Legion

“I was born in a coastal city, Bhagdabe. Well...the reservation was called Bhagdabe, the city is called Parell Mar. Most Molochans of this era were born on reservations in Finis.”

Legion was reclined against the wall. Following his morning torment he wasn’t capable of much anything else. Rather than be left in the darkness with his thoughts, he asked Nosib for a bit of his life story.

“Some of us kept low in the jungles of our homeland, but for all intents, the reservations in Finis are the breadth of the molochan kingdom.” Nosib chuckled. “There used to be a law in Sanaatan to kill any molochans on sight, didn’t want any rumblings of a second Molochan War. That kept us away. The Reconstruction saw the end of those ways. The spire palaces of Sanaatan burned along with all the laws they represented. Knowing this, I made a pilgrimage there. Sold my labor on shipping vessels to do so.”

Legion wanted to ask why, but he was worried if he spoke only blood would come out.

“I lived there for half my life. Some parts of it scrounging in the jungles, other parts in their cobbled cities. I became who I am in that land: A tough bastard.”

Nosib paused. Legion’s eyes had gotten better at seeing in the dark, but he still wasn’t certain what his cellmate was doing. It looked like Nosib was pinching the air between his fingers.

Nosib gave a grunt that could’ve meant anything before resuming.“I was inducted into the service of Pashindra there, and it was Pashindra who guided me back to Finis. The herd needed my insight, my experience. They made me...well...not a leader, but someone they turned to.”

Legion thought of Barato. He never understood why Barato was the mayor of Refuge, only that people said he was the right man for the job.

“The years passed and I transitioned from a tough bastard to a tough old bastard. That helped when it came time for the rebellion. Molochans respect a tough old bastard, so they followed my orders when I told them the fight was lost and we had to head inland. Some resented that decision. Preferred to stand their ground and to die in the flames of their burning homes. People like that…they forget what it's like to be a child. They can’t imagine being too young to die. A culture is weak when it allows the young to die. That is why I led my people to Spiral City.”

Legion was dozing now. Nosib’s baritone voice was soothing. His eyes shot open when Nosib placed a heavy hand on his head. Nosib was close enough that Legion could see the texture of the scars under his fur.

“You are too young to die, and so am I. That’s why we leave this prison today.”

Before Legion could speak his body was set alight with a cascade of electricity.

“Pashindra make these wounds scars!” Nosib declared.

The divine sparks hurt only briefly. He felt the cuts on his body scab over. The blood in his mouth evaporated. Bruises faded and pain left him with each jolt. When Nosib removed his hand he felt like he had done a month’s recovery from his torture.

“Why now?” Was the first thing Legion asked.

“The air’s thick enough.” Nosib replied flatly.

Legion gaped. He did not know how much time had passed since capture, but this seemed too sudden. They had no weapons and his hands were still restrained by the magebinders.

“I hate to address this, but with your horns cut you can better listen at the door.” Nosib said.

This was true. Legion pressed his ear to the cold metal slab.

“I hear shouting.” He whispered, not believing it himself. With the tunnel and two doors in front of this one he expected to hear almost nothing.

“Chaos of a coming siege. I felt it in the air.” Nosib said matter-of-factly.

The latch of the first door coming undone shook Legion’s ears. He scrambled away from the door hissing that someone was coming. Nosib was very calm. He remained on his bed touching the long fractal scars on his shoulders.

The two guards entered in full armor. One bearing a mace and torch. He was a green coatlmade, one Legion had seen many times in this prison. The other carried an armful of clanking chains, enough for Legion and large enough for Nosib. This guard was a rotund human, sweaty and short of breath.

“Come. Now.” The coatlmade with the torch ordered. He spoke like he didn’t expect them to know the common tongue.

Out of the shadows Nosib’s large hands took the sweaty human by the cheeks. A single turn snapped the man’s neck. The coatlmade with the torch leapt back spitting profanity. Nosib moved fast for a creature his size. The first crack came from him headbutting the guard. The second came when he dashed the guard’s head against the stone walls.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Legion dashed to Nosib’s side, mouth still agape. The magebinders prevented him from taking any of the weapons the guards carried, but he could grasp the torch if he used both hands. He thought Nosib would take the mace, but the minotaur instead gathered the chains that would have been used to transport them.

“Pashindra’s weapon is an ever-long morning star with a diamond head named the Storm Lash. She favors me by presenting a facsimile for our escape.”

He bound the chains across his chest like armor. The longest he pulled taut between his hands, long enough to stretch from palm to palm with his broad arms outstretched. At both ends were sealed manacles intended for the throats of the imprisoned. Nosib felt each link between his fingers. As he did, he hummed like distant thunder. Sparks of lightning caressed the chain.

The shouting at the end of the tunnel was plain now. Cries of an attack. Soldiers breaking through the gates. A command to collect and execute the prisoners. The idea that he and Nosib had been so close to death when the guards arrived at their cell made Legion’s heart hammer harder. Holding the torch was also disorienting. Being in the dark for so long made the proximity of the firelight blinding.

“Halt!” The sudden shout caused Legion to fumble with the torch. They had crept into the main hall without noticing the two guards already there.

“Return to your cells!” This soldier had painted a set of half-plate with a collage of blue hand prints.

“Why?’ Nosib asked flatly. He put himself between Legion and the Order members.

There was no proper response for this.

“Filthy beast…” The guard muttered. He took his sword and jabbed it in their direction. Nosib flinched back, observing carefully. Legion believed that reinforcements would come soon.

“Do it quickly Holass!” The second guard shouted to the other.

As if the command was for himself, Nosib lashed his makeshift weapon towards an exposed section of the guard’s neck. There was a flash as the electric chain made contact, stunning the man. Nosib bounded forward, delivering a crushing strike with the chains wrapped around his arm.

The sword-wielding guard crumpled. The other started a retreat when a bombastic roar ripped through the hall, causing all to stop and clutch their ears. The scream became manifest, launching the door adjacent to the guard off its foundation, flattening him against the wall.

From that cell stepped another diablan. This one taller than Legion. He had fire in his eyes that seemed defiant of the entire prison. He was underfed and scarred much in the way Legion had been.

The diablan noticed them. He smiled faintly, taking two wobbling steps towards them. When he tried to speak, it was so hoarse he had to repeat himself several times to become coherent. “Blew out my chords with that. Had to, they had a brace on my throat that would’ve suppressed anything else.”

He hacked into his elbow then rubbed the raw skin around his neck. “Looks like I blew that off too.”

“Song arcana. A raw note.” Nosib said.

The diablan touched his finger to his nose. He quickly returned his hands to the wall so that his legs wouldn’t give out. “Fern is what they call me.”

Nosib and Legion returned introductions. Nosib’s magic could only mend part of Fern’s damage. It can’t nourish a body or return lost blood. Fern waived the attempt, claiming that he brought on most of the harm himself through what he called “an unceasing mouth.” It was this behavior that landed him in this deepest level of the prison, where previously Nosib had been the only occupant.

“Then why was I brought here?” Legion pondered. He did not consider himself in the same level of threat as Fern, and especially no match for Nosib.

“I believe you mentioned firing into a crowd of Order sympathizers with a powerful arcane blast.” Nosib replied.

“If true then you’re my hero.” Fern rasped. He looked at Legion like a proud older brother.

“That did happen.” Legion said quietly. “They deserved it.”

Fern weakly patted Legion’s shoulder. His fingers were bound in the same kind of clamps Legion wore. Magebinders. Apparently useless if the mage in question didn’t need to use hand signs.

“I want these things off.” Legion scowled at the shell-like cuffs.

“I think I know where there’s a warden’s office.” Fern remarked.

“Where? How?” Nosib kept his attention at the stairs towards the end of this hall between tightening the chains on his arm.

“Lots of time in the dark. Lots of time to listen.” Fern wanted to explain more, but another bout of coughing took him. Flecks of red in his spit were visible in the torchlight.

The answer was good enough for Nosib. He took the point position of their procession. Neither Fern or Legion could wield weapons with their hands restrained. Every guard they encountered was felled by Nosib’s sparking chain. On the upper levels they found signs of a fight. Prisoners like them had attempted a revolt. Losses on both sides. Fern went to each diablan to shut their slack mouths. He showed no fear of the blood staining his fingers.

There weren’t just Diablans amongst the prisoners, but phyrn and molochans as well. For them, Nosib offered a prayer in the language of his people. A prayer for worthy judgment in the Sunless Border.

“Maybe this riot was what scared the guards.” Legion couldn’t remove his eyes from a particular corpse; a diablan boy younger than himself.

“Perhaps. The air is still thick.” Nosib waved his fingers through empty space.

Fern shook his head. “If the guards had won, they wouldn’t be fleeing. I think this place is under siege, and the Order is panicking. Who’s attacking, I cannot say.”

Legion touched the dead boy's forehead. He didn’t get all the words right, but he tried to recite the same verse Nosib had used.

“Whoever they are, let’s hope they like diablans.”