The mountains resound. The rivers shimmer. The heavens let fall a delicate shower. It is an amazing time to be alive, afoot, and walking the Centrum. I still feel a residual repugnance for Coran and the stupid imp Gillan, but I have risen above them. I realized, as the rain began to pock the carpeted earth, that Selune stripped Coran of his courage in order to send me a message. For the first time in a long time, there is something more important than bringing assholes to justice. The boy Malthen. Selune has commanded me to protect and bring Malthen under my wing. Returning to Kitford would have subjected him to a danger for which he is not yet prepared. That is why it was not destined to happen. I love being right.
Our small party departed the Triarch two miles ago in favor of a steep cliffside footpath dubbed ‘Stairway to Providence’. It is rough and looks untrodden, but I hope its makers lie somewhere along its length. I want to show Malthen how we treat sniveling, thieving, heretical, spineless minions of the Valentine church. Of all of the idol worshipping, earth hugging, tree fucking heretics on the continent, the Valentine are the worst. Especially the White Church.
The Valentine faith is divided into two dangerous sects - the Red and White congregations. They both worship a single holy spirit said to embody the soul of the human race. Ridiculous. They both believe that their faith is more important than freedom. Why would anyone believe such a thing? They both believe in forgiveness of non-believers. I forgave an enemy once. He killed the closest thing I ever had grandfather the day after. Forgiveness isn’t just weak. It isn’t just stupid. It’s outright unjust.
The Red Church are a band of communist thugs who lure the ignorant into their worthless faith through shows of strength and domination. They are brutes and slavers, but at least they have courage enough to act on their stupid beliefs. At least they have the strength to fight.
Acolytes of the White Church, on the other hand, are nothing but sheep. A flock of cowering sycophants who believe themselves to be some sort of superior race. They preach pacifism and forgiveness above all else. They wouldn’t fight me even if I struck their mothers. They didn’t, I mean. I hope we find a shrine of the white church somewhere along this small, perilous road. It would be good practice for Malthen. I shoot a lively gaze to where he rides, two horses behind. He catches it and fires a similar look right back. No more hesitation. No more reticence. That’s my student.
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It is from atop a treacherous ledge barely three meters wide, covered in loose gravel, hundreds of feet above the nearest tree branch, and slanted slightly in the less desirable direction that we see it first. Thirty five hundred men. Five hundred armored horses. A mile long supply line of reinforced carts drawn by cattle. And most incredibly of all, three colossal ballistas. So much power. So much unity. So much potential. Slithering towards the Starbane is one of the great weapons of the age - an Imperium Legion in full force. The Legion is three miles North and one mile straight down, but still the sight is exhilarating.
A horse rides abreast mine, and I extend a hand towards where I am sure Malthen must sit.
“That right there…” I begin. I have so much to tell my young friend.
“Is a hell of a tax collector’s posse!” I twist quickly in my stirrups. The other horse carries not Malthen, but a smaller, lighter man. He perches lightly in a raider’s saddle and wears a raider’s thin, dark riding coat. I am confident that I have seen him before, and equally confident that he is of no importance. I know he means no harm, but my blood cannot help but curdle at the talk of ‘taxes’. Such was the type of thievery that made my childhood a hell. The thin man continues his rambling.
“On my way up this way I dun saw a settlement stripped clean by that lot!” The man is giggling good naturedly, so I smile halfheartedly along. He makes innocent small talk, but has no idea how deep his words cut. He has no idea that I was raised in a village such as the one he saw. “Takes a damn toll, but damn if it isn’t beautiful!”
I swallow to rid my mouth of the acrid taste of resentment. This man means no harm. I inhale deeply. Exhale.
“That it is! ‘m Feelin’ safer already!” I return the lean man’s smile and urge Cog ahead. My smile is false, but I know how convincing it is. The fact that I excel at life helps eschew sour memories.