The Cross Guard (Purgatory Wars Book 3)

by Dragon Cobolt

  “On the contrary.” Brax pulled something from a belt pouch. He held it up. It looked like a chunk of blackened stone, but as he clenched his hand around it, it shimmered to life. In the darkness of Purgatory, in this quiet encounter in the middle of an armed camp, it shone with a pale white luminescence. A series of rectangular screens appeared in the air, hovering around it – each one glittering with runes and words that translated as Liam looked at them, filtered through the translation magic Meg had laid on him so long ago.

  Though, really, the words remained mostly nonsensical.

  But that didn't change the fact their meaning was clear.

  Genetotype A – begin neuropathic bionano generation.

  Ansiblelink Disassociated, Reacquiring...Reacquiring…

  Brax stopped squeezing on the rock and the glow vanished.

  “You know what this is,” Brax said. “Plus you killed my god.”

  Liam tensed. But as he watched Brax, he saw the other man pause to consider. Liam had gotten fairly decent at reading people. Something about people trying to murder you on occasion instilled that kind of ability. And in those eyes, disguised as they were, he could see a man delighting in a thorny, complicated problem.

  “Liam, have you ever been a slave?” Brax asked.

  “No, but I do have eyes and ears. And a soul,” Liam said, shrugging his shoulders.

  Brax nodded. “Sometimes, you don’t need a collar to be a slave. Sometimes, you can be enslaved by your title, as much as by the master’s whip.”

  Liam grinned. “Sysminor-”

  “Is a generous god,” Brax cut in, speaking a bit more forcefully now. “He arrived without us even asking. Gave us gifts like those amazing sorcerers that you have faced in battle.”

  Malformed. Mutant. Hunched and twisted by their... gifts. Liam read between the lines.

  “But what choice do we have?” Brax asked. “We were here first. And yet, we have been driven into the deep jungles. We have to steal bronze - we don’t work it. You could see why Sysminor’s...” He paused, and though Brax was disguised as a human, Liam could almost hear his tail whipping back and forth. “...offer was so tempting to some. What other future do we have?”

  Liam’s eyes dipped to Brax’s sword again. The weight of the other man’s regard settled on his shoulders as Liam realized that Brax was waiting for an answer to that question. He had a disguise and the sword and was clearly smart. Liam knew that if he wanted, he could bring the hammer down on him if he didn’t like the answer to the question.

  Liam smiled. “On Earth, my world, we have a long history of people being pushed to the sides by others. It’s called colonization. Sadly, my people tended to be the ones who did it to others.” He shook his head. “My ancestors would kill entire tribes to get at their lands, their resources, and claim it was in self defense.” He smirked, bitterly. “I understand the choices you have, Brax. But-”

  Brax pocketed the rock. And for just a moment, he looked deeply, deeply relieved. Then the emotion was wiped away and a perfect poker face settled back into place. Liam wondered, not for the first time, how much Sysminor could observe Brax.

  “Liam,” he said, “Watch your flanks when we face one another. I never fight a pitched battle when I can encircle someone. And remember: you can only truly kill a god when they have taken the whole of their being to face you. Not merely part - all.” He tapped his temple, then turned and walked into the shadows.

  Liam's throat worked as he gulped.

  Liv remained stock still but a quiet word for Brax made her slave collar glow. She turned and walked off, her back straight. Something hit the ground behind her. Liam remained perfectly still, his mind whirling. He walked forward, picking up the scrap of leather, scrawled on with dried blood. He tried to not guess where Liv had gotten it – it smelled awful.

  D. HAS PLN. DN'T TR.

  Liam pulled out his iPod.

  Dad has plan. Don't trust.

  He tapped the 'generate wi-fi hotspot' function on.

  And before dawn, Meg swooped down from the darkness and soared into the sky. Liam spent the flight back to safety in thought as Meg's wings beat loudly in the air.

  Sysminor's playing a game. Brax is playing a game. Ares is playing a game. And we're all going to pay the price, aren't we?

  Seven

  “So, this is the best of the best?” Liam asked, looking at Mary.

  She nodded, her lips pursed.

  The City of the Dead Gods thrummed with energy – remarkable for a place that had seemed to be nearly abandoned. If the citizens weren't on the walls, they were preparing for the battle and waiting for the end. One way or the other.

  And about two hundred and change of the best mercenaries and cut throats the city had were standing on the dais before the palace of the Free Lord.

  Liam felt, curiously, as if he had been catapulted backwards Earth. In the bronze armor, leather padding and high plumed helmet that Vani's wife had made for him, he felt as if he was wearing the HEMA gear that he had worn what felt like a lifetime ago. His hand went to the scabbard of his longsword and he looked back at the soldiers.

  “And the uniforms?”

  Mary actually grinned.

  “Hey.” She shrugged. “I said you'd approve. You're Christian, after all.”

  Each of the soldiers that Mary had scraped from the City of the Dead Gods was dressed in white surcoats that had hastily had a lurid red cross stitched over their fronts. Liam smiled despite himself. Disconnected for millennia, untouched by any of Earth history or wars, and yet Mary had still chosen a garb that looked like it had stepped right from the Crusades.

  The distant sound of an army marching was carried on the winds.

  “Men, women,” Liam said, pitching his voice to carry. His belly buzzed and his nerves burned. But as he spoke, he felt both of those starting to fade. “Today, we are going to change history. I am the Free Lord of this city. In my world, being the Free Lord doesn't mean that you get to boss others around and give orders. It means you've taken responsibility on your shoulders to see your people through the trials and the dangers of the world. And today, that danger is clear: an army of sons of bitches are going to try and scale the walls. They're going to burn our homes. Kill and rape our families. They are going to leave this city a cinder...”

  He saw quite a few people in his audience growl at that. Some looked detached. Others were nodding.

  Liam started to pace before them, his back straight. He spoke louder now.

  “There are four thousand of them and a thousand of us. But what will make or break this day is not that we are fighting from walls, and it is not their Eye of Ra.” He shook his head. “It's not even Delenn.” He drew his sword, squeezing the hilt to cause the magical energy within to surge with heat. Even during the brightness of the day, the flash was dramatic. He grinned. “It's that we fight for something.”

  He sheathed his blade.

  “We wear the cross, for we have seen it used on our loved ones and it holds no fear for us. We all pray to many gods, but we fight for one cause: this city and one another.” He paused. “My homeland has a motto: E. Pluribus. Unum.”

  He looked around at the crowd. “From many, one.

  There was a faint murmur among the crowd. He saw more nodding heads.

  Liam lifted his fist. “From many!” he shouted.

  “One!” the men and women shouted back, raggedly.

  “From many!”

  “One!” This time it was a roar.

  Liam nodded. “This I like.” He grinned. “Now, let's go kill some motherfuckers.”

  The elite soldiers may not have trained together, but they looked good as they marched in uniform towards towards the sally port.

  Like all big cities with big walls, the City of the Dead Gods had incorporated quite a few tricks and traps that made defending it easier. A sally port was a small, concealed doorway that troops could emerge from to attack the enemy in a surprise flanking maneuver. As they
marched to the door, Liam nodded to himself. The best horses in town had been brought there and saddled with the saddles he had shown the leather workers. Saddles equipped with stirrups.

  Stirrups weren't unknown in Purgatory. But the stirrups used by Earth cavalry from the middle ages onwards were sturdier. And having every saddle bearing them – and a saddle horn to make it easier to use a lance without being unhorsed – were tiny refinements that Liam hoped would serve him and his men and women well.

  Meg flew down from the sky, panting. She was clad in light armor and had her javelins at her side. “The airforce and I have finished our scouting,” she said, puffing. “Borins not doing anything complicated. His army's in a big block, walking straight at the least defended of the walls.”

  “And the hidden forces?” Liam asked.

  “Tethis and her magic seems to be working. Now...” She grinned at him, bloodthirstily. “Permission to harry the fuckers.”

  “Harry away. But be careful.”

  “Pff,” Meg said, waving her hand. “You've got twenty six valkyrie and if this city can do one thing, it's make javelins.”

  Her wings spread, but she paused to lean over and kiss Liam on the cheek. The fact he was wearing a helmet that covered most of his head was entirely disregarded. Then she shot into the air, joining her fellows in the heavens. Liam shook his head.

  “Scipio Africanus never had to worry about this shit,” he muttered. “No magic, no flying women, no priests.”

  “No fun, if you ask me.”

  Liam looked over and saw Laurentinus seated on his pony. The goblin's smaller size didn't stop him from looking pretty lethal, his hand going to the lance that was holstered on his saddle. Though, smaller was relative - Laurentinus was easily a head taller than Tethis.

  “You know how to use a lance?” he asked.

  “Fuck no,” Liam laughed. “I'm just here to look pretty.”

  Then the sounds of battle started.

  Arrows shot over the wall,thudding into the flat rooftops of the city. A few screams came from citizenry. But Liam was pretty sure those were screams of fear, not pain. Liam reached down and tugged out his iPod. He tapped it on and then looked at the sky.

  “Now, let's see if Tethis' magic works,” he said.

  “What's that?” Laurentinus asked, leaning over.

  “A scrying mirror,” Liam said.

  His phone's screen fuzzed and he saw a grainy, confused looking image. Tapping it a few times, he felt the phone growing hot as it strained with unexpected work. Then he saw it: a clear picture of the armies from overhead. Or, more accurately, a clear image of the vast clouds of dust that were growing up and around the marching troops approaching the walls. His eyes narrowed and he tapped the screen. “There. There! See! A bunch of troops are stepping aside. And those fast things-”

  “Cavalry,” Laurentinus said, gruffly. “They're going for the walls. Storming them.”

  Liam looked over towards the wall where the battle would be taking place. Men and women in the militia were standing on them, firing bows and slings, and hurling spears and rocks down into the masses of the enemy. Ladders thumped into place and the roar of battle sounded. Liam tensed.

  This was so much easier in a videogame where one could see and manage everything. A thousand questions roared through his brain. Would his troops hold? Would the surprise on the wall hold till the right time? Could he get there in time? He gulped. Would he survive? And there was just time - so little time - for one last worry. Would Liv be okay? He closed his eyes and thought a prayer for her, trapped with Brax and Sysminor’s army. Then all the questions and all the fear faded away as the sally port was flung open by several men on the ground.

  Liam kneed his horse into a trot – thanking God that he had had a year to get used to riding the damn things. He was still no horseman, but at least he wasn't an utter embarrassment.

  Only two horsemen could ride through the sally port at a time. Fortunately, horses were fast. The two hundred men and women of Liam's elite force – have to think of a name for that – formed up, hidden by the wall. Liam looked back, to see if the dust they had kicked up was rising over the wall. He hoped not. He lifted his hand, gesturing and kneeing his horse into a faster canter. They came to the corner of the wall – and there, Liam saw that Borin had stationed his archers on a wide flank, the prevailing winds blowing dust away from them.

  The archers didn't sound their horns – they either hadn't noticed the flanking attack, or they weren't as disciplined as they should have been.

  Liam drew Delenn. He held her over his head, the sword flaring with energy and heat. He bellowed, at the top of his lungs:“From many!”

  His horse broke into a gallop and the only reason Liam didn't go tumbling from its back was sheer fucking luck. His free hand grabbed onto the reins, and he tried to both hold on and not throttle the poor beast as it charged forward.

  “One!” the rest of his men and women shouted.

  They came in a ragged, almost delta-V formation, thundering around the wall. The sounds of their horns were more than just a moral boost.

  They were a signal.

  Liam didn't dare look away from the Eye of Ra and the command platform that held Borin the Black on it. The general himself was just as hideous as Liam had heard: short, malformed, with armor painted as black as night. His face was concealed by the only bit of white on his armor – a skull painted on his face covering helmet. How he survived in the heat of the day, Liam didn't want to know.

  But even without looking, he could hear the shouts from the walls.

  “Volley! Volley! Volley!”

  “From many!”

  “One!”

  All the reserves that Liam and Laurentinus had placed on the wall, those hidden by Tethis' 'don't notice me spell' stood up. A hail of sling shots slammed into Borin's infantry and dismounted cavalry. Arrows rattled off shields and found flesh. Javelins and spears with weight, gravity and brute desperation on their side punched through armor.

  And then Liam and his elite troops smashed into the screen of soldiers that surrounded the general. They were well drilled and well trained, but the flank attack had come so suddenly that they hadn't even formed a spear wall. Liam brought his sword smashing down and released the magical energy that it had collected. The woman he hit exploded. Blood misted the air around him and the soldiers nearby turned and ran, unwilling to face a bellowing giant armed with death.

  Borin the Black let loose a torrent of curses which resolved into a simple command: “Kill him!”

  But the rest of Liam's elite guard were cutting forward, pushing on despite slain soldiers and wounded horses. Sword met shield and lance pierced through breastplates as the last of the guard between Liam and Borin were hacked down. Liam spurred his mount and he sweat flecked, blooded horse thundered forward, blowing out large puffs of air from its nostrils.

  Liam lifted his sword over his head. Arrows shot past him.

  There was no time for fear.

  “From many!” he shouted.

  The counter call still came.

  “One!”

  And Borin did what Liam had hoped for. What Liam had dreamed of.

  He did what a hundred unnamed generals had done, throughout the ages, their names forgotten because of this moment. Generals who made this one mistake at a time where empires were on the line and the future of worlds could be made or broken.

  Darius III had seen Alexander the Great – a giant of a man and a terrifying presence on the battlefield – charging towards him. A lunatic with a sword, howling for his blood.

  Liam was no Alexander.

  But, then again, Borin was no Darius.

  Borin turned and ran. He ran as fast as he could, considering his ostentatious black armor. Liam glanced back and saw that the fates were kind. The dust had blown away and the survivors of Borin's army were drawing back from the sudden withering fire from the wall. They were looking back and seeing the flags fall. Seeing their general s
crambling aboard his black horse and riding desperately away as Liam's warriors - his terrible warriors, clad in blood red crosses! - chased him with swords raised.

  It was like a rock smashing into a pond. The ripple flew outwards – and the ripple was fear. Men and women started to run. Whole regiments wavered and broke. Standards were shaken and horns blew as officers tried to coordinate, but Liam called his men together.

  They may have never drilled together but a six foot tall man holding a flaming sword is hard to miss, even on the chaos of a battlefield.

  Once together, his elite guard smashed into the few units that were trying to organize. Valkyrie flew down in groups, hurling javelins and sling stones into the enemy with their superhuman strength.

  Standards fell.

  Flags were trampled.

  And in the end, thousands of men and women -facing the grim choice between fleeing into the desert to die and throwing down their arms – knelt to the ground, ragged in defeat.

  Borin fled into the Basilisk Desert.

  His bones were never found.

  * * *

  The sounds of celebration could be heard through the floor and through the window. Liam lay back in his bed, fingers laced behind his neck as he reclined in luxury and let Meg do all the work.

  Her hips rose and her hips fell and her breasts jiggled delightfully as her palms caressed Liam's chest. Her fingers touched the other gift she had given him: a brand new crucifix, specially made for him. Her sex squeezed on his cock as her hands squeezed his shoulders. Her skin glistened with sweat and she tossed her head back as her sex clenched around Liam's cock like a fist. Meg moaned exuberantly, her wetness dripping along Liam's balls as she shuddered atop him.

  “Fuck, that's some good stuff,” she said, panting heavily as she picked up a small goblet that was seated on the nightstand beside the massive bed that they shared.

  Liam grinned shakily. “Are you sure it's safe? The merchant called it nightfire.”

  “Fuck yeah, it's safe!” Meg said, nodding and licking the now mostly dry goblet, moaning hungrily. She tossed the goblet over her shoulder. “Besides, conquering hero needs her re-ah-ahh!” She shuddered, her eyes widening. The bright blue glow that Liam found so comforting actually flickered as her face twisted into a mask of pleasure. Her sex didn't so much squeeze him as suck on his cock as she worked her hips up and down, up and down, moving in a frenzy of passion.