your new hat? Promotion comes with responsibility! And sometimes – more often than not, in fact – those responsibilities are things we’d rather not do! Now stop sulking and follow me!”
His teeth grinding, Tancred followed the older paladin out of the chamber and back along the corridor in uncomfortable silence, broken only by the echoes of their feet on the cool, marble floor. Augus led Tancred to the southeast corner of the building and down to the ground floor before emerging onto the training ground he had viewed earlier from the balcony. Wincing in the ferocity of the sunlight, Tancred followed the High Paladin out onto a square of freshly cut grass where a group of five squires surrounded a single man.
“Ah,” Augus said, his tone indicating that his temper had settled during the brief walk, “here he is.”
The five squires were all in their mid to late teens – young men of fighting age who were undoubtedly at the end of their training and ready to win their spurs as fully fledged paladins. They wore padded armor, off-white in color, and carried wooden poles cut to the same length as the two-handed greatswords carried by paladins on foot. The squires formed a loose circle around one man who, even though he was on one knee, was nearly as tall as some of them. The warrior in the center was a bear of a man, built of solid muscle with broad shoulders and powerful arms. He wore the same padded armor as the squires; like them, his head was also shaven, but his features were largely hidden behind a thick, blond beard. Tancred knew from others that Orion was only two or three years older than him, but the huge paladin could easily pass for a man of forty.
Tancred and Augus watched as Orion looked around at the squires.
“Ready… go.”
The five young men charged at the kneeling paladin. Orion surged forward to meet the first two, snatching up a wooden pole that lay in the grass by his feet. He swung the proxy wooden sword up into the belly of the first squire, lifting him off his feet to arc through the air and slam painfully down on his back. With a speed and precision which seemed impossible from a man of that size, Orion stabbed the tip of the wooden pole out to slam into the stomach of the second squire, sending him gasping to his knees and clutching at his chest. In the same motion, he brought the pole across his own back to deflect an attack from one of the squires behind him, and then turning in place to lash out with a back fist, sending a third youth crumpling to the ground with blood gushing from his nose.
The two remaining squires stood their ground, their wooden poles held ready as they regarded the shaven headed brute with terrified eyes. Orion dashed forward and hammered down a reign of attacks into the younger of the two squires, forcing the boy’s guard open with brute strength before slamming a foot into his torso and sending him crying to his knees. The final squire dropped his pole and held up his hands.
“I… yield!” he stammered desperately.
“Pick up your damn weapon!” Orion bellowed with a ferocity that turned the heads of all others in the training field.
Augus stepped out into the grass square.
“Hold,” he commanded.
The wounded squires staggered to their feet as Orion stood up straight and nodded courteously to the High Paladin.
“Go take a few minutes to compose yourselves,” Augus said to the battered squires before turning to the colossal man in their midst. “Orion, come walk with us.”
Tancred looked up and met the piercing gaze of the taller paladin as he walked over.
“Orion, this is Lord Paladin Tancred of Effisus,” Augus said. “He will be taking charge of our contribution to the expedition I briefed you on yesterday. You will act as his deputy.”
Orion looked down at Tancred and nodded.
“Excuse me, High Paladin?” a gruff voice came from behind the assembled group.
Tancred turned and saw one of the quartermasters who had been taking charge of unloading the wagons earlier, a short, balding man dressed in simple robes of brown. Augus looked at him expectantly.
“May I have a moment of your time, High Paladin? It is rather urgent.”
Augus looked at the other two paladins.
“Excuse me.”
Tancred watched the two walk away before turning to face Orion again. This could be a problem. From the spectacle he had just witnessed, Orion was clearly a better swordsman than he was, and that was no mean feat. But Tancred had plenty of skills where he excelled. What he needed now was to establish authority from the outset, to ensure that Orion was well aware of who was in command.
“What was the point in…that?” Tancred asked coolly, pointing at the battered squires who had formed a huddle, poorly concealing the fact that two failed to hold back tears.
“What?” Orion exclaimed, his eyes narrowing.
“‘What, ‘Lord Paladin’,” Tancred corrected sternly. “Address me by my rank. Now explain what you accomplished with that barbaric display of bullying five boys. Was it simply to satisfy your own ego?”
“They are not boys, they are men,” Orion retorted, “and if you think that I am the biggest and most intimidating thing they shall face on a battlefield, you are sorely mistaken. They are only days away from their final trials, and after that, they will stand in line with our brothers in battle. They are not ready. That is what this is about. Lord Paladin.”
Tancred did not miss the contempt with which Orion almost spat out his title. It pained him that Orion was right – five men should be able to take down one, and if they were not ready, they were a hazard to themselves and the men they stood beside. But Tancred was not going to lose any credibility by backing down.
“Go and get your equipment sorted,” he ordered. “We leave tomorrow morning.”
Orion turned wordlessly and strode off toward the barrack block.
“Problems already?” Augus enquired with a thin smile as he returned to Tancred’s side.
“No, no problems, High Paladin,” Tancred replied evenly. “He is nothing I cannot handle.”
“Good. Let us go and discuss the
finer details of your task.”
***
The mid-morning sun reflected off the highly polished armor of the lines of soldiers, stood ready to march out in front of the assembled crowds. Orion allowed himself the smallest of smiles. While the marching out parade was becoming fairly routine now, it was at least something he could mention in his next letter to his mother. His smile grew a little at the thought of her, proudly boring the other ladies of the surrounding households with tales of her youngest son and his heroic escapades across Mantica. At least one member of his family seemed genuinely proud of him.
The men-at-arms had arrived at the barrack courtyard late, and the procession was already nearly an hour behind schedule. Word had only just reached them that Dictator-Prefect Hugh of Athelle would be joining them in a few days, leaving Tancred in sole command until then and adding further delays to the proceedings. Three ranks of men-at-arms stood smartly in line, their white tabards scrubbed to perfection and their mail armor glinting in the midmorning sun. Each soldier wore a helmet adorned with a single blue feather and carried a metal kite shield of blue and white, with an intricate winged design at the top. This design had no practical use but did at least display the unparalleled wealth Basilea possessed, where common foot soldiers could be issued shields that would be the envy of noblemen in other kingdoms.
The clock tower which dominated the center of the barrack building chimed ten times as the men-at-arms’ captain, a short, portly man named Georgis, dashed along the lines of his fifty soldiers in what appeared to be something akin to panic.
