Gatecrashers

The barren borderland between the states of Lavradio and Ullidia lay in a mountain pass, a one-kilometer road between the nations' gated walls. A flag of parlay flew above two men, who met in guarded posture, hands on swords. Their appalons knelt beside the road and searched for grass among the rocks in vain.

The older man was middle-aged, a general of long experience. His blessed reddish fur and fearsome build lent weight to his command of the Eastern Watch. He wore three cords of braided monster hair, the symbol of a great authority, his sword and shield and spear and thousand men Ullidia's most trusted fighting force. His armor, like his skin, was marked with use, with newer bronze beside the pitted old.

Near half his men were at the wall, prepared to stop the exile and his lengthy train. The bulk of them were formed before the gate, behind spiked barricades, while archers lurked beyond the wall with arrows at the ready.

The other man was not a proper man. His chin was bare. He bore no beast traits. His armor was a breastplate of pure white. No blemish marked the young man's flesh or gear. The only trace of age was in his sword, its iridescent hilt of bone worn smooth. Perhaps it was his father's, handed down.

Behind the youth, a safe distance away, stood a caravan of six trains, three cars each, hitched to shaggy six-legged beasts. Their great height and upswept horns marked them at any distance as mighty gurantors, strong enough to pull trains across the continent.

"Good morning, General Gustave. I am disciple Phillip the Younger." The youth eyed the few hundred men visible at the Ullidian gate, "I had hoped for a warmer welcome. Or, that you would choose to ignore us."

"You can't pass through here, boy. Turn around."

"That's not an option for us. If we stay in Lavradio, Enclave will punish the good people there."

"That's not my problem," growled the general, "I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here."

"Then it's fortunate we don't want to stay. We want to pass through your country quickly and peacefully."

"It's not going to happen."

The boy hooked one thumb into his harness and shifted his stance to something less wary, more conversational.

"How is the monster situation in Elra? Still clear there?" The boy's concern looked genuine.

"Last I heard." Gustave tried not to let his unease show.

"And the fever in Susa? Is there any word of it spreading?"

Elra had been threatened by a raid of dangerous ground-dwelling birds called franango until Phillip's students had shown up without warning and exterminated them. The deadly illness in Elra was beyond a common healer's ability to cure and needed a disciple's hand. Enclave had demanded an obscene amount of money to lend them a holy disciple. The villages got lucky and the disease was contained, again by Phillip's people.

"You needn't have bothered, boy. Brother Edos would have taken care of it. He always comes around when we're in need."

"Brother Edos has been defrocked," informed the youth, with a glint of silver in his green eyes, "and can't say a single prayer. He and every other disciple good enough to be of use has been defrocked and now is hunted by the church. That is why you haven't heard from them. Of all the disciples left in all the world, there's only Enclave's stay-at-homes, and mine at Nexus. How much did Enclave want to charge your government for a few disciple days' of work?"

Gustave didn't know the exact number, but he had heard it was extortionary. But that was someone else's problem. His problem was Brother Phillip and his so-called Nexus. They were heretics according to Enclave but they had become popular in towns and villages in eastern Ullidia. The government had turned a blind eye to Nexus operations because they were desperate, and now they were paying the price.

Yes, his country owed these people who wanted to cross through to the Kravikas desert on the other side, but orders were orders. If the Nexus heretics tried to cross the border then General Gustav had to turn them back. And, the public couldn't know the government had exterminated their saviors.

Fortunately, Gustave had disciples on his side today, borrowed from Enclave. Church leadership guaranteed their disciples were better than Nexus novices. Scripture said divine spirit ran strongest in the First Families, from which all Enclave disciples were drawn. Heritage and superior training would win out over dabblers and amateurs any day.

"So how does this work?" asked the youth. "I go back to my people and you go back to yours, then we fight?"

"If you don't turn those trains around then yes, we fight." Gustave gave the child his most deadly stare. It was for his own good.

"It's a shame we have to play this out, General. It's going to be a lot of blood over nothing."

Brother Phillip yanked his long spear from the ground, the one with a flag of parlay strapped to it, and turned his back on the general. He swung up easily into his appalon's saddle and the beast clambered to its feet without any visible prompting. He rode back towards his caravan to where a small knot of five riders waited for him.

Gustave rode back to his station, past the barricades of sharpened logs and the ranks of four hundred infantry with long spears, to stand in front of the gate. From his mounted vantage point, he could see the field well enough to command it. Young men never listened to fair warnings. There would be blood today.

The sun continued to climb and yet nobody moved.

"Why are we just standing here?" Pornache was one of the Enclave disciples assigned to help Gustave take down the troublesome child. She and her guard of six were supposed to be invisible, in hiding, but she had come too close to Gustave to ask foolish questions and now he was within range of her Overlook prayer. If his enemy was watching they would see him disappear. If they were paying attention they knew the rough location of one of Enclave's disciples.

Gustave stifled a sigh. The Enclave disciples might be superior in the Spiritual Arts, but this one lacked any tactical sense.

"You're out of position, Sister Pornache."

"And you haven't answered my question, Gustave." She pointed at the boy urgently. "Why aren't we going after him? He's right there!"

"Because he wants us to," he said curtly, "and he has some trick prepared for when we do. We let him come to us, get hung up on our barricade and our spears. The archers behind the wall will devastate them."

"But they can't see the target from back there!"

Gustave glared at the woman. She had sharp claws and eyes for hunting at night, but he was beginning to doubt her intelligence. "They know the range. We have signal men on the wall to direct their aim. If you're in such a hurry, why don't you ride out there and take care of him?"

Pornache glanced at the riders more than a hundred meters distant, suddenly a lot less sure of herself. A seven-to-six advantage wasn't enough to make her feel confident. Her guards were enhanced with prayers for strength and speed, and they couldn't be seen from a distance. The heretic knew the same prayers but he had chosen to remain visible. The boy was baiting them.

"How do you know he'll come through?"

"He doesn't have a choice," he growled. "He doesn't want to go back to Lavradio, and he can't abandon his trains. Sooner or later he has to drive them up."

Pornache and her entourage returned to their place on the right flank, and the waiting continued. Water and dry rations were passed among the troops. Troops hated the waiting but, in this case, Gustave was glad for it. Every hour of inaction was a plus for him. Either the heretic would turn around and try somewhere else, or he would grow impatient and do something ill-advised.

A healer by the name of Julius squeezed through the small sally port. "General, can I have a word?"

Gustave knew this man. He was a healer who worked towns on both sides of the border. He was anointed by the church, the same as disciples, but he lacked their heritage and therefore lacked their power. He could only use the healing-related prayers and a few general-purpose ones, but what he lacked in scope he made up for in skill. Julius had tried to approach him several times, but the disciples kept intercepting him, sending him away. Speaking to the general like this was breaking ranks, but Gustave knew him to be a sensible man.

"What is it, Brother Julius?"

"Our disciples can't keep this up. They're faltering. I can sense it from back there," he motioned to the area behind the gate, where the archers and support staff were stationed. "They'll run out of spirit soon, and then they'll be visible. Nexus will know where to strike."

"Can you sense Phillip in the same way?"

It was a brief hope, dashed when Julius said, "he's too far away, and he's too efficient. I've met him. I healed him, once. Two seasons ago."

"You know him!?"

"I do, General. The report Enclave gave you is … what I mean is …"

"Out with it, Julius! What do I need to know?"

"Phillip has serious talent, General. I've seen him enhance a hundred men while Pornache has to strain to enhance her seven. He can shape metal at will, and conjure a light strong enough to counter cursed monsters."

"Cursed monsters don't exist," interrupted Gustave, "not according to your superiors."

"They must have a reason for saying so, but it isn't true. Cursed monsters aren't just ignorant exaggerations by clueless people. I've seen one. Darkness and poison surrounded it. Normal weapons couldn't scratch it, but a weapon blessed by him killed it."

"Are you claiming everyone in that caravan could be blessed right now, and he can keep it going longer than Enclave disciples? And the weapons he blesses are stronger?"

"All of that and more. He's been teaching advanced skills to his students. Some of the work they've been doing in Ullidia sounds far-fetched for mere students of the arts. They gained experience during Lavradio's civil war. They've been blooded, unlike the ones Enclave sent you."

Of all the fool things to keep from the man planning their battles! Time was not on Gustave's side, but running out. As soon as his disciples' spirit ran dry and left them vulnerable, the heretics would target them first. Then what would he do? A few dozen enhanced men could cut through his little guard force with ease, and Phillip would have enough fighters left over to guard his trains from any counter-attack.

Gustave needed a new plan. Something Nexus wouldn't expect.

"All companies, stand ready!" His order was relayed up and down the line to the four companies of one hundred infantry each, the company of archers, and his twenty-five appalon cavalry. The men stiffened and raised their arms, ready for orders. He never got to issue the next order, because of the slings.

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What terrible weapons! Disciple slings threw ten-kilogram balls of arts-hardened rock at nearly the speed of sound. He heard them tearing the air, on his left flank, just before they collided with his soldiers. Several of the deadly projectiles hit his formation in enfilade and shot among the men's legs. Each stone skipped along the ground like children's toys thrown at wooden pins. They careened among the soldiers, bounced off the border wall, tore holes in the barricade, and kicked up sprays of rock and blood. And still, there were no enemy fighters in sight except Phillip and his little guard in the distance.

Gustave decided to move before the next volley. "Infantry shields left! Protect the gate! Cavalry with me!" The general urged his mount to the right flank, to round the barricade, and then aimed directly for Phillip. He risked a glance at the wall, and found the signalman had picked up his distress flag and was about to wave it. Enemies were already behind the wall! But if Phillip's men were attacking both the infantry and the archers, there was a chance he was lightly defended.

Gustave knew his chance of victory was poor, but sitting still was sure defeat. He turned his eyes forward again to learn his foe was nearing him with fearsome speed. They had not enhanced their fighters alone, but their appalons as well! Several of the men around him fell, struck down by javelins from nowhere.

On Phillip's right there rode a tall gray pair, and to his left were spike-haired handsome twins. And on their left was one he recognized, a former royal guard of Lavradio. There was no time to call her name to mind because his enemy rode straight for him. Gustave thanked the one god Olyon for his good fortune and set his spear to lance the young man's face.

The lad stood in his stirrups, heaved his spear with strength of arm more fit for ancient legends than this remote and peaceful border zone. The general took the hit upon his shield, and nearly died as prayer-blessed tip cut wood and bronze with ease, and nearly his neck. He had to throw his pierced shield aside before the spear's weight could drag him off his mount. His own spear wavered, appeared indecisive, then firmed in the final moment before contact, pointed low at the heretic's gut.

Gustave might as well have tried to lance a mountain. Phillip caught his spear in one hand and kept riding. The older man was thrown away and up, over his mount, tumbling in midair. He could only glimpse the results of his desperate charge against the six adversaries as his world revolved: their appalons ran like wolves through grass, knocking his men aside. Then clouds. One of the spike-haired teens deflected sword blows with her arm guards and her contempt. Blue sky. Phillip wielded the general's spear as he would a twig, swatting aside anyone in his way. Sun. The gray-skinned guards weren't even using weapons: they plucked riders off their mounts in passing and dashed them to the ground.

Gustave hit the dirt hard and lost track of everything for a few seconds as he tumbled among the rough ground. He landed with his cheek in the dirt and his legs in the air.

Twenty-five of his best against six. Even against disciples, they should have been able to do something. The younger, spike-haired soldiers were putting forth an effort as they fought beside their master. The rest of Phillip's vanguard were running wild among his men.

"That's fifteen meters, at least!" shouted the tall gray-skinned man. He had dismounted while Gustave was tumbling.

"I can beat that!" The woman, possibly his wife, tossed a fully-armored Ullidian soldier by his arms. The man spun like a thrown saucer as he wailed out in fear. He arced overhead then hit the ground with the noise of bronze hitting rocks. "Twenty!" she shouted, victorious.

"That one was small!" The man side-stepped a lancer's charge and plucked the rider from his mount like picking up an errant child. He flipped the man over, seized his feet, and began to twirl around in circles, winding up for a truly epic throw. But, the man's bootstraps weren't equal to the task and broke. The soldier slipped out of his boots and spoiled the throw.

"Bah! Only five meters!" The man tossed aside the empty boots in disgust.

Gustave nearly surrendered then, until he spotted the white-armored youth. He was clubbing one of the Watch soldiers with their own shield, then he flung the battered device at the legs of a charging appalon. The beast went down but the rider kept his seat until the last moment, then used the mount's dying momentum to launch himself into the air, his dauntless shield and brave spear aimed at the white figure. Sunlight glinted off the leaping man's armor, all hope focused on the tip of his spear. It was Ullidian courage at its bold, beautiful best.

Even Phillip smiled.

Phillip urged his mount a few rapid steps forward and let the attacker sail over him. With a single hand, he slapped the man's legs to send him into a tumble, spinning round and round as he completed his helpless arc until he hit the ground much as Gustave had.

The general righted himself and got to his feet. He wouldn't surrender, not until he had pitted himself against the young man who had made such a shambles of his forces. If Gustave died, then he at least died on the field.

The rest of the battle was winding down as Phillip's guards ran out of opponents. The fight by the gate was ongoing, but a lifetime of battles against men and monsters had taught him sounds of victory, and those of imminent defeat. His men were losing, and losing fast.

"Disciple Phillip!" he shouted in his best battlefield voice. "I am General Gustave! Face me!" He drew his sword, a leaf-shaped blade of moldonian bronze. Phillip halted his mount next to the former royal guard and seemed to have an argument. The guard must have been persuasive because the lad didn't seem happy at the end.

Phillip dropped off his mount and strode towards Gustave, drawing his sword as he came. He did not ask for the general's surrender. He did not boast or threaten or announce his intention with a pointless, "here I come!"

"Teach me something, old man," said the youth, and attacked.

The boy was fast, but he didn't try to overwhelm Gustave with his otherworldly speed, nor overpower him with his monstrous strength. He tested the older man's defenses, made sure of his reach, feinted to try and throw him off-balance, and changed up his tempo to mess with Gustave's timing. He moved well, parried with skill, struck with a heavy hand, and was tireless. Someone had spent a lot of hours teaching the kid how to fight.

If it weren't for the boy's holy enhancements Gustave could have beaten him. Twice, he maneuvered the boy into fatally opening his guard, only to have the advantage stolen by his unnatural speed. The second spoiled chance ended with the disciple's blade through Gustave's belly. The blade cut bronze, leather, skin, flesh, and muscle as if all the world was made of smoke. Gustave felt no pain, but his legs went instantly numb.

Of course, he thought as his knees collapsed under him, he's a healer. He knows exactly where to strike. He attempted to strike the boy a dying blow only to find his arm in an immovable grip. His other hand found his dagger, a thin and wicked thing, and brought it up under the boy's legs to pierce him in the crotch. That blow was knocked aside with enough force to break his wrist. The hands that relieved him of his sword were unexpectedly gentle. Though his vision was blurred, Gustave could tell the heretic had knelt to eye level. He truly was very young.

"Thank you for the lesson. I think I understand what Inez has been trying to teach me. Now surrender, and we will save all your men we can."

Breathing was hard when run through with bronze. "You would steal my death from me," he whispered, "after I worked so hard for it?" Gustave could feel blood cooling into his fur. He hoped whoever buried him would take the time to wash his body properly. He would hate to meet his afterlife with matted fur.

"Warriors," the boy huffed, "you're all so eager to die. Ullidia needs its fighters, do you hear me? Who will defend the East if your five hundred are put to the sword? They can't afford to lose you right now."

That was the truth. A series of poor harvests and monster surges had left the country weak. Few people knew about it, but there was talk about consolidating the eastern villages. Privately, Gustave felt the situation was even more dire than his superiors realized.

They said dying by the sword was too easy for old warriors. Maybe they were right.

"Fine," he breathed, "I surrender. For Ullidia's sake."

"Warriors!" he said, again. He nodded at someone Gustave couldn't see, and a new shout went out across the battlefield. The noise of metal-on-metal was exchanged for metal-on-stone. Healers in priest robes wearing the seven-pointed star of Olyon appeared all around, some to tend to the cavalry, but most headed to the gate.

The heretic in white grasped his sword, still lodged in Gustave's insides. "Breathe in as far as you can and hold it." Gustave inhaled, so painfully that sight and sound left him, then clenched his breath as he felt the bronze slide out of him. The blade felt impossibly long but a warm feeling was left in its wake, like a mother's touch. For a time, he couldn't feel anything except that warmth. He wanted to hold on to it, rest in it, but it faded as darkness embraced him.

When Gustave opened his eyes he discovered he was lying down near the gate, with one of his officers keeping watch over him. Practitioners, dozens of them young and old, worked through his fallen men. Several dead were set aside but the vast majority were alive. They were limping and staggering around like they had spent a night on the town, or lying on the ground waiting for care, but they were alive. Their weapons were in a pile fifty meters away, kept separate from the soldiers but otherwise untouched. It seemed Nexus had no plans to despoil their conquered enemies.

Gustave managed to stand with some effort and saw to his men. He couldn't do much for them that wasn't already being done, but they were glad to see him up.

"They're monsters on the field. I'm impressed you lived!"

"Thank Olyon you're alive!"

"We scraped by again, didn't we?"

"Another scar for your collection, General?"

They were awful cheery for a unit that just had their asses handed to them and had to surrender. They had been outrageously outclassed, yet very few had died. They were lucky and they knew it.

The Enclave disciples were not so fortunate. Apparently, the heretic's mercy didn't extend to his more traditional counterparts. Each of their bodies had three of those thin javelins sticking out of them. Each was about 150cm long, with a bodkin point of hardened bronze and stubby vanes at the end. Their blood painted his country's border wall.

He came upon Healer Julius arguing with Disciple Phillip. "You can't go around killing off the first families! How many disciples do you think we're going to have if you're constantly killing them all?"

"There was nothing special about these two," said the boy, dismissively, "you'd make a far better disciple. You should read Beg for Rest, and let me anoint you as a disciple in the Nexus church."

"After you just killed two disciples? I've known them for years!"

"Oh," said the heretic with mock thoughtfulness, "were they good disciples? Did they have many works listed in The Luminous Histories? Did they mingle with those in need and try to help them, regardless of rank or nation? Did they risk their lives for others, or bring light to those in darkness? Did they give hope to the hopeless?"

From Julius's reaction, Gustave inferred the dead disciples had done none of those things.

Phillip pressed on. "The first family practitioners are not special. Cursed monsters are real, and they kill more people every year. The population in every country is falling. Of all the disciples who worked in the field a year ago, all but one are dead or defrocked. The church lies, Julius, about everything. They're failing in all their tasks. They won't listen to reason."

"I believe in scripture," retorted Julius, "and I believe in my church which bears the holy dictates. I won't lose faith just because you have."

"I believe in scripture, too," said the boy in white, "but my scripture ends where Saint Bahram's Testament begins. I won't bow to the Five Families, just so they can profit from practitioners."

Gustave didn't know much scripture, but he knew Saint Bahram centralized the church's power and established Enclave. The Five Families were the cornerstone of the modern church, descendants of the first disciples to follow the Chosen One. Their bloodlines provided all the church's disciples, all the Council of Guardians, and a large portion of its healers.

If Nexus rejected everything in scripture from Saint Bahram's Testament onward, they rejected the legitimacy of Enclave. No wonder the church wanted them all dead.

Julius pointed at the row of still shapes, each one covered by a blanket. "Are you going to kill me if I don't join you? Am I going to end up like them?"

The lad looked stricken. "No, Julius," he said softly, "keep healing people. The world needs people like you too much. Just … don't take the field against me and I won't have to kill you."

The two men parted bitterly.

In half an hour the caravan was ready to leave through the now-open gates. During most of that time, Phillip sat in the driver's seat of the first train, high up where he could watch all the activity. He relayed orders through his subordinates and received reports from whoever had something to offer. About half of the exiles were fighters, former military or civic guards from the looks of them, who had pledged themselves to Nexus. Of the remainder roughly a third were practitioners, another third were young students, and the rest were priests and administrators. It was a larger group than Gustave expected, over a hundred people. There was one passenger car whose door never opened. Messages and conversation flowed through a curtained window. There was at least one passenger they didn't want him to know about. Gustave would be sure to report it.

All at once the Nexus people began to pack away their gear and file into their assigned train cars. The gurantors' harnesses were checked, and Brother Phillip gave up his seat to a driver.

An old priest stood before the general, dressed in a trim robe with a simple holy symbol made of wood. "My master gives you an order. When you report what happened here, do so through the quickest method you have at your disposal. Emphasize Nexus' strength, and warn your people not to impede our travel. He can show mercy to those who are caught up by circumstance, but stand against him twice," the aged priest looked meaningfully at the large bloodstains where two Enclave disciples had died.

"I understand," promised Gustave, "I will tell all our people to give you a wide berth on pain of death."

"Good. Second, you will read this." The priest handed him a book. It was a thin volume, written on plant-based paper instead of cheap boards or pricey parchment. "It's a statement of our purpose and reason for separating from the church. He doesn't demand that you believe any of it, only that you read it."

"Read a book," Gustave said doubtfully, "I don't see a problem with that."

"Good. Brother Phillip bids you farewell, and he will pray for your continued good health." The priest was the last to mount the train and the gurantors began to move. From the way they surged forward the disciples had enhanced the huge animals. They would cross Ullidia in record time, maybe faster than messenger birds.

Before the last gurantor passed through the gate, Gustave had demanded birds and writing materials. He dictated missives to all the relevant posts he could reach and told them not to interfere with the Nexus caravan. Death surely waited for them if they tried.

With that done, he began his urgent report to the Senate.