“We all have our strengths. I look good in command armor. And your face can take a lot of punishment. I put the men on food detail, but with luck food and supplies from the Quartermaster will be here before I return.” He walked past Ryker and grinned before descending the stairway. “Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone, I still haven’t decided if I like the place or not.”
Closing the large door to the house behind him, Johan put his helmet on, laid his left hand on the hilt of his gladius, and began the long walk to the Citadel. As he walked along a thoroughfare, he watched as the City began to come alive. Shop keepers were hurrying to open their stores, women were sweeping their front steps clean, and the morning shift change was happening with the Guard. Everything was calm and quiet, and the dim sunlight was gradually changing to a soft yellow. The City had an unusual haze about it. At first, he took it for mist, but then recalled the close proximity shared by the Art District and Mecher’s District.
The Mecher’s District was wedged between the Art District and the outer wall of the City, in the southwest corner. By proclamation of the King himself, only at night were Mechers permitted to conduct most of their more…boisterous experiments. This was due to the large amounts of steam, smoke, and other resultant byproducts of the Mechers working their technological genius. There was, initially, an outcry for Mechers to be relegated to workshops outside of the city proper. But the Mechers had proven themselves and their creations so useful of late that it was decided that they should be able to work within the walls. To mitigate the uncomfortable side-effects of their work, a wall was erected between a mostly unused portion of the Art District and the city wall, with the newly cordoned off section being given to the Mechers. However, after a few months, the complaints continued, forcing the King himself to step in, forcing what was called the Night Hour Proclamation.
As a result, the streets of the Art District, from about one in the morning until six or seven, were usually cloaked in the “fog” of artifice. It hung low enough to congeal only around the knees, but as the morning sun rose, it dissipated, rising up and then disappearing completely. The smells were not altogether unpleasant either. There was sulfur and coal, but there were also different, more exotic smells and substances. Varieties of polishing and lubricating oils and powders also could be noticed. But the most dominant smell, the one that kept the majority of the populace of the Art District from condemning the Mechers further, or fleeing their homes entirely, was the smell of frying butter. For whatever reason, the smell of frying butter was highly prevalent in the early mornings, as if in apology to the other residents of the city. This also had the pleasant side-effect of making the baking industry extremely successful in the Art District, with a brisk morning trade in pastries.
As Johan continued his walk to the Citadel, the quiet morning was broken by a low thrumming sound above him. Looking up, Johan saw where he wanted his future to lie.
Gliding through the clear sky over the city was a skyship. It resembled a large Galleas, the powerful three-masted type of ship that formed the backbone of The City’s naval forces. The skyship was wider than an ocean-bound ship, and its large sails were used to aid in its speed, but were not the means with which the ship propelled itself. Skyships were a joint creation between the Mechers, the Weavers, and the City’s military. They were outrageously expensive, and required a massive amount of manpower and specialized equipment to construct and maintain, but they were formidable machines, both in power-projection and intimidation. The City boasted three of them.
Johan wanted, eventually, to get a posting within the Tenth Legion, the Skyguard. Though he wasn’t a skilled Weaver, Mecher, or sailor, his skills would be needed in the air. Skyships had detachments of soldiers for deployment called Skyriders. And though they did not have as much operational freedom as Outriders did, having to answer to an immediate superior in the ship’s captain, they were enormously respected in all branches of the City’s defense forces. It was the prestige of the Tenth Legion that had lit the fire in Johan early in his life to join. As children, Johan and Ryker would pretend to be in the Tenth Legion, protecting the innocent and vanquishing outlaws, villains, and demons alike. That, combined with his father’s own distinguished service had built a foundation of respect and admiration for the military in Johan, and he held their high ideals within the core of his being.
Again walking in the shadow of the Skyway, Johan made his way to the main gate of the Citadel. An imposing fortress of black and white stone, it was originally the stronghold and seat of the King centuries past. Because of this, it boasted a ten foot thick wall of granite, with battlements at every fifty feet. It also always had multiple artillery stations on stand-by, capable of reaching anywhere within a one-mile radius of the City’s outer walls. But for all its military might, in modern times the King had removed his seat to the Royal Grounds, leaving the Citadel to become the headquarters of The City’s military. Just the officers stationed within alone made it an intimidating place for Johan to visit. The Praetorian Militant’s office was here, with high ranking representatives from each Legion, including the Navy. Along with all of them, representatives of the Weavers and Mechers also had offices there.
As Johan approached the main gate, he saw his brother Jonvar waiting. Jonvar matched Johan’s uniform completely, with the exception of having scarlet epaulets denoting him as the highest ranking member of the Praetorian Militant’s staff. Jonvar had been an Outrider before his selection, so he was allowed to keep his Legion armor and sigil. He had a barely contained grin on his face as Johan approached, one that had made Johan nervous since childhood. Jonvar quickly embraced his younger brother in greeting, but then held him back, arms extended as he appraised Johan.
“Well Joh, you look like you survived your first mission. I don’t remember keeping it together nearly as much as you when it was my turn.”
“What? You mean this happened to you too?”
Jonvar nodded. “It’s every Outrider’s first “mission”. Granted, I think you’re the first one to receive your orders and coin from the Praetorian himself. It’s an old tradition that is supposed to foster a deeper sense of teamwork and comradeship than just the simple initiation. Or it identifies character flaws or personnel conflicts we may have missed in the screening process. An abundance of alcohol is a wonderful way to gauge a person’s character, within reason. Now, let’s get you in to see him. He is very anxious to meet you.”
Jonvar turned to start walking, but Johan stood still a moment longer. Jonvar turned and stared at him, both in annoyance and curiosity.
“What?”
“Jon, why am I meeting him now? What did I do to gain his notice? I mean, I am honored of course, but this seems like too much recognition too fast. Did you set this up?”
Jonvar cleared his throat. “Well, you are my brother, so I of course talked you up whenever I had the opportunity. But other than that, I honestly don’t know. I never tried to set up a meeting between you and him. As long as I’ve been his adjunct, I’ve never seen him do this before. So let’s find out together.”
Ten minutes later, Johan was seated on a stiff ashwood-framed couch in Praetorian Militant Hauge's waiting room, a richly decorated room with scarlet and grey tapestries bearing the sigil of his office, as well as a sigil representing each Legion under his command. Two young men, one wearing Legion gear the other Watch, were standing on either side of the door leading into Hauge's office. After only a few minutes on the couch, Jonvar emerged from the door.
“Come on in, Joh. He’ll see you now.”
Johan stood up and followed his brother back into Hauge’s office. The office was a large, high-ceilinged room with a broad, round table in the center. On the table was a scale model of The City, surrounded by its countryside, all the way to Melcara to the east, and to the Bulwark Mountains ringing the city-state in the west and south. Little flags of different colors and sigils were placed on it, representing various troop deployments, Johan suppose
d. On the far side of the table stood Legion Commander Atrarch and Praetorian Militant Hauge. Atrarch was wearing the same Outrider garb as Johan, but with gold epaulettes opposed to Johan’s silver. He had a stern, weathered face, tanned dark like boot leather. Gone was the broad smile of the morning before. This was his business face. His hair was a fading strawberry blonde, frazzled by being in a helmet for most of his life. He had a face that had spent more nights a field than indoors, Johan thought. This was a man who led by example. On the other end of the spectrum, was Praetorian Militant Hauge. If Atrarch had the face of a seasoned soldier, Hauge had the face of a middle-aged politician. A little shorter than Johan, Hauge wore the armor and sigil of the Praetorians like a second skin. Polished silver shoulder plates, with a high collar, a robe dyed a rich dark blue worn over segmented plates of steel. At his side, Hauge wore his famous sword, Siegebreaker, in a jewel encrusted scabbard four feet long.
While all knew Hauge’s long and illustrious career as a Legion commander, everyone also knew that those days were behind him. His face had gotten soft and lined from years of service as a Praetorian to the King, and his hair was more silver than black. But for all of that, he was as skilled with wielding the entire military might of The City as deftly as Johan was wielding his own sword.
Both men looked up as Johan and Jonvar walked in. Atrarch smiled at Johan, but Hauge merely nodded in welcome. Johan stood tall and saluted proudly, despite the tempest raging in his head.
“Well, Commander Else,” Atrarch said. “I see that you survived your first mission. At least physically. What can you report?” Atrarch’s facial expression suddenly grew stern, and his voice had iron in it. “Were there any altercations, either between the men themselves, or between the men and civilians?”
Johan hesitated before answering. Were they really expecting him to file a report on a night spent drinking?
“Ah, I don’t believe so, sir.”
“You ‘don’t believe so’? Since you don’t return with the financial assets provided you by the Praetorian’s office, I can only assume that it was all spent. Did you not accompany your men as the Praetorian Militant commanded? Were you not there with them?”
“I was with them sir, all night. However…um due to the…mission parameters set forth in my orders, I find myself unable to give specifics after a certain point of time, sir.”
“And your explanation for this lack of detail is?”
“The fog of war, sir?”
Hauge snorted a laugh. “That’s enough, Ken. Do you instruct all your new Outriders in the art of obfuscation? Let’s not waste any more time, his or ours, shall we?”
Instantly, Atrarch’s stern face softened into one of someone who had just told a great joke. Satisfied, entertained, and a little smug.
“Sorry Else, we torture every new commander this way. You did quite well, honestly. Sometimes we drag this out for half an hour before they get it. I am sure that you have a number of questions regarding why you’re here in the Praetorian Militant’s office and not my own.”
Johan nodded. “Yes sir, that question had been raised.”
“To put it bluntly,” Hauge began suddenly. “I feel like this is something I should have started doing long ago. Not to you personally, mind you, but in meeting new commanders. And especially in the Outrider Legion. But, where are my manners?” He gestured to a corner of the room, where a large, cluttered desk sat, with three chairs in front of it. They all sat down, and Hauge took out three crystal classes and a decanter with brown liquid in it. Pouring all three a drink, he handed glasses to Johan and Atrarch.
“Drink up lad, this will help clear that ‘fog of war’ out of your head.”
As he brought the glass up to drink it, he caught the smell of apples. Sipping it, he realized it was a variety of hard cider. After no food all morning, it made him extremely hungry.
“Thank you, sir.”
Hauge nodded before continuing. “Now, as I was saying, this is something that perhaps I should have started doing awhile ago. As of late, it has been brought to my attention that I have become a little too distant as the high commander. The current ranking officers in most Legions know me by virtue of serving with me personally in the past, of course. But the current crop of young officers only know me by reputation. And it is feared by some that this distance between commander and commanded may lead to breakdowns in discipline. Now, while the Legion proper and Navy may be too large for this sort of meeting to be practical, the Outriders present a unique opportunity for myself to…reacquaint myself with the soldiery. My days in the field are a long time behind me, I know this. However, I don’t want to become out of touch with the men I command.”
“I understand, sir.”
“So, before we go over the details of your first assignment…your first real assignment I should say. Before that, tell me a little about yourself. I read that your father was a distinguished Legionnaire from the Fourth Legion, and he did time on the Corsair in the wet navy. I gather he was attempting to get into the Tenth Legion, but he never cleared the training for it. If you don’t mind me asking, Else, do you know what stopped him?”
Johan smiled, already feeling some of the pressure ease in his head.
“Heights, sir. He couldn’t make it the first day of Skyguard training. He used to get nervous simply walking on the Skyway. A skyship, I think, would have been the death of him the first time it launched.”
Atrarch chuckled. “No shame in that, son. You’d never catch me on one of those things either.”
Hauge nodded. “While I value the utility of the Skyguard, the benefit of being the Praetorian Militant is that no one can order me onto one of their ships, either. Flying is…not something I was made for myself. So, we have the son of a veteran signing up. He eventually earns his way into the Outriders. But the question remains. Why did he sign up in the first place?”
Clearing his throat and taking another sip of cider, Johan thought for a moment before answering.
“Well sir, my father of course, was a big influence on me as a child. He certainly helped instill a sense of…civic pride, I guess you could say. Same with my mother. Both of them drilled the notion of ‘service’ into me, I suppose. But there was more than the two of them at work. Sir Aldir was a massive inspiration. He was easily my boyhood hero, but I think I’m hardly alone in that regard.”
Hauge chuckled.
“No son, something tells me that your entire generation was brought up on nothing more than bread and stories of Aldir and his Sword of Glass. Hells, I was in my prime when he was running around, and even I was inspired.”
Johan smiled before continuing.
“It wasn’t all him, though. I was always interested in the Legions, especially the Tenth. They had a certain mystique about them, even before the Skyships. I think that to a young boy dreaming of heroism and glory, they were the perfect fit. So I think that all stuck with me. I’m not naïve, or at least, I don’t think I am. I know the type of heroism that inspired me as a boy sadly isn’t realistic in the world around us. Even so, in the Legion, whenever I was confronted with a hard command decision, a small voice in the back of my head would always ask, ‘What would Sir Aldir choose?’ It sounds silly, especially considering what I’ve done in the past ten years. I don’t see myself slaying a dragon in the Art District, chasing demons across the Planes, or holding the line against the Deathreachers. But to follow in the legacies of great men like that in spirit, great men who fought for those who couldn’t, and who stood with their brothers-in-arms with honor and integrity…that is something I plan on achieving throughout my life, sir.”
Hauge blinked, then took a drink from his glass. “Ken, I didn’t realize such idealists were alive in this day and age. Or that we were letting them enlist.”
“Must have slipped past the interviewers,” Atrarch grunted. “I’ll make sure they are disciplined.”
“Well, Else, I feel like I’ve gotten some measure of who you are. Or at least the
kinds of stories young Johan enjoyed as a child. So, informalities aside, let’s get to your mission, shall we?” Hauge rose and, with the decanter still in his hand, topped off Johan and Atrarch’s glasses before walking over to the large map. He waited until Johan and Atrarch were on either side of him before continuing.
“Lately, along our eastern border with Melcara, banditry has been on the rise. It has always been a problem over there. Even though the amount of refugees escaping that country has been on the decline, it is still a considerable influx of people coming into the Dominion. And these refugees are easy targets for outlaws. Now, the Fourth Legion is stationed near the border, here, and for the most part, they are containing these outlaws so they don’t strike deeper into our lands. But they haven’t been able to wipe them out completely, nor should we realistically have that as an objective for them. The bandits are what bring me to what I want from you. A few days ago, our spies reported that a rather large caravan was hit within Melcara. Normally, we wouldn’t trouble ourselves with this, but two things make this worth our attention. First, the bandits that attacked the caravan have retreated into the Dominion, and they are making their way towards the forest of Oberon, here.” The Praetorian motioned to a section on the map as he continued. “And secondly, whatever it is they stole was of immense importance to Melcara. We believe that the destination of the caravan was Regent Ebizar’s personal fortress. There have already been extravagant rewards offered by Ebizar himself. Promises of riches, titles, and even initiation into the inner mysteries of his cult.
This presents us with a rather unique opportunity to somehow weaken a rival without outwardly appearing to do so. Melcara could hardly criticize us for cracking down on brazen criminals within our own borders. So I intend to capitalize on this. I am dispatching two veteran Outrider squads to the forest. One unit will skirt the northern edge, led by Commander Samnusen. The other, led by Commander Kinnese, will swing around the south. And I am also sending you and your men. You will be the main thrust into Oberon. You will penetrate the forest itself, first meeting up with our agent in the village of Oberon itself. Then, working in conjunction with an agent from the Praetorian Umbra’s men there, search along the main road of the forest until you find either the bandits themselves, or evidence of where they are going.”
The Outrider Legion: Book One Page 5
