The enemy army is almost at our doorstep, having driven Kolraimen forces to the brink of collapse. The mercenaries and inhabitants of the city continue to flee. Guard Captain Fagen is demanding more men to be conscripted into the militia to properly secure the great walls and reduce the amount of inhabitants fleeing the city. Supplies have been cut off by the encroaching armies and the treasury is running low on coin. Things are not going well. In addition to our shortage of food and coin, assassins have managed to infiltrate the city and poison several wells, killing fifty-eight witches and a bunch of other people. There have also been several assassination attempts on my life.
For an experiment I have gathered volunteers from the city to test our new mind control hex, offering food as payment. I have managed to secure sixty test subjects. Hunting parties have been sent out to quickly gather the necessary resources for our experiment, such as tissue samples from the most ferocious animals and obsidian stone, before the armies can besiege the city. We have commenced testing of the amulets immediately.
Test Subject 1: Failure
Our first subject: a strapping young man with long black hair, blue eyes and a hooked nose.
We tried an old mind control hex, used in the past to control goblins. Storing the hex in the obsidian amulet we placed the amulet around his neck. His jaw slackened instantly and drool spilled forth from his mouth. Unsure whether this was a positive reaction I proceeded with the experiment. I commanded him to punch the wall; he did not move, he simply stood there drooling. Lady Mira, on a hunch, checked the test subject’s mind with a minor charm and found that the subject’s mind had been completely obliterated by the hex.
Test Subject 2: Failure
A hideous woman with blotchy skin, grey hair and a skeletal body was our next test subject. We stored a different hex in the amulet this time as the last was not compatible with humans. This new hex is designed to send signals to the brain that persuasively suggest to the subject wearing the amulet to listen to the bearer of the ring. The amulet was given to the woman to place around her neck. She was then commanded to attack a dog that was brought into the room. Although the woman did move slightly to kick the dog, the hesitation and time it took for her to attack was too excessive.
Test Subject 3: Success
Our new subject was a withered old man with a malnourished body wearing a filthy tunic and ragged trousers. Lady Cesnen devised a hex that drives invisible hooks into the subject’s brain that will deliver an ocean of pleasure if the subject complies with the orders given and immeasurable pain if they fail to comply. Once the subject placed the amulet around his neck, he was told to punch the wall. The old man failed to do so and pain was his reward. After three more commands to do so the old man finally obeyed, receiving pleasure in return. The old man soon understood that it was better to obey than to disobey. The hook hex works, now we can continue with the next part: fusing human tissue with animals.
Journal Entry 3: Project Salvation, written by Lady Kora of House Firm Arm
The sun was burning brightly in the sky dispatching chunky rays of light through the window that happened to be directed at Kara’s face, warming her pale skin and causing her to stir from her slumber. She was startled to find herself in a small room lying on a comfortable bed all alone. She bolted upright and began searching the room for her things. Her eyes roved the room twice before finding her bundle of belongings tucked away under a bed. She padded over to the bundle, her bare feet touching the warm, wooden floorboards as she crossed the room to grab her things.
She remembered with vague annoyance her inability to keep up with the rest of the group through last night’s ordeal and prayed silently to herself that Trogon, Raid and Mira didn’t see her as a liability. She quickly got into her smudged white dress that was more brown than white and headed down the hallway at top speed, inwardly hoping that Raid hadn’t left her behind. She arrived in the main room, where row upon row of skulls decorated the shelves. A fireplace that was recently used wafted tendrils of smoke and the table in the centre of the room had a map upon it. Curious, she surveyed the map of Mantorial and saw two crosses marked on the map: one at Vaskonia and one at the town of Fontrel. She wondered where Raid was heading.
A rough, calloused hand grabbed her from behind and picked her up. Frightened out of her mind she kicked and screamed, “Let me down, you overgrown pig, let me down now.” The man holding her roared a hearty laugh at the abuse being thrown at him and set her back on the wooden planks of the farmhouse. Twisting around she saw a big man, nearly as big as Trogon, wearing a leather jerkin that was bulging at the belly, with deep blue eyes and a welcoming grin on his wrinkled old face.
“Sorry, little lady, thought you were a spy,” said the big man, amusement shining in his eyes.
She sniffed at the remark about her being a spy and patted down her rumpled dress since the big fool had scrunched it up picking her up. She demanded indignantly, “Who are you?”
The robust man chuckled at the tone of her voice and held out a hand the size of a dragon egg towards her. “Name’s Baldrick, young lady, and you are?”
She ignored the question, feigning deafness, and interrogated Baldrick instead. “Have you seen a man, dressed in silver clothing, with a ragged black cloak and orange eyes?” she asked hopefully. Baldrick’s face transformed instantly into revulsion.
“You, you’re friends with that witch advocate, are you?” he challenged, his blue eyes blazing with loathing and his facial expression transforming into open scorn.
Kara, startled by the man’s unexpected outburst, asked curiously, “What’s an advocate?”
Baldrick, anger drained away at the innocent expression on her sweet face, muttered angrily to himself for taking his rage out on her. “I am truly sorry, Lady, didn’t mean to snap at you like that.” His broad face crumpled into sadness and his eyes told the story of the pain he had hidden away deep inside.
“Advocates are the biggest supporters of the witches; they do whatever they tell them to do,” he said, while offering her a seat by the fire. Kara sat down on the uncomfortable rickety chair and listened. “They hunt down anyone they believe to have aided the warlocks during the Arcane War and take them away to their stronghold to be tortured.” Baldrick’s eyes watered with tears. “They took my daughter Nisela, just because she was married to a soldier serving in the warlock army.” His mouth wavered at the memory of his daughter’s screams of anguish, as she was hauled away roughly by two men clothed in silky purple robes. “I have never seen her since.”
Kara’s anguish at being left behind faded away, replaced by pity for this poor old man. Patting his arm comfortingly, she said, “She will come back one day.”
Baldrick gave a sad smile. “Ahh, so her highness does indeed have a heart.” Kara’s face reddened at the compliment.
“I am no advocate, Baldrick,” called a familiar voice from the doorway of the farmhouse. “You just assumed I was because I was travelling with a witch.” Kara swung her head around to see Raid, carrying a heavy cloth pack on his back and clutching a polished oak staff to lean on.
Baldrick, who had risen to his feet on hearing Raid’s voice, asked in a tight voice, “Why are you travelling with her? She is a witch, she took my daughter and she is the reason the world is dying,” his hand straying to the hidden knife in his leather jerkin.
Raid’s orange eyes roared to life. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, and as to your question, I need her help to find my parents.” Baldrick took two steps back, feeling like he had been hit in the stomach. Shame engulfed him at his actions; here he was dreaming of being reunited with his daughter and this man was searching for his parents. He opened his mouth to apologise, but Raid shook his head and Baldrick knew he understood. Baldrick left the room in a rush with plenty to think about, the floorboards creaking loudly as he sped out.
Kara gave an emphatic harrumph to signal her displeasure with Raid. Raid watched the big man leave and sympathised with him. Witches were trouble. Kara gave another loud harrumph, before Raid glanced down at her. “Shall we go, Lady Kara?” he inquired.
Kara sniffed noisily and folded her arms across her chest. “Why, so you can abandon me again?” she said in a sulky voice. Raid’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, asking whoever lived above why he was stuck with two very annoying women.
Kara glared at Raid furiously for rolling his eyes at her, and started going through the bundle she carried to search for food. Her hand came out of the bag with an apple, and she began eating it slowly in front of Raid. Raid gestured at the doorway emphatically. “We need to go, Kara, the army is on the move and Bone Breaker company will be leaving soon.”
Kara pretended to not hear and talked to the apple conversationally. “First he asks me to come with him, then as soon as he gets the chance, he abandons me in a farmhouse. What kind of person does that? A person that doesn’t want her around.” She finished answering her own question.
Raid grimaced, unconsciously rolling his eyes again to the ceiling in frustration. Having had enough and wanting to be on the move, he said, “Fine, stay here, Baldrick won’t mind you living on the farm; maybe if you are good you can ride on the back of a pig,” and turned to exit the farmhouse.
Kara leapt to her feet and hurried after Raid. She would make him pay for humiliating her like that. A happy thought popped into her mind; maybe she could stuff his calf skin boots full of manure, smiling as she imagined Raid being unable to walk two steps without being assailed by the awful stench coming from his boots. She then gasped with surprise as she saw what was happening outside.
The fiery sun was high in the crimson red sky highlighting thousands of soldiers in its orange glow. Ten columns of heavy infantry in gleaming plate armour were marching out of the large sprawling encampment in long sinuous lines with their banners blowing in the hot wind above them. The soldiers’ feet pounded into the old earth with a steady thump as they streamed out of the encampment like a river of burnished silver. Heavily laden wagons followed close behind, trundling along down the path after the columns, guarded by a division of armoured men. The wagons were packed to the brim with supplies needed for a campaign, such as food, fodder for horses, spare material for repairing equipment and most importantly gold. “Gold would be much easier to take and there probably is enough to buy my way into Sky Bastion; yes this might work out well,” muttered Kara to herself, her eyes glued to the wagons.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“You say something?” asked Raid, his eyes not budging from the amazing sight of his countrymen marching in columns down the path, a small smile playing on his lips as he soaked in their presence.
A strong voice called out from behind him. “There you are, Raid, been looking for you,” said Trogon, materialising right beside him. Raid clasped his friend’s hand in welcome and waved his hand at the soldiers.
“Isn’t it a sight, my countrymen off to do battle with evil, would make a fine tale, don’t you think?” Trogon’s purple eyes glinted with worry as he watched the disciplined formations of the Mantorial army advance into the countryside.
“Too few of them, Raid, and those creatures are damn hard to kill,” remarked Trogon critically. Kara glanced up at Trogon at the pessimism she heard in his voice and wondered if the man was sick. Not really caring either way, she returned her gaze to the wagons stacked with chests.
A soldier plodded over to them and stood on the doorstep of the farmhouse, his conical helmet under his arm and hand on his sword hilt. He had coal black hair, black eyes, a small goatee and a scar running across his left cheek. Reaching them he snapped a salute, drawing his sword and rapidly banging it against his shield. “Ancestor Asuha of the Bone Breakers division wants you out in front of the columns scouting the roads ahead to the town of Fontrel,” said the soldier in a crisp tone.
Kara, curious as to how the man could survive wearing armour without being baked alive in the sizzling hot sun, asked the soldier quizzically, “How are you able to wear armour in this heat?”
The soldier gave her a puzzled look at the innocent question, then said, “Ummm, well, not really sure, young lady,” and scratched his head, before turning back to Raid. “Ancestor Asuha will be expecting scouting reports in half an hour glass,” and snapped off another salute before leaving in a rush. Kara, confused as to how any man wouldn’t want know what was keeping him alive in this sordid heat, stared after the fleeing soldier, perplexed.
Raid placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear, “Not many people know this, but the secret to forging armour so that it can be worn in the hot sun is obsidian stone.” Seeing the confusion on her face, he continued explaining. “The inside of the armour is lined with obsidian stones, which absorb the heat directed at the armour.”
Kara lips pursed in thought. “So why doesn’t everyone know?” Raid removed his hand and pointed at the army. “If everyone knew that the Targon Supremacy relied on obsidian stone …” said Raid.
The supremacy would be forced to pay more to acquire it once its true value spread. The price of obsidian would triple. Seeing her comprehension, Raid slapped Trogon on the back. “Let’s be off; the great and mighty Ancestor Asuha wants us out scouting ahead, so we will scout,” said Raid with a grin and started to walk off.
Trogon grunted. “Shouldn’t we wait for Lady Mira?”
Raid objected immediately at the idea. “She can catch up with us later, Trogon.”
Kara smiled at that. So they were still fighting, huh? Good, she would have Raid all to herself. She dimpled her cheeks and said, “Don’t we need to move fast to scout ahead?” she questioned Trogon innocently, her bright blue eyes gazing up at Trogon adoringly.
Trogon chuckled at the act Kara put on and nodded his head. Raid beamed at her in appreciation and they hurriedly joined the river of men marching out of the encampment. She walked a few paces behind Raid and Trogon who were walking alongside a column of soldiers that were thundering out of the encampment. The soldiers, recognising the man that had fought thirty humanoids on his own, saluted Raid and shouted, “For Mantorial and the Supremacy” before elder brothers with armour engraved with EB on their left shoulder moved in among the ranks to tell them to shut their flapping lips and concentrate on marching.
Raid couldn’t believe how nice it was to be back in the army, even if he was only serving as a mercenary. Deciding to increase the pace, so they would be in front of the army, he drove his legs forward. The campsite where the army had fortified the farm was gone. The stakes were packed up, as well as the tents. The only reminder that they had ever been there were the small indentations in the ground, and fire pits where food had been cooked.
A horn blew three times signalling the army to change formation for long terrain movement. The soldiers in quick, fluid movements that had Raid backing away reformed into three columns of three thousand men in the centre, three thousand in the vanguard, three thousand guarding the rear and one thousand troops that would scout the countryside and forage for food to supply the army. This duty was usually rotated within the army.
Raid’s legs were strengthened by the miles he walked last night, and he was eventually able to pass in between the slow moving column of men to the head of the army. Turning his head to Trogon, who was observing the surrounding land as he marched, he said, “Listen, we will need to split up to cover more ground; I will head south-west with Kara and you head south-east,” pointing in the two directions as he spoke.
Kara piped up. “Why do I have to go with you? I can scout on my own.”
Raid’s face twisted into impatience. “There’s no time for bravado, Kara, Trogon and I can at least defend ourselves against humanoids.”
Kara coldly glared up at Raid. “I know how to sneak, and I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” she replied stubbornly.
Raid opened his mouth to retort angrily, when Trogon spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. “Raid, she did manage to steal your sword.”
Raid flung his arms up in surrender. “Fine, you go south-west and I will head south; be careful and watch the shadows, we will meet back at the army to report our findings.” Kara shot Trogon a triumphant smile and raced off in the direction Raid had pointed out to her.
Trogon, with a commiserating look, patted Raid on the back and took off jogging to the south-east, his axe banging against his bulging back muscles, while Raid, muttering darkly to himself, sped up until he was no longer able to see the vast column of men travelling behind him and entered the hilly brown grasslands of Mantorial.
The blazing sun above beat down upon him, as his feet crunched into the dry grass, releasing the pleasant scent of earth. He passed over swollen hills that ached for water and deep ditches that ran across in all directions. His mouth soon became dry and parched from breathing in the humid air and his already filthy shirt and trousers became moist with sweat. He soon found himself pondering on Kara as he searched for signs of humanoids; she was nobody to him and yet he couldn’t help feeling responsible for her, which was strange.
Suddenly a nauseating smell drifted into his nostrils, flooding into the back of his throat, causing him to gag. He fell to his knees in the brown grass that covered the land, coughing and spitting in disgust. Covering his mouth and nose with the corner of his sweat-stained shirt, he tried to breathe in slowly. What the hell was that smell? And where was it coming from? Rising to his feet, he moved carefully forward, each step planted on any stones he could find to minimise the noise of the grass breaking apart beneath his boots. Up ahead he could see black smoke fountaining up from behind a hilltop gushing out toxic fumes into the air.
With growing dread, he drew closer and knew what he would see. It had been years since he smelled the savage smell of rotten corpses, but it wasn’t something he would forget. Circling the hill to the left, he arrived at the site where the smoke was coming from. His stomach clenched at the sight of corpses strewn all over the ground of what used to be a campsite. Two of the tents in the campsite were burning, generating the black smoke that floated in the air above. Blood was sprayed on the ground in all directions, as well as body parts.
The putrid smell grew much stronger as he moved in closer to investigate the campsite. Swallowing the vomit coursing up his throat, he leaned forward to analyse the nearest corpse that had most of its limbs still attached. It was a woman, around thirty years of age, with scorch marks scarring her pale cheeks; her grey eyes were staring into the sky in shock, her mouth gaping open to reveal yellow teeth. She wore the white clothing of a herald, embroidered with the open mouth on her left shoulder. Sitting beside her was a sack made from the skin of a goat, clasped tightly in her left hand. Bending over, he gently tugged the bag from her grasp, the bottom of the sack dripping with blood. Ignoring the blood, he looked inside and found nothing, so he shoved his hand inside, hoping to feel something, anything. Hand coming up empty, he returned the bag to the woman and wondered, what was taken?
Thoughtful, he searched the other intact corpses: four of the men spread out on the campground were mercenaries, wearing black leather armour that had an axe symbol embossed into the chest, and purses full of silver coin. These must have been men hired to protect the herald, but it is curious that a herald would need four guards at all. Living the life of a herald was tough as it required a great deal of travelling, but nearly everyone in the land respected heralds, as they brought news from the outside world. The last two bodies were too badly mutilated for him to figure out who or what they were. Standing back up, he gazed around him and sought out places where the attack would have come from, from the position of the bodies. The attack came from the right side of the hill. Climbing the hill, he inspected the hill for tracks. Seeing nothing, he went around the campsite examining the brown foliage. He came across footmarks that dented the compact earth, leaving footmarks that seemed to be human. Could this have been a bandit attack? Why would they leave coin? Was this the work of humanoids? What would they gain by killing them? What was the herald carrying? And who were the unidentifiable people? So many questions and no answers he could think of.
Before leaving he gave another thorough inspection of the campsite to ensure he missed nothing then headed back the way he had come. It was four quarters of an hourglass when he returned to the army. As he reached the army, four columns of heavy infantry in full plate armour broke off from the main force to wheel down to the left, right, down and up to take up defensible positions with squads of brothers detached ahead to act as sentries. The long line of wagons were brought to a halt and stakes were being lifted out of the wagons by teams of soldiers who immediately began to plant them into the earth. Tents blossomed within the new encampment as servants in green livery hustled swiftly to set up camp.
Approaching the perimeter of the army encampment, Raid was halted by a tall, gangly elder brother leading ten brothers, who had drawn their swords at his approach. “What is the password?” asked the elder brother in a curt voice that was rife with arrogance. Raid stifled a snarl at the fool’s attitude, the image of fresh corpses bubbling up in his mind over and over again. He knew if this fool didn’t get out of the way soon that he would direct his anger at the unnecessary deaths he had seen today at this worthless muck.
Raid replied in a chilly voice that was coated with venom, “You had best back off soldier, I am in no mood for fools.”
The lanky soldier chuckled dryly from within his conical helmet that hid his face and leaned forward to spit at Raid’s feet. “Listen to me, I don’t care if you are a bleeding hero, you had best tell me the password or leave,” said the soldier darkly.
Raid, having had enough, was moving before his mind even knew it. He clobbered the side of the soldier’s helmet with a closed fist that rang out like a bell tolling in the forest. The soldier swayed on his feet and tried to draw his sword, when Raid dropped to his knees and swept the soldier’s feet out from under him with a powerful kick to the back of the legs, felling the soldier to the ground with a loud bang as metal met the rocky earth. Raid’s Mantorian blade appeared in his hand, driving downwards to strike, when a voice called out to him, “Let him be, hero, he deserved the beating; just don’t kill him.” One of the men that had lined up behind the officer had stepped out of line to speak. Blade inches away from the officer’s throat, Raid stared into the depths of the soldier’s helmet, seeing the whites of the man’s eyes that were widened in terror.
Shaking his head at losing his temper so easily, he slammed his sword back home into its sheath then hammered his boot into the chest of the soldier on the ground, causing the man on the ground to gasp as the steel chest plate crunched inwards. Tugging his foot out of the dent he had created in the man’s armour, Raid said in a harsh voice to the man groaning on the ground, “That will be your reminder to not mess with me.” Raid strode away from the fallen officer, the soldiers parting before him, leaving a wide enough gap for him to walk through.
Voices from behind him drifted to his ears. “That man is crazy”; “Valgan was a fool”; muttered agreements of “Aye”; a voice filled with awe spoke: “I was back in camp when that guy fought off a bunch of rippers, didn’t believe it when I heard about it, but after seeing that …”