Year 941,
Viryl and Lyndabel received the conscription letter that requested them to take part in the Third Crusade at ten forty-one in the morning of the fifth day of the month of Zephyricus.
They had just returned to the base of the Order in Corlona from a hunting mission, intending to collect their reward. In addition to the agreed ducats the receptionist at the desk also handed them the unexpected mail. The royal emissary had delivered it a few hours earlier.
Regarding the reasons for their selection, on the neatly folded and enveloped sheet of parchment, it was written: "for the expertise acquired in years of study and practice in the extermination and capture of beasts of every kind, number and size". Signed and stamped personally by Alfredo Clarovante of the Sixteen of the Crown.
Reading those emotional words, Lyndabel clutched the sheet with such force that she was on the verge of tearing it. Viryl could almost listen to her heart pounding wildly in her chest. To avoid ruining such a joyous moment, Viryl refrained from expressing his first thought, and gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. But he knew too much well, without a shred of doubt, that the crusade was going to be an ass-fucking of biblical proportions.
The blow had certainly not come out of the blue. In the month of Pendecrestes of the previous year the Kingdom of Surelekem had fallen, the news had made the headlines of all the newspapers of the nation for weeks.
Pope Ambrose II had wasted no time in proclaiming a new call to arms for the soldiers of Lazul.
And the bigwigs of the Royal Order of the Knights of Ferlonia and of the regular army had taken their time in responding, because that was a tough nut to crack. Given how the Second Crusade had ended, this time they couldn't expect droves of volunteers quivering to be sent to almost certain death. And so they thought it was up to them to choose who to allow, or rather, force, to leave for the Venatolian continent.
Only a fanatic like Lyndabel could be fooled by that scam, disguised as a patriotic and religious calling.
The main problem to be faced on the field, the one that had subverted the balance of the eastern front, was the presence of the Suljuk warrior clans, coming from the steppes and the highlands of the east. Those infidel bastards, converted a little more than a century ago to the teachings of the false prophet Ashalmek, were able to tame and command the Ferenkelt.
So who to send? Knights with some familiarity with the Ferenkelts, for starters.
In that field, Viryl and Lyndabel were two of the most optimal candidates. For the past year and a half they had done nothing but hunt. To be more precise, he had done nothing else for the past nine years, but it was after meeting Lyndabel that his activity had increased dramatically.
For some reason, after their first mission together, that crazy girl had decided to stick around and torment him with her presence, without a moment's respite.
There had been some misunderstandings and skirmishes at first, but over time he had grown fond of her, truly. If he had had a sister, he would not have been able to love her as much as he loved Lyndabel. She was reliable, funny, loud, energetic, and even though they had bickered on a daily basis they had quickly developed an uncommon bond. This girl was special. When he spent time with her, Viryl felt like his life stopped being the mess of decay and despair it had become before she arrived.
Viryl thought that his influence had been positive on Lyndabel as well. He had certainly softened her up a bit. She was still fussy and haughty, but at least she had understood that it was not profitable to act like a constant finger up the ass.
In short, they formed an efficient pair, in which the shortcomings of one were compensated by the virtues of the other. Perhaps even too efficient, since they had been selected to go to war.
Lyndabel seemed to have frozen in place, too excited to process any new stimuli, so Viryl left her in the middle of the vestibule of the Order's base and went to sit on a secluded bench where he reread the epistle attentively.
The Crucesignatio ceremony would be held in the basilica of Actamara, in the province of Fratta di Levante, on the first day of Germinaticus. They had to attend it without fail to take their vows. Then they would set sail, joining the fleets of the League and the Empire of Rokmar.
It would have been hilarious to see the Immaculate knights of Toeteborg and the knights of Libertas sailing on the same tubs.
After all, that was the funny part of the crusades. Cats and dogs all together despite their mutual loathing.
With a sigh, Viryl tucked the letter into a breast pocket of his uniform and went to pick up Lyndabel. He needed a drink, and that’s how he intended to spend his share of newly collected ducats.
*****
The basilica of Saint Anacleto in Actamara from the outside looked like a monumental pile of squared stones, abandoned on a terrace overlooking the lower city and the sea. Its walls were five feet thick and its interior was rough, intricate and bare, in accordance with the ancient Zephyrian custom, which considered sacred art to be one with idolatry. However, the magnificence that had not been conveyed by statues, high reliefs and frescoes, emerged in the architectural prowess of the massive fluted quadrangular pillars that divided the interior of the church into five naves, topped by the dizzying cross vaults that hung above them.
Lined up in the center of the transept, illuminated by the pink light filtering through the rose window, were ten knights clad in their ethereal armor, all standing at attention.
Besides Viryl and Lyndabel there were some familiar faces, such as Nomenas of the Hollow Oak and Velrodas of the Obscure Lightning.
The bishop of Cerisia sat on the marble chair that towered behind the altar, and kept the knights glued to their position with a sermon that had now lasted for almost an hour. Even the priests and deacons who flanked him were beginning to show certain expressions of boredom and impatience.
His encouraging words of faith sounded hollow, unnecessary. Viryl would have called them a long salvo of farts from his mouth. It took only an ounce of brain to understand that the reason for the crusade was strictly economic and political, religion had little to do with it.
The former kingdom of Surelekem overlooked the Salaman Canal, and was crucial in securing a sea trade route to the continent of Austrica and Southern Venatolia. With Ashalmazite corsairs guarding the canal, the nobles and prelates of Boreatica could say goodbye to their spices and scented incense.
And then there was the advance north, towards Kelleria, of the Suljukians. The idea that the empire of Rokmar would in a few years find itself bordering on an Ashalmazite potentate was not acceptable. The Holy Sepulchre, the Immolation Beach of Surelekem, were mere flags to be planted, and no one gave a damn about the remission of sins and a little place in heaven anymore.
Suddenly, without any organic conclusion, the bishop invited the knights to take their vows and then fell silent.
A metallic clang jolted Viryl from his thoughts, and imitating the others, he brought his right fist to his heart.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Then, in unison with the other nine voices, he began to declaim:
“I, Viryl of the White Gale, vow to take the path of the Water Cross, retracing the steps of my Lord, the divine Lazul.
“I will not falter, I will not retreat, I will fight strenuously until the Holy city of Surelekem once again knows the peace and righteousness of the Faith.
“And if death wins me over on my pilgrimage, I will face it with Fortitude, for I trust in the resurrection from the waters of the Celestial Surelekem, which awaits the righteous, soldiers of God.”
The four deacons came down from the apse, holding in their hands needle, thread and cloth handkerchiefs on which the emblem of the Lazulian Cross was embroidered. The knights withdrew their ethereal armor, and the deacons began to sew the crests on the left shoulder strap of the ten uniforms.
When all the knights had been cross-signed, the bishop himself rose from his seat and handed each of them a walking staff.
They were just shitty old symbols with no use whatsoever but, with the cross on their shoulder and the stick in their hand, Viryl and Lyndabel had been confirmed as crusaders and were now ready to leave.
*****
The ten Royal Knights of the Order of Ferlonia called to the crusade who had gathered in Actamara were not the only ones. They were the ones from the eastern Velitasian provinces, but there were two other larger groups, one of twenty-two who had been sent to Leapolis and one of seventeen who had been sent to Hieracruse. There were even two knights who had been called from the island of Sargazia.
One of the two Sargazians was Calgara, a friend of Lyndabel's from her days at the knightly academy. When she had received her telegram informing her that they would be partners in this adventure, Lyndabel had squealed with joy. Since she had begun working with Viryl, she never got the chance to see her again.
Viryl had never met her, and, as much as Lyndabel kept telling him that he would like her a lot, he had no particular interest in her.
In any case, it would be a long time before they reunited. The different groups would travel their separate ways, supporting fleets from different kingdoms, with the goal of gathering only in front of the gates of Surelekem, to launch the final siege.
But first they had to push back the infidels who had reached the shores of the Sea of Kaelus, and fight their way to Surelekem.
As indicated in the letter of Alfredo Clarovante, in the port of Actamara the Ferlonian Navy had sent three assault galleys with Fuligine Stone auxiliary engine, ready to ship on board the ten knights and about three hundred soldiers. The morning after the ceremony of Crucesignatio, the day designated for departure, the docks of Actamara were invaded by a mess of busy people, and the fragile wooden piers seemed on the verge of collapsing into the sea.
There were some delays in loading supplies and armaments, so the departure was postponed until the next day, and then the day after that. On the fourth day of Germinaticus the crusaders set out on their holy mission.
A knight that neither Viryl nor Lyndabel had ever heard of, Marzela of the Shattered Ruby from Punta Alamera, embarked on their same galley. Velrodas proposed to swap places with Marzela, probably because he wanted to stay with Lyndabel, but since the groups had been carefully pre-arranged from the higher-ups he had to give up.
A gentle and favorable spring wind was blowing from the west, and so the galleys hoisted their sails, saving precious fuel.
After two days of sailing, near the Olcophia archipelago, off the coast of Hither Sanchiria, the three Ferlonian galleys met the fleet that had arrived from the north.
As expected, the Imperial and League ships, though traveling the same route, were divided into two very separate groups, and the generals of the two factions intended to proceed on entirely different routes once they reached Venatolia. The three Ferlonian galleys were too small of a force to proceed independently, so they split between the two sides.
The galley on which Viryl and Lyndabel were traveling was assigned to the League's eastern army, while the other two were assigned to the army of the Rokmar Empire.
The crusaders of the League were very welcoming to the three knights of Ferlonia, and invited them aboard their flagship, a rather opulent and heavily armed galleon, the Fortuna Serena.
On the ship, in addition to the officers of the army, were quartered twelve knights of the Order of Libertas. The captain of the group was Jossolt Halfcannon, and then there were Rubius Dryblood, Lorana Deathpoker, Bellum the Ram, Melfis Jawbreaker, Morront Sawtooth, Ectivia the Lonely, Brombelt Hotcap, Mishiff the Diver, Jexter Swifthand, Ollante the Bald, Alvira Pixiemouth.
Too many people for Viryl to remember everyone's names right away. The crossing to Kelleria took nearly five days and during that time he began to familiarize with the crew. The voyage was uneventful, and the few Ashalmazite sentry ships encountered along the way were promptly sunk by the overwhelming force of the fleet.
Having reached the port of Punta Calamella, on the southernmost tip of the Kelleric peninsula, the fleet docked and the generals disembarked to meet the local military prefect, who acted on the behalf of his counterparts from the other city-states.
The prefect immediately made it clear that the Kellerian confederation had no intention of joining the crusade but, since many of the southern islands of the Eskaelian archipelago had been overrun by the Infidels, the Kellerian fleet would take part in the reconquest of that territory.
This intent was especially in line with the strategic goals of the imperial army, for which the stabilization of the Kellerian confederation was to be the main outcome of the crusade. Therefore, Rokmar's general agreed to join up with the Kellerian fleet, sail up the archipelago of Eskaelia, and finally land in Venatolia northwest of Surelekem. From there the city would be reached with a long march across the Elkabahl plateau.
The League was also interested in taking part in the liberation of the islands of Eskaelia, but certainly not to return them to the Kellerians. Given the proximity to the Salaman Channel, the trade guilds of the coastal Communes had planned to establish at least one outpost in that stretch of sea, which would support the merchant ships of the League on longer crossings.
Although not enthusiastic about the idea of ceding the territories of the confederation, the prefect agreed to delegate the siege of the three westernmost islands to the soldiers of the League: this was considered a fair compromise, since two of the three islands were little more than rocks, while the last, the island of Arvis, had been chosen by the Suljukian pirates as a stronghold from which to undertake their raids in the sea of Kaelus. The battle would be arduous, and the eventual success equally profitable for the combatants.
The League general accepted the deal and returned to report it to his subordinates. For a very short time Viryl was annoyed by the idea of participating in an operation that had not been directly commissioned by his superiors, but when beer and wine began to run down his throat to celebrate the signing of the pact, all his recalcitrance drowned in alcohol.
Lyndabel and Marzela, on the other hand, for different reasons, immediately agreed to participate. The first because she was there to fight the Infidels and bring the Zephyrian faith back to the invaded lands, regardless of who would benefit materially from an eventual victory. The second for simple pragmatism: she was traveling aboard the League's ships, and if she was asked to fight as a form of compensation, she would contribute without question.
In order to launch the largest possible offensive, both sides waited for the remnants of the Kelleric fleet to gather at the harbor of Punta Calamella. This took a couple of weeks.
Then, at the end of the month of Germinaticus, the reconquest campaign began.
*****
Thirty-two years later, third day of Nevitico, 7:32 am, abandoned prison in the grounds of Morgraal Abbey,
Dioryl stood up on the dragon’s back and stretched his legs. He was sleepy after the long night ride. Despite Fuscus’s undisputed speed, that detour through the inner peaks of the Varanaches had added about three hours to the travel time. During the night Coronice and the young Ferlonian had woken up and started screaming and struggling. He had had to fire a couple of narcotic bullets into their backs to sedate them. And as far as Coronice was concerned, that could have been a problem. It was not certain that the drug contained in the bullets of his ethereal spear-rifles altered the phases of natural sleep to the point of preventing dreams.
But those two miserable bastards were still sleeping like logs, and that was good enough for him. Figuring out whether Coronice had accumulated arcane power during the night and then finding a way to consume it would be a head-scratcher for the Doctor Maximus.
It was now the middle of winter, but the Morgraal valley still looked green and lush. The mountains that framed it were completely white, but by the abbey grounds the climate was tempered by the influence of Lake Mourel, and the fertile soil was damp and dark brown. The monks laboriously cultivated it with winter crops. Interspersed among the fields were patches of bottle-green conifers. At the northern end of the valley, beyond the rapids of the two rivers that flowed into Lake Mourel, the sharp conical roofs of the abbey stood out. The imposing building seemed to be surrounded by a turquoise necklace.
That serene view always had the power to soothe Dioryl's nerves. At that moment he really needed it. The upheaval of the previous night had to be communicated to certain people, and it was better to do so by demonstrating clarity and confidence. With them raising his voice, making it tremble, frowning, sweating more than necessary were all reactions comparable to a drop of blood in a shark tank.
A pair of henchmen with carmine-colored jackets and pointed hoods appeared on the roof of the prison where his landing area was set up. Dioryl signaled them to climb onto Fuscus's back to help him carry the prisoners.