Steps to Deliverance

by Mark Barber

  “And how do we find the stone?” Silus snapped. “If Dionne cannot find it with a few hundred Abyssals scouring our lands, how will we?”

  “I can find it,” Valletto replied confidently. “The location of every known portal stone in Basilea is recorded in our archives. I can contact Saffus again and have him tell me where the stone is.”

  “Every known stone, you say,” Aestelle planted her hands on the table and leaned forward, “and what if the stone they are searching for is not known to your arcane library?”

  “I’m sorry, who are you, exactly, to be part of this decision making process?” Valletto demanded, his temper flaring a little for the first time Tancred had noticed since meeting the mage.

  Aestelle stood again to her full, impressive height and folded her toned arms, looking across at Tancred expectantly.

  “Aestelle was part of our force before the Abyssal attack at our encampment,” Tancred said. “She had the Dictator-Prefect’s trust and she has mine. She is the one who got the message through to you in the first place.”

  “Alright,” Valletto held his hands up passively, “but the fact remains that a decision must still be made.”

  Tancred nodded, looking down at the map on the kitchen table again. For a moment, the severity of the situation hit him with full force. If Dionne was successful, if he managed to find the stone and activate a major gateway to the very Abyss itself, who knew what power would be behind the force which would spew forth. The very best outcome would be a rapid response from the Duma and the full might of the Hegemon’s forces brought against the demonic invasion, resulting in the loss of life for thousands. At worst, it would very simply be the end of Basilea and a horrific expansion of the power of the Wicked Ones.

  “Orion,” Tancred looked up to the big knight stood at the back of the room, “you have been quiet. Even more so than normal.”

  “I shall follow your orders to the best of my ability, Lord Paladin,” the blond knight nodded seriously.

  “But what of your opinion?”

  Orion’s blue eyes darted from warrior to warrior as they each looked back at him expectantly.

  “At the very least, I say we allow Valletto to contact his superiors,” Orion finally said. “We lose nothing by gathering more information, especially if that information is unknown to our enemy.”

  “We lose nothing, except time!” Aestelle snapped. “Time we cannot afford to lose! For all we know, Dionne has found that portal stone while we have been procrastinating and debating our options here, and has already begun the ritual! We need to be out there, now, closing with our enemies and killing them!”

  “Take the cleverer option, Lord Paladin,” Jeneveve urged, eliciting a bitter curse from Aestelle.

  Before Tancred could answer, the door to the farmhouse kitchen was flung open by an excited looking young squire.

  “Lord Paladin!” he gasped. “Our reinforcements have arrived!”

  Tancred exchanged a brief look of surprise with Orion before bounding for the door and barging past the squire, his spirits lifting with each step. Rushing out into the cool afternoon air, Tancred felt his optimism deflate just as quickly as it had arisen. Up ahead on the road, two ranks of men marched over the crest of the hill leading up to the farm. The men wore ill-fitting jerkins of studded leather and iron helmets; each carried a spear or halberd across one shoulder and had a short sword strapped to their waist.

  “This is not the reinforcements,” Tancred muttered to himself as he walked out to meet them.

  With a barely comprehensible shout of command from an aging soldier at the front of the shabby procession, the forty men stopped on the road and then turned to face Tancred as he approached them. The aging soldier walked out and saluted Tancred by smartly placing one hand against the haft of his halberd.

  “I’m Dorn, Lord Paladin,” the man said, his tone respectful. “I’m the sergeant of the Fresh Creek Militia. Magistrate Turius sends his compliments and has instructed me to place these men under your direct command.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Tancred nodded, casting his eyes across the motley assortment of fighting men. “Fall your men out, please.”

  Dorn saluted again and turned sharply to bellow another unintelligible command to his men, resulting in them turning to the right and then walking off toward the farmhouse. Tancred watched them go; the majority were old men with a smattering of boys still in their teen years; a handful were possibly ex-legion judging by the higher standards evident in the personal maintenance of their weapons and equipment, but even those men carried limps or other evident injuries.

  “It is better than nothing,” Orion offered as he walked over to catch up with Tancred.

  The Lord Paladin continued to watch the scruffy militiamen in silence, mentally weighing up his options for progressing with his small, barely trained force.

  “Could you go and find Valletto, please?” he asked Orion. “Tell him to contact his master to find out the location of that stone. Then we shall pack up and go to find the wretched thing ourselves.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The seven squires looked up at Orion expectantly as he rolled out the map on the ground between them. With only two hours or so of daylight left, it was late for traveling, but every moment mattered, and Tancred had decided to move north overnight. Orion looked over the eager and anxious faces of the adolescent boys and girls who knelt around the map, their few belongings in small bags by their sides.

  “No doubt you will have seen Valletto, the legion mage, over the past day or so. He has been in contact with another mage in the capital. We now think we know where the portal stone is.”

  “Where, sir?” asked Carolyn, a blonde haired girl of fifteen years of age.

  “Right here,” Orion said, pointing to a hill on the map, just a mile inland of the coastal town of Andro, “but you shall not be coming with us. I have another idea of how to better use the seven of you, and Lord Paladin Tancred has approved it.”

  A few of the squires looked disappointed, almost resentful at being left out of the move to Andro; a couple of the younger boys now seemed even more anxious.

  “There is a relief force on the way north from the City of the Golden Horn,” Orion continued, “Valletto has just heard that the vanguard is only a day or so to the south, while the main force will leave in the next two days. What we do not know is what route the vanguard will be taking, and they have no mage with them so we cannot communicate with them. That is where you come in.”

  The young squires hung on his words attentively.

  “You will head south in three groups. The first group will take the coastal trade route, the second group will move through the hills toward Fort Rocke, while the last group will travel even further inland, down through Snake Pass. You all need to move fast. The further you get to the south, the safer you are. I trust you do not need me to emphasize to you just how disastrous it would be if the information you now know were to fall into the hands of the Abyssals.”

  “We cannot risk that,” said Francis, the oldest of the squires, “and from what Sister Jeneveve has told us, even with the best will in the world, we would not weather the torture that would befall us if we were captured. So if we are surrounded, we know what we must do.”

  Orion exhaled uncomfortably at the young man’s words. His implied choice of action was both wise and brave.

  “It shall not come to that!” Orion forced optimism into his tone. “Because you are leaving now. You will be well ahead of anything that can harm you even by nightfall. Francis will split you into groups. Kell – I want you on the coastal road, I have another job for you. All of you, be sure you know exactly where the portal stone is, because our success depends on the accuracy of the report you issue to our relief force. We are relying on you. The defense of the Hegemony rests with you.”

  The seven youths exchanged excited looks at Orion’s words. All except for Kell, who kept his impassive gaze fixed on Orion.

&nbs
p; “So get to it!” Orion smiled as he folded up the map and stood up. “Ride fast, be ready with a strong sword arm if needed, and for whoever finds the relief force: make sure they know where to find us. Then get back to the capital. Shining Ones protect you all, I shall see you in a few days.”

  Orion watched Francis enthusiastically split his little team into three groups, excitedly responding to the menial task that Orion had assigned to them. Kell stood and walked over to Orion, giving him a short bow before addressing him.

  “You said you had another job for me, sir,” he said wearily.

  “You do not seem particularly enthused with your task,” Orion observed.

  “I… I appreciate you sending us to safety, sir. But if I may, I think every sword arm available would be better employed here.”

  Orion smiled fondly and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “You have seen right through me,” he said honestly to his squire, his voice low to keep it from the other youths. “I should have known better. But keep it to yourself; faith and hope are powerful weapons. Yes, you are correct, I am sending you all to safety. We know the relief force is on the coastal road, but it is still vital that you direct them to the hills west of Andro, for that information they do not have.”

  “That is simple enough, sir,” Kell said despondently, “but I would rather fight here.”

  “There will be plenty of time for that,” Orion said, “and your next master will train you better than I ever did.”

  “Next master?” Kell’s eyes lit up with concern. “You are not content with my service, sir?”

  Orion raised his brow and smiled sadly.

  “You are… not planning on returning to the capital,” Kell nodded.

  “It is out of my control,” Orion said, “but sadly I would wager that the odds do not favor us. But it is our calling. It is what we are here to do. But enough of that! I said I had another job for you. I have marked a convent on your map. Do you remember Constance, the captain of the mercenary company? Valletto says she survived and is recovering there. Please send her my kindest regards and thank her for her friendship. That is important to me. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kell said, determination lighting his green eyes, “but… could I impose upon you to do something for me?”

  “Of course,” Orion replied, curious as to what the request might be.

  “Sister Jeneveve,” Kell said after a long and uncomfortable pause. “Please, as much as it is within your power to do so, please try to stop any harm befalling her.”

  Given the boy’s age, a clandestine attraction to the pious, graceful Jeneveve made perfect sense. Orion barely knew the woman, but knew her well enough to know that she would not respond well to the thought of a squire being attracted to her. Nonetheless, he nodded his agreement to Kell.

  “I shall do all I can,” he said, glancing across as the squires mounted their horses behind Kell. “Now go. Get yourself away from this place.”

  Kell looked up at Orion, his face a mask of anxiety and apprehension.

  “Thank you,” he finally managed before turning to mount his horse.

  Orion watched as the seven squires kicked their mounts into a trot and headed across the fields to the south. He turned and saw Aestelle watching him from where she leaned against the edge of the farmhouse, the sole of one foot planted on the wall behind her and her arms folded. Instantly, he remembered his last exchange of words with her, his accusations and criticisms of her leaving the sisterhood. He did not need to search his soul very deeply to realize how malicious and unfair his words had been. He walked straight over to her.

  “I have come to apologize…”

  Aestelle held a hand up to stop him.

  “Don’t worry,” she shrugged nonchalantly, “I deserved it. People tend not to tell me what I need to hear. Most men just tell me what they think I want to hear. I suppose I’m not used to it.”

  Orion kept eye contact with her for a few moments.

  “Are you coming with us?” he asked.

  “Yes. Did you send the squires away to keep them from the fight?”

  Orion nodded.

  “Good. Probably for the best.”

  “I doubt they could have helped much,” Orion said. “Even with all their heart, it takes more than fervor to kill demons.”

  “I was rather hoping to rely on fervor,” Aestelle said as she stood up away from the wall. “I’ve spent too long fighting only for money. Might as well go out with a bang, doing something noble for once.”

  Orion opened his mouth to query her choice of words, but he stopped when Tancred approached.

  “It is time,” the small paladin said.

  “Right,” Orion replied quietly, looking off to the north and where the fate of Basilea lay just over the horizon.

  ***

  Valletto glanced around him as the small group of soldiers traveled north toward Andro. The sun sat on the horizon, trapped between a thick layer of cloud that painted the heavens in shades of dull gray and the jagged black teeth of the Mountains of Tarkis. A fine drizzle cascaded down from above to settle on the tanned leather of his horse’s saddle and reins, glistening in the last of the day’s rays of sunlight. Drizzle was more of a rarity in the City of the Golden Horn. In the south of Basilea, the norm was days of blistering sunshine punctuated with brief but torrential downpours; enough to keep the crops healthy and the forests alive in their lush greenery.

  Valletto smiled as he fondly remembered his home, the cool shades of blue that painted a very different horizon with the rising sun, a sight he was far more familiar with in recent months due to disturbed nights and early mornings with his daughter, Jullia. Clera bore the vast majority of the sleepless nights with feeding their younger child, so Valletto figured the least he could do was look after their daughter at dawn and allow his wife a precious hour or two of sleep before he left home for his duties with the legion. What had begun as a chore had quickly morphed into his favorite time of the day, where he plonked his daughter up on his shoulders and took her for short walks around the fields by their home, gleefully responding to her confused commands as she pointed in her preferred direction of travel and yelped out unintelligible monosyllables.

  The company he kept now could not have been any more different. Tancred rode at the head of the column of mounted paladins, men-at-arms, and militia infantry, his narrow eyes constantly flitting from feature to feature as they proceeded north. Even in the short time he had known Tancred, Valletto had failed to warm to him. Valletto prided himself on his ability to read another person, and while their few verbal exchanges had been relatively short, Tancred came across as a man with little depth beyond his blind personal ambition; a trait Valletto had seen many times in others he had worked with and had come to resent deeply over the years. Next to Tancred was Silus, another individual whose character traits were very typical of the military Valletto had come to know, including the dislike of magic users – even those on the same side. Behind them was Aestelle, the tall, beautiful woman whose form fitting and impractical leather armor revealed much of her vanity and need to be center of attention. Valletto could not deny the existence of her astounding beauty, but to him it merely placed her in the same league as his wife, but certainly not above his dear Clera.

  The thought of his wife dragged his thoughts unwillingly back to the sunnier south and his home outside the capital, where his wife and children waited for his safe return. He allowed himself a short, grim chuckle as it occurred to him that the simple act of turning his horse around and riding back home to the only people he truly loved and cared for was actually outweighing the critical requirement to save his nation from being over swept by a horde of demons. Could somebody else not do his job? Was he really needed? Certainly, nobody else could be there for his family, that much had been made clear to him. Resisting the urge, Valletto sighed in frustration, angry with the Duma for sending him off to do a job which so many could have done in his st
ead. But, as Clera had said, it was their turn. It had been years since he had faced any danger and it was only fair. It was his turn.

  Valletto’s connection with Saffus had, at least, been a success. Before setting off for the north, Valletto had again carried out the procedure to contact his master and had ascertained the location of the portal stone near Andro. Luck was finally on their side – there was but one and it was large, atop a hill just to the south of the coastal mining town. They would reach the hill within only a few hours and, if their luck held out and they beat Dionne’s horde to the discovery, their job was then simple – protect the hill until the force from the capital arrived. An elementary task in terms of complication, if not its actual achievement, and one that filled Valletto full of dread.

  ***

  Orion cast his eyes around him, turning in place to stare incredulously as his breath caught in his chest. It was a little past midnight and the black sky was lit up to the north by the burning buildings of Andro, the wooden houses and mining structures melting slowly away into the dancing orange flames that licked up toward the dark heavens. To the west, the seemingly endless procession of jagged peaks of the Tarkis range stepped up toward Kolosu; the tallest peak haloed in a dim aura of white light, punctuating the darkness and blurred in the mist and drizzle. To the east, the inky blackness of the Low Sea of Suan stretched out for miles, blending invisibly into the dark skies without any discernable horizon.

  Jeneveve was the first to reach the crest of the hill. She cautiously approached the construct that sat atop the peak; the end of their journey and the reason for the Abyssal incursion into their lands. A trio of obelisk constructs sat at the crest of the peak, each made up of a further three massive and ancient stones. Each corner of the triangle consisted of two tall pillars of stone with a third balanced on top. Constructs such as these were rare but certainly not unheard of across Basilea; harking back from a simpler time before the God Wars, when all peoples worshipped the Celestials. While the stones themselves were still the subject of debate among many in scholastic circles, mainly regarding how such heavy objects could be moved by such primitive people, it occurred to Orion that the stones were very anticlimactic – there were no carvings, no glowing runes, nothing that would mark the stones out as magical or indeed anything other than ancient sites of religious significance.