From the tallest branch of a great ashen tree, Leor peered through the monocle he scavenged off the dead knight and could see a brush of dark smoke against the haze’s pale canvas rising from the outpost. Though the haze was still blinding, it seemed to thin as they traveled deeper into it and silhouettes became more pronounced. Tented pavilions clustered along Champion’s Road and were enclosed by languidly structured wooden palisades. By the looks of it, the timbered fence was only meant to defend against larger beasts; the slanted divots between stakes seemed large enough to slip through.
The outpost was one of many he had come across as his party stalked the legion, but the numbers stationed at this encampment were far fewer than the rest. He counted the steady lights from licht lamps. Four, at most. From what he gathered, most camps had ten beacons of light, but he knew better than to solely rely on the number of licht lamps. There could be a few torches that were overshadowed by the lamps’ star-like brilliance.
Leor chewed his lip. The smell of roasted boar roused the monster inside his belly. They had bear meat with no fire to turn it edible and the cart with a great portion of their supplies had to be left behind due to the uneven woodland making it impossible to wheel it around. He avoided igniting any source of light in fear of giving away their position and to avoid temptation, he gave Yoru the honor of devouring the pile of flesh. The wolfling never looked more satisfied with the way it plopped over soon after the glorious meal. Leor had to carry the wolfling after that. He did his best to ignore the pains but he could only stomach so many berries and stale bread. He needed some meat or he feared he’d go mad. If any camp were ripe for thievery, this’d be it.
He dropped from branch to branch with ease, balls of the feet first. He kept stealth in mind, always landing on the thickest part of the branch in sporadic intervals to make each tree shudder seem natural. The trees would only shed a few leaves with his movement. He descended swiftly and landed with the softest crunch of his armor.
Hendrick came up from the brushes when he heard Leor’s boots hit the dirt. “Sir Leor, did you find what you were searching for? Any good news?”
Leor nodded. “A small outpost, just up the road. Their numbers are a few and they got something cooking up for our taking.”
At the sound of his voice, Yoru emerged from where Hendrick had and trotted to Leor’s side. Lisa and Yola followed soon after on horseback, led by Pons. Leor had not planned on learning their names but it became troublesome to give them orders.
“Take, my lord? You mean to steal from the camp?” asked Hendrick.
“I told you to quit that lord stuff,” Leor snapped. “Steal, yes. We don’t have much of a choice.” He glanced over at the shriveled slaves barely able to keep up right on the horse. Their eyes were terribly hollow and their skin hugged tight to the bones. “Unless, you wish to dig a few more graves.”
“Please, my lord. Can’t we join them in peace?” Lisa said weakly. Her tangled brunette locks covered her face as she slumped prone on the horse.
Sighing, Leor tired of correcting the half-dead slave woman. “If you want to exchange your life for it, you’re welcomed to it. We all know the Licht Order would not take us in with open arms. No doubt they’d have the same use of you in mind as the late knight had.”
The women shuddered. They still had enough wits to realize what entailed them if they were to yield, but Pons seemed to have lost a bit of himself ever since they buried the two slaves whose names Leor had already forgotten. He muttered nonsense to himself day and night, complaining about his misfortunes and his contempt towards the others as if they weren’t standing beside him. Leor wondered often if he should have kept Pons chained or left him behind.
“Let the bastards have their way with them,” Pons heckled. “It’d be better for all of us if it meant a hot meal. It’s what we should have done from the start. The others would still be here if it weren’t for all this dancing about.”
Leor was sick of hearing the pathetic fool go on about the same thing, always willing to sacrifice the women for his own sake. Before he thought he was doing the slaves a favor by keeping them from the clutches of the Order, but now he wondered if he should leave them to their fate.
“Now, now, Pons. We can’t have that now, can we? We all make such a fine group, after all.” Hendrick’s words were of the mocking sense, Leor knew, but it seemed Pons lost the feel for it. Hendrick turned to Leor. “I presume you have a plan in mind, Sir Leor?”
“That I do but. . . it requires Pons to come with,” he sighed.
“Me? Surely you’ve lost your mind,” Pons scoffed. “What good would I be? You purblights might have no issues murdering knights, but I ain’t killing no man.”
Yet you’d let the knights have the women. “No one will be doing any killing. I just need an extra pair of hands to carry the load.”
“Get the big oaf to go with you!”
“No, I need him here to guard the women. You’re not built for the task.” Comparing the two men, Pons was nothing more than a rotten twig, but he had arms and legs so he wasn’t completely useless. “It’s a simple job. We sneak into camp at evenfall and nab a few things while they are distracted by the wolfling. Simple. Now, if you continue to refuse, there will not be a ‘hot meal’ for you when I return.”
Pon’s face twisted into a scowl and he spat. “Some ‘chosen purblight’ you turned out to be. Hiding in the shadows and making a frail old man like me do your work.”
“You’re free to serve the Order till your death if it pleases you.” Leor lashed at him. “There are no chains bounding your legs. You could have fled whenever you saw the opportunity.”
Pons gave no reply and grumbled to himself, sulking as he often did when he was put in his place. Leor tossed him an empty leather sack, slinging a similar one over his shoulder. “It’ll be evenfall once we get to the camp. Less chance to be seen then.” he said before walking off.
Leor had to look over his shoulder to check if Pons was still trailing behind. The sullen fool was only a decade older than him, from what he could tell, but he trudged through the rugged woodland like a dying man on a cane. Hell, if he had a cane, maybe he’d be able to keep pace, Leor thought. When Pons would finally catch up, Leor continued on, repeating the motion in silence for a while. He felt Pons’ glower stab him from behind, he could hear it in his careless stomps whenever the old slave drew closer. Halfway to the outpost, Leor finally broke and said, “Would you control those damn feet of yours? You’re brewin’ up a storm for the camp to hear.”
Pons rested his hand on the body of an oak. “Now comes a lecture? What’re you, my damn wife?”
“Keep it down,” Leor said through clenched teeth. The old slave was testing his patience.
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” He spat to the side and gave a grim smirk befitting a man with nothing to lose. “Good. I’m halfway dead as it is. You’d be doin’ me a favor, O’ Champion of Ludwig.”
Leor rushed him, pinning the bastard to the tree with his forearm, then pressed a finger to his throat like a knife. “Listen here. I did not come this far into this hell hole just for you to fuck everything up. Do as you're told and maybe I’ll grant you mercy.”
“Now you sound just like ‘em. The swines in fancy armor.” Pons coughed out a chuckle. “Always taking all that you desire by force. Except, you’re the worst of ‘em. Acting all high and mighty and pretending like your doing us slaves a favor.”
Leor dug his arm deeper. When he saw Pons’ eyes roll up and disappear, he released him. The fool fell to the ground, gasping for air. “Don’t you lump me up with those bastards. I’m nothing like them.”
“. . . pray tell,” Pons wheezed, rubbing his reddened throat. “Why drag us slaves into your excursion when food and shelter and a warm fire awaits us in the safety of the pack? For what reasons does the Champion have to avoid grouping with the legion when they can do you no harm?” He struggled to his feet, but his unwavering glare never lost Leor’s. “You sacrificed two slaves and risk the rest of us in your pursuit. And you lose nothing of your own to achieve your end.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Leor looked down at Storm’s Decree. The golden circlet mocked him with Ceri’s name and clamped down hard on his finger like the jaws of a bear trap. “I’ve sacrificed plenty,” he hissed.
“Oh? Do share when you conjure up something, Champion.” Pons bumped him on the shoulder and limped off.
Darkening fog morphed them into shadows and their bellies barked from the noseful of cooking meat. Just beyond where the trees thinned, small hills and patches of shrubs with some kind of luminescent berries plotted the field between the undergrowth and the outpost. Leor counted two unmanned turret towers; one facing north of Champion’s road and the other to Tridon; banners of the Order hung flaccid on the flagpoles atop each turret.
Leor turned to Yoru. The wolfling cocked its head, seeming to know he was to be given a task. Good boy, Leor smiled to himself. “Yoru, cross the fields to the east and howl as loud as you can. Draw their attention. Scare them if you need to, but do not engage. The last thing we need is another body to lug around. Understand?”
The wolfling donned a fierce snarl and darted through the field like a black shadow.
“I ain’t see any guards,” Pons said with much uncertainty in his voice. “You sure this gon’ work?”
“You’d best pray it does if you want a decent meal.” Leor flipped on his hood and made for the nearest mound, crouch-walking as fast as he could. He peeked over the hill. Still no guards. Then, he gestured Pons to join him. The old slave gave him a pained look and hobbled over. He was so slow Leor worried the guards may spot him three times over before Pons reached him. Fortunately, the howls echoed from the other side of the encampment, scaring the crows into flight.
“Come on, we have to move now.” Leor swung Pons’ arm over his shoulder and helped him cross the field. Surprisingly, the old slave was much lighter than he thought. He could see the rising smoke just above the wooden stakes. They crept along the wall until they found a breach and slipped through the palisades. The shadows between two tented pavilions kept them well hidden until they found the meat they had once desired drew them out.
At the center of camp, towering crosses were raised above smoldering fires, and the charcoaled remains of what used to be humans hung with their limbs fastened by chains to the embered beams. Their naked flesh plucked and mutilated by the crows. Pons fell to his knees and threw up the berries he stomached earlier. Leor wanted to do the same. Acid clawed its way up his windpipe but he downed the painful urge. It made him sick to mistake roasted boar for human flesh. Had he gone mad? Leor forced himself to observe the bodies. Their jaws were frozen open as if they had died screaming. Their eyes and innards had been plucked and untangled. . . The berries began climbing his stomach again.
“Stay back!” A cry boomed from the other side of the outpost.
Leor and Pons jumped into the shadows and sought the source of the voice. A knight with the face of a boy pleaded to his fellow knight, digging into the dirt with his heel as he sprawled away on his back.
“Stay back, I said!” The young knight repeated.
The other knight refused to heed the warning and split the young knight’s skull with a blind downward slash. The young knight screamed and wailed for a split second before freezing dead. The murderous knight dislodged his longsword and hacked away at the lifeless lump of flesh and steel, painting the floor and himself with blood until the corpse was no longer human-like.
The color flushed from Pons’ face, an even more sickly pale than his usual self. It looked as though he wanted to say something but only incoherent mumblings left his lips. Fear struck the old slave’s knees and he fumbled over himself, taking their cover down with his fall.
The murderous knight twisted his gaze upon them, his eyes well-hidden behind the dark of his helm. A pungent bloodlust radiated from the knight’s person like heavy waves at low moon. Each step sent ripples down Leor’s skin, forcing his hand to the greatsword on his back and his blood aflame. He saw it, the semblance of Ceri’s murderer; the clumsy strut; the hollow presence; the smell of death stained on his blade. He blinked and saw her. There, in the knight’s grasp, she lay lifeless, calling his name. Leor. In a flash, Leor was atop of him, roaring like a mad beast. A ray of silver from the sky slashed down at the knight, eating through chainmail and bone like paper. The great blade bore deep into the knight’s flesh, well past the collar bone. Leor anchored his boot onto the knight to unsheathe the greatsword from the fleshy sheath and was spewed with a crimson mist in return. Leor planted the weapon into the dirt and leaned against it, panting as he witnessed the knight spasm what little life he had remaining. It had to be done. It had to be done.
Yoru arrived howling to his side. The wolfing whimpered when it saw the blood on him and lapped at it. Giving a small smile, Leor reassured the wolfling with a quick ruffle of the furs. He was glad to see him unharmed, but now was not the time to rest. He took a gander at the flayed and mutilated corpses— knights and mercenaries and slaves alike — littering the camp grounds. All hailed from the same house and all dead by sword wound, Leor observed. The scene left him puzzled beyond his comprehension.
Then Yoru leapt around and growled at where the fires burned. Pons tossed himself behind his human shield. Steadying the greatsword with two hands, Leor turned heel and shouted, “Who goes there?”
A hooded figure, drenched in the colors of night, hunched over a corpse and rummaged through their pockets.
“You there! What are you doing? Who are you?” He tried again.
“Keep it down, will you?” The shrill voice of a woman called out in a thick and unfamiliar accent. She didn’t bother to turn to face them. “You’ll call them here faster.”
Leor shuffled closer, keeping the greatsword pointed at the stranger. “Tell me what’s going on. What happened here? You did all this?”
“Kill the lot of them? No, no. I got no fighting bone in me. Surviving is what I do.” She tsked when she found nothing on the corpse, then moved onto the next. “They did this to one another. Poor fools. I only come to collect. It’s my business after all.”
A scavenger. He frowned. “You expect me to believe the Order did this to themselves? What kind of nonsense are you spitting? Do you take me for a fool?”
“I took you for nothing but maybe a fool is what you are.” The stranger uncurtained her black robe, only enough for her arms to stick out, then she strapped the scavenged gauntlets to her milky gray forearms. “Ah~ that fits nicely,” she said, admiring her new silver before starting on a new search. “You saw them, did you not? Slicing and stabbing each other until one was a bloody mess and the other starving for more. They gone mad, I tell you. Tis’ the fate of beyonders.” She paused for a moment and sniffed the air like a hunting hound. “But the two of you are different from these folk, aren’t you?”
“And you are?” Leor lowered his weapon, but kept his guard up. The damn thing made his arms burn.
“Ah, yes. Pardon my manners. I am Líada, a traveling merchant with, in my humblest opinion, the most sumptuous selection. If you are in need of fine wears and treasures, I am the woman for you.”
Treasures. . . I would hardly call those treasures.
“Now, now. I know what you’re thinking, but the dead have no use for their gear where they’re headed. The townsfolk pay a delicious sum for beyonder treasure.” She whistled and a sorry-looking mule came trotting to her from outside the walls, wheeling an overstuffed cart of garbs stored in boxes and weapons in barrels and fresh meat dangling on hooked poles.. She chuckled while she took an armful of weapons and loaded them. “Besides, it's best the accursed are left unarmed.”
Leor cocked his head, confused. The common belief was the haze was inhabitable to humanity, a death sentence to all who enter. Yet, a contradiction to the claims stood before him. But how much truth was in her words? He tried to steal a glance of her eyes to see if there were lies written in them, but her hood masked her face well and it seemed like she avoided looking in his direction. Perhaps she was hiding something. He asked carefully, “What house do you pledge to?”
“House? I’m a traveling merchant. Traveling. I told you that, didn’t I? That means I don’t have a home.”
“. . . Then you’re a purblight as well?”
“A what?”
Her answers all but confirmed his hunch, but at the cost of his mind. Leor pinched his brow and sighed. “Then you must be well traveled?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so! The best in all of Celiran.” Líada fingered through her stores and lugged out a leather sack. She grabbed a thick log of meat and gnawed off a chunk. It must have made her mouth dry, Leor knew by how hard she smacked her lips and chewed. She tossed the bag to him. “Have some. Call it payment for letting me claim your spoils.”
Leor muffled his gag when he saw the burning corpses staring at him from atop the crosses. He handed the bag to Pons and the old slave scarfed it down.
“Oh? Not to your liking? Well, I’m sure these folk got some other food lying around.”
“Never mind that. In exchange for my spoils, tell me what you know about Solaris?”
She sighed. “You beyonders never learn. You have no clue what awaits you in that old kingdom. Hellfire rains upon anyone who dares approach its domain. An army dressed like these dead fools lost a great deal trying to reach that cursed city. What on earth do you need there?”
Líada angled an ear to him, Leor saw. She knows something. "Treasure. Things even the beyonders dream of claiming.”
She burst into howling laughter. “Thank the heavens you are not a trader. You lack a skillful tongue.” At last, she faced him with a sly grin stretched across her lips. To his surprise, her gaze found him, despite her eyes being covered with a black circlet adorned with tiny crystals. Yet still, he sensed it. She hungered for more of what he was feeding her. “No matter. It just so happens I know a hidden path into the city. For the right price, that is.”
Leor scoffed. “And what do you want in exchange? Gold?”
“Why, hasn't anyone taught you the art of trading? A favor is repaid by favor.”