The Outrider Legion: Book One

by Christopher Pepper

  Their temporary barracks was a formidable building. It was a stout three story building made of red brick and grey mortar. A turret hugged the front left corner, rising up above the roof of the building another ten feet. Arrow slits dotted its walls. There were a number of deep set windows that overlooked the Square, and large sturdy double doors of some formidable wood for an entrance. Johan’s eyes were drawn to the large stone sigil of the outrider order above the large double doors as he walked towards it. A proud lion in motion, gazing over its shoulder.

  Walking inside the men spread out, taking stock of what was available to them. Johan wanted a complete inventory of tools, equipment, and other sundries that were within the building, and what was assessed to be lacking. Also, privately, each outrider was looking for a room to claim as his own. After only an hour, the building had been completely toured. There were pantries, rooms with bunks, a cellar for storage, single-occupant bedrooms, and a small fenced off back yard with a private well and hay loft with posts to tie horses to. There was even a small room in the cellar with a heavy iron jail cell, the keys on a hook by the door. But for all of the space, the house was quite clean, as if a cleaning crew had been through recently. Additionally, the building had been stripped bare. No furniture, dishes, or food were left to the new occupants. Even the floors and walls were bare, giving the house a hollow, lonely feel. All that was left remaining were the curtains hanging over the square windows. The air was filled with the echoes of footsteps and breathing as the men assembled in the great room by the main entrance.

  Ryker was the first to comment.

  “Seems like an awfully large house for just the five of us, doesn’t it? Not that I’m complaining. I like you all well enough, but seven weeks in close quarters really made me miss my private time. Plus, Vegard smells like moldy leather. I make it a point of order that his room be beneath mine by at least one floor.”

  At this the men sniggered and Vegard, the biggest physical specimen of the squad, laughed out loud.

  “My apologies sir, I had devoted so much time to making you and the commander look good, I forgot to do the same for me. I suppose that means I draw first bath?”

  Johan chuckled and removed his helmet. As he did so, the rest of the Outriders did the same. “That would be a good idea Vegard, but the previous occupants removed the basins. You’ll have to make do with buckets of cold water. All of you. Not to be too blunt, but we reek. And after you all do that, get settled. Everyone stow your gear someplace, and start making a list for requisitions. I’ll head to the quartermaster tomorrow to get this place outfitted a little better. We are going to be here too long to not have beds or chairs. Get to it.”

  The men saluted and dispersed, with only Ryker staying behind.

  “It does seem kind of odd that any Outrider outpost would have been left so bare, especially knowing that we were going to be using it.”

  Johan smiled. “Sad there’s no place to put your feet up on your first day? Cheer up. Our posting here was sort of unexpected, and we won’t be here long. Besides, this place is a palace compared to a Legion camp.”

  “Well I suppose I WAS hoping for more luxury. I mean, there are no beds. We are worse off than the worst inn in the city! I guess that means no company for me until I get one. Make sure you get me a great big one, ashwood, sturdy enough for three or four women.”

  “How could you lure such women into bed, considering you haven’t yet been paid? You’ll have to make do without wenching for awhile. Think of this as a minor test of organization. We just need-“

  A sharp knock at the door halted the conversation. Ryker quickly strode to the door and opened it. A courier, wearing the livery of the Citadel, greeted them with a brief salute.

  “Sirs, I am ordered to deliver this to Outrider Commander Johan Else, and only to him.” The courier held up a small satchel.

  Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Johan took the satchel and dismissed the courier, closing the door.

  “That was fast,” he murmured. And then a small smile began to cross his face. “Looks like we will be seeing action quicker than we anticipated. Ryker, see that the men haven’t committed arson yet, I’m going to open this up. I’ll assemble everyone together soon.”

  “You got it, chief.” Ryker said as he saluted and strode off.

  Johan shook his head as he began to open the satchel. He hated when Ryker called him that. The courier’s pouch was sealed with an artifice lock that only Johan’s ring would open. Even though he was a new Outrider Commander, he had already been issued a signet ring that functioned as proof of who he was in distant posts, as well as for correspondence. Each ring was bound to its wearer by magical means. One of the Runesmen, the city’s magical craftsmen, had made Johan select a ring out of a pile of other rings, and then did…something Johan didn’t quite understand. It had made him a little afraid at first, but it swiftly passed. “Magic” was a real part of the world around him. He knew this, and knew that it was a much more common, subtle thing than he had imagined based on the heroic stories he loved as a boy. The golems being adopted by the Watch were a daily reminder of this, as was the flying ships of the Skyguard. Perhaps it was this seemingly commonplace use of the Power had dulled his original wonder of seeing it in action. But to be the target of the Power, and to be under its effects even for a moment, had left him disquieted.

  Pushing these thoughts out of his mind, he slid his signet ring into the artifice lock. He heard a soft clink sound and the latch opened, allowing the satchel to be opened. Johan noticed the red gem-like blister on the back of the latch, and tiny hairs stood up on the back of his neck for a split second. It was a security measure Johan had been instructed on. As members of the Outrider Legion, these high-level courier satchels would in their possession very often. If anyone tried to open the latch with an incorrect ring, or if someone tried to force the latch open, the red blister would spew its contents of fluid upon the satchel, igniting once it hit the air, destroying the satchel and whatever it contained. The heat was so strong it was rumored to be able to warp metal. This sort merging of magical methods and artifice was also highly expensive, the cost never ceasing to amaze Johan. They never talked about that in the old stories.

  Reaching into the satchel, Johan pulled out a rolled up piece of paper, and a small pouch, which jingled a bit as he handled it. Holding the pouch in his armpit, he unrolled the paper, which was a letter written in very neat, plain script.

  Outrider Commander Else

  Let me extend my congratulations to you and your men for your induction into the Outrider Legion. I hope you find your temporary posting to your liking. Consider this letter your very first official orders.

  First, take the enclosed pouch, and treat your men to a night of celebration. Take them out and enjoy yourselves. Good times with comrades can sometimes be few and far between, especially on the paths we walk. Do not forget to celebrate yourself.

  Secondly, you are to report to me at the Citadel tomorrow morning no later than 8 o’clock. An assignment has arisen that your men have been selected to undertake.

  Again, congratulations upon your selection. Enjoy yourselves. But don’t get used to doing it on my coin.

  Praetorian Militant Hauge

  Johan could not believe what he just read. He read it again, and then a third time. He stared at the affixed seal underneath Hauge’s name. The Praetorian Militant? He had been a commander for less than a day, and the Praetorian Militant himself was selecting him for a mission?? A man who was literally 3 steps away from being king himself. And not only did the Praetorian Militant select them for a mission, but he was providing them with drinking money?? Johan’s mind almost locked at the strange and sudden nature of the letter.

  When he had originally enlisted in the Legions, his greatest hope was that he would find some way to serve his city and its people like his parents had done before him. His father had spent his entire life in service of the city. He spent fifteen years with the Legion and fif
teen with the Navy. He ended his final two years of service mustering out in a Watchmen platoon within the city. In return for his thirty years of service the City rewarded him with a silver plated gladius, a full pension, and all the honors he would let them decorate on him.

  His mother, while not signing up in the military, served her city no less. She had, at a young age, begun working actively among the local neighborhood groups. Eventually she had become a district representative within the City, doing her best to make sure that the people she was charged with were treated fairly, and with respect. When Johan’s father retired so did she, both of them dedicating their lives to their city and their sons.

  Yet in all that time, through so much service, neither one of them had ever been contacted by the Praetorian Militant himself. Not even when Jonvar had been promoted as the Praetorian’s adjunct.

  He re-read the orders in his hand, disbelief still on his face. Well, he conceded, there were certainly worse ways to begin an assignment.

  Descending the stairs down the turret, Ryker passed Vegard and Toma lugging a rather tattered looking pair of chairs into the common room from the back of the house. Beyond the doorway going into the kitchen area, he could see Garm walking towards them.

  “Gentlemen, I do hope you didn’t steal chairs from our neighbors already, we haven’t even been here a day.”

  Both men set the chairs down and faced their second. Toma had a hurt expression on his face, but Vegard simply shrugged.

  “Found ‘em outside by the hayloft sir. I figure we’ll need something to sit down on until we get this place furnished.”

  “Fair enough. I just don’t want to hear about some artsy brush painter complaining about chairs going missing.” He fixed the two men with a half-serious stare for a second before raising his voice. “Garm, get on over here.” Ryker waited for the last member of the squad before continuing. “Glad to see you are so quick to get this place under control. Commander Else is heading to the Citadel tomorrow, so I hope you have lists made up for him to take to the quartermaster. Anything the quartermaster doesn’t supply us with we’ll have to pay for ourselves. So for your wallet’s sake, be thorough. He looked behind him as he heard Johan walking down the stairs.

  “Commander,” the men said as they saluted.

  Ryker saluted too, and even though he began to find it awkward saluting Johan in so small a group, ten years of Legion training had made it automatic.

  Johan returned the salute. The room was getting dark fast. It was dusk outside, and they still had no lanterns or lamps for the inside of the house.

  “Okay, we are losing light, so I’ll get right to it. I was given our orders from the Citadel soon after we got here. They sent a rather high-level courier, so it’s urgent. And, after reading the orders, we should feel honored. Now, before I start, let me emphasize that tonight’s mission is completely voluntary, so don’t feel pressured into going simply because it’s our first official Outrider mission. For a mission of this importance, I want men with a clear conscience. Bear in mind, this mission is on the direct orders of the Praetorian Militant himself.” Almost instantly, at the mention of the Praetorian, every man stood up a little taller and straighter. Ryker made an exasperated sound.

  “Hells Johan, spit it out, would you?! You’re building this up as if we are going to slay a dragon.”

  Johan shot his subcommander a disapproving look.

  “The Praetorian’s orders to us are as follows. As soon as we are able, we are to travel into The Keg, find a bar of modestly ill repute, and spend every last coin I have to celebrate our initiation into the Outrider Legion.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, punctuated only by Johan throwing the small purse of coins onto the floor. It landed with a metallic jingling sound as some of the coins spilled out. And then came the cheers by the four other Outriders. There were only four of them, but they were made almost deafening by the acoustics of the stone floor and walls.

  Chapter 2

  “Drinking Buddies”

  “It just doesn’t feel right. Something is wrong.”

  “Would you stop complaining? You’re the one always harping on about ‘doing our duty.’ We have our orders, and now you are complaining about carrying them out? Command has already gotten to your head.”

  “I’d appreciate some help, Ryker, not you being an ass.”

  “I know that. And I know that officially it is the job of the Subcommander to counsel and aid the Commander in all things. But right now, you need more aid than I can give. My own abilities in this matter are innate and cannot be shared with someone as lacking as you.”

  Standing in the room he had claimed as the Commander’s Quarters, in front of the mirror that Vegard had also somehow “acquired”, Johan was forced to admit that maybe Ryker was right. He just could not get comfortable in his old civilian clothes. For one thing, they didn’t seem to fit properly. He had burned off whatever was left of his body fat and added slabs of new muscle during the Outrider training, so the shirt was tight across the chest yet hung very loose over his midsection. But there was something more than that, something not quite physical, and he couldn’t nail it down. He looked over at Ryker, who cut a handsome figure in his old riding boots, black trousers, and a red woolen shirt. Then he looked back at himself in the mirror. Plain brown pants and a simple white tunic. Something was just wrong with the way he looked.

  “Ryker,” Johan said. “It is unseemly for the subcommander to out dress the commander. Consider this your first official censure.”

  Ryker snorted, and made a gesture with his hands that implied some difficult physical activity he wanted Johan to perform on himself.

  “I’m going to see how the rest of the men are doing. I’m sure they are very nervous, first mission and all. In the meantime, stable hand, polish my armor while I’m gone.”

  “Piss off!” Johan yelled as Ryker walked out of the room. But then looking back into the mirror, he sighed. That was it, Johan thought. He did look like a stable hand. Weren’t leaders of highly trained combat men supposed to be dashing? He doubted that Sir Aldir ever looked so lame.

  Ryker descended the stairs from Johan’s quarters again. It was almost pitch black inside now. They needed to get light in there soon. It figured Johan would take the turret room, he thought to himself. Oh well, the privileges of rank and all. Shaking the slight twinge of jealousy out of his mind, he reached the main floor and went out of the front door where the three Outriders were standing around, anxious to leave. All of them were wearing plain clothes.

  It was strange to see everyone dressed like civilians after seven weeks of mud-caked training pads, mail, and riding gear. Being honest with himself, Ryker had to admit that he felt odd being out of uniform. At first Ryker had argued against changing into clothes when they went out. He wanted to show off his achievements, let everyone know just how hard he and the men had worked. Let everyone know that they were men of quality. And if they scored some free drinks out of it, that was fine as well. But Johan had a point. Better to be inconspicuous. They were going into The Keg, a place that basically governed itself at night. And not everyone had the same automatic respect for those who wore the sigil. If there was a fight, there was no guarantee that the Watch would intervene.

  Ryker had to hand it to Johan. For all of his morality and adherence to duty and honor, he was no fool. And while Johan had appealed to his sense of survival, he had also appealed to a different, more important sense, noting that civilian clothes were much easier for a girl to remove than layers of chainmail and leather. That had been the final selling point, and Ryker argued no further. He stopped his musings as he approached the men.

  “Ladies, good of you all to volunteer. I have to say that, based simply on your own taste and style, you are all doing a stellar job of making me look good. The commander will be down in a few minutes and we’ll head out. What is it, Garm?”

  Lowering his hand, Garm replied, “Sir, I’ve gathered that we are
going undercover or something similar, what with the plain clothes and all, but do we have to leave weapons behind?”

  Ryker smiled. “As far as I know, it’s not an undercover mission. We are simply going into the depraved land of the common folk for some drinks. Of course you can bring weapons. But let’s keep it concealable. No need for warhammers or repeating crossbows. Another thing I feel I need to point out. We are all big, strong men. Dangerous men. Some more than others,” Ryker nodded his head towards Garm. “That said, it has been at least seven weeks since any of us has had more than a cup of ale. Pace yourselves. It’s not our money we are spending tonight, and it won’t disappear on us mid-drink. Understood?”

  At this moment Johan came out of the large double doors of the barracks. He turned and locked the doors behind him, and draped the key around his neck and under his shirt with a thong of leather. He looked at the men assembled, and looked at them with a smile on his face.

  “Let’s get to it.”

  Deciding on a place was actually a little more difficult than Johan initially thought. Sure, he had been to taverns before. He was 28, not some 14 year old conscript. But he felt like he owed it to his men to find them a decent establishment they could frequent. It couldn’t be too respectable (“No fun there” volunteered Ryker), it couldn’t be too close to the Devout district, which sat on The Keg’s eastern shoulder (“Drinks will be too expensive” offered Vegard), and it couldn’t be one frequented often by the Watch (“They’d try and make us buy them drinks,” cautioned Garm).

  They walked down the main drag of the Keg, a large, cobble stoned road lined with tightly packed together buildings. Each of the buildings catered to those with a lot of coin and little in the way of common sense. Some offered gambling, some offered women (and men), and all of them offered alcohol. Most establishments had barkers on the outside, offering the best of whatever the Outriders would want. Of course, after the Outriders passed them by, the barkers would hurl colorfully complex insults at them, hitting the entire spectrum of crass humor. Toma, the youngest of them, almost went after the first barker to do that. Garm and Vegard held him back with smiles on their faces and told him it was just part of the show. Welcome to the Keg, asshole. But before long, even Garm started to get tired of walking when they should have been drinking.