Captain Kodus stalked down the rows of tents, heading towards the garish, overly-extravagant pavilion in the centre of the encampment. Isdon and Arthua followed a pace behind, cloaks flapping slightly at the speed of their passage, eyes as grim as death. Hard-bitten men, scarred veterans of the Dalan War, took one look at them and carefully eased out of the way, their faces a mix of emotions. Not in fear, but terrible anger and deep-set sympathy. The latter was directed at the three – the former; those they went to meet.
Kodus came to a halt at the entrance, fuming slightly as one of the Praetorian Guard at the entrance entered to announce their arrival. ‘If they are to hand me a death sentence, could they not at least be quick about it?’ The Guardsman reemerged, indicating with a tilt of the head that Kodus should follow him. Kodus composed himself before entering, gesturing impatiently to Arthua and Isdon as they made as if to follow. Perhaps they could learn more from the men outside, being fellow Praetors – officially at least. Such lines were blurred in the 44th.
The change from harsh humidity to cool darkness took Kodus aback somewhat, and as he blinked to recover he took in the room, noting with scorn the rare pieces of art, exotic rugs, heavy chairs gilded almost beyond possible use – certainly none of the wood remained visible. Scurrying servants here to and fro, catering to the every need of those inside. Kodus had entered the lair of the Council of Kings, and it was as dangerous a place as any other he had knowledge of. Lord Idaelar – the Council’s usual spokesman – looked up, seeming for a moment to have forgotten why Kodus was there.
“Ah, yes, Captain. I believe we requested the presence of the ranking officer of the 44th Vaylen Infantry?”
Kodus gave a quick bow in the general direction of the Council before replying, his face emotionless.
“That would be me, sire.”
“Surely not! Has the chain of command been disregarded so?”
“Nay sire, our numbers have decreased to the point were any higher rank would be superfluous.”
Idaelar gasped, his expression and that of the other councilmember’s changing to what they evidently thought to be one of surprise.
“It is true then; the 44th is all but destroyed. I had not realized the terrible state of your forces, Captain.”
‘It is remarkable that such hypocrisy can reside in such a small man.’ thought Kodus grimly – most of the 44th’s suicidal orders had come personally from the man. But Idaelar, finished with his posing, continued orating.
“Yet we have another task for you and your loyal men. It has become evident the foul traitors to the south” – distantly, Kodus wondered what treaty they could possibly have broken – “are massing for another attack upon our noble yet suffering land, and we must know whether or not your late father’s castle remains open to them.”
Kodus felt rage wash over him once more, and could not keep the heat from his voice.
“Sir, my forces are not adequate for this task. Perhaps with reinforcements from the Wualin 23rd, we – ”
“No other force has so many men that fought in the Battle of Hellian Pass, and none other has so many glowing recommendations from other commanders. No Captain; the 44th are the only ones for this task. We are sure you shall accrue much glory in carrying it out.”
Kodus gave a short, jerky bow, turning to leave, but was halted as Prince Haylen spoke up.
“And, Captain, about this…name we have heard so much of, this title the 44th has gained, kindly see that it is stomped out. It brings shame to your men and the army as a whole.”
Kodus looked back over his shoulder, a smile touching his face for the first time that day.
“The Bastard’s Battalion? Yes, I suppose we aren’t the bastards after all.”
And he left, the Guards parting without orders as the Council spluttered behind him.
Shortly thereafter, as the men of the Battalion made ready to leave, a message was passed from campfire to campfire throughout the rest of the army by word of mouth. The soldiers didn’t understand it’s meaning, but they were willing to do more than that for the infamous, seemingly cursed company.
At the edges of one particular fire, a patch of shadows moved as the man hidden within chuckled silently and made his own preparations.
‘To Betrayer,
We could use a hand.
The Bastard.’
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Kodus stood at the junction of four corridors, waiting with the bulk of the specialists and half the standard soldiers while detachments checked out the three paths ahead. No sign of anyone yet – anyone living, at least. A few corpses had been spotted already, and they were on the far side of the castle; most fighting had been done further in. Reaching for the note still in his pocket, Kodus brought it out and was forced to smile.
‘To the Bastard,
As eloquent as ever, I see.
Betrayer.’
‘Everyone’s back. Just like old times…’
He was still smiling when the screaming started…
Marek advanced cautiously, shifting his grip slightly on the shortsword he’d been issued. It was a shoddy piece of work, but he’d managed to fix it up some earlier – clearly the criminals weren’t worth wasting valuable equipment on. Waiting to be hung for killing a superior officer, he’d been as surprised as the others when the Captain had walked in and given them a way out.
“I don’t care what you’ve done; I don’t even care what they said you’ve done. Truth is, I hear you can fight, and I find myself needing such men. So you’ve got a choice – stay here, and die; or come with me and die. Myself, I believe the end defines a man, but let’s see what you think.”
They were breathing free within the hour.
Marek frowned, glancing back at the pile of corpses they’d just drawn abreast of. Relics of the fighting retreat, they were appearing in numbers now; dry, desiccated corpses collapsed on the flagstones like so much rubbish, great, bloodless gashes telling a mute story of death and violence. And he could have sworn one just moved.
Leaving the slowly advancing group of his fellow condemned, he approached the pile, leaning in close and straining for evidence of a living enemy hidden within.
“Oi Marek, time enough to loot the dead later.”
Looking back over his shoulder, Marek responded with not-inconsiderable anger.
“Curse-damned fool, I’m not bloody – ”
A peripheral glimpse of glowing blue and motion blur was all the warning Marek got, but he hadn’t been a soldier for nothing, and his blade whipped to the side –
A still, dark chamber stretching further than the eye can see, concentric circles of guttering candles illuminating seven cowled men sitting on the bare floor, surrounded by chalked symbols of power. Eyes snapping open, the third from left lifted his head and spoke from the shadowy depths of his hood.
“Outer security wards activated. Begin your preparations.”
– blocking the sword whistling towards his neck. Their weapons locked for a moment, and Marek could hear, as though from a great distance, the sounds of those behind him finding their own opponents. His stood, forcing him back a step, and Marek indulged himself a moment longer, staring at the wall opposite through his attacker’s chest cavity. Screams filled the air as other scouting parties met the enemy, but Marek was preoccupied, looking for an opening to re-kill the one facing him…
Less than a quarter of a bell had passed, and they were fighting for their lives against the combined dead from both sides, united finally in death. ‘And their numbers are growing,’ observed Kodus grimly as he watched one of his men get back to his feet, head held on by a few remaining scraps of skin. Two of the advance parties had returned, and Kodus stood in the middle of the hollow box they’d formed, directing the flow of battle as best he could against an enemy with seemingly limitless numbers and no sense of self-preservation. From last reports the ex-prisoners still held their corridor, fighting like cornered rats. The twin black shadows that were Jaelin and Caelim appeared now and then in the sea of enemies, darting in and out of sight with knives a constant flickering of destruction.
Panicked yells drew his attention to the right flank, and he pushed his way through the over-protective Praetors with bad grace, clearing his line of vision long enough for him to see the flank collapse inwards from the sheer numbers of those against them, forming a new line five feet back but leaving a circle of men to fight unaided, desperately defending the priest there while he chanted rituals of release. Kodus had a split second to worry if the enemy were really as mindless as he had originally thought before his gaze was pulled slightly to one side, as –
The darkness seemed to swallow the words almost as soon as they were voiced, but the message was still heard by the other six sorcerers.
“Vessels in place; eliminating target now.”
– two plate-armoured undead crashed into the side of the circle, battered swords rising and falling, cutting men down like wheat as they advanced upon the still-chanting priest. Men charged from the square, forcing a path through the multitudes to try and save one of their last lines of survival, but they were too slow; twin blades impaling the man even as he breathed the last words of his blessing and every corpse within ten feet collapsed into drifting ash…
“The circle is broken; release the flamers.”
A line of troops to the west burst into flame, and a daemon emerged from them, laughing and casting spells with abandon. The remaining priest moved forward to block the attacks, and suddenly Kodus’ position was unprotected. A portion of reality was slashed open and the next moment Kodus lay on the ground, a ringing in his ears and charred corpses by his feet. Shouting men ran forward and crouched, leveling crossbows at the daemon and studding its upper body with armour-piercing bolts. Staggering back through it’s portal, the red-skinned fiend vanished, reappearing behind the crossbowmen and sending a ball of fire into their midst before expiring.
A portal opened right in front of Kodus, the heat washing against him as the daemon stepped through and he got his first good look. Standing eight feet high, its head almost scraped the ceiling, massive muscles bunching under red skin and pitch-black veins, goat-horned head turning from side to side before looking down at him, needle-teeth showing in a terrible smile. No surprise that through the din of battle and ringing in his ears, Kodus was unable to hear the soft, rapid tread of moccasins on flagstones; but the daemon did, and it looked up a moment before Jaelin leaped into view, tackling it around the shoulders and hooking an arm around it's neck as he slipped off, dragging it down by force of momentum and weight as he sank his longknife repeatedly into the thing’s hearts. The fourth to appear died moments later, falling with Caelim’s throwing star embedded in it’s brain…
“Targets approaching deadzone; commence delaying actions and summon a Triad.”
Caelim went flying as though slapped by the hand of some invisible giant, slamming into the wall and sliding to the bottom. Kodus got to his feet, Praetors keeping an eye out for more daemons while the priest hurried over to them.
“My Lord, we have located the inner chambers.” The man’s head jerked up, eyes staring at something beyond normal sight. “Something stirs; we must hurry.”
Deep within the ever-changing contours of the Immaterium, three swirling streams of thought and consciousness stopped abruptly, chained by ritual and intent. In an indefinably long moment, they became aware of the situation and their task, minds linking and plans formulating. They sank into the darkness of the mortal coil and searched among the flickering light of souls for those with attributes most similar to their own. Baalor was fastest, the blood-thirsty fool signaling across the link almost immediately that he was ready. Ryllaius picked through them with more care, eventually finding one to his liking and easing himself around the man’s soul. Sasaku, unsurprisingly enough, was last – ‘Odd taste,’ mused Ryllaius, noting the victim’s damaged state as well as something else he couldn’t pin down. No doubt it had proved irresistible to Sasaku as well.
“Ready yourselves.” he passed along the link. “We approach the barrier.”
Hiding himself deeper in the shadow of the man’s soul, he prepared himself to resist pain…
Kodus organized his men, holding some in place to keep watch over the corridors leading to the exterior areas while he sent men further in, to investigate and clear the way. The priest was already in the Medical Wing, but had surprisingly few serious injuries – most were either relatively fine or dead. He looked around the courtyard and winced; he’d never expected to wind up here again, not even when forced to return to the castle. But the enemy had been bringing darker and stronger forces to bear with each passing moment, and apparently the blessing of the Lord still stood over this area of the castle – or, at least, it had been re-activated by the priest’s prayers. He wondered what other bad news he would soon be receiving…
Ryllaius tentatively extended feeler tendrils to his unknowing host’s sense, scanning the area and deciding it was time to strike, snatching control from the man and subduing his soul, keeping it to learn how to become – on the outside at least – him.
“I’m in.” he said to the others. “Wait until you’re alone, then take control.”
He felt Baalor mmediately take control of his target, destroying the thing’s soul in an instant. Idiot. His now-physical features creased into frown as Sasaku eased into his unconscious host; trying to figure out what it was that was so disturbing about it. A fraction of Sasaku’s agony backlashed down the link an instant before he was severed from it, shaking Ryllaius’ control over his host for a moment. A chill ran down his spine.
‘Already one of us have fallen, and not the weakest. We’ve been noticed…’
Kodus stood on the dais to be more easily seen be those at the back of the Hall, feeling a bizarre mix of déjà vu and unfamiliarity; he’d been through this before, but not from this position.
“As I’m sure you’ve heard, daemons currently stand amongst us, and we can’t leave here until we’ve routed them out – unless any of you’re feeling particularly suicidal today. Now, I can’t be everywhere at once, or see everything that goes on, so I’m relying on all of you to find out who’s no longer one of us.”
He gazed around the chamber, seeing grim, set faces wherever he looked. At least they saw the logic of it.
“Hopefully we won’t kill too many ‘innocents’ before we’re done.” He sighed; not for nothing would he be called the Bastard now. He’d just sentenced many of his loyal soldiers to death. He just wished it wasn’t necessary.
“Begin.”
