There was a curious scent on the wind. It was an equine smell, and quite fresh at that, though it had to have been at least an hour and a half since Uriost’s command rode these parts. The heretic slowed for a moment and let his nose read the air. He easily picked out the strong musk of pony hair, the rich bitterness of leather and tanned hide, the coppery sweetness of polished metal. His eyes narrowed. A paw glided over Nimbus’s bleached bone hilt.
His nostrils led slow and steady steps until the scent seemed to branch in two directions: one way continuing down the road, and another off the path into a high-grassed meadow semi-hidden by foliage and further brush. A pony’s bray sounded somewhere close by.
Such idiots, thought the heretic. He pushed his way into the meadow and didn’t need to wade through for very long until he discovered five fell ponies casually grazing near a small pond. Each wore respective Alliance riding gear, armoured plates, and harness guards.
He let them be and found his way back to the cobblestone road. He hedged careful steps, holding the seam of his cloak tight to hide Nimbus semi-brandished from its scabbard. Sharp eyes darted between roadside trees and shrubs, but the lingering equine scent led him forward.
Leaves rustled distantly behind him. The heretic stopped to scan the darkness of the forest over his shoulder – but nothing dared to leap out and engage him. He sneered, continued onward.
The road came to an end before a steep stone stairway that led down a sudden drop-off opening up to a brilliant florescent sky. The edge of the cliff overlooked a rocky valley lined with perfectly aligned rows and columns of hundreds of thousands eagle-tipped pillars, similar to those the heretic had come by earlier. Across the valley expanse stood another cliff face. There, a second stone staircase led up to a church of gothic design, constructed into the very wall of the faulted earth.
The heretic sucked back nervous air and took in the great sight.
“…The Temple of the Wind…”
Having a few moments to stand in rest, awestruck of what had otherwise been pure Aznain legend, the heretic became aware of the heavy burden of Lieutenant Uriost’s saddlebag over his shoulders. A pang of regret raked across his heart that he didn’t bring along any sketching parchment. With a grunt, he shifted his shoulders to better accommodate the weight, and started down the steep stairway.
The wind barely brushed against him when he touched the valley floor, and howled with despair from above. The smell of equine was at its strongest here – as well as that of raccoon, feline, hounds. Jaw firmly-set and cloak seams held tight, the heretic glided along the rocky terrain between countless sets eagle pillars. His eyes feasted the opposite staircase, directly leagues before him.
“…That’s far enough, heretic!”
The heretic slowed with knowing anticipation. Four Alliance soldiers appeared out from behind pillars used to mask their presence. A raccoon swordsman appeared near the heretic’s left; a hound lancer – a general, as noted by the bronze-coloured cape about his armoured shoulders – appeared near the heretic’s right. Two archers, another hound as well as a feline, appeared from behind eagle pillars on either side of the staircase leading up to the temple.
He was surrounded.
“Your ponies were hidden in plain sight,” said the heretic. He brushed back his cloak to reveal his paw on Nimbus’s hilt. “I could smell their stench on you all the way from the tree-line. So sorry you went to all that effort to ambush me, and here I am, ready anyhow.”
The raccoon edged towards the heretic with his sword readied in both paws. The heretic glared at him with a deep snarl, causing him to flinch.
“Careful, Farnham,” warned his general. “I myself saw this vandal-heart cut down more than a hundred of our brethren when he escaped the prison.”
It was then that the nearby hound archer caught notice of something on the stairs, behind the heretic. In an instant, his crossbow was up and aimed. “He’s got an accomplice!”
The heretic flinched. “What…?”
He swung around to face the unseen follower on the steps behind him. The harsh wind finally caught hold of his hood, threw it backwards to reveal the surprised look of a youthful-faced charcoal fox, whose grey eyes both radiated, and pierced the young skunk he had met along the road, earlier that day.
“What do you think you’re–?!” The heretic choked on his own words.
“Don’t shoot!” The skunk hid behind the staff she carried, as though it would somehow protect her from flying crossbow bolts.
“Hold it right there!!” said the general. “I am Lancer General Ludvig Barnard of Twigleaf Company. By order of the Vidian Civil Alliance, I deem you both under arrest for conspiracy against the government of Doblah!”
“What?!” cried out the skunk. “No, I—”
“Leave her out of this,” the heretic snarled at Barnard. “She’s just a lost wanderer from Keeto Town.”
Barnard scoffed. “I’m to trust the word of a blasphemer? Lay Nimbus before your boots and step away at once.”
The two archers by the opposite stairs drew forward with their crossbows aimed at the heretic.
“You up there!” Barnard pointed to the skunk with his serrated spear tip. “Lower your weapon. Come down here where I can clearly see you!”
The heretic growled. “You’re making a grave mistake. Let it be known: I am entering that temple; whether you’re alive or not when I do so is entirely your decision – but leave her out of this. Our war isn’t hers!”
“This is your last warning, heretic!!” barked Barnard.
“So be it,” the heretic rumbled. He brandished Nimbus in one swift motion and charged against the small unit of Alliance soldiers.
31. A Battle Beneath Eagles
Barnard lunged at the heretic’s flank with spear overhead. The heretic ducked to a sharp right around the attack and stuck out his leg to trip the Alliance general flat on his back. Farnham appeared from the din into the heretic’s path, and earned a hearty right hook to the nose that sent him stumbling backwards.
The heretic slowed near the middle of the valley. He gazed about the small Alliance unit, panting, overcome with dehydration. Farnham leaned against a pillar, caressing his face in pain. Barnard struggled against the heavy bonds of his armour and chainmail to get back up. The archers, still and silent, kept their weapons aimed upon the heretic’s torso. With thirsty tongue lolling out his muzzle, the heretic shook his aching paw to the air, winced as the sting left his bones.
“It’s meaningless to waste your arrows on me,” he said to them. “You know this. Surrender your arms if you so value your lives. Dying in the name of the Zuut is a waste.”
“You’re out of breath already,” said the feline archer. “You’ve got nothing left!”
The heretic shook his head. “No. Thirsty. Just thirsty, is all.” He pointed at her, snapped his paw digits. “Your water sack. At your hip. Pass it over.”
The hound archer laughed in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”
Barnard rolled himself onto his stomach and slowly climbed to one knee. “Axel, you didn’t see what that sword did to Lieutenant Artois and the others. Do it, Mullin. For Zuut’s sake, just do what he says.”
“You’re afraid,” the heretic observed.
“Of course I am,” said Barnard. He struggled to a stand. “A lot of respect for you has melted into sheer fear and confusion. Look who we’ve been put up against! The rumours? The slaughter at Doblah? I’d rather be exiled again, than face you like this.”
The heretic clicked his tongue. “I don’t blame you. So, the Ministry of Peace has laid a trap for me. What idiots. Does Minister Longclaw think arresting me will do her any favours with the Zuut? It will take more than a handful of peace officers to stop me. Seems though this trap is meant for you lot.”
“Trust me,” Barnard stated, “You and I – we’re in agreement on that one, yeah. Mullin – that’s an order.”
“So we’re through here, then?” said the heretic.
He caught Mullin’s water sack with a single paw and hastily unscrewed the cap. He took a brief sip. The water was an icy godsend. It both quenched the phlegm in his throat and cleared his foggy mind. He tipped his head back and chugged with slow, pleasurable, gulps until the sack was completely drained.
“By law, we must take you in,” said Barnard.
“That’s not happening,” said the heretic. He emptied the last few water droplets onto his awaiting tongue and tossed the sack to the dirt. Mullin clucked her tongue with disapproval.
Barnard sighed. He looked to a fearful Farnham, back to the heretic, and could only shrug. “I don’t wish to fight you, heretic.”
“Nor do I, you,” said the heretic as he again readied Nimbus. “Unfortunate. I respect the lot of you. Your deaths will weigh heavily.”
Without warning, he lunged at Farnham. They crossed blades, but the heretic was too strong, forcing his backside against one of the pillars. Barnard came at him with spear at the ready, but the heretic swung around and walloped him between the shoulder and neck with a swift elbow.
The archers navigated around some pillars with their crossbows ready. Farnham forced all of his weight against the heretic and leaned into his sword, attempting to fend off the attack.
“Good,” the heretic rumbled. He pushed his weight into Nimbus, right back against Farnham’s blade until the soldier’s strength waned and was subsequently slammed into the pillar behind him.
“Somebody get that skunk!” Barnard snarled before he stretched out his neck and worked his shoulder back to quick health with slight, circular motions.
Regina’s eyes went wide as the feline archer named Mullin turned on one heel and aimed a loaded crossbow in her direction.
“No!” the heretic bellowed. He swung another heavy elbow into Farnam’s horned visor and, when the soldier stumbled back in pain, snatched a hunting knife conveniently strapped to his opponent’s hip. He flung it blade-first through the air, where it sank hilt-deep into Mullin’s chest plate – sending her flopped back against a pillar and her crossbow bolt fired skyward.
Regina felt her stomach burn with sickness. She needed to get out of danger before she ended up arrested … or worse. But fear held her rooted to the ground. Regina found herself an unwilling witness to the horrors below.
“Forgive me, soldier,” said the heretic. He grabbed the Farnham by the scruff of the neck and sank Nimbus’s blade straight through his torso – then wrenched it back out – and let the poor raccoon crumple to the ground.
“Farnham!” Barnard screamed.
At the other end of the valley, the seemingly mortally-wounded Mullin wrapped her metal-clad digits around the hilt of the hunting knife and drew it out of her chest plate with a low creak from the bent-in metal.
The canine archer named Axel ran to her aid. “Mullin, are you all right?!”
She tossed the hunting knife away and offered a short nod to her companion. “Bastard’ll pay for a new plate from the pelt of his hide!”
Shocked by the impossible sight, Regina flicked her attention back to Farnham, who lay motionless by a pillar as the heretic danced weapons with General Barnard.
A gruff yelp snapped Regina’s attention back to the fight between fox and hound – the heretic had caught a crossbow bolt in the shoulder. He fell to one knee wincing as Nimbus clattered out of his grasp.
“Cover me!” Barnard urged over his shoulder to the archers. Axel and Mullin readied themselves as their commander unhooked a pair of shackles from his hip and started towards the heretic with slow and careful steps. “Heretic, under the jurisdiction of Galheist territory, I place you under—”
Sunken, dead eyes flashed in Regina’s mind as the stench of death filled her nose and brain. Her father’s face appeared before her. Laying on his side just inside the gates of Altus Village. Dead eyes, fur matted with rain, slick with mud, gore.
Southward … southward ye shall walk, for the Evil in the Mountains will not wane until Light reveals all…
“No!” screamed Regina. “No, I will not go there!!”
Barnard halted in his tracks, caught up by Regina’s outburst. The distraction, however, was all the heretic needed to regain the upper hand. He threw himself headlong into the general’s plated midsection and quickly overcame him upon the rocky valley floor. He found Nimbus, brought it overhead in both paws, and pierced deep into Barnard’s chest plate.
Silence filled the valley.
Slowly, the heretic rose to his footpads, panting for air. Nimbus hung loose in his left paw, matching shoulder sagging from the weight of the crossbow bolt.
“Shall we dance a little longer?” he asked the archers over the sounds of Barnard’s dying gasps. With a growl of pain, the heretic withdrew the bolt out of his shoulder with a smooth, gross motion. He tossed it aside and started to approach the archers. Nimbus dripped fresh blood across the stony floor with each step towards them. “…or will you step aside at last?”
Though the joints of Mullin’s armour clicked audibly against fearful trembling, she dutifully enacted her authoritative right as a peace officer and leveled her loaded crossbow with the heretic’s chest.
The heretic placed a single paw upon her weapon and pushed it away as he walked past, sheathing Nimbus a final time. “Leave – There’s no one left to order you to march into death’s embrace. Life is yours, if you so choose to embrace it.”
“P – perfectly clear, sir!” Mullin turned and saluted him while Axel watched, frozen with terror. She gave her comrade a look that melted away his invisible bonds. Together, the archers let their crossbows clatter to the ground and fled the valley. Neither soldier stopped to acknowledge their dead.
Regina stepped aside for them, having overcome her own paralysis and now lost in thoughts that still tried to process everything that had just happened. After some time, she made her way down the steps to the valley floor. The smell of blood was dense on the air. Regina tugged the collar of her poncho up over her nose.
“I told you to go back to where you came from. To forget everything you had witnessed today.”
She looked up. Far ahead, the heretic was ascending the opposite steps, up to the temple. Amidst the whisper of the wind, his footpads echoed clacks upon each stone riser. The sight of the saddlebag came into view. The buzz of Mana Energy had remained with her the whole time she’d followed the heretic. Regina waited for invisible forces to call out to her for help again – but nothing came. She started towards the heretic with Dwain’s walking staff held defensively in both paws.
But the heretic’s words continued to echo on the air as he climbed the staircase: “Leave now, before you regret crossing me.”
Regina slowed to a halt in the middle of the valley. Foolishness warmed her cheeks, but she sifted her muzzle free from her collar and called out to him anyway. “I do not … I will not get involved, but I must know one thing! If the Alliance claims world peace, why do you oppose them?”
The heretic slowed to a halt on the steps.
Regina put a fist against her chest for reassurance. Her logic kicked and screamed insults at her failing sense of rationale, but she bit her tongue to keep from faltering any resolve of false confidence.
“They were going to kill you, simply for standing in the way,” said the heretic. “You tell me why anyone shouldn’t oppose them.”
“The Alliance is corrupt,” Regina said. “That’s obvious. It’s something I’ve always wondered, and today’s events have proven my instincts. But there’s more to it than just that. And there’s more to your grudge than over just a silly sword! You can get a sword anywhere in this province – why did you steal that one, and why are those soldiers so afraid of you?”
The heretic turned his head to one side, hesitated.
“You don’t realize the gravity of your question.”
“Of course I do!” Regina shot at him with sudden chagrin. “I’m no hapless imbecile.”
The heretic dissuaded her words and continued up
the steps. “You made a grave error in following me today. Go back to your home before your loved ones worry where you’ve gone off to.”
“The mammal I love serves in the very ranks you aim to slaughter. For all I know, you’ve already … done away with … him.”
“Your betrothed is a soldier for the Alliance? That’s why you followed me?” The heretic stopped again and considered this with great care. He then turned to meet Regina’s eyes from where he stood upon the steps. “What a foolish thing for you to admit to me, skunk.”
Regina went rigid, the heat in her face drained with alarm.
The heretic came back down the stairs at a swift pace. As soon as he touched the valley floor, he marched towards Regina, the loose ends of his hooded cloak caught in the wind. He brandished the bloodied Nimbus from its sheath once more.
“No!” Regina begged. Her tail raised involuntarily.
“How high up?” the heretic demanded, each step towards her a clap of thunder in her ears. “Officer? Lieutenant? General? … What’s his name? Which platoon?!”
Regina backed away from him with Dwain’s staff raised, as though that would even aid in warding off this maniac. Her eyes fell to the bloodied point of Nimbus; it dragged across the valley floor with each step the heretic took towards her. “I – I don’t know! I don’t know!!”
“His name, skunk!” roared the heretic.
Regina screamed. She unleashed her fear upon the valley. But the heretic, unbothered by it, grabbed her by the front of the poncho and yanked her off the ground. He pulled Regina close until their noses almost touched.
“Spikeclaw!” Regina screamed. “His name is Dwain Spikeclaw! Please, please don’t hurt me! Please!!”
The Book of Wind: Page 23
