by V. C. Willis
John and Sonja walked out of the tavern, weapons haltered, chainmail clinking as they pulled up into their saddles. Both Jasmine and Elegance snorted and shuffled under the weight of their riders, sensing the tension and knowing what the armored horses meant. Colonel and Basque seemed excited with the additional armaments across their heads and chest for added protection. I’ll have to put him through warhorse training after all this. Red Wine spun Biscuit in a tight circle, the horse ready to take off running in the thrilling atmosphere.
“And should we keep in mind who needs to square off with who?” I asked, shifting the claymore at my back.
“First, let’s ride out. We have time to discuss this on our way there.” Red Wine slapped her legs, and the tiny horse jolted forward.
Everyone fell in line with Red Wine in front, the clergymen in a second row, and Valiente and me side-by-side in the back. We looked like a tiny legion or calvary unit at best. The sounds of falling trees and the lumber mill soon faded, and we found ourselves alone on the road as the trunks became smaller and more spread out. I pushed Basque to go around everyone and match Biscuit’s canter.
“So, as we were discussing?” Red Wine glanced over at me, tilting her masked face. “You said we’d be squaring off with them?”
“We know we have two long-range attackers to be mindful of when we engage with them. One I’m certain is a Fallen Arbor agent, and I will deal with her personally. The others I will leave to you and the knight,” she declared. “But I advise you take down the spearman above the others.”
“You can’t be serious?” Valiente roared, pushing between John and Sonja. Elegance and Jasmine nipped at Colonel who snorted in reply. “It took everything I had to take down Dasa when I faced him!”
“Ah, so, you take on the commander and leave the rest to Dante.” She snickered.
“That’s three against one.” I swallowed, my shoulders visibly shuddering. “Do you really think I’m capable of doing that?”
“As Dante, I have no idea.” She shrugged and at last looked me in the eyes. “But Ashton … that’s another matter. I’ve seen him and Warlord Sebastian level a hundred Fallen Arbor soldiers and mages to cut a path for others to walk safely through.” Her head turned away fast, her words breaking off sharply for a moment before she added, “Today you will have to decide if you really plan on going through with being your brother and if you even have the killing intent needed to pull it off. He never hesitated, and neither should you. Show no mercy.”
“Are you mad?” Valiente hissed. “You expect him to take on three solo? These aren’t just normal soldiers! These men enjoy killing people, and what about getting John and Sonja into the city? Are you going to use us as a distraction?”
“Yes, and I’ll get the clergymen into the safety of the walls and through the battlefield.” Clearing her throat, she spoke more sternly. “Remember, with the temptation of capturing Ashton, they may disregard the Princess and Father altogether. If you get shot by the flintlock, don’t let it phase you, Dante. Flinching once in battle can have dire consequences. It’s going to burn like hell, but I can’t promise I’ll find Flintlock Betty in time.”
“I still don’t know what to think of that idea.” Mumbling, I looked back to John who lowered his brow.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” John reassured.
“In fact, we’ll meet by the main sewer grate in the canals to the east of the cathedral.” Red Wine brought Biscuit to stop, spinning to glare at everyone. “There will not be another option for a meeting place with all that I know is unfolding. It’s not ideal, but it will give us a way to sneak you all into your aimed destinations. I’ve worked hard to make these arrangements. It’s not up for debate. Do I make myself clear?”
“Why there?” Sonja shifted in her saddle, knitting her brow.
“Because from there, I have members of The Guild waiting so we can sneak you and the knight into the castle, and we’ll be cutting through the catacombs to get to my informant and drop these two into the library. We can’t let Bishop Marquis know we have made it to the city now that he’s pulling King Regius’ strings. He’s made no effort to hide he’s working under Fallen Arbor either.” Red Wine twisted, pointing at Valiente. “You need to gather as much information before letting the bishop know she’s back inside the castle. The maids will need to swear secrecy for her safety until we can move these two back out from under the Church. If this goes bad, blood will spilled in places you both might regret.”
“Are you threatening us?” Valiente’s expression darkened. “And how long has The Guild been able to sneak into the castles?”
“When we decided it was worth the risk to protect potential allies,” she hissed. “Now promise that once you are back in her room you stay by her side until we regain ground from Fallen Arbor. Give us until fall at the least.”
“Fall!” Valiente’s frown deepened. “I don’t think we have that sort of time with how fast they took over during the winter!”
“You have a good point...” Red Wine shifted in her saddle, hands tightening on the reins. “You think we can manage two months before we get discovered then?”
“We’ll make an effort. It should give me time to sort out who will align with Sonja and who is aligned with the bishop.” Valiente let Colonel fall back behind, and I joined.
“That should work.” John at last joined the conversation. “If we can get in via the catacombs, does that mean we can escape from there as well?”
“Yes, but there’s more than one tunnel. I only know one route, but rumors say the network spans beyond Captiva City and halfway to Terahime. You can get lost in there for days if you don’t die trying to find a way out.” Pulling on her reins, she started down the road once more, and we followed. “I’d only make that attempt if it were the only choice left, Father.”
“Understood.” John cleared his throat. “So, not to be a bother, why the canals? Can’t we wait in a tavern or someplace more discreet?”
“I can’t promise anyone’s safety within the city walls. Neither can Princess Sonja at this point.” The fact was cold and bitter leaving her lips. “Captiva City has become enemy territory, and we’re losing informants left and right. Peace may not be possible for some time.”
“I will make this treaty happen.” Sonja straightened her posture. “My father has gone too far, and it seems I now hold the favor with the people of our land more than I realized. Change will happen upon my return.”
“Good.” Red Wine didn’t bother to look back as we exited the forest into a clearing. “The Guild will support you as long as this will be your aim. You have us at your disposal, a first since the war started.”
We all slowed to a stop. The clearing was on a hill overlooking the battlefield, and the wind brought a foul stench upon it.
Death. Decay. Despair.
In the distance, the city could be seen like a mirage between the pillars of smoke. Bodies were burning in huge piles, the road cutting between the mounds of flesh, and flames twisting until there was nothing but dirt and red flags at the halfway point. The Berserk Brigade. They were too far off to see what they looked like other than a single tent. By some twist of fate, we would be crossing during a time of rest, seeing no active battalions squaring off. Or perhaps the Brigade has snuffed the will to fight out of the rest. Both sides seemed to have retreated to their opposing stations.
The Civil War had waged for over a century, and at some point, Salvation Road had been deemed safe through a treaty on both sides. It was better for business to trade and be able to gather supplies and keep the war in designated zones. Perhaps the age of Champions encouraged this practice. It was nothing more than a never-ending pissing contest where lives were thrown at one another. On occasion Falco or some new human general would incite a “hard-push” to reclaim the line or a town on the outskirts. Leifseid was just deep enough in the woods to not bother w
ith, but other places had become havens of trade, mercenary headquarters, and a place for all the cutthroats to settle in.
We’ve forgotten the reason for the war. I snorted in our silence, hearing my father’s words in my head. We stack and burn the dead, but to what end? Sure, we don’t like how bloodeaters make the Madness either, but did it really start with them? No, it didn’t. I was there to see how it all came about. If you ask me, everyone has lost the passion and the reason behind why we put on the armor and swing our blades anymore. Bloodeaters are no longer slaves, so why are we even still in a war over it? I can’t remember the last human king who even knew the initial incident that started this wildfire. Someone needs to just make it stop and give us new hope for all and not the greed of one.
The mask did very little to spare me from the decay and rot that filled the air. Generations of blood had spilled on the land under us until it changed the landscape permanently. The ground was stained black and red, the stench of it iron and sour. Archers called the Faceless were tasked with guarding the road and shot any who seemed to suffer from the plague. These were devout men and women from both sides who wore no sign of their faction and lived on Salvation Road. They abandoned their former lives to simply serve a purpose for the whole. Wearing all black, their faces covered in the traditional cone-shaped mask that gave them a birdlike look, they were a harrowing presence, neither foe nor friend. Wide brimmed hats blocked the sun overhead, and they burned incense to combat the smell of rotting flesh. They never spoke, nor were others allowed to speak to them.
You ever seen the Faceless? I took in their presence with curiosity, remembering what Lord Knight Paul had told me one night during a hard blizzard. I spoke to one once. Well, he’d gotten himself overwhelmed, and I rescued the man. They wear thick leather armor to spare them from most bites by flesheaters, but… He had taken a long drag of his pipe, letting the smoke fall from his lips slow as he stared aimless into the fireplace. Be kind to them. And if you ever need aid, you tell them the Old Owl sent you. There’s something secretive about them, but they do have a community, though I think it’s their way of building a faction that chooses no sides. What gets me is how much of their equipment was Preveran steel. If you ask me, they might be agents of The Court to keep some form of Sanctuary in place between The House and The Tower. Then there’s the priests…
Priests alongside knights serving as white flag barriers were aiding survivors scattered all over the battlefield in the distance. These men prayed for the dead, adding them to piles or setting them to flame in hopes of ridding the battlefield of the rancid corpses. Some of these victims had fallen in battle, but today, most were flesheaters who had met their end or close to it. Sobs and cries seem to float in and out of the air, making one wonder if they came from the piles or somewhere beyond. Smoke and dust filled the air like a polluted fog and limited the range of sight at times and stung my eyes. The most vexing were the newly awoken, those who had come back from The Madness.
The Fanged Lady’s hold is still fading, and for the first time since the creation of bloodeaters, the victims of the Madness are waking from their nightmares, but…
A man sobbed among a pile of ravaged bodies drenched in blood, screaming, “I didn’t mean to eat them! I couldn’t stop! Oh, Divine Father, I couldn’t stop!”
I swallowed, my chest ached with the memories of my own brush with the Madness. So hungry. I still feel it creep forward like last night… The ghostly whispers encouraging me to eat the things I love, devour what I care for the most made my stomach twist. I’m not alone with these thoughts, and some have followed through with those demands. Families, friends, or brothers and sisters in arms had all heard them, felt them, succumbed to them for over a century now. Guilt crashed down on me. My title, Second Blood Prince of The House, the last-standing Crowned Prince of Bloodeaters, struck a chord against my soul that left me feeling at fault for the destruction surrounding us as we traveled down the hardpacked dirt and cobblestone road.
I don’t know if breaking the curse is only adding to the damage at this rate. Would it be best to not ever awake from that nightmare of the Madness’ possession and its hunger for flesh? Will any of them ever forget the taste of loved ones on their tongue? Will it always be that desire to taste something so…?
I stared at John’s backside and swallowed. As much as I wanted to feel nauseated about the moments feeding on him, there had been an elation like no other. Dropping my gaze, I tightened my grip on the reins. Each time had been more pleasurable, more satisfying than the last. It was addicting…
“Eyes forward.” Valiente’s voice jolted me from my thoughts.
“Sorry, I…” I couldn’t think of what to say. What am I doing losing my focus to self-loathing?
“It’s hard to watch from the city gates. I’ve grown numb to it, though the Awoken are miraculous despite their despair.” A long sigh left him before he continued, “Look, we fight together when this goes down. We’re allies from this day forward, no?”
“R-right.” I nodded, unsure where he was going with this. “In this battle and those to come.”
“I can push Dasa back, but we watch each other’s backs in this fight,” he instructed. “And more importantly, he most likely knows my weakness is the princess and yours is the priest. Mythe will take pleasure in aiming for one or both if they try to ride hard and fast to the gates.”
“You think so?” I held my breath. This could get dangerous.
“I’m certain. Watch Spearman Mythe. If anyone will make a move to take out John or Sonja, it’s definitely him. He can take a man off a horse as far as any arrow can reach.” He unsheathed his sword, grumbling, “The Faceless are missing here, so be ready to cut down flesheaters.”
Weapons unsheathed as we slowed the horses. We pulled tighter together. Here, the bodies had not been set to flame. At last, we crossed a pile with a dead Faceless and the first of a red flag bearing the emblem of the Berserk Brigade: a wolf and lion rearing up against one another. The buzz of flies muted the world all around and even the moans of the dying in the piles that overshadowed the road. Buzzards and vermin fought over guts, bickering over one another, and chasing each other with entrails dragged behind them.
“Rrrrrrggggghhhhh…” A woman, skin and bones, her clothes rotting off her, stumbled in our way.
Red Wine came to a stop, plenty of space between us and her. The woman swiveled her head, half her face missing, though the foam dripping from her agape mouth. She’s in the end stage of the Madness… Her body is breaking down. Another groan escaped her, her left arm twisted and rotting. She tried to lunge forward, but her leg snapped, bone cutting up through the flesh. The horses sidled and snorted, though their training kept them from taking off with the riders who pulled on the reins to steady them.
Valiente rode around us, his sword swung with practiced motion to split her skull, and she fell back motionless. “Nothing we can do for one that far gone. Keep an eye out and don’t hesitate. My reports say they get more prominent closer to the brigade.”
“Same.” Red Wine trotted closer, looking at the victim. “I don’t even think this one was a soldier. They’ve been busy for a while out here it seems.”
“I’ll kill them.” Valiente circled back into position, and we pushed forward.
At first, there was only the occasional rotting flesheater, but with each passing mark, they grew in number. Swords swung with accurate reprieve for the victims who lunged at us. They’d been horribly maimed in most cases, so even if they woke from this nightmare, they would die from the injuries. The red flags of the Berserk Brigade had taken the place of where the Faceless would have stood. Signs of armor and masks, arrows with raven feather flights dotted the area. They tried to fight, but… By the time the brigade’s camp was in view, we had all cut down countless flesheaters, leaving a wake of bodies. Blood splattered across the horses; red painted the once silvery hue of our blades
. Each of us felt the weight of the grim terms of those who suffered from the Madness, arms aching with our efforts.
Why are they more prominent so close to their camp yet not encroaching this close to the yurt? Which of them is wielding a soul weapon? And how in the hell do we break the spell it holds over its victims?
Chapter 23
Berserk Brigade
We paused before the encampment as Commander Dasa stepped out of the yurt, red flags snapping in the wind and a row of spears lining either side like a spiked wall. Despite the clearing all around with towers of smoke, not one flesheater shambled across the open space. Dasa gripped a giant cleaver as thick as a claymore but a third of the length. He was thicker muscled than me though shorter, coming easily to my shoulders. Much to my surprise, he was bald and grey-bearded despite the muscled body that spoke of years of battle experience. Red paint covered his bare torso, spiked wrists guards added to his intimidating aura. He was smoking something pungently sweet and herby, pulling a drag before dropping it to the ground and smashing it under his boot. Scars ripped across his skin, old and fresh overlapping one another like embroidered threads of red and purple.
“Well, if it ain’t the honorable Ex-Royal Guard Captain Valiente.” Laughter rolled from him like thunder. “I’ve been looking forward to crossing blades with you again. I bet it put quite the knot in your knickers to hear the king gave us authority over you, and seeing how you fled, I guess we’re enemies today.”
“Careful.” Red Wine’s voice caught my ears. “That herb he’s smoking is Monkshood. It will dim a daemonis’ senses. Foolish to snuff it out so soon.”
I grunted. I know why he did. He doesn’t think we can beat them, plus his opponent won’t be me anyhow.
