The Outrider Legion: Book One

by Christopher Pepper

  The squad was also lucky enough to have Toma with them. Toma was quite the package, in Johan’s estimation. He was the youngest, at just eighteen years old, which contributed to the wide-eyed view of the world he had. He also had incredibly sharp eyes and ears, and was picked out quickly during initiation as scout material. He was a gifted archer, mounted or on foot, and he could track animals with uncanny skill. He also had one more gift, one he had from birth. He was a noble, which Johan still couldn’t wrap his head around. Sacrifice was an integral part of becoming a Legionnaire, one which Johan had fully accepted. But it still surprised him when he saw what others were willing to sacrifice to serve. In taking the Legion oath, Toma had to renounce all former titles, fortunes, and allegiances. And while he still kept his family name, for purposes of succession and inheritance it was as if he did not exist. Towards the end of their seven weeks, Ryker had asked Toma if signing up had caused problems with his family. To everyone’s surprise, Toma said that it didn’t.

  “It was the first real decision I had made in my life. I had thought about it for a long time, weighing everything.” He had said. “My mother and father were proud of me, if you can believe it. I was a pretty, um, wayward kid I guess. Joining up would give me some purpose, and my parents realized that. Also being the third son of a minor noble meant there wouldn’t be much for me to inherit. And, my father knew full well that if I was going to go on like I had been, I’d probably blown what inheritance I’d have gotten on whores.”

  Johan had noted that Toma still planned on blowing his pay on whores. He would need to have Vegard to sit down with him and discuss fiscal responsibility.

  And then there was Garm. Garm was the oldest of them all, at thirty five. He was already a fifteen year Legion veteran. He had spent that time in the Seventh Legion, the Bulwarks, which was stationed in the south within the Bulwark Mountains. Garm was not only their most experienced member, but he had a taste for violence. He was their knife man, their killer. Johan had heard of people who started fires to meet some urge within themselves. He suspected Garm had a similar affliction, one that the Legion had utilized to great effect. But he was not some mindless thug looking for thrills. He was a master craftsman, and his trade was carnage. He prided himself both on his abilities of raw, large-scale destruction and for his meticulous application of killing on a personal level. Johan had heard of his reputation in the Legion. The stories were many, comparing Garm to a man-sized ballista capable of going through seven men at once, or a precision crossbow picking a man out of a crowd. He had been hurled like a sling stone at bandits, hill trolls, sithar raiders, anything his Legion came up against. And in every instance, Garm was their champion. When local bandits knew the Bulwark Legion had sent him to find them, they would surrender on the spot. He even had two confirmed kills against Bargs. Bargs were an echo of dark magical alchemy from the past. Originally bred as shock troops long ago, they are a hybrid of an ape and a bear, possessing the cunning and rage of both. Bargs were known to take the armor and weapons of those they had killed, and use them against their next victims. Although rumor often magnified events, it was known that the two Bargs Garm had killed were armed with multiple swords and shields, and had piecemeal armor from countless fallen warriors.

  When Garm arrived for initiation, the instructors didn’t know what to teach him. However, they were all well aware of his penchant of violence for violence’s sake. So every day during the seven weeks, he was sent for two hours to the University in the Drafts district of the city. There, scholars taught him reading and writing, and military historians and philosophers taught him, or at least attempted to try to teach him, more than just how to fight, but why to fight and when to kill. Another rumor that circulated around Garm in the Legion was that he was a former ganger or enforcer for some underworld figure. It would possibly explain the almost artistic scars on his forearms. And it would also explain why there was a seeming empty place where his soul should have been.

  As they laughed and drank, a man with a large tankard of his own in hand walked over to the table. He gestured at an empty chair.

  “Evening fellas. Would it be rude of me to ask if I could sit down and join you? You all seem to know how to enjoy yourselves.”

  Maybe it was all the alcohol in their system, maybe it was the disarming smile on the man’s face, but almost as one the Outriders begged him to sit.

  He was a very large man. About an inch shorter than Vegard, but broader across the shoulders. He had sandy blond hair, and grey eyes. His hands were rough, like the hands of a laborer or soldier. He was dressed in a stained grey brown riding coat, clasped around the waist with a simple belt, and tall boots on his feet.

  “Thanks! I pop into this place every now and then, but rarely see people in here my own age.” He put one hand up to cover his mouth and leaned towards the group like he was telling a secret. “Between you and me, the clientele is a little on the…seasoned side here.” He smiled at Volus as she walked past, his eyes lingering on her posterior as she walked. “Great employees though. But hey, I’m forgetting my manners. Name’s Aleksander. I’m no local though, I’m from Karogard. Tiny little place, don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of it. Now, don’t think me rude, but I couldn’t help but overhear that you guys are Outriders, is that right?”

  Vegard nodded. “That’s right. Just had our final initiation today.”

  “Well how ‘bout that? That’s great! Congratulations to all of you.” He swept his gaze over the table. “If I had to guess…I would say that…you,“ he pointed at Johan, “are the leader of this sterling band of renegades, am I right?”

  Johan smiled. “Actually, yes. Good guess.”

  “To be fair, you were my second pick. But my first pick disqualified himself.” He gestured to Toma with a laugh. Toma had fallen asleep at the table, and was snoring softly. He was still clutching his tankard with both hands.

  “Well, that sleeping fellow is Toma. Big guy next to him is Vegard. Then you have Garm. The over-dressed dick next to me is Ryker, and I’m Johan. Feel free to eat Toma’s share of the food. Looks like he has no need for it.”

  “Hah! I always did like you Outriders. I’ve seen a few on the road from time to time. Always looked good in the mail and the riding coats.” He looked down at his own riding coat. “Ah, I guess you can see they’ve influenced my sense of style. Always thought I’d sign up and become one, but, ahhh, just never happened.”

  “What exactly do you do?” Ryker asked, a slight edge of annoyance creeping in his voice.

  “Ah, this and that. I worked on the Skyway as a laborer for a bit. I sign on as a hired blade for a convoy every now and then. A gent my size can find easy work in that field. Hmmm let’s see, what else? Oh, I was an apprentice to a scribe in the Art District for a week, that was a hilarious combination. Me, an oversized man of charm and charisma, the master a tiny beetle of a man who never saw the sun. I couldn’t even fit in his workshop. I also helped build a few of those new clockwork golems the Mechers are putting out. Heavy lifting, mostly. But that stuff is really interesting. They taught me quite a bit. Or at least, I picked up on a lot. The Mechers aren’t really that talkative when it comes to their trade secrets. Did you know that there’s a hunk of diamond inside each one? About the size of my fist!”

  Garm whistled. “That’d be worth quite a bit.”

  “It’s not actually a diamond, but I know why you’d think that,” Added Vegard unexpectedly. Everyone looked at him, and he shrugged his mountainous shoulders. “I used to trade in them occasionally,” he added hastily. They are called crystelliums. They are artificial stones that the Runesmen make. After they make them, they infuse some kind of power or magic into it for different purposes. Different craftsmen use them for different things.”

  “Well there you go then. Crystellium.” Aleksander took another long pull from his tankard. “You all do seem to know your stuff. I must admit to feeling a little outclassed sitting here. I need to reestablish my sense of
dominant masculinity I have sitting with other people.” He suddenly rose to his feet, saluting over his chest. “Captain Johan!”

  “It’s Commander,” Ryker said.

  “Oh, whoops. Commander Johan! Consider this a formal challenge to your Outriders!” He raised his hand and their barmaid reappeared. “Ms. Volus. Bring us six tall cups of wyrmsblood!”

  Vegard’s eyes went wide, and Garms jaw dropped slightly. Volus had a pained expression on her face. “Alek, please don’t do this again! Didn’t you say last time was the last time?”

  “Nonsense. Well, I may have said such a thing, but I promise that won’t happen again. Hopefully. Now, off with you!” He made a shooing motion with both his hands and Volus headed towards the bar, her eyes skyward as if to beg the gods for help. He faced the Outriders again. “Alright men, here’s my challenge. Each of us will get a bottle of wyrmsblood. If I finish mine first, I win. If just one of you finish before I do, you win. Easy enough!”

  “Are we betting something extravagant, Mr.…uh Aleksander?” Ryker asked. “No offense, but you don’t seem to have much to offer by way of a wager.”

  “Ahhh of course! Well, for one thing, I have a rather large amount of credit here. If one of you bests me, and I am probably talking to you, Mister Vegard, I will pay for your entire night’s fare. Compliments of a thankful citizen. But if I win, we finish up what’s on the table, and you must accompany me to another bar or two. It’s early still, and I’m lousy at drinking alone.”

  Volus reappeared, placing tall clay cups in front of everyone, even Toma. Aleksander grinned.

  “Mr. Toma shall, um, sit this one out, if that is okay with you Outriders?”

  Johan laughed. “I still don’t even remember agreeing to this. Did I, Ryker?”

  Ryker looked at his wyrmsblood in front of him and shrugged. “Hey, it’s free one way or another. About time people started showering us with-” as he spoke, he smelled his drink. “By the Planes!! This is poison!”

  Aleksander looked hurt. “I would do no such thing! That said, it’s not fun if we don’t drink something that challenges our constitution, is it?” He stood up and raised his cup to the Outriders. They all stood up, except Toma, and raised their cups.

  “To beginnings!” Aleksander roared.

  “To beginnings!” the Outriders roared back.

  They all leaned back and drank from their cups, as the patrons, their attention grabbed by this display, all cheered during the contest. Johan finished his rather quickly and slammed his cup down. Doing so caused his knees to give out and he fell back to his chair in a huff. With a terrible sense of foreboding, and his head already swimming, Johan looked across the table at Aleksander. The big man had triumphant grin on his face, his own drink was gone. The last thing Johan saw as his vision became rimmed by blackness was Aleksander saluting him again, then reaching over to Toma’s cup and downing that in one go as well.

  “Defeated my first night,” Johan sluggishly mumbled as he succumbed to the darkness.

  Chapter 3

  “The Mission”

  Like a swimmer quickly rising from the depths of a deep pool, Johan pulled himself out of unconsciousness. Before he even opened his eyes, he had two startling realizations. The first was that he laying down face first on a cold, stone floor. Not damp or wet, but definitely cold. The second was that his skull felt like he had just pulled it out of a massive vice. Opening his eyes only magnified the vice-like sensation. There was little light in the room, making it hard to judge what time it was. The room was bare except for a small rectangular window on the far wall, letting a sliver of dim, grey light in. Climbing to his feet was difficult. It was as if he had suffered a strong blow to the head, and no matter how hard he tried, his legs only partially obeyed him. His throat felt like he had eaten a feast of sand and pebbles. What had happened? His last clear recollection was drinking that wyrmsblood with the rest, and seeing that man…Argo? Arconian? Seeing that big guy laugh at them all. Had they all been poisoned by him? Was there some dark scheme underway?

  Unsteady footsteps approached from the open doorway. Johan steeled himself for…whatever. His relief surprised him when the figure who emerged through the door was Toma. He looked relieved himself to see Johan awake, but that relief quickly turned into an expression of concern. Johan also noticed that Toma looked quite pale, and wasn’t moving with his usual innate grace.

  “Sir, glad to see you up. How are you feeling?”

  Johan rubbed his temples with his thumbs. “I’ve felt worse…possibly. What happened last night? I feel like I lost a brawl. Is everyone else here?”

  “Yes sir, we are all present and accounted for. I’ve been awake for a little while trying to scrounge up some sort of food for us. I had just gone outside when a runner from the Citadel stopped by to remind you that you have an appointment there with the Praetorian Militant in an hour.”

  “Shit! It’s eight o’clock??” Johan suddenly became a flurry of activity before stopping. “What room am I in? Where are my things?”

  Toma wearily shrugged. “This way sir. I know you didn’t get a lot of time to wander the place yesterday. Oh, and here.” He handed Johan a few sheets of paper. “That’s what we need from the Quartermaster. Each of us compiled our own lists. So there may be some overlap. Ummm, if they could also arrange to get us some food, that would be great. Uh, sir.”

  The two of them started walking down a hallway. As they walked, Johan’s bearings slowly returned, despite the violent throbbing in his head. With horrible symmetry, Johan noticed that the painful throbs began to match his footsteps. It was going to be a long walk to the Citadel.

  “So what exactly happened last night? Tell me best as you can remember.”

  Toma looked at a loss. “Well sir, I can’t rightly say. I had, uh, gotten some rest while we were at the Gladiatrix, but I was still pretty out of it when I came too. You had already passed out once, and then that big guy handed me a mug and told me I was holding everyone else up. After that it all gets a little…fuzzy.”

  Johan ran a hand through his hair, his knuckles aching as he did so.

  “Ugh, tell me about it.”

  They altered course slightly in the house, making their way into towards the main door. Outside the door to the basement, Vegard was rousing himself from his own poor sleep. He looked pretty bad, with dark rings under his eyes, and a nagging cough. He wearily saluted both of them as best as they could.

  “Sir,” Vegard said, bleary eyed. “I wasn’t asleep on duty, I swear.”

  “No I suppose you weren’t,” Johan said, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice. “But what duty are you talking about not sleeping through?”

  Vegard looked stumped for a moment, and then shrugged.

  “I don’t know sir. Maybe it was something from last night.” An embarrassed grin crept over his face. “Or maybe it was years of learning how to sleep while not getting busted by your Commander.”

  “What happened with that big guy, Aleksander? I honestly don’t remember much after the wyrmsblood.”

  Vegard’s face twisted in concentration, which brought a twinge of sympathy pain to Johan.

  “Well sir, he won the ‘challenge’ at the Gladiatrix, so we had to go with him. To his credit, he also covered what was left of our bill. Then he took us to a few other taverns. This was after…let me see…Ryker got slapped by Volus, you made your speech, and Alek…well he beat me at arm wrestling.” He shook his head sheepishly. “That wyrmsblood is terrible, wonderful stuff. But like I said, we went to a few more places, but after that my mind kind of loses the trail. I think Toma and Garm got into it with some sailors, but that almost sounds too cliché for it to have actually happened. Plus no one has any bruises.”

  Johan nodded, well aware of the discomfiture brewing in Toma next to him. As he nodded, some of the cobwebs in his head seemed to turn to fire.

  “Okay, wake yourself up and find some coffee. I have to report to the Citadel as soon as I ge
t changed. In the meantime; Toma find Garm and round up some food. I seem remember a small café on the other side of the Square. The sooner we’re moving around the better the day will be for them.” He nodded to Toma, and he climbed back up the stairs.

  By the time Johan had gotten back to his room, he had cursed himself many times for choosing the highest room. He changed out of his civilian clothes, albeit a little unsteadily. Quick movements, he soon realized, were a mistake. So he moved with slow deliberateness as dressed. As he was getting into his mail, Ryker appeared with a large pitcher of water.

  “Wow Joh, look at you move. I didn’t know they let old men join up. Here, take some.”

  Johan took the offered pitcher of water, drinking half of it, and splashed his face and neck with the rest. He handed the pitcher back before continuing to get changed.

  “Thanks Ryker. How are you holding up.”

  “Ugh,” Ryker ran a hand through his black hair and leaned against the wall. “Remember when my father told us not to ride that grey bronco when we were kids? And how it threw me headfirst into the stable wall? Well, that was a love tap compared to this.”

  “Tell me about it. I also heard you were a big success with the ladies last night.”

  “What can I say? Your speech emboldened me to aim for the heavens. It was just when I got to the gates, I wasn’t welcome there.”

  “My speech? Pike, Vegard mentioned that.” He finished strapping his mail shirt together, and put on his Outrider tunic over it. “How stupid was I?”

  Ryker handed Johan his helmet. “I don’t remember specifics, but it seemed to work. Or at the very least, it got us all fired up for more drinks.” He stopped and looked Johan up and down. “And I am impressed. You held it together and you don’t look like complete shit after last night. Good job. Sir.”