The Outrider Legion: Book One

by Christopher Pepper

  The Praetorian Civic spoke first.

  “Lord Akvan, you have honored us with your presence. I cannot recall the last time you participated in the Century.”

  The Akvan impaled him with his intimidating glare.

  “Honor has nothing to do with this. The situation in Melcara is becoming untenable. I wished to see if you were blind to it. Now I see that you are not.”

  “Have you decided on whether you shall aid us openly against the Regent? We could…”

  The malice that radiated out from the Akvan was palpable, and it seemed to Jonvar that the temperature dropped significantly. The Praetorian Civic’s mouth clamped shut, and he pressed himself backwards into his chair under the withering gaze of the sorcerer.

  “Tread carefully, Oakblade. The arrogance you show in treating with me now is boundless. Do not presume that I am at your beck and call, or there will be a reckoning.”

  Praetorian Hauge rose to his feet. He grasped the handle of his sword openly.

  “How dare you? You come here, answering our summons, and then threaten us? We are well aware who and what you are, Deathlord. Do not think you can cow us in the heart of our own city.”

  There was a stunned moment of silence. Jonvar was sure that Hauge had just killed them all. But the weathered older man would not back down from the towering giant. After a tense, silent moment the Akvan spoke.

  “There are affairs I need to set in order here within this city, Siegebreaker. To amend the insults you have already leveled at me, you are to open accommodations for myself. I will be staying within your walls for no longer than one week. I have a list of individuals I require.” He produced a dark brown scroll of vellum and handed it to Jonvar. “Captain Else will locate them with utmost haste. And it need not be said that this must be handled in the most circumspect manner possible.”

  From the tone of his voice, it was apparent that the Akvan had dismissed them all. The Praetorian Civic rose first, quick to diffuse the open hostility between Hauge and the Akvan.

  “Ah, if you would accompany me, Lord Akvan, we will show you to your quarters. The ambassador’s quarters here within the Halls should suit your needs.”

  The Civic and his adjunct marched towards the door. The Akvan remained behind a moment longer, his gaze shifting to Jonvar.

  “I expect you to perform this task in an exemplary fashion.”

  And with that, the Akvan turned and followed the Civics out of the chamber.

  Jonvar did not miss the unspoken threat in that statement. As soon as they were gone, Jonvar collapsed on the chair next to Hauge, and let out a long breath. His knees, held straight for so long against their will, began to spasm uncontrollably. Hauge put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

  “Easy son. You handled yourself well today. Better than I would have, in your shoes. The only man I met who didn’t shit himself when standing face to face with the Akvan was Aldir.” Hauge gave him a reassuring smile.

  “Thank you, sir, but that doesn’t ease my mind much. I’m pretty sure the Akvan eventually killed Sir Aldir.”

  The smile on Hauge’s face disappeared, replaced by a look of hurt and sorrow.

  “Yes, he did.”

  Trying to ignore the now awkward silence between them, Jonvar composed himself and looked at the list provided by the Akvan. He scanned the names, some of them well-known, and some of them he had never heard of before. Then his eyes read the last name on the list, and Jonvar felt the fear grip him again. Hauge noticed the change in his adjunct again.

  “What is it, Jonvar?”

  Jonvar gave him the list.

  “The last name,” he said, his voice monotone with shock.

  “Hells,” Hauge exclaimed.

  The names on the list were written in plain black ink, and in large block letters, as if by a common scribe. But the final name was different. It was in crimson ink, and Jonvar strongly suggested the flowing script was by the Akvan’s own hand. The two words almost pulsated on the paper.

  Johan Else.

  Chapter 9

  Heading Home

  The Outriders left Oberon with their supplies replenished, if not their spirits. They had completed their first assignment, marvelously so. Only a few of them had any serious wounds, and none of them would be permanent. They had retrieved the stolen box, securing it from two rogue Outrider units. And they had taken a prisoner. Yet there was a sense of foreboding and disquiet over them all.

  Vegard was unable to ride. If it were a short trip he would have tried it. But four days was too long for him to bear. Kinnese, still in his magically induced coma, was also going to need transport. To get around this, Nerthus had secured for them a tiny wagon with which to carry them, pulled by Garm’s new horse, with Garm sitting on the wagon. Vegard and Garm had both lost their horses, but they were replaced by horses taken from the slain renegades. Vegard’s replacement horse walked behind the wagon, held by its tie. Nerthus also kept the horse she had commandeered, so there was no doubling up. .

  The going was slow, but deliberately so. Johan, at the middle of the group, was talking to Garm and Vegard in the wagon as they rode. Ryker was attempting to engage Nerthus in conversation. Toma was lost in thought as he rode. Leonid was eating a large, ripe melon with a knife, his face covered in juice.

  Eventually Johan spurred his horse slightly and rode his horse next to Leonid’s and matched his pace. He peered over at the Weaver, who stopped eating mid-bite to return the stare.

  “You’re looking rather…slim,” Johan said.

  Leonid finished his bite before answering.

  “That certainly is a polite way of putting things,” he said with a chuckle. “Something tells me there’s more?”

  Johan composed himself. This was unfamiliar territory for him, and the last thing he wanted to do was anger the man.

  “It’s just that, well, Ryker and I know plenty of girls who would love to know your secret to managing your weight.”

  Leonid burst out laughing, a rich, rolling laugh that, just for one second, conjured the image of the fat jolly man he was the day before. He wiped a tear from one eye.

  “Perhaps you are right, Joh. Maybe I should change careers, get out of the combat game and go into beauty products. You and Ryker will join me of course, as my salesmen. I think my sales pitch is a little rusty.”

  The two of them shared another laugh, but then Leonid’s expression changed to a more serious one.

  “Kidding aside though, Commander, I am fine. Truthfully. This,” he said, clutching his much smaller belly, “is sadly a common occupational hazard for those in my line.”

  “I’d really like to hear about it,” Johan said quietly.

  The Weaver gave him a long look, and then smiled.

  “Yes, I actually think you would. Well hold on one second, I need to lube the gears.” Leonid paused, turned around in his saddle and opened the yellow chest. He pulled out one bottle, then another, then another. He handed one to Johan, tossed one back to Garm at the wagon, and kept one for himself. Uncorking them, the three toasted each other in the air before drinking. It was the sweetest, thickest mead Garm or Johan had ever had. If it didn’t have the strong kick of alcohol, they would have sworn it was pure honey. Garm made a face after the first taste and passed the bottle back to Vegard, who accepted it gratefully.

  “Ahhhhh, that helps,” Leonid said between pulls. “Now, let’s see…where to begin? You’ll forgive me, Johan, if this comes out rather disjointed. I’m more of a learner than a teacher, if you catch my meaning. But, hmmmmmm. Okay, let’s go basic. Are you familiar with what streams of Ether are?”

  “I’ve heard of them in stories. They’re where magic comes from, right?”

  “Partially. Well, mostly yes. And, ahh, also no. See?” he chuckled, “isn’t this fun? Anyways, as one popular myth goes, when the Planes were forged, they were all separated from each other. ‘Sundered’ is the popular term I believe. But though separated, the Planes are all still connected toge
ther with these kind of tethers of power. We call them streams of ether, some call them leylines, others, well, you get the point. They are…like the veins of creation, if you would. They transcend the Planes themselves, and like veins, they supply energies to the Planes like the veins in our bodies supply blood. Now, what does that have to do with me? Well, everything in our world is saturated with the energy that comes out of the Streams. The more exposure an area has to that energy, the more…well, ‘magical’ it gets. But the energy is everywhere. Those of us who become Weavers are born with the ability to harness that energy directly, in much different ways. The vast majority of Weavers, here, in Melcara, everywhere, can’t use a lot of it at one time. Their bodies just simply can’t handle such power coursing through them. That’s why we are, for the most part, craftsmen. Runesmen, small-scale enchanters working in conjunction with Mechers, things of that sort. Don’t think I’m knocking them though. Never underestimate them simply because they can’t do what I do. Even the lowliest of Weavers are able to defend themselves, with extreme prejudice. Often times, Weavers will work in large groups on certain projects. Pool their abilities. Creating Gateways, for instance, can take dozens of Weavers.” Leonid hesitated slightly, as if realizing he said something out of turn. “Ah, forget that last part,” Leonid added hastily. “But I suppose I am saying that precision magical use can be even more impressive than what I can do.” He paused, took another long pull of mead, and smirked. “Sometimes. Hah. But, for those few like me who have a much greater…tolerance, I guess you could say, we can exercise a much more overt control over the world.”

  “Like what you did with those trees,” Johan said quietly.

  “Exactly! Trees are actually some of the most, well, magical, things in our world. They are soaked in the energy that radiates from the Streams, which is partially why they are so vital to life. And if one knows how to manipulate that Ether, then some impressive things can happen. Now, what you saw some of the renegades do this morning is very similar. There are countless methods for harnessing that power. There are plenty of different ways to perform “magic”. Just like there are countless different techniques and styles for sword fighting, or dancing. But they were little more than thugs. Creatures with ability but no true feel for it. Imposters, almost. It was actually quite insulting. They had no imagination, no creativity.”

  “Vegard may disagree with that assessment,” Johan pointed out.

  “Well yes, I didn’t say they…okay, look. I’ll use Garm as an example. I can safely say that he is perhaps the most dangerous man I’ve ever met. He’s brutal, highly skilled, and very intelligent. Now take him and compare him to some back alley ganger. The ganger can kill people with his knife, sure. Maybe he’s some kind of serial killer. Maybe he just doesn’t care. But have him stand next to Garm, and he is nothing.”

  Johan looked at Leonid in surprise. “They really did bother you, didn’t they?”

  “My professional pride is always wounded when they send such trash against me.” He leaned sideways and lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “It’s the mead that’s loosening my tongue a bit, but here’s a secret. I could have killed all of those renegades. At the same time. Even Samnusen and Kinnese. But I had to hold back. My larger scale stuff does not discriminate, and I would have hated to have incinerated Oberon. On a good day, when I’m a little more prepared, I’m damn good. Not counting politics or plagues, I’m probably the most destructive force on this continent. The Weavers took this mission seriously by sending me.”

  Johan smiled a boyish smile.

  “What about the Akvan?”

  Leonid sat back in his saddle and blinked a few times, then he shot Johan a slightly annoyed look.

  “Excluding him, of course. But still, my point remains.”

  “That doesn’t really answer my initial question though, Leo.”

  “Ahhh, yes. Well, to swing your sword you need a combination of factors, correct? Skill is one, obviously, but you need more than that. The most skilled fighter is nothing without the body to back it up. Riddle of steel and all of that.”

  Johan just stared.

  “Never heard of that.”

  Leonid waved his hand dismissively.

  “Don’t worry about it. Anyways, Weavers are no different. Our minds and bodies act as…conduits for energy, just as yours are for physical combat. But there is a cost to do what we do. There’s always a cost.” Leonid patted his diminished midsection. “Using such raw power like what I did saps the vitality from you. The easiest way around that is to use tools and charms and a million other focusing tools. Which I use of course, but if you want to add some extra kick to the sauce, as it were, you need to use life force.”

  “Hence bad guys always sacrificing people for their rituals and stuff?”

  “Give the boy a pie! Yes. Now I can throw around a lot of power without needing to tap into myself, but it always helps to have a lot of body to burn. It can make my job rather painful at times, but my life between assignments becomes rather joyous. I am almost a sanctioned hedonist,” he said with a wide grin. “But my method does leave one open to more insidious threats though.”

  “Like…?”

  Leonid tapped his chest. “The human heart is a powerful thing. Both metaphysically and physically. But it does not like rapid change. The only real danger I was in this morning was having it give out. My heart, that is. Big men like me…like I was…are always more at risk to the heart quitting. It has to work quite a bit harder than even the mightiest warrior. And the shock of suddenly losing a lot of mass is also dangerous. So you could say I am my own worst enemy. The yellow chest here is specifically for after a sudden change like today. A lot of dense, hearty food to replenish my body. And I keep my best grog in there too,” he said with a wink before drinking more mead.

  They rode together in silence for a short while before Johan spoke again.

  “I had no idea it was so complicated. I suppose I should have, though.”

  Leonid nodded. “And I didn’t even go into how I do what I do.”

  “It doesn’t seem nearly as…fun as I thought it’d be.”

  The Weaver snorted.

  “Are you joking? It is so much damn fun, it is almost intoxicating on its own! But still, every little bit helps!” With that he finished his bottle and threw it off of the road. He swayed a bit in his saddle.

  “Hells, I seem to have forgotten how little it will take to get me drunk right now. Do me a favor, commander, and leave me be for awhile. I would hate to vomit on you as I unlock the mysteries of the universe. It would wound my pride.”

  Smiling, Johan rode on ahead. He flexed his wounded hand as he did so. It had been close, he realized. A fraction of an inch deeper, and he may have lost his ability to grasp anything. That would have been worse than failing, he realized. One assignment, one taste of it, only to have it snatched away forever. He glanced around at his comrades and thanked the gods that they would recover.

  Ryker voice, loud and angry broke his reverie.

  “The Hells take you, woman, what is your problem?”

  Looking back up, Johan saw Ryker check his horse’s stride to ride next to him. He tried to hide it, but Johan would tell that Ryker had a new wound on his cheek.

  “Planes, Ryker, what did you do to her?”

  Ryker was seething with anger.

  “Gods damn that bitch, Johan. I didn’t do anything I didn’t think she’d mind!”

  “Oh great…”

  “What do you expect? It’s after our first big assignment, bad guys lost, we won, I just asked if she wanted to celebrate with us when we get back home.”

  “Us?”

  Ryker anger drained out of his face, and his roguish smile took its place.

  “Okay, maybe I offered a private celebration. However, due to her reaction to such a sterling offer, I’m starting to think she isn’t into men.”

  “Of course,” Johan said wryly. “That must be the only explanation.�
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  “I hate to bruise your ego further,” Nerthus called out ahead of them, “but I do enjoy the company of men. It’s little boys who piss me off.”

  They all laughed, Leonid with them. Eventually even Ryker chuckled. Garm, after the laughter died down called up from behind them.

  “Commander? Can we keep her?”

  A chorus of assents went up from the men. Nerthus turned to face them all and smiled wide. For one second, Johan saw the impish smile she wore as “Chops”. Mischievous yet beautiful, and he found himself smiling back. She caught his gaze and her smile lingered for a moment before she turned back around.

  Ryker looked from her to Johan, disbelief on his face.

  “You have got to be shitting me!” he exclaimed. “Where’s the damn justice? You and your privileges of rank!” He shook his head, feigning disgust, but he couldn’t hold back a grin. Hitting Johan in the shoulder, he checked his stride again to talk to Garm and Vegard.

  Toma, brought out of his own reverie, saw the smiles on everyone’s face and cursed.

  “What did I miss?” he asked Nerthus, who only smiled back. “I miss everything, dammit!”

  Just after the midday meal, Aleksander still had no luck. Keeping the three vials of brown liquid in a satchel slung over his shoulder, he still had not found a chemist that could identify what was in them. Granted, he had been keeping to the more reputable areas of The City so far, and he knew his luck was going to be limited there. So after changing back into his newly washed clothes and coat he headed over to Bricktown.

  Bricktown, as Vegard would have pointed out, was not a nice place. It was originally built out of the old brickyard used in the construction of the original city wall. Once The City had expanded again, however, the brickyard now found itself within the city itself, and so it became fair game for people to squat on, eventually populating it with both poorer folk and people who wished to remain anonymous. You couldn’t call it a slum per se, as some of the poorest and most miserable inhabitants lived in very fine brick buildings. A previous king had turned over most of the buildings in Bricktown “for public use”. But it was certainly the poorest district of the city. The Watch kept only a token force there, mostly as a clean-up crew for the more gruesome crimes. Other than that, Bricktown seemed to be almost a separate village from the City proper. Both sides approved of the law.