The Traitor's Reliquary

by Chris Moss

  Her eyes red and moist, the young woman scrambled to her feet. “Touch me and I’ll cut it off.” She tried raising the sword again.

  “Hang on… Don’t you remember me? You were the girl in Ingvarod’s cells.”

  The young woman cocked her head. “What of it?”

  “It’s me! I mean—I was the one who saved you!”

  The woman straightened up and looked Kestel over. “Bulldust.”

  Sighing, Kestel reached up and pulled back the hair hanging over his forehead. The woman blinked at the jagged tattoo.

  “It is you.” Her eyes narrowed. “So why are you attacking me?”

  “You were attacking me!”

  “What kind of a reason is that?”

  Trust me, said Creven, you can’t win an argument with an angry woman. Just smile, nod, and back away slowly.

  “Be quiet!” said Kestel.

  “What did you say to me?”

  “No, I didn’t mean… Look, what’s your name?”

  “What’s yours?”

  “Kestel. Just come with me, alright?”

  “Why? So your friends can jump me too?” she said.

  “No. They’re ironsides—I mean, Praetoria. They’ll want to talk to you.”

  The young woman sighed. “Then you should have said so! But stay where I can see you and don’t try anything.”

  Kestel scowled, finding himself saddled with the young woman’s sack on his walk back to camp. “I should have left her back in the cells,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What did you say?” she said.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  Kestel didn’t have to do more than approach the campsite before Mollis spotted him.

  “About time. Find anything useful?”

  “You tell me.” Kestel stepped out of the trees, revealing the young woman trailing him.

  Mollis’s eyes widened in surprise. “Vae! You’ve brought an angel to us already, lad. Commander! We have a guest!”

  “Thank you, gentle sir,” said the young woman with far more warmth than Kestel had experienced. “It’s good to finally meet someone who treats a lady with respect.”

  “What are you doing out in these woods?” said Mollis.

  “The lady was trying to rob me.” Kestel’s tone dripped with mock cheerfulness. He took a long draught from the water skin before facing the newcomer. “Is that common amongst your people, by the way? Or is it just the women who do it?”

  The young woman spun about, teeth bared, but was stopped by Calla and Arbalis.

  “Be careful with your words boy,” Calla said to Kestel. “Or you’ll make a far more implacable enemy than anything Maal could muster.”

  “Those burns…” whispered the young woman, staring at Calla’s face.

  The soldier’s face darkened, but Arbalis held up his hand. “A story for another time.” His voice held an edge of warning. “Now, if you don’t mind, which family are you from, and why is a Baavghirla out here in the disputed territories?”

  “Aye, you’ve a good ear on you.” The woman nodded her head. “I am Eriwasteg, eldest daughter of Kanayuk of the Beltyr pritju, and daughter of the Baavghir people.”

  Arbalis scratched the bristles on his bronze jowls for a long minute. “Then, for this intrusion, I’m tempted to name you Paqualluk—the nosy one. However, I’ll settle for naming you Eri. You will refer to me by my family’s name of Galeria, do you understand?”

  Eriwasteg nodded, turning bright red and looking down at her feet.

  Kestel looked at Mollis in confusion, but the olive giant just shook his head, motioning that he would explain later.

  “Why are you here, Eri?” said Arbalis.

  Eriwasteg shrugged, her teeth peeking through grinning lips. “I’m a broda—a wanderer. I ran away.”

  Mollis’s face darkened. “What about your family, girl? They—”

  “What about my family? They can rot out there on the plains, for all I care, the usuk novsh.”

  “Did they beat you—hurt you?” said Calla.

  “No.” The young woman’s angry expression receded into something more evasive. “Sweet Baabuk, no. My mother wanted me to marry a fuller.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Oh, so you want to spend the rest of your life ankle-deep in other people’s piss? Be my guest. But I—” she flicked back her long curls “—decided to get out and see what the world was like.”

  “And I think you’re lying through your teeth,” said Calla. “No one would leave their family’s pritju over such a trivial complaint. The world can be a dangerous place.”

  “My father fought the blood-suckers all his life. I carry his skills as well as his sword,” said Eriwasteg.

  Arbalis stared at the young woman, his expression speaking volumes of mistrust. Eriwasteg returned his gaze and shrugged.

  “He wanted a son. He got me instead.”

  “Fate really screwed him then,” said Arbalis, his tone unsympathetic. “Calla is right, Eri. This isn’t a game.”

  “So why are three Praetoria working their way inland?” said Eriwasteg.

  “Mind your tone, girl. Paqualluk is still an option.”

  “They’re chasing angels,” said Kestel, tired of the standoff between them. “And now, all we need is someone looking for the lost fairy kingdom to complete this circle of fools.”

  “Silence!” Arbalis glared at him. “I did not give you permission to betray our quest to every vagabond who crosses our path. What if Maal catches this one? Well?”

  Kestel, stung by the rebuke, pretended to shrug it off. “Then Maal would know what we’re after. I wouldn’t worry—the girl will be killed long before she’s taken to the Old Capital.”

  Eri’s face creased in anger but she kept her focus on Arbalis. “Is it true, Galeria?”

  “Which one?” said Arbalis. “That we are seeking to summon the Angel, or that you’ll die out here?” The old man sighed. “Both, I suppose, but the boy is right. Following a vision, the Prioress has sent us on a quest to summon the Angel of the Age, to defeat Maal and the beast she commands. We’re heading into the Lernaen Swamp to find answers.”

  “Then who’s he?” Eriwasteg nodded in the direction of Kestel. “Your squire?”

  “The chosen one,” said Kestel. “Who will supposedly deliver you from all your troubles.”

  “You? And you think I’m doomed?” Eriwasteg turned her back to Kestel and faced Arbalis. “How much time have you spent in the marshes, Galeria?”

  “Enough,” said Arbalis. “And no, you can’t join us. We have a hard road ahead, and honorable as your intentions may be, we cannot afford any delay.”

  “We might,” said Mollis watching Arbalis’s reaction. “She could be useful to us.”

  “I agree with the boy.” Calla regarded the young woman with skepticism. “She will slow us down.”

  “We cannot abandon her,” Mollis whispered. “It would be murder to do so, and she is too far into the disputed territories to get back to safety on her own.”

  The bronzed veteran let out a resigned sigh. “Mollis is right. It would be murder. She’ll have to come with us—at least until we can find a safe place to drop her off.”

  Mollis nodded in thanks, but Kestel groaned and Calla swore.

  “Thanks for the commendation,” Eri said, hands on her hips. “But I’ve travelled every plain, mountain, desert, and swamp in this land, so rest assured, you’ll need me before the end. I am Baavghirla—a woman of the Baavghir, not some coddled Exsilium pet.”

  “Listen to me, girl.” Arbalis’s voice rose in warning. “We are going straight into the heart of the Sacred Realm. And since we are saddled with you, I am going to treat you as any other soldier under my command. Which means I expect you to obey my orders and recognize me as the elder of the group. Do you understand?”

  Eriwasteg’s stance stiffened, but she nodded her head. “Yes, I understand. You are the Ukmahd.”

  Calla stepp
ed closer. “But Commander—”

  “No complaints.”

  Calla’s scarred lips twisted in frustration, but she finally shrugged. “Like the boy said, she won’t last long in any case.”

  “Then you won’t have to put up with it for long, Cal,” said Mollis, mocking her. “Now, Kestel, where’s that firewood I asked for?”

  Once Arbalis had made it clear that Eriwasteg warranted no special attention from him, he palmed the young woman off onto Kestel. A problem he was still stuck with a day later.

  The presence of the tribeswoman seemed to ire Calla in particular. The soldier snapped at Eri whenever she stood near. The resentment of being a “wet nurse” spilled over onto Kestel as well.

  Eriwasteg took out her frustration on Kestel. Even Mollis and Calla acted cool toward each other since the Baavghir girl entered their midst. The heavy pace Arbalis set through the Laefscead Forest did not improve the situation.

  “Hurry up!” Eriwasteg turned to face Kestel. “You keep crashing around like a sick bear. It’s no wonder you keep getting caught up. Haven’t you ever been in a forest before?”

  Kestel turned and dragged his pack out of the bushes, scratching his hands in the process. “Damn!” He sucked the wounds. “I grew up in the city, if you have to know.”

  “Which one?” Eriwasteg slowed her pace a little to draw closer. “Mollis said you were from the Outer Coast, but I don’t recognize that awful tattoo from anywhere.”

  “It wasn’t my choice.” Kestel cocked his head away so she couldn’t see the hated mark.

  “How did you get it then?”

  Careful, Herald. Now is not the time.

  Quiet, Creven, I’m not asking for your opinion. And I’m not your poxy Herald, either. Kestel shook his head and realized Eriwasteg still waited for a reply.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, harsher than he intended.

  Eriwasteg nodded in understanding. “They saved you from the scabies—I can see it in your eyes. It’s alright—I have no love for those whoresons.”

  Kestel kept walking and remained silent.

  “I listened to the Prioress’s letters being read by her emissaries, saying how we should pity the scabies,” she said. “She’s wrong. Death is too good for the monsters.”

  “Not all,” Kestel whispered.

  “All of them. Everyone.”

  Kestel kept his gaze on the road, trying to force down the anger in his gut. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, stay focused. She’s just a girl. A stupid, useless girl.

  Don’t, said Creven. It won’t help.

  So focused on containing the tight pain in his stomach, Kestel tripped on a dead branch and fell in a heap of dead leaves.

  “You’re the clumsiest boy I’ve ever seen!” The young woman stood over him, laughing with a superior smile. “How did you manage before the Praetoria found you?”

  A red, burning anger rose up his neck and across his temples. “We didn’t have any trees back in the Old Capital. And I grew up on the streets, where little girls like you are eaten alive.”

  Eriwasteg gasped, the honey tone draining from her face. Her mouth opened and closed, but only sharp breaths came. Her expression melted into the steel gaze of the Baavghirla, looking down at him in disgust. “Bohvoo Saa, you thrice-damned animal. Stay the hell away from me.” The young woman turned on her heel and ran in the direction of the other soldiers, leaving his ex-scabie-self lying in the dirt.

  That was smart, said Creven. Do you actually put effort into hurting the people around you, or does it just come naturally?

  For once, Kestel could not think of a reply.

  That evening, the group camped by a tiny brook—nothing more than a dribble cutting its way through the soft earth. Eriwasteg did not speak to Kestel for the rest of the day. She sat, talking to Mollis by the water’s edge where he skinned a brace of rabbits. Kestel approached Calla.

  “Go pester someone else,” she said, polishing her armor.

  Unwanted, Kestel slumped against his pack on the opposite end of the makeshift camp and whittled a branch with his belt knife, brooding on Eriwasteg’s words and ignoring Creven’s silent derision.

  “So, where exactly are we heading anyway?” Calla repositioned her scarred body, like she always did, struggling to find relief in sitting.

  “I’m not sure,” said Arbalis. “The Lernaen Swamp lies northeast, but the swamp itself has been forbidden to the Exsilium for generations, even before Maal. We need directions.” He turned an expectant look toward Kestel.

  “Don’t look at me.” He shrugged. “The fish-man didn’t tell me anything specific, and I’ve never heard of the place.”

  “I have an idea, Commander.” Mollis looked thoughtfully at the half-skinned rabbit dripping blood on his hands.

  “Really?” said Calla, without looking up from her work. “That’s what you said that time at Kingstone.”

  “This will work.” The large soldier protested.

  “That’s what you said at Kingstone—” Arbalis raised an eyebrow “—but go on.”

  “I think we’re east of the old city of Palentanum, a major cultural center during the Empire.”

  “So?”

  “If I remember correctly, there’s an Imperial library near the town square—the Annals of Saint Iolanthe. One of its most famous features was a mosaic of the entire empire during the reign of Emperor Sullis.”

  “How do you know?” said Eriwasteg, her tone full of amazement.

  “Trust me, he knows.” Calla’s scarred face wrinkled into a reluctant smile.

  “So, a map to the Lernaen Swamp?” Arbalis scratched his leathery chin.

  Mollis nodded. “If the path to the Sepulchre is anywhere, it’d be there.”

  Arbalis considered the proposal for a long minute, the small fire smoking and crackling. “Very well. We’ll get as close to the city as we can and enter after dark. Kestel, do you know anything about this place?”

  Kestel shook his head. “Nope, I’ve never been out of the Old Capital.”

  “We still might need your experience. How far east, Mollis?”

  “It’s hard to be sure—a couple days at least.”

  Arbalis spoke a few words to Eriwasteg in a language Kestel didn’t understand, but the young woman nodded and took over skinning the rabbits. Kestel’s chest tightened at having to watch the girl work. Someone sat down behind him. Seeing Calla surprised him, and he didn’t like the careful assessment he saw in the scarred figure’s eyes.

  “Well?”

  Calla sighed, the scars on the side of her neck tightening with the movement. “I know what happened, boy.”

  Kestel opened his mouth for an angry reply, but Calla motioned for him to stay silent. “No, don’t start. I can’t say I blame you.”

  “Why is she even here?”

  “I’ve listened to the stories you’ve told of life on the streets. Being pressed into Maal’s army.” Calla eased down next to Kestel, struggling to lower herself into the leaves. “And for what it’s worth, Mollis and I have watched you begin to put that behind you. But believe me, life is hard all round. There’s no shortage of people who are cold, starving, and have no say over their own lives—whether their Caelbor, Exiles, or Baavghir.”

  “So?”

  “Think about what she’s done. She ran away from her pritju—her travelling, extended family. From everyone she’s ever known. For Baavghir, this is unthinkable.”

  “How do you know?” Kestel shot her a disbelieving look.

  Calla shrugged, watching Eriwasteg work by the fire. “How do you think Arbalis knows so much of their language and tradition, such as giving a newcomer the name by which others will call them? We’ve come across the Baavghir plenty of times over the years—hell, I’ve even fought them a few times. Trust me—this girl is not acting like a traditional Baavghirla.”

  Kestel shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Something bad has happened to her
family and she’s afraid. It’s only just dawning on her that she might actually die out here. She’s angry at you because you caught her by surprise.”

  “You’ve barely said a word to her since she got here. How do you know? She’s more likely pissed off that I am—I was––one of Maal’s soldiers.”

  Calla snorted. “I know how a woman’s mind works. Don’t look at me like that. Do you think I was born like this? I was once considered alluring. I even had a betrothed, though I failed him in the end.”

  Kestel looked at the unburnt side of Calla’s face in surprise. The skin around the brow, cheek, and nose remained pale and clear, but her jaw was a twisted mess of flesh. She caught his stare and curled her lip.

  “That’s not a story for you to know, boy. So, don’t ask.”

  Kestel’s pride prickled at Calla’s lecturing, but her openness surprised him. “She still has nothing to do with us,” he said, shaving away another sliver of wood.

  “I agree,” said Calla. “But what Mollis said yesterday was right—it would be murder to leave her behind. And she did make it this far alone, with no one to help her. We both need to respect that.”

  “Respect works both ways, Calla.”

  Calla’s face almost fell into its usual sneer, but she stopped and bowed her head in agreement. “Then hold yourself to that.”

  Pulling herself upright, Calla jerked her head toward the trees. “Go on. Arbalis wants some wood to smoke the meat.”

  “More firewood?” Kestel groaned, but climbed to his feet.

  “Oh, there’ll always be more firewood. You can count on that.”

  20

  For more than a millennium, the Empire, as a whole, survived—despite civil wars, corrupt officials, Citadel scandals, and the occasional despotic Emperor. Yet it took less than a century for Maal to not only eradicate the culture of the Empire but gain complete control over its populace. The use of the drug Bloodwyne has proven to be the most effective tool of control yet known to civilization.

  ~from ‘The Hydra Awakens’ by Scriptor Tactimon,

  dated 87th year of the Exile~