The Outrider Legion: Book One

by Christopher Pepper

  “So, wait,” Vegard said slowly. “If this was purely a demon-only matter, and they’ve done such a great job erasing all knowledge of these renegade demons, how do you know about it?”

  “A demon told me,” Leonid said simply. Everyone around the fire stared at him, unsure if he was making a joke. He held his breath before speaking again, as if coming to a decision. “Children, if you haven’t seen or heard anything these past few days, please try and hear this. What I’ve just told you is true. The Planes exist. Demons, wizards, monsters, all of it is real. You saw, just today, men harnessing the fundamental powers of the universe. You watched a man continue to move when you had, by all rights, killed him three times over. For the sake of the gods, the Dominion we all serve is only a few hundred miles from the Fortress of THE AKVAN HIMSELF. It is one thing to not be superstitious. In my experience, superstition does far more harm than good. But it is another to stick your head in a river to drown out the world around you.”

  There was silence as they all looked into the fire.

  “You know,” Nerthus said, her voice glum, “you could have just told us a story about a hamster that traveled through space.”

  Leonid laughed, and the mood brightened a bit. Johan, still staring into the fire, looked thoughtful.

  “Leonid,” he asked, not looking up. “If what you say is true, and it’s all real, more or less, then it isn’t all bad, right? I mean, it can’t be. Darkness needs light to exist, or it’s nothing.”

  “What do you mean,” the Weaver asked slowly, his eyes glittering.

  “For every story about monsters, there’s one about heroes. If the bad parts of stories are real, then the good parts have to be real also, right?”

  Leonid did not respond right away, but a satisfied smile slowly grew across his face. He nodded once. Eventually he spoke again, the smile never leaving.

  “Yes, I’ve seen darkness, and death, and sorrow,” he began slowly. “More than any man needs to witness in his life. But I’ve seen such things of beauty that they almost defy description. I once saw a mother’s tears bring a child back to life. I’ve seen the unbreakable bond between two lovers overcome all odds. And, just for you Johan, I once looked on as Sir Aldir battled an entire army by himself, armed with nothing but his glass sword and a heart full of courage.” He paused to look at Johan, who smiled like a boy.

  “Oh yes!” Leonid cried abruptly, and quickly sprang to his feet. “For once, the stories underestimated the hero! Sir Aldir faced the Deathreacher army alone! Not with the Gryphon Company, not with the League of Sifar, nor with Illarion, but alone! We watched him from the walls of Ghyst. Three hundred Deathreachers, and three thousand Bargs, echoes of the old darkness, bore down on him. And he sat there upon his horse in the gloom, one man!” Leonid extended an arm up in the air, and suddenly there was a bright flash of light. Everyone was dazzled for a second, but when their vision cleared, Leonid held in his hands a sword made entirely of light.

  “Aldir held aloft his sword of glass, and rays of sunlight stabbed downwards through the clouds! ‘But how?!’ we exclaimed, for it was midnight and Deathreachers always attacked in the darkness. Then, as if hearing our cries, the clouds themselves parted, and behold! The noontime sun shown in the sky! Oh, how the Deathreachers quailed! And then, Sir Aldir charged! One man on horseback, against three thousand!” Leonid began slashing the conjured sword this way and that, his face beaming at the memory. “He broke them! One man! He fought his way through them all, caused their leader to flee and slew his generals and his coven!” Leonid, out of breath, sat back down. His ‘sword’ disappeared as he did so. Panting slightly, but with an expression of joy on his face, he met everyone’s eyes again, his gaze going from face to face.

  “For two hours, under that dazzling sun, I watched a hero save a city that needed saving. So yes, there are great and wonderful things in this universe. And I will tell you one more thing. I can see that same courage and nobility within each one of you all.” He looked back down at the fire, and it was as if a spell was lifted from the others. They felt refreshed, and their spirits were lifted. They looked at each other, smiles on their faces.

  Leonid put a hand on Johan’s shoulder, and his other hand on Tomas. “Get some sleep, children. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

  “I’m, ah, I suppose I’m sorry. About your friends, I guess.”

  Aleksander passed the assassin what was left of the whiskey through the bars. He had placed a chair and a lantern in the room, along with a bottle of hard cider and a mug. Night had fallen, and nothing more had happened that day. Once the bodies were charred and burnt, Aleksander had buried them in the pit, covering it up.

  For once, he realized as he filled in the pit, he didn’t feel like getting drunk. But drinking had become something of a habit for him, so he nursed the whiskey slowly, giving what was left of it to the assassin. It also helped that it was the cheapest, rankest stuff he’d had in awhile. She tried a sip and almost coughed it up, which made Aleksander chuckle at her expense. Once she composed herself, she handed the empty mug back for a refill. She spoke as he poured.

  “If it makes you feel any better, they weren’t my friends,” she told him.

  “No? Weren’t they your comrades in arms? You ARE members of some dark brotherhood of assassins, correct? Didn’t I just kill members of your family?”

  The woman winced slightly before speaking.

  “All I can say is that I had never met them before yesterday.”

  “Hmph. Well, I suppose I’m still sorry, all the same.” He smiled coldly. “I probably could have taken them down without killing them, but you would have gotten away. And then we wouldn’t be sharing such wonderful conversation.”

  “Yes,” she said wryly. “Wonderful conversation,” and she took another swig.

  A faint knocking sound hit Aleksander’s ears, coming from upstairs, and he tensed. The assassin noticed his change of demeanor.

  “What?”

  “Someone’s here,” he said. He turned back to her briefly. “For your own good, I suggest you keep quiet. I may not be the best host, I know, but I doubt you’d like the treatment if the Watch finds you.”

  “Oh, my chivalrous knight,” she said acidly. “First you shower me with drinks, and then you defend me.” Aleksander glared at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Of course I’ll be quiet.”

  Moving swiftly and silently, Aleksander was up the stairs in a blur. His sudden speed startled the prisoner. Peering out of a front window, Alek tried to see who it was that was knocking. Furrowing his brow and walking to the door, he opened it a crack. Standing there was Squint himself, looking hobbled and in pain.

  “Hells, Squint, what happened to sending a runner? Get in here, quick!” He all but pulled the old man inside the door and then slammed it shut. He gestured for the guest to sit on a nearby chair, and Alek sat on the couch that had been doubling as his bed.

  “Kiddo, I had to make the trip myself, I’m sure you’ll understand. But, first, you got a drink? It’s a long walk from Bricktown.”

  Alek produced the wyrmsblood he had purchased that day, pulled the cork out and passed it to the old man. He held the bottle appreciatively before drinking out of it.

  “Well pike me, you’ve gone and gotten yourself some taste, kiddo.”

  “Did a favor for a tavern owner a few months back. Didn’t pay me in coin, but in credit. As in, almost unlimited.”

  “Hah! That poor fool is going to go out of business,” Squint cackled.

  Alek grinned. “Funny you say that. I believe he already has had to mark up his alcohol a bit, due to ‘shortages’. But my self-medicating isn’t why you hobbled your liver-spotted ass all the way here. What did you find out?”

  The humor quickly vanished from Squint’s face. He took another quick pull of the bottle.

  “Right to it then? Okay. Your friends who live here, they kicked some kind of hornets’ nest. Someone wants ‘em bad. That brown stuff you gave me? I showed
it around right after you left. It isn’t poison. Well, not exactly. It’s tattoo ink used by the Crimson Fang. They are a wonderfully stubborn and brutal little cabal of killers. Very concerned with appearing professional. They once petitioned to be a recognized institution, if you can believe it. Anyways, it’s a cocktail of certain spider venoms, alchemical agents, human blood, and some magical fuckery.”

  Aleksander furrowed his brow.

  “If it isn’t poison, what’s the point?”

  “Well, the Fang indoctrinates their cutters by tattooing them on the neck with a slightly different version, but they both do the same thing. Whoever gets this ink in their system become pawns of the Fang. They pick up people at random, brand them with this stuff, then point them at a target. Usually the poor fool is compelled not to discuss his assignment at all, and will try to suicide if pushed too hard. But for the most part, these birks don’t know who or what they are after, or for why. Once they do the job, they send a message back to their handler and then usually kill themselves in some way that looks accidental. No loose ends.”

  “That is…stupid. Are you saying they just brainwash random people? They’d have no chance against anyone who knew how to fight. Worst assassins ever!”

  “Ahh, kid, there you go. Using that brain ‘o yours. And you’d be right. Unskilled pikers would make awful assassins. But the ink imparts some other stuff also. The rumor is that whoever gets the mark get some measure of skill. Knifework, climbing, sneaking shit, anything required for the job they are so graciously given.” Squint took another pull and handed the bottle to Alek.

  “So that stuff would have, what, brainwashed my friends?”

  Squint nodded. “Aye. Would have left them open to suggestion to whoever’s running the local crew around here. They’d probably have been told to kill each other off, or drown themselves or some rot.”

  “Shit,” Alek muttered. “I think they got that in the food and water.”

  “Well then, my ingrate son, Papa Squint comes bearing holiday pikin’ gifts!”

  The old man produced a large flask. Alek stared suspiciously at it.

  “What’s in that?”

  “This, lad, is medicine. It counteracts the ink. A swig of this will make you immune to it. Pour some in the well, and it will neurterize…?, Nurturize? Shit. Just pour some of this in there and it will make the ink not work.” He handed the flask to Aleksander.

  “How much…how much should I use for the well?”

  “See that scrap of paper there, lad? Instructions. Should tell you how much to give a person, and how much to put in the well. I also explained to the chem about your rather oxen-like size and constitution, so there should be instruction on there for you specifically. Now, listen lad.” Squint’s voice dropped an octave and he spoke slower, enunciating his words as he always did when giving important information to his denser men.

  “The Fang have already come at your friends once via the poison route. Make sure every one of them gets some of this. Just because you purify the well doesn’t mean they won’t try and do it again someplace else.”

  Alek stared down at the flask in his hands and nodded.

  “I can’t tell you how much this means to me, old man,” Alek said, looking up. “How can I pay you back for this?”

  Squint snorted and stood up. He picked up the bottle of wyrmsblood off the floor.

  “Well for starters, I’ll take this,” he said with a grin. “When I need something else, I’ll call on you lad, you know that. But, one thing you can do for me in the meantime?”

  “Name it.”

  “Stay alive lad.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  After showing Squint out, Alek read the instructions attached to the flask. Quickly measuring out the appropriate amount, he prepared a dose for himself. The clear liquid that poured out of the flask had no smell to it. It also had no taste as he gulped it down. Waiting a moment, he felt no effects at all, and he shrugged. Hurrying outside, he poured the prescribed amount into the well. Because he was growing slightly paranoid about it, he filled a bucket from the well with water and then poured it back in to mix it.

  Inspiration struck him like a slap in the face. He went back into the barracks. Pouring another dose into a mug, he hurried downstairs to the cell. The assassin was sitting cross legged on the small bench. She did have some mighty long legs, Alek thought to himself.

  “Ah, my guardian returns. I take it that wasn’t the Watch?”

  “No, just some crazy old man. You get a lot of them in the Art District.”

  “Art…District?” The woman wrinkled her nose, as if struggling to answer a question. “Is that where we are?”

  “Uh, yes. Don’t you remember getting here in the first place?” As he spoke, he poured cider into the mug he had put the antidote into. Then he poured some into the mug he had left there before. Handing her the mug with the purifier, he sat back down. She sat there holding the mug with both hands, a look of worried concentration on her face.

  “Things are rather cloudy, now that you mention it. Kind of hard to organize upstairs.” She shook her head, as if to ward off a buzzing fly, and gave Alek that same sarcastic smile. “I’m sure it’s all due to your overwhelming hospitality. Why go anyplace else?”

  Alek raised his mug up in the air in a mock toast. She did the same.

  “To hospitality!” he cried. “Not something you can piss on!”

  “Here here,” the assassin said.

  They both drained their mugs. The assassin handed hers back.

  “So, have you decided to kill me yet?”

  Alek leaned back in his chair.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. I plan on giving it another night to think. It’s one thing to kill in defense. Your three friends didn’t give me much time to think. But I’m not much of an executioner, if you get my meaning.”

  “If you ask me,” she began, “killing me is your only real option.”

  “Oh?” Aleksander raised an eyebrow.

  “Look at our options, handsome. You can’t get me to talk. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. Plus I don’t want to. If you let me go, I’ll probably try and kill you again. And although I’m fairly sure I won’t succeed, stranger things have happened. And if you bring me to-“ she stopped talking suddenly and leaned forward, clutching her head.

  Alek leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

  Her breathing was labored now. Tears began to stream from her eyes.

  “My…head feels like it’s caught in a vice…I don’t know if…”

  And that’s when she began screaming.

  Jonvar stood in front of the thick white doors, taking a minute to compose himself. He ran a hand through his dark hair, and rolled his shoulders around in the epaulettes. Making sure his helmet was tightly tucked under his arm, and that his knees weren’t knocking, he pushed the door open.

  The Akvan sat at the head of a long table, sheaf’s of parchment scattered in front of him. His presence in this room added to his otherworldliness. In a white and cream colored stateroom, where countless dignitaries had come in the name of peace, the Akvan’s brooding figure stood out like a canker. There was a faint sound of grinding metal as the dark figure looked up as Jonvar walked in.

  The Akvan did not rise, nor did he speak. He simply held Jonvar in place with a gaze. He was only in the room a few seconds, yet Jonvar’s back was already beginning to sweat. Better to get this over with quickly, he thought.

  “I am here, Lord Akvan, as you requested. I trust you are being shown every courtesy as a head of state? Have you some complaint as to the individuals I am locating for you?”

  “No,” rumbled the plate-clad figure. “The quarters are satisfactory.” The Akvan held out a gauntleted hand at a chair a few places down from himself, which Jonvar sat down on quickly.

  “The reason for this summons is twofold. First, has there been any news of Commander Else’s Outriders returning to the city yet?”

  Jonvar froze, just fo
r a moment. No point lying to a demon, a voice in his head whispered. He couldn’t argue.

  “No, lord,” Jonvar said. “We’ve had no word since he departed less than a week ago.”

  “Indeed. Which brings us to the second reason for my summons. When your brother returns, it would be in his best interests, and yours, if he were to take precautions towards the safety of himself and his men. He has endangered the interests of powerful individuals who no doubt will desire retribution.”

  Jonvar bristled. “Is that a threat, Akvan?”

  The Akvan’s helmet gave away no emotion, but Jonvar swore there was dark amusement under that faceplate.

  “If one remembers who he is speaking to, he will realize that there is no need to issue idle threats.”

  “Of course, lord,” Jonvar said, the anger still in his voice. And ignoring the growing fear in his gut, his eyes never left the Akvan’s faceplate.

  A moment passed between them, long and uncomfortable. Jonvar was about to look away when the Akvan spoke again.

  “I commend your mettle, Captain,” the deep voice growled. “In my time I have met, and slain, many so-called mighty warriors who balked at my presence. And yet you meet my gaze despite your fear. Are you not afraid to look upon me? Fear you not for your mind and soul?”

  Jonvar found himself slowly rising to his feet. Even knowing the grave peril he was in, his hand went to the handle of his gladius.

  “Of course I do. I am no fool. But I won’t back down from a threat to me and mine, whether it is from some lowlife thug or an abomination such as you. I may be just a man, but I will not go quietly while my family is threatened.”

  The Akvan gestured at Jonvar’s chair.

  “Excellent. Please, Captain, sit. I can glean much from a man’s heart and soul, but you would be surprised how often men act contrary to themselves.”