Chapter 3

Morning came once again and it was as dreary and cloudy as the day before. The wet season had come to the west, a time for planting and growing crops, a time of life and regrowth. Little regrowth would happen, at least not in the fields. Ag remembered a far off hilltown that was nearly perfectly defended with fields dug into high hills guarded on all sides by cliffs and rock walls. He’d nearly stayed there. His mother was there, alone. There was no home for him, that was what he’d told himself. Not after his father, his friends, and the woman he’d loved more than anything in the world had all been taken from him.

He remembered a night that had been black and starless, as black as black could be, save for the fires. He’d stood, holding his mother tight, as everyone and everything had been ripped to pieces below him. That was nearly four years ago, now he was older, stronger, and knew how to kill.

He sighed, pulling his mind away from memories he’d rather let be. Their small company had ridden out from Perouth at first light, assumed first light at least, it had been hard to tell if the sun had actually risen. Of course they’d ridden out, the preacher man Esker had been filled with a zealous drive to save any he could from the coming swarms. Torvund had been taken by the challenge and Ag had to admit he had been too. Killing a Red Captain was a feat few had achieved and if they pulled it off the tales they could tell would be legendary. For Ag the chance to kill a Red Captain also meant vengeance for him.

The Red Captains were also the reason there weren’t many mages left in the world. When the plague had spread everyone feared death but those with the gift of magic had found that though their new enemy was a ravenous beast it could be tamed. Any mage with enough power suddenly had an army at their fingertips and most found their new, even greater power, led down a path of conquest and slaughter. Mages of all casts became targets, the mere existence of their power a threat to anyone without.

Ag looked across their train of riders, some fifteen including the company from the Black Hands he had apparently joined. Torvund led them, Marus close behind, while Ag, Esker, and Genine led the soldiers from the lord. Torvund seemed in good spirits, whistling a jolly riding tune while Marus watched the surrounding area from beneath his hood. Esker was writing, which was apparently normal for him. He had a small wooden writing stand that was tied to the front of his saddle and a small leather bound notebook was held to it by strips of cord. Genine didn’t seem to do much of anything as they rode, other than occasionally pulling something from beneath her cloak to fiddle with. Ag swore she kept shooting sideways glances at him but he could never catch her doing it. Something was off about the woman, but he couldn’t quite decide what.

“What are you writing, preacher?” Ag asked.

Esker didn’t respond for a moment, his quill scratching away at the paper for long enough that Ag wasn’t sure if he was being ignored or if the man just hadn’t heard him. He’d very nearly gone back to staring ahead aimlessly when the response came.

“Notes, my thoughts it guess you could say, on the world as it was and how it is now. All I've done and seen and everyone I’ve met.”

“Ah I see.” He very nearly left it at that then a thought occurred to him. “Does that mean I’ll be in your little book?”

“Yes. The less crucial parts but most likely.”

“Ouch.” Ag replied with a chuckle. “Good to know I’m not all that important.”

Esker finally looked up at him, a confused expression on his face until he’d realized what he’d said. “Oh. No no, not like that. It’s just that the people, places, and events I see are only the first half of my work. The greater whole is dedicated to faith and how we all fit into the plan.”

“Plan?”

“Yes, the plan of the gods.”

“You think all this is part of some plan?”

“Perhaps. That’s why I’m writing it down for later research.”

Ag nodded. He’d not had much interest in matters of faith. He’d had two sets of gods when he was a child, his fathers imperial gods, personifications of human acts and personalities given the power of all creation and he’d had his mothers gods. There had been far fewer of those since they had been representations of nature itself. They had far less to do with mankind than the imperial pantheon but they were ever present.

The thought of all of this, the death and destruction, being part of a plan made him wonder just what gods Esker worshiped. “So why are you here?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why are you here? What’s a preacher man doing with a clan of sellswords hired to kill men and monsters? Shouldn’t you be in some monastery pondering the stuff in your book?”

“I suppose.” Esker replied, laying his pen sideways on the notepad. “But if I was in a monastery I wouldn’t have a book to ponder would I?”

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“I suppose not.”

“To answer your question, I would have to say I am here to study the world, and its new inhabitants. A company of sellswords seemed the safest and easiest way to do that and I have to say it is. I have studied the effect of the plague on man, beast, and even on the plants and animals around us. I have learned much so I will continue to learn until I feel I am done.”

“Fair enough I suppose.” Ag replied.

“Let me ask you this.” Esker said, twisting in his saddle to face Ag. “What has brought an easterner, born of a southern father, to the west?”

“Same thing as what brought every other traveler this way.” The image of the burning village flashed through his mind, the screams of the dying ringing in his ears. “Everyone I ever knew died.”

He twisted in his saddle, looking back at the rest of the column and noticed the young soldier, Martine, riding behind Genine. “What have you got to say lad?” He asked, raising his voice so the younger man would hear over the sound of horses hooves.

Martine started, surprised to be included in the conversation. “Sir?”

Ag laughed, “I’m no sir. Not by a long stretch.” He hefted his lute. “What did you think of my song last night?”

A sideways glance to Genine showed how nervous the boy was, looking for help even from another member of the outsiders. “Its good.” His face got very red after that.

“Not a music man I take it.” Ag muttered. “Well then tell us something else, What brings a fresh faced boy out on a job like this? Wouldn’t you have rathered stay behind the walls?”

“I will not hide behind walls.” Martine proclaimed, sitting up straight in his saddle. “Not after what they did to my father.”

“What did they do to your da?” Ag asked, though he knew the answer, there was really only one thing stone skin ever did to you.

Martine shrank down in his saddle and for a moment Ag thought he wouldn’t respond. It seemed he’d just needed a moment to get his emotions in check because he eventually replied. “Pulled him off the wall, while he was on watch a few months back. Ripped him to bits. There wasn’t enough left to even bury.” His voice faltered at the end, his sorrow catching up with his words.

“When did you join the guard?” Ag asked, his tone softening.

“A few months back.”

Ag nodded, “Sorry for your loss.” He twisted back around, giving the boy a break. “Well that got dark quick.”

“I’m curious as to what you thought would be the reason.” Esker replied. “He’s here for the same reason as any of them. Duty or vengeance, they both lead to the same road.”

“So what’s it for you?”

Esker sat a moment, taking a long breath of the cool air. “Duty.” He glanced at Ag.

“Vengance.”

__________

Far off to the southeast, over the rainy hills of the west and through the shadows of the Umber Forest stood the Scarlet Spire. A curved slope of land had crawled up the side of a mountain and at its peak stood the ancient castle. It was an imposing sight, with high walls of dark stone set high above the deep green peaks of the pines all around but it was nothing out of the ordinary for castles until you saw the spire. It wasn’t made of the same dark stone as the walls but some other type colored a stark red that had only faded lightly over the many centuries it had stood.

Near its towering peak was a balcony that jutted out into the open air. A figure stood at its top, a red cloak swirling about his shoulders, black armor beneath gleaming dully in the clouded sunlight. His hair was long as was his beard and was now more gray than brown, the untidy mess of both was swept back by the wind rising from the land below. Far below the man was the castle that had sprung up around the tower and in its courtyard were the faint figures of soldiers training. These were the few real men he still had, two dozen at most though they were quite skilled. His true army was in the forest beyond the heights the castle rested on.

He could see them, even now with the faint fog that was steadily growing and the canopy of pines. His eyes were not those of normal men, they pierced the obstructions and found the legion that was at his beck and call. A writhing mass twisted below the trees, their disfigured bodies clambering over one another in endless overlapping circles. That was what he had told them to do, he didn’t remember why, perhaps he’d thought it funny.

As he watched the plague ridden beasts move below he heard the voice whispering in his mind. It spoke to him night and day, sometimes it made sense, gave him orders to follow or wisdom to use, most of the time the inane ramblings meant nothing and were often in other languages. He hated it and loved it. It had guided him to the power he’d craved yet now shackled him to this tower until his work was done. The tower was a structure made in the mists of time and now most men saw only the wonder of its height and the strength of the slightly less ancient castle around it. The tower was a capstone that held back the festering power in the world's heart and he had been tasked with managing it, guiding the power to the world again. The plague had come from it, not from the tower itself but some other location and he had also been tasked with refining it.

He twisted around, a sudden sense of someone watching him putting him on edge. No one else was in the sparsely decorated chambers at the tower's peak. Still he felt the eyes on him. A knock on the door took his attention and a moment later he’d swung the heavy wooden door open and found his lieutenant standing outside. Gomon was a tall man with pale skin and blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was clad in similar black armor as Balasar but unlike his captain, Gomon was a man whose mind was enslaved. He stared not quite at Balasar but just to the side.

“What is it?” Balasar asked, his voice harsh with irritation at the disturbance.

“My captain, the prisoner is awake.” Gomon replied, his voice was flat and unaffected by any emotion.

“Very good. Come lieutenant, let us see what our guest has to say for himself.”

The two marched the long climb down in silence. The spiraled down the tower, passing floor after unoccupied floor until they reached the base then went further down. Deep beneath the tower was a fast chamber that seemed to echo ceaselessly with the terrible sounds of another world. They did not enter the great chamber but instead went down a side passage to a row of cells.

All were empty save one. Within its confined space huddled a lone figure. “So my friend.” Balasar intoned and his voice made the man shrink back. “What do you have to tell us today?”