The Outrider Legion: Book One

by Christopher Pepper

  Garm, briefly taking his hands off the reigns, took aim with his crossbow and fired bolts at the men fleeing. The bolts missed their mark, as did an arrow shot by Ryker. Kinnese’s two bodyguards dropped back slightly, and turned behind to shoot small bolts of their own. The chase became a chaotic scramble for a clear shot on both sides. Toma even got close enough to throw a pilum at one of the rogues, but his shot went wide and he just managed to avoid getting shot in the chest in return. Toma, with Nerthus behind him, rode behind the rest next to Johan. Nerthus hissed in Toma’s ear.

  “You have a bow, use it, damn you!”

  “It’s a little piking hard to shoot a bow on horseback, let alone with a crazy piking bitch yelling in my piking ear!” he yelled.

  “Ride up close to one, like twenty feet or so!”

  “And do what, let them shoot me?”

  “Just do it! I’ll handle the rest!”

  Spurring his horse up and weaving between his comrades as they launched unsteady volley after volley at the fleeing traitors, Toma managed to maneuver his horse to almost fifteen feet away. He and Nerthus both ducked as a limb from a falling tree nearly decapitated them. Nerthus, to Toma’s shock and horror, gathered her feet up underneath her in a crouch.

  “More to the left!” she yelled, keeping one hand on Toma’s shoulder for balance.

  Obliging her, he steered his horse slightly to the left. Suddenly, he felt her spring off the horse, he turned back and saw her fly through the air, aiming her left hand at the rider. With a loud clanking sound, her fist shot forwards like a ballista bolt with a cord of rope attached to it, and impaled the rider through his back and out of his chest. Her “fingers” extended like a grappling hook on the man’s chest to steady it, and with a whirring sound the cord connecting her “fist” to her arm pulled her onto the rider’s horse, the man’s weight and stirrups keeping him there as an anchor. Pulling her “hand” through the gaping wound in the man’s chest and back, she reached down and pulled the dying man’s feet out of the stirrups, reached around him to grab the reigns, and pushed him off the horse, dropping back behind Toma as she fought to gain control of the horse.

  “Piking Hells!” Toma shouted.

  “Start shooting!” Nerthus yelled, riding next to him.

  The second bodyguard dropped suddenly. Garm, adjusting his aim to target the rider’s horse, put three bolts into the flank of the racing animal, which bucked and fell, crushing the rider on top of it as the Outriders raced past.

  Ryker, getting a clear shot at the leader, fired an arrow. Its aim was true, and it should have implanted itself in the back of Kinnese’s skull. But before it hit the air around him shimmered, and the arrow bounced off as if it hit stone.

  “His horse!” cried Johan. “Bring down his horse!”

  All of the Outriders able to began shooting bolts and arrows at the horse, and like with Kinnese himself, nothing would impact upon it. At this, Kinnese turned back quickly and scythed another white hot lance of light at the Outriders. Johan and Nerthus, the closest to the beam, were able to avoid it. But Toma, who was in mid release with his bow, was not so lucky. The beam sliced through the legs of his horse and pitched him forward off the road. Garm roared and fired his remaining bolts in rapid succession. To everyone’s shock, one of the bolts impacted off of Kinnese’s shoulder guard, another pinged off of his helmet.

  “He can’t fight and protect himself!” Nerthus yelled, realization dawning. “Keep up the pressure!”

  Looking behind, at where Toma had fallen, Johan saw a curious thing. A single rider was gaining dressed in Outrider gear as well. Nerthus looked back also.

  “The other Outrider group! By the Planes, let’s hope they are friendly.”

  As if to tell her no, an arrow flew between them. They both looked at each other, then back at the approaching riders.

  “Guess not,” Johan yelled.

  Garm looked back at Johan, mid-reloading. His gaze quickly passed from his commander to the rider gaining on them from behind. He slowed his horse to allow Johan and Nerthus to catch up.

  “I take it this is more bad news?”

  “You could say that,” Johan said. “We can’t let him pick us off from behind. You and I will take him. Once the others take down Kinnese they’ll swing around. I need you to drop his horse.”

  Garm nodded and finished reloading. Nerthus spurred her horse on to ride parallel with Ryker. Johan stood up in his stirrups and yelled to his friend. Once he got his friend’s attention, he flashed a quick series of hand signals. Ryker nodded his understanding and notched another arrow. Johan unslung his shield from his back and kept one hand on the reigns. Garm had finished loading his crossbow. The two of them wheeled about and charged the approaching rider.

  Garm took aim at the jet black horse carrying the rider and put a bolt into its chest. It never slowed down. Re-drawing, he shot the horse again, and again it had no effect on the charger. Cursing, he threw the crossbow off to the side and drew his greatsword. As they passed each other, Garm barely had time to bring it up in a block before the rider’s own blade sliced outwards. The impact of the blades meeting unhorsed Garm, who flew off of his horse and landed onto the cobblestones.

  No time to draw his own sword, Johan jabbed forward with the pointed bottom of his shield at the rider, just as the rider swung his sword. Both men’s arms rocked from the impact, but Johan’s shield hit home, knocking the man from his horse.

  Garm was slow in getting to his feet, but he scooped up his sword and rushed the felled rider. Johan quickly dismounted, drawing his own longsword and rushed the lead rider as he staggered to his feet.

  Far ahead of them now, Ryker was running out of arrows to fire at Kinnese. Despite this, however, he was confident the chase would be over soon. The deflecting shimmer around the rider’s body had grown much less frequent. Indeed, Kinnese seemed to be slumping forward on his horse. Nerthus, as if sensing an opening, raised her left hand in front of her, palm forward. There was a sharp whooshing sound, and a long sliver of light shot out of her palm, flying forward faster than an arrow. It punctured Kinnese’s mail on his right shoulder, and nearly caused him to fall as he rose up in the saddle, grasping his wound. Taking this opportunity, Ryker fired his final arrow that hit Kinnese in the left shoulder now. With a horrifying scream of pain, he flew off of his horse sideways in a heap.

  “We have him!” Ryker exclaimed, a rush of pride and excitement in his voice.

  Ryker and Nerthus dismounted, drew their blades, and warily walked towards the fallen rider. He was writhing on the ground in agony. They were not ten feet from him when he jerked towards them suddenly and held out his battered hands. A bright violet wave of force struck them both and sent them sprawling. Nerthus struck her head upon the road, and was slow in standing. Ryker, however, was quickly back on his feet. As he approached the man, he braced himself for another blast, but none came. He stood over Kinnese, who was laying on the ground, his arrow and Nerthus’s sliver of metal impaled in his shoulders.

  He lay in an almost fetal position, and Ryker saw that in his hands he held the lock box. An inexplicable sense of dread washed over him as he realized Kinnese was trying to open it. The fallen rider was desperately muttering in some strange tongue though his tears of pain, his mouth almost whispering to the box. Ryker’s stomach turned to ice as he heard a soft click and the black lock fell free of the box. Just as Kinnese cracked the box open, Ryker kicked him in a face, stooped down and snatched the box away as Kinnese howled in pain and frustration.

  The box was heavier than he would have thought, and he didn’t get a good grip on it. As he struggled to right the box and close it, he felt his right forearm grow wet and cold. A viscous liquid, not unlike vegetable oil in consistency, spilled from the box before he could close it, dousing his arm. The fluid actually soaked upwards on Ryker’s arm, ending its movement just above his bicep. Quickly shaking his arm to dry it, he bent down and picked up the lock. Ryker clicked the lock back over t
he latch and breathed a sigh of relief. Mission complete, he thought.

  Johan knew he had the fight won before it even started. His opponent’s sword arm hung limp from landing on the road, broke in multiple places. He struggled to hold it firmly with his off-hand, which appeared to have broken fingers.

  “Samnusen?” Johan asked warily as he circled the injured opponent.

  “The very same,” the broken man muttered. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t bow, I’m momentarily distracted.

  “It doesn’t have to end this way,” he offered the rider.

  “Of course it doesn’t,” the rider snarled. He stood up straight. There was a series of sickeningly wet snapping sounds, and to Johan’s amazement, the rider’s arm rose up and reset itself. Lightly tossing his gladius into his right hand, the rider swung the sword expertly a few times, as if to test his arm. He wriggled the fingers on his left hand, and after a series of clicks and pops, his battered hand appeared normal. Even through his helmet, his wolfish smile was plain.

  Not giving him anymore time to surprise him, Johan charged forward, slashing sideways and upwards with his sword. The rider knocked it aside disdainfully, but staggered when Johan brought his other arm around, slamming his shield into the rider’s head. Thrusting forward, Johan sunk his gladius through the mail and into the man’s chest. With surprising strength, the man punched Johan in the face with his empty hand, then slashed his blade at Johan’s sword arm, leaving a deep cut and forcing Johan to abandon his sword in the man’s chest. Bashing the man in the head with his shield one last time, Johan threw the shield to the side and drew his longsword from his back scabbard. It was supposed to be wielded two-handed, but Johan felt the power of his right hand fading, and his grip wasn’t as strong as he’d have liked. He raised his sword up in an executioner’s pose, ready to decapitate the man, but the man staggered backwards a few paces, pulling the gladius out of his chest. His breathing was loud and gurgling, red froth bubbling up from his wound. As he spoke, he slowly stood up straighter.

  “Not bad. But I think this game is over. Hand over my lord’s property, and I promise no more harm will come to you.”

  “Your lord? I don’t think this is Praetorian Hauge’s box. Not yet, anyways.”

  The rider laughed savagely, runnels of red blood leaked out of his mouth and out of his chest. “You really are ignorant, aren’t you?” His eyes sparkled a dark crimson, visible through his helmet, and he slowly walked forward. Johan, after seeing the light from his eyes, felt an intense pressure suddenly in his head, as if caught in a vice. Now it was his turn to stagger backward. The pressure quickly gave way to pain, and he dropped his sword and held his head with both hands, his eyes squeezed shut. He had a dim awareness of the sound of a swinging blade by his head.

  There was a loud wet chopping sound, piercing through the fog in Johan’s mind and suddenly the pressure was gone. Opening his eyes, he saw Garm’s massive greatsword had ripped through the rider’s body, which was knocked a yard backward into a pool of blood and gore. His helmet was a few feet away. The sword had passed through the left shoulder and most of the neck, but had been halted by the rider’s neck guard. Running up behind Johan was Garm himself. Garm stood between the two of them as Johan retrieved his longsword, his massive gauntlets at the ready.

  To their horror, the rider’s wound had begun to stitch itself back together, sealing up the massive gash underneath the shredded armor. The rider’s breath rasped from the gaping wound, red steam rising from his tattered lungs before it sealed up completely. He pushed himself back up to his feet, his face now visible. His skin was deathly pale. His eyes were black orbs, like two black rocks in a snowy field, and his head was bare of hair.

  “Must we continue this, sirs?” he mocked, before walking towards Johan.

  Johan found himself almost petrified with fear, and his snappy retort died on his tongue.

  There was a loud clang of metal on metal as Garm punched his two metal gauntlets together. When he drew his fists apart, blue electricity arced around and between the gauntlets.

  “I think I can do better,” Garm said casually.

  “I believe you could,” the rider said cruelly. “If you simply give me a moment to compose-“

  Garm had walked towards the rider and delivered a skull splitting punch to the rider’s face mid-sentence. There was a spark of coral light as Garm’s fist impacted Samnusen’s face, and he went flying past Johan down the road, landing in a heap. Yet the rider still stirred immediately and rose to his feet, his face an unrecognizable oozing ruin of blood and shattered bone. Unearthly laughter came from his throat.

  The laughter died suddenly, and he turned. A large horse was charging angrily up the road towards them, a figure on its back. Before they could make out the figure on the horse, the ghoulish rider suddenly vanished from beneath his clothing, his mail and tunic falling to the ground in an empty pile.

  The horse was undoubtedly Leonid’s, it’s angry stride and glaring eyes were unmistakable. But the rider they almost did not recognize. A pale man with tattered clothing a little too big for him, with large earthen jug attached to a thong draped around his shoulder. He leaned heavily on the horse’s neck as he rode, coming to a stop by the three Outriders and the pile of armor.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Leonid said, a weary smile on his face. “I had to deal with some inconsiderate fellows.”

  Chapter 8

  Mission Complete

  The Outriders found themselves recuperating at the bandit’s former camp for a few hours. They wouldn’t have stayed there at all, but for their exhaustion. The area looked much different than it had less than an hour before, nothing of which made them feel comfortable. There were the subtle signs of combat around the entire clearing. A lot of footprints. Some scorch marks here and there on the ground and amongst the trees. But then there were the more overt signs of struggle. There were felled trees all around the clearing, blasted apart and smoldering. There also was a small crater near the stream. Blood, bone, and entrails extending outward from it. They found two corpses in the stream itself, crushed beyond recognition and encased in slowly melting ice. There was a pile of dusty bones and rusted bits of metal not far from them. It looked ancient. Another corpse near the path to the main road had been shredded, as if through a metal screen. But most incredible were the trees. Three of the trees that had ringed the clearing were fundamentally altered. Instead of standing straight and tall, like all trees, these five grew straight up about a foot high, then bent and split at varying angles, looking almost like a wooden cage of thick branches. All three of these trees merged together at one point, where they seemed to grow back into the ground. Two more mangled corpses lay suspended among countless of these wooden spikes.

  All in all, it was not a pleasant place to catch your breath.

  Almost everyone had wounds of some sort, and they were in no condition to fight further, let alone travel back to Oberon. After the chaos on the lumber road had ended, it had taken awhile to track down surviving horses. Leonid again proved invaluable in summoning them. But even this seemed to take a lot out of him. While the horses were rounded up, all who were able searched the bodies of the fallen for anything valuable or useful. The dark powers used by these traitors had left such a mark on the Outriders that they took nothing from the fallen, instead just burning them all.

  Toma was conscious when they found him, but he had suffered such a blow to the head from being unhorsed he had laid there stunned. He could walk under his own power, but was very shaky. Nerthus’s own head injury was similar, if less severe. Her metal arm also looked damaged, and she sat next to Vegard, examining it. Vegard himself had a broken collarbone, dressed as well as they could manage. He had a haunted look about him, but he wouldn’t say why.

  Johan’s sword arm was slashed badly along the forearm, but it didn’t hamper his ability to make a fist. He wasn’t at full strength, but he could fight in a pinch. Still, they had to dress it with ointment and bandag
e it tightly. Toma had been grazed by an arrow without realizing it, his mail saving him a more gruesome injury along his side. Ryker was having difficulties focusing his vision, and his hearing was fading in an out which he attributed to whatever Kinnese had hit him with, but these symptoms faded quickly.

  Only Garm was without injury, so he had become the triage medico, tending to his comrades as best he could. What had galled him the most has having to tend to Kinnese. Seriously injured, but not mortally so, Johan had made the decision to take him prisoner. Leonid had placed a hand on Kinnese’s forehead and placed the traitor into a deep coma. He also retrieved a pair of engraved lead and bronze shackles and placed them on Kinnese’s hands. After this, Leonid claimed he was completely spent and demanded no one bother him for an hour.

  The Weaver was laying out on the grass. He had fallen asleep instantly upon tending to Kinnese, waking only to eat and drink. His very appearance and demeanor shook the Outriders. Gone was the vital, jolly Weaver, who had been quick to laugh and express himself. In his place was an exhausted, stuttering man who wanted only sleep and peace. Even his angry horse had changed in temperament, constantly brushing Leonid with its nose and standing a silent vigil over its master.

  As soon as the Weaver had fallen asleep, all of the Outriders who could swarmed around Vegard, pestering him with questions about what happened with Leonid and the three monster-men. At first, he was extremely hesitant to open up, claiming if Leonid had wanted them to know, he would have told them all himself. But the questions were relentless. Even Johan couldn’t help his curiosity. Johan’s boyish enthusiasm had taken hold again. This was Aldir and Ilarion repackaged for reality, he thought as he all but ordered Vegard to talk.

  Finally the big man relented, the combination of physical pain and the verbal torment too much for him to withstand any longer. He gestured with his good arm for everyone to sit. When they were all sitting down around him, the big man loomed over his comrades, like a teacher about to read a story for sitting children.