The Outrider Legion: Book One

by Christopher Pepper

  Leonid peered at Ryker, whose smile did not reach his eyes. There was much more underneath that answer, the Weaver thought. It almost seemed rehearsed, like he had repeated it to himself a few times. Maybe Ryker really was trying to convince them both? But the big man let it pass without comment. He took a pull from his jug again.

  “Well my friend that was indeed an answer to my question. One answers, anyway. And so, like I promised, I will let you get a glimpse behind the curtain, as it were. You want to know why I need to trust you. I’ll tell you. Just remember, as a powerful and mysterious Weaver, I am bound by professional pride and force of habit to do so in a roundabout and cryptic way. So, if you don’t decipher my meaning at first, pike yourself, I’m not helping.” His eyes glittered with amusement in the firelight. “Now, with that out of the way, let’s say,” began Leonid, “we have a shepherd with a large flock. This flock every now and then loses a sheep or two, which is to be expected. However, one year the losses begin to happen more and more and the poor shepherd at a loss to explain it. He knows the sheep wouldn’t run away. And he is a good shepherd. He knows each sheep on sight, and cares for them like a father. One day, after finding a dead sheep, he see’s wolf prints, but instead of heading into the woods, they lead back into the flock. So now the shepherd is worried that perhaps a crafty wolf has figured out how to wear sheep’s wool, and is eating his sheep while hiding amongst the flock. So the shepherd goes to his friend the hunter.

  ‘Help me find what is eating my sheep!’ he begs. ‘I

  can’t bear to lose any more!’

  Naturally of course, his friend helps him. ‘I will

  give you my best hunting dog,’ the hunter promises. ‘He will find this Creature, and make him pay.’

  So the shepherd sends the dog out amongst the flock. The first night, the dog finds a young wolf dressed like a sheep, and kills it. The second night, the dog again finds a young wolf in sheep’s wool, and rips its throat out. Every night for seven nights, the dog finds and kills a young wolf. The sheep, however, don’t realize the dog is protecting them. They are unaware of the danger amongst them. You see, the wolves have become so good at dressing like sheep, the other sheep never suspect them. All they see is their master sending a dog amongst the flock to kill disobedient sheep. So they become afraid of him, and run from him when he calls. Then, on the eighth day, while the shepherd and dog are resting, a large mother sheep speaks to the rest. ‘Children!’ she cries. ‘This cannot be allowed to continue! The master and his dog will surely kill us all! I am leaving, and those of you who never wish to feel the teeth of the dog must come with me! I am old and wise, and I will lead you better than the shepherd!’ The other sheep, now terrified of the shepherd and his dog, agree immediately, and they flee. But once they are far from the shepherd and dog, the large sheep turns around and ‘Oh no!’ It is the wolf mother, and she devours the sheep one by one.”

  Ryker looks at Leonid. “That…is a horrible children’s story. I don’t even see the moral in it.”

  The Weaver’s face took a pained expression. “If only that’s what it was.” Leonid took a long, slow pull from the jug, and then peered into it in annoyance as it ran dry. “You see, Ryker. This is my seventh mission amongst the flock, and I still haven’t found the mother wolf. And I’m afraid I am running out of time.”

  Ryker sat in stunned quiet. “So you think we have been somehow…compromised? Is that why you’re here?”

  Leonid shook his head. “Yes…and no. I know you are safe, for now. And so does the Praetorians and your Legion Commander. That is why they sent you, I believe. You all are still fresh. You’re not…jaded by the life of an Outrider. Now, the other two Outrider units involved in this search are most likely safe as well, but while my primary responsibility is helping you secure whatever it was that was stolen, my overriding job is to search for and eliminate any corrupting influences within the Outriders. If they are somehow…treasonous… then I will need fulfill my duty.”

  Ryker let out a held breath. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Leo, I appreciate you telling me all of this. But we need to let Joh know. I don’t want him making any uninformed decisions that could end up with me dead.”

  The Weaver smiled at Ryker, as if in validation. “Of course. Wake him. He should know before we reach the forest.”

  Ryker stood up and walked over to where Johan was sleeping. Before he got a chance to wake him, Johan sat up, back bolt upright.

  “Holy shit!” he cursed. He rubbed his temples with both hands, then looked up at Ryker. “Ryker, we have a problem.”

  Ryker cocked an eyebrow. “I was about to tell you the same thing. You first.”

  Johan looked up at him, his eyes weary with sleep. “I just remembered more of what happened last night. We forgot something back at the barracks.”

  Interlude

  “Back Home”

  He couldn’t stop coughing. It was as if he was drowning in his own phlegm. He rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his feet. His vision blurred and he stumbled onto one knee. He waited for the spots to clear. He couldn’t see anything through them. Eventually, he realized that it wasn’t just his eyes. There was very little light. He took a step forward and smashed his head on what felt like a metal pole.

  “Gods damn it!” he spat. Reaching his hands up in front of himself, he tried to feel his way forward, but both hands found nothing but metal bars. That wasn’t good, he thought. He didn’t remember getting arrested. Come to think of it, he didn’t actually remember much. He was out at the Gladiatrix when…

  “Oh yeah,” Aleksander said to himself. His throat felt completely parched, and his voice was horse and slow in responding. His memory started returning in drips and drabs. Drinks with the Outriders. Some wagers. Heading back to their barracks with a full keg of Hale on one shoulder…

  He breathed in through his nose and instantly regretted it. He smelled rank. He rotated his arms, and his shoulders and lower back were extremely stiff. How long had he been in here? He looked behind him at the dim torchlight flickering into his cell from the outside window. He heard a deep, rolling growl. It made him jump at first, then he burst out into a chuckle. He patted his angry stomach with one hand. It was time to get out of here.

  “Hello?” he called out. “Anyone? Hey, uhh big man? Guy with the knives? Ladiesman?” With some annoyance at himself, he realized he couldn’t remember their names. Planes, just how much did they drink? He waited a moment, hearing nothing. No footsteps, no voices. He cleared his throat once. It had been awhile since he had to do this. It was going to hurt.

  "HELLO?!” He bellowed. The sound was tremendous. He heard the far stone wall creak at the onslaught of sound. Outside his tiny window, he could hear horses, dogs, and other common animals began howling in response. He cocked his head so his ear was towards the door and listened again, all the while his lungs and throat throbbed with burning pain. Still nothing. Everyone in a half-mile radius would have heard that roar. But wherever he was, he was there alone. One way or another something had happened to his drinking buddies.

  Shrugging his shoulders as the pain in his throat subsided, he grabbed two of the iron bars, one in each of his massive hands. With a moderate amount of effort, he bent them apart from each other, creating an opening just large enough for his ample frame to squeeze through. In three large strides, he was out of the room and into the basement hallway. It was almost pitch black. There were no torches. Using his hands to guide himself along the walls, and tripping numerous times over crates hastily left on the floor (and once over an anvil) he eventually found the stairs leading up to the main floor.

  The light was a little better, as the windows glowed a faint orange from lights outside the barracks. Digging through a pile of supplies next to the stairway, he found a small lantern. Staring hard at the wick for a few seconds, he smiled when it ignited for him. Holding his light out with one arm, he surveyed what else was around him.

  His smile
grew broad as his light shined on an open pantry door. Walking over to it and holding the lantern inside it, he saw a number of wooden casks with taps and boxes of salted meats, fruit, flour, and other foods. He set down his lantern, picked up a cask and put it over his right shoulder, reached down and cradled a large box under his left arm, and began to walk towards the main door. His steps slowed, and he eventually came to a complete stop. Did he really want to steal from Outriders? Especially decent ones? He didn’t think they locked him up and forgot about him. He could just walk away and no one would be the wiser.

  Unless he WAS supposed to be locked up. And then realized that he was an easy man to pick out of a crowd. Did he want to be an easily identifiable fugitive, wanted for escaping a cell and stealing food, on top of whatever else he had done?

  He turned around walked into the main room and set his prizes down. Retrieving his lantern and a small clay mug, he sat down cross-legged in the middle of the room, opened the box of meat and poured himself a draft. He’d stay put a little while longer, he decided. Wait for his drinking buddies to come back. And if they didn’t, well, he’d make sure their pantry didn’t go to waste.

  Chapter 5

  “Oberon"

  Late on the third night the first attack came.

  Toma had the fourth watch that night. Due to his experience in long hunting trips, he was ideally suited to standing watch at night. He never slept on watch, and he took notice of every sound above the breathing and snoring of his comrades. He was also incredibly jumpy. A man born and raised in a large, well-lit, noisy city often finds the dark and quiet of nature to be frightening, no matter how many trips he’s taken. And while Toma was no coward, and he would never complain to his comrades, he was forced to admit that he hated every minute of every night’s watch. But it was that jumpiness and unease that saved them all.

  They were camped far enough off the main road to be hidden from almost anyone traveling at night. The embers of their fire had faded, and the horses, tied to a downed tree, were asleep together. All except Leonid’s horse, which had to be tied to its own tree away from the others. The night was at its coldest and deepest dark. Toma huddled under the blanket he had wrapped over his shoulders, with his back to the fire. All was silent.

  A growing, gnawing sense of unease had gripped Toma. He felt as if he was being stared at by some unseen figure. It was as if someone had poured icy cold water on his spine. He straightened up. The unease turned to dread, and Toma felt his very blood run cold. He heard a slight snap in the darkness beyond. A snoring squirrel would have made more noise. He froze, holding his breath. The sound of his own heartbeat was like a war drum in his ears, his chest heaving. Suddenly, another faint snap, louder than the first, hit his ears. With an enormous force of will, Toma forced himself to move. He stood, and slowly stepped towards the horses. His hand, moving of its own accord, found one of his throwing javelins, gripped it tightly, and brought it up, ready to be launched. His mind screamed at him to stop, to run and hide under his blanket. A pressure began to build in his forehead, a buzzing that muddled his thoughts. His legs, taught as bowstrings, were ready to bolt as soon as this phantom horror showed itself. But he refused to listen. His chest and legs thrummed with the rapid, terrified rush of the blood his rapid heartbeat pumped. He could just see the outlines of the Outrider’s horses in the gloom, and he stepped to one side to see beyond them.

  A shadow, more brown than black, stood out from the darkness. Three others followed it. Toma’s breath froze in his lungs. A dozen horror stories from his childhood flooded his mind. Shades of the fallen, demons from the Planes, conjurations of black magic…each thought brought horrifying images in his mind. He gaped despite his mounting horror. The moving shadows were almost completely silent, moving fluidly and without hesitation in the darkness. Toma suddenly felt exposed. With his back to the embers, he must be somewhat visible to these shadows, or would be soon.

  Unless they already see you! part of his mind hissed. His legs, slowly fighting for control, begged him to run away. The pressure in his head now spread to the rest of his body, and it began to throb almost rhythmically.

  They will see you soon, and you will be theirs. This was it, his body raged at him, act! His javelin cocked by his head, he lunged forward and let it fly at the lead shadow aiming for its center, not even looking to see if it hit before reaching for his second.

  The javelin connected, hitting the lead shadow with a meaty thump. The shadow let out a hideous shriek of pain, instantly startling the horses awake. They jumped and jostled, whinnying the entire time. Not hesitating, Toma threw his second javelin at a second shadow. A second meaty thump and the second shadow fell, it’s screaming a horrible gurgling sound. Drawing his gladius, Toma was about to take a step forward when the darkness around him blazed into bright orange light.

  The shadows became shadows no longer. In the bright orange light, Toma saw not hideous monsters, or frightening shades. He saw that they were simply men, or at least man-shaped. They were dressed all in black and brown leather, with padded feet to muffle their footsteps. The lead shadow was on the ground writhing in agony, a javelin impaled in his navel. The second lay gasping wet, labored breaths, his right lung punctured by the javelin. Toma now found himself facing the two remaining shadows. They had their hands shielding their eyes, blinded by the sudden flare of light. Seeing his fears of monsters or demons disappear, Toma felt a rush of exhilaration mixed with rage at being so childish. These were enemies he could fight! Rushing the two remaining assassins, he brought his gladius down into the nearest man’s face, the sword crunching through the bridge of the man’s nose and beyond. Warm blood spurted out, steaming in the cold night air. Absentmindedly, Toma thought of the sound an old melon made when he sliced them. In one fluid motion, he pulled his gladius free from the man’s head and scythed it at the second man’s neck. The shadow had his hands raised in a weak defensive pose, still blinded from the light. Each hand held a large serrated dagger. Toma’s sharpened gladius took off both of his hands, still clutching their daggers as they fell. Geysers of blood erupted as the man screamed and fell.

  Turning back to the fire, now blazing seven feet high, Toma saw Leonid, his large, round body eclipsed by the flames. Behind him, on the other side of the fire, were three more charred corpses. The other Outriders were on their feet, various weapons raised, their backs to the fire searching for assailants.

  “It’s over. There aren’t anymore,” Leonid said, matter of fatly. His voice had a soothing effect on Toma. all. He felt the fear wash away at the sound of the voice, and with the tension draining out of his shoulders some Toma exhaled loudly and slowly walked to Johan and Ryker. He hoped his superiors wouldn’t notice his trembling hands.

  Ryker looked less than pleased. He gestured at the three burnt bodies on the ground less than ten feet away.

  “Damn it Toma. Pay better attention next time! If it wasn’t for Leonid we’d have had our throats cut, look how close they got to us!”

  Toma opened his mouth to speak, but Leonid put a soft, reassuring hand on his shoulder and spoke to Ryker. “Actually, Sir Ryker, I think you’ll find that Toma here did most of the heavy lifting tonight, as it were.” He pointed with his other flabby arm at the four downed assassins Toma engaged. “I may have taken care of these three, but Toma killed two and disabled another two before I was even awake.”

  Vegard, bleary eyed, whistled. “By the Planes, Toma! You did this in the dark?”

  Garm was examining the four men. He pulled the javelins out and stuck them in the ground. “Two dead, one will be dead in under an hour, and the poor sucker who got the javelin in the stomach will suffer for a long time.” He looked over at Toma and nodded in grudging respect. “You hit two men square in pitch black night. I’m impressed, pretty boy.”

  Ryker stammered. “Ah...sorry Toma, I, um, didn’t see those other four.” He flashed an embarrassed smile.

  Johan slapped Toma’s shoulder. “Good job, Toma. Reall
y, damn fine work. Go catch your breath, sit down, whatever you want. You’ve earned it.” He raised his voice a bit. “Now, I don’t know about you all, but I’d like to find out just who aimed these luckless fools at us.” There was a general murmur of agreement. Johan and the rest of the men joined Garm, who was standing over the assassin with the stomach wound. Leonid remained behind for a moment, his hand still on Toma’s shoulder.

  “You did a great thing tonight.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it. I mean, I feel triumphant I saved us and everything, but it’s…I’ve never killed anyone before. It was so…I dunno, anti-climactic? So…final? A few flicks of my wrist and it was over for them. No death curses at me, no pleas for mercy…it was like putting a lamp out.”

  The Weaver nodded slowly. “Indeed, it is that. Final, I mean. We romanticize it often, but death is nothing but the last process our bodies go through.” He paused, and winked at Toma. “Or at least that’s what we think. But no, that isn’t what I mean.” He walked to the nearest charred corpse, bent over, and pulled off a scorched dull black stone. It was in a dark grey setting, also dull and unreflective. He held it towards Toma. “Do you see this? This is a projection stone. Very expensive and time consuming to make. They can be tuned to project different emotions. Because of that, their construction and use is tightly controlled by the Weavers. This one in particular was tuned to project fear. Fear is a wonderful weapon, Toma. Against most enemies, it is actually the best weapon. It makes men panic, flee their comrades, it muddles their heads, and causes them not to act. All of us felt it in our sleep, I’m sure. I know I did. My dreams turned to ghastly nightmares in an instant. But you, you withstood it. You didn’t break or run. And you did more than stand your ground. You attacked your fear. I’m sure there’s some sort of metaphor about life in there somewhere, but it’s late, and I’m tired.” He smiled at Toma and handed him the stone before walking over to the rest of the Outriders.