Chapter 2

The snort of a horse carried into the cool morning air, over the murmur of an unseen river. Layered in thick mists, the broad valley was cloaked in an eerie stillness; every unknown sound and movement made Marcus Cavallaro peer sharply in its direction. The shrouded hours of the early morning were the most dangerous time of day in the Riverlands. Though it should be safe enough where they were, he could never truly settle down in these surroundings. A Paladin stationed in the fortress of Altamura and a native of the Riverlands himself, he had seen too many times what could happen if one dropped their guard against the morning fog.

Inhabitants of the area held a belief that the evil mist over the nearby Katze Plains would reach out and up into the Riverlands, mingling with the daily fog and taking advantage of those who thought nothing of the everyday occurrence. As with many such widespread beliefs, a kernel of truth was what fixed this notion in the peoples’ minds.

While the mists here did not register the same, pervasive Undead reaction one would detect when examining the fog blanketing the Katze Plains, it provided cover from the Undead that periodically spilt over its borders. It was the perfect situation in which weak Undead such as common Zombies and Skeletons could come up on the unwary without notice.

Here, one stayed indoors – or at least stayed within the bounds of the better-guarded areas of the larger villages and towns – until the sun burned the morning shroud away. The small village where they currently gathered was much the same. If they had not chosen to assemble here, it would have remained silent save for the noise of local livestock. In pairs and trios, more Paladins trickled in with their mounts and baggage; no Squires could be seen amongst them.

To be without their attendants was an uncommon sight – one only seen when Paladins were forming for a devastating assault against the amassed enemies of the Theocracy. Given their location, they might have been mistaken to be doing just that: even the tense atmosphere they carried with them had the sense of a Cavalier preparing for the decisive charge.

The approach of hooves on the rough pavement kept his gaze riveted in the same direction, then a familiar face emerged from the fog. Coming down the slope through the road from the southern edge of the village was a middle-aged man astride his mount: his salt and pepper hair already well thinned and showing the sheen of his scalp. The man grinned broadly through his thick beard as his brown eyes met Marcus’ own and the distance closed between them.

Marcus stepped up to clasp arms with him after he dismounted before him.

“The Grandmasters must be crazy!” Marcus said heartily, “Sending someone like you to lead this contingent.”

“This may be so,” the man admitted, “but I doubt they are so crazy as to send anyone better. I have not seen your ugly face in half a decade – how is it that you have not gotten yourself buried in the plains, yet?”

“Maybe it is because I am getting old,” Marcus replied. “Then again, I suppose this is why any of us were chosen, Lorenzo.”

“Old and expendable?” Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.

“Well seasoned and wise,” Marcus returned. “Anyone else may well be stirring up trouble, eh, Captain?”

Lorenzo grunted, taking a draught from his flask.

Marcus figured it all for banter, as all who joined them would have been subjected to the same stern instruction on the nature of their task. Out of the multitude of Paladin Orders in the Slane Theocracy, a mere three dozen individuals had been chosen to assemble at the northern border on the highway leading to E-Rantel.

“I cannot decide which is crazier,” he said, “that we are being sent into this pit of hell, or the reason why.”

“No one is above the law,” Lorenzo shrugged, “not the Grandmasters of the Orders, nor the High Council itself. I heard that the Bishop up north sent a dozen requests for personnel, only to be rejected each time for the obvious reasons. He blindsided everyone with that ordinance that we all took for granted, so here we are.”

Marcus gave a short bark of a laugh as he recalled the face of the Bishop of Altamura: the aged Cleric could not even keep his face straight while conveying the missive.

It was normal enough to see temple guards posted in the Theocracy, where the Paladin Orders had a role in the more militant matters of the ministry. It was unheard of in Re-Estize and Baharuth, where the secular governments frowned at even the faintest idea of any religion gaining power beyond its lawful purview. That being said, the ordinance was used by the shrewd Bishop of E-Rantel to obtain more staff for the temples, and the Paladins had been co-opted into civilian ministry. Even so, Marcus had heard it was quite the uphill battle.

According to the Bishop of Altamura, the initial request had been for four times their number. That in itself beggared belief since it meant that the Duchy of E-Rantel had over a hundred thousand followers of the Six Great Gods – after it had been annexed by the Sorcerous Kingdom. When it was a part of Re-Estize, the number was closer to sixty thousand: the vast majority living in the southern territories near the Theocracy. A flood of refugees crossed over the border into the Theocracy in the days leading up to and following the annexation, so it was loosely speculated that perhaps half of that number remained to face whatever came.

It turned out that the Bishop of E-Rantel desired that number for future expansion, and that the actual needs were for roughly seventy thousand. This number had still shocked Marcus silent when he had first heard it, and even now it was hard to accept. Apparently, even after the flight of so many, the faith of the Six Great Gods was experiencing an unprecedented resurgence under the rule of an Undead sovereign. There were not enough priests and they had no Paladins. Out of desperation, Paladins had been called in to do the work of priests.

Still, the number had been whittled away to half of what was mandated by law. First on grounds that the Paladins would see little in the way of their regular duties there, so there was no need for such a sudden show of force that might be perceived as aggressive posturing. The second was caution: uncertain what would happen, they had only committed to the fulfilment of the ordinance in stages – if no incidents occurred with the first half, then the remainder would be dispatched.

Not that there was a lack of volunteers. Once word inevitably got out, thousands of Paladins had come forward to pledge themselves to the plight of the beleaguered Bishop…except the vast majority of those Paladins surely had the wrong idea in their heads and would have immediately started no end of trouble. In the end, the three dozen assembled had been picked out as he had described them: seasoned, wise of the outside world and not prone to acts of blind zealotry. Hopefully.

“Oh, Brother Marcus,” a cheerful voice called out to him, “you have come as well!”

Save for one. Marcus turned his gaze up the road again, towards the slight figure trotting her speckled white mare directly towards him. Her olive eyes sparkled with the same cheer in her voice, and the morning breeze played through the lazy waves of her shoulder-length blonde hair.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“That’s right, Sister Alessia,” he answered her greeting. “I do not mean to question orders from above, but are you absolutely sure you can handle what lies ahead of us?”

“His Excellency the Bishop of E-Rantel has personally requested my presence; how can my lowly self refuse such a summons?”

Marcus turned to look out worriedly over the concealed valley. The request for the young Paladin was incomprehensible: a diplomatic catastrophe waiting to happen. He had no qualms about her ability as a Paladin – in fact, he expected her to surpass all of the ones gathered in short order if she hadn’t already – but the girl was only recently ordained, bright-eyed and full of expectations set by the temple schools and the attitudes they instilled. This was fine inside the Theocracy’s borders, but she was exactly the wrong type of person to send to help the civilian ministry in a place where the smallest incident might spell war.

The Theocracy had taken a neutral stance with their neighbour, which was received in return, but the youths of the Theocracy were the sort that could wantonly change that stance in the blink of an eye. He recalled Bishop Austine’s written instructions regarding the girl: Keep her from doing anything rash until you reach the Cathedral; we will take care of her from there.

He wondered what the man had in mind. Marcus wasn’t even sure if they could keep her from ‘doing anything rash’ either. Maybe they should just tie her up and throw a sack over her head. It would surely look strange, but far preferable to a mishap.

Eyeing her full plate armour and assortment of weapons, he thought that if the hammer was absent, one would be less tempted to swing at any perceived nails…

“Sister Alessia.”

“Yes, Brother Marcus?”

“The journey will be a few days – change out of your armour and put on something more comfortable.”

“I hear and obey, Brother…but why me?”

“We will be rotating duties since we don’t have any Squires along with us for this. You can add your things to the baggage train.”

"Yes, Brother Marcus,” she bowed slightly. “Please excuse me.”

He waved her away and sounds of clattering metal followed Alessia as she jogged away with her pack. Marcus’s gaze followed after her worriedly, and Lorenzo spoke after she disappeared behind a farmstead.

“You really think that is necessary?” He stroked his beard, “It makes it seem even worse since you know her.”

“I will admit that she has a measure of temperance,” Marcus replied, “but she is still too young. It is one thing to let them loose in Katze or out on the borders against those we are openly hostile against. Where we are going, however, her first mistake might be her last…and ours as well.”

“Like a raw young Paladin I used to know?” Lorenzo raised a bushy eyebrow at him.

“That is exactly what I am afraid of, old friend,” he replied. “Twenty years ago, we were young and eager, but we cut our teeth against the Undead of Katze and warred against the Beastmen on behalf of the Dragonic Kingdom. We cooled our heels patrolling the borders of Abelion, and we had time to see the world without worrying about who we were up against – our enemies were the enemies we were raised to fight.”

“Maybe there is a young priestess in need of an adjutant,” Lorenzo offered. “That is the only reason I can think of for her being here. She cannot be older than…sixteen?”

“Fourteen.”

Lorenzo rolled his eyes.

“Next, you are going to tell me she was born wearing armour.”

Marcus turned his gaze towards the building Alessia had disappeared behind.

“She is an orphan: once the local temple identified her aptitudes, her path was chosen for her…so you could indeed say that it is indeed the case.”

“Hmph. Most Squires would be covetous of such aptitude, but here you are acting like the blessing of the gods is some sort of curse.”

“Of course not,” Marcus replied. “But she is young, strong, and assured of her foundations. She was just recently my Squire, and I look forward to her bright future…but this new generation is even more zealous than our own. Sending one out into a nation ruled by what she was trained to fight against since childhood is folly.”

“According to the reports,” Lorenzo’s gaze scanned the riverbank as he spoke, “life is much the same as before in the north, no? There are some things in the reports that raise eyebrows, but of Human affairs, they have nothing interesting to say. With all the refugees from this spring, half of the Theocracy was preparing for an Undead invasion. Look, the mist has cleared enough now and you can see the result of all their panic.”

Marcus looked down towards the river and saw the ‘panic’ Lorenzo was referring to.

The southern bank had undergone extensive fortification, with earthworks and emplacements for archers and siege weapons raised every hundred metres as far as he could see. Deep rows of sharpened stakes linked the spaces between each one, presenting a barrier against the swarms of Undead which had been imagined to be right on the heels of the refugees. The defences were still manned, but after months of standing constant vigil, the sentries must have surely gotten bored of the view on the other side.

Opposite the southern bank lay a dirt road that followed the river along its course. Beyond the road was a fence that looked like it had been recently patched up. Beyond the fence were vast orchards and more orchards that lay beyond them. Marcus could even see people working on the other side – apparently, they did not think to stay in while the mist still was out. A traveller unaware of the circumstances behind the fortifications on the Theocracy’s side of the river would have surely thought that the local authorities were dangerously deranged.

Even seeing it himself and knowing the reasoning behind their defensive preparations, he felt a bit embarrassed. It was a colossal expenditure of manpower, materials and supplies: ten thousand soldiers set along the entire length of the river to watch Farmers tend to their fruit trees on the other side. Taxes would be most unkind this year: all for an Undead horde that had most rudely declined to make an appearance.

Voices called out from behind them as the final group of Paladins arrived, reporting to Lorenzo before adding their things to the awaiting baggage train. Their captain waited for them to finish before calling everyone together. His gaze swept over them as they gathered, and he cleared his throat loudly before speaking.

“I will go on right out and say what pretty much everyone is probably feeling right now,” he said dryly, “this is the strangest mission that any of us has ever been assigned to. We have been roped into what are normally rearguard duties, beyond what should be the front line against a nation full of all the nasties that we fight on a regular basis. Except our nation has declared themselves strictly neutral with this scary new neighbour, so make of that what you will. Just do not ask me what I think about it – it has been giving me a headache for weeks.”

The assembled Paladins offered little in reaction, returning to ready themselves for the journey when it seemed that their captain had nothing more to say to them. Lorenzo had said pretty much all that there was to say for the moment. After a few minutes, someone approached with a question.

“Should we be displaying our banners?” The Paladin asked.

“I do not see why not,” Lorenzo answered. “We are a neutral envoy entering the lands of our neutral neighbour to do neutral things neutrally.”

“…what if we come under attack by the Undead?”

“Then we will deal with them neutrally, too. Make sure you raise those banners in the most neutral way possible.”

The Paladin furrowed his brow as he considered what exactly that would be. In the end, six banners were raised for the procession in what could be considered a parade column. Lorenzo mounted and rode up to the head of the column, wheeling his warhorse around to face everyone. His eyes went over to the half dozen wagons, still parked and being loaded.

“Looks like we need a few minutes still to finish preparations,” he said. “I will be heading across to see what is going on on the other side, so be ready at the bridge by the time I get back. Marcus: with me.”