Their journey had been one of misery and pain. Asrael’s head ached with the foolishness of the girl and the extravagance of his driver- his buttocks hurt from the hard seat and the dead soldiers’ moans into the fabric of his being were becoming nearly unbearable. In a last-ditch effort to spare the girl’s life; he had bound the Ogre not to himself, but to Kerras- saving himself at least one of the intrusive voices. It had helped to some extent and lessened his burden enough to bear the visage of the fumbling girl’s lackluster grip on her magic and although painful to watch... at least it had settled his nausea.
At the front of the carriage; Neda eyed the ever-growing walls in the distance with awe- amazed at the sight of a real city. The flowery meadows had brought her to tears on several occasions, but the wall... was a thing of beauty. She once again clapped her hands excitedly- bemusing the small, fat man.
“This is amazing, Berral! I can’t believe it- people live there!?” Her shrill shriek of excitement earned her a loud slam on the carriage’s front wall- inside of which; the necromancer was cautiously exploring the outer reaches of the city with his squadron of resurrected. Her joy drained away and a profound frown overtook her features.
She mumbled a low, aggressive; “Maybe we can find me a better teacher in there. He hasn’t taught me anything so far... he just keeps making me cast my magic until I pass out...” Berral would never badmouth his Master- not after having spent weeks on end with his soldiers, but in a rare moment of courage; he leaned over to whisper to the girl.
“Yeah, well... I knows a guy. Shud be ancient by now, but back in de day, he’d take maguses in ‘n ship ‘em to safety. Used to be a hotshot like Asrael, I thinks.” Her excitement returned. A safe haven? A better, dareshethink nicer magus to teach her the magics? Barrel continued, still cautiously; “Asrael’s asked tae meet ‘im already, but I ain’t so sure he’s still alive... guess we’ll see when we get tae the tavern.” He leaned back and scratched his oily belly with a sniffle.
Asrael dared not hope Barrel’s contact still lived, but if he did; he imagined he’d be one of his sniveling idiot-colleagues from the tower. There were precious few of them who would have anything good to say about their deceased, still-living colleague, but they would be fools to turn him away, should he come knocking. He was, after all, the strongest, wisest, most renowned magus ever to have lived- a factum that to the day brought a passing smile to replace his usual frown. If this fool was still alive; he would have him answer for his failure to maintain his dignity and allow the world to devolve into this madness, where magi were being treated so cruelly- so inhumanely- by their subhuman lessers.
He crossed his legs and leaned back on the bench as he thought of his solution to at least one of his problems. Binding his soldiers’ wills to his own had proven an exhausting process to maintain, whereas Kerras seemed to both have the facilities for it, as well as a propensity to endure pain... or rather; his pain was inconsequential to the necromancer. He chuckled as he imagined the agony he’d unleash upon his Commander as his army grew. The next of his problems proved more difficult to solve- the girl. That useless harlot had yet to make any progress, but she had proven herself a magus... in a world where there were few of them left, it would be a crime to kill her. Perhaps, after all, he would live up to the “promise”, or rather, the pathetic plea of her brother and see to her safety.
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Bartholomew stood atop the gate next to his brother and each their Blessed and watched the busy Inquisitors scuttle in between the long lanes of caravans awaiting inspections. Men and women from all corners of the empire sat in the hot sun and patiently stood by for the scrutinous examination of the customs-officers and their Blessed Sensates scanning the arrivals for any ungodly hiding in the masses.
Bartholomew sighed and folded his arms as Titus- Duke and Inquisitor General of the Empire’s sector six began holding yet another one of his motivating speeches. At his side; Petrus’ glare could be felt from beneath his white hood, but stubborn as he was; Bart turned his attention to the straight-backed, frozen- petrified- Lita. Cocking his head; he raised a rare question to the sullen girl; “What’s wrong?” Something about her had just changed. Her blue eyes were wide- staring out at a particular carriage with a slightly-agape jaw... a refreshing change from her usual, sheepish, timid expression.
She hung her head and shook dismissively, yet struggled to regain her composure. “N-nothing, Sire. It was nothing.” He followed her previously startled glare off to a tired, splintered caravan with four black, red-eyed blight-horses and... He lowered his brow with disbelief at the glorious creature leading the carriage. “Is that... a camel?” He could hear Lita swallow the contents of her dry mouth and nod. When she spoke; it was with a tongue so dry she struggled to form the words. “Y-yes, Sire.” He scratched his chin. The creature was undoubtedly the most interesting thing he had seen thus far in the dreary city and if the sight had brought a semblance of life back to Lita’s dead eyes; he would be a fool not to investigate this strange caravan.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
As Titus finished his lofty, welcoming speech to motivate his tireless Inquisitors, Bartholomew wordlessly turned around and grabbed the girl by her wrist to lead her down the rampart and to the gate. A rare hesitation slowed her step as they walked past the carriages and suffered the strict salutes and curious glares of travelers and inspectors alike and made their way towards the curious caravan.
Up above; a grin crept across Titus’ face as he watched his brother, for the first time since his arrival, do anything save sulk in his chamber- sensing hope that his bemusing kin could return to his once-glorious, golden self. Lita stood in silence a pace beyond her charge and watched as he studied the chewing, ptotic camel with a rare smile. He turned around to ask her; “Have you ever seen one of these before?” She shook her head and returned to staring down on the dirt. He grabbed her hand and led her to touch the camel who responded with leaning into her hand for a gentle caress.
She could sense a tinge of relief on Bartholomew’s mind as he watched her, but it seemed to her that the fine Inquisitor had misunderstood her earlier stare. Fore as interesting as the creature was, it was not the camel that had earned her attention, but the disturbance inside the carriage’s cargo-hold. Bartholomew’s ears honed in on an unusual, angry conversation dulled by the thick, splintered plates of wood;
“You are my sister. Your ploy to bed me will not work, harlot! Your anxieties are misplaced- no man would touch you with a ten-foot-pole and you should be old enough to have your own bedchamber!” Bartholomew’s eyes shot wide-open. Could it be... true depravity?
A woman’s voice sounded next; “And I’m telling you; you’re too ugly! We’re companions! I’m not gonna feel safe in there!” Bartholomew was in awe. An ugly, repulsive man fated to bed his lusty sister? For the first time in months; he could feel his heart pound with genuine excitement.
A third voice sounded from inside; “I-is true, S-sir... you’re not a pretty picture like her. I-I thinks you should accept it and go with it.” A third!? It mattered not who these people were- he needed to see them, either way, if only to have a fantasy to keep him warm in these cold, lonely Pilta nights. He passed around the carriage with a determined gait- dragging the girl behind him and cleared his throat to knock on the wood.
What awaited him inside made his jaw drop with awe. A small, fat man covered in sweat and natural grease opened the hatch to look at the finely clad Inquisitor with terror in his gaze. A white-robed girl hung her head down low behind him, balling her hands into tight fists while biting hard into her lower lip. A beautiful woman sat cross-armed at a thin, pale, large-nosed, black-haired and rightfully ugly creature.
Her long, honeyed hair hung over each shoulder- highlighting the intense red of her irises. How any man could resist her was beyond him- even if she was his sister, the man must have been mad to have even tried.
The frowning, pale creature in the corner glared at the Inquisitor and the timid girl to aggressively request; “Can we help you-” Barrel raised his hands and cut the necromancer short with a nervous chuckle and a grin. “O-oh, Inquisitor Sir... I-I s-see y-you've b-brought a...” Barrel gulped before whispering; “S-sensate... B-but d-don't worry, ain’t no magickers in here- trust ol’ Barrel to tell the truth, always!” Even from afar; Titus could see the bright grin of his brother as he pressed his way past the small, round man and stepped into the carriage- leaving the white-haired Acolyte outside to introduce himself with a low bow;
“Bartholomew- Inquisitor extraordinaire at your service. I am to inspect your carriage and, hopefully, allow you passage into the great city of Pilta. With me; I have my lovely associate Lita who will be conducting your clearance-check.” He waved for the girl, but seemed wistfully uncaring for the girl. Asrael had always hated the charismatic- especially the ones carrying blades on their hips. Still... Barrel had spoken a grave warning of this hurdle and gaining passage into the city was of the utmost importance. As much as he hated it... he would have to do his best to stick to their carefully prepared alibi.
He stood from his seat and bowed his head to present himself; “And I am Kerras the third; son of Commander Kerras the second- born and raised in the Blighted lands-” The infuriating girl shot up from her seat- still crossing her arms to shout at the finely clad, handsome stranger in their humble abode;
“And I’m his lover! He took me from my village and made me his pa’namph!” Bartholomew’s jaw dropped. Could this horribly disfigured man truly be a kindred soul- a fellow traveler... a conqueror, like he had been? He excitedly beckoned for the Acolyte to join him inside the carriage, but the girl remained stationary in her place- breathing raggedly. She was helpless to resist her natural urges to grab Bartholomew’s hand and follow him inside, but never once looked away from the necromancer off in the corner.
“S-sir that ain’t necessary, we’re good folk-” Barrel swallowed, but Bartholomew waved the small, fat man off before turning to Neda to bar her way with a cheeky grin of arousal to question her;
“So... his pa’namph, huh? I’ve never heard of it- please. Do tell me more.”
As Neda rambled on about her people’s customs; Asrael was frozen in place- staring up at the white-haired, white-robed creature hyperventilating before him. Lita felt as if her heart would soon pound its way through her chest. Her knees were weak, her back was already drenched in sweat and she had to stop several times to bite back her retches. Never in her life had she felt power such as this. Staring into his green, suspicious eyes was akin to staring into the deepest abyss, only to see something inside stare back at her. For days; she had felt something distant- something off in the atmosphere... but looking at the man... it was almost unbearable. She knew what she had to do- she needed to reach into him and touch that seemingly endless supply of magic, but for the life of her; she could not move.
Asrael, on the other hand; glared at the girl with a raised eyebrow. What was she? Some form of religious figurehead- another one of the foolish populace’s attempts to seek a higher power and balance out their inferiority to the magi? He stared into her deep-blue, wide eyes for a demonstrative moment, but just as he opened his mouth to scold the rude commoner; he felt as if a hot spike was driven through his forehead. Sparks filled his field of view- bereaving him of the unsightly visage of the interior of the carriage and within the blink of an eye... all he could see... were those beautiful, blue baubles.