The Outrider Legion: Book One

by Christopher Pepper

  So in the end, before everyone else got frustrated and bored with their walking, Johan abandoned all of his wits, strategic training, and common sense, and simply walked towards the tavern with the prettiest barmaid visible from outside, marching right in, with the men hurrying after him. No one could fault him for his logic.

  As they all settled down at a long table, the barmaid Johan saw from the street walked over to them. Her appearance made them start. She was wearing modified Legionnaire armor. The leather tunic was there, but the armor plating was removed aside from a single strip of metal down the center of her torso, and one strip on each shoulder. All the men immediately noticed a number of other things that they did not normally notice on a woman. Firstly, she was armed with a gladius, which hung from her belt. Secondly, she had a Legion tattoo on her right shoulder (“Third Legion, the Morning Stars,” Toma would later recall fondly), and the last remarkable thing was that she half-saluted them, catching herself in the act and stopping before completing it. She smiled at them, half-embarrassed.

  “Apologies, I still do that without realizing it. Welcome to the Gladiatrix, what can I get you fine men?”

  Johan smiled at her. “Well, let’s see, there are five of us, and it’s been awhile since we’ve had much to drink. Let’s have some Hale for us.”

  “Five Hales, easy enough.”

  Hale was a locally brewed wine mixed with honey. The city drunks, or “sophisticated connoisseurs”, depending on who you were talking to, considered it THE standard beverage of life. It was easy to drink, relatively cheap, and had some kick to it. Drinking was a relationship, the local winos would slur, with every drink different depending on the partner you chose. Some gave you a night of tremendous fun, and then ruined your life in the morning. Some were dalliances, good once or twice and then forgotten. Hale was considered a perfect gentleman. Hale got you to the altar of inebriation without making you feel bad about yourself or the decisions you’ve made. Johan began to fish in his pockets for coins.

  “Actually,” Johan said absentmindedly as he pulled out a fistful of coins, “bring us over a quarter keg of it, with five large cups.” He smiled again as he handed her the coins. “Thank you. In a little while, we’ll probably need something else.”

  The warrior/barmaid looked at him somewhat incredulously, weighed the coins in her hand, shrugged, and headed to the bar. All of the men turned to beam at Johan. He simply nodded to them all and relaxed a bit in his chair.

  Toma, their scout with the sharpest eyes and ears of the group, also the most inexperienced and wide-eyed, couldn’t contain himself any further.

  “By the Hells! Look at this place!”

  They all joined him in appraising the bar. The men

  had been so focused on their strangely beautiful barmaid they hadn’t really looked around the place. It was a large, single floor tavern, with an open air kitchen along the back wall. The heat and smells coming from the kitchen gave the entire room a comfortable, warm atmosphere, coupled with the delicious aromas of different seared meats and frying vegetables. There were twenty tables or so in the place, plus an actual bar with stools along one of the walls. There was a large green slate mounted on the wall, with results of various sporting events scrawled on it. Apparently this place dabbled in betting too. But that wasn’t what had gotten Toma so excited.

  Every barmaid, and even the bartender herself, was dressed like former Legion, and all of them were as stunning as their barmaid. They were also all equally armed. Even the cooks in the kitchen, men and women alike, had tattoos on their shoulders, and wore sheathed daggers. On either side of the kitchen area was a large Third Legion standard. A red flag with two morning stars crossed.

  “Well there goes the whole avoidance idea,” muttered Ryker. However, Ryker didn’t sound too upset, as he fixed his eyes upon the different female workers of the tavern. They were wearing a lot more than he was hoping for originally, not even counting the weapons, but there was something supremely appealing to these women. And that stopped him right there. They were women, not girls. Ryker grinned. Guess that makes me a man and not a boy, he thought. He was moving up in the world.

  The patrons themselves had caught Johan’s eye. Most of the tables were full, with a good mix of men and women. From the fashion on display, it seemed to be a more working-class bar. It made sense. This would be the type of ex-Legion place his father would have loved to go to. The bar was noisy, but not overly so. There wasn’t that desperate, escapist quality to this place that hung around other lower-class bars. The patrons were having a good time, and if they had baggage with them, they didn’t bring it with them. It was a good pick, Johan thought.

  Garm was busy doing an unconscious threat assessment. He noticed that there was no bouncer or doorman. But, looking at the staff a little more, he wasn’t too surprised. All of the barmaids still carried themselves like soldiers. Same with the cooks. And they were armed. They must have just been discharged recently. And most likely as a group. The Legions would enlist groups at a time, rather than a constant trickling of new blood. After their ten years, the groups would be discharged as a whole, excepting individuals who wanted to stay on. It wasn’t uncommon for the discharged soldiers to band together somewhat. Open a tavern, run a farm, start a gang. For a group of tough individuals with an internal command structure and a wide variety of skills, there were many options available. The delicate trace work of scars along his forearms flared up in pain as he thought of gangs.

  As they were taking in the sights, their barmaid return with a platter and started setting out large clay cups. After she had finished, two burly men from the kitchen hauled a full mini cask of Hale to their table and set it in the center with a loud thud and walked back to their duties. The Outriders cheered as Ryker began filling cups and passing them out. He filled the last two cups, passing one to Johan and keeping the other for himself. He raised the cup up into the air and looked around the table. Everyone else had done the same.

  “Let’s start this night off proper. A toast. We are the eyes and ears of the Legions, and I am proud to drink with you all.”

  “Hear hear!” Vegard and Toma cried out in unison.

  Ryker continued. “And also, a toast to Johan. Our commander. My friend. I wouldn’t have signed up if not for him. And I don’t think the rest of us would have made the cut if he wasn’t there for us. Thank you Commander. For being a great friend, but more importantly, thank you for being free with your coin!!” And with that, the men cheered again as Ryker and Johan clinked cups, and downed all of their Hale in one go. Johan laughed as he tossed his cup to Toma to fill it up again. The rest of the men downed their Hale and refilled.

  As they finished the first keg of Hale, the men were getting, as Toma slurred to the barmaid, “enjoyed”. Their table was now stacked with bread, sliced tomatoes, and three small turkeys. Garm was shoveling a meat pie with lentils into his mouth, his smiling face dripping with gravy. He looked up at Johan and Ryker mid-bite.

  “I can honestly say sirs, you are now my two favorite people for doing this tonight.” And he went back to eating. Ryker looked over at Johan, both eyebrows up in surprise. Johan puffed his cheeks out in surprise as well, then laughed and finished his cup of Hale.

  The barmaid walked over through the din. Once she got to their table, she fixed Ryker with a serious look.

  “Settle a bet for me?”

  Ryker leaned back, an indulgent smile on his face.

  “I’d do a lot more than that for you, if you’d like,” he said.

  The barmaid looked at Johan now instead, a hint of impatience on her face.

  “Sure,” he said. “What is it?”

  “You Legion?”

  It was more a statement than a question. But her tone indicated that it was definitely not rhetorical. Ryker noticed that the bar had gotten quiet. Ryker was about to speak up when Johan put his hand on his shoulder to silence him. This could be a prickly topic.

  “Uhh, actually we are.
Kind of. Well, not exactly.” He waved a hand around the table. “We were. Garm was a Bulwark down south for ten years, Vegard was a quartermaster for the Hammers, and Ryker and I were Hammers too. We got, uh, mustered into the Outriders two months ago. So we are still a little Legion, and a little something else, I guess.” He looked around at the patrons and staff staring now. “I didn’t think that was going to be an issue, but if we aren’t welcome here I’ll gladly pay up and we’ll be going.” Johan began to get to his feet, and the other Outriders began to do the same when the barmaid stopped him. A small smile on her face.

  “No, that’s okay. You’re welcome here.” She nodded to one of the bartenders behind the bar, who took a piece of chalk and scratched a long mark on the large slate mounted to the wall. There was writing next to it that Johan couldn’t make out.

  “Outriders!” The whole bar cheered, and money started to change hands.

  Vegard looked at the commotion now happening in the bar. “I don’t get it. You were all betting on us?”

  The barmaid nodded. “That’s right. We are a decent bar, no whoring, no drugs. But,” her voice changed to that of a noble woman, and she straightened her shoulders, “we pride ourselves on ‘determining the outcomes of key events.’”

  “You mean gambling?” Toma asked, and Vegard smacked him on the back of his head.

  “Gods,” the barmaid said, “is he even old enough to be here?”

  “Our boy Toma?” Vegard asked, his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Oh yes indeed. But just barely. He hit eighteen about two months ago. He’s a rare thing. Poor sod was going to enlist in the Spears, but he can shoot and hunt like no other bastard I’ve ever seen, so they passed him right up the line to the Outriders.”

  The barmaid shot up her eyebrows.

  “That’s impressive, kid. Very impressive. Well then Toma, and the rest of you fine gentlemen, let me introduce myself proper to you, since you’ve helped make me a few coins richer tonight. Name’s Volus. Haven’t gotten Outriders in here before, at least not while I’ve been here, but you boys have a reputation.”

  “A good one?” asked Toma.

  Volus shrugged.

  “Depends. I’ve heard stories going both ways about ‘em. Here, I’ll be right back.”

  Toma looked confused.

  “I don’t get it,” he said, watching Volus as she walked away. “I thought the Outriders were a Legion too. Same as the Hammers, Blades, all of em?”

  “Ehhhhhhh,” Vegard said, as he made a ‘so-so’ gesture with one hand.

  “Some in the Legions proper don’t really think the Outriders are a real Legion,” Garm said. Toma did not look appeased.

  “Why not?”

  “Well for one thing,” Ryker said, his mouth stuffed with food, “Outriders can basically do whatever they want when they aren’t on assignment. In a week or so, we’ll be given a posting somewhere in the Dominion, and we’ll leave the city. Once we get there, we will carry out orders from our own Legion Commander, who will give us orders from time to time. But when we aren’t under specific orders, it will be our job to kind of keep our eyes open, look for threats to the Dominion, hunt down monsters, things like that. It’s nothing like the monotony of Legion camp life, believe me.”

  “Thank the gods,” Vegard said, and he clanked his mug into Ryker’s.

  “We are almost like City Watchmen, but without the city part,” Johan said. “We keep people safe where there’s no Legion presence.”

  “But why don’t the Legions themselves do that? Some of them have thousands of soldiers in them.”

  “Only the border Legions have so many soldiers,” Garm rumbled. “Remember, the Dominion is one of the smaller nations, people-wise. The Praetorian Militant is no fool. He keeps the bulk of his muscle at the borders to give other folk pause about picking fights. If he orders the Bulwark Legion to patrol all of the villages and towns sixty miles from the border while maintaining its presence at Pinnacle Gate, it would be much weaker, and so the Dominion would be vulnerable.”

  Toma nodded slowly, as if in understanding.

  “So we kind of keep the peace so the Legion doesn’t have to?”

  “That’s about it,” Johan said. “Sometimes we’ll get to do other wacky things like scout across borders, chase down criminals, or do any number of other things that the Legions themselves can’t or won’t be bothered with. You get a lot of flexibility with five or seven man teams. And not to prop us up too much while we are drinking, but we can do a hell of a lot more than the average Legionnaire.”

  “Damn right,” Garm said between swigs of Hale.

  Volus returned to the table, large tray set on one of her shoulders. Five large tankards were on the tray, and she began handing them out to each Outrider. Each tankard was made of dark ashwood, with black metal handles.

  “Drinks on me, gentlemen.” She passed them out to each Outrider, ruffling Toma’s hair as she passed him. Once all the tankards were on the table, she looked around with a mischievous grin on her face. “Any of you know what it is?”

  Garm sniffed his tankard, then tried a sip, his face brightening up more than the others had seen before.

  “Legion’s End, I think!” Garm exclaimed, his smile showing surprisingly white teeth despite his ugly face.

  “Really?” blurted out Vegard.

  “Like I said,” Volus said, “you fellas helped me make quite a bit tonight. Outriders are always long shots. Now just don’t let any spill, this is expensive. And for Hells sake, drink it slowly, or you’ll go blind.”

  “So just what would have happened if you lost your bet on us,” Toma asked.

  Volus drew her thumb across her throat and stuck out her tongue and then left to check on other tables.

  Now, if Hale gets you to the altar of intoxication, Legion’s End picks you up, carries you over its shoulder and then throws you on the bed. It’s extremely strong, and saved only for special occasions. But because it was a fancy brew so much as you’d have to be crazy to drink too much of it. And its expense was due in no small part to pitch being one of its ingredients. As Toma sipped it, it tasted like a mix of sweet brandy, malt, and liquid fire. It kicked its way down his throat.

  “Pike me,” he said, gasping for air. He reached for his Hale to soothe his throat.

  “I’m pretty sure my da and I used to use this stuff to remove paint” Vegard said with a grin after trying it.

  “Well then here’s to your da,” Johan said and took a drink.

  Setting his tankard down, Johan looked around at the men. His men. After the first week of Outrider training, the trainers had singled him out to be the squad commander, pending any gross mistakes of a personal or professional manner. Johan was, and still was honored to be given command. It wasn’t his first command. He had been a maniple commander in the Blade Legion for a number of years, where he was responsible for over fifty men. But he didn’t have the kind of freedom and responsibility there that he did with the Outriders. If he botched a decision as a Blade, he had the Legion’s structure to back him up. He had no such safety net with the Outriders.

  Not knowing the other Outriders (beside Ryker), Johan had feared one or more of them to have harbored aspirations of leadership, and that may have fractured the squad, or otherwise engendered ill will. But that didn’t happen. The five men had alloyed into an extremely tight-knit group. And while they had yet to see action together, each man trusted one another explicitly, with the kind of unity only men of combat could exhibit. As he continued to apprise the members of his unit, he couldn’t blame some of them if they wanted command. Each of them possessed skills and talents that Johan couldn’t match.

  The easiest example was Vegard. Vegard stood about six feet five inches tall, and weighed in at almost 19 stone. He was massive. His father was a small-scale stone mason in the Drafts section of the city. Vegard had been a willing helper even at a young age. Ten years of working in quarries and construction areas created a powerful young man. Bu
t while his father built the physical, Vegard’s mother crafted the mind, always making her son read books on economics. When he turned sixteen his parents apprenticed him off with a traveling merchant who did business with the family.

  After five years of learning the caravan route, Vegard took it over from the merchant. He had dealt in ores, furs, artifice equipment, specialty goods for the Weavers, and he even claimed to have smuggled refugees out of Melcara when Regent Ebizar began his insane pogroms against his own populace. Melcara and The Dominion had been his primary trade route, and when Melcara sealed its borders, his business went under. He was in the Dominion negotiating, while his trade caravans were in Melcara loading up. As was his wife. He never saw her again. Instead of rejoining his father, he joined up with the Legions immediately.

  During initiation, he had made a boast to the instructors that he was the best wrestler they would ever meet. It was a simple boast, made matter-of-factly. There was no arrogance in it, just the simple confidence of a man stating a fact. To try and put him in his place, the instructors brought in two Legion grapplers. Then they had to bring in three. And then they brought in three “gentlemen of arms”, which was a fancy way of saying illegal pit fighter. Word spread fast after that. No one else would offer to help the instructors put Vegard in his place, as no coin was worth the pain. His size also belied his intellect. He had a head for engineering and construction, which came part and parcel with his work with his father. If he hadn’t accepted the Outrider invitation, Johan had no doubt he’d have made Legion engineer, creating fortifications or designing castles. This also meant that Vegard turned down an extremely lucrative future after Legion service, to which Johan was extremely grateful.