The Outrider Legion: Book One

by Christopher Pepper

  Pushing a few tables together, they were able to get a big enough table for them all to sit at. Looking around at his friends in the warm light of the Gladiatrix, Johan was startled by the wounds they had all taken. They were all bandaged up, but all of them, aside from himself, had taken quite a beating. But for all of that, they seemed okay. Exhausted, but okay. And that was something to celebrate. Having Nerthus sitting next to him also added some nice ambiance, even if she did reek almost as bad as he did.

  “Gods, it feels like forever since the last time we were here,” Toma said.

  “I’m surprised you even remember it,” Ryker said. “You were asleep most of the night.”

  “Was I?”

  As they laughed Volus, the barmaid who served them originally, came up to their tables. She looked at them all with an upraised eyebrow.

  “Successful first assignment, I take it? You’re all here, with some new additions.”

  “Yeah, so far so good,” Johan said. “Food and hale. A lot of it, please.”

  “You got it,” Volus said, smiling at the men before leaving. Nerthus stared at the barmaid as she walked away and shook her head.

  “Just when I thought Legion armor was respectable, they find a way to trash it up a bit.”

  “They don’t dress like that when they are actually in the Legion,” Garm said, a trace of remorse in his voice.

  “No, I’m sure they don’t. They probably wear metal halter tops with their tits hanging out as they hold giant swords. No pants either, just some loin cloth of animal fur I bet.”

  “Oh gods, that’s a picture I never want to lose,” Ryker quipped. “What more amazing fantasy do you have locked in that mysterious head of yours?”

  Nerthus rolled her eyes but a small smile was on her face.

  Volus returned quickly with eight pints of Hale. Johan stood up and took the tray from Volus himself. Walking around the table he passed out the first drinks himself, addressing everyone personally as he set them down in front of them.

  When he got to Nerthus he set the drink down and said in a low voice, “Here you go, Chops,” which made the Umbra smile a bit. Johan, still standing, held up the final mug to the table.

  “First of all, we kicked a lot of ass this past week, so we owe ourselves a toast, so here’s to us.”

  Everyone nodded and voiced approval to that.

  “Secondly, a toast to our little friend Aleksander. I see a lot of cuts and stab wounds on all of you. If he never stuck around to find, let alone give us, that antidote, I don’t think there’d be very many of us left to have this drink. So here’s to you as well.”

  “Well cheers to me!” Alek said, reaching out with his mug. The rest joined him, and then they took long, well-earned drinks from their mugs.

  As they ate, drank, and recovered from their ordeal, time began to shift as it usually does when a good time pushes out a bad one. The days of stress, fatigue, and danger seemed to melt away as the night went on. Sharing each other’s company, plus the food and drink, seemed to do more to heal them all than any medico could have. Hours had passed before they had realized it. Eventually, Edda stood up from the table.

  “Well gentlemen, and lady,” she said, nodding her head towards Nerthus, “it appears to be time for me to get going. It has certainly been an exciting few days being part of your little entourage, but I have some things take care of myself. Something tells me I’ll be seeing you clowns a lot sooner than I’d like,” she said with a smirk, and turned to leave.

  Alek got up off of his chair and hurried after her, reaching out a hand to get her to stop.

  “Hey, wait up,” he said. “I didn’t think you were going to just take off like that.”

  She turned and looked him in the eyes.

  “I know you didn’t. But honestly I need to take care of some things, and quick goodbyes are usually less painful than the long, drawn-out ones.”

  “So this is it? After all the fun we’ve had together?”

  “Fun!?” she snorted, a sarcastic grin on her face. “Since I’ve met you I’ve been a brainwashed assassin, locked up in a cell, basically poisoned, gotten tangled up in some big military conspiracy, and then had an army of monsters sic’ed on me. I’m a big girl, but that’s enough excitement for awhile.”

  “Yeah but…but it wasn’t all that awful!” Alek protested.

  Edda’s face lost its sarcastic edge for a minute.

  “If you’re talking about what happened this morning before your friends showed up, yes, you’re right. We had some fun. We were two people in a stressful situation finding some way to blow off stress. I get that. But I can’t really stick around. Look, I know I owe you for saving me from those pikers. More than I can express. And I’ll find some way to repay you, I promise. But right now, there are some things I need to do on my own. It’s not that I want to leave, but I…I just have to.”

  Alek looked downcast. A combination of alcohol and coming down off of adrenaline, Edda supposed.

  “Look handsome, even if I did stick around, where would I stay? We kind of blew up your friends house, and from what I’ve gathered, you’re basically homeless. I don’t think this is really a good time for either one of us, if you get what I mean.”

  The frown on Aleksander’s face turned upwards on one side into a grin.

  “I prefer the expression ‘wandering adventurer’ to ‘homeless’, but I guess I see where you’re coming from.”

  Edda smiled.

  “Well then, I’ll make sure I tell all my friends that I made it with an adventurer.”

  Aleksander’s eyes narrowed in mock seriousness.

  “Do you even have any friends?”

  Standing up on her toes, Edda leaned forward and gave him a long kiss. Ignoring the hooting and banging on the table from the Outriders behind them, she smiled at him one last time, turned and walked out of the door. He stood there and watched her leave the bar before turning around and sitting back on his chair.

  “Planes, if only you guys came back an hour later than you did,” he said, a grin on his face.

  “Well, I do have some good news for us,” Johan said. “Volus arranged for us sleep upstairs for the next few days. I figured you’d prefer sleeping here than in some dingy Watchman barracks, or gods forbid, back at the Execution Yard.” Johan mimicked shuddering at the thought. The grins on their faces made it apparent that he had made the right decision by them.

  “Oh, and Alek, I’ve got some news for you, if you’re interested.” Johan looked at Ryker who nodded, a grin on his face. “We all talked about it, and we’d like to offer you a job.”

  Alek, his sadness gone instantly, perked right up.

  “Holy shit, you’re making me an Outrider?!?”

  Vegard had to put his good arm on the big man’s shoulder to keep him from launching himself into the air.

  “Ahh, not quite, big guy,” he said as he struggled to keep him down.

  “Vegard’s right, I’m afraid. I can’t just make you a member of the Outrider Legion. But I did the next best thing. If you want, you can be our page.”

  Alek looked crestfallen.

  “What? Your page? Isn’t that a job for, like, ten year olds?”

  “Don’t look at it that way,” Ryker added, doing his best to be helpful. “You’ll get paid by the Legion, and you’ll be allowed access to most of our operations without raising too many eyebrows.”

  This seemed to appease Alek slightly.

  “We can tweak the title, if that helps,” Johan said. “Something a little more suited to your…particular skill set.”

  “Squire sounds good,” offered Toma cheerfully.

  “Equerry?” suggested Vegard.

  “Bartender-at-Large?” Johan asked.

  “Scullion? Cook? Maestro?” Ryker put in.

  “Irregular Combat Specialist,” Garm said. And he said it with such finality that the matter seemed settled. Even Alek leaned back in his chair, mug in his hand.

  “Irregu
lar Combat Specialist…” he said, as if trying out the word. “Yeah. Yeah, that works pretty well.”

  “It suits you,” Garm said. “I don’t know too many people who can fight the way you do. Just ask Samnusen.”

  “Cheers to that,” said Toma, raising his mug again.

  Johan looked around, as if noticing something for the first time. How could he have missed it?

  “Where’d Nerthus go?”

  Edda walked down the rather busy streets of the Keg. Even though it was very late (or early, depending on your point of view) the Keg was always crowded, and Edda did her best to remain inconspicuous. She found that as she walked, different methods and techniques would flow into her mind like memories. Just another side-effect of her brief forced employment by the Crimson Fang. She wondered how long it would last now that their hold was broken over her.

  She had made it a few blocks from the Gladiatrix when she heard someone whisper her name from a nearby alleyway. She stiffened, her hands instinctively going to her daggers. Whirling to the source of the whisper, her muscles eased slightly when she saw Nerthus leaning against one side of the alley. Edda couldn’t bring herself to relax completely around the agent. She vividly remembered the mistrustful glares sent her way when she revealed her connection to the Fang. Nerthus had every right to not trust her, and Edda honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if the Umbra had followed her to kill her.

  “Sorry to spook you like that,” Nerthus said. “Really, I am. I just wanted to have a little talk with you. In private. Those guys are good people, and I find myself liking them despite myself. But you and I need to chat.”

  “About what?” Edda said, her grip tightening on her dagger hilts.

  “You, of course. You are quite a puzzle. The way you carry yourself, the way you handle yourself in a fight, and of course your, ahem, previous business associates. All of these things interest me greatly, and I know that if I am interested, other people will be too.”

  “The Praetorian Umbra,” Edda whispered, her breath catching in her lungs.

  “Exactly. My boss is very inquisitive. About anything and everything. You represent a wealth of information, even if you don’t realize it yet. The Fang have been a very illusive, annoying group for years, and you could provide some much needed illumination in a number of fields.”

  “So, what? This is where you say I’m too dangerous to let run around and I have to turn myself over to you or else? I just got myself back, I don’t plan on becoming someone else’s puppet again.”

  Nerthus raised her hands in front of her in a placating manner.

  “No no no. You misunderstand, but I can see why. During the fun I wasn’t as trusting with you as I could have been. I see now that you were using whatever you could to save us, and I really appreciate that. Now I want to return the favor to you. I’m not asking you to turn yourself over for torture and dissection. Nothing like that. What I’m trying to do is offer you a job.”

  Edda was taken off guard by the offer, and couldn’t muster any snappy comeback. Nerthus continued.

  “That Fang woman made it very clear that they are going to pursue you at some point. Try and figure out how you broke free. We want the same thing as they do, honestly, but I can assure you that the Fang won’t be as kind. So we offer you not only protection for what you can tell us, but an outlet for you to put your newfound skills to use. And let me tell you now, there’s no limit to what someone such as you can accomplish with us. And no offense meant or anything, but what could you possibly have to go back to that can compete with this?”

  Edda was silent for only a moment, a cloud of sadness passing quickly over her face. It didn’t last long, and she extended her right hand.

  “I’m in.”

  The manacles were back on his wrists, pushing needles of pain into his body and his mind. They were stronger this time, much more potent. It was agonizingly hard to focus his thoughts with them on. Thoughts would form momentarily, and then slip away, like trying to hold water in your hand. That was probably the point, one coherent thought said, before being lost in the cacophony of screams and echoes playing in his mind. If he couldn’t focus himself, he couldn’t escape again. He nodded at that, before forgetting what it was he was nodding at. The only thought that was constant, like a lighthouse in a storm, was the knowledge that he failed. His only goal at this point was to hold onto his sanity.

  Kinnese sat naked on a bench, his hands bound behind him. Iron bars surrounded him on three sides. How did he get here? He remembered his wounds being looked over by a medico, or someone pretending to be one, on his way to the… Judicator’s Tower? Yes, that was probably where he was. He didn’t recall any abuse at the hands of the Judicators themselves, but his body was already such a mess he doubted he’d notice any more wounds.

  Days had passed since the manacles had gone back on. Days, weeks, or maybe just hours. He wasn’t quite sure. His cell had no window, only the shaky light from a torch down the hall. Trying to piece together what had happened after his failed attack on the Praetorian’s chambers caused sharp fingers of pain to press into his mind, so he let his mind drift through the occasional flash of pain and confusion.

  A crimson-robed Judicator walked into view, holding a plate of meager food. Opening the cell door, the imposing figure set the plate down on the floor in front of Kinnese. All too briefly, Kinnese pictured himself lunging at the Judicator, smashing the hooded face with his head, seizing the keys, and making his escape. But the thought wasn’t fleeting enough, and the pain that pierced his mind was enough to make him scream and fall onto the floor. It was gone in an instant, but the manacles had made their point.

  The Judicator stood over the fallen traitor, completely impassive, his or her face hidden under the hood and mask worn by all Judicators. Kinnese managed to look up weakly.

  “How am I supposed to eat with my hand behind my back?”

  The Judicator looked at him in silence for a moment before stepping backwards, locking the door, and walking away.

  He stared at the plate of rancid food. It was three grey, slimy cubes of some unknown meat. A hunk of black bread crust was on the plate as well, perhaps as some sarcastic garnish. Despite the awful smell, he couldn’t stop his stomach from rumbling with hunger. Kinnese found himself wishing that the fat Weaver was there, so he could beg to be put to sleep again. At least then the pain would leave him.

  “Please tell me you aren’t planning on eating that,” a voice said from behind him.

  Rolling himself over, Kinnese saw his master sitting on the bench, as if he had always been there. ‘Sitting there’ perhaps wasn’t the right expression, as his master wasn’t there in person, nether was his likeness. But his presence was there on the bench, and it was giving Kinnese the mental image that his master was sitting there in person.

  “I didn’t think you’d talk to me, knowing that I failed you so miserably,” Kinnese said.

  Kinnese had an image of his master shrugging.

  “Failure is, sadly, part of our mission that we must always expect. Now, if you had failed due to gross negligence we would be having a much different conversation. But there were many aspects of your task that were just simply out of your control, and I understand that. So here I am. And here you are. It would appear you have some time to talk, so tell me what happened.”

  Like a dog conditioned with violence, Kinnese flinched, expecting stabbing pains as he tried to focus his thoughts, but to his relief the haze of pain and confusion had lifted. His hands were still bound, but he no longer felt shackled, as it were. He made it to his feet as best he could and sat down next to his master.

  “Well, we made it to Oberon ahead of the others. The Akvan was not there, nor were whomever he had sent as his proxy to buy the Phaedra. And, just like you predicted, the Citadel had sent a kill team against us. But they weren’t the only ones after the box.”

  “No?”

  “No. Melcara sent Samnusen to retrieve it as well. He had some hi
relings with him too, so he was given some latitude. But the Outriders drove him away I think. They had a Weaver with them. He was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, not counting you of course. And Samnusen is still at large, so we will need to watch our backs for a little while.”

  “Leonid,” the presence said, and Kinnese felt his master sigh. “Of course it had to be him. He’s a dangerous one, that fat bastard. Well it looks like we are being taken seriously now. But, just to put your own mind at ease, Samnusen is dead. It happened a few hours ago. He apparently tracked down the Outriders you met in Oberon, but it did not end satisfactory for him either. They literally ripped him to pieces. He had some kind of pull with the local garrison. He was able to get the Guardian stationed at the Outrider’s barracks moved somehow. Little good it did him.”

  Kinnese was stunned.

  “Pike me. Who are these Outriders?”

  “I’m working on it, believe me. What were your losses?”

  “Total.” The word was like ash in Kinnese’s mouth. He had never before failed so miserably.

  “I see. And the box remains in Hauge’s custody?”

  “Yeah, but it’s empty. When I had initially recovered it, I could tell the Phaedra was within it. I tried to free it before I was taken into custody, but before I could, they knocked me out. I am pretty sure they didn’t destroy it though, not yet at least. I can still feel its aura even here.”

  His master was silent for a moment.

  “So it was open when you blacked out. Was your plan to try and bond with it?”

  Kinnese nodded.

  “I thought it may have tipped the scales, allow me to overcome the Outriders and return with the objective. It was definitely my saving throw.” He sighed and gestured to his cell. “But it seems the dice just aren’t favoring me lately.”

  His master chuckled.