“‘The ‘Demon Lord’ of the Deadlands is not a singular entity in a general sense of the word. Within the Deadlands, we speculate that there are as many as two dozen tribes of demons, mutants, and other beastial groups that call it ‘home’. At least, that’s what was observed after the last expedition returned from the Deadlands. From there, we surmise that whichever clan’s leader unites the rest gains the title of ‘Lord’. It is at this stage however, that even we must admit we don’t know why they always end up pushing southwards, for the Praemoni Deadlands contain vast swathes of territory, some even perhaps more fertile than land in the South. Perhaps they simply need even more arable land like the rest of us, perhaps they have an ingrained hatred against civilisation, or perhaps some greater entity has spurred on the races of the Deadlands to attack. Whatever the case, to us, then, we label this leader of the Deadlands as a ‘Demon Lord’ and the subsequent chaos they cause, the Dark Tide. ”
- Stellar Warden Azhael Toutaine, Guest Speaker for Arterian Academy of History, “Lecture on Speculative Intriciates of Demonkind.”
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
“Lady Inquisitor! Lady Inquisitor!” A ragged voice cried out from the east.
Mila and her escorts turned to face the oncoming rider, the local militia looking nervously around as the orcs just calmly observed everything.
“Serjeant Bryton.” Mila acknowledged as the man drew closer.
Exhausted, the soldier gasped for breaths before raspily delivering his report.
“Pardon… whew… pardon my sorry state Lady Inquisitor.” He apologized.
“It’s fine, just say what you need to.”
“Of course, Lady Inquisitor.” He half heartedly bowed, fear evident in his eyes.
I’d prefer if he called me Apprentice Inquisitor but I suppose titles matter little on the battlefield.
“Captain Brakenworth wanted us to let you know that we’ve had a breach in our lines.” He delivered his report.
At this, the entire formation stiffened up. The militia seemed anxious whilst the orcs looked more concerned than ever. Mila herself could feel the sickening churn of her stomach as she tried to anticipate what came next.
“And?” She snapped, “How many got out?”
“It isn’t like that Lady Inquisitor.” The Serjeant hurriedly reassured her, “We didn’t get breached from within, someone breached from without… err from outside the cordon. They hit us from the back and just pushed past us.”
“Push… pass… from the back? Are you certain?” Mila asked.
“Aye mam. They hit us from behind and rode for the town. The lads wanted to follow but the Captain had us repairing the barricades until we could inform you of the situation. We’re awaiting your orders mam.”
Mila sucked in a deep breath when she heard a small snicker from War Dancer Brushkol, one of the orc honor guards that she had borrowed. When the orc caught her raised eyebrow he just chuckled.
“Almost like some human rascal I know.” The orc smirked.
Mila growled back but found herself a little calmer thanks to the joking barb. She nodded to herself before turning back to the Serjeant.
“Serjeant, tell the Captain good work and to continue fortifying your positions and prepare for hostilities. My contingent will handle things from here.” Mila paused before squinting down at the village and continuing, “Then, have him send one of your fastest riders back to Eashire and one to Marrest. Tell the local church officials that the situation has changed and that we need a squadron of Templars as soon as possible. Preparations be damned.” She barked her orders.
“Yes Lady Inquisitor!” Serjeant Bryton eagerly saluted.
With a snappy turn of his horse, the man galloped back the way he came, the commotion over just as soon as it had started. Behind her, the gathered militia began whispering amongst themselves as she tried to get a better look at the village ahead of her.
Grunshire was a village of little note, its crowning achievement being the large water mills that dotted its path along the Melisi river. Now it was to be the site of her showdown with her former ally. What rotten luck.
When she had first arrived, it was with the small contingent of Meltonian armsmen that she could rally along her chase. Her immediate order had been to create a makeshift dam at the bottom end of the river just in case the corruption had spread to the water. She could already imagine the dozens upon dozen of bureaucrats and administrators that would write admonishing letters criticising her action. Though she cringed at the thought of being berated by Serilda, she reasoned that her orders meant they would actually be alive enough to write those letters and that was a good enough trade.
Eashire was a slightly bigger town to the south. One of the few areas where both beastfolk and Meltonians lived in tense but relative cooperation. Perhaps that was why, when she had strolled up and begged them for aid alongside three orc warg riders, they had simply shrugged and asked her why. Just like that, she had an extra detachment of the Eashire garrison nominally under her command.
Though their official commander Captain Brakenworth had been peeved at being sent on some strange little Inquisitor’s errand. He was thankfully more than willing to cooperate once she had fully appraised the man of the situation at hand. Particularly when it came to the danger the corruption could pose to Eashire if the corruption spread unchecked. Together, they had divided their units and sealed off the town, setting up checkpoints at all possible entry and exits. The few yeoman riders they had were also successfully able to corral any fleeing villager, their eagerness to peacefully succeed increasing by tenfold after they witnessed how brutal the orcish riders had dispatched any escapees. Say what you want, but those wargs are effective as they are fierce.
Still, it seems like we need to move faster than expected. I’d have hoped for Eashire’s abbot to have already informed the templars and for them to be on their way. But, dammit, I don’t think we have the time anymore. Mila scowled and stared down at the village once again. She had wanted to confirm which house Annalise was in, to be sure that when they raided the town there would be no way for her to get away.
“Little Inquisitor?” Brushkol queried from beside her.
“Yeah?”
“Plans?”
“We wait and see.”
“Even now?”
“Yup. Growing impatient?”
“Impatient? Hah!” Brushkol snorted, “No. But, I have a warrior’s instinct, and something about the fact that someone broke in puts me ill at ease.”
Mila settled for a low grunt, he’s not wrong, who in the hells would break into a quarantine instead of out?
“If you ask me, I think that they’re preparing for a dark ritual. Maybe, even like the blight that took the other town.” He continued.
MIla offered a curt nod. It was a reasonable assumption, if anything. A loved one trying to break in wouldn’t be a surprise, but based on the Serjeant’s report, this was anything but that. It sounded like an organised attack, almost as if someone had designs for the place. That was a thought that irked her. Someone’s planning something and again, it feels like we’re on the back foot. We’re supposed to be the ones hunting down the cultists, yet up it feels like everything’s going wrong. And Ingmar…
She quickly shook off the distant thoughts of home and turned her attention back to her oversized green companions. Karzuld was the first of the guards, his small tusk making him the butt of their jokes, but his tracking senses were honed to be as skilled as any templar. Marduk was the second, the slab of green muscle was the shield bearer of the honor guard, his tower shield looking like a paper toy in his arms. Then there was the war dancer. Brushkol, despite being almost a head taller than the other two and definitely almost twice the size of a human, was also the most social of the three. The block of pure orcish power also sported tusks the size of her fingers and generally scared the daylights out of most militiamen that laid eyes on him. There had been a fourth, but Annalise had struck him square in the forehead with an arrow early on. To Mila’s surprise, their dedication to their orders meant they had simply buried the lost brother there and then before continuing the hunt.
When she had asked her about their lost comrade, they all simply replied, “Our chieftain commanded us to aid you. Thus we carry forward with our duties until they are fulfilled.” Scary bastards. Would hate to be on the wrong end of their blades.
It had also been a blessing perhaps, that the largest, most intimidating of the orcs also proved to be the friendliest. At least, she hoped that’s what it seemed like to the frightened troops under her command.
“Look, little Inquisitor. There! Tall white farmhouse, outskirts by the eighth field. Count past three stone walls.” Karzuld declared.
Mila squinted and followed his instructions, finding the house besides a small brownish object that looked somewhat like a barn. Judging by the small rattle of weapons behind her, however afraid of the orcs the militia was, they were just as curious.
“I see it.” She confirmed.
“Horses out front.” Karzuld added.
Mila tried as hard as she could but could barely make out the details at this distance. How the hells are his eyes so good? But if he’s certain.
“You sure?”
“Aye. Brothers?” He turned to the other orcs.
After a small moment of silence in which they too followed his instructions, they turned back and grunted.
“You think you can lead us there?” Mila asked.
“In my sleep.” Karzuld growled.
“Fair enough.” Mila nodded before she turned towards the militia, “Lads listen up!” She tried her best to sound commanding, “We know where we’re going now. So against my better judgment I think we should go in now before they carry out whatever foul rituals they have planned.”
She now had the full attention of the posse, men and orc alike. Though she wasn’t crippled with anxiety the same way she had observed Sophie and Aryana to have been. She did feel a little more unnerved at the eyes that seemed to bore into her.
“I know you might think it too risky to enter given the corruption I’ve warned you about. So I understand if you all view this as a bad idea. But,” She emphasized, “should we fail to stop the spread here. All of Melton will be at stake.”
It wasn’t an inspiring speech, but at least she hoped she got the point across. A few grunts here and there acknowledged her words and she turned back towards the village.
It was just then her eye sighted something reflective, no, something’s just that bright… fuck, magic!
“Brace for magic! They’ve casted a spell!” She yelled in alarm.
“Magic incoming! Hold firm!” Brushkol suddenly bellowed on her behalf.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Though slightly deafened, she was certain the troops were now paying attention.
“Shields ready! Stay behind me if you have no wards!”
“No magic? Hide here!” The orc yelled.
For a brief moment Mila entertained the idea of having an assistant like Taurox but in the form of this orc. He’d be great at talking on my behalf, at least. Shit, focus!
Mila felt a deep rumble in the air around them as something big threatened to slam against them like a wave. Her arms immediately drawing a sigil in the air ahead of her, making sure to stretch it as wide as she could.
“Besdiore Omuille Heinaotus Helaotux!” She chanted.
It took a moment before her spell sucked all the mana around her and a rush of energy surged forth to create what felt like an impenetrable ward ahead of her, bathing the area with a soft warm glow. Yet, beside her, she could also make out the guttural primal shouts of the three orcs as they screamed their battlecries. To her surprise, tattoos and paints on their chest began to grow and for the first time, she had witnessed the true use of primal magic. Animalistic, weak, unorganized and far less effective than any traditional spell. But if it works, it works.
She barely had time to collect her thoughts when it hit. A horrific wave of pure energy slammed into her ward, the barrier glowing a bright divine yellow as it reflected the assault. The unseeable wave buffeted her barrier and she saw even the orcs stagger backwards from the impact. The world around them crumbled in on itself as every drop of mana seemed to be sucked up in a greedy vortex, the blast curling itself around the huddled group of orcs and humans, wrapping its hungry tendrils around them. Mila could feel the strain upon her body as every facet of her being threw itself into powering the defensive barrier, the sweat forming like a waterfall upon her brow.
Lights flickered at the edge of her vision as the barrier threatened to fail, the unceasing pressure thumping against the ward with a desperate desire to drain them all. Despite the intensity of the spell, the air around them soured and grew still. The very grass outside the barrier turned to a sickly dry yellow. Pain chorused through her body and for a brief second, Mila felt the agony flare up from her arrow wound, her concentration almost shattered. Ash neighed loudly and clamped his hooves down hard on the ground below, digging into the dirt and forming an anchor to help hold his rider in place.
“Astralis grant me strength.” She unconsciously cried out in fear.
“Astralis grant us strength!” Terrified militia echoed behind her.
Whatever it was, it sapped her very life force from her body the longer she held the barrier firm, it tore away at it, pounding until the barrier grew crackly, as if about to break. With one last effort, Mila mustered every last drop of energy to hold firm only for her to feel the horrifying feeling of something breaking. One crack, then two, then three as the barrier shattered and she practically convulsed with agony at the feedback from the ward being completely dismantled. Fear tasted much like iron in her mouth, the drowsy confusion that held her mind in its grip boring a hole within her skull. But as she drew one ragged breath after another, she realized that she hadn’t died, yet.
Exhausted, pained, and utterly broken, she managed to lift her head to find that whatever force that attacked them seemed to have stopped. Relieved, she let out a small sigh and simply surrendered to the exhaustion, her body slumping sideways and sliding right off of Ash. When her eyes opened once more, she found herself being carried in one of Brushkol’s arms. The orc stared resolutely forward, militiamen and other honor guards also looking nervously ahead.
Pain radiated through her and Mila unintentionally let out a small groan that alerted the others. A small cheer quickly erupted from the human soldiers. The orcs on the other hand, just looked at her with a semblance of acceptance.
There was a long silent pause as they all seemed to wait for her orders, yet she was too tired to be able to focus, too pained to speak. Hah, we did it, we lived.
A horn sounded in the distance, one long note followed by two shorter ones. A second horn sounded, one long, two short. Then a third, another long, but only one short note. The posse around her quickly looked around and soon found that not everyone had survived. The man who carried their horn had staggered out of the ward in fear during the ordeal, his desiccated leathery boney form lying just beyond where the grass was green and in where it had turned into the sickly brown. Disgusted, one of the militia tried to reach for the horn but found himself too afraid to. Karzuld thankfully, pulled out an orcish hunting war horn and blew the notes out loud; one long, one short.
It had been their pre established signal, one long horn blow to indicate a checkpoint survived an attack. One to four short notes to determine the casualty amounts. One being little or none, two being moderate, three being high, four being probably the last man standing blew the horn. So all checkpoints are safe, at least.
Mila exhaled and felt the tension leave her body. The orc propped her back up onto Ash’s back and the horse steadied himself in anticipation of her weight. Mila tiredly raised a hand in acknowledgement, the orc giving her a quiet grunt. A small murmur of discussion happened amongst the soldiers, the uneasiness in the air hanging heavy but Mila was in no state to respond.
“Second squad…” Mila breathily spoke, “form a defensive perimeter here.”
“Yes Lady Inquisitor!” One of the militiamen responded, the man speaking for his people as the militia scattered into place.
“First squad with me. We’re going in.” Mila ordered, giving a knowing look to the orcish honor guards.
“Finally. A fight.” Brushkol grinned.
“A fight!” Marduk roared and slapped his cleaver against his shield.
“For the stars!” A few militiamen joined in with a chant.
For the stars. Mila grunted to herself. She took one last look at the landscape ahead of her. The once vibrant grass now a morbid brown, the trees and meadows that surrounded the village nothing more than wilted remains. Yet, there was one thing she noticed that seemed odd about it all. Though houses were shattered, animals drained, and the scent of death lingered in the air. She couldn’t sense the rot and corruption that had plagued Harweald. There was no sickness, no plague, just the aftermath of some foul arcane ritual. Uneasy, she spurred Ash forward, leading the fateful few troops under her command forward. What the hells have you done Annalise?
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Forbidden magic, it had to be, nothing else would cause damage of such scale. Mila mused to herself. Though she was at the verge of collapse, her senses were still trained to detect such things, to identify who exactly the Inquisition was fighting and what weapons they had employed.
An eerie silence descended upon the town beyond the soft clacking of boots, hooves, paws and the jangle of metal. The troop moved in two columns, Mila heading up one whilst being flanked by the orcs, and a militiaman heading up the other. The town was dead, filled with empty houses and debris of ones that have fallen over. Dried out leathery husks of the former inhabitants, all drained of life, lay scattered across the village. Many fell within their houses, but many more remains seemed to collapse where they stood on the street, expressions etched with momentary shock. The tell tale signs of plague and corruption were not present either, which left Mila with the conclusion that they had utilised dark magic.
The trek to the house had been a tense if uneventful journey, Mila having made peace with the fact that violence would be meted out one way or another. Though she preferred if Anna would simply surrender, she somehow doubted that option would present itself.
“We’re here.” Brushkol whispered surprisingly quietly after exhanges looks with Karzuld.
Mila nodded and dismounted, gesturing for a militia trooper to watch over Ash whilst the other soldiers tried to stealthily surround the house. The plan was clear, no one would escape, the orcs and herself would breach and clear the house one way or another.
Mila’s hand balled up in a fist and she mimed a heavy punch. Marduk needed no further invitation, readying up his shield even as the other honor guards stood ready to follow up behind him.
For Mila, it felt like something of a horror show. The orcs moved in almost utter silence until the exact moment Marduk’s shield made contact with the door. A deafening crack echoed throughout the village and the orcs all burst out into furious battlecries. Mila followed behind Karzuld the tracker and soon made entry herself.
Within, they found only a deserted and trashed ruin. Furniture blown apart by the magical blast while scattered decor littered all across the floor. Something seemed to have awakened at their approach and as a pile of rubble slowly shifted, it immediately met the flat end of Marduk’s shield as he brought it down upon the rubble. Brushkol quickly followed and slammed his axe into a crack between the debris. When he pulled it back out, the rotted head of a former farmer followed.
The group quickly dropped into battle stances, ready for more contact when something shifted from a closet ahead of them. Wary of more rot forms, Karzuld lunged forward and impaled the closet multiple times. First where the head of a rot form might be, then the body, then the legs. When he pulled back, Marduk took up his position with a raised shield and tore open the closet doors. From within, a rot form fell forward, brutalized and very much dead. It wore what Mila could only assume was a milk maid’s outfit and she muttered a small prayer for the farmer’s family. Another casualty amongst the many in this battle against darkness.
The group proceeded upstairs where they found the door to one of the rooms ripped so forcefully from its hinges that it now lay with most of the doorframe at the top of the stairs. With a single nod from Mila, the orcs rushed the position in a flurry of violence, only to stare back at her with a shrug. Cautiously, she inched forwards to find a charred bedroom, the entirety of the place destroyed. The ritual room.
Karzuld remained with her as a guard whilst the other two went to check the other rooms. But as they all searched the house, no traces of Annalise or Kimmie remained. That was until she saw the blasted remains of the bow in the corner of the room. Remaining vigilant for traps, Mila reached down with a gloved hand to pick it up. The unique grooves and remaining half of the design upon it all she needed to see to recognise it as Annalise’s.
Making another sweep of the room with her eyes, a picture formed in her head and she shuddered at the implication. Forbidden magic that just disappeared her, must be a teleportation ritual. But that means someone else got involved, likely whoever broke into the cordon. Still, it means something beyond the cult is at play here, and to be willing to use such magic… the other Inquisitors must know at once.
Transference or transportation magic had been outlawed for centuries. Besides one or two portal scribes under constant surveillance who could figure out the intricacies of maintaining a stable connection between realms without a massive use of mana, the spell itself proved highly unstable and inefficient. Teleportation magic, however, was considered a far worse sin. Both a high level spell and highly costly, the downside of it compounded on the issues of portals. Whereas a portal required constant high supplies of mana, that could, in theory, be regulated to a constant flow. The instantaneous nature of teleportation meant an equally high but instant use of mana. The end result is generally the draining of an entire area’s mana supply. From the land, the air, and the very creatures that inhabited it. The same thing that likely just happened to this place. All texts related to this field had been destroyed by the church, at least, any we could get our hands on. So this means dark practitioners and definitely apostates or rogue mages. Fuck. Also means Anna’s gone however far with whoever casted spell could take her.
Mila bit back her frustrations and found the orcs shaking their heads. The search had turned up empty. Disappointed but undefeated, she scowled at the remains of the bow before turning back to the orcs.
“Tell the others to burn the town to the ground just in case traces of corruption still linger. Then gather up a small party and assess the status of the other checkpoints. After that, we ride directly for Marrest, the capital. My superiors must be informed at once.” Mila declared.
The three orcs looked at each other for a moment before nodding their ascent.
“Very well Little Inquisitor.” Brushkol spoke for the trio, “And I take it the magic also meant the disappearance of our quarry?”
“Aye. She’s gone....” Mila pursed her lips, oh no, Kimmie’s also gone.
“Inquisitor?” Brushkol asked, clearly sensing her concern.
“Annalise hadn’t contacted anyone, as far as I know. Which means an outside party must’ve known about what was happening. They also conducted a terrible ritual, teleportation. But, they also took the rot form that Anna, our quarry, was intent on protecting. Which means only one thing.”
“A deal.” Brushkol snarled on Mila’s behalf.
“Yeah.” She grunted, “It’s almost like someone anticipated this to happen. I don’t like it.”
“When has fighting the darkness ever been likable? Much less a profession.”
Mila snorted, much to the orc’s amusement, but signaled for the group to move nonetheless. They were unlikely to find much else in the scorched room and the crisis had resolved itself. She twiddled with the remnants of the bow in her hand and decided to hold onto a small piece. They’re gone for now, but for how long? Where did they go? And what the hells are they planning?
It was only after they had stepped back outside that she allowed herself to finally contemplate the devastation that had befallen the village. Everyone within the village boundaries had perished from the spell, the forbidden magic had drained them of their mana, then of their lives as it hungrily reached for more fuel. Many buildings had been ruined and as the orcs directed the militiamen to begin burning the place, the few left standing would also be reduced to ashes. She was horrified, the damage done in just a moment had been so extensive, it was unforgivable. For Annalise to have robbed so many lives, she would have to pay with her own.
Yet, Mila couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. However determined she was to see this chase to the end, she was somewhat glad the two had not come to blows. Though the guilt of her failure to act now weighed heavily upon her, she remained uncertain how willing she would be at putting down a friend.
Question for another time… I suppose. But what you did here, Anna. Is unforgivable. Next time I see you…
With a grunt she caught Brushkol’s gaze and nodded. It was time for them to report in, to leave and let the rest of the Inquisition know what had transpired here. Failure or not, they had learned one valuable factoid. Someone else was interested in Annalise and more than willing to sacrifice an entire village just to acquire her. Not only that, but they actively interfered with Inquisitorial activities and had access to forbidden magicks. Now, not only were they fighting against a dark cult that threatened the stability of the realm; another insidious force had been operating in the background, that much they already suspected. But, now that they had shown their hand and had actively interfered with Inquisitorial operations. It meant the Inquisition could now dedicate their resources to hunting down this new rogue group. At least, Lord Viktor could. Mila could only let her shoulders sag as she wondered how Serilda and Viktor would see this failure. Not worth worrying I suppose, if I get assigned to a training group, so be it.
Taking one last look at the village, she closed her eyes and spurred Ash forward. Next time though… next time I won’t let you get away Anna. Upon the Goddess's name I swear.