Chapter 132:
Maxill brought relief to Anton’s heart. Though there were no further attacks his nerves never truly settled, undoubtedly a positive but his mind was tired and exhausted. So too was Cetina’s. She put up a brave and tough front, something she appeared all too familiar with, but the cracks were showing. They hadn’t spoken more about her additional duties and she had made no effort to bring it up.
I wonder how this chat is going to go? Verona’s probably going to say something that’s going to warp my view, like last time. Not that I don’t dislike what happened in the end. I love both of them.
He glanced to Cetina riding next to him.
I mean, she’s pretty in a tomboyish way. And I think we’re good friends at the very least…I mean I think she was about to offer her ‘service’ just before the bandits attacked again. Would I have actually agreed?
“Is something wrong, Anton?” Cetina leant forward, tilting her head slightly.
She, like everyone else, was somewhat dirty from their week-long journey through the forest. Yet she had a charm to her that was unmistakably alluring. Her grey purple flecked eye stared into his own for an answer.
“I’m fine.” Anton smiled. “I’m just glad to see the city.”
“Me too.” Conrad, a horse behind, loudly stretched his shoulder. “We won’t be getting a bath but a simple wash would be great.”
Maxill, once a decrepit and rotting frontier town now bustled with life. The wooden walls had expanded once again in height and diameter. If anything they looked stronger than Atros’s walls, though not once the Dwarves got their hands onto Atros’s infrastructure. Lumber yards and grain fields had expanded greatly too, hundreds of people moved throughout as a large number of Qaiviel guards, white and green armour, patrolled the perimeter watching the forest. A whistle echoed throughout the fields, the guards snapping alert towards the forest.
“How did those bandits get past Maxill?” Anton asked. “I presume they just went a few miles up and entered the forest.”
Conrad shrugged. “Probably. Belinda has a very large and uninhabited territory. Perfect for bandits, and for Bandits to slink through unnoticed.”
“True…”
Anton spotted a familiar face amongst the gate guards, the same man he had met the first time visiting the city. This time he wasn’t extorting money from travellers. He and the others were certainly better paid. Doubly so if the value of their shiny, new equipment wasn’t cut from their pay. Upon reaching the first crossroads, now bustling with life and trade, Conrad stopped the mercenaries with a simple raise of his hand.
“This is as far as we were instructed to go,” Conrad said. “We’ll have to wait for further orders.”
“Are you just going to run?” Anton asked. “I don’t think they’ll let you go after siding with the Duchess. Even if you are mercenaries.”
Conrad laughed. “Only that we’re out of orders, not pay. Alfred has paid us enough to last us some time until next summer. We can’t run now. If we do no one is ever going to hire us again.”
“Finally.” Belinda stepped out of the carriage, a mercenary rushed to her side but was gently waved aside. “Forgive me for saying this Anton but I never wish to cross that forest again.”
“So what happens now?” Anton asked. “Do we head straight for the Black Rider Fortress?”
“First I need to hear if what has been happening here.” Belinda began walking towards her mansion. “There’s no point in going further if the enemy is at our door, correct?”
If it is we’re in a lot of trouble.
Anton and the convoy followed Belinda through the streets. She was confident to walk without any significant guard, though it was clear they were with her. Not many people gave her anything more than a passing nod but a few smiled and waved. So much had changed in such little time. Once inside the inner ring of Maxill, it was clear not everything had. The upper class of Maxill, a strangely snobbish group despite being in such a rural and remote region, still dressed extravagantly, perhaps even more so than before. Since they owned significant tracts of land they benefited from Belinda’s new regime and looked the part. Anton ignored them. Cetina paid a momentary glance, tilted her head in confusion before shrugging and moving on.
Tents and rudimentary stables now covered the once immaculate lawn, several hundred moderately armed soldiers walked amongst them. Each was very well equipped, better than the guards of Atros, with thick gambeson interlaced with thick metal plates, but were very nervous. Some were very young. A White Dog Mercenary led the training of soldiers, barking words of derision and encouragement in equal order.
“Things are going well.” Belinda nodded confidently. “Our forces are nearly ready.”
“Is this everyone you can muster?” Anton asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Belinda sighed. “I’m afraid so. So long as we don’t want to deplete our people and ruin our economy. At least that’s what Alfred said.”
“I’m glad that you’re listening to his words now.”
“Indeed…Indeed.” Duchess Belinda’s eyes travelled to a group of idle soldiers. “Hemiskr! Is everyone ready?”
I remember the name. One of the guards that served under Belinda’s father, who watched everything fall apart and wouldn’t move against her for the love and respect of her father. I hope things are going better now.
Hemiskr approached, the bearded man saluted. “We are ready to leave at a moment’s notice, Duchess. You only need to give the word.”
“How has the war progressed since my departure?”
“From what we’ve heard from traders The Church of the Holy Father is still assaulting the Black Rider Fortress. I don’t know what’s happening with the Royal Army. Haven’t heard anything from them. Knights from the Blue Firestorm, Grey Dawn & White Lightning have joined Prince-King Leo. As for the other Knight Orders…I don’t know. I think they’re confused or waiting until a winner has been decided.”
“While it annoys me I understand their reluctance.” Belinda sighed. “Join the losing side. Prepare my proper carriage as well. I’ll be glad to be rid of that thing. And give Anton our mana potions.”
“Of course, Duchess Belinda.” Hemiskr bowed, gave a slight smile to Anton and left.
Belinda turned to look over the practising soldiers. A white-gloved finger tapped over her elbow. “I, personally, wish to return to Castle Étoile with all haste. But there is something that needs to be dealt with first.”
“Have the Princes overtaken some of your towns?” Anton asked. “My abilities tend to set wood on fire. And I know that you don’t want charred remains when I’m done.”
“Your lightning surely wouldn’t.” Belinda nodded towards the forest edge. “I know that wasn’t caused by lightning.”
The forest edge had yet to completely recover from Anton’s magic during the Clansmen and Orc invasion. Not surprising given how much power he unleashed. Still, they were making a slow but steady recovery.
“But it is a town.”
“Yes.” Belinda gently waved to a waiting maid, neither he nor Cetina noticed her approach. In her arms she held a large roll of paper, a map, which she unfurled and held outstretched. “This town here has rebelled from my control.” Belinda shrugged lightly. “Not surprising considering it has the only church this side of Castle Étoile. And quite a large one at that.”
“Lucky for you they are all concentrated on the western half of the Kingdom,” Cetina noted.
“Not entirely so.” Belinda pointed to the largest city on the map. “The capital, Clausonne, has many church towns surrounding it and to the west. Those will all be teeming with the enemy.”
Anton found Castle Étoile situated very close to the capital. “That doesn’t bode well for us. Far too close. And where is this Royal Army stationed?”
“Alfred would know more but I’m certain it’s supposed to in this castle just to the north of Clausonne. They have more than enough numbers to take Étoile. The fact they aren’t moving for or against us is worrying.”
“The commanders might have been loyal to King Lambert, was that his name? And having two of his sons, his killers, ordering them around probably doesn’t sit right with them. Any chance for messengers to reach them?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Belinda shrugged. “I’m no commander. So while they handle that I decided to get your help.”
“If they’re gutted from the inside that’ll make things a lot easier for us.”
“The agreement will stand regardless,” Belinda added quickly.
“Thank you. Now, I’ve brought us off track, where is this problem city.”
Belinda pointed to a city to the south-west of hers. Maxill was nothing more than a tiny dot and plain writing. Gresir, however, had a level of flair to its writing. So too was Nonbur’n, nestled beneath the Knight Order Fortresses at the border of the Deweth Clansmen territory. Though unspoken it was a larger and more important town than Maxill.
“Gresir is under a day’s ride from Maxill.” Belinda began. “But we need to capture it, otherwise I won’t have much of a home to return to.”
“And opening attacks to the rear,” Cetina added. Belinda nodded solemnly.
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Anton said. “So long as they don’t have any Principle Mages.”
---[]---
Anton’s nose recoiled at the smell of burning flesh, his eyes stung from the smoke mixing with the late afternoon sun. The defenders of Gresir put up a valiant defence, mostly militia-style forces at best, but it was utterly pointless in the face of Anton’s magic. He felt quite sad for them. Not every of the four thousand soldiers thrown against them were fanatics. Most looked like farmers and serfs pressed into service. Such a horrible fate. He spared those he could but…
“I wish there was another way.” Anton mused.
A hand patted his shoulder roughly. Conrad smiled apologetically.
“You tried your best. I would have surrendered when I saw that magic.” Conrad sighed, shaking his head at a fallen Church soldier. “But in war, the good and innocent die in droves.”
Corpses filled the streets of Gresir, already pushed to one side by Belinda’s forces and being readied for burial. Most had been killed by lightning, from several Lightning rings and Lightning Crows. The few archers they possessed were not enough to down a single crow and had annihilated them utterly.
“Is anyone still resisting?” Anton asked. A wooden window creaked open, terrified eyes peered from the shadows.
“Just at the Church,” Conrad said. “Didn’t get the message it seems.”
Anton directed his summons, some six Fire Imps and ten Lightning Crows, towards the Church of Gresir. It bore striking similarities to the Church they had seen in Graterious but this lacked the ostentatious golden ornamentation. Nevertheless, it was clearly an impressive structure designed to demonstrate power and intimidate unbelievers. At least those that had never been to a large city before, like the vast majority of the people of Gresir.
Cetina moved in front of Anton. So far she hadn’t even needed to swing her sword, or even use her shield. After Anton’s magic had destroyed the bulk of the enemy Belinda’s archers mopped up the defenders. Very few swords ran red with blood but she wasn’t willing to let her guard down just yet. The incident with the Goblin sling played on her mind.
Through the smouldering remains of overturned market stalls and impromptu barricades, they arrived at the church. A large barricade surrounded the front door, simply random pieces of wood and carts thrown together to form a remarkable thick and sturdy defence. Eyes darted back and forth through the smoky haze. Their attention was clearly focused on the several hundred soldiers surrounding the church. Though the battle was all but over the White Dog mercenaries had to stress the importance of keeping one’s shield raised to the recruits. Several wounded men, not critically thankfully, were a testament to that ethos.
Hemiskr, hiding behind a small wall of soldiers, waved them over.
“They won’t listen to a damn thing we say.” Hemiskr’s voice was rough and harsh, he coughed harshly before waving awake the thick coils of smoke. “I know they’re in there. But they aren’t saying if they’re going to surrender or keep fighting. Do we charge in or burn it down?”
“Wooden rooves?”
“Yes. They only have people outside on the front. We could easily sneak around the other side. Smash a window and get in that way.”
“I’d rather not. Especially if it gives our opposition the ability to rally more people to their cause.” Anton received a nod from Castor. “Let’s try it the old fashioned way first.”
Anton directed the Fire Imps to approach the barricade while half the Lightning Crows to hover over their heads. The remaining half rested on the nearby buildings, out of range of potential magical attacks. He knew how dangerous Principle Mages were to his summons.
“Surrender!” Anton yelled. “There is no point in further resistance. Though it pains me I will burn down this Church if you do not surrender immediately.”
Obscured eyes darted about even more frantically, Anton was all but certain they were honestly discussing their future. The door slowly opened. Screams emanated as splashes of blood soaked the wooden barricade and dripped onto the ground.
“On alert,” Conrad ordered. The soldiers backed away slightly before planting their shields into the ground, the archers knocked their bows.
The screams stopped suddenly. Something new walked behind the barricades. Anton’s bound tail tingled ever so slightly as a faint purple hue cast over the broken bodies and rivulets of blood.
“Conrad?” Anton pulled his summons back.
“No idea.” Conrad frowned, holding his sword tight. “Actually Alfred mentioned something before we left. You don’t happen to know of something called Stitch Soldiers do you?”
“Only what Duchess Belinda told me.”
The barricade creaked and began to fall away.
“I think we’re about to find out.”
With a near silent push, the barricade collapsed, spilling onto the ground. Church soldier corpses lay strewn over the ground and the wood, broken and twisted in horrific parodies of life, some embedded into the barricade ruins. Now twenty people stood before the church door. They wore better armour than the Church soldiers, akin to the first set of leather armour Anton had been given and wielded small iron shields and maces. Despite the relatively poor armour its helmet was surprisingly good; a fully encompassing metal helm that hid all features.
A mercenary archer loosed a single arrow. It sunk through the leather armour but the soldier didn’t flinch.
Anton felt Cetina tense as the soldier slowly looked down and rip the arrow free. The arrow’s head was completely devoid of blood, only a viscous black and purple liquid.
“It’s not them, Cetina.” Anton tapped her shoulder. “This isn’t what happened before.”
“I…” Cetina scrunched her eye and nodded. “Okay.”
The soldier tossed the arrow aside, clanking onto the stone and landing in the blood.
“Let’s not find out,” Anton mumbled.
He stood to the side of the line of soldiers and loosed a fire lance. The beam of fire struck the strange soldiers and showered everything in a bathing red flame. Anton knew that something was wrong. Just like the Awakened Goblin in Fort Acidava and the Thumpers to the south of Atros, his magic had been interfered with. Not suppressed or cancelled, but weakened.
As the fires died away the strange soldier remained standing; he swayed from side to side, his shield had completely melted to his arm, every part of his clothing and armour, barring his helmet, had evaporated underneath the heat. For a moment Anton wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. Their emaciated skin was pale and covered in dozens of deep scars, crudely sewn together with a thick black thread. A purple hue leaked through the wounds, pulsing like a heartbeat. Stitch Soldier was an apt name.
“So they are real,” Conrad whispered. His eyes darted frantically to the archers. “Fire everything you have!”
Anton directed all his summons to attack. The creatures skittered towards the Stitch soldiers who ran to meet them. Despite their emaciated state, they moved far faster than any human. Arrows peppered their bodies as the Fire Imps met their legs. Two were struck with the first swings of the maces, instantly disintegrating and fading from Anton’s control, but the Stitch Soldiers left themselves open. With both hands holding the small flaming sword tight the Flame Imp’s cut through the weak leg armour. Those Stitch Soldiers fell forward, allowing those behind to crush the Fire Imps with a single blow. Whatever these things were they had no compassion for one another and continued their charge unabated. The four that had fallen grasped their legs tight and held them against their wounds. A slight grunt escaped their lips, the first sound from these creatures, and re-joined the charge with their legs reattached, ignoring any form of pain or the cauterized flesh.
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So damn close to those zombie puppets in Porswea. And with regeneration and magic resistance. They hit on a gold mine with this, whatever this is.
Anton threw as much magic as he could; lightning and fire melded around each other as they struck the running soldiers. The first Stitch soldier fell, his chest blown to smithereens by a fire lance followed by a lightning bomb. His elation was short-lived. A surge flowed up his tail, almost as great as the dead Red Goblin.
Just going to have to tough this one out.
The next Stitch soldier fell, this time to a hailstorm of bolts striking its head and chest. Again Anton felt the surge travel up his tail. If it reached his spine…
Anton summoned a lightning and flame Octahedron and threw them at their feet. Two disintegrated in flashes of light while the remaining staggered back from the force. It was enough to buy them a little time. Anton directed all of his summons to attack the Stitch Soldiers still obscured by the dust and smoke. They barely registered the strike, not even a dull groan as lightning surged through their bodies.
“Stay together and fall back,” Conrad ordered. “Keep the archers at the rear.”
The White Dog mercenaries managed to enforce a steady retreat but the Stitch Soldiers were unrelenting. Out of the smoke they erupted, bearing their maces down on the unfortunate recruits. The sickening sound of cracking and breaking limbs filled the air. A stitch soldier bore down on a lone recruit, with nothing more than a simple shield and sword to defend himself. The mace bit deep into the iron, bending and warping the metal, before sending it into the man’s chest. Even with his arm broken he desperately tried to stab with his short sword. It found a gap in the shoulder armour and dug deep but the Stitch Soldier made no visible sign it was even aware of its injury. An arrow struck it’s helmet as it ripped its mace up, pulling the shield free, and struck again. The shield landed flat on his head, crushing it instantly and breaking the rest of his upper chest. Without missing a beat the Stitch Soldier looked up and continued to attack without attempting to fix its weapon. Five mercenaries and two archers descended upon the Stitch Soldier and hacked it to pieces, dogging wild swings and taking every opening. The soldier didn’t groan or scream as its arms were cut off. It tried to kick and connected with a leg, breaking it in one hit. The recruit screamed in pain as he fell but a purple stained blade cleaved underneath its helm and sent the head flying. Much to their relief, the Stitch Soldier collapsed silent and limp. The wounded recruit was dragged away as another two Stitch Soldiers tried to attack them.
Anton, with Cetina standing to his side at the ready, threw a fire and lightning lance at the two Stitch Soldier’s heads. The metal exploded but the Stitch Soldiers continued to charge at their retreating forces. Anton fired again and felled the creatures. Another surge raced up his tail, about a quarter was now filled already, but he pushed it away.
Cetina’s eye snapped to a figure moving through a particularly thick cloud of smoke just beside them. At first, Anton thought it was one of theirs but its missing limb told him otherwise. Cetina patted his shoulder and engaged the wounded Stitch Soldier. She raised her shield and charge, the Stitch Soldier raised his mace and swung down hard. The shield, gifted from Graterious and buckled and twisted but Cetina directed the thrust’s strength, and her shield into the ground, leaving the one-armed soldier vulnerable to a counter attack. Her sword dug deep into its neck before she kicked it away. The Stitch Soldier thudded onto the ground, the mace clanged away but it quickly began to rise back up. Cetina’s stance changed, turning relaxed as her shoulders drooped. The Stitch Soldier growled and swung its fist at Cetina. She remained stationary until the last moment, allowing the powerful fist to slide just beside her face. Her sword cut cleanly through its neck and spun the shambling corpse away. With the Stitch Soldier down she quickly returned to his side. He caught a look at her eye; devoid of any emotion or even life. A blink later and it returned. Her eye even flickered about, as if she didn’t know what happened, and resumed her stance.
Within a minute the last three Stitch Soldiers tried to attack Anton. He responded with Lances to their heads, followed up by smaller Lightning bombs. When their bodies fell limp a stillness fell over the field. The groans and screams began to cut through the smoke. Conrad ordered soldiers forward to retrieve the wounded and fallen.
Anton gripped his hands hard, his tail burned with over half tingling with the charge. It was manageable but there was so much more to do yet.
“Are you alright?” Cetina asked. She looked at Anton’s waist.
“I’m fine.” Anton smiled faintly. “Just that…my, you know, is acting up.”
“Bad?”
“Not yet. But I don’t want to have to fight another wave of them.” Anton sighed. “All at once was a bit of a shock. But we got through it.”
“You were incredible.” Cetina’s dirty and stained face burst into a bright smile. “And just a few days after getting those books. Imagine what you’ll be like after winter.”
Anton patted her shoulder. The Lightning Crows buzzed around the bell tower, a portent of what was waiting for them inside.
“Bring the wounded here,” Anton ordered. “I’ll save those that we can. But we still need to go inside.”
Anton used what little was left of his magic to heal those on the cusp of death. They still were bleeding badly, had deep tears and broken bones, but he could fix those later. There was no way he was leaving the Church as it was. The Stitch Soldiers weren’t going anywhere. A soldier picked up a helmet covered had and the severed head flopped out. Anton stopped healing a wounded man at the sheer sight of what rolled at his feet. The Stitch Soldiers were even more horrific to see in person; their eyelids had been removed alongside their lips, the teeth glowed with a fading purple light alongside, a circle of black and purple worms hanged limp from both sides of the wound. The soldiers backed away from the corpses and drew their swords. Revulsion drenched their faces, at both what was once people and those that created them.
“How the hell did they do that?”
Cetina recoiled at the sight, a hand gripping on Anton’s shoulder. “The Church of The Holy Father isn’t meant to…”
“I know.” Anton patted her hand. “Somebody took things a little too far.”
Conrad approached, holding his head low. “About sixty dead. Better than I expected but worse than I thought. I lost a few of my men too.”
Conrad nodded to the crushed and bent corpses. The Stitch Soldiers had literally broken their soldiers. Pieces of people lay strewn across the ground, their blood mixing with the thick purple-black.
“It’s not over yet,” Conrad said.
“Just one more push.” Anton downed a mana vial, it tasted vile but replenished a decent amount of mana, as Conrad gathered the soldiers.
“A quarter of you, come with me,” Conrad ordered, standing very close to Anton. Cetina didn’t like his proximity but allowed it. “Everyone else keep an eye on those Stitch Soldiers. Just in case they decide to get back up.”
Conrad waved a soldier forward. He crouched low and snuck around the barricade’s remains, strangely careful of the blood, and reached the wall. With an outstretched hand he pushed on the door and tried to open it. It wouldn’t budge. He shrugged in defeat, Conrad waved him back.
“Completely solid.” The soldier spoke very softly. “I think they’ve barred it from the other side.”
“You still have some magic in you?” Conrad asked.
“Enough for a few of the fall-backs.”
Anton summoned three tethered lightning bombs. The wooden door stood no chance. Some poor fool had been standing behind the door. Suffice to say there wasn’t much left of him. At the far end, illuminated by a giant stained glass window of some aspect of The Holy Father, a man cowered behind a pillar.
“There’s the bastard.” Conrad chuckled before turning to his men. “Go get him. But don’t get yourselves killed.”
The men rushed in as Anton directed his Lightning Crows inside to kill anyone that resisted. One soldier jumped back immediately on passing the door, a bolt in his shoulder, the attacker slain by a quick bolt of lightning from the crows. The soldiers spread out, darting and weaving their heads underneath the seats until they came upon the priest. Their handling of him lacked any grace but given what they had witnessed they were beyond such niceties.
“Unhand me you heretics!” The priest, fully supported aloft despite his obvious refusal to use his legs, shouted at his handlers. It lacked true conviction as reality began to set in.
“Do we really need him?” Conrad asked.
“Only for what those things were.” Anton kicked a severed Stitch Soldier arm. Even after its death the glow remained, eking out through the innumerable stitches, slowly but surely fading to nothing. At the end a bundle of purple and black worm like protrusions dangled lifelessly, even when Anton shook it.
“You are all heretics!” The priest tried to free himself. “Damn you all. Can you not see that you have condemned your souls to an eternity of oblivion for daring to attack this holy site?”
“I’m sure those fancy words scares the local peasantry.” Anton downed another mana vial. “But it doesn’t work on me.”
“You…” The priest’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the heretic! The heretic that brought all of this to pass.”
Anton shrugged. “I didn’t kill your king. That’s all on your head.” Anton glanced to the soldiers. “Pin him on the ground. I don’t want him moving for this next bit.”
The priest scoffed, right before his head was slammed into the hard stone. “Torture? You truly are animals beyond salvation.”
Anton tossed the severed arm before the Priest. “So what do you call this then?”
“Gifts from The Holy Father.” An almost deranged smile graced his lips. “Those that were once criminals or mere peasants now have power and responsibilities that they could only have once dreamed of. To fight and die for The Holy Father is a noble act.”
Anton held his head. “Very easy to say when you aren’t the one dying.”
Anton chanted the truth prayer aloud. The priest writhed violently but he couldn’t free his head. The faint white glow descended over his body.
“Do you have any more of those Stitch Soldiers?”
“No.” The priest attempted to slam his head into the ground, but a soldier pinned his head down hard. “Damn you all!”
“That’s good.” Anton smiled. “Where and how do you make them?”
“Clausonne. I don’t know how.”
“Above your rank?”
The priest nodded.
“Why did they kill your own men?”
“I...I ordered them to kill everyone outside the church.”
Anton glanced to the buildings surrounding the church. Windows were slowly opening, none more than a sliver.
“They would have killed everyone in the town.” Anton sighed. “They don’t seem like the beings capable of such reasoning.”
“So you’re just an idiot then.” Conrad snarked.
Did he want to see if he would answer that underneath the spell?
“Is there anyone else still in the Church?”
“Just the children.” The priest's eyes shot wide open.
“What was that?” Anton knelt down lower. “Repeat what you just said.”
The priest shook his head, grinding his face into the rough stone.
“Children.” Anton glanced up. The soldiers didn’t look too surprised. “Well…Where are they?”
“In the basement.” The priest groaned loudly.
“Great.” Conrad picked the priests head up before slamming it down into the stone. A terrible crack rang through the stone as the priest spasmed and fell still. He was still breathing, not that Anton knew if that was better.
“Children?” Anton asked as he stood up, Cetina gently assisted him.
“Not that uncommon to hear.” Conrad gently shook his head. “Priests aren’t allowed to bed men or women…”
“So they found a little loophole.” Anton shook his head. “We should have asked how many there were first.”
Conrad shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Those bastards took my sister's child, said he was marked for greatness or some shit. She never saw him again, but I did. Dead in a pit with hundreds that had died from a plague. But a plague doesn’t cut out your eyes.”
Anton pursed his lips. “Let’s go get them then.”
Anton, Cetina and Conrad entered the Church. The wooden floor creaked lightly with every step but overall it was in good condition, baring the dead Church soldier staining the floor with copious amounts of blood. Conrad ordered the Church searched thoroughly. As the Church was long and straight there weren’t too many places to hide a door leading underground. The floor gave away no secrets but something bothered Anton.
“How many windows are there?”
“Eight.” Conrad scanned the far sides. “Oh. I see. There’s only seven here.”
He waved the soldiers to the rear wall, specifically to a large cabinet. Tiny scuff marks lay on the floor. Attempts had been made to conceal it. A large iron door lay behind with the Church’s cross planted in the middle.
“Probably was just a regular room behind.” Anton mused as he approached. “Once. Where the priests would sleep and live. Humble lives befitting someone of faith. Not so much now it seems.”
“Get the key off the priest,” Conrad ordered.
A small iron key perfectly fit into the door, the loud clunk of metal echoed in the otherwise silent room before a soldier pushed it open with the butt of his spear. A completely barren room greeted them, except for a trap door.
“Torches.” Conrad waved to the soldiers waiting at the door. “A lot of them.”
The stone stairway was old but well-worn and kept clean. At least down the centre, mold and mosses grew along the far edges, where enough light seeped through the tiny cracks in the wooden trap door to allow life to struggle. A faint orange light emanated at the very bottom as the pathway turned into a corridor leading beyond their sight.
Anton made a single step before Conrad raised his hand.
“You can’t go first.” Conrad smiled. “If you were to die here I might as well slit my own throat.”
Anton relented, Cetina was glad too and allowed the soldiers to go first. They weren’t entirely happy about it but plunged into the depths regardless. Conrad waited with them until a soldier returned.
“I think it’s safe. We haven’t found any traps. But…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s down there. I just don’t understand what I’m looking at.”
“Did you find the children at least?” Anton asked as he began to descend.
“Yes. But they’re locked behind a gate. And the key doesn’t open it.”
“I’ll handle that.” Anton smiled.
He took the stairs slowly and carefully. Now was not the time to slip and crack one’s skull. Mold and stagnated air filled his nostrils as he walked along the low stone corridor. Whoever built this had done so before well before the church; the stonework was completely different and roots had time to burrow through, a carpet of vegetation hung above them. He was glad to be wearing a helmet. The guards moved to one side and allowed them passage to the end of the corridor, two waited either side of a doorway leading back underneath the church.
A laboratory awaited him, albeit a medieval one; small glass flasks, hand blown, bubble away over small red stones, Heat stones, made through Principle Magic, scraps of rough paper lay everywhere alongside cabinets filled with strange items and materials. Everything felt very reminiscent of Ferula’s swamp village. Inspiration perhaps.
“They’re in the back.” The soldier beckoned them through the laboratory.
Anton saw the soldiers idly rummaging through the items for anything of value. Conrad quickly stopped any such thoughts, lest they destroy something valuable or inadvertently release poison.
A bizarre examination room lay after the laboratory, equipped with dozens of tables with thick leather bindings. At least thirty tables littered the room.
“This place reeks of blood,” Cetina grumbled. She poked a band of leather with her sword, dark purple blood coated the inside. “Why…Why put them here? Weren’t those Stitch Soldiers completely obedient to the priest?”
Anton lifted a restraint with his blade. Half of the nails had pulled through. “Seems like they aren’t perfected yet.” The soldier beckoned them forward again. “At least they weren’t kept with the children.”
Finally, they reached the children. Their dirty forms, clutching their few rags tight to their bodies, huddled together in the far corner of the cell. Three remained at the front, one half draped over the thick rusted iron bars. These didn’t look like outcasts but their hollow eyes spoke the horrors they had endured.
Conrad shook his head, covered his mouth with the back of his hand and pointed to the other rear corner of the room. The wet pit explained what the foul smell was, this place didn’t exactly have modern plumbing.
“Hello.” Anton knelt before the iron bars. “Do you want to get out of there?”
The children didn’t respond; the three at the front barely registered their presence while those at the back recoiled. Had they been tricked before, for some sick joy?
“Can you open it?” Conrad asked.
Anton touched the lock and chanted a prayer. The door swung outwards with a terrible groan, the children held their ears tight and retreated even further, squirming over one another so they weren’t at the front.
“They’re dead,” Anton said, a child glanced up at him. “All of them. The priest, his helpers, everyone. They were the ones that did this to you, yes?”
A young boy nodded, unwilling to look at Anton.
“Well, this place certainly isn’t doing you any good.” Anton knelt by the door and held out his hand. “Do you want to come outside and see the sun once again?”
Please don’t let this be some sort of trap. I don’t want to have to fight children.
The boy gingerly stood up on shaky feet and hobbled to Anton. He held the rag tight, clearly the only thing he owned, and reached out for Anton’s hand. Anton knew the look in his eyes; if this was a trap he would never trust anything again. For his sake Anton wasn’t that sort of person. He held the child’s hand, cold and clammy and pulled him out of the cell. This child looked around terrified but quickly realised it wasn’t a trap, the grip on Anton’s hand only increased. The others took notice and slowly began to walk to the gate. Their will wasn’t completely broken yet.
“Let’s head outside. Okay?”
---[]---
“Patrick!” A woman screamed tears of joy as she ran towards the children.
A young boy responded, even more tears streaming down his face, and ran into her arms. The scene repeated itself over and over again as the townspeople were reunited with their lost children.
“How long has he been missing?” Anton asked.
The woman, alongside hundreds of others, left their homes when they brought the children out. Some soldiers took their frantic running as an attack but quickly realised their intention.
“Oh, my sweet little boy.” She stroked the crying boy’s head closed to her chest, wiping away both of their tears. “Since the end of spring. He and almost twenty children went missing. The Church found half, though they couldn’t remember a thing…They did this, didn’t they?”
Anton glumly nodded. “They were underneath your feet all this time. Perhaps they were trying to mock you?”
“Bastards.” The woman held the boy tight. “I never should have trusted them. My husband told me never too.”
“Where is your husband?” Anton didn’t see anyone.
“He’s dead.” A void and hollow smile graced her face. “You killed him.”
Anton couldn’t respond, his body and mind completely froze. Cetina nor Conrad had words either, eventually, the woman shrugged lightly and brought her son closer.
“But…Even I know there wasn’t much choice. They forced him to fight, otherwise they’d have sent me.” The woman sighed. “But at least I have my son back.”
She bowed her head and left, leaving Anton completely lost for words. Cetina gave him a slight bump.
“I…I wasn’t expecting that,” Anton spoke softly.
“Most people in Qaiviel lead harsh lives.” Conrad began. “But it gives them the strength to keep moving.”
“I just wasn’t expecting someone to say that I killed their husband.”
That’s something that I’m going to have to get used to. If I met any Orc or Clansmen I’ll have to explain how I killed so many of their husbands and sons.
The child that first stepped out of the cage still hadn’t found their parents and wandered aimlessly behind them. Sensing his obvious panic and fear Anton approached him.
“Where are your parents?”
“Baker.” The boy pointed to a small building behind the church.
Conrad summoned a nearby soldier. “Go and tell them their child is safe.”
“While we wait for your parents can you tell me what they were doing down there?”
The child scratched his cheek. “I don’t know. We weren’t allowed outside of that cold and metal place.”
“But did you hear anything?”
“There were some people that went into the room next to us. They sounded like they were hurt. They screamed a lot.”
Anton looked at the dead Stitch Soldiers. One soldier picked up a severed heat, ripped off the helmet to reveal their butchered face.
“The priests-” The boy shuddered at their mention. His eyes snapped to the church where the priest, still alive, was being bound to a great pile of wood outside the church. “Did they say anything about them?”
Anton snapped his fingers to regain the boy’s attention. He frowned as he tried to dredge up some long repressed memory.
“They…They said to be careful of something. Over…Overthrow?”
Anton frowned lightly. “Overflow?”
“Yes! That’s it.” The boy cocked his head. “What does that mean?”
Anton rubbed his beard. “I honestly don’t know. Did they say anything else? It’s really important that you tell us so we can stop them from doing this to anyone else.”
“I don’t think so.” The boy clapped loudly. “They talked about taking us to Clausonne. Something about more subjects for testing. Something about being mal…malleable. I don’t know what that means.”
“I see…Thank you.”
A squeal caught the boy’s attention. A couple, escorted by the soldier, approached. The boy ran towards them with all speed. The two burst into tears and swept the boy into their arms, holding him with every ounce of fibre in their being.
“Imagine losing your child and he’s barely a hundred feet away from where you sleep.” Anton shook his head. “I can’t imagine losing your child. That’s one thing that worries me.”
“Will you need to leave someone here to maintain control?” Cetina asked Conrad.
Conrad laughed, pointing to the growing wooden pyre. Church pews were thrown into the pile, the priest raised high on a stake.
“Not with that.”
“At least we know the Stitch Soldiers aren’t perfect.” Anton mused. Conrad and Cetina looked a little confused. “The fact that they wanted more children for experimentation means they still have some things to work out…Or want to make them stronger. Either way, it’s good they won’t get their grubby little hands on them.”
“I’ll pass that onto Alfred.” Conrad shrugged. “Maybe we can get someone inside Clausonne to cut off their supplies once we figure out what they’re using to maintain them. Without them this war will be over soon. Worth a try at least. Maybe just kill some priests and see what happens.”
A young man snatched a torch from a soldier, defiance filled his eyes and threw it at the base of the pyre. The other soldiers followed his lead. Soon the pyre was ablaze, the air filled with the priests’ screams. No one spoke a word as a small modicum of revenge was served.