III:
Contempt of Suffering
Warm wind caressed his skin, footfalls crunching dirt and grass. All six of them moving in single column. Their target visible in the far distance, another tree. Alike the first, corpses of dead, titanic forms fed its winding roots.
Victoria and Rosaline had struck a chord, chatting and laughing behind the four men. As for them, they did much the same.
“It’s seems apparent that these trees were planted here,” Mohamdou told Casimir. “They are incongruent to the nature of wildlife surrounding them.”
Leonardo sneezed, nose sniffing. “Ain’t from them feelin’ mighty kind, I tell ya’ , them trees doin’ a job.”
“Transport across places,” Byre stated. “I, ser Casimir, and lady Rosaline had passed through one.”
“That so? Hm. I ain’t no bettin’ man, but if me were,” Leonardo said, jerking his chin towards said tree. “I’d say them trees ain’t for just anybody to use. Seems clear ta’ me, this here tree be leadin’ us all ta’ somethin’ or else.”
“Or else someone,” Byre nodded.
“Or else both,” Casimir said, staring out at the moonlight. “Either way, we’re not going to last if we keep marching, day in, day out, tree after tree, until we collapse. We’re all hungry and thirsty.”
“Aye,” Byre said.
Leonardo scratched his thin stubble. “An’ I think there be a simple reply ta’ the problem, ya all folk may not like it.”
Casimir raised a brow. “Leave that for until we hear it.”
“See, I’ve been lookin’ at Mohamdou’s mighty fine backside,” Leonardo tipped his hat to Mohamdou. “An’ I think he can sacrifice his shapely rear for our less gifted rears.”
“I am deeply flattered that you wish to devour the meat of my buttocks,” Mohamdou replied. “But I am attached to them.”
“That ain’t no problem,” Leonardo grinned. “Yer attachment can be dealt with, ey?”
“Gentlemen, we are not designating anyone emergency rations,” Casimr pointed a finger at Leonardo. “And we are not going to start a backside cannibal diet.”
“Shame,” Leonardo let out a fake tear. “Ya all be missin’ out, I hear it’s good for yer health.”
Mohamdou lips curled up. “I believe the three of us are all adept survivalists,” he offered. “If we should arrive at a land with animals, then we would be within capacity to feed ourselves.”
“If,” Casimir muttered. “We deal with hunger, water-“
“Ya all didn’t drink from that white river?” Leonardo asked.
Everyone stared at him.
“You drank from the magical white river,” Casimir accused.
“I?” Leonardo replied. “Nah, that’d be darned foolish, you’d gotta be some kinda’ idiot to drink them water you don’t even know if it’s bad for ya or not!”
“He drank from it,” Mohamdou said.
“You drank it,” Casimir nodded.
“Aye, he did,” Byre agreed with them.
“You folk ain’t got no faith in me,” Leonardo moaned. “I’ve done no such a thing, I’m darn clever, ya all folk hear?”
“How’d it tastes?”
“Now, if I were a bettin’ man, which I ain’t, it’d taste like one of ‘’em fancy mineral water them rich folk drink,” Leonardo said. “But that’d be a bet, no mo’ you hear me? An’ I’d be bettin’ it ain’t don’ make nobody sick, if anythin’ I’d be like one of them real good coffee cups.”
“I’m sure,” Casimir smiled at him. “That’s one problem solved.”
They were closer now to the tree.
“Aye, that’s one problem, there’s another,” Byre said, his eyes hardened. “And it involves you.”
“Ey, we’ve been thinking ‘bout it, me and this fine folk ‘ere,” Leonardo gestured to Byre and Mohamdou. “An’ we’ve decided somethin’ ya need ta’ know.”
“That us?”
“All of us have lived our lives in battle,” Mohamdou said. “Our craft the bayonet and rifle, our will the edge of life and death, and our hearts carrying the wishes of others to fruition.”
“None’a us,” Leonardo said. “Done any leadin’, not like ya done. An’ we’ve been thinkin’ it ain’t right for us ta’ all be thinking ‘who done gave ‘em his crown?’ ain’t right at all.”
His back was heavy. The weight making its presence and force known. The weight of lives, of their future, of their dreams and flaws, of the trust in their eyes.
Of how he stood at the very front of their column.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Casimir swallowed. “I have no more a right over you, than you have over me.”
“Nah, ya done got right over us,” Leonardo waved him off. “You see any of us lookin’ for tomorrow?”
His heart was making its presence knowing, slow, heavy, thumbs and drums. Awareness of himself came with it, the sweat on his brow, the exhaustion of the long walk.
Byre’s smile was tender. “All of us are killers, we have not lived much in the grace and joy of civility. We’ve almost forgotten it, forgotten how life can be,” he started. “Not you, no. We can all feel it.”
“I’m not better than any of you.”
“You need not be,” Mohamdou said, his trenchcoat flapping to the wind. “You speak in ideals, hopes, dreams and aspirations. You, with not words but actions, stand at the very forefront of us all. You lead, simply, it is as much a part of you, as war is part of us.”
“I’m not as strong as any of you,” Casimir grit his teeth. “I’m…I’m terrified of all this, scared, I want to cry and shriek and bawl. None of you do, none of you so much as flinch at this madness.”
“Aye,” Byre nodded. “But none of us think we’re going home, we’re dead men walking. We’ve long lost sight of the dawn, of home, wherever that may be.”
“I’m nobody, all of my success was a mix of chance and good friends,” he met their eyes. Saw the faith inside of them, “I’m not the knight who waged hundreds of wars, fighting sword to sword. I’m not the outlaw who destroyed an entire band of hundreds. I’m not the soldier who faught in desperate, ruthless conflict, as the very front of the frontline.”
“Aye.”
“Indeed.”
“Wouldn’ta had ya any other way.”
“I’m…” Casimir’s words died in his mouth.
“Yer the man takin’ us lost souls home, ain’t ya?” Leonardo grinned wide.
Casimir looked up at the quiet skies above. “What if I can’t do that?” he asked. “What if I’m just lying to all of you? Giving you false hopes, false dreams?”
“Ain’t don’t matter to me,” Leonardo shrugged. “Way I see it, better’a dream than none.”
“Fate has brought you to us,” Byre said. “Come what may, be what will, there’s no better man in sight.”
“It is only right, that those who lead have fealty and honor from the led,” Mohamdou stated. “Our honor demands this.”
“You already follow me,” Casimir muttered.
“Follow, yes,” Mohamdou said. “A vain thing, fleeting, unbound. Fealty is a promise of the infinite soul, of the beating heart. Not of the finite reason, and limited bonds of conveniance.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
“And which king was born with a crown upon his head?” Mohamdou asked.
Casimir pursed his lips. There was part of him, the business man, the rational animal of profit, that did not want to tie himself. To burden himself. His life mattered most. He would bring them home. But not at the cost of himself.
That part of him that saw them as tools to survival.
To promise, to give himself as they give themselves.
“I…”
He didn’t care for them, and he didn’t want to die for them, or have them die for him. He didn’t want that responsibility.
“I..,”
But they were his fellowship in humanity. The only kinship in this place. Who would care for them, and for him, if not each other?
Casimir laughed.
What the hell? Ha? Attaching himself to these people beyond reason? No, that was the only to get himself killed. He knew, knew beyond doubt, they weren’t here alone, and with such shining examples of humanity, chances boded others were no more virtuous or moral.
He’d use them, and they’d use him, and he’d not put himself in the firing line.
He’d have protectors. They’d have a leader. No more, no less.
It was simply how business was done.
“I accept.”
Mohamdou smiled at him, taking out a small plastic bottle. “Among my people,” he started. “Is the story of a compact among tribes who’d long waged conflict. Born of brothers, these tribes fell to disunity and discord. Until three, one of each tribe, came to one another.”
He opened the bottle, fragrance wafting out of it, and took out his knife, and a lighter. “They came with scented oils and knifes,” he spilled the liquid of the bottle on his knife. “And they made an oath to one they trusted with their lives.”
In one, flashing flick, he slashed his hand. The fluid flowed into the cut, the smell of the fluid thickened.
“My name is Mohamdou Ölmez, by oath beneath the eyes of God, I speak these words,” Mohamdou started. “My valor will be the woe of history, my courage the tale of envy, my honesty the Damocles against me, by sword aegis to the just, my life a living prayer to the righteous. I give my life; I dedicate my soul.”
Mohamdou’s face did not budge as he lit the lighter, right into his cut. The fluid ignited, the wound closed shut. The smell part and parcel of the cut, now.
He gave the knife to Byre.
The knife flash silver, blood and fragrance wafted.
“My name is Byre of Franz,” Byre started. “I promise nothing, I offer everything. Beneath the eyes of Father, Son and Spirit, I offer these words. I shall strike down the enemy, I shall plunder his castles and burn his banners. I shall have no hesitation, I shall have no mercy, I shall have no respite, I shall have no weakness. I speak now and forever true.”
Byre took the lighter, and did as Mohamdou did. He passed the knife to Leonardo.
Leonardo sniffed, then grinned.
He flicked the knife with reckless ease, not even grimacing at the pain. Blood and fragrance wafted, spilling and mixing.
“Name’s Leonardo Salomon,” Leonardo said, meeting their eyes. “I’ve nothin’ of honor. I’ve nothin’ of glory, none of ‘em I’ve ever had. All I got’s me guns an’ me talent an’ me flaws an’ me words. Before any that be watching, an’ me fellow men, I’ll give all of ‘em if you’ll have me.”
He lit the lighter, and turned, grinning, to the pair of women behind him. “Ya all ladies be joinin’ in? This be important, ey?”
“And ruin my skin?” Rosaline hissed. “No, I’m not going to do that.”
Victoria rolled her eyes, and snatch the knife out of his hand. Without hesitation, she cut her hand.
“We of royal name and royal favour speak here,” Victoria raised her hand, blood dripping down. “We, Victoria Da Romas, Empress of Romas, give favour, we give alliance, we give power and authority, we give kinship, we give blood spilled in honesty. Let none dispute our grace, let none question our royal desire.”
The lighter ignited.
Knife and lighter were offered to Rosaline. Four pairs of eyes locked on her.
“No!” She cried. “I’m not going to cut my hand in some fucking medieval loyalty ritual, so stop looking at me like that!”
“So yer a coward an’ a shite?” Leonardo frowned. “Didn’ expect nothin’, still dissapointin’ me.”
Rosaline glared at all of them. “Stop. Looking. At. Me!”
Victoria offered her the knife by the grip. “Then, girl,” Victoria hissed. “Show some spine, unless I’ve misjudged you.”
Hurt flashed across Rosaline’s face. It turned to anger. “Fine!” she yelled.
Teeth clenched, face tense, she slashed her hand. “I’m Rosaline Pastur, and none of you, none of you shits, judge me, none of you look down on me, and none of you dare call less than any of you. I’ll…”
She flinched from pain, tears in her furious eyes. “I’ll get up, I’ll fucking march, and I’ll fucking show you arrogant shits that I’m not a coward. I’m better than any of you! You hear me?”
Hesitation warred in her hands, fear stopping her from igniting the lighter. Victoria let it for her.
The knife was offered to Casimir.
Casimir, face pale, frozen, ashamed.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” Casimir said, knife in hand. “I…don’t know what to promise you.”
He didn’t have any promises to make. All he ever offered, was to take them home. No more, no less.
Mohamdou nodded. “When you do, we’ll listen to you, the knife is to be kept with you, until then.”
“Crazy fucks,” Rosaline moaned, cradling her hand.
The six marched forwards, towards the ever-looming tree.
----------------------------------------
The golden roots of the tree formed a stairway to its depth. Long and winding. It’s flowers shining in a rainbow array. Murals depiction glories untold, of fire, steel, and blood.
Casimir’s hand brushed across the murals, at the laurel wreaths, halo horns, and sigils in the helmets. At their enemies, earless, armored in vine, stone, and blood.
He didn’t like it, how ubiquitous these trees seemed, how violent these murals war.
Down, down, they went. To the chamber at the centre of the tree. Hearing a long, far off howl echo.
“Everyone stays close,” Casimir ordered, lips dry.
They marched in.
Nothing happened.
Casimir frowned. “Rosaline, what did you do last time?”
“Oh for the love of fuck,” Rosaline groaned. “Are you going to complain about me now?“
“I’m asking a question which I’d like an answer to,” Casimir walked about the chamber, stomping his feet.
“I did what I wanted,” Rosaline replied, rolling her eyes.
He stilled, slow grin making its way. Casimir’s smile was cheek to cheek. “What you wanted is it, and you didn’t like that place did you?”
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“No,” Rosaline, confused at him. “Anywhere was practically better than that creepy place.”
The tree appeared when they thought of it. Thoughts and ideas, were linked to this place. Thoughts, ideas and desires. They’d desired a place to go, thought of what to do, had an idea of what they wanted, and the tree appeared to their vision.
Sparks flashed around him.
Casimir knew where he wanted to go, as close to home as possible.
Lightning curled and coiled around them, flesh vaporizing as they became lightning incarnate. Time-space shattered and reformed as they struck down, sparks drifting away from the impacts.
They reformed into living beings once more; Casimir’s smile locked on his face. He understood it, now. Desire, idea, and thought, and the tree would send you to somewhere you wanted.
With disbelieving sight, he beheld where they were.
His smile grew wider and larger. A chuckle escaped his lips, it bubbled into a laugh, the laugh became hysteria.
“One step closer to home,” he spread his arms, the dawn’s light shining upon him.
Upon this city.
Lamps lined the streets, brick houses filling the land. Chimneys spewed soft-grey mist, and colored glass windows broke the dominion of red and black painted walls. Opulently large banners fluttered above, posters hung on walls in a language they could not read.
Byre stared in bewilderment. “What manner of riches is this? By God, I’ve not seen such wealth in one place before.”
“Ya never seen’a city?” Leonardo asked.
“Not such as this,” Byre shook his head. “Is this…usual for your time?”
“Impoverished within mine,” Mohamdou said, gesturing for them to move. “We need to learn, and quickly, lest we find ourselves surprised.”
“We’ll need to avoid attention,” Casimir said, thinking quickly. “We’ll need to learn where the next root of the tree is, and we’ll need to learn where, when, how, and what and who.”
They walked quickly across the streets, aware of the waking city. Soon enough, the resident would come out for work.
Victoria glared at Casimir. “A nigh impossible task, we stand out like pus sores. We need to hide until night comes.”
Casimir met her glare. “Not if we dress like them, and not if we move like them. We’ll need to learn, and move. Hesitation will kill us.”
“Boss say’s best,” Leonardo said. “Been in an odd few scraps like ‘ere, need ta’ keep movin’ an’ keep thinkin’ fast.”
“As he says,” Mohamdou nodded. “And as such, I wish to make a proposal. And ask God for forgiveness.”
Byre raised a brow.
Mohamdou turned around, kicked down the door of a house, and glanced back at them. “I believe stealing clothing is a lesser evil. Say, Leonardo, do you know how to choke someone unconscious?”
“Done it a few,” Leonardo.
Byre laughed at them. “And what of me and my steel?”
“We’ll put it in a sack, but for now,” Mohamdou drew his knife and strode into the house. “We deal with the larger problems.”
Casimir swallowed his hesitation. “Let’s move.”
The house was large, larger enough for a family of six. Wooden furniture all around the place, paintings and lines of crystal material. They ran across the house, feeding into a stove, heater, and into the ceiling.
Living room, kitchen, and guest room were all downstairs. Upstairs, they could hear the slowly waking residents.
“Mohamdou, Leonardo,” Casimir started. “Deal with the residents. Quickly. Rosaline, Victoria, Byre, find anything we could use, and take it. Quick.”
Rosaline opened her mouth to complain.
Victoria held her hand. “Come, girl, we’ve work to do.”
“Fine,” Rosaline muttered.
“And you?” Byre asked.
Screams rang out, muffled cries of alarm. Brief struggles, that then died to silence. Leonardo and Mohamdou yelled out all clears.
Casimir glanced back at him. “Finding answers.”
The wooden stairs creaked under his steps. He fixed his tie, brushed away dirt from his suit jacket.
“How many?” Casimir asked Leonardo.
“Two parents,” Leonardo replied, tying up the aforementioned. “Four youngins’ Mohamdou’s dealt with ‘em.”
Long, curving ears, sharp, fanged teeth. Cheeks that were sunken, small noses, and all too strangely human features. They were tied up to the bedposts. One female, one male. Their skin a dried, pale grey. Their hair a silver white.
Casimir considered if they could pass as their likeness. They could. So long as they covered as much skin as possible.
“Can you wake up the male for me?”
“Ey, boss.”
Leonardo slipped out his knife, and cut the man across the cheek. He jerked away, eyes full of fear. Fear that became terror once he really saw their features.
“Returned,” the male whispered.
“Hello,” Casimr said, squatting down. “I, and my associates, are thieves. Thieves who have your children.”
“Don’t you dare touch them!” the male yelled, baring his fangs. “I’ll make you regret coming back to life!”
Casimir silenced his empathy, steeling his heart.
“Would you like to regret causing their deaths?”
The male’s mouth clamped shut.
“If you scream, I’ll kill you and your family, if you start struggling, I’ll kill you and your family, if you annoy me, I’ll kill you and your family,” Casimir made his face passive. Emotionless. Heartless. The very impression of apathy. “If you don’t answer, I’ll fine someone who will. There’s others, and I’m patient.”
“M-monster,” the male stuttered. “You’re an animal.”
“I’m becoming annoyed,” Casimir let his eye twitch.
The male shivered, hair standing on end.
“I’m glad we could reach an understanding,” Casimir said. “My first question. Where are we?”
“How could you not know-“
Casimir pinned the male with a stare.
“The Feylur Imperium, ruled by his majesty, the Emperor of Fea and Fey,” the male said, avoiding Casimir’s eyes. “You’re in the provincial lands of the elector prince, Dunusias the Bloody One, favoured son of the empire.”
He nodded along, slowly, the ideas filtering in his mind.
“How large is the Imperium?”
“A million worlds,” the male said, pride in his voice. “By the Emperor’s might, all behind and many before the Boundary, bend the knee to our glorious banner.”
“Many, not all,” Casimir said.
“You’d know, revenant. Cursed and damned undying creature that you are, blasphemous Returned you are, butcherers and barbarians,” the words slipped out. The male paled.
“You have four children, you can afford to lose one, no?” Casimir questioned.
The male said nothing, pleading eyes telling Casimir everything.
“The Returned, who are they?”
“Bloodthirsty mass killers and bandits and rapists and monsters,” the male started. “You come to our lands, despoil them, butcher our cities to a fey, ravage our daughters, enslave our sons, you monstrous ill begotten creatures.”
Casimir smiled.
“Monsters,” the male shivered, terrified.
“I have an offer to make you,” Casimir said, standing up, making a show of it. Oozing malice, dripping dread. “I, and my friend here, will steal everything we want. We know your house, we know your family, we know your spouse and children, and we’ve only entered your house.”
Realization soaked into the male.
“You’re the only one who knows we’re here,” Casimir stroked the hair of the female. “You’re the only one who could raise an alarm about us.”
“You…how…why? Why would…. you are evil.”
“Call it theft,” Casimir offered, kind smile making the male flinch. “But if an alarm is raised after us, I’ll kill your spouse and children first. My kind slaughters yours on a regular basis, believe me, they’ll be too late for your children.”
“Evil,” the male gasped out. “You should never have even been born.”
“Glad we have an understanding. Knock him out.”
Casimir’s stomach churned at the idea, at the role he played. But he crushed the disgust, crushed the dawning comprehension of what he’d need to do.
“Ey, boss.”
They were deep in enemy territory, and the enemy wanted blood. Casimir’s heart hardened. There would be no mercy, or kindness, or pity, or remorse. Weight, nearly choking, nearly crushing, in its presence, settled on his shoulders.
Forward was the only path left.
“Let’s go, Leonardo,” Casimir told him. “Let’s do what we came here for.”
Forward, that was all they had left.
----------------------------------------
They were dressed like the rest of the crowd around them. Crimson red armbands, hooded coats and simple shirts and pants. They kept their voices law, walking as if they knew where.
Byre, Mohamdou, and Leonardo had their gear in backpacks across their backs. The rest had small sacks by their sides.
Rosaline had her in face in her hands; her breaths quick. Panicked. Victoria rubbed her back. “This is untenable, we’ll be hunted down like dogs.”
“My…my girls…” Rosaline gasped out. “My girls…”
“Toughen up, girl,” Victoria murmured. “So long as you draw breath, there’s yet hope.”
“Aye,” Byre agreed. “So what shall we do?”
Casimir’s finger tapped on his lips. “We get out of here, we’re outnumbered, outgunned, outmanned, and will be out planned soon enough. We need to find the tree.”
“An’ how’re we doin’ that?” Leonardo asked.
“It’s here, and it’s near,” Byre said. “I can feel it, can’t you?”
“You can?” Casimir asked.
“Aye,” Byre’s brows furrowed. “Couldn’t ignore it if I wanted to.”
“Can you feel where it is?” Casimir pushed.
Byre closed his eyes, raising his finger. He wheeled around in place, and pointed north-ward, he opened his eyes. “There, I know it is there, I know.”
“Then, that is where we head,” Casimor ordered, taking the lead.
So they strode, passing streets with thinning crowds, hustling and bustling with families, children, and countless more. A a little girl bumped into Casimir, he smiled at her, as her mother fussed after her.
Forward, through street vendors and ever thinner crowds. Forward, through unfamiliar city-scape, moths chasing the flame. Forward, until they arrived. Until it loomed ahead.
“There it is,” Casimir whispered. “Right there, there it is.”
There was a miniature castle around it, soldiers in blood red armor walking around it. Spears tasselled with black strings. Constant, endless patrols. There were cannons on the walls, but no gate. There was a path they could take through.
A bloody.
Vicious.
Painful.
Path.
Casimir felt his hand shake, his stomach dance. Sweat dripped down his back, his heart beat too loud and too slow and all together too quick. Byre placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Choice is yours,” Byre said, eyes glinting. Mohamdou and Leonardo behind him.
It was always his, the choice, the decision, the measurement to weigh and account for. His and no one else’s to make. The wrong choice and lives would be lost and it would be his fault. The correct choice and they would go home.
One, they stay here.
They could raid houses, live like bandits until they escaped the city. It wouldn’t take much effort, their group was uniquely suited to be able to do so. Until they were either caught, or they found a place to settle.
Two, they went home.
They fight through the defences, kill those in their path, and go home. Home, having faught tooth and nail and died fighting and go out there, fighting. Fighting until they went home. Stay here and die, or die fighting to go home.
Was it even a choice?
Byre’s armor clanked, his sword rasped out of it's sheathe.
Was there ever a choice?
Leonardo’s revolvers slipped their holsters.
Was it ever an option?
Mohamdou racked the slide on his assault rifle.
“We’re cutting through,” Casimir said, steel in his voice, steel in his eyes, fear in his shaking hand. “Rosaline, Victoria, and I stay in the back. We don’t slow down. We don’t stop. We don’t hesitate.”
Leonardo put on his hat, flicking the cylinders back into their revolvers. Byre’s sun glinted in sunlight. Mohamdou placed his bayonet knife on his weapon.
Byre rolled his shoulder, bent low, and bolted. Twirling on his heels in a curving slash, he decapitated the head of a guard in one, fell, strike. “Deus Vult!” he roared.
“Ah hell, he’s startin’ already!” Leonardo stepped out, guns aimed. “An’ he didn’ even shout a warnin’, real bastard move.”
Thunder rang out with every bark of his revolvers. Banging and kicking and bucking. Smoke wafting from the barrels, Leonardo danced. Hands spinning left and right, waltzing to the music of gunfire.
Soldiers dropped, bodies falling, one after another.
Rosaline screamed, holding her hands over her ears. Victoria winced, holding Rosaline close.
Mohamdou shook his head. “I suppose we should move, now, shouldn’t we?”
He didn’t wait for them, he sprinted out. Pausing for seconds, firing staccato bursts of gunfire, felling targets with pin-point accuracy.
They marched in, Byre casting aside spears and slashing throats. Mohamdou gunning down any formations, and Leonardo cutting down anything that moved. Casimir didn’t know how many soldiers were guarding the tree.
He knew how many they’d left dead.
Three hundred corpses, blood running wet, coating the cobbled ground red. Mangled ruins from bullet and sword.
“Ya’all folk wonderin’ why them don’t got guns?” Leonardo asked, firing three shots, killing three soldiers, and spinning on his heels, gunning down one that tried to charge them. The first shot didn’t put him down.
Leonardo shot him four more times, each shot making the armored soldier dance like a puppet. He fell, slamming the ground in a spray of blood and gore.
“No industrial bases,” Mohamdou mused. Dodging an arrow, firing burst, and motioning for them to follow him.
Byre growled, sword flashing, and bodies falling, as he marched through the enemies. His sword was blood soaked, dripping red, as he cleaved necks off of heads in single blows.
Casimir faught to control his breath, forcing himself to move, move. Boots squelching on blood, bile rising to his throat, and he forced himself to move.
They reached the staircase down to the core of the tree.
One last soldier barred their path, Byre sword swept, left to right, and the soldier throat sprayed red. Leonardo fired three rounds, gun kicking in hand, and the soldier fell down the stairs. Bouncing like a ragdoll across each step.
Six of them walked into the chamber, three pale and shaking from the violence, all of them leaving bloody red boot prints.
The chamber at the core was not empty, instead, a figure was waiting for them there, helmet in the crook of his arm. Panicking servants finished armoring him, running off scampering away from the figure.
The figure took his sword from a table, the weapon holding a shining red gem in the hilt.
“Returned,” the figure said, fanged teeth showing through his smile. “I’m torn between anger, and amusement. Maybe I should have listened to my wife, she has a point about the quality of these soldiery, they’re rather pathetic against your likes.”
“Move out of the way,” Casimir hissed. “I don’t want to kill anyone we don’t have to kill.”
The figure blinked. “You? Kill me?” he laughed. “You needn’t worry, needn’t worry at all. After all, you’re all so weak.”
Leonardo raised his guns, firing off, twelve rounds, twelve barks, twelve puffs of gunpowder wafting from his gun barrels. His guns fell from his hands.
The figure smiled.
“The…hells?” Leonardo glanced down, knees buckling as he fell. Twelve damp, red, spots grew on his clothes. He fell down, back first, gasping for breath.
“You’ve…shot…me….how?” Leonardo gasped out.
“Help me here girl!” she yelled at Rosaline, who rushed in to help. They desperate put pressure on his wounds.
“Your weapons are effective against the common soldiery,” the figure nodded. “The Fey are rather weak, and slow, and dull, but they serve the Imperium with integrity. I am no Fey, I am Fea.”
Byre and Mohamdou glanced at each other.
Mohamdou fell to one knee, assault rifle braced to his shoulder. He flicked the firing pin, from single shot, to burst, to fully automatic. He held the rigger down.
Gunfire filled the chamber, orange-hot blinks racing across air.
“That may have worked, had you more of your assault rifles.”
Mohamdou’s eyes widened, every round was batted aside, pinging across the walls. Burying in them. “Byre!” he roared, hastily reloading.
Byre rushed, sword at the ready. He thrust his sword, tip first, whole body hurled into the motion.
The strike was parried, the Fea stepping into his guard. Three swipes, three cuts.
Byre’s sword fell from his hand, his wrist cut, he gurgled, throat cut, and fell down, his heel cut.
Mohamdou stood alone, hand reaching for his second knife.
“Are you sure you wish to do that?” the Fea offered.
Mohamdou paused, considering.
“Yes-“
The Fea’s sword was throw into him, burying itself into his guts. Mohadou keeled over, grunting in pain, blood streaming out of his guts.
The Fea turned to the last three of them. “Now then, I’ve much to ask, much I’ve wondered, and much, it seems, fate has accidentally thrown into my lap.”
Casimir pointed his pollaxe, hands shaking. “Run!” Casimir yelled at Victoria and Rosaline.
“But first-“
The Fea blurred, and Casimr’s last waking sight was a fist, cracking his jawbone to pieces.
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Casimir groaned, aching pain shooting across jaw. He pushed himself up, realizing he was in a cage. A cage of silver, gold, and blood red crystal. A cage in the middle of a study room, one overlooking the entire city.
Fear rammed into his mind, he crushed it.
Terror burned in his guts, he smothered it.
His breath threatened to cease, he controlled it.
The Fea turned to regard him. Light brown skin flawless and smooth, cheeks full, and hair a brilliant gold shade.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” the Fea asked, red eyes glancing at him, momentarily. He stood watching the city, smile on his lips. “That there,” the Fea said, pointing. “Is the great Imperial orphanage my wife runs.”
“Respectfully,” Casimr groaned at the pain. “Go fuck yourself and let me fuck your wife.”
The Fea raised a white brow. “I’m quite certain that’s not how that insult typically goes. “
“I’m aware.”
“I’d worried you were an odd one,” the Fea mused. “Those ones, the odd, the defective, are the ones who wash up here. The Warmaster has a sense of humour, I fear.”
“I’m very much mentally capable, thank you,” Casimir muttered. “Given that you haven’t killed me, I’d like to know if my friends are also alive.”
“The answer to that, depends entirely on how much you cooperate,” the Fea replied. “But first, names.”
“Casimir. Casimir Voreband.”
“Dunusias of Imperial blood, by sire Emperor,” Dunusias bowed. “My titles are many, the Crimson Prince, the Bloody One, General of the Crimson Banner. But please, refer to me as-“
“Dunus, sure,” Casimir smiled.
Dunusias laughed. “I’ve gutted many a fey for such insolence.”
“Then please, go ahead, starting gutting me,” Casimir offered, standing up in his cage. “Let’s play this game, hmm. Show me what you’ve got.”
“You,” Dunusias pointed a finger, wry smile at his lips. “I like you, I like you very much.”
He snapped his fingers, a servant stepped into the room. “The prisoners, heal them, fully. I’ve taken a liking to their leader. Begin immediately.”
The servant bowed, and left the room.
Dunusias waved a hand. “Where were we?”
“Me disregarding your sense of ego and pride, and calling you Dunus.”
“Ah yes,” Dunusias nodded. “For nearly the past thirteen thousand years, the Imperium and the Warhost have been locked in conflict. My siblings have proven inept, and despite the time-span, we know little. Until recently, we’ve not even been able to stand up to the Warhost, nor to the Hellspawn.”
“Hellspawn?” Casimir raised a brow.
“Unfamiliar with them?” Dunusias asked.
“I’m almost certain, I’m not familiar in the same sense you are,” Casimr replied. The word ringing in his skull. Hellspawn.
“The ravagers of worlds, imagine the very worst creatures you could think of, and learn that they are not a tenth of the Hellspawn,” Dunusias said, inspecting a crack on his fingernail. “The Scourges are their masters, and each can destroy armies. They’ve left a blood mark upon my beloved homeland.”
“And how did you win?”
“Blood, steel, and courage,” Dunusias smiled. “The Imperium is built upon sacrifices of heroes beyond count, of martyrs uncounted. Of the greatest history shall ever know. We are an empire that has withstood hell itself, and we grow mightier still.”
“The Hellspawn, and the Warhost,” Casimir stated. “You’re leaving something out, I can feel it.”
“Feel it?” Dunusias mused. “Unsurprising, yes, I am. The Far Outsiders, of them, the Regis of Gold, Hier’Glyoth, bars our path. But they are a temporary inconvenience, my father, lord Emperor beloved by all, shall strike them down like the false gods they are.”
“Or he’ll sacrifice you as another hero for the Imperium, it is built on sacrifices, after all, no?“ Casimir prodded.
Casimir laughed again. “And I would see it as an honour, as much an honour as you should feel when I ask you this. What are these half-dream things?”
“Half-dream?”
“The structure you attacked so viciously,” Dunusias explained. “I have been studying it for years, yet I can barely see it, let alone understand it. The Warhost creates these wherever they go. Unseen, yet felt.”
“It’s a-“ Casimir blinked, he shook his head. “It’s a-“
He coughed up blood, he stared at it, confused.
“Clever,” Dunusias said. “I’ve hoped to have finally outwitted the Warmaster, finally, an error to exploit, straggler Returned caught by fortune. It seems there’s nothing the Warmaster was not prepared for.”
Casimir slammed a fist into his chest, and spat out the rest of the blood. “The Warmaster, who is he? You keep mentioning him.”
“Lord of the Warhost, slayer of Scourges, breaker of Far Outsiders, enemy of my people and our Imperium,” Dunusias replied. “There are three things I’ve learned to fear, my father, the Scourges, and the Warmaster.”
“The name seems over-inflationary,” Casimir admitted.
“He it earned upon the Imperium’s first meeting of him,” Dunusias said. “We had moved through the single greatest Boundary Gate my people had ever made, passing the Boundary between worlds, to greater conquests. Instead…instead we met him.”
Dunusias gestured at the sky outside. “The heavens became black with cloud and storm, lightning fell and fried dozens. The mounts were paralyzed by fear, the rumbling of heaven quaking the earth.”
“He came alone,” Dunusias whispered. “A million of the Imperium’s finest. He became charred bone and molten steel. The Warmaster smote their ruin. Only one returned home that day, one, sent to return a warning. ‘The Warmaster’s borders are not to be challenged’ and never have ever done so, again.”
“But he never promised the same, did he?” Casimur realized.
“The Warhost readies upon the order of their Warmaster, to bring war upon all. The Regis of Gold, the Imperium, even the very Scourges of Hell, all of us, will be trampled beneath their heels,” Dunusias muttered. “Conquer or be conquered, that is the Warmaster’s declaration to all.”
“And we’re his pawns?” Casimir growled. “He simply grabs us, conscripts us to his armies, and throws us to fight his wars?”
Dunusias tilted his head. “You…know nothing of how the Returned function?”
“We come back from-“ Casimir beat a fist against his throat. He hacked a globe of blood. He felt his fear hammer back, back in the corners of his mind.
“…Perhaps I was mistaken to bring you back here,” Dunusias said. “Perhaps you’re useless to me after all.”
Casimr killed his smile before it showed. He let the very impression of fear he felt, show. Desperately, he grabbed onto the bars of his cage. It was true, as genuine as any display could ever be.
For he felt it, every bit of it.
“I can show you!” Casimir yelled, desperately, quickly.
“Show me what?” Dunusias asked.
“The dream structure,” he said. “We can show you how it works.”
Dunusias nodded slowy, rubbing his chin in thought. “Yes, yes. That would be very useful.”
Casimir exhaled in relief, and victory. “I’ll need the others with me,” he said. “Each of them has a different function for the structure.”
“Is that so?”
“Byre, of Franz, can experience it fully, at all times, he guides us through it’s dream-like presence” Casimir lied. “His is the least important role.”
Dunusias returned to gazing at his city for a moment. “At long last, I’ll start peeling some of the secrets of the Warmaster. I am pleased, you have pleased me,” he glanced at Casimir. “I shall move you with your compatriots as a sign of my favour. Do not…disappoint me.”
You only live because I want you to.
Casimir smiled, a false smile. “Despite our initial meeting, I think we can get along.”
I’ll stab you in the back the first chance I can.
Fea and man smiled at one another. Only Casimir knew, knew beyond certainty, he’d won. For now. He’d lost a battle and won another.
The war remained to be finished. Whatever happened, until his breath, until he could not longer try, he’d move in the only direction left.
Forward.
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