by Mark Barber
“Saffus…” Valletto breathed.
The call went unanswered. Unless a sorcerer had pre-arranged a meeting in the plains, it always would. The simple action of sending a single word across over a hundred miles was draining enough, leaving Valletto feeling weary and fighting a desire to break off the spell. A presence hurtled past him as if he lay on a roadside as a horse and cart thundered by, leaving his mind buffeted and shimmied by the shockwaves of the passing. Another magic user sending his own message using the same spell. A timely reminder of how insecure the messages of the simple spell were, and how easy it was for unwelcome ears to intercept vital information, especially over long distances.
“Valletto.”
Valletto felt instant relief as his master’s familiar presence reached out to meet him across the plains. The connection was made, but time was of the essence.
“Dionne here, hundreds of Abyssals,” Valletto said, his words echoing across the sweeping plains of shimmering gray, nausea again threatening to overwhelm him. At least he had said the most important words if the connection was severed, if his mind could not handle the impact of keeping the connection alive.
“Understood,” came the simple reply.
“Dictator dead,” Valletto continued, “few survivors.”
The gray turned darker. He could hear his breathing again in the physical world, labored, wheezing. He felt pain, sickness, an overwhelming exhaustion from those last four words.
“Vanguard on way,” Saffus’ voice came back to him, “will push for main force…”
Valletto felt a hideous sensation, as if his head was suddenly yanked back with enough force to break his neck, his presence hauled back away from his master’s at a sickening speed. The patterns of swirling gray around him instantly transformed into flicking lines, speeding past him to either side, above and below. He heard retching and realized it was his own body as his mind was yanked backward toward it.
“Easy!” an unfamiliar voice said to him, too distinct and clear to be anywhere but the physical world. “Easy does it!”
Valletto realized that he was on his hands and knees, his head pounding in pain, a vile puddle of his own vomit in the dirt beneath him. Something pressed against his forehead and he felt instant relief, a wave of calmness taking the pain away in a sensation that his arcane mind interpreted as a pale blue. His sight sharpening back into focus and his hearing becoming more distinct, he realized he was by the campfire a few yards from where he had set up the arcane platform, a wall of perhaps twenty men and women surrounding him.
“You will be alright,” the voice said again.
Valletto struggled up to his knees and looked up to see Tancred knelt by his side. The red headed knight flashed him a warm smile, one of his hands still pressed against Valletto’s head as the paladin’s divinity magic continued to fight against the nausea and pain of his magical exertions.
“Thank you,” Valletto gasped.
“Have you just tried to send a message all the way to the capital?” the young paladin asked.
Valletto nodded weakly.
“I might not be able to do that, but I do understand the connotations of such an endeavor,” Tancred said. “So please be a good fellow and let me know next time you intend to try something like that! I did not realize that was what you meant! Get him some water, would you?”
“Stop staring!” a more authoritative voice ordered the encircling soldiers and paladins. “Give the man some privacy!”
The assembled men and women dispersed in muttered conversation as a female paladin with dark hair crouched down next to Valletto, offering him a tankard of water. Valletto took it with a grateful smile and washed the foul taste away from his mouth.
“I told them,” he breathed, “they’ll know now. I told them Dionne was here with an army of Abyssals. And that… the Dictator-Prefect is dead. There can be no confusion now. They know. They must act.”
“When will we know?” the female paladin asked. “How long until they send us help?”
“It’s already on the way,” Valletto said after another swig of water. “I was told that a vanguard had already departed. My master said he would apply pressure to the Duma to hasten the departure of the main force.”
Tancred looked across at the female paladin and then down at Valletto.
“Then we stay here and we keep them busy until help arrives. How many soldiers are on their way to aid us? How many in the vanguard and how many in the main force?”
Valletto shook his head, his body aching but the main impact of the exertions now beginning to lift noticeably.
“I don’t know, I’m sorry. I could not get that level of detail, not from a spell of transmission over that distance. I don’t know who is coming, or when.”
“It changes nothing,” the female paladin said, “we stand and fight them.”
“With what?” Valletto breathed, forcing himself to his feet to stretch out his stiff muscles.
“There are a handful of us,” Tancred said as he stood, “and the region’s magistrate has promised us more men. There are also rumors of resistance in the area.”
“What sort of rumors? Is it militia men? There is no garrison for miles.”
“Elohi, if you believe that,” Tancred smiled. “Two angels on a rampage across the countryside, slaying demons left and right. But there is no sight without light, as they say. I do not believe it is Elohi, but I believe something is going on to give the people hope. And the reports we have heard say it is all happening not far from here. Come, you get some sleep. We shall formulate our plan and inform you in the morning.”
***
Closing together the battered covers of his aged Eloicon, Orion sat up on his bedroll and looked up at the dawn sky. The thin clouds were parting to reveal a blood red heaven above, the horizon itself softened by the yellows and oranges of the rising sun. Orion and Aestelle had camped in the shelter of a small rock face of the leeward side of a wooded hill, shielded from the wind and occasional rain showers that passed through overnight.
Aestelle finished her normal morning routine of press-ups and sit-ups before she recovered a bottle of wine from her pack. She took a mouthful from the bottle before pacing over to Orion and holding out a map in front of him.
“That’s where we are off to this morning,” she declared, pointing at a cross drawn not far from their location, “there is a group of caves there that were used as a place of worship back during the God Wars. The pattern on Abyssal activity puts these caves in their path, so we shall try there this morning. We will leave as soon as you are ready.”
Orion watched wordlessly as Aestelle walked away, taking another swig from her bottle of wine. As pure of heart as paladins were expected to be, he was only human and it was impossible for him not to notice and dwell on her aesthetic appeal. Still, the vocation that life and his father had chosen for him made romantic aspirations difficult at the best of times, even if there was any chance of reciprocation. Orion allowed himself a grim smile. He was hiding behind the vocation – he knew full well that his unapproachable nature was what led to his lonely path and lack of friends and companionship.
Orion stood and placed his Eloicon back in his pack. His eyes fell on the letter he had received from his mother some days ago, which he had still not properly read. He stared at the rolled up letter for a few contemplative moments before taking it and unrolling it. The kind, loving words on the page generated warmth within him, even during the recollections of largely trivial matters back home. Orion read the letter a second time before carefully folding it and placing it inside his Eloicon. He looked up and saw Aestelle waiting for him impatiently by her horse. The woes of the world could wait for five mintes for his mother. Orion took a small bottle of ink and quill from his pack and sat down to write to his mother.
Chapter Eighteen
“Well, that is fairly conclusive,” Tancred remarked dryly as he looked down at the corpse by his feet, partially hidden in the long grass. Fro
m a distance, the dead body could have belonged to a man; the feet were clad in crude, armored boots and the body was liberally protected by rusted flecked plates of brutally spiked iron. It was the blood red skin, goat-like horns, and clawed hands that marked the dead creature out as a lower Abyssal. Flies buzzed noisily in a small, shifting cloud above the corpse.
It was Jeneveve, moving at the head of the small group, who had found the dead demon only a few paces from the small path. Tancred, following up on the latest rumor he had heard from local villagers claiming to have seen the two mysterious figures who traveled the countryside slaying demons, had assembled a small group to follow up on the lead. He, along with Jeneveve, Xavier, Silus, and Valletto had tracked west away from the coast on the advice of a small group of villagers who had remained behind to brave the incursion and stay with their lands.
“This was done by a small blade,” Silus remarked as he crouched over the corpse, pointing at a vicious wound across the throat, “I doubt this bastard even knew it was dead before it hit the ground.”
“Don’t stray too close,” Valletto remarked warily as he peered over at the dead Abyssal.
“This thing is dead,” Silus fixed the mage with an admonishing glower. “It is not suddenly going to get up and attack. You have been listening to too many campfire tales.”
“There’s another one over here,” Xavier called from a few paces away, half hidden within the dense foliage to the north of the winding path.
Tancred made his way over to his senior knight. Xavier stood over another body, again a lower Abyssal and similarly armed and armored, but killed in a very different way. Two enormous tears had been hacked into the demon’s torso, the dimensions of the wounds being very familiar to Tancred.
“Looks like a greatsword,” he remarked, “a very different kill to the stealth demonstrated on the other one.”
He turned to address the other four warriors as they looked over the second dead Abyssal.
“Spread out, far enough to cover as much ground as you can, but make sure you can see at least two others. I will not have anybody being caught out. If anybody sees anything even vaguely threatening, shout out immediately. I shall take center; Xavier, Silus – left. Jeneveve, Valletto, to my right.”
The five warriors began their traipse through the undergrowth as the morning sun continued its climb up into a cloud-streaked sky. Tall, ancient oak trees towered over Tancred as he advanced forward, their branches reaching out seemingly to hold hands with their ancient brethren to form a dense canopy of foliage above. Long, yellow grass sprouted up from the dusty earth to waist height, hiding a plethora of minor hazards ranging from rabbit holes that could cause painful slips and trips, to jagged rocks and sturdy tree roots.
Tancred glanced regularly to his left and right, ensuring he remained close enough to Silus and Valletto at all times in case of any danger. Perhaps a quarter of an hour dragged slowly by, heightened nerves and anxiety were quickly replaced with tedious boredom, until a shout was issued off from the west. Tancred looked over at Silus expectantly.
“It’s Xavier,” the aging knight called, “he has found something.”
Tancred passed the message on to Valletto and Jeneveve, waiting for them to move across to him before they moved as a group over to find Xavier. The veteran knight stood by a broad cave entrance, the brown rock well hidden by weeds and tree roots. Two dead Abyssals lay by the cave entrance; one killed by an arrow to the head while the other had been brutally cut down by a large, bladed weapon.
“There is something in there,” Valletto said nervously.
“I know,” Tancred nodded.
He could sense the darkness of the Abyss, the maliciousness of the denizens of the Wicked Ones, something foul awaiting them inside.
“No,” Valletto said, “something more than that. There is something arcane in there. Something emitting power. It is perhaps what they are looking for.”
“Then we must proceed quickly,” Xavier said grimly.
Tancred nodded in agreement, quickly formulating a plan in his head.
“Xavier, Silus, take the lead,” he commanded, putting his two most experienced warriors at the fore. This allowed him to stay in the center of the group. While many a bard’s tale spoke highly of heroes who led from the front, the less dramatic truth of the matter was that his job as the leader was to command from a central position wherever possible.
“Valletto, you stay with me. Jeneveve, protect the rear.”
“This is hardly the time for courtliness!” Jeneveve protested bitterly. “I am more than capable of fighting on the front rank!”
“This is even less of a time for insubordination!” Tancred snapped back at her. “So do as I tell you and get to the back! Now!”
Her face twisted in anger, Jeneveve moved to stand behind Tancred and Valletto. Xavier and Silus advanced cautiously into the cave, their swords drawn and their shields raised and ready. Tancred followed close behind them, his own weapon held ready to strike. The cave opened out into a larger cavern, a small trickle of water cascading down between their feet as the warriors moved forward. The few rays of sun that had managed to penetrate the cave entrance were quickly left behind, plunging the group momentarily into darkness until Valletto held up his staff and a pool of pale red light flared up to illuminate the cave, casting long, flickering shadows from the fang-like stalagmites and stalactites jutting out from the surfaces around them.
The chinking of their mail echoing across the caverns, the small group advanced slowly forward to the end of the first cave and into a narrow tunnel, forcing them to move crouched low in single file. Tancred felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Just up ahead,” Valletto whispered, “there is some source of power only a few yards away!”
Tancred’s grasp of divinity magic did not allow him to experience the same sensation, but he could sense something other than the continual dull, invasive darkness of the Abyss that seemed to surround and envelop him. There was a small point of light in the darkness, a sensation of good up ahead that felt all but identical to the same feeling that emanated from the paladins around him.
“Lord Paladin!” Xavier whispered urgently from the head of the line of warriors. “I think there is one of ours, up ahead! Another survivor!”
“Be wary, Brother,” Tancred replied quietly, eager not to let his excitement at the prospect build and overwhelm the anxiety he felt from the darkness he sensed around them.
The five emerged into another larger cavern, the center dominated with a single stone, an obelisk twice the size of a man, covered in detailed, runic carvings on all sides. Around the runic obelisk was a sea of bodies, perhaps a dozen, leaving the rocky floor to the cave awash in an inch of blood. The stench of darkness came from the bodies; all were the red-skinned, fang-toothed lower Abyssals. They lay in a macabre display of mutilation; some missing limbs while others had great wounds cutting their torsos open to expose their innards; one had even been cut clean in half at the waist.
Tancred heard a metallic click behind him and turned to look into the darkness to either side of the cavern entrance. Two figures emerged from the blackness. He immediately recognized Aestelle; the tall, extraordinary beautiful woman lowered her pistol when she showed the same recognition, the decorative beads woven into one side of her hair falling down past her blue eyes, a blood drenched greatsword held over one bare shoulder in a leather gloved hand. To her side was a colossal, muscular young paladin with neat, blond hair and the handsome features one would expect from a hero of the myths and legends of the God War. It took Tancred several moments before he recognized the man stood before him.
“Orion?”
“You are alive!” Orion’s face lit up in an astonished smile. “You are all alive!”
The big paladin rushed over to seize Tancred’s hand and shake it warmly, before changing his mind and pulling him in to embrace him. Astounded by the discovery, Tancred found himself dumbstruck as he watched Xavier warily shake
hands with Orion, while Jeneveve greeted him only with a nod of her head.
“What happened?” Tancred finally managed, taking a step back to look Orion up and down in shock. “Where have you been?”
The tall paladin looked completely different to how Tancred remembered him. The shaven headed, bearded thug had been replaced with a clean cut, dashing knight with blue eyes matching his battered, blue surcoat which hung neatly above highly polished armor of silver and gold, its immaculate finish marred by the bloodstains of recent battle.
“Now is not the time,” Jeneveve intervened, “there may be danger close by.”
“I sense nothing,” Silus said, “other than the filth of darkness around these corpses.”
“There is this stone,” Valletto said, walking over to place a hand on the obelisk in the center of the cavern. “I can sense the power emanating from this.”
“A local huntsman told us of this place,” Aestelle explained, “of this ancient stone. We thought it might be a portal stone.”
“Clearly Dionne thought the same,” Valletto said as he leaned in to examine the runic obelisk. “There would be no other reason to send his creatures here. But I’m afraid this is no portal stone. It is merely an arcane stone. These are far more common. They do little more other than tap into the arcane plains and act as a source of power for those who can summon it.”
“Then there is no reason to remain here,” Tancred said, “and this is not a safe place for us to discuss the past and the future. We should leave.”
***
The small encampment for the handful of survivors from the first Abyssal attack was not far from the caves, less than half an hour to the south. The ride was at some pace and so did not lend itself to much conversation, although Orion was desperate to hear more news from Tancred about what had happened in his absence. The seven riders reached the encampment; a collection of a few tents pitched in the grounds at the back of an abandoned farmhouse a few miles inland of the main coastal road.
