A loud cheer rose up from the throats of every man in the Orczy guard. The sun fell an hour earlier, and with all the day’s guests gone, it was time for the guards to have some celebrations of their own. Dozens of tables piled high with fruits, meat, bread, and spices were assembled outside of the compound gates, and every man had a goblet of wine forced into his hand.
That very much included the young and newly-minted lieutenant Cato of Inillo and his subordinates. The three boys, Privates Francesco, Mirtilio, and Diogo, gamboled about on the cobbled streets and drank their fill, entertaining their peers of more urban origin with stories and tricks only country boys knew. Sergeant Remiro kept a careful watch, mostly to ensure that they didn’t try anything risky, like knocking apples off each others’ heads with their clubs, and allowed Cato to take on the socializing and schmoozing such an event demanded.
“And then-!” Cato had a wild, enthusiastic look about him, with a wide grin and a rising voice, “he shows up at the archbishop’s door, begging him to… to… Enzo, what was it?”
The flush-faced older sergeant howled, “to cure-”
“HIS SYPHILIS!” The two ended together, and joined in loud and lusty cackles. Cato put an arm around Enzo, pretending to be more drunk than he really was, and his compatriot did the same as he almost collapsed into wheezing coughs.
Yes, this was the stuff camaraderie was made of. In the hours since duty began earlier that day to this nighttime feast, he had succeeded in navigating the suspicions of his fellow guards, especially that of his ‘subordinate’ Enzo, and was sharing a raucous time eating, drinking and jesting with them with no awkwardness at all.
It wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Remiro did not underestimate how slow to trust these people were, surrounded by spies and conspiracies aimed at their charges, but with today’s activities he was well on his way to earning their confidence.
The clamor wound down to silence as Captain Apostolis rose from his seat and banged a mailed hand on the long-suffering table. He was a nobleman through and through, born to a family which had served under the Orczy for generations, and was one of the Duke’s most trusted servants. Remiro had drilled Cato in the rudiments of aristocratic manners, and he knew that in any courtly setting such a display would be the height of boorishness. But Apostolis was also a leader, and his people were of common blood. He knew when to drop manners and bang the table rather than ring a silver spoon against his glass.
Remiro admired the captain’s acumen deeply, and commented as much to Cato on several occasions. Cato thought it was a bit condescending, but he kept those thoughts to himself. The morals and rules he learned in his past life… it’s not that they didn’t matter exactly. He wasn’t about to give up who he was. But spouting them off was bound to get him in trouble.
“Gentlemen of Orczy-” a great, roaring laugh came up, and he silenced it with a hand. “You’ve all worked hard these last few months.”
“The Kolonn bastards have been bold, but you’ve been bolder! This feast is Duke Orczy’s gift to each and every one of you loyal men.”
He banged his fist on the table once, twice, thrice more.
“We will not be cowed! We will not be defeated! The archbishop and the Forna family stand with us!”
A drunk, wavering voice rose from the crowd. “Long live Holy Son Fulminous!” The crowd stirred, and Captain Apostolis banged the table again, which seemed quite close to splintering, drawing attention back to him as the offender was hidden from sight.
“The archbishop said today that the Holy City shall be rebuilt, and the Holy Son’s friends in Anthusa shall not go without reward. This is the first of many feats to come. Hail!”
“HAIL! HAIL!” The deafening roar was silenced only when the guards slugged back their wine.
Cato joined them. Two self-declared Holy Sons, one on the planet Achae and the other on Fleur, both contending for a throne which had been reduced to ash. Outside of a few hardliners, few of the great factions of Anthusa, let alone all of Vintal and the worlds beyond, had declared unified support for one candidate or another. The Orczy were no exception. This was a time to test the waters, learn the lay of the land, and secure concessions in exchange for support. It was to everyone’s benefit if the candidates could be kept in some suspense, so that they would not be too secure in their victory. If some consensus was reached among the great powers, all the better, though the longer that was kept secret, the more concessions might be won.
But against the logic of high politics stood the unease of the common people. A plague on Vintal, a city in ashes, and a faith divided made for worrisome times. Yet it was precisely because of this that the great unaligned masses fled to the protection of the Orczy and Kolonn factions. They begged for succor from the same powers that prolonged the uncertainty to their own benefit. And despite being very far from the high nobility at present, Cato was very well positioned to benefit himself.
It was enough to drive any sane man to drink.
“Barrel’s all tapped out!” Enzo’s voice rose up from over the din. “Lieutenant!”
“On it!”
Cato swigged the last of the wine in his goblet and accompanied the sergeant. Two streets down and to the left, the closest tavern to the Orczy estate was lit up with lamps and candles, the sweet melodies of lutes swimming through the air. Young and old danced inside and spilled over into the street, but they parted for the two officers. The Duke’s generosity did not extend only to his own men: dozens of taverns in the city managed by friendly faces were feasting with them, and many churches under their control were giving alms, food, and medicine.
Flushed commoners cheered him on, and no small number snuck in smiles and meaningful glances. The barman had another barrel of wine ready before they even arrived, though neither was able to leave before the whole tavern started up a drinking song in their honor. It took eight verses before they were able to escape, rolling the barrel up the busy street back to the festivities.
“Enjoying yourself, Cato?”
“Lieutenant,” Cato responded, but the grin on his face wasn’t false. It felt good in a way that the praise of Inillo’s villagers didn’t. To be feasted and celebrated, not alone, but as part of a group. Entirely despite himself, he was starting to think of himself and the other guards as ‘we.’
A roar of approval came up as they turned the corner and a dozen thirsty lushes ran down to carry the barrel over to the tables. Cato saw Captain Apostolis’ face turn towards them. What were the emotions written there? Satisfaction, happiness, pride? There was a gentle look as well, and acceptance. He was one of the first people Cato met in Anthusa. Their relationship had been entirely mercenary, and on paper it still was. Yet Cato couldn’t help but feel that some real trust and appreciation had grown between them in the last months as well.
Then Cato registered the crossbow bolt buried, still trembling, in the captain’s throat.
He fell back in shock, crushing a table piled high with food and drink, and the sound of splintering wood and shattered glass woke the crowd from its stupor.
A split second later, Cato felt a spiked club strike his back, its impact breaking two vertebrae and the points tearing apart muscle.
He wasn’t injured. He knew well enough how to distinguish his own pain from that of his followers. With an exertion of will that had nearly become instinctual, he traced the pain back to its source. Down the street, just around the corner, from the opposite direction as the crossbow bolt.
“We’re under attack!”
He didn’t need to see the red-and-gold to know the Kolonn family was behind this. Without waiting for a command, he unsheathed his blade and rushed to the corner where Diogo lay still on the street. Mirtilio and Francesco yelled and held the thugs at bay with their own clubs, but these boys were not experienced fighters. Only their desire to protect Diogo’s body kept them from breaking and fleeing at once.
But they held out long enough for Cato to arrive. There were six enemy uniforms flashing in the half-light, and he powered toward them with blind fury. Two lay on the street in short order, as a sword infused with power cleft their mail and left cruel tears in their flesh.
Their compatriots held on a little longer, but Sergeant Enzo was just a few steps behind, and he piled into the thugs with reckless abandon, getting inside the reach of their clubs and chopping savagely with an axe.
In terms of pure physical ability, Enzo couldn’t hold a candle to Cato. He’d only just broken through to the second realm, while Cato was certain the body he’d inherited had been in the second realm for years, if not decades. The older sergeant wasn’t even able to use all of his body’s newfound power at present.
But there was no substitute for real battle experience and—Cato found himself thinking— a frankly psychotic disregard for life and limb matched only by a desire to see his enemies bleed.
As Enzo held off the others, Cato knelt down by Diogo’s still form. He was alive and breathing, but that cowardly strike from behind had paralyzed the young man. Without hesitation, he pulled off a glove and tore the blood-covered shirt away, then pressed his bare hand directly into the open wound and pushed energy directly inside.
Diogo didn’t so much as twitch. Cato was glad the boy was spared a little more pain, but that meant the damage was much more than he could heal quickly. Even getting those legs moving again would require much more time than they had.
Even as this end of the street was reinforced, yells came from all around the Orczy estate.
“Look there! In the sky!”
Not only were they being surrounded, but Cato caught sight of a hippogriff flying low over the city, away from the Orczy compound, with a slim silhouette riding atop it.
But he couldn’t even give that his full attention. Back down the street, where the captain’s body fell, one of the civilians was cowering.
With a knife in his hand.
Cato rushed over, not even stopping to pick up his blade, and threw himself against the man. Instead of falling over, he spun to the side and turned his blade against Cato. He backed away and reached forward to grab the assassin’s wrist, but barely avoided a slice at his face as his opponent wormed out of the grapple.
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This wasn’t just another Kolonn thug. They’d sent one of their lieutenants to finish the job.
Enzo was still leading the defense up the street. His other peers, everyone who could help him overwhelm the assassin, was keeping the larger ambush force at bay. Not only might backup not arrive quickly enough, calling for any might confuse and break defenses elsewhere.
The assassin wove back and forth, leaving Cato guessing what he should defend. Cato feinted, leaving himself open, and his opponent took the opportunity to strike his heart with a powerful overhead swing. He was ready, and stopped the blade in time, but not before the point dug through his armor and skin. The two wrestled, the knife drawing a shallow cut across Cato’s torso before he managed to push away.
Should he attack with his soul? Chances were good that his opponent focused on physical strength over spiritual development. But he wasn’t good enough at controlling it yet. If he unleashed it now and struck the captain by accident, he might as well have done the assassin’s job for him.
So they wrestled in the dark, neither one giving an inch. Then the assassin cried out in pain and slipped. Cato wasted no time, knocking the knife from his hand and thrusting it under the ribcage.
That wasn’t enough to kill a warrior in the second realm immediately. Even with a pierced lung and, Cato expected, a severed aorta, he kept wrestling with Cato, trying in vain to take back the knife. So he kept pushing and twisting, virtually crushing his opponent’s body in a bloody bear hug until he fell to the ground, pale and limp.
Only then did Cato realize that the assassin’s heel was sliced open, and Captain Apostolis lay on the ground with a bloody dagger in his fist.
“Captain!”
Cato’s superior reached toward his neck and tore out the bolt. “I’m… fine. Poisoned. Need… to purge it.”
A warrior firmly in the second realm of alchemic transformation could keep fighting for a few minutes with severe injuries. In the third realm, meanwhile, one became nearly impervious to most weapons and gained an incredible level of bodily control, cutting off blood flow to injured areas and burning out toxins.
The wind whistled through a hole in Captain Apostolis’ throat with every word, but he wasn’t even bleeding. That poison probably wasn’t even expected to kill him, just slow him down and distract him long enough for their assassin to bury a knife in his brain or heart.
“Help me up. Which way did the hippogriff go?”
“Sir?”
“The rider was holding a child.”
Cato’s blood froze. There weren’t too many children inside the Orczy compound. One guess which one merited a kidnapping backed up by a whole Kolonn squadron.
“But, why?”
“Oh for- which way!?” he half-spoke, half-whistled.
“West.”
The captain rested his weight on Cato and stuck his thumb in the puncture wound. With a hoarse voice that made Cato shiver, he shouted.
“Men! These bastards have kidnapped Teresa, follow west!”
Even as he spoke, another rider cleared the compound walls, a silhouette with a saber drawn atop a night-black pegasus.
A powerful aura fell over the surrounding streets, and for the first time in many weeks Cato was viscerally reminded of Benicio Cecchini’s presence blocking the road. This time, though, it filled him with vigor and aggression, and all throughout the streets the Orczy men rushed forth even as their enemies shrank back. The aura faded swiftly and the rider flew out of sight with just a few powerful flaps of the pegasus’ wings, but the tide of the battle turned.
“Borca! Sirio! Enzo! To me!” The captain’s ragged voice swept through the streets, and three of the captain’s most capable soldiers joined his side.
“Follow the Duke on foot! Enzo, hold me steady.”
Cato gingerly transferred the captain into the care of the older sergeant, and rushed ahead with the other lieutenants. Far from having to slow down, in their company he needed to work hard keeping up, as they leapt from roof to roof in order to keep the low-flying pegasus in sight against the night sky.
They were just passing the tower of the Order of the Golden Rose when a javelin flew past Cato’s face. He dodged, but went tumbling off the side of the building at high speed. Though he recovered and rolled to his feet just after hitting the ground, he didn’t even have a second before a spearman descended, forcing him back.
Both of his fellow lieutenants were engaged with enemies of their own, and these were no simple thugs; each was as skilled as the assassin from earlier.
Lieutenant Borca drove his assailant off with a kick and shouted “Form up!” Cato and Lieutenant Sirio rushed to his position, aiding each other in defense, but they were already tired from the fighting earlier, while their present opponents were fresh.
Not only were they fresh, they weren’t wearing Kolonn colors.
The three created some distance from their opponents and stood their ground. They didn’t need to win here, just stall until the rest of the force arrived.
“What midden did you crawl out from, you bastards? We’ll rip you apart!”
A low chuckle spread from their three opponents.
They weren’t even armored. They wielded spears, staves, and axes, but their clothes looked more similar to clergy robes than anything else.
“Look at that, this whelp is trying to scare us!”
“Wanna switch? I’ll chop him to pieces?”
“Fuck off, he’s mine.”
“Do you idiots have time to waste like this?”
A cold aura spread out over the street. Candlelights in windows snuffed out and doors were locked tight as a fourth silhouette stepped out from the darkness. At the same time, Enzo and Captain Apostolis arrived from behind the lieutenants, a stream of soldiers behind them.
“It seems that your stalling has lost us precious time. Finish this quickly, then join me.”
“Yes boss!” Responded the three assailants.
This newcomer bore no weapons, and looked much less like a warrior than a priest. Yet his presence seemed to cut directly through Cato’s defenses and filled his bones with a chill. This was undoubtedly an attack using his soul, and though this man’s power didn’t seem that much greater than Cato’s, everything about him bespoke great skill and confidence.
“Alidosi, you worm!”
Captain Apostolis stepped unsteadily onto his own feet and walked toward the fight.
“Captain. You cannot imagine my disappointment in having to meet you again.”
“Not even bothering to hide your treachery? I’ll have you strung up and torn to pieces!”
The newcomer only smiled, and raised his hand.
A wave of power thrummed through the air, and seemed to knock the captain back a step. Cato felt the clash of their souls, and it was clear that Alidosi possessed far more experience with this type of conflict.
“You overestimate yourself, Captain. I came more than prepared to end you and your men tonight.”
“The Duke-”
“The Duke will meet the same fate shortly.”
A flash like lightning and a crash like thunder splitting stone arose, just a few blocks to the west.
“Speak of the Devil. That ought to be him dying now.”
“You little-”
Alidosi didn’t even face the captain. “If you can’t slaughter them all with my suppression, I’ll have you three cleaning out stables for the rest of your lives. Go!”
“Sir!”
The three assailants rushed forward with spear, staff, and axe. They faced not just the three lieutenants, but the injured captain, Enzo, and dozens of Orczy men. Yet an oppressive weight came down over all of them, and only the strongest of the force held on with enough strength to resist their onslaught. The captain took enough punishment for any two of them, but between his sluggish speed and the darkening veins around his eyes and neck, Cato clearly saw he hadn’t finished purging the poison.
Meanwhile, that man, Alidosi, stood back, completely sure of his own safety. Cato fended off the spear-wielder again, but even with Enzo’s help they were barely holding on.
They were going to lose. Everyone here was fighting with everything they had, but they were still going to lose.
No, that wasn’t quite true. Cato wasn’t giving everything he could.
He could attack with his soul as well, but while these warriors would probably be vulnerable to it, they were too close to his allies. Alidosi was alone, but he was skilled enough to resist Cato’s attack and even fight back.
He needed another way out.
He switched with Enzo and yelled “Cover me!” Then he rushed forward at Alidosi, blade held high.
Cato had spent a lot of time lately learning about the nature of souls, and especially his own.
The spear sliced clean though his side.
“Eyes on me, fucker!”
He knew its parts, where different kinds of impulses came from, and how to speak with them.
The stab in the back that should have ended his life missed by a country mile. That was Enzo for you.
That was the most important thing when crossing from the second to the third realm of the soul. You needed to know yourself well enough to reshape it into something else, a vessel for something greater.
Alidosi set his eyes on the reckless young man and smiled like a hungry wolf.
Reshaping was the essence of the third realm, and invitation was the essence of the fourth. Cato still wasn’t ready to reshape his soul. But he knew enough about how it ought to be done.
Steel flashed in the night, and Cato staggered, impaled on the priest’s sword.
Enough to know just how dangerous this was, and, frankly, stupid.
Cato felt an ethereal hand on his shoulder, like a cool spring, like a brother’s touch. Telling him not to risk this.
It was right. He shouldn’t. But he did it anyway.
“Pray, fool boy. I’ll give you that small mercy.”
Cato drew energy into his soul, infusing it, saturating it. It was like seeing the grooves and shapes of something he had only ever touched without seeing. It was under immense pressure, at once solid and yet soft. He felt it tremble, briefly become pliable. He was supposed to work it into a thing of truth, wrought from himself.
“What are you-”
The pressure in his body broke loose, energy blasting out through the gap he made for it. In the brief moment that this volatile, malleable power broke free of him like a river, he grasped part of it, worked it into a thing of spite and anger and threw it.
It was like a bomb detonating in the ocean, making only a slight ripple on the surface. The rest of the combatants hardly noticed it.
But even as Alidosi was trying to recall his power, to shield himself from this utterly reckless assault, it tore through his defenses and carved a wound inside him.
The oppressive weight all of a sudden lifted from the battlefield. The priest bled from the eyes, nose, and ears, and he and Cato fell into a heap on the ground, the latter still impaled.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
Cato awoke with a terrible wound in his gut and a horrific numbness. Something was broken inside of him. Maybe irreparably.
It was still nighttime. He was still lying on the stone. He wasn’t dead or healed, so he could have only been out for a few moments.
“Cato! Cato!”
Sergeant Enzo was shaking him, and it was only making all of his wounds worse.
“What kind of fool magic was that? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Cato didn’t so much look around as lazily allow his eyeballs to move. The battle was over. Two of the mystery assailants lay dead, along with no small number of Orczy casualties. Alidosi’s body lay nearby, still breathing, but not likely to wake up anytime soon.
“Sit up, lieutenant!”
A hard smack nearly snapped Cato’s head off. He was about to complain, but two hands like steel grabbed his face, and his vision focused on the captain.
“Can you stand?”
Cato nodded, feeling very far away from whatever situation he was in. The captain hefted him up, and the Orczy men felt a ripple of power from the west, right where the lightning bolt fell just a minute earlier.
An immense smile spread over the captain’s blood-splattered face. “It’s the Duke! He’s doing it!”
Enzo stepped forward to keep Cato steady. “Doing what, sir?”
“He’s winning. On your feet, men! Unless you want to miss seeing the Duke ascend!”