“Okay,” he began, “I’ll get this out of the way quickly. I should say I want to try and tell it before I forgot details, but…I don’t think I’ll be forgetting this anytime soon.” He paused and took a sip of watered down wine from a skin.
“So you all go charging after those Outriders, I’m here on the ground, being very stoic and quiet as I sit through-“
“You were crying out like a baby!” interjected Ryker.
Vegard shot him such a withering look that even Ryker couldn’t endure, and he quieted down.
“Anyways, so there I was, just sitting there. The captured bandit was next to me too, still tied up. So he turns and just starts to run down the same path you guys took. And one of the monster-men just kind of raised his hand and shredded him. It looked like he shot a net of metal at him. It would have got me too, but Leonid made some kind of shield or something around me, and the net just like, stopped a foot in front of me. That seemed to annoy the monsters, and they stalked towards Leonid, mocking him and calling him names. I think they figured they had him dead to rights. Six of them, one of him.” He shook his head. “They never stood a chance.”
The Outriders, Nerthus too, found themselves almost leaning forward, so intent on a real story of magic and monsters.
“Leonid thanked them for the kind words and for the time. And then the center monster,” Vegard continued, “well, he just exploded. Pow, just like that.” He gestured at the crater in the ground by the stream. “The others got the hint pretty quick, and started running around. They were throwing…magic at him, I guess. Like, literally throwing fire, and lightning, and ice, like we throw pilum or knives. The air around me was both blazing hot and freezing cold at the same time. Leonid, he just kind of sidestepped everything, like a dancer. Watching a fat man like that move so quick was, I dunno, hypnotic. A few times, I could have sworn I saw him in three or four places at once. My eyes hurt from trying to keep track of him, but I don’t think he ever broke a sweat. Two of the monsters ran across the stream, and suddenly the stream all around them had turned into steam. The monsters started screaming, I think it was burning them. It was awful. Leonid let them scream for a few seconds, and then he just nodded at them, like we nod to each other, and all of the steam clung to the monsters like clothing, and they started screaming even more. Then the steam turned to ice. The monsters were stuck in a block of ice. Leonid made a fist, and the ice just…shattered in on itself, and that was the end of that. The last two monsters, well they was pissed by this point. They didn’t look sane anymore, if you can imagine a monster going crazy, their big jaws flapping curses at Leonid, calling him “reaper”, spitting all over the place. One of them rushes Leonid, runs so fast I thought he would get him. Leonid slowly turns, a sly ‘you are so dead’ grin on his face, you know? And the monster’s legs just stop moving. Totally stuck in the ground, as if his legs turned into tree roots. Then the monster spit at him. Literally spit. It was this green looking spew, and it traveled like water from one of those fountains in Center Square. It stopped just a few inches from Leonid and then splashed to the ground. It made a hissing sound, the spit, and smoke rose up. Leonid, he looked like he’d been insulted. The last monster saw the writing on the wall and tried to run away. Leonid just shrugged his shoulders, and then the trees,” he pointed at the strange cage-like trees, “just kind of did that. Totally impaled him. So then Leonid walked over to the last monster, the one he had frozen. This was when I started to notice he was looking pretty bad by this point. Anyways, Leonid leaned forward and whispered something to the monster-man. And this is the most terrifying thing, I think. The monster-man stared at him, and Leonid nodded. Then the monster…started to cry! Literally began weeping. Sobbing. It was such a pathetic sound. There was a weird sound, like a grinding sound, and then the monster turned into bones, his armor rusting and falling to pieces around him. Leonid just kind of stood there, then called his horse and drank something from one of his chests. That’s it.”
There was a stunned silence from the Outriders. Vegard wasn’t known to spin tales, or exaggerate. And the look on his face as he told them what happened showed no hint of deceit.
“The only thing I’d add to,” came Leonid’s weak voice from across the camp, “was that the lizard man didn’t just explode, like I pumped a lot of energy into him or anything. I dropped the local air pressure considerably, and then raised his internal air pressure rapidly until, well, until I didn’t have to. It’s much more impressive, if you ask me.” And with that, the Weaver rolled onto his side and went back to sleep.
There was a moment more of quiet disbelief, broken only by Johan reaching into his pocket and pulling out a battered time piece.
“Okay, on that pleasant note, one more hour here, then we head to Oberon, and then home.”
Johan’s mind briefly turned toward The City and his brother. Hopefully Jonvar had gotten his message already and had gotten Aleksander out of there. That thought died as his gaze lingered on Leonid. The Commander part of him was thankful beyond measure that Leonid had saved them, first from Kinnese’s monster men, and then from the abomination Samnusen. But he was also disturbed by the level of raw destruction used by the Weaver. He couldn’t fault Leonid for being thorough of course, but part of him wondered if there could there have been another way? He looked around at his battered comrades, some still dressing their wounds. Then he thought of all of the traitors and creatures who were trying to kill them.
No. No, there had been no other way. And with a sinking feeling, Johan realized that this was, perhaps, the true nature of their assignment. He didn’t like being lied to. Especially when it put good people, his people, in danger.
After only one mission as an Outrider, Johan was weary.
Jonvar awoke an hour before breakfast. Changing out of his bedclothes and into his armor, he couldn’t help but feel trepidation about the day ahead. For starters, Johan was still away. He never feared for his brother when he was a simple Legionnaire, but the life of an Outrider was a dangerous one. Jonvar almost found himself resenting the Praetorian for sending his brother on such a task. He had hoped for perhaps some message once Johan’s group had reached Oberon, but it had been five days, and still nothing. It shouldn’t have surprised him, he knew. When he was in the field, he had led his unit longer without contacting anyone. But still, he wasn’t used to having to worry about his younger brother like this.
Another thing that made him uneasy was his duties for the day. As the Praetorian Militant’s adjunct, he would be accompanying his superior to the large governing session called by the Praetorian Civic that day. Where the Praetorian Militant was the high commander of The City’s military, the Praetorian Civic handled all affairs domestic. Taxation, public works, housing, employment, all of these things and more fell under the Civic’s aegis. Jonvar hated politics, so he usually avoided matters involving the Civic whenever possible. But there would be no avoiding today. The nobles would not be pleased with what he suspected the meeting would be about.
The summons had gone out three days ago, to all members of the Century, the 100 wealthiest land owners within the Dominion. An unscheduled summons of the entire Century was rare. The Century met twice a year, at Winter’s End, and just before Harvest. Those who did not show up would have no ability to speak their mind if they objected to what was about to be laid upon them. A sudden gathering like this would undoubtedly ensure that not everyone made it, which would bring about resentment.
The majority of the Century had arrived the previous day, with a few stragglers making it in the early hours that morning. With the meeting to be held at breakfast time, Jonvar needed to make sure that the cooks had their preparations underway. Good food always softens the blow, Hauge had said.
The meeting would be held at the Halls of Law, which stood in the shadows of the Royal Grounds and the Citadel. The imagery was effective. The one hundred wealthiest citizens gathered in a plain building while the majesty and grandeur of the royal palace loome
d over them on one side, and the might of the Legion Citadel on the other. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of just who kept the wealthy wealthy.
The Skyway had a small stone ramp that spiraled down to the lawn of the Halls which ensured Jonvar had a quick walk from the Citadel to the Halls. He was halfway to the Halls to keep an eye on the cooks when a runner from the main gate caught up to him, and they quickly exchanged salutes.
“Captain Else, urgent news from the gate!”
“Yes?” The runner looked unsure of himself, which did not improve Jonvar’s mood. “Well?” Jonvar snapped, a little more venom in his voice than he intended. “Out with it!”
“Sir, yes sir! The…ah the Akvan approaches the main gate sir!”
Jonvar’s spine went cold, and goose bumps rippled across his body.
“What!? Quickly, with me. You notify the Guard and I’ll notify the Legion Primus and the Praetorian-“
The runner raised his hands. “Sir, that’s just it. It’s only The Akvan. Alone. He told our sentries that he had been summoned by us. We weren’t sure whether or not to let him in, or open fire.”
“By the Hells,” Jonvar swore. “You go notify the Praetorian. I’ll head to the gate.”
“You…you’re going to talk to him?”
“Someone of rank needs to. Besides, like you said, it is just him. Alone. I’ll have the entire gate garrison and artillery behind me. Go.”
The two men ran in separate directions. Despite what he told the runner, Jonvar was not at all confident of his chances. Akvan was an echo of the dark past, a power unto himself to the west of The City. Little was known about him, other than he had been in power for centuries. It was suspected that Akvan was a title passed down, but popular belief was that the Akvan was a sorcerer of terrible power, so much so that not even the Weavers did anything about him. He periodically sallied forth from his fortress at the head of an army and smashed villages and city-states alike. There was no pattern to his methods, and the strategists and tacticians could not identify his military agenda. The Praetorian Umbra’s agents had also been equally confounded. As such, the Akvan was a terrible wild card on the continent. Where demons from the Four Hells were once the primary antagonists in children’s stories, now the Akvan was one of the main terrors of the young.
And so it was, with ingrained fear gripping his belly, Jonvar ran headlong toward one of the most celebrated horrors of the world, with the intention of questioning it. The audacity would have made him laugh out loud if he wasn’t putting his life on the line so brazenly.
Reaching the end of the Skyway and rushing to the main gate, he pushed past the men, ignoring questions from the gate commander.
“What are you doing, sir?” the commander asked.
“What else? Going to greet a foreign dignitary.”
Jonvar would have felt proud of the nonchalance in his voice as he said that, if not for trembling in his sword hand. To hide it, he gripped the pommel of his gladius and looked through the open gate. About fifty yards from the open gate stood the Akvan.
He was an intimidating sight just by raw physical presence. Easily over seven feet tall, he towered over everyone Jonvar had ever seen. Wearing all black, he stood out in the morning sun, like a cancer on the earth. Two great, curved black horns extended from his helmet, which concealed his entire face, with only an open slot for his vision. Two tall neck guards rose on either side of his helmet to where his chin would be, if he even had one. He wore grey and jet plate armor, in the antique style of the old empire, a faded sigil on the chest plate that Jonvar couldn’t make out. He was armed with a long sword dangling from a scabbard at his waist, the pommel adorned with a carving of an inhuman skull. He held a large obsidian staff in one hand. It was not smooth, as if it was crudely hewn out of stone. The headpiece of the staff was three blackened skulls, each facing away from the others. The air in the eye sockets rippled slightly, making them almost hypnotic to look at. A tattered black cape was draped about his shoulders, billowing in the breeze. He looked every bit the nightmare he was. If he wanted to intimidate them with his looks, Jonvar thought grimly, he’s succeeding.
Not taking his eyes off the dark figure in front of him, Jonvar tilted his head to one side towards the gate commander.
“Where’s his horse? Did he walk here?”
The commander gulped before answering. “Uh, no sir. One second there was nothing, and then the next he was standing right there. He did not speak until we issued a challenge to him.”
Definitely not the answer he had been expecting. He took a deep breath before answering.
“If he kills me, hit him with everything you have. Get your Weaver in position, you’ll probably need him.”
Not waiting for a response, Jonvar marched out of the gate towards the Akvan, his posture parade-ground straight, his eyes never leaving the Akvan’s visor, and his hand never leaving his sword. It held tight almost with a mind of its own. Every step towards the towering figure took conscious effort.
He stopped ten paces from the Akvan, holding his hand out in greeting. He hoped the Akvan did not see his trembling.
“Greetings, Lord Akvan, high lord of the nation of Karnac. May I ask the nature of your visit to our city?”
The Akvan’s head never moved as he spoke, his voice deep and resonating.
“I have come to fulfill my obligation as landlord under the banner of The City.”
The Akvan reached within his shroud, and drew out a signet ring. The ring bore the sigil of the Century, and was the primary means to send for one by the Praetorians. It would glow a different color when the bearer was summoned for different reasons. Red for war, blue for the scheduled meetings, yellow for an emergency meeting. The Akvan’s ring glowed with a bright yellow hue.
Jonvar’s curiosity almost matched his fear. Since when was one of the most terrifying figures on the continent a lord of The City? No matter who he was, however, his duty was clear. He somehow managed to bow slightly, though his back and legs stiff with fear.
“Well then, my lord, I apologize for you being kept waiting outside our walls. We simply were not aware of your status here. If you would please come with me, I will escort you to the Halls of Law.”
“As you wish,” rumbled the Akvan, and he began walking towards the main gate, side by side with Jonvar.
The men at the gate all parted before them, equal parts awe and fear. Leading the Akvan to the Skyway, Jonvar could not help but notice the crowd of people gathering along their path. The Akvan did not look around him, his gaze seemingly focused straight ahead, the only sound he made was the loud thump of his footsteps, and the lighter impact of his staff in between.
“You should be commended. You confronted me alone. That is rare.”
Jonvar was momentarily at a loss. “Uh, thank you, lord? It would have been inappropriate for me to have surrounded you with spears without hearing you speak.” Jonvar now found himself unable to stop talking.
“In truth, I couldn’t trust them not to rout against you. That would have been rather humiliating. Just I going alone prevented any escalation.”
“Wise,” was the Akvan’s reply as they ascended the Skyway. The shocked expressions of soldiers and nobles frozen on their faces as Jonvar and the Akvan passed.
“You are no Praetorian, neither are you an ambassador or Civic official.” A statement, not a question. “How do others address you?”
“Captain Jonvar Else, adjunct to the Praetorian Militant, sir.”
“Else. Indeed.”
The Akvan was silent for the rest of the walk along the Skyway.
When they reached the Halls, the Akvan remained just outside of the great doors to the meeting chamber as Jonvar went in to announce him. The room was a large oval, with the main seating area lower than the entrance. A conceit amongst the Century was the small staircase they had to traverse to meet. It was supposed to give the impression that the nobles were ‘descending’ to the common level.
The seating
area was filled with almost eighty of the full Century, and was clamoring with the nobles eating food at long, decorated tables. Each table was bursting with food. Eggs, meats, cheeses and other breakfast fare were piled high. Across the room at their own table sat the Praetorian’s Civic and Militant. Jonvar’s eyes met the Praetorian Militant’s for an instant, and he could tell that Hauge was already informed of who had arrived, and was not happy about it.
A small part of Jonvar, perhaps the only part not still partially paralyzed with fear, actually looked forward to the expressions he was about to see. His disdain for the politicians was so great that he found himself suppressing a smile. Standing at the top of the stairs and removing his helmet, Jonvar called out in a loud, clear voice.
“Announcing The High Lord Akvan, ruler of the nation of Karnac. Wielder of the Obsidian Blade. Signet bearer of the Century.”
The room fell utterly silent. Nobles gaped, some with food in their mouths, some with hands mid-gesture. Jonvar drank in the hilarious scene for a second before the reality of the situation came crashing down on him a second time. Turning smartly, he walked back to the doors and opened one, allowing the Akvan to enter. Jonvar hurried around the outskirts of the room to be by the Praetorians.
The silence was broken only by the loud, echoing footfalls of the Akvan’s heavy iron boots, and the sharp pinging of his staff on the polished marble floor. He descended the small flight of stairs to the seating area, and took a seat at one of the few empty tables. The bench bowed under his weight.
In front of him, the two Praetorians began hissing at each other. Hauge spoke first.
“I cannot believe you were so gods damned stupid as to summon him! The king may have your head for this Tristram, and I wouldn’t argue with him at all!”
The Outrider Legion: Book One Page 14
