by DJ Molles
Mordicus raised his hand and beckoned with his fingers. “Let him through, then. There’s always room for one more among the Faithless. After all, we’ve all been abandoned together on this fucking rock.”
The double rank of legionnaires in front of them split open like a door.
Well, that was easier than I thought.
Perry and Teran started to follow as Stuber stepped hesitantly through the gap in the shields, but the legionnaires suddenly closed ranks again, cutting them off and leaving Stuber on the inside.
“Not you, you fucks,” the legionnaire snapped.
Stuber halted, looking back and realizing what had happened. “They are important friends of mine. Let them through.”
The legionnaire didn’t even look behind him at Stuber, but simply shot over his shoulder, “Take it up with the legatus.”
The crowd at Perry’s back jostled him. “Get back off the line,” someone growled at him. “You think you’re special?”
“Legatus,” Stuber’s voice boomed. “My friends and I have more value to you than you may think. And…” Stuber looked over his shoulder and winked at Perry. “…Even though he’s a small sonofabitch, I can assure you he’s an excellent fighter.”
Mordicus smiled in a longsuffering manner. “Somehow I doubt that. But you know what’s boring? Hanging these fucking flamens.” He raised his arms and addressed the crowd. “How would everyone like to see the tiny man prove his status as a fighter?”
The crowd roared its approval.
Perry exchanged a guarded look with Teran.
“Our legionnaire brother claims he’s a fighter,” Mordicus announced, striding down the temple steps. “Then let him fight.”
The rank of legionnaires parted once more, and Perry hesitated in the opening, Teran stuck to his side as the crowd pressed in around them. Someone shoved him forward.
“Go on, mighty warrior!” a voice jeered at his back. “Let’s see what you got!”
As though pushed by a wave, Perry and Teran were propelled through the gap. Perry stumbled and regained his footing, whirling only to see the ranks of legionnaires close behind him again. The crowd beyond them grew louder with their calls for Perry to prove himself, obviously expecting some delightful bloodshed to cap off a day of hanging defenseless priests.
“Well,” Perry murmured to Teran, his voice barely audible over the crowd. “This went downhill fast.”
“You,” Mordicus called out. “Small man. Are you prepared to prove yourself?”
Perry turned to the legatus and held his arms out at his sides to show they were empty. “I’d really rather not.”
Mordicus only laughed. “He’d really rather not! Well, it’s too late for that. Your friend has said you’re an excellent fighter, and I’m always in need of excellent fighters. I just have to see how excellent you are. Boomer!”
Perry frowned, not sure what this exclamation meant.
Not an exclamation, Perry realized, as a massive hulk of a legionnaire stepped out from behind the gallows. Even by legionnaire standards he was…intimidating.
“Oh,” Perry nodded. “That must be Boomer.”
Perry caught Stuber’s eye. Stuber was simply standing back, as though all of this was just par for the course to earn the respect and trust of a legatus. He had his hands clasped over his slung rifle. A small smirk on his lips.
Boomer stepped forward, his heavy features scrunched into a menacing glare. He wore his full armor, a shield on one arm, a rifle strapped to his chest, sidearm on one hip, and a blade on the other, easily long enough to run Perry through.
Perry maintained his neutral body language, and tore his eyes away from Boomer. “Legatus Mordicus, your man Boomer seems like…a helluva fighter. Do you really want to lose him?”
This earned a laugh, which wasn’t exactly what Perry was going for.
Stuber laughed with them, but for entirely different reasons.
Mordicus himself seemed only passingly amused. He took it as baseless bravado. “Boomer, the small man is frightened of you. And I see he’s unarmed. You may drop your weapons and shield.” Mordicus made eye contact with Perry. “Kill him with your bare hands.”
Boomer didn’t reply. Perry wondered if he was capable of words, or if he just communicated in grunts and growls. But he obeyed his legatus. The shield fell into the dust, followed by the rifle, and the belt holding his sidearm and blade.
Stuber cupped his hands over his mouth. “Don’t hurt him too badly, Shortstack.”
Teran leaned in close to Perry. “If you kill him you’re not going to make any friends.”
“I’m not being given a whole lot of options here, Teran.”
“I’m just saying. We’re surrounded by a lot of pissed off people.”
Perry shook his head, tried again to reason with Mordicus. “Legatus! I’ll be more than happy to fight your man, but after I speak with you. I have some important things you need to know.”
Mordicus didn’t even look at him. He picked at something under his fingernails. “I’ll be more than happy to speak to a peon, but after he proves himself worthy of being listened to.”
“And the only way to do that is to kill your man?”
Mordicus didn’t reply.
“Fine.” Perry spat into the dirt, feeling his irritation rising, and with it, the flow of Confluence through him. He felt the presence of his shield in his pocket. Ready for him to enter it with his mind. “Fuck it. I’m ready.”
Mordicus waved a dismissive hand. “Kill him.”
Boomer launched himself at Perry. He took no time to size him up. No time to dance around. No time to learn what he was up against.
It was unfortunate, really.
Boomer was fast. And he was no loaf. Perry saw it in the way that he moved—with the intense, primal energy usually reserved for large, predatory animals. As he closed, Perry watched him, and briefly held the options in his mind.
At the last second, he couldn’t bring himself to just vaporize the big bastard against his energy shield, so he threw himself forward, and low, his legs slide-tackling Boomer’s.
Unfortunately for Perry, Boomer was all that he was apparently cracked up to be. The second that Perry launched himself, Boomer corrected his movement. And as Perry’s legs hit his attacker’s, Boomer simple flattened his body down onto Perry, his hands already around Perry’s throat.
Any semblance of this being a contest was gone in an instant. Perry was flat on his back in the dust, iron hands squeezing the life out of him. Boomer’s face glared down at him, and, strangely, held no real malice. Just another life to take. Nothing unusual.
Perry tried to speak, to cry out, but no air was going to get past Boomer’s hands. Perry felt the cartilage in his throat crumpling, a disconcerting crunching sensation.
The crowd screamed for Perry’s death, but they were just a dull background roar to the noise of his own blood trapped in his head. He felt the pressure building, saw his vision begin to darken at the edges.
And something else got dark as well. The pull, the red flow—the essence of Confluence, suddenly went far too deep. Like wading through a river and hitting a deep hole, your feet no longer touching the ground…
Rage.
The shield erupted around Perry, the form instinctively taking the shape of a wall between him and his attacker. There was a sound like meat being thrown onto a hot iron, and an explosion of flesh-stinking smoke.
Boomer’s eyes went wide, and he reeled back off of Perry with a speed that belied his size, holding up the stumps of his arms.
His hands were still affixed around Perry’s throat like a grim necklace. They no longer had the strength to squeeze. Perry ripped them away, gasping for air, and finding it difficult past a swollen and cracked windpipe.
He rolled to his side, then lurched to his feet, his mind sparking like an overpowered conduit. Strange thoughts bubbled up in him, urging him, pulsing out of him, like the energy from his longstaff when it seemed to st
rain against him, seemed to want to kill and destroy.
Burn him to ashes.
Perry stood there, staring down at Boomer with wild eyes, his fists clenching and unclenching, heart pounding in his locked up throat, picturing it, imagining it. Activating his shield and simply stepping forward, stepping through that big lout, turning him to cinders and ashes…
“Perry?” Stuber’s voice cut through his thoughts like a scalpel.
Perry jerked, the creeping madness suddenly dispelled.
Shit. He was still choking. Trying like hell to get his locked-up throat to expand enough to get more than this tiny eking breeze to his lungs. He was also shaking violently. That explosion of rage leaving him feeling wrung out.
What the hell was that about?
His eyes shot back and forth—first to Boomer, who had backpedaled several yards and still stared at the blackened stumps of his arms, but made no sound. Then to Mordicus. Who did not look happy.
Perry tried to speak again, but all that came out of him was a froglike croak.
“He’s a fucking paladin!” Mordicus suddenly raged.
Stuber seemed to realize that Perry couldn’t speak, and crossed quickly to him, raising a hand to Mordicus. “He’s not a paladin! And he did warn you not to waste your best fighter! And you did promise to speak to him when he proved himself! Are you not satisfied? You can always send Boomer back in and let my friend finish the job.” Stuber shrugged, nonchalantly. “Frankly, he got off easy.”
Even as he fought the swelling in his throat, Perry became aware that Stuber and Teran were closing the gap with him. Despite Stuber’s calm demeanor, they both knew that this could continue to get worse.
Perry extinguished his shield so that they could draw closer to him. His eyes shot to the left and right, registering the inner rank of legionnaires turning to face them, though they seemed unsure if they should stay in their ranks or address what they clearly perceived as a threat.
They were waiting on Mordicus.
The legatus glared down at them with a mouth like a bent sickle, and Perry knew what he was going to say, even as he raised an accusing finger, directed it right at Perry, and shouted, “Legionnaires!”
Teran directly behind him. Stuber directly to his right.
The legionnaires turned on them, rifles coming up alongside their massive shields.
Perry pushed his shield into a dome around he and his two friends. And he tried to yell.
This time his throat let out a single word: “—help--!”
Mordicus stalked down the steps, holding his hand above his head. Not a single legionnaire fired a shot, perceiving their commander’s call to hold fire. “You ask me for my help, you insignificant little bastard?” he demanded as he closed with them.
Exasperated with his throat, Perry clenched his teeth, sucked in air, and forced his throat to conjure a complete sentence: “We’re here to help!”
Mordicus stopped. Ten yards from the shimmering surface of Perry’s shield. Just a single pace from the side of Boomer, who had now knelt to the ground and folded his wounded arms into his torso.
The legatus glared at Perry for the space of a few hammering heartbeats, then turned to Boomer. His expression softened. Not the glare of death and wrath he’d given Perry. Instead, the look a father would give an injured child.
He bent at the waist and laid a hand on Boomer’s shoulder. “Get up, son. Never kneel. No matter what.”
Boomer looked up at Daddy Mordicus with a surprisingly mild expression. “Bastard cut my fucking hands off, sir.”
“And that’s my fault,” Mordicus answered, softly. “You just did what I asked of you. Now get up.”
Boomer sighed heavily, then dragged himself to his feet, his arms still held to his body. “The hell am I gonna do without hands, sir?”
Mordicus kept his hand on his legionnaire as he stood. “I’ll figure something out, son. I always do, don’t I?”
Boomer nodded, his concerns apparently assuaged. That was all it took for him. That was his level of faith in his legatus.
Mordicus turned back to the group of three, still standing underneath the dome of an energy shield. He looked at the shield. Looked at the crowd beyond his ranks of legionnaires. Tilted his head back and looked at the sky, as though divining some portents from it.
He stepped forward, until he was just a few paces from the shield. Far enough away that he could juke out of danger if Perry made any sudden movements. But close enough to talk without having to raise voices.
He gestured to the shield. “The fuck is this?”
Perry swallowed. It hurt to do so. “It’s an energy shield,” he croaked out.
A flash of irritation. “I can see it’s a fucking energy shield. How did you get it? You say you’re not a paladin, and yet you use god tech. Explain that to me and then maybe we’ll talk.”
Stuber leaned forward to say something, but Perry held out a hand and stayed his big friend. “Let’s go into the temple and talk,” Perry said, still having to work hard to get full words out. “And then I’ll explain it to you.”
Mordicus’s eyes now switched from consternation to something far more shrewd. “I’ve got two thousand peons watching me right now. You walked through Karapalida to get here. You know things are…delicate. Would you undermine my authority in front of them? I promise, that will end poorly.”
Perry appreciated the frankness. Now he was getting somewhere. “You seem like a good commander. Your men clearly love you. That’s not something that comes easy.” A breath. A stretching of the neck. “You must be an intelligent individual. I’m sure you can come up with something.”
Mordicus snorted at the flattery, though no sign of humor touched his lips. He put his hands on his hips. Looked elsewhere as he spoke. “Give me your word that you won’t use the god tech against me or my men.”
“I have no reason to harm you,” Perry answered. “Don’t give me one in the future.”
“Fair enough.”
Mordicus took a step backwards, then raised his hands out to his side, his voice returning to that of an orator’s speaking to the multitude. “Legatus Mordicus is a man of his word. I agreed to speak to these people if they proved themselves. And I believe they have. My men will not attempt to harm them, and anyone who does will answer to me. My judgement in this matter is final.”
The crowd murmured its disapproval.
The inner rank of legionnaires immediately spun outward, and both ranks slammed their shield down as one, the noise of it like a thunderclap in the temple square.
The crowd immediately quieted.
Mordicus turned away from them, speaking quietly over his shoulder. “Come with me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
BACKROOM DEALS
Mordicus watched the group carefully as they stood in the sanctum of the temple. He had one arm crossed over his chest and the other propped up, a thoughtful finger to his lips.
Off to Perry’s side, he heard the sound of Stuber crunching his way through a vegetable taken from the offerings to Vitan, a Son of Primus. Vitan’s portly, smiling visage stood over them, twenty feet tall, his head the pillar that held the temple roof.
Perry did not recall seeing a Son of Primus that looked anything like that.
It’s fiction, he thought. Lies.
Vitan was no bringer of wealth and plenty. He was a bringer of death, just like the others.
“Can’t believe people just give this shit away,” Stuber growled around a mouthful. “You know how hard it is to grow a vegetable?”
Mordicus narrowed his gaze at Stuber. “You strike me as a man who might enjoy the offerings to Nur more.”
Stuber grinned as he chewed. “Steel, weapons, and whiskey. It’s like you’ve known me all my life.”
“If you’ve met one legionnaire, you’ve met them all.” Mordicus returned his attention to Perry. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Obviously, with the structure of our entire religion and governance crumblin
g around us, I’m slightly more inclined to believe you now than I would have only two days ago. But it is still…difficult to accept.”
Perry felt marginally irked that his story—from receiving the clasp and the message that it contained, all the way through the release of The Nine—was still not quite accepted. After everything that had happened, after The Guardians had fallen from the sky and raged through the cities, it was still something to balk at?
But, to Mordicus’s credit, he seemed to be giving Perry the benefit of the doubt. And, like he said, the events of the last two days spoke for themselves. It was likely that everyone wanted to know why The Guardians had suddenly fallen from the sky to exterminate them, and every paladin that had been among their legions had fled to The Clouds, abandoning the humans behind them.
“You can believe what you want,” Perry replied, keeping his tone level. “I’ve told the truth, as accurately as I can tell it.”
Stuber wiped his mouth with his hand, then swiped his hand across his pants. “All of which is currently beside the point.”
Mordicus frowned. “Beside the point? I would say it is the point.”
Stuber had grown serious. “I’m looking for my wife.”
“You and every man in my legion.”
“I have reason to believe she’s here. She was in Oksidado. It was hit by a Guardian last night. Some of the townspeople made it out. It looks like they went here.”
Mordicus looked thoughtful. “My guards did report an influx of civilians early this morning, before dawn.”
Stuber glanced hopefully at Perry and Teran. “That could be her.” Back to Mordicus. “Where did they go?”
Mordicus tilted his head. “You know, we haven’t got to the part where you tell me how you’re going to help me. So far, all I’ve heard is ways to help you.”
“She’s my wife,” Stuber ground out.
Perry stepped forward. “And we’re going to find her. Legatus, maybe you can fill us in on what the hell happened here. I mean, clearly a Guardian came through—”
“I’m assuming by Guardians,” Mordicus interrupted. “You mean whatever those things were that came out of the sky?”
