- You know I used to love this life.

- And now no?

- I got old, made nothing out of the chances I got. I’m battered and scarred, wearing this rust-clad that looks like I stole it from a corpse. Very little is left to love.

Atef was too young to understand regret, especially after growing up in the Pit, so he stayed silent choosing not to respond and sound childishly foolish.

- It wasn’t always like this… I didn’t use to chase after asshole household knights, or had to make sure their highnesses are renowned because sods like me pant, bark and kill at their whim. It used to be a rogue’s life, on the road! Swindling and stealing, occasionally killing. And then, oh how I crave for it just by thinking… life of a mercenary.

Atef was still silent but his eyes burned bright in the quest of knowledge. Gunther was looking ahead into the night as if the visions of the past would be born on the black canvas interrupted by the tree trunks, dividing barriers to the images of his life.

- It was a brotherhood at first. Twelve of us, chased to the edge of Rhuengarde for the things we’ve done in Vespol. The worst and the best of time. We lived off small feuds between local families, springing traps, burning farms, abducting love interests. I still remember raiding that caravan in Dusya! So much wine, you couldn’t even imagine it. And rum, oh the sweet, sweet rum. From the north, it came through Belgard to our lands. Those were the two best weeks of my life…

- So it was good to be this “mer… merten… mercenary”?

- Yes it was. It was adventure, it was freedom! It was destiny forged on our own, a way to live your way through the might of your company. We were good, so we grew. From twelve to thirty, then fifty. At our peak we had hundred and fifty riders, all armored and gilded. Our flag was feared, synonymous with best shock cavalry out there.

- Freedom?

- Yes. And I mentioned adventure, right? And brotherhood. Divine, sealed in burnt blood, fat and anointed incense.

- So why you not with them then?

- Because all that shines with the brightness of the greatest jewels attracts envy. The company didn’t grow enough and we got crushed. From the twelve of my brothers, only I survived and only because of my cowardice.

- You run?

- Yes and don’t prod anymore about that.

- I wanna not, you said so.

- I don’t even know why. Your turn Atef, how does one become like yourself?

- I thought I told ya boss?

- What you said was a mess, a heap of words I’d need days to mish and mash to find any sense. And that is provided I remembered them, which I didn’t. Now we have the time and I want to know.

Atef took a deep breath and sighed. He looked around himself, making sure no one was close and stared anew into the darkness just like Gunther. And so he recounted; about the life in the Pit, Naya whom he lost, and his adoptive mas. He outlined the crawling and skittering through the depths with the rare and brief sojourns to the badlands outside the mouth of the Pit. A confused dreamlike retelling of the events at the villa ensued in which what transpired contained a void that Atef’s perceived truth filled with the certainty of his release. The first majestic contact with woods brought forth the meeting with the Mutt, the liberation of Erleia and his first noticing of his inexplicable powers.

And you say you could understand this… Mutt, the wolf. And you let fire loose for the first time against those two captors of the Aebor?

- Yeahuh.

- And that wasn’t strange or majestic to you? Unique?

- No, I heard stories from mas and other slaves of magics and miracles. I couldda not know for sure but I didn’t tell no one. Only Erleia and you saw cure power. And I canna not talk with her well, so we didn’t speak about it.

- And where is this wolf and the Aebor, Erleia?

- Mutt comes when Mutt wants. Seems Mutt likes not people. So he is out there in dark. Erleia…

Atef proceeded to explain the circumstances that got them to Jarat, omitting his guiding light and the murder he committed at the Ice and Puke Wedding. No matter the protective attitude that Gunther had for the magician boy, Atef was wary, especially after learning from Iusufal and Ervel what people outside of the Pit can do.

- Well then, now I know. That Ervel is a true piece of shite, deceitful to the core. Though thinking of it, it doesn’t all add up. The people at the Pit as you call it, they just let you go… that doesn’t happen to slaves.

- Master Togrin and master Everard did. They say there was an … rule to let me go. I forgot, it had a special name.

- There are no rules I know of to provide such mercy. They lied.

- You sure boss?!

- As much as I can be. I bet that if they knew they would never let you go! Or maybe they did know!

Gunther’s observation loomed over the shadows in Atef’s mind threatening to illuminate them. Atef’s psyche riled up at the preposterousness of such a glaring memory not screaming within his mind, warning incessantly of the dangers of his gift. He suddenly grew immensely tired, unable to challenge the words uttered, unable to try to remember, dig out what was hidden on his walk to the forest.

- Maybe… I feel too tired boss. Canna I go sleep?

- Wake up Rolf and tell him to take your place - Gunther said with grim realization that the boy is either hiding something or is unaware of what transpired in the past.

*

Marching throughout the next day, Atef intermixed his thoughts about Gunther’s life path with the attempts to remember more, pierce the veil of Togrin and Everard’s friendly faces which set him free into the world. The memory was like a thick marble slab that you’d try to chew through with your teeth; that is immutable. There was no tinkering with “his” reality, and the doubt that Gunther’s remark was to sow was expunged by the time Baor was at the same level as Sur on the horizon. Then the primary concern of his curiosity stepped in to fill the void. Life of a mercenary! Freedom, brotherhood, adventure. Life by one’s own rules guaranteed by one’s own might. And judging by what Gunther has told him, he is already mighty, no matter that he is a scrawny, weak slave boy released into the world. He tried imagining how this life would look like, thinking of the adventures, the possibilities. These fantasies intermixed with the stories his mas were telling him in the Pit. One moment the road before his eyes became a wondrous kingdom with castles in the sky where he was liberating a princess from the six-armed djinns and the very next it was a cavernous realm with expansive vistas populated by glowing plants and monsters which were guarding the Root of All Life. The lads next to him in line became his questing brethren in his visions and with might and magic they pushed through the endless challenges always coming on top. He took what he wanted, was never wanting of anything… of anybody? Erleia sprung up suddenly in his mind and for the first time since he was recruited, he tried thinking of her. That bastard Ervel took her and she gladly jumped into his lap. But it was because of him, all because of him and the way he treated him, her, both. He thought he should have done more to dispel the charm when they first met Ervel, he should have done more for Erleia while they were wading through the forest and attending the wedding. He should have jumped at her every signal, in the barn, at the Golden Oar.

- Wouldda I ever see her again? Wouldda I have guts to kiss her if she was keen? Wouldda I be stupid little rat who know nadda of girls, specially Aebor girl? Maybe I wouldda if I was a big, strong mercenary? If someone put in my head wha’ to do? That way?

He looked at the left to Gunther and then to the right down his line as if he was looking for a sign in their eyes, an unspoken confirmation of his reasoning in the minute frowns of the marching sods. He then proceeded to imagine what if his mercenary company was as big as the formation he was marching in, what if it was bigger? Could he conquer cities like Jarat. What could he really do? Is there a limit to what he could do?

*

The march came to an abrupt halt in late afternoon. Daemas ordered a combat readiness inspection at the side of an ancient windmill which lazily spun on the waves of a refreshing breeze, making the prolonged waiting on him bearable to the troops. Dominating a small clearing in the middle of the dense thicket, it was a testament to a time before the trees retook what was originally theirs. After a lengthy discussion in the structure’s tall shade he and Julian stepped with vigor towards the awaiting crowd. The soldiers and recruits filled the whole clearing, many of the back ranks standing among the pines and oaks, looking like a tide splashing out of the depths of the tree-line.

- My heroes! My loyal sons of the Empire! Look how far you’ve come! Challenged the deep forests of Heresborg to follow me into the jaws of righteous combat. And you shall have it my sons, because Heresborg is awaiting us! You have seen the vermin we’ve slain! They have squealed! They’ve squealed good and proper and they told us what our enemy’s intentions are! So we will spring a trap! Hit them while they are not looking and cause them an utter and total defeat! The night will be ours! Can you smell them?! Can you hear their fearful sighs?! They are less than a day’s march away and we will be the terror in their sleep! We will fall upon them like righteous fury in the chill of the dark! So rest and say your prayers to our Twin Suns as tonight you will taste blood!

There was a pang on a pot and the soldier acting as herald cheered on the crowd again. They roared back in support, while Atef absentmindedly continued to stare at the hypnotic turns of the windmill whilst opening his mouth like a fish to meet the ebbs and flows of the roar.

- Eager! Eager and great! That’s what you are my sons! – delightfully bellowed back Daemas whilst signaling with his hand – but I must attend to one more thing! It is unworthy of you, yet it is a lesson.

Suddenly, a pile of heads fell in front of the first ranks of the soldiers from a sack that one of the knights emptied in a demonstrative manner. A murmur of uneasiness and sudden shock rippled through the first few ranks whilst the ones behind wondered the sudden change of tone.

- Each rank will approach and see this before rest my sons! As I said, it is a lesson! I’ve warned you of the treachery of desertion! Its lowness and punishment which was bitter on me to order! Be warned now in the hour of battle that desertion is not an option and that none of you who do such a heinous act will be spared! Steel yourselves for what is to come and as a reward for your loyalty we will prepare a feast before you rest!

The metallic cry shook the air again and the soldiers started approaching the heads of the deserters, prompting their lines of recruits to follow through.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

- Is it wise to stuff them before the fight? – said Julian under voice as Daemas was stepping away from the assembly.

- Don’t worry they will be hungry by the time we reach Heresborg. Hopefully, they will quench their hunger in the blood of those Untar dogs!

- Four garthe!

- Yes, yes Julian I know. They outnumber us two to one.

- And they have five times the riders. Not to mention that their raiding rabble is most likely more steadfast than ours!

- Hence the ambush. Don’t worry yourself with the matters of strategy you are not gutsy enough to put in practice. After they’ve eaten send forth the scouts and the remainder of the vanguard half an hour after them. We are to meet with the vanguard at the edge of the forest and rush over the last few leagues to catch them with their breeches down. You have your orders, execute!

As he was walking away to issue the orders, Julian allowed himself a silent prayer to the Twin Suns.

*

The mutilated heads made many sick to the stomach, but brief sleep and the time necessary to prepare the food helped those with less nerve to recover. Once his line was done eating, Gunther found it important to dispel the concerned, jittery-dark mood and impart a shred of warrior’s wisdom.

- Listen up here lads. Tonight all of you will meet death and dance with her for the very first time. Heed this drop of wisdom so that you don’t end up dancing with her into oblivion. When we start taking position and getting ready to jump them don’t be too eager and also don’t be too unenthusiastic. Otherwise, the commanders will notice and either put you in the first rank or, if they are particularly edgy, bash in some of you on the spot. When in formation, do yourself a favor and stick to the middle as you won’t be killed or crushed in the initial charge and you can help the group not fall into disarray if those in front of you turn yellowbelly. Know when to flee and be the first to do it and know when to stand your ground and fight. Don’t rush forward on your own like an idiot, but also don’t move in a large enough group to become easy pickings for archers. Quell the fear and temper the bloodlust! And don’t forget to pray to lady Luck’s teat to drown you in her milk. If you do all this you will have the highest likelihood of survival on the battlefield. Simple!

- Doesn’t seem simple to me – observed Vorod expressing the consensus of the recruits.

- That’s because you’re stupid. But after tonight you’ll wizen up substantially.

- Could we follow your example sir? – asked Dartan to which all others nodded approvingly.

- You could but that doesn’t mean I will have the time to ninny-watch you throughout the whole bloody thing. You’ll need to stand on your own and pay attention closely and carefully how the battle develops. And act as you have been taught by the instructors: steadfast grip, stab when in range and aim for the squishy bits. Now catch some sleep before we set out, it will calm your nerves.

*

The calm before the storm was burning a bilious hole through the guts of each of the recruits as the night march progressed through the forest. An occasional nod or stern look from the seasoned soldiers would reinvigorate those of soft hearts, but it wouldn’t be long before the dreadful prospect of a slaughter in the darkness settles in anew. The recruits knew that even when they have the upper hand and the initiative, they might still end up on the wrong end of the stick. So they waded cautiously through the trees, afraid of every sound they or the forest made. The progress was slow and endless and the tension was rising to an eruption that made some of the recruits feel like they should scream out and run downhill mad with terror. At Lita’s fourth kiss, well past the middle of the night, they were at the edge of Heresborg forest, ready to rush and begin the carnage. The half of the vanguard meant to hold off any unforeseen attack was waiting at the edge. Atef’s heart pummeled with fear as he first spotted the silhouettes in the dark and he lowered his blackened spear ready for merciless combat.

- Ease off boy, they are ours – whispered a passing soldier.

The soldiers and recruits crowded close to the vanguard and the knights on horseback stayed behind taming their nervous steeds. Daemas and Julian jumped out of their saddles and rushed forward to receive report.

- Where are the scouts? – asked Daemas trying to eye out Viktor and any other men he knew were under him.

- We don’t know Sire, they went over the edge of the forest some three hours ago but haven’t reported back.

- This sounds very bad to me – established warily Julian.

- They could be waiting on us to lead us to the Untar dogs – a soldier offered explanation.

- This is not what I ordered! – protested Julian angrily. – They were supposed to come back and tell us about the situation closer to Heresborg!

- Yes Sire, understood Sire. Should we go ahead and look ourselves? – asked the soldier preferring that to having to bear the brunt of his leaders’ dissatisfaction. Seeing the deserters’ heads earlier today he didn’t want to test the prospect of his rolling off his neck now.

- No. Julian, organize the troops and force march out orderly. We will jump at their necks. Cavalry on left flank, stretch the line as much as possible. We will envelop them. Recruits forward with experienced just behind to push them back into the thick of it if they turn out cowardly. You have your orders.

- Is that wise?

As a response Julian received a slap from his lord.

- Never question in front of others and at the hour of the battle! Execute!

A quarter of an hour later, a long snakish formation with its head on the left flank marched out of the woods. The thin line moved quickly forward unevenly emulating the snake’s slithering. Atef was in the second of the four rows, followed behind by a man name Falk, a reveler of slaughter eager to swoop over the unsuspecting enemy. The terrain was easy, a slope that eagerly wanted to grow into a hill, but just couldn’t. The sound of the hundreds of feet on the meadow echoed like a wheezing of a ghostly host craving for its share of memory in the minds of the living. It chilled Atef’s bones, painting the dark with fantasies of dark, lost realms where endless forgotten battles reside. They climbed the summit of the slope and before them a depression led to a new slope giving the area the look of earthy waves rushing towards the forest they left behind. The terrain lazily undulated hiding Heresborg which would become visible after a hillock or two. Clouds hid Lita’s gaze and in the total darkness Atef could only rely on the handful of men he could see to his left and right. Their heavy breathing mirrored his own. The expectation of seeing the enemy over the next, or the hillock behind it tested everyone’s nerves confusing every normal function of the body. Some felt a tremendous need to relieve themselves, others salivated too much. A few felt blind, panicking that even the dozen or so steps before them that they had as a reality check were engulfed in darkness. There were those who stopped and were immediately reminded with a cold metal poke between their shoulder blades that they should press on. It was time to conquer the next slope. And then the night was illuminated.

Like a crackling spark in the void, flaming loops appeared on the top of the hillock. They were driving something chattering and heavy and it suddenly started rolling downhill towards them. Atef’s heart froze for a moment, clenching so hard he thought it would forget its purpose and fail him. A sweat broke, cold as that of a corpse bearer heaving his load to its eternal rest. On the wheels devoured by flame, a wagon was rushing towards them cackling with its metallic chattering sound like the demons at the gates of hell. The snake formation stopped in its tracks; men started shouting with surprise and fear, trying to defuse the confusion that overpowered them. Orders were brayed by the soldiers but not heeded by the recruits. Many tried fleeing and were smacked back into the line. Vorod was among those and he made a distinctive high-pitched yelp that somehow found its way to Atef’s ears. Mid-way down the hillock, a front inflamed wheel broke, the wagon crashed on the ground and something catapulted into the Empire’s warriors. Bodies and body parts peppered the narrow section of the line, and those who were still able to overcome the sheer terror recognized some of the faces of the scouts. A youth named Corto recognized his friend Karuk’s mutilated features which sent him into a panic overdrive and he fell to his knees, resisting to get up even the soldier behind him started kicking.

And then a blood curdling warcry came and the slope looked as if it was crumbling towards them. A few riders tried to push their horses down the line and bring back order galvanizing fighting spirit but it was in vain. On the left a wedge of the raiders’ cavalry was rushing to engage whatever Daemas had, on the right a second detachment was about to clash with the snake’s flank. It was to be an envelopment, a total and crushing defeat. Moments away from death, Atef stepped back, sunk into the broken snake formation, felt the breath and piss and sweat of his brothers in arms and experienced an instinctive tunnel-vision fueled with the need for blood-letting. He gripped the spear hard and the muscle memory took over. They were on top of them, clashing forth in a thunderous rush and the trap was sprung. Three recruits already fell next to Atef before he thrusted his lance for the first time. It was clumsy, the spear went too much up, but it hit something squishy. He couldn’t pull the spear back, seeing it stuck in the neck of a dying assailant. A storm of blades was raging around him, soldiers and recruits killed and died and his mind was unable to perceive anything other than the need to fight. Suddenly he was on the ground, tripped by someone’s collapsing body. A figure stepped over him armed with a short spear.

It went forward and Atef’s hand went up. The thrust meant for his neck pierced his left hand and the sheer agonizing reflex managed to diffuse the power of the move enough that the spear lands next to Atef’s neck. He roared in pain, he cursed in tongues and his gift awoke once again.

Magic roll: 49 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +1 to ice magic ; current level 2/50

Magic roll: 65 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +2 to fire magic ; current level 5/50

Madness roll: 53 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +1 to madness ; current level 10/100 ; first stage reached

Secret roll: 50 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +1 to a mystery ; current level 10/100 ; a change is inevitable and it can’t be outrun. Its slow march begins now.

The metal in his hand suddenly turned cold and Atef twisted his wrist. The icy bite made the metal brittle and a simple move broke off the bladed tip baffling the attacker as he pulled back the spear to make a mortal blow. Then from his right hand a slew of fiery sparks ignited the attacker’s midsection making him scream in agony. Atef pulled the spear-tip from his hand and ignited it in his hand pushing the red-hot metal to the would be butcher’s neck. An infernal screech mixed with gurgling and evaporating blood pierced Atef’s ears mixed with something else, something alien. A pair of sound stilettos bore through his ears squishing the soft matter of his brain, imprinting screeches from beyond in which a muffled word swam. In all that cacophony Atef couldn’t discern it. All he sensed was that this sound is here to stay for as long as he lives, even if it is only for a few more brief moments. He saw another man stepping in to finish him off. Like a seasoned fighter, overtaken by adrenaline, he blinded the wretch with a slew of sparks from his hands and slapped him with his right hand turning his head into a block of ice. Two more fell in a similar manner and then he noticed he will get overwhelmed. Most of Dameas’ sons, as he called them, laid dead or dying around him. One poor soul’s last dying breaths etched into his eyes Atef’s feats and he expired in wonder, oblivious that a new age was coming to life on this field. Atef leaped to the side avoiding another Untar raider and seared his eyes with flames born out both of his hands. He slipped and fell again and walloped among the bodies glimpsing Vorod’s head bashed in with a mace. All those slaps seemed to have been a prophecy. An arm picked him up and just as he launched a swarm of sparks his hand was brushed aside.

- Not falling for that twice! Run… and don’t look back!

Gunther swung him and threw him behind while the Imperial soldier next to him received a blade to his side. The very next moment Atef was on his feet running while Gunther whirled around and repaid the blood debt the Untar raider invoked.

Those who ran were picked off by the riders who have enveloped the Empire’s warriors. The neighing of horses and the meaty sounds of slashing and executing the fleeing decimated the sanity of those still breathing. Atef was reeling from the chaos surrounding him and the reverberating, hellish sound that has settled in his mind. He could only look forward, rushing for the saving embrace of the forest. It was so close, just another two hundred paces or so. A sudden neigh, heavy thumps of hooves came from his left and Atef knew it was the end. On a dark steed, hooded and holding a sword a raider was riding towards him.

Mark of the beast roll: 19 out of 30 [5d6s] ; the wolf joins in the fight

Like an apparition, a demon child of the earth that comes out at night to haunt the living, the wolf appeared in Atef’s view, covering the distance from the forest at breakneck speed. It was on a collision course with the horse and the rider, without any hesitation in its beastly mind. And then it leapt, sinking its claws in the side of the horse. The wolf bounced off, the horse blared with pain and panic and the rider lost control. He was now on the ground, air blown out from the fall, fighting the feeling of drowning on dry land. His ribs felt broken, his lungs felt crushed, but he got up, deeply gasping and looking to finish what he started. He stepped forward with both hands on the hilt of his sword, the thorned spear on his chest rising and falling as fear intermixed with struggle for air.

Magic roll: 65 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +2 to Illusion magic ; current level 6/50

And just like with Ervel and the knight recruiter, the magic clouding the mind sprung up again from Atef, blessing him with salvation. The sword dropped from the hands of the raider and assumed position of a passionate embrace. In the eye of a beholder it could’ve looked comical or divine amidst a battle; but it only mattered that it proved to be deadly. His own sword Atef thrusted through his heart, and as he died he looked at his killer. He saw himself and Atef saw the same. They were lads with same fire in the eye, same desires burning in their souls and one was killing the other. Two leaves of the same tree, grown on distant branches of humanity. Though there was no time to dwell on this. Kill or be killed meant these eyes will haunt him later. Atef released the sword embraced by the raiders mortal grip and redoubled his effort to reach the tree line. His frantic panting was matched by a low growl of the wolf running just behind him.

- I couldda not ever imagine you wouldda stop be afraid of horses! – he squeezed between two gasps as they sunk into the thicket.