They were staring into the pitch-black nostril of a cave, nestled in the side of a cliff overgrown with creepers and vines. Normally, such air would be frigid, untouched by the kiss of the winter sun, but not here. Here there were plumes of steam, as the warmth of the cave’s sole resident puffed out into the chilly afternoon air with each of its voluminous breaths.
Archimedes adjusted his greaves, “Nobody need come who doesn’t wish to,” he reminded the two-dozen White Fang mercenaries at his back.
In response, swords were drawn, wands and staves were readied, and shields were raised.
Archimedes smiled as he heard the call to arms, “Truly, I am blessed to have your backing.”
“Until death, sir,” a steely-eyed fighter responded.
“Let us hope that is not today,” Archimedes winked, his ghost-white eyelashes clashing together like chalken cliffs.
The White Fangs’ captain turned to face his troupe, many of whom’s knees quivered in the aura of his exuberant charisma. Not one of them was shaken by the prospect of death, disembowelment or decapitation, that may surely await them if they followed their adoptive liege.
“I have no lust for blood,” Archimedes stated, as he paced the line, “but the creature within has taken many a life. It has murdered and maimed indiscriminately, and it has robbed the livelihoods of many a good fellow of Tindra. It is a menace, and it must be stopped.”
“Death to the beast!” his people responded.
“Yes, we are being paid handsomely for our work,” Archimedes conceded, to some grunts of approval, “but we must not allow that to overshadow our true purpose.”
There were some looks of visible confusion amongst his audience.
“We are guardians,” Archimedes reminded them, “We are protectors,” a few cheered in reply as they recalled, “We are the last bastion of hope for all sentient beings, in the never-ending battle against the thrice-damned Aether-born!”
A cry of determination and admiration greeted his statement.
“And we will do all within our power to keep these lands safe,” he drew his sword for emphasis, “Not for money, but because it is right!”
The gaggle of extremely well-paid, very middle-class mercenaries whooped and howled their agreement as Archimedes thrust his sword at the mouth of the cave, signaling their charge.
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“For The Kaden Circle,” he cried, “For the White Fangs! We will slay this beast. We will protect these lands. We will fight the good fight. I swear this by sword and shield. I swear this by our flag. I swear this by my father’s name. I swear this,” he looked skyward, “by the Aether!”
The others took up the call, “By the Aether!”
---
“By the Aether!”
Gabriel cursed as he removed his boot from a pile of human remains with a sucking ‘thh-gloup’. He shook the offending footwear vigorously to remove some of the gore.
“Hey, hey, watch the threads!” Vish squealed.
Vish tried his level best to shield his luminous lilac robe from the deluge of blood and sinew that was flung his way. It was a noble, if redundant, effort; his robe looked like it had been repeatedly vomited on every night for the past six moons, and that was not taking into consideration the already odd, but brave, choice of colour.
“I don’t think anyone here cares all that much about your appearance, Vish,” Gabriel pointed out, giving the mind-mapper a once over, “Which, as ever, is probably for the best.”
“Granted, but I choose not to walk around looking like a hobo for myself, not for others.”
Vish wiped his robe surreptitiously on Gabriel’s jerkin when he thought the other ‘mercenary’ wasn’t looking.
A silence fell between the two longtime colleagues as they took a break from their bickering and surveyed the landscape.
They were in The Tooth, a village that bit into a valley in the north of The Kaden Circle, halfway between the economic powerhouses of Jandrir and Badanis. It was normally a hubbub of commerce and commotion. It was a place where traders flogged wares, and travellers stocked up for their journeys east or west, not keen to pay the extortionate city prices that awaited them.
Today was different, though. Today the squares were empty, and the markets still. Snow fluttered from on high, caught in a soft breeze, whirling along streets lined with empty taverns, vacant stables, and abandoned stalls. The soft powder settled in every nook and cranny it could find.
“It’s actually kind of peaceful,” Vish nodded appreciatively.
Gabriel looked out over the scorched remnants of the village, its buildings largely ash, its residents mostly puddles, and frowned, “Yes, Vish, a population of almost zero will do that to a place.”
“Aaahyyeeuwp,” a human projectile exclaimed as he/she/it splattered into the old Church of Virtues, toppling its steeple.
“Probably zero now.”
“Probably.”
They stared a while longer, their eyes sailing from one pile of meat to the next. The splotches of scarlet popped starkly from snow drifts that veiled The Tooth’s cobbled roads, but not yet those who had once trod them. These lumps and mounds of flesh had been men, women and even children, scarcely more than a half-cycle ago.
“You know,” Vish began, “this is kind of a new feeling for me, though one I’m m sure you are very, very familiar with…”
“Yees?”
“But, I think we may have fucked up.”
There was another scream from further down the thoroughfare.
Gabriel watched as his sister went about her work.
Well, it was the body of his sister. In actuality, Natasha was part occupied by herself, part occupied by a crow, part occupied by a cricket, and almost entirely possessed by a sadistic, power-hungry dragon. All of the souls squatting within the petite, white-haired, thirty-something-year-old lady, had taken residence after Vish, Gabriel’s mind-mapping colleague, had implanted their souls on Natasha’s hapless near-corpse.
Gabriel reflected upon this unusual, and lengthy, turn of events, as he watched his sister eviscerate the village’s arts and crafts teacher.
“You know what, Vish? I think you might be right.”