by Mark Barber
The corners of Teynne’s pale lips lifted slightly into an uncomfortable smile.
“And so we reach the critical point. The reason why both of us needed to have this conversation. Your men were correct about one thing, Centurion. I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
Dionne felt his facial muscles twitching in anger. One hand lowered to rest on the pommel of his sword.
“You’ve kept things from me? Or you have deceived me?”
“I am on your side,” Teynne moved his hands out to either side passively, “I am not what you think, but I am not your enemy and I mean you no harm. I want nothing more than for us to continue to work together just as we have been for this past year. With this Basilean force here to take you away, you need me now more than ever.”
His eyes narrowing, Dionne stepped forward and looked down at the shorter man.
“Stop mincing your words, man!” he seethed. “Your very life depends upon it! Now tell me, plain and simple, who you are and what you want!”
“Alright,” Teynne replied calmly, his tone almost apologetic, “if that’s what you want. I need you to stay calm, Dionne. Remember, we are on the same side. We want the same thing.”
Dionne watched in horror and amazement as Teynne’s body transformed before his very eyes as he spoke, growing taller and more muscular, the skin changing tone and the hands turning to claws. Only the face remained the same.
Chapter Six
The creature was taller than Dionne, far taller than any man he had ever faced; large enough for the curved horns that sprouted from its forehead to nearly skim the top of the cave. Its body, red-skinned and broad, was made up of knotted muscles clad in scraps of crude armor of spiked metal. A row of sharp teeth defined a thin-lipped mouth beneath obsidian black, eerily calm eyes. Bat-like wings were folded behind the being’s torso. But it was not the metamorphis that was the most unsettling – it was the face of the demon that remained the same.
Dionne needed no more evidence. He had faced Abyssal Champions before. Drawing his sword, he charged forward.
“Dionne, stop!” the demon urged, raising a hand.
Dionne swung his sword up at the monster’s head, forcing it to take a step back and draw its own viciously curved blade. Following up with a second strike at the champion’s abdomen, a dull clang echoed across the cave as the two heavy blades of the expert warriors impacted. The demon was good, but Dionne fancied that he was better. Undeterred, he linked a series of lightning fast strikes aimed at the creature’s head and torso to force it on the defensive before he managed to create an opening. The champion let out a howl of pain as Dionne slashed his sword across the scarlet-skinned creature’s sword arm, drawing black blood from a vicious cut across its bicep.
“Dionne, you fool!” The demon yelled as he planted a broad hand against the wound. “It’s me! It’s Teynne!”
“I know what you are!” Dionne spat, fixing his glare on the monster’s dark eyes and bringing his blade up and ready for another attack.
“Then stop this madness and listen to me!” Teynne snapped. “I’m your friend! I’ve stood by your side for a year now! I show you my true form, and this is how you repay me?”
Letting out a cry of anger and frustration, Dionne lunged forward and lashed out with his blade again. Teynne was forced back against the cave wall, parrying three of Dionne’s strikes before creating an opening of his own and backhanding Dionne across the face with enough force to knock him to the ground. The demon quickly stepped over Dionne as he struggled back to his feet, standing between him and the cave entrance. Teynne held out a clenched fist and a wall of fire shot up from the rocks between them, trapping Dionne against the wall.
“Listen to me!” the demon pleaded again. “We are on the same side! We always have been! You’ve been duped! Lied to and fooled! You’re judging me on my appearance, and I thought better of you!”
“You’re a demon!” Dionne snarled as he looked down at the flames in front of him, assessing his chances of charging through them to continue the fight. “You’re Abyssal scum, the embodiment of all that is evil in the world!”
“According to who?” Teynne demanded. “You’re just quoting the nonsense that your Hegemon has forced on your people! The lies that corrupt leaders have controlled the masses with for centuries! Yes, my form is intimidating, and for good reason! But what you see before you is honest; I am a warrior of the Abyss and I stand by my principles and my code! Yet you try to hack me down because liars and corrupt men of unworldly wealth tell you what is ‘good’?”
Dionne exhaled but kept his sword raised and ready to strike.
“Lies,” he hissed, “you’re trying to deceive me! I’m no fool!”
“You’re acting like one!” Teynne sighed, his monstrous face appearing almost human as he closed his eyes in disappointment. “I’d heard of you. I’d heard that you stood up to the Hegemon because you wanted to do what you thought was right instead of blindly obeying bad orders. That is the Abyssal code! That is what we stand for! Yes, we have our hierarchy and yes there are those who live like kings at the top, but we do so at the expense of sinners and murderers, not innocent peasants whose only crime is being born poor! So you tell me, Dionne, whose system is more corrupt – yours or mine?”
Dionne eyed the demon cautiously, tightening his grip on his sword.
“It’s not my system!” He seethed. “You know that! You know I’ve lost everything to stand against the Hegemon’s corruption and selfishness!”
“So what do you want,” the towering devil demanded, “to waste your time and skills living in the mountains as a simple bandit, or will you continue to work with me?”
“I’m not working with you! You’re everything I’m fighting to defend people against! You and the filth spewing from the Abyss are the entire reason I’m here!”
The demon shook his horned head in despair.
“Are you so naïve? Is Basilea the same realm and the same people as the elves, the dwarves, the naiads, all the others? No! You even go to war against some of them, your principles differ so much! Do you not think it is the same in the Abyss? Yes, the orcs are murdering bastards who must be stopped! Yes, there are demons whose souls are pitiless and corrupt! But there is more going on in the Abyss than you know of! We, too, war over our principles! And your principles are identical to mine, identical!”
Dionne fought to control his breathing, his mind racing as conflict tore his thoughts in two. All physical evidence before him told him to leap to attack again, but Teynne’s words made sense. Enough to make him question.
“In the Abyss, we too are at war,” Teynne said, more calmly, “I won’t lie to you, there are differences between what you fight for here and what lies within the scar to the north. But we have a common goal, and I can bring you enough power to achieve what you want. You can’t make a difference with a band of a few dozen disgruntled farmers and miners! I can give you an army! An army with which to smash the orcs off this very mountain, to force back the Abyssal hordes that oppose what my side stands for!”
“Then why do you need me?” Dionne demanded, a voice within his head screaming furiously at him for even engaging in conversation with a demon. “If you’ve got your own army, then use it!”
“You’re a far better tactician than me, you know that,” Teynne forced a slight smile. “Now I can get an army for you, but you know best how to use it. But there’s more to it than that. There are… limits to how long I can spend outside the Abyss. That is why I have disappeared on occasion for the past year we have been friends. Just lower that sword, show me enough trust for me to lower these flames, and let us talk it through. That force that has come here to stop you is moving ever closer and time is short.”
Dionne paused. He thought his options through, considering the threat of the army sent by the Duma and the trust and dependability Teynne had always demonstrated. He nodded slowly. Teynne had never let him down. The Hegemon, the Duma, the legion, all h
ad betrayed him. But over thirty years of fighting anything the Abyss threw at him would not be overridden by one conversation, no matter how convincing. The Abyss was the enemy. It opposed everything good in Mantica.
“We’re not partners,” Dionne said as he lowered his sword. “I won’t fight for your wicked masters. Not now, not ever. But you have earned my respect and my trust. And I will listen to what you have to say.”
“Good,” Teynne nodded slowly, “because this expedition sent by the Duma to bring you in for trial must be stopped. I’ve already taken measures. Even as we speak, your warriors are amassing. I’ve sent out orders to amass all of your soldiers. Every encampment, every patrol, every man loyal to you. They’re all on their way. But we must leave, you and I. We must leave immediately.”
“You’ve ordered my men here?! Without consulting me?! I don’t give a damn if you’re a bastard demonic lord of the Abyss itself! That’s my army!”
“You would have done the same!” Teynne retorted with almost equal force. “It is the only logical choice! Look me in the eyes and tell me otherwise if you disagree!”
Dionne stared up at the Abyssal Champion, his teeth clenched in rage. The demon’s monstrous form represented the very figure of nightmares, everything he had ever been taught was evil in the world, the very servants of the Wicked Ones themselves. But the one thing the demon had uttered that had rung completely true was that all of his education and assumption about the Abyss came from the Hegemony, the very corruption and core of lies that he now stood against. He looked into Teynne’s eyes and somehow saw past the monster he faced, just for a moment, and saw the eyes of the man who had loyally stood by his side through thick and thin for over a year.
“Why must we leave?” Dionne demanded. “If there is a detachment from the legion on the way here now, we should face it. And I should lead my men from front and center.”
“It is just a rear guard action,” Teynne said, “a delaying skirmish to buy us time. Vassia is a good soldier; a capable leader. He can hamper the progress of the legion detachment and then get your men to safety. That will buy us time to get to the north.”
“To what end?” Dionne snapped.
The towering demon smiled, his harsh face almost warm in the friendliness of the action.
“I am going to get you an army, my friend. A proper one. So you can do what you came here to do, and do it well. And I will stay by your side to help you.”
***
The slow, almost mournful ballad emanating from Hayden’s lute drowned out any sounds from the town of Emalitos. The force had set up camp at the top of the small hill to the south of the town, and the normal array of tents and campfires broke the skyline as the last embers of daylight tucked themselves away below the orange horizon to the east. One leg tucked beneath her, Constance sat with a handful of her mercenaries by a large fire at the western end of the encampment, staring into the crackling flames as she took a small swig from a bottle of wine that was being passed around. They had, of course, heard all about the Dictator-Prefect’s rampage through the town and his use of the men-at-arms to beat the local population into a pulp. Constance was left wondering whether, as a young legion soldier herself, she would have blindly followed such brutal and absurd orders. But that issue had never presented itself as her captain had always placed the safety of civilians before the lives of even his own soldiers. Her captain was a man she had once greatly respected, admired, perhaps even idolized. And now she found herself here accepting payment to be a part of the force that was hunting that same man down.
“What a bastard,” Wulf remarked dryly from where he sat atop a barrel next to Constance, “what an absolute bastard. I can see now why you all hate him so much.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Jaque spat, staring past the flames and up toward the north.
Hayden flashed a forced smile as he continued to play his lute, swaying gently back and forth in time to the music.
“At least the paladins stopped him,” Wulf said. “At least they’re doing their job.”
“I heard it was only one of them,” Mallius added, “that huge one we saw fighting the other night. I heard he faced down twenty of them single-handed.”
“Don’t spout nonsense!” Wulf sneered. “Paladin or not, no man can face twenty men-at-arms and live. They might be vicious bastards, but the legion is the finest fighting force in Mantica.”
A brief lull in the conversation allowed Constance to appreciate Hayden’s lute playing for another few moments before Jaque stood up and dusted himself off.
“Right,” the thin man declared, “I’m off to thank him.”
“What?” Constance looked up. “Who?”
“That paladin. The big bearded one who stopped Hugh the Bastard from massacring that town. I’m off to thank him.”
“Jaque, wait!”
Constance jumped to her feet and dashed to catch up with Jaque as he walked purposefully off toward the eastern end of the encampment. The men-at-arms had set up in the center and were also separated into small groups around fires, gambling or exchanging stories. Jaque marched straight past them toward where the Ark Knights were camped near the road.
“Jaque, I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” Constance said as she caught up with him.
“Why?”
“Well… it’s a nice sentiment, but paladins are still nobility, even if only in a minor way. We’re commoners. We can’t go barging in and demanding an audience.”
“I’m not demanding anything,” Jaque said as he threaded his way through the smaller tents of the paladins’ area, attracting a few curious looks from young squires who sharpened blades and serviced armor in the light of the fires. “I’m just going to pay my respects.”
At the very edge of the encampment, Jaque and Constance found the man they were looking for. The huge paladin sat on a tree trunk, sharpening both edges of a broad, two-handed sword as a shaven headed squire of perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age sat a few paces away, oiling the links of his master’s mail armor. Both looked up as Jaque approached. The thin mercenary opened his mouth to speak, remained silent, and then closed it again as the bearded paladin regarded him with an intense stare.
“My lord,” Constance gave a respectful nod of the head, “we wanted to pay our respects. And gratitude. For your intervention in the town today.”
The paladin placed his sharpening stone to one side and looked down at the edges of the huge sword.
“That is enough for today, Kell,” he glanced coolly across at the squire. “Go and see to your studies and prayer.”
The squire smiled nervously and carefully packed away the mail hauberk before disappearing off into the small maze of tents. The paladin sheathed the two handed sword and switched his piercing gaze back to Jaque and Constance.
“My lord…” Jaque began.
The paladin held up a hand to silence him.
“Orion. My name is Orion. While we are away from the commanders of this expedition, we do not need to stand on formality. We all take the same risks. We are all equals here.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Orion,” Constance said, walking over to stand opposite him. “My name is Constance and this is Jaque.”
The paladin gestured for them to sit before taking a waterskin that lay next to him and offering it across.
“Did you really face down twenty men-at-arms today?” Jaque suddenly blurted out.
Constance shot him an admonishing glare.
“No, that has been exaggerated,” Orion replied quietly. “It was only nineteen of them, and in two separate encounters, so no more than thirteen at once. And it did not escalate to a fight at any point; only words.”
“Nonetheless,” Constance said, “it was a great thing you did. We should not have come here to beat on innocent townsfolk. We are not supposed to be the villains of this piece.”
“That is a rare stance for a sword for hire to take,” Orion said, “if you do not mind me being so
bold to observe.”
“Being a mercenary is not the same as a hired thug or assassin,” Constance replied, a little hurt by the accusation. “I can never claim much of a moral pedestal in my profession but I can – and do – choose who I work for and why.”
Orion kept his eyes fixed on the two, seemingly unconvinced. Laughter erupted from one of the closer groups of legion men-at-arms.
“You are both ex-legion?” Orion asked.
“Yes,” Jaque nodded, “a few years back now, but me an’ Constance used to be with that lot. Well, the 78th Legion at least. We’ve spent a good few years traveling all over Mantica now.”
“You parted company with the legion?” Orion asked.
Jaque rolled up one sleeve to reply to the paladin’s question. His right shoulder bore the feint remnants of the Primovantorian numerals of the number ‘78’, the standard tattoo worn proudly by men-at-arms to show their allegiance to their own legion. A vicious cross was branded into his flesh, the scar tissue blotting out the badge of honor. Constance bore the same scar on her own shoulder but did not feel the need to show it. Orion nodded.
“What manner of crime saw you ejected from the legion and branded for the rest of your days?”
“Our captain disobeyed his orders and struck out on his own,” Constance answered on Jaque’s behalf. “We were Dionne’s soldiers. Some of his soldiers sided with him. We did not. We remained loyal to the Hegemony, despite the loyalty we felt for our captain. But we were guilty by association nonetheless. We were discharged, branded, and imprisoned.”
Orion’s features softened. He closed his eyes and shook his shaven head briefly.
“I am sorry,” he whispered, “Basilean justice is so often unfair. I am so sorry. Did you know Dionne well?”
“Not really,” Jaque answered, “we were just two faces in the crowd. He was responsible for a couple of hundred soldiers. But he treated us all well and he made every effort to get to know us. He knew all of our names, I never knew a commander who took the time to do that. The thing I remember about him most was that he did everything to protect innocent people caught up in the battles we fought in. He… was a great commander and we certainly respected and admired him.”
