Book 6: Chapter 17 |
Bergonia
Gondreville
Clock Tower Dungeon
THE HEAVY DOORS LEADING INTO THE DUNGEON of the clocktower that loomed so large in the center of Gondreville slowly opened to reveal the massive figure of Brother Giacomo, squire to the junior master of the Order of the Scarlet Shield, Cesare di Nobile. His stryker armor was caked in dust and blood.
“Brother Cesare!” He croaked. “The enemy is already inside the dungeon! Twenty men are holding the barricade on the stairs!”
Cesare di Nobile nodded gravely to his squire and turned his attention to an altar, on which the corpse of a local healer was lying. He had been dragged in for sacrifice only minutes before.
One of the order’s priests, Brother Bocchi, stood next to the altar, holding a long sacrificial knife with thick, heavy drops of blood dripping liberally from its tip. The priest’s wrinkly face was spread into a rapturous smile. The insane glow of blind faith burned in his eyes.
“Fear not, brothers!” He exclaimed in a loud screech. “The Eternal One has accepted our sacrifice! He will not fail to send us help!”
Both of Cesare di Nobile’s squires — Brother Giacomo, who had just arrived, and Brother Vicenzo, who had been with the master the entire time — thrust their clenched fists into the air almost simultaneously.
“The Eternal One is with us,” echoed Cesare, much more softly.
At the moment, he was bitterly regretting the fact that the priests of the Frost Temple hadn’t made it to the area yet. The Eternal One had shown them the secret of turning the magic of the true gifted into his own magic. The northern priests had promised to transmit this knowledge to their southern brethren. But alas, they hadn’t done so in time...
The only option left was the tried-and-true method: asking the Eternal One for favor with a normal sacrifice. The healer had been imprisoned in the dungeon for several weeks, just so he would be on hand when a sacrifice to the Eternal One was required. And that day had finally come. True, despite his faith, Cesare didn’t think it likely that anything could save them at that point...
Cesare di Nobile came from an old, extinct noble line that had once ruled an area in southern Atalia. When Cesare discovered his Shadow gift as a young man, his grandfather sent him to learn the magical arts with the Ruby Guild of mages, where he was eventually noticed by the priests of the Order of the Scarlet Shield and brought into their ranks for further development.
As a member of the Order, Cesare acquired all the secret knowledge of a combat mage and reached the rank of Medius. His commander and trainer was the Order’s master, Alberto di Lanzi, nicknamed the Gray Reaper by his enemies. You could almost say that Cesare had deified his mentor, a man who could reasonably be called one of the most powerful strykers in Mainland.
And it had been Alberto di Lanzi, personally, who had opened young Cesare’s eyes to the true purpose of the Order. He showed the young man that the true purpose of every “Scarlet’s” existence was to serve the Eternal One and his Order. The brothers of the Order of the Frozen Spear called the Eternal god by his ancient name — Hoar the Wicked — but Cesare preferred the Atalian name for the deity. The Eternal One was a more all-encompassing, and thus more appropriate, title for such a being.
The priests taught that the Eternal One had been locked in battle with the Wizards of the Waste — the so-called aurings — but had been treacherously betrayed by his allies, the true gifted. Before falling into the Abyss, the Eternal One promised his faithful servants that he would one day return, and charged them with avenging his betrayal. According to the knights’ teachings, the Eternal One summoned the Shadow and imparted magical gifts to his followers. And the war between the knights and the true gifted had been raging ever since.
Cesare di Nobile had arrived in Bergonia alongside Alberto di Lanzi, in command of almost three cohorts of “Red Cloaks,” to take control of the Margraviate de Valier, which was famous as the location of Shadow Pass. Cesare didn’t know what Master di Lanzi’s true goals might be, but he had a good idea of what the Order might want from the frontier.
First and foremost, upon occupying Gondreville, Master di Lanzi had ordered the city to be cleansed of true gifted. The blood of the traitors flowed like a river. Then, after subjugating the local populace, the main body of the “Scarlets” set off farther north, to take control of the Margraviate. Cesare di Nobile’s task was to maintain control of Gondreville, which served as the main supply base on the route to Shadow Pass (which was north of Gondreville by a journey of nearly four weeks).
This city, Gondreville, was the source of supply for the Master’s cohort in the Margraviate. Cesare, along with his two expert-rank stryker squires and a priest of the Order, were in command of a garrison of a hundred soldiers.
Everything had been organized well, and was functioning without any serious problems. Until one day...
Almost two weeks before, scattered and broken units of Atalians had started arriving at the city. They were the remnants of a once-mighty host commanded by the Marquis di Spinola, but as they arrived they looked like little more than pathetic, dirty brigands. The force had originally been tasked with attacking the Vestonian rear and cutting off Marshal de Clairmont’s legions from their supply line.
The fugitives said that the Marquis’ force had been smashed by a force of Vestonian infantry that had suddenly and unexpectedly appeared on the Imperial track. Spinola himself and all his vassals had fallen in the battle. Imagine that! 3,000 horsemen, crushed by a mere 3,000 infantry!
Cesare recalled Hugo di Spinola, who had stopped at the city several weeks before. The Marquis struck Cesare as quite arrogant and hot-headed, so it wasn’t a huge surprise that he had managed to fall into an obvious trap.
Reasonably enough, Cesare concluded that the Vestonians would probably be appearing before his walls soon enough, and so he sent a message to Alberto di Lanzi. Soon thereafter, he received a reply: the Master himself was coming to Cesare’s aid with his men.
Of course, Baron di Nobile didn’t just sit and wait for things to take their course in the meantime. He organized the remnants of di Spinola’s force, as well as a levy from the citizenry, to fend off the expected attack. True, Cesare knew better than to expect stellar performance from the latter group. The locals didn’t much care for the “Scarlets.” The purges and executions of true gifted didn’t exactly endear the Order to anyone in the city. The “Scarlets” were hated, but they were also feared. The savage suppression of two separate uprisings, along with the executions of their leaders and most fervent participants, eventually cooled the ardor of the Bergonians.
And then, three days before, the Vestonian force appeared before the city — a force which Cesare di Nobile had been expecting to arrive somewhat more slowly than it did. It seemed that the Vestonian commander understood that time was of the essence if he wanted to move before the main force of “Scarlets” arrived to reinforce the garrison.
The Marquis di Spinola’s defeated troops described the enemy force as invincible and indestructible. So Cesare was very surprised when he saw that most of the enemy force consisted of Mertonian archers, accompanied by two legions that weren’t even at full muster strength. And one of the latter was the “Legion of Last Chances.” Basically, these were vermin, scraped out of jails across Vestonia. Cesare and his commanders had a good laugh that day at the expense of the Atalian fugitives. To lose a battle to a group of criminals and hired killers from the Foggy Isles... That was quite a feat!
Cesare and his people could almost taste the coming victory over these insolent Vestonians, which would occur as soon as Alberto di Lanzi arrived. Besides that, they were also encouraged by the fact that the Vestonian wagons were packed to the brim with trophies taken from di Spinola’s knights. The Marquis’ big tent in the middle of the Vestonian camp, and the huge herd of horses, were further proof.
When morning dawned over the city the following day, and a blast of signal horns informed Cesare that a force was moving in from the north, the defenders of the city were even more overjoyed. It could only be Alberto di Lanzi arriving with his cohort. But their joy quickly transformed into disappointment. It turned out that the force coming from the north wasn’t an allied force at all. It was the men of the mountains. Almost 1,500 soldiers! They sealed off the exit from the city via the northern gates.
Nobody was laughing anymore. Basically, the enemy had managed to assemble a full-strength legion at the gates of the city. Despite Cesare di Nobile’s thorough preparations for an assault, he knew very well that only the timely arrival of Master di Lanzi could save the situation. Thankfully, however, neither the Vestonians nor the mountain men made an attempt to storm the city. But they were preparing. Cesare could see long ladders being assembled in the enemy camp. He calculated that if they continued at their leisurely working pace, the enemy would be ready to attack in two or three days. But he was wrong...
Cesare was awoken in the night by a loud noise — the enemy had launched their assault. And after that, nothing seemed to go the way Cesare had expected. Under cover of night, enemy soldiers had somehow snuck into the city and killed all the men manning the gates. Eastern and northern gates alike. Cesare knew that this couldn’t possibly have happened without treachery from within. But that didn’t matter anymore...
In the end, two armies surged into the city from opposite sides. By morning — and with the full support of the citizenry, who defected en masse to the enemy just as Cesare knew they would — the city was taken, and the remnant of the garrison was backed into the dungeon.
And the sound of battle from behind the doors was growing louder all the time. The last barricade would soon fall.
“Brothers!” Cesare shouted. He looked around at his squires. “Let every one of us take as many of these filthy bastards with us as we can before we die! Let their lives be a sacrifice to the Eternal One! Think not of yourselves, brothers! Cut, crush, and chop! We shall bathe our enemies in their own blood!”
“For the glory of the Eternal One!”
“For His glory!” The master’s fiery speech inspired his strykers.
The priest, meanwhile, strode hurriedly around to each man and smeared the true gifted healer’s blood all over their faces. Then he poured three flasks of magical elixir into each man’s mouth.
Cesare made sure all his bruts were in their proper places, and soon felt a furious current of fiery power flowing into his muscles. His chest started to heave, and a sharp, decisive look was frozen in his eyes. He was ready for battle. His will was iron, and his hand was locked on the hilt of his sword, which had been sharpened and polished to a sheen. The smell of magic and impending battle hung heavy in the air.
“Brothers — today we will stand before the Eternal One!” Cesare thundered, trying to be heard above the sound of heavy blows crashing just beyond the doors.
His words were full of confidence and power. His squires drew their blades as they listened.
Having completed his rituals, the priest stepped off to the side. He folded his hands in prayer, asking the Eternal One for strength and praying for his brothers’ victory.
The strykers felt power from the elixirs flow through them as they took position. They were ready for battle. Their hearts beat in unison, creating a powerful aura of courage and decisiveness.
The next moment, a loud crack echoed through the dungeon as the doors burst inward. Cesare lifted his sword into the air and roared out in reply. The strykers joined him with a loud shout, and just at that moment the enemy appeared across the threshold.
Dozens of Mertonians were pouring into the clocktower. Cesare could see the hate-filled eyes and malicious grimaces on every single face.
“Glenns...” Cesare thought, just before a hail of several dozen arrows slammed into him and his brothers.
Sixty, maybe eighty feet away at most... That was practically point-blank range for these forest beasts. Not a single arrow missed its mark. The impact was so powerful that Cesare and his brothers in arms were instantly thrown back onto the stone floor.
Cesare grimaced. Two small bruts crumbled to dust. Charmed arrows. It could only be charmed arrows...
The master glanced around quickly. Brothers Giacomo and Vicenzo were already back on their feet. Brother Bocchi, on the other hand (who wasn’t a stryker), was less fortunate. The priest was already lying motionless before the altar, with at least five or six arrows stuck through his body. One of them had sunk right into his eye and burst out the back of his head.
The first volley was followed by a second, then a third... Neither Cesare nor his brothers managed to make it even ten yards closer to the archers. There was a good reason that the Glenns were famous as the most accurate, most rapid archers in the world. And when they were particularly happy to be shooting at a target, as they were now...
Cesare wanted to howl in fury and desperation. Was this really how he was going to die? Under the arrows of the detested true gifted? Without even wetting his blade in the blood of a single enemy?
One more volley of charmed arrows, and Cesare’s last brut crumbled to dust.
“I’m almost out,” he heard Brother Giacomo croak; his voice seemed about to crack.
“Me too,” said Brother Vicenzo in a forlorn tone.
“Get behind my back, Brothers!” Cesare shouted. “Hurry!”
The squires were about to move, but a loud shout suddenly echoed through the clocktower hall. It rang out, dissipating only after echoing off the vaulted ceilings, and made the archers lower their weapons.
Cesare could see reluctance on every face. Although some of the Glenns were still smiling viciously. Of course, the pause was clearly not intended to save Cesare or his brothers.
A figure in black stryker armor stepped out from within the ranks of the archers. A sword and dagger hung from his belt.
Cesare froze for a moment, stunned by the sight of the strange armor that had obviously been made from a single piece of hide from some horrifying Shadow beast. Judging by the scales, it was probably a gigantic snake or lizard.
The stryker was moving slowly, almost casually forward. He seemed utterly unconcerned for his safety, although of course Cesare knew very well that a warrior who could afford armor and weapons of this caliber would certainly have plenty of money for at least ten fully-charged bruts.
“Gentlemen!” He shouted in Atalian, with a light Vestonian accent. “My name is Maximillian Renard, Margrave de Valier! I offer you the chance to surrender! I swear that after a short discussion, you’ll be granted a quick and easy death!”
A feeling of anxiety and annoyance surged through Cesare. So this was the man! The King of Vestonia had found himself a new Margrave. Such a shame that Cesare would never be able to warn Master di Lanzi.
Agh... And to think that those idiots from the Marquis di Spinola’s force hadn’t thought to mention this new Margrave. After all, he was almost certainly fighting under his distinctive banner. Although what else would one expect from the rank-and-file? They didn’t weren’t familiar with any of these heraldic nuances...
“How magnanimous of you, Monsieur!” Brother Vicenzo snarled back derisively.
He had never been known for his patience. He was always hot-headed and quick to draw his sword.
“You wouldn’t know magnanimity if you saw it, gentlemen knights! The man who called himself the Margrave de Valier replied calmly. “You have the blood of thousands of unfortunate people on your hands, most of them innocent women and children! My offer is merely to save you from the horrifying torture that awaits you before you die! And if you don’t take me up on it, that death will be quite some time in coming!”
“So the King of Vestonia has given the Margraviate to a hangman?” Cesare quipped back.
“A hangman?” Margrave de Valier replied. “Ah, I see — you think that I’ll be the one torturing you, gentlemen knights? Oh, perish the thought! I’ll be turning you over to the tender mercies of someone who’s been waiting to meet you for a long time. Believe me, there’s going to be quite a struggle over who gets to force-feed each of you his own intestines. There’s simply no end to volunteers. Decide, gentlemen knights! A quick interview and then a quick death, or a long interview and a long death? The choice is yours!”
With every word, the Margrave took another step forward. And in so doing, he made things much more difficult for his own archers. Admittedly, they didn’t even make an attempt to raise their weapons. They seemed to be fully confident of their commander’s actions. It was clear, by the way, that there were other strykers mixed in with the archers. Especially prominent was one broad-shouldered mage with a long, two-handed sword, which he was leaning on as he listened to the conversation.
Cesare thought he saw a chance.
“Brothers,” he whispered, his eyes still riveted on the stryker’s every move. “Attack in unison on my command. Put every drop of mana into your blows.”
The squires nodded. They knew exactly what their commander intended. A combined attack to break this stryker’s magical shield.
“Very well, Monsieur!” Cesare di Nobile replied in a loud voice as he took a step forward. “We accept your offer! Attack!”
The three strykers lunged forward.
“A shame,” said the man calling himself the Margrave de Valier in an absent-minded voice. An instant later, Cesare watched as the man’s silhouette blurred into the air around him.
“Avant...” This was all the master had time to think before his squires both fell to the ground under two lightning-fast blows of terrifying power. For just a moment, the stryker appeared in Cesare’s field of vision; he easily dodged the master’s sword, and then sent him crumpling to the ground with a savage punch to the temple. Just before losing consciousness, Cesare noticed that the avant hadn’t even drawn his sword. He had taken care of all three men with his bare hands, as if they were no more than novice boxers.
Everything that happened after that felt to the master like it was happening in a dream. He dreamed that he and the Margrave became the best of friends. They drank superb Atalian wine and ate the most sophisticated food, all while sitting in his spacious tent. A beautiful woman was sitting next to Cesare. Her coal-black hair was pulled back into a thick braid. There was a tender smile on her pink, full lips, and a mischievous glint in her deep green eyes.
As it turned out, Max was a wonderful young man who also hated the true gifted, and who was perfectly willing to join the Order of the Scarlet Shield so as to serve the Eternal One and cleanse the world of the filthy vermin.
Cesare was captivated by Max’s change of heart, and he started telling him all about the Order and its practices. He was so eager to inform his new best friend about everything his brother knights were doing, in fact, that he almost choked on his wine in his excitement and enthusiasm.
After all, Max was a great warrior! Moreover, he was an avant! Cesare could already hear his master praising him for bringing such a powerful mage to serve the altar of the Eternal One!
He kept talking, telling Max everything he knew. He wasn’t afraid to divulge the Order’s secrets, either — after all, Max would be his brother soon! And he was obviously interested in everything, even going so far as to write down what Cesare was saying.
Finally, Cesare took a deep breath and started to feel somewhat more sober. As he did so, the realization of what had actually happened began to sink in. He looked around. As it turned out, he had been sitting tied to a chair the entire time. Not in a sumptuous tent, either — in some sort of filthy barn. And the black-haired woman who was pouring wine into his mouth looked very much like a witch. The master, of course, was no stranger to people like this.
Besides the witch and the Margrave de Valier, there were a variety of other creatures in the barn who Cesare recognized as first-born. His eyes widened with surprise and horror.
“Oh, Eternal One! They’re the servants of this Margrave!”
“Who are you?” Cesare croaked as his inquisitive gaze settled on Max.
“Listen to that, auring,” snickered a tiny man who was sitting in the corner of the barn cleaning a horse’s bridle. Cesare recognized the ancient tongue in which the true gifted customarily spoke to each other. The Order’s leaders taught the language of the enemy to all their new masters. “Looks like this noble knight’s waking up. Well, maybe “knight” isn’t exactly the right term... After what he’s just told us, I’d say “murderous, low-life piece of shit” is a better description. The only description, really...”
The tiny man slowly let out a sigh and started shaking his head.
But Cesare didn’t care what the little bastard had to say about him. His eyes were bulging as he started at Max, who seemed to have realized that Cesare understood the witching tongue. Max jotted something down on his papers.
The master felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest. He felt ashamed and desperate. No, it wasn’t the fear of death... It was because he had just told the enemy of the Eternal One everything he knew about the Order. Sure, he’d been drugged, but still — the deed was done...
“Auring?” He whispered. His throat was completely dry.
Max glanced up at him indifferently; without answering, he turned around.
“Okay, we’re done here,” he told the witch as he started rolling up his papers. “Call him in.”
The black-haired beauty nodded, shot Cesare a vicious look, then glided off out the door.
Cesare was watching every move the strange man made, but he still couldn’t utter a single word. Finally, the door opened, and a tall soldier appeared on the threshold. Cesare recognized him immediately. This was a werewolf, whose bitch had been brought for sacrifice the year before. The priest said that the sacrifice would be doubly pleasing to the Eternal One, since the bitch was pregnant with a pup at the time. They had brought this werewolf in for sacrifice, too, and tortured him beforehand, but he managed to escape...
“My friend.” The Margrave addressed the werewolf in witching tongue, paying no attention to Cesare’s attempt to free himself from his binds. “He’s yours now, as promised.”
“Thank you, my friend,” the werewolf snarled back.
And when the Margrave left the barn, along with all the first-born in his entourage, the werewolf looked at Cesare with a bloodthirsty smile that showed his fangs. They were getting longer before Cesare’s eyes. “Remember me?”