by Mark Barber
Tancred made his way quickly over to Orion who stood soaked in the drizzle, his armor dulled by the damp, with blood leaking from a bandage wrapped around his head. Tancred shot him a smile and tapped him on the shoulder before placing his hand on the head injury and healing the wound.
“Good job,” he grinned. “Glad you have made it through in one piece.”
“Sorry we are late,” Orion winced, “it turned out to be a little more problematic than first anticipated. I shall tell all after I have cleaned myself up a little.”
“Not to worry. We are back on track now.”
Tancred watched as small groups of men-at-arms carefully made their way across the bridge, careful to keep the weight of each group to a reasonable minimum. Constance’s mercenaries were next across, with the paladins and their warhorses waiting behind before the baggage train and squires. Tancred saw the mesmerizing figure of Aestelle walk over to him, her blonde hair pasted to her face and her wet leathers glistening in the drizzle. She stopped by Tancred and glowered down at him.
“That’s the last time I’m working with your pet ogre,” she snapped. “Tell your Dictator that I shall be scouting ahead again.”
Tancred watched the young woman turn on her heel and stride off upslope again before looking across at Orion.
“You certainly have a way with the beautiful women,” he remarked casually.
“Do not even jest,” Orion grumbled. “I am off to ensure my idiot of a squire has not cooked my horse yet.”
Chapter Eleven
Sat on a smooth rock on a rare sunny morning, Constance regarded the apple she had received from the quartermaster with disinterest. It was the fourth day of chasing Dionne across the Tarkis Mountains, and the fourth day of long uphill marches and nothing to pass the time other than watch the ever changeable mountain weather. Their path had moved further to the east, tantalizingly close to the gentler terrain and climate of the coastline; close enough for Constance to wonder why they did not divert to the coastal road to increase the pace of their path northward. Thankful for small mercies, Constance was at least appreciative of the gentler gradient to the mountain path and the occasional breathtaking glimpse of the Low Sea of Suan to the east, when the mountains saw fit to allow such a glimpse in between their majestic peaks. The detachment had stopped, again, and now sat or lay in small groups to either side of the mountain path as they awaited news of the latest delay from up ahead.
“Uh oh,” Jaque remarked from where he lay sprawled in the long grass next to her, a trio of colorful butterflies dancing in the air above him. “It looks like your opinions are required again, Constance.”
Constance looked over her shoulder from her place in the small semi-circle of mercenaries and saw Tancred picking his way through the groups of soldiers toward her. His armor was still shining and resplendent, despite days on the road, and his surcoat still held its bold blue; a testament to the effort of his squires rather than his own hard work. Constance furrowed her brow as the Lord Paladin approached; it was normally one of Hugh’s aides sent to bring her in for the periodic and highly unnecessary command chats. Tancred’s presence was possibly indicative of an actual problem, for once.
“Come on,” she urged her mercenaries as she stood up, “on your feet. Let’s show the proper marks of respect, we’re not letting our standards slip.”
Her ten mercenaries immediately followed her lead, more out of respect for her than the paladin, she figured. Tancred nodded a silent acknowledgement of their respect to his status and walked directly to address Constance.
“There is an issue up ahead,” he said seriously, “the Dictator-Prefect has requested your input.”
“Requested?” Constance scoffed. “Well, given how polite the invitation is, I’d hate to seem rude by disappointing him.”
The assembled mercenaries unsuccessfully stifled sniggers at the comment, causing Constance to smile at the infectious mirth. Tancred’s face twisted into a scowl.
“Stand up straight,” he snapped formally.
Her old military training kicking in instinctively, Constance obliged.
“You have made your feelings toward the Dictator-Prefect well known throughout this entire force,” the redheaded paladin said sternly, “and, for that matter, your history with him. Whether you believe that is a mature and professional approach is down to you, but both you and I are working under his command, and I will not stand idly by and watch you disrespect a leader appointed directly by the Duma. Consider this a final warning before I take action against you. Is that clear?”
Constance looked across into the serious eyes of the young paladin. She bore no animosity to him and was surprised to find deep feelings of disappointment welling up over the fact that she had incurred his disapproval.
“Perfectly clear, my lord,” she replied with a curt bow of the head.
“The same applies to the rest of you,” Tancred raised his voice a little as he turned to face the others.
A few despondent mumbles of acquiescence greeted the challenge. Constance exchanged a wince with Hayden and tossed her apple to the big man before jogging to catch up with the paladin. She followed Tancred along the pathway toward where it wound right to face eastward around another shallow peak.
“Are your soldiers fairing well?” Tancred asked, a moment after she had dismissed the idea of conversation.
“They are well, my lord,” she replied, grateful of his clear attempt to move past their earlier disagreement. “Just eager to finish the task at hand.”
The two trudged along the path, past the dismounted paladins and men-at-arms, until they finally arrived at the head of the column of soldiers. Hugh sat atop his horse, looking out to the east. His two aides stood by his side, along with Captain Georgis and Aestelle, the mercenary guide they had picked up a few days before.
Constance exhaled in frustration at the sight of the other woman. The sun seemed to follow the beautiful adventurer, lighting up her perfect face and blonde hair. Constance prided herself in being better than succumbing to jealousy over something as trivial as good looks, but she had spent a decade of her life struggling to succeed in a man’s military by virtue of skill and hard work alone. Women fighting in the Hegemony’s army was still new, and she felt privileged to be one of the very first; but it would take years, decades, even centuries for culture to change, and she still found daily hurdles to overcome based on her treatment by men who refused to acknowledge her ability based solely on her gender. She took pride in facing these challenges with grace and integrity.
But Constance was willing to bet all she had that Aestelle did not face these same challenges. Constance’s eyes narrowed in contempt as she regarded the young woman basking in the sunlight, her flawless features accentuated by makeup even when scouting a mountain, and her perfect figure arrogantly displayed by her impractical and needlessly form fitting leathers. Second only to this was the woman’s accent, which spoke of a rich education and a noble upbringing. Constance shook her head and tutted. No doubt a spoiled rich girl lashing out at her parents by dipping into the world of soldiering before returning to a castle and an estate when she grew bored of it.
“Your thoughts?”
“Hmm?” Constance looked across to the voice addressing her.
The assembled men were all staring at her expectantly. Hugh pointed at a thick pillar of smoke rising from the coastline down to the east.
“That,” he snapped, “I want to know your thoughts about that.”
Constance focused her eyes on the eastern horizon. The column of smoke wafting up into the air was broad, far too thick to be anything minor. She surveyed the surrounding landscape. There were no forests, nothing obviously combustible. The smoke originated from the coast itself, which led to only one conclusion.
“It’s a fishing village, isn’t it?” she said quietly. “It couldn’t be anything else.”
“Just as I said,” Hugh gestured irritably with one hand.
“It chang
es nothing, my lord,” Platus offered.
“It changes everything!” Hugh snapped. “There is an entire village burning down there! Villages do not just burn!”
“It could be the work of Dionne,” Georgis offered.
“Nonsense!” Constance snapped. “We are here hunting the man down because he disobeyed his orders to save civilians, not because he burned them! I served under him; he is not capable of ordering something like this!”
“Irrespective of who or what has caused it, I believe we are duty bound to go to investigate and offer what help we can,” Tancred said.
“We can’t go getting distracted from our task by every sorrowful story we encounter on the way!” Platus exclaimed. “So what if it is a burning village? You want us to abandon our entire hunt just because some idiot hasn’t been careful enough with his hearth?”
“This is more than a mere ‘sorrowful story’!” Tancred retorted. “This is hundreds of the Hegemon’s citizens in peril! So yes, that is more important than our core task!”
The assembled group fell silent for a few moments, each staring at the rising smoke on the eastern horizon.
“I could be down there before nightfall,” Aestelle offered, “and back with you before sunrise. You can continue north without hindrance. These slopes are gentle enough for a horse, and I can ride through the night. I’ll find out what has happened, and you can make a decision tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll go with her,” Platus offered eagerly.
“Not now, man!” Hugh sighed irritably. “Tancred, I do respect your concerns and I do see why you worry, but the Duma has ordered us to track down a dangerous man, not scour the countryside looking for people who need help. We must continue north. Unless there is evidence that Dionne is behind this.”
“He is not behind this,” Constance interjected.
Hugh looked down from atop his horse and fixed her with a dangerous glare.
“I show you respect by inviting you here so that I may benefit from your extensive experience,” he glowered at her, “so at least do me the courtesy of addressing me properly and allowing me to finish when I am speaking!”
Constance bit her lip and turned away. She took in a deep breath silently, fighting to clam her temper. It was incredulous to her that any of them could possibly believe Dionne was responsible for burning an entire village. He was loved by the people, he had spent years fighting the evil spewing forth from the Abyss and protecting these very lands.
“Go,” Hugh nodded to Aestelle, “get down there and back to me as fast as you can. We will proceed north.”
“You can take my best horse,” Tancred offered. “Desiree is the finest…”
“I don’t need your magic horse,” Aestelle rolled her eyes as she turned to leave. “I will see you all at sunrise.”
***
Having spent several years in the area, Aestelle already had her suspicions that the pillar of smoke to the east originated from Peleura, a large and prosperous fishing village she had visited on several occasions. Within an hour of her journey, she could see enough ahead to sadly confirm this. The eastern edge of the mountain range quickly gave way to gentler foothills, and with the change of terrain, Aestelle picked up her pace considerably. Galloping her horse across gently undulating pastures and through sparse, scenic woods, the picturesque surroundings did nothing to ease the rising feeling of apprehension as she drew closer to the burning village with each hour.
By midafternoon, she encountered the first survivors fleeing from Peleura; a trio of grime covered peasants who limped along the small road leading from the village, just outside a neat orchard that basked in the midafternoon sun.
“I couldn’t stop and fight them!” a ragged fisherman in his early thirties called out to Aestelle as she hailed him, holding onto a sobbing wife and young daughter. “I had to get my family out! You understand, don’t you? I had to look after my family!”
“What happened?” Aestelle demanded.
“Demons! They just appeared! They came down from the mountains! They killed everyone! They were just… tearing people apart!”
Aestelle’s eyes widened in surprise. Bandits she expected, even an orc raiding party. But Abyssals? This far from the great scar of the Abyss?
“Keep moving,” Aestelle urged the family, “don’t stop for anything.”
Spurring her horse back into a gallop, she continued eastward toward the coast. A few similar encounters with small groups of disheveled fishermen and their families confirmed the claims made by the first she had met. By late afternoon, she approached the boundaries of the village, the smell of burning now pungent in her nostrils. Her horse whined and reared up, twisting and shaking as she drew closer. The outline of the village came into view as she reached the crest of the last of the hills to the west.
The fires had stopped now, leaving only blackened, charred remains of houses, shops, jetties, and other buildings. Posts had been driven into the ground to line the road leading up to the village, and each one supported an irregular shape; Aestelle was too far away for her eyes to discern exactly what the shapes were, but from having faced demons before, she had a good idea. The entire village was silent; there was no sign of further survivors, and even the cawing of seabirds was noticeable in its absence, leaving only the gentle cascading of waves against the shore.
Aestelle dismounted from her horse and tied the reins of the terrified animal to a nearby tree before taking her pistol from her belt and cocking the hammer with her thumb. After only a few paces, she sensed the evil presence of forces of the Abyss; even with her new path in life, her old training and the abilities that came with it had not abandoned her.
The line of posts leading up to the village entrance were exactly what she feared; skewered men and women atop long spears, their faces twisted in such utter agony that they must have been alive when they were run through. A sickening feeling clawed at Aestelle’s stomach as she heard a weak whimper from one survivor atop a spear. After ascertaining that no medicine or magic in the world could save the man, Aestelle swiftly said a prayer for the dying fisherman before ending his misery as quickly and painlessly as she could.
Calling on old powers, half forgotten and long left neglected, Aestelle sensed the most powerful source of darkness within reach. There were many sources of evil and malevolence scattered around the burned out village – most likely lower Abyssals – but there was one presence that pulsated like a beacon of darkness and depravity in a sea of light. Aestelle continued striding along the road, now well aware that malicious eyes were watching her from the shadows of the burnt out buildings to either side. Following the primary source of darkness in a manner akin to a wolf hunting its prey, Aestelle continued on toward the center of the village. She rounded a corner and let out a breath.
Ahead of her, piles of burnt corpses lay scattered and dismembered in the streets; the stench of death was overpowering. On the wooden steps leading up to a burnt tavern sat a striking woman with dark hair and black clothes, her legs crossed and a half empty bottle of wine in one hand. The aura of darkness surrounding her was like a stench. She was the beacon Aestelle had hunted. Around her were perhaps twenty red skinned demons; lower Abyssals, made up of knotted muscle, each standing the height of a man and adorned in spiked, savage armor to accompany their curved horns and sharp teeth.
The closest two Abyssals turned to stare at Aestelle as she approached. Both looked her up and down with cruel and hungry eyes, smiling lecherously and then sprinting toward her. Without slowing her pace, Aestelle allowed the two demons to reach her. As both savage creatures attempted to wrap their clawed hands around her, Aestelle pressed the muzzle of her pistol up into the chin of the first devil and pulled the trigger, blowing the contents of its skull through the top of its head. Simultaneously, she pulled a throwing knife from her belt and stabbed it down through the top of the second demon’s head, puncturing its skull and forcing a choked, gurgling noise to emit from its fanged mouth before it too
dropped dead at her feet.
Replacing both weapons in her belt, Aestelle unsheathed her greatsword with one hand and rested it over her shoulders, stopping by the steps leading up to the burnt tavern as the remainder of the red skinned monsters moved toward her cautiously. Aestelle knew she could not stand a chance against so many, but intimidating them into keeping their distance allowed her to at least run for her horse at any time. The dark haired woman looked up at her and smiled. A moment’s silence passed, broken only by the waves on the shoreline and the rustling of dead, autumn leaves in the light breeze.
“Well, well,” the woman raised her brow, “aren’t you a sight?”
The woman stood, and Aestelle’s eyes were instantly drawn to her belt buckle; a blazing sun marred with a deep scratch across its surface. The symbol of the Basilean sisterhood, now defaced. The woman looked at Aestelle and smiled again.
“Welcome, Sister,” she offered the bottle of wine to Aestelle. “They may kick us out of their convents, but the aura always remains, does it not? I can still smell the sisterhood on you.”
Aestelle took the bottle of wine and dug her sword into the ground by the smoldering steps before sitting down and taking a swig. The dark haired woman sat next to her as the assembled throng of demonic Abyssals watched them both with narrowed eyes and gritted teeth. The woman’s skin turned to a fiery red while horns emerged from her head and leathery, bat-like wings from her shoulder blades. Her clothing was replaced with scant scraps of studded leather and chains that barely covered her. A temptress – one of the elite of the ranks of succubi. Aestelle glanced across as the transformation took place before her eyes but gave no response other than taking another swig from the bottle of wine. The temptress narrowed her eyes just a little – a barely perceptible indication of her disappointment with Aestelle’s lack of reaction. The surrounding circle of lower Abyssals grunted and growled, holding their place uneasily as they waited for orders from their mistress.
