Because of their rarity, carnefiis were valuable assets to the legions. On surviving the painful transformation with their intellects and vocal skills intact, all memories of their previous Shashidan lives were cleansed from their minds by Pon Q’tar clerics. The forestallment allowing them to sense right-leaning blood was granted while all their other gifts save for the ability to launch azure bolts were wiped away. They were then given Rustannican names and indoctrinated body and soul into the empire’s war machine. Like the vulgarium, their devotion to the Vagaries was unshakable.
The carnifex commanding this mission was named Aegedes, and although he no longer remembered it, several centuries ago he had been an important Shashidan mystic. Like all carnefiis he had been granted the time enchantments that protected him from sickness and old age. If carnefiis served the empire well they were sometimes rewarded with gold, lands, and captured Shashidan women. Aegedes was many centuries old, his exploits and skills legendary among the legions. He enjoyed killing Shashidans and he was especially good at it.
Although his grotesque bodily appearance was the same as other stalkers’, Aegedes’ uniform resembled that of a tribune. He wore a gold breastplate and leather greaves and gauntlets. A golden helmet topped with a red horsehair comb sat on his head. Like all stalkers he wore a fringed warrior’s skirt and thick battle sandals laced up the calves. Around his neck hung a collection of desiccated eyeballs, grisly trophies he had taken over the centuries from Shashidan victims.
At his left hip hung the legionary sword, or gladius, and in one hand he held a traditional stalker’s axe, its bottom end resting in one stirrup, its shiny opposing blades topped with the skull taken from his first victim, a gold imperial eagle with outstretched wings bolted to its forehead. The eagle signified Aegedes’ rank of Carnifex Magnus, allowing him to command not only all common stalkers, but all other carnefiis as well. Aegedes was the only Carnifex Magnus in all Rustannica. It was a singular title that he bore proudly.
Sitting atop his war mount, Aegedes said nothing as he too employed the craft to search out Shashidan endowed blood. His gift revealed nothing. Spurring his horse, he rode down the long line of waiting stalkers, looking sternly at each vulgaris and carnifex in turn. Each stalker shook his head, indicating that he too sensed no right-leaning blood.
Satisfied for the moment, Aegedes ordered his most trusted carnifex from the line. The stalker obeyed instantly and spurred his mount forward.
The carnifex’s Pon Q’tar–given name was Paganus, and he had served with Aegedes in many campaigns to capture and kill Vigors worshippers. Unlike Aegedes he wore no gold breastplate or helmet. Two shiny black leather belts crisscrossed his chest and attached to his warrior’s skirt at opposite hips. A shiny gold disk engraved with the imperial eagle lay where the belts crossed, showing Paganus’ rank as a carnifex. He too wore battle sandals and a warrior’s skirt and carried the traditional axe. Like all carnefiis, he wore a gladius at his hip. Pulling his horse to a skidding stop, Paganus looked into his master’s eyes.
“Yes, my lord?” he asked.
“Send them out,” Aegedes ordered simply. The Carnifex Magnus possessed a strong voice and its tone was always decisive, commanding deep respect from his underlings.
“Three leagues in every direction should suffice,” he added. “I want this done quickly, Paganus. My group and I will wait here and protect the portal. When all nine patrols have reported and I am sure that this area is clear, I will return to the war camp and inform the First Tribune. Be quick, for he eagerly awaits our word. Remember, we are not here to take slaves, only lives. Follow these directives to the letter and there’ll be no need to subject you to an Imperial Order court-martial.” Turning to look back at the line of waiting stalkers, Aegedes clenched his jaw. “Should any of the patrols fail in their duties, I will kill you personally.”
From atop his impatient horse Paganus immediately gave his master a crisp legionary salute.
“All will be done as you say,” he answered. Spurring his horse, he returned to the long line of eager stalkers and started barking out orders.
Aegedes watched as his stalkers broke into groups of ten, with one carnifex leading each group save for his own. As he rode his horse back toward his waiting group, the other nine patrols charged off in different directions, their horses’ shoes flinging grass and dirt as they went. While riding away for three leagues, each group would use their specialized gifts to search for endowed blood. If none was found, Aegedes could be certain that an invasion staging area measuring six leagues in diameter was free of Shashidan mystics.
Under normal circumstances, Aegedes’ standing orders were specific. When Shashidans were found, they were to be taken alive if possible, then sent home to meet their fates atop the slave block in Ellistium’s great forum. If Shashidan mystics were met, they were to be killed or taken as prisoners of war. But capturing mystics was a risky business, often resulting in many stalker deaths.
The orders for this all-important mission were different. This time the First Tribune had warned Aegedes that the taking of slaves was strictly prohibited. Feeding them and trying to return them to Ellistium would only create hardships. This time, no matter whom the stalkers met, they were to be summarily killed. This campaign was about taking the Shashidan gold mines, not human beings. If the mines could be won, their immense wealth would dwarf the rewards of slave-taking thousands of times over. Lucius had also said that should Aegedes need to kill any unruly stalkers as an object lesson to help maintain discipline, no questions would be asked.
Aegedes looked at his nine remaining vulgarium. Drooling and eager, they sat restlessly atop their horses, hoping that the Carnifex Magnus might change his mind and let them attend the killing spree.
“Dismount,” Aegedes ordered. “Keep trying to sense endowed blood. Until the others return, we wait here.”
As his stalkers left their saddles, Aegedes heard some of them utter rudimentary sounds that resembled grumbling. They communicated only in throaty tones, nonsensical syllables, and sweeping gestures. Some Rustannican mystics had learned the strange vulgarium way of speaking, as had each carnifex and legionary tribune.
After the lumbering stalkers climbed down from their horses, Aegedes noticed one of them starting to collect branches that had fallen from the massive oak tree. Clearly, the lumbering fool was about to light a fire.
Swinging one leg over his saddle pommel, Aegedes dropped to the grass. As he slipped up behind the stalker, the Carnifex Magnus silently unsheathed his sword.
Raising the blade high he brought it around swiftly, its broad side slapping hard against the vulgaris’ bare back. Although the blow was not meant to kill, the stinging pain and the red mark would last for days, branding the stalker with the ultimate humiliation of unworthiness.
Screaming in agony, the stalker swiveled around, intent on murdering whoever had struck him. When he found himself face to face with the Carnifex Magnus he lowered his bloodstained axe and let go a deep growling sound.
Sheathing his sword, Aegedes looked each stalker in the face.
“No fires!” he ordered. “You know our orders—this is a clandestine patrol! The next one who disobeys me dies!”
The stalker Aegedes struck pointed obstinately at the small woodpile he had collected, then gave the Carnifex Magnus a nasty glare. It was clear that he had not given up on a fire, foolish as it might be.
“Hach-a-garrr!” he shouted.
“No!” Aegedes shouted back, determined to keep control. He didn’t want to kill the glowering vulgaris, but if need be he would remove his head from his body without hesitation. This was the most important campaign of Aegedes’ life and he would allow no drooling underling to rob him of his glory.
To stress his resolve, Aegedes reached across his body to touch the hilt of his gladius. Growling in protest, the petulant vulgaris finally lumbered off to join his brothers as they continued to search out endowed blood. Deciding to take a look around, Aegedes wal
ked down the gently sloping field.
His group had barely entered Shashidan territory, but their incursion constituted an act of war just the same. He couldn’t be sure about how long it would take his patrols to return, but the longer they were gone, the likelier it was that they had met Shashidans who needed killing. Although he treated his carnefiis and vulgarium harshly, he was proud of them. No stalker ranks had taken as many heads or captives as had his, and he meant to keep it that way. Part of him wanted no Shashidans to be found, for that would better ensure the stealthy nature of Vespasian’s advance. But he also wanted his stalkers to take many heads this day, giving him the ability to submit another glowing report to Lucius. As he thought about it, Aegedes smiled. He could live with either outcome, he decided.
Turning east, he looked toward the Vertex Mostim, the immense mountain range bordering Rustannica and Shashida on their eastern sides. Tall and snow-capped, the granite peaks were beautiful but forbidding. It was said by the Pon Q’tar that the civilizations on the Vertex’s eastern side were uncultured, their craft use primitive, and that their people called these same mountains the Tolenkas. But that didn’t matter, he realized. After the empire’s legions took the Shashidan mines and went on to conquer the entire nation, there would be all the time in the world to find a way to cross the Vertex and crush whoever lived on the other side. By then nothing could stand in the empire’s way. The world would finally be theirs, and they would have paid for it dearly in Rustannican blood.
As he scanned the Vertex, Aegedes could barely see the six majestic waterfalls bursting from the sides of the peaks. Each one had loosed its fresh, cold water for aeons, and each was responsible for forming and sustaining one of the six rivers that clawed deep into Shashida like jagged fingers. The empire’s barges would soon ply those rivers, taking city after city to protect the transport of stolen gold on its way back to the waiting portals. Curving around on either side, Vespasian’s mighty legions would sweep each armada’s flanks clear of any land-based resistance, then take the mines. It would be an amazing fight, and one in which Aegedes would be immensely proud to play his small but important part.
Aside from Shashida’s reputedly massive gold mines, Rustannicans greatly envied her other, perhaps even more valuable natural resouce—namely, her abundant supply of clean water and the six wide rivers that so briskly carried it due south into her heartland. In Rustannica, the Vertex peaks also supplied water, but not in such copious amounts or of such wonderful purity. Rather than forming rivers, in Rustannica the base of the Vertex had become swampland—most of it unrecoverable, even for their mystics. And so the precious Rustannican water springing from the Vertex had to be manually collected and channeled down a clever series of Pon Q’tar–designed aqueducts that carried it to Rustannican cities. The aqueducts worked well, and the Shashidans had never invaded far enough into Rustannican territory to endanger them. Although two full legions continually guarded the aqueducts, their lengths were so vast that areas of vulnerability always existed.
Looking back to the south, Aegedes thought for a moment about the Borderlands, the massive tract of Rustannican territory that separated the two warring nations along their entire east-west border. The countryside it encompassed was beautiful and lush—unless the Pon Q’tar activated the powerful spells that turned it into a living nightmare from which there was no return. Differing spells could be chosen to morph the inviting terrain into a fiery desert or a frozen wasteland, neither of which could sustain life. Because of that, the Borderlands had always remained uninhabited. Meant to protect Rustannica from invasion by Shashida, the Borderlands killed anyone trapped in their midst. That was not to say that the Borderlands were summoned every time the Shashidans tried crossing it, for the power needed to do so was severely draining to the Pon Q’tar clerics and was therefore used only in the direst of emergencies. But effective as it was, the unique environmental weapon had other drawbacks.
When the Borderlands were summoned, everyone there—be they Rustannican or Shashidan—soon died from exposure to the harsh elements. The Borderlands took no notice of one’s allegiances, killing indiscriminately. Aegedes also knew that the Pon Q’tar was not above summoning the Borderlands even if legionnaires were patrolling there, provided that a greater number of Shashidan soldiers could be killed at the same time. The Carnifex Magnus snorted at that notion. War of Attrition, indeed, he thought.
Moreover, when the Borderlands were summoned, all other uses of the craft were negated there—including magic portals like the one his stalkers had just used to come thousands of leagues across its great expanse. Coming on patrol in Shashida this way was always risky, for if the Borderlands were summoned during a mission, there would be no way home again until the Pon Q’tar deemed the threat past and the spell was dismantled. Aegedes had once heard that the magic summoned to bring the Borderlands to life was so awesome that it overpowered all other craft uses, rendering them too feeble to be called forth. In truth he didn’t know, nor did he care. But one tale he had heard about the Borderlands did awe him. During the entire known history of the Borderlands, only two beings had entered its deadly midst and survived. One of them was said to be called the Jin’Sai, a man of wondrous blood that lived on the world’s other side.
Looking back toward the south, Aegedes’ thoughts returned to how his marauding stalkers were faring. Deciding to rest a bit, he walked back up the grassy knoll to await the return of his patrols.
THE NEXT SHASHIDAN TO DIE AT PAGANUS’ HAND WAS A girl child, aged no more than seven years. No endowed blood had been detected in the small village lying four leagues due south. Even so, the Carnifex Magnus had been explicit. Kill every Shashidan you find, he had said, whether of endowed blood or not.
Spurring his war horse, Paganus charged through the flowery field and soon caught up to the screaming, fleeing child. As he deftly swung his gladius, the blond girl’s neck sliced open like paper and her head fell from her shoulders to go tumbling to the ground. Her body followed, its arms and legs flailing about madly in all directions. Wheeling his horse, Paganus lowered his bloodstained axe and looked down the hill toward another gruesome scene.
The entire village was ablaze. It had been small, holding only a few wooden buildings and a smattering of Vigors-loving souls unworthy of life. It had also been quite pedestrian, showing little of the usual Shashidan propensity toward garishness that he so hated. He much preferred the stark and martial aspects of Rustannican architecture, with its marble columns, broad forums, and statues of heroic emperors.
This village held the usual cross section of Shashidan scum—men, women, children, and the elderly. Azure bolts loosed from Paganus’ fingertips had set every building ablaze, and the structures were now little more than smoldering shells. He didn’t know the name of the place, nor did he need to. All that mattered was that everyone in this forlorn village died. As his warhorse danced beneath him, Paganus could smell the sickly-sweet odor of burning flesh, telling him that the job was nearly done. Dismounting and gathering up the dead girl’s head and body, he slung them across his saddle, then mounted again and galloped back toward the village.
Riding into the town square, he pulled his horse to a skidding stop. It seemed that his vulgarium had done their jobs well. According to their orders, they were dragging the corpses into the square and heaping them into a pile. Others were busily using their axes to chop the bodies into pieces to make their immolation more efficient.
Walking his horse forward, Paganus unceremoniously shoved the girl’s severed head and lifeless body from his saddle onto the growing pile. As it landed, one of the drooling, axe-wielding stalkers stopped chopping and stared up at him.
“Rach-tu-lag?” he asked.
“Of course that one too, you cretinous hulk!” he shouted. “Why do you think we came all this way?”
Paganus was about to jump down from his horse and give the nearly mindless vulgaris a good tongue-lashing when he heard a woman scream. Swiveling in his sa
ddle, he turned to look.
One of the stalkers had found a survivor. She was young and pretty, and she seemed to be unharmed. She was insane with fear, and much of her dress was covered in someone else’s blood. The stalker dragged her by her hair from a smoldering building and tossed her to the ground. Standing astride her, he started to remove his fringed warrior’s skirt, making his intentions all too plain. As he dropped down atop her, the other vulgarium started cheering and shouting.
Whipping his horse, Paganus drew his gladius and charged straight toward the aroused vulgaris. As he neared, he took the stalker’s head off with one swing of his sword, and the headless corpse collapsed atop the young Shashidan woman. Screaming insanely, she managed to shove the stalker off herself, then sprang to her feet. Wheeling his horse, Paganus charged back toward her. In moments her severed head and lifeless body lay alongside those of the rebellious stalker, their yellow and red blood commingling to feed the thirsty dirt.
Paganus turned and glared harshly at his other eight vulgarium. Pointing his sword at them, he shouted, “You know your orders! There is no time for this! Now do your duties and finish cutting up those corpses! We still have two more leagues to cover!”
Amid much growling, the eight vulgarium finished their grisly task, with the heads and other body parts of the dead stalker and the young woman finally added to the pile. Swarms of hungry flies had already started feasting on the easy prey of gaping wounds and open, unseeing eyes.
After looking around the smoldering village one last time, Paganus ordered his vulgarium to mount their horses and form a line. Walking his horse closer, he raised one hand and pointed it at the pile of corpses. At once the pile burst into flame, adding yet more stink to the air.
Ordering his stalkers onward in the search for right-leaning endowed blood, Paganus led the charge from the destroyed village, and the stalkers again headed south.
Rise of the Blood Royal Page 37
