“One, two, PUUUUSH!”
Marius slammed his shoulders against the thick wooden end board of the wagon. His companion did the same to his right as the two rammed their bodies against the ponderous vehicle. The two men gritted their teeth as they mustered all their strength while their worn leather shoes slipped against wet cobblestones. Their efforts paid off as the iron-rimmed wheel which had been stuck in a cavity in the road finally climbed back onto the stone-paved bridge.
An audible breath of relief came from his youthful partner on the side. But the older Marius looked up and took a nervous glance at the wide wooden planks that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The vertical boards had lurched backwards as the ponderous cargo inside his extremely overloaded wagon resisted the sudden movement. Marius was sure he had heard a crack earlier, but the wooden planks nevertheless held up and kept their precious cargo safe inside the makeshift container that was packed to the brim.
“Boss,” Marius heard Ramón address him as the latter strode back from the front of the wagon and offered him the reins. “Let’s switch. You’re exhausted.”
“I’m not as young… as I used to be…” Marius admitted through his heavy breathing.
He accepted the reins with a nod while his companion clasped him on his heaving shoulders.
To be fair, Marius was still quite fit, or at least he’d like to think so. But he had crossed the half-century milestone just a few weeks back, and age was quickly catching up to him. Nevertheless, he had been insistent on replacing Ramón, as the middle-aged member of their crew had a bad shoulder — an injury from the chaos of the last war which never properly healed.
“The gates aren’t far ahead,” he spoke to his two companions as he pointed towards the other end of the long bridge. “We’re almost there,” he said before striding towards the front of the wagon to take the lead.
With a grim look, Marius took another deep breath of the cool morning air before he gazed upriver towards the northeast. It was just past daybreak and the sun had yet to even emerge halfway from its cozy bed beyond the horizon. The sky was still dominated by a gigantic indigo moon which took up over a third of the heavens. Its massive bulk also hid the tiny silvery orb which his late wife once half-jested could be used to determine when she would be most willing.
Leading their ox by the reins once more, Marius strode towards the imposing fortified gates that overlooked the bridge which crossed the Tanarus river. The long bridge was over a kilopace across and featured both a double-drawbridge which could be raised to allow civilian ships to pass, as well as a removable pontoon segment behind them for military use.
He heard the wagon wheels roll onto the thick wooden beams of the drawbridge and towards the well-guarded gatehouse that loomed ahead. The stern-faced Marius practiced raising the corners of his lips and his eyes once more to form what passed for a smile. The borders of the Imperium were only thirty kilopaces to their northwest. Considering the escalating political tensions of late, it was all the more important for him to show that he was a friendly trader, even if he had long forgotten what it felt like to truly smile.
The trio of burly men and their ox-drawn wagon approached the first gatehouse just as two figures garbed in forest-green cloaks neared its entrance. A soldier clad in mail and plate armor shouted “HALT!” before he approached the other two with his spear raised beside his towering shield.
“Remove those cloaks at once!” The soldier demanded in the Imperial tongue as he pointed his spear menacingly.
The dull garments were uniform in color except for the white threads that wove embroidered patterns lining the edges. They had holes on each side where two pairs of thin arms emerged from. Their designs marked them as Lotharin in origin without any doubt. And it was those Lotharins, from the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, whom the soldiers of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea had a long and bloodied history with.
“Y-yes Sir.”
A frightened feminine voice responded as the two women removed their outerwear as ordered. Their clothes underneath were frayed and filthy, with torn gaps in their long skirts that exposed their emaciated legs. Neither of them carried any packs and it was clear that they were refugees with little more than the clothing on their backs.
“The city has no room for beggars and whores the likes of you!” The soldier yelled. “Get out of here!” He ordered with a wave of his spear.
“P-please Sir, we’ve nowhere else to go…” The other woman pleaded weakly.
“Not my problem,” the soldier growled.
Marius glanced at the two women as his wagon passed them by from the other side of the wide bridge. The younger couldn’t have been older than twenty years old and was likely the daughter of the older woman. Her worn and ragged clothing, her bony and tired body, her pleading gaze which held onto a spark of hope as she turned to look at him…
— She reminded him so much of his late wife when they had first met along a mountainous road, when he was still a soldier and she was a refugee fleeing the chaos of conflict.
It felt a lifetime ago, during another age when war and turmoil ravaged the land, bringing death and suffering to those least able to defend themselves.
“Now leave, before I throw you both into the river,” the soldier threatened.
For a moment, Marius almost felt something stirring in his heartstrings. It was a sliver of pity and sympathy, but without any warmth to carry it throughout his body. The emotion was soon deadened by the haunting image of a dark night lit by a city’s burning buildings…
Marius had long learned that the world did not care for the weak and defenseless — and with that in mind, neither should he. Certainly not while he still had a goal to accomplish and helping these women would only attract the wrong kind of attention.
With any luck, death will relieve them of life’s burdens shortly, he thought grimly.
As the man pulled his eyes away, he noticed a glint of silver from the grimy cross that the young girl wore around her neck. It had probably been muddied to deter others from robbing her of her last precious belonging. The cross also hinted that the two women were Trinitian refugees.
Marius had seen plenty of their kind in the past few years, ever since the Albigensians splintered off the Trinitian Church in the Kingdom of Garona — the southernmost of the four vassal kingdoms inside the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. The Albigensians had denounced the Trinitian Church as corrupt and faithless. In response, the Pope in Arcadia had declared them a heresy to be cleansed.
The religious conflict that followed had seen numerous churches destroyed and priests burned alive. Countless residents were given the choice of either conversion or exile from the dukedoms that the Albigensians won.
There was a time during his life when Marius wondered why they couldn’t just all live peacefully and get along. Why did humans have to allow nations, culture, and religion to divide them into perpetual conflict?
But those were days long past…
Marius turned his head to face the raised steel portcullis once more. He saw the other guard look warily at his overloaded wagon before meeting his gaze. The merchant put on his best smile and raised an open hand in gesture before the young soldier nodded back in recognition. After all, Marius had been coming in and out of these gates for more than five years now, and most of the soldiers had at least seen him before.
The outer gate was large enough to allow two of his wagons to pass through side by side. Beyond it was a paved courtyard surrounded by walls on all four sides. An even taller inner gatehouse loomed ahead, surrounded by soldiers who checked the belongings of every individual who wished to pass through. A short line of a dozen people waited outside for their turn.
Marius could hear the faint sound of a bell tolling from the city center which was reciprocated by another inside the inner gatehouse. As he led his ox-drawn cart to line up behind the others, the sound of a clatter drew his attention towards the side of the courtyard where five men and women materialized out of thin air.
The newcomers held each others’ hands in a circle around the stone pedestal that housed the city’s teleportation beacon. It was the daily morning Wayfarer transit from the border town of Caiarellus which had arrived exactly on time. Among the travellers were two soldiers who wore back-strapped round shields over their burgundy-red capes. Their equipment and colors marked them as Imperial Akritae, the border troops of the Holy Imperium’s legions.
The older of the two soldiers double-paced to the gatehouse in swift strides. He pulled out a bronze messenger tube and raised it into the air with a shout.
“Priority communique from Caiarellus!”
“Is there an attack?” The officer in charge of the gate’s security asked tensely as he stepped up.
“No,” the messenger answered calmly. “The borders remain quiet but uneasy. Ever since the Lotharins were invaded by the Caliphate, their brigands have stopped harassing us. I think this is a report from our informants across the border,” the soldier added before shrugging to signal that he didn’t actually know. “Must be maps or something, or our signifer would have sent it by Farspeak.”
“Well, let’s hope those Tauheed infidels and Lotharin heretics all rip each other to pieces.” The officer who looked past his prime smirked as he reached his hand out towards the tube. “Holy Father willing, we’ll take that land back just in time for my retirement.”
Marius felt an unnatural chill gather inside him as he heard the two soldiers talk casually about the conflict that was ravaging his homeland. Perhaps it was because he had always known these Imperials were bastards. Perhaps it was due to his own aloofness towards what he could not change. But their callous words no longer triggered any visible response from him.
However, the same could not be said of his youngest colleague Arnau, who took a step from behind the wagon before Ramón yanked him back into place.
Don’t blow our cover, Marius thought to himself as he willed for the brash young man to keep calm. Meanwhile, his eyes looked upon the officer’s outstretched hand with an interested gaze.
Marius wasn’t born with any affinity for magic, but he had long learned to recognize the signs of a spell being cast. The officer must have used a scanning spell to verify the messenger tube. It was simple enough that most mages didn’t even need to recite the words for mnemonic spellcasting. The lack of any visible manifestation meant that a simple gesture was the only tell Marius could use to discern its practice.
“Mana signature matches,” the officer confirmed before gesturing toward the gate and his men. “LET THEM THROUGH!”
“Salve, brothers.”
The messenger extended his arm in an Imperial salute before gesturing to the other soldier who followed him.
Marius watched as the younger soldier, who was a teen barely old enough to join, scurried forward to match steps with his senior. The sight of his youthful determination passing through elicited a pang of bitter nostalgia that left Marius taken aback.
Perhaps it was the way they turned their armored shoulders. Perhaps it was their purposeful stride beneath a distant sun that reflected off their steel plate. But the sight of their departure made memories swirl inside Marius as he felt a tremble from his weathered hand.
And in that moment, the years peeled away like autumn leaves in the wind, returning him to that one morning which still felt raw and bleeding:
…
“I’m sorry, Father. It’s time.”
The young man before Marius turned to follow the armored recruitment officer out. He was halfway through the door when Marius grabbed him by the forearm.
Marius did not wish to see his firstborn depart the house this way — the house that he had built by hand all those years ago, when he could still look proudly down upon his wife’s first pregnancy.
“Lois, you can’t do this!” He added in a half-pleading voice before it hardened to half-scolding. “I…I forbid it!”
“I’m an adult now, Father,” the tall young man replied calmly before he sighed once more. He turned his face one last time to meet his parent with an imploring but also determined gaze.
“It’s my decision. And I won’t be stopped.”
“But why?” Marius asked as he stared into his son’s faded-green eyes and rounded face. It felt almost like he was looking at a younger version of himself.
“Why must you join the rangers as soon as you’re of age? Why can’t you live life for a few years first to understand what it means? Don’t you know that the rangers have been fighting an undeclared war for decades!?”
“Why?” Lois responded with a frown as his gaze grew clouded by disappointment. “Father, I thought that you, of all people, would understand! You! Who had joined the Garona Liberation Army when you were only fourteen!”
It wasn’t that Marius didn’t understand his son’s motives. His old war buddies had always said that Lois was the spitting image of him, not just in looks but also in personality. Yet Marius always wished that Lois wouldn’t take after him in this regard — to indulge in that youthful romanticism and bravado which led him to fight in one of the cruelest and bloodiest wars in Hyperion history.
There were many stories that he had told to his children with pride. Stories of courage, of camaraderie, of fighting against impossible odds and pulling through by the edge of his teeth. But there were also other stories that he was not proud of and said nothing of — for Marius had seen the worst of humanity in all of its gratuitous hate and violence, and not just in others but also in himself.
“Those were different times!” Marius’ pitch steadily rose as his own buried shame transformed into rejection and anger. “I had been born into a land under Imperial occupation. My parents died during the First Garona Independence War when the legion burned down my home village with their ‘reprisals’!” He almost shouted. “I joined to create a peaceful world for my family and my children!”
The father then gestured towards the house that he had built, towards Lois’ young brother and a crying baby sister whom his mother was trying to calm despite her own tears.
“We have that peace now,” he stressed. “So why must you tear this family apart to continue the conflict?”
Why must you bloody your hands just as I did? Marius could not bring himself to say his final thought out loud.
“Because while we selfishly bask in our peaceful lives, our Lotharin brethren south of the border continue to live under Imperial tyranny!” Lois answered as he pointed through the doorway towards the south — the direction that every Lotharin home was built to face.
“There shall be no peace with the Imperium until there is peace for all Lotharins!”
Marius froze as it was a quote so often repeated by his comrades. Even he himself had worn it with familiarity upon his lips when he was young — a phrase which he had even woven into many of his stories to his kids.
And in that moment, Marius knew he could not win. For Lois had become exactly the man whom he had raised.
…
There shall be no peace…
Marius felt his chest tighten as he continued to stare through the gateway towards the rising sun. He could not help but reflect upon those heavy words, which carried such a different meaning for him today than it did back then.
How we all change, even at my age.
The soldiers who bore the message had already disappeared from view, yet his nostalgic gaze remained transfixed on the empty archway.
“Marius, you old smudge, it’s good seeing you again,” the officer in charge of the gatehouse pulled Marius’ thoughts back to the present as he clasped the aging man’s shoulders with a wide grin.
“Did you bring the wine you promised me last time?”
For a moment, Marius only blinked as he struggled to bury the emotions of his past. A half-depreciating chortle left his lips as he couldn’t help but wonder what his son would say to him today — to see him ‘consort with the enemy’ like this.
“Is that all you think about when you see me, Acacius?” Marius answered in jest as his lips stretched into a fake smile.
Regardless, the old trader turned towards his wagon where he pulled out a large box tucked into the vehicle’s front frame. From it, he took out a clay amphorae which he presented to the officer in both hands as a gift.
“Twenty years aged by its previous owners. I hope you enjoy and share it with your men.”
“Don’t worry, I ain’t a pig,” Acacius accepted the wine with a beaming grin. “I’ll be sure to let my boys know whom this ambrosia is from,” he added before looking at the overloaded wagon and tapping it with his knuckle. “So what’s the cargo this time?”
“Harvest of muskmelons from the border villages,” Marius answered.
“This early? It’s still mid-spring!” Acacius’ brows rose in amazement.
“Muskmelons are planted indoors before the last frost and transplanted outside as soon as spring begins,” Marius explained. “Give it six weeks after that and you have an early crop.”
“That so? Good thing I’m learning now. Will be handy when I become a landlord after retiring from service,” the officer joked.
“How much longer do you have?” Marius asked with feigned curiosity.
“Little more than six months, at which point I’ll have finished a double tour of fifty years.”
Acacius’ words reminded Marius of the officer’s yeomen status. As a man of the ‘middle-class’ who was born with magical affinity, Acacius could expect to live for well over a hundred years. Even now, for a man nearly eighty years of age, Acacius had the appearance of someone who was merely thirty.
“I heard you’ve already secured yourself a good woman?” Marius asked next.
“She’s expecting in a month, actually,” the officer beamed. “But don’t worry. Soon as I retire, she’ll be recognized as my proper wife and our son legitimized,” Acacius said as though hinting that they were already secretly married, as such unions were officially forbidden for active members of the legion. “It’s all standard practice in the army.”
“Well, congratulations on becoming a father soon. I wish you peace for these last six months and a smooth road to retirement.”
Marius tried his best to keep the irony out of his tone and smile. He already knew that the days ahead would be anything but peaceful.
“Same to you, and thanks again,” the officer said before raising the tall wine jug and tapping it with his gauntlet.
It was a polite signal for him to pass and stop blocking the gateway. Meanwhile, Ramón and Arnau were already pushing their wagon forward towards the city’s main street.
Marius and his companions moved past the double portcullis and emerged from the fortified gatehouse into the bustling city of Augusta Tanarus. A wide, stone-paved thoroughfare stretches before him, flanked by multi-storied buildings with shops occupying their ground floors. A cacophony of sounds, smells, and movement along the main streets immediately assaulted his senses, as the distinct smells of fresh bread, roasting meat, tanned leather, and the less pleasant odors of waste mingled in the morning air.
Yet despite the early hour, the merchants had already started setting up their wooden awnings and were now beginning to hawk their wares — everything from pottery and textiles to exotic spices and fresh produce. Water splashed from a nearby public fountain where citizens gathered with clay amphorae to fill their jugs. Meanwhile, porters push past with loaded carts, yielding only to a wealthy woman who was carried past in a litter by slaves.
It was hardly surprising, as the city of Augusta Tanarus was built at the tip of where the Tanarus river formed a delta that flowed into the Inner Sea. It was the site of not only a historic victory for the Imperium, but also a ley line junction where magic could be used to power the city’s wards and industry. Surrounded by river estuaries and protected by layered enchantments, the fortress-city was considered an impregnable bastion.
Furthermore, today was the Friday before Resurrection Day, the most Holy of all holidays in Trinitian tradition. It marked the day when Hyperion the Dragonlord sacrificed his life in the ‘Ritual of the True Cross’, a grand sorcery which sealed the demons back in their Abyss and ended the millenia-long Dragon-Demon Wars that ravaged three continents.
Finally, the city was widely considered the last stronghold of ‘true civilization’ before one entered the half-civilized, half-barbarous lands of Rhin-Lotharingie… or so it was said by the maritime traders of the Imperium.
As such, Augusta Tanarus was also one of the main trading hubs of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. Here, cargo galleys and sky-barges picked up goods from the northwest to be transported to the rest of the thalassocracy. Merchants could rest assured that their businesses would be kept safe by the formidable legionary garrison. The city even had a citadel headquarters which was in charge of all thematic legionary forces in the northwestern borderlands of the Imperium.
“It’s hard to believe how peaceful it is here.” Marius heard Arnau, the youngest of his companions, mutter with half-amazement and half-bitterness beneath his breath.
Turning back to face Arnau, Marius saw the young man gawking up towards the skies with his slack-jawed mouth hanging agape. The lad couldn’t stop staring at the towering structure near the northern entrance. His eyes moved between the building and the two massive floating airships anchored next to it.
It wasn’t exactly surprising, for Marius had reacted much the same way the first time he saw Augusta Tanarus’ aerodrome tower.
The blocky stone and concrete structure jutting up from the ground rose a good ten stories into the sky. Four windlass cranes projected from its corners where dock workers busied themselves raising cargo up to the airships. Two ramps — one for cargo and one for personnel — connected the tower to each of the two gargantuan sky-barges with their giant elliptical balloons. Dozens of ropes were used to anchor each humongous vehicle and keep it from being blown away by the wind. Meanwhile, seven cargo nets, a fortuitous number in Arcadian culture, hung from the gondola strapped to the underside of each skyship.
“Holy Father be blessed,” Arnau whispered with a childish sense of wonder. “How do those giants stay aloft?”
“The elliptical hulls of those sky-barges are filled with a lighter-than-air gas which keeps them afloat,” Marius answered with the best of his knowledge.
He had heard an alchemist explain it once but couldn’t remember the names of those gases. All he remembered was that it was colorless, odorless, and had the odd effect of making his voice squeak.
“They travel through the use of wind magic,” Ramón then added. “However, their attuned crystals are bound to specific ley lines, and as a result they can only transport goods along a preset path. But occasionally one of them will get blown off course, at which point they’ll need a proper stormcaller mage to push them back.”
“I thought you said that ley line crystals were bound to a single location?” The young man then asked.
“The Imperium’s technology exceeds Rhin-Lotharingie’s in every respect,” Marius answered as a matter of fact. His words made Ramón open his lips before closing them in a scowl as though the latter wanted to yet couldn’t refute.
Meanwhile, Marius narrowed his eyes and frowned as he noticed that one of the barges’ cargo nets was fully loaded with thousands of barrels that looked familiar even from a distance. At least three of them were marked with a red ‘X’ on the bottom, which seemed to hint that they were the same barrels that he had once smuggled into the city.
Is that the target of the saboteur team that the commander mentioned? It made him wonder as he watched the crew secure the cargo nets to the lower deck as they prepared for departure.
Once again, Marius thought of the nature of their mission ahead. It was completely antithetical to Arnau’s youthful, innocent stare as the young man gazed up towards the sky.
It reminded the older man that he had never asked for young Arnau’s age. After all, it was easier on his conscience to not know.
But Ramón did not have such concerns as he queried:
“How old are you, Arnau?”
Marius had anticipated twenty. He had hoped for twenty. But the answer that came back from Arnau was “seventeen.”
“Why are you here?” The group’s leader scowled as he almost wanted to tell Arnau to turn back.
But Arnau met the older man’s gaze directly. Something shifted in the boy’s countenance — the youthful exuberance that had animated his features just moments before vanished in an instant, like a candle snuffed by a bone-chilling gale that cast the air around them into a blizzard.
His reply came in a deadened voice that belonged to a much older soul: “why are we all here?”
The apathetic tone sent a faint stabbing pain through Marius’ chest. He’d heard those same words before. It came from another time, through a different voice, and under different circumstances. Yet, the haunting memory of it rose through Marius’ thoughts as though the wound had been freshly made:
…
“Why are we all here? Because our duty is to protect our families from what’s out there!” The conscription officer pointed towards the town’s southern walls even as he kept his other hand on the shoulders of Pau, Marius’ second born son.
“But why would you take him and not me!?” Marius’ frustrations rose. “I’m a veteran of the last war!”
“Look, I’m a father too, I know what it’s like.” The officer sighed with a sympathetic gaze. “I would gladly take you in exchange, if you weren’t so injured you can barely even run. But my orders are to conscript one able-bodied man from every family for the defense of this town. We’re about to come under siege and there is no exception for you refugees.”
“But he’s only seventeen!” Marius exclaimed as his voice almost cracked with desperation.
“Father,” it was his son Pau who interjected next with a forced smile. “I’ll be fine.” He tried to embolden himself as much as he reassured his father.
“Didn’t you tell me just yesterday?” Pau continued. “The Imperial campaign in Garona is on its last legs. It won’t be long before Emperor Geoffroi’s main Lotharin army arrives. We only need to hold out for a few days.”
The young man squeezed his fist as his eyes and voice hardened with steadfast resolve. “Besides, it’s my duty as a man to protect my family — isn’t that what you’ve always taught me?”
Marius’ jaw trembled as he didn’t know if he should cry or smile at that moment. To see his second child march off to war — the son whom his wife had named in their traditional Lengadoc tongue’s word for ‘peace’. It brought tears to his eyes even as he felt pride in his son’s maturity and courage.
Before Marius stood the culmination of every quality he had spent years instilling into his children. To see Pau face the challenges of adulthood with a resolute gaze determined to overcome all fear and doubt, Marius could not be more proud as a father.
But why did it have to come to this? Why couldn’t he protect his own children? Why did he have to injure his leg during their flight here?
“Big bro!” Pau’s four year-old little sister cried out as she ran to him while he knelt down to hug her.
“Don’t worry, Mireia, I’ll be back with you and Ma and Pa before you even miss me,” he said with a broad grin. “And together, we’ll go back home and await our older brother’s return.”
“Promise?” The little girl asked as she hugged her stuffed bunny with one arm and reached out her tiny hand with the other.
Her brother answered with his own hand and interweaved his fingers through hers. “I promise,” he added with a nod and a beaming smile.
Pau then gave his sister one last all-embracing hug before he stood up and did the same for his father.
“Remember that I’m proud of you, son,” Marius felt his voice shake as he squeezed his son’s broad chest. He then pulled away and grasped Pau by the shoulders with a stern gaze. “And remember — fight well with your comrades, but no heroics. Come back in one piece.”
“I know, father,” Pau responded with another bravely forced smile. “And I’ll be sure to bring this back to you,” he said before raising the steel sling staff and winged mace that Marius once soldiered with. “I promise.”
…
Why is it always the young who are sent to die?
Marius considered as his thoughts returned to the present once more. He stared at his youngest companion for another moment as he realized that Arnau was the same age as his son Pau had been. A part of Marius wanted to tell Arnau to go back and return to his family. But another part of him also knew — even had Arnau any family left, the three of them were already too far gone to live a peaceful life.
It’s why they all volunteered for this…
Raman was driving their ox to pull the wagon forward once more. The three men followed as they made their way down the city’s increasingly-crowded main street. They had to stop several times at intersections to allow other vehicles to cross first. Compared to the others, their extremely overloaded wagon moved at a snail’s pace across the cobblestone road.
Thankfully, the Imperium’s cities had wide boulevards which allowed three or even four wagons to pass side by side.
The road even had stone ditches to both sides which drained wastewater away into the sewers. Meanwhile above them, smaller branches of the city’s main aqueduct carried water to the local bathhouses which allowed the crowded city to maintain sanitation and hygiene. It was a sign of the Holy Imperium’s wealth that their cities could afford such luxurious infrastructure. All of it lay in stark contrast to the narrow, winding, and filthy streets that dominated the towns and cities inside Marius’ home country of Rhin-Lotharingie.
The old man thought he heard a noise behind him before he turned about to look back. His gaze caught sight of another rope falling from one of the sky-barges parked by the aerodrome. The colossal airship was slowly pulling away from the docking tower. A strong gust blew from behind them as the vehicle’s enchantments altered the local weather for its movement.
The ox-drawn cart sped up slightly as they neared the canal that separated the northwestern third of the city from its central plaza. A Trinitian Cathedral with its three towering spires and the dome of a governor’s palace could also be seen on the other side of the marketplace. Yet here, in the commercial and administrative heart of the city, the cacophony of hawking merchants and working tradesmen had dropped significantly.
In their place, a large man with exotic ebony-black skin stood atop a raised marble platform. The man wore a striped toga in the Arcadian fashion as he spoke with a magically-enhanced deep voice that resounded clearly across the air.
“–from Arcadia,” he made a dramatic gesture towards the south as he proclaimed the Imperium’s capital. “Imperator Augustus Skantarios decrees the mobilization of all furloughed thematic legions from the northern and western provinces of our most Holy Imperium. Our brave soldiers are charged to ensure that the heresy and barbarism of war in Rhin-Lotharingie does not spill onto our lands. Renowned General Marcus Avilius Belisarius will arrive in our city in five days, bringing with him the Tagmata Legions Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai…”
“Two Tagmata Legions,” Ramón spoke in an awed voice as he considered the elite formations whose names struck fear across the continent.
Marius could still remember the sight of those demigryph super-heavy-cavalry charging the Lotharin center during the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Their magic and armor impervious to the hailstorm of sling-bullets and runic-spells alike from the Lotharins. Their indomitable riders plowed straight into a wall of pikes like giants scything through wheat, and twelve lines of infantry crumbled before the Lotharin army broke and ran.
— Even now, the old veteran could feel his hand shaking at the scene of frightful slaughter that followed on that tragic day.
“Complete overkill for ‘border security’,” Marius commented grimly as he clenched his fingers around the reins. “The Imperator is readying his armies for full scale conflict,” he muttered in a low voice as he considered the inevitability of the war ahead.
Had he any reservations towards the actions that he was about to perpetrate, this dire news had just absolved him of them.
After all, Augusta Tanarus was not merely a trade port, but a fortress-city built as the Legions’ main logistics hub in the western edge of their Empire north of the Inner Sea. Here, sky-barges and cargo-galleys would be offloaded and wagon-trains packed to supply the armies that would march into Garona and Rhin-Lotharingie. Within the walls of the Imperium’s military infrastructure, every man and woman living here was a participant in the economy that fueled the Imperial war machine.
— And to Marius, that made the whole city a legitimate military target.
Yet, as the trio drew near a busy stone bridge that crossed the canal, Marius’s jaded eyes spotted a little girl who ran innocently across it. The child could not have been more than four years old and had wavy brunette locks that flowed freely in the morning breeze. Her hands clutched a stuffed rabbit beneath her beautiful green eyes and rosy red cheeks.
Marius didn’t even notice his breathing pause as he couldn’t help fixate upon her with his gaze. The girl looked so nostalgic that it felt like he had travelled backwards through time.
It was a sight that he had not seen for so long. A feeling of warmth and longing that his frigid chest had not experienced in a decade…
For several moments, the little girl who wore a beaming smile ran straight towards him as though she was about to leap into his embrace. Yet, before Marius could emerge from his frozen trance, the girl dashed past him and towards someone else instead.
“Mama!” The girl joyfully rushed into her parent’s embrace.
The mother was young and pretty and wore an elegantly draped stola of fine lilac — a long pleated dress that was more commonly seen among the wealthier citizens of the Holy Imperium. A delicate shawl of imported silk hung from the woman’s head and over both shoulders to add modesty to her appearance.
Meanwhile, standing next to her was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man dressed in the purple cloak of an Imperial Quaestor. He looked at least fifteen years older than the young mother, but laid a possessive hand upon her shoulders which clearly showed that they were married.
A scowl grew across Marius’ countenance as he forced himself to look away. A gale of frozen anger swept through him from deep within him as he felt disturbed by his own mistake.
How could I mistake an Imp child for my sweet Mireia.
Meanwhile, a massive shadow steadily grew across the busy cobblestone street. The colossal sky-barge that Marius saw departing the tower earlier now flew directly over them to block out direct sunlight. The gargantuan elliptical airship was over three hundred paces long. Its twelve revolving propellers filled the air with a dull whirring as the chain-linked pairs repurposed the gale force winds that blew at the airship’s back for steering.
A cheer of support resounded from the central plaza where the men gathered around the news crier. Marius had barely been paying attention, but it was not difficult to guess why the townsfolk were celebrating. Per the Arcadian tradition of ‘bread and circuses’, food and entertainment would usually be provided to celebrate the arrival of dignitaries. Chariot races would then be held in the city’s hippodrome, with contestants from the military to help whip the public into a pro-war frenzy.
However, the cheers and applause were short lived this time, as the shadow cast by the colossal airship soon came to loom over the central plaza. Countless citizens looked skyward as they pointed and spoke to each other in hushed murmurs.
It reminded Marius that in all the times he was in this city while a sky-barge departed, this was the first time a massive vehicle passed directly over the heart of the city.
The old trader was still pondering the reason when a shrill cry pierced the air from high above:
“LOOK OUT!”
One of the seven heavy-duty cargo nets that carried goods beneath the dirigible had fallen loose. At least four cords of thick rope seemed to have snapped which left the net hanging to one side with an open gap. Over a dozen wooden barrels rolled out from the cargo hold and fell through the air. Several anxious screams could be heard from the market’s residents as the huge barrels plunged down from above.
“Order!” Another shout came from the soldiers. “The city protects!”
Surely enough, before the falling objects could even come close to hitting ground, they struck a translucent dome-like barrier of cobalt blue that suddenly flared into existence around sixty paces above ground. The wooden barrels had shattered on contact as they crashed into the city’s anti-air defense ward. The magical barrier was strong enough to break apart even giant boulders hurled from trebuchets. It was part of why Augusta Tanarus was considered an impregnable fortress.
However, while the ward could stop large objects, it was designed to allow lighter substances and liquids to pass through. The dozen barrels that burst open were full of a smooth, glossy, yet viscous liquid that looked like some kind of cooking oil. Hectojugs of this flammable fluid rained down from the sky which drenched entire shops in the marketplace beneath.
Worse yet, more ropes seemed to be breaking loose from the already spilling cargo net, which led to a steady stream of barrels to fall from the gargantuan airship.
“That can’t be an accident,” Marius muttered to his comrades as he stared up at the sky-barge.
The double-layered cargo nets those sky-barges used would have been inspected before departure. They were secured to the cargo deck by over two dozen heavy duty ‘anchor’ ropes. There was no way so many cords could have broken loose unless there had been deliberate sabotage.
“You think that’s them?” Ramón asked in a low voice.
“I’m positive,” Marius added as he spotted another one of those tell-tale barrels that he had seen earlier.
It was marked with a red ‘X’ on the bottom, and so was the barrel next to it.
Those barrels’ own cargo net swayed beneath the sky-barge as several ropes were cut. A gap to the side soon opened where one barrel after another rolled through before plummeting. The wooden containers were shattered by the warding barrier just like before. However, instead of breaking apart to rain oil down upon the ground below, the barrels released a black powdery substance that fell like a carpet of volcanic sand.
Blast powder.
Marius’ eyes swelled as those X-marked barrels were indeed the same ones that he, among others, had smuggled into the city over the past few years.
He was not the only one to recognize it either as more cries and screams erupted from the marketplace. Residents and tradesmen alike looked up in horror as it began to dawn on them that this was no simple mistake.
One after another, the ropes securing the seven cargo nets beneath the sky-barge were cut. One after another, the barrels kept within those holds slipped, rolled, and bounced into the air before plummeting towards the ground. The speed of the disaster hastened as dozens of barrels began to rain down from the airship at a time.
— And every one of these barrels shattered to spill forth a flammable substance, be it oil, powder, grease, tar, and even spirits.
“Terrorist!” A terrified shrill cry resounded from among the civilians in the crowded marketplace.
More and more screams followed in its wake as panic quickly began to spread. Even the soldiers had lost control as many of them turned to run from the airship’s eastbound flight. Throngs of civilians began to flee the downpour of powder, liquids, and other debris. They pushed and shoved aside others in their path with little regard for anything but their own lives.
“This is our chance,” Marius declared as he looked back at his companions. “Light the fuse.”
The old veteran moved behind the ox where he grasped the animal’s tail with his hand. A dozen strips of tar-coated linen had been wrapped around the ox’s tail which ended with a small tube. Marius took the bell that disguised the tube’s true purpose in hand and yanked hard to break the strings. The attached flint rod created a series of sparks inside, which ignited the oiled paper within and then the tarred tail.
The oxen cried out in pain as it began to push forward with all the strength it could muster an attempt to escape the flames. The animal’s hooves gripped and slipped across the stone-paved ground as it pulled against the overloaded wagon that struggled to move faster than a snail’s pace. The beast was successful in drawing the wagon onto the gentle arc of the stone bridge while Ramón leapt down from the vehicle’s side. Within his hand was the flint core to a similar tube which had been used to spark a five-minute timed fuse.
“STOP!” A soldier who stood guard on the other side of the canal bridge yelled. “STOP THAT WAGON AT ONCE!”
“Don’t you see what’s happening!?” His companion also cried out as he gestured towards the tide of panic-stricken civilians that surged in their direction.
Yet, before any of the soldiers could take even three steps, a loud voice shouted from the airship above drew all of their attention skywards:
“THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!”
The airship had already cut all of its large nets and dropped the majority of its cargo. Now, the hijackers completed their mission by detonating the entire vessel. An earthrending explosion which seemed to tear the heavens asunder shook through the city. And in the blink of an eye, the colossal dirigible which had loomed over much of the marketplace plaza went up in a massive inferno.
A wave of hot air followed which almost knocked Marius off his feet. The old veteran dug in his heels as he felt the expanding heat of the blast. It was not entirely surprising to him, as decades ago — back when he was a child saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army — he had taken on a mission to plant several runestones on a smaller airship. The runes held an alchemy spell that steadily transmuted the squeak-inducing odorless gas inside those elliptical balloons to something far more flammable. And after that, a Lightning spell from their yeoman captain was all that it took to set the entire sky-barge ablaze.
Smoke filled the air and rose skyward in a mushroom-shaped column as burning embers and debris rained down upon the plaza. Fires spread in an instant through the oil-soaked peddler booths and the pools of tar and powder that blanketed the cobblestone ground. The colossal flaming wreck of the sky-barge drifted down towards the city’s southeastern districts. Its searing carcass and metallic frame crashed into blocks of crowded residential homes which instantly set the entire area ablaze in a sea of flames.
Countless fires were rapidly spreading out of control inside the fortress-city that was claimed to be ‘impregnable’. Meanwhile, the hundreds of civilians who had been knocked off their feet scrambled to climb over each other to get away from the growing holocaust of flames.
“The Dead Demand Justice!” Marius heard another shout in the Lotharin tongue from the far side of the marketplace plaza.
The explosion that followed revealed that yet another infiltration squad, like the trio formed by him, Ramón, and Arnau, had gone into action. The detonation came from the entrance to the cathedral where the city’s residents no doubt sought shelter. The destruction shook the ground with such force that one of the limestone spires cracked and began to topple.
Marius knelt and reached to his boots where he unsheathed a concealed dagger. The blade was still within reason for what could pass as a ‘self-defense weapon’ should a soldier discover it. He watched as Ramón and Arnau opened the wagon’s side storage to pull out a lumber axe and a steel mallet. The three men all looked at each other with grim faces as they nodded wordlessly to one another.
There was no need for final farewells, for all of them had already accepted their coming fate. Each of them was haunted by a past that they could not escape. And their mission was the only end that could bring them peace.
Their ox cried out in pain as its burning tail forced the animal to pull the overloaded wagon over the slightly-arched canal bridge. The soldiers on the far side however had caught on as they stood up and formed a half-wedge to one side of the passage. The disciplined legionaries leveled their spears in preparation to impale the animal that struggled to charge forward in pain. But before the beast could pull its heavy burden past the crest of the bridge, the young Arnaud dashed past the wagon to assault them with his raised steel mallet.
Nevertheless, the untrained teen was no match against professional soldiers. Three spears thrust forth and two of them impaled his unprotected torso before the young man could even land a single swing.
Yet, despite a shaft that ran through his gut, Arnau continued to push himself forward as he stared upon the soldiers with gritted teeth. The young man dropped his hammer before raising his right arm with all of his remaining strength. Marius could see the glint of a brooch that Arnau said belonged to his late mother in his fingers as young man croaked out one last cry before he slammed the hand into the center of his chest:
“THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!”
His body then exploded in a blast of flames that not only tore his limbs apart. The sonic burst that came with it also shattered the stone bridge railing and broke every bone in all three Imperial soldiers who stood before him.
There were several fleeing civilians who had been caught in the explosion as well. However, more residents who had been running towards the bridge froze in shock as they could no longer tell which direction safety was. Nevertheless, dozens if not hundreds of others continued to push and shove from behind them as people sought to flee the inferno that consumed the marketplace. Countless people were pushed under and trampled upon even as others hastily changed the direction of their flight.
“THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!”
Another cry came from a bridge to the north just as a wave of panic-stricken residents rushed onto it. The explosion that followed destroyed not only the bridge but sent a shower of blood and limbs flying into the air in every direction.
Meanwhile, Raman had jogged ahead of him and raised his lumber axe against the side of their still-moving wagon. The man cried out as he swung with all of his strength, which forced the axe head to cut straight through one of the wooden sideboards that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The thin wooden plank snapped in half which opened up a wide gap into the filled wagon hold. Their cargo of muskmelons rolled out in a torrent and scattered onto the cobblestone-paved plaza.
Ramón pulled back his axe but its head had become stuck in a muskmelon’s rind. Oil leaked from the fruit’s interior which showed that the melon had been hollowed out. Almost their entire cargo of muskmelons had their innards replaced with either oil or blast powder. Only a surface layer of real fruits were placed on top to fool inspections.
Marius watched as the melons bounced and rolled into a confused crowd that ran from one side of the plaza to another in a mindless panic. One of the powder-filled fruits ran into a piece of burning debris and promptly exploded. Two tradesmen were caught in the blast and one of them fell clutching their leg where only a bloody stump remained. Several nearby women screamed and turned to run in the opposite direction before they were shoved onto the ground and trampled under by others running the opposite way.
The residents were caught between the burning marketplace and the ‘assault’ of the ground infiltration teams. Dozens of civilians leapt into the canal, only for some of them to catch fire as the burning oil spread across the water’s surface as well. The injured who had been trampled upon crawled over the ground begging for help while the children sat and wailed in terror for their parents to come.
It was the very image of hell — the sight of a city, with its buildings, its market, its streets, and even its canals all awash with growing flames. Desperate screams and cries came abound from every direction, and corpses both deceased and half-dead littered the streets as more explosions resounded.
Yet, it was not the first time that Marius lay witness to such a grisly sight. The old veteran felt no pity for those who laid dead and dying before him, for the sight of the burning city only steeled his resolve as it uncovered the half-buried agony of his life in his memories.
…
“LAIA! MIREIA!”
Marius cried out the names of his wife and daughter as he limped through the streets of the town that they had taken refuge in. He looked frantically from the blazing tavern to his left to the burning houses on his right as he searched for the silhouette of a mother and her four-year-old child in the fire-lit night.
A trio of stones ablaze soared overhead as the besieging Imperial trebuchets let loose another volley. One of the boulders crashed into the side of the already burning tavern before its imbued spell burst. A low bass sonic shockwave shattered the boulder and the building’s timber supports alike. The detonation created a hail of jagged rock and wooden splinters that shredded a row of women who had been passing buckets to fight the flames.
“AAHhhhh!”
A teenage girl and her ailing mother screamed as they had just emerged from the tavern’s side entrance before the boulder smashed into it. The blazing second floor of the building collapsed on top of them even before the rock could turn them into pincushions for its deadly fragments.
Even Marius felt a sharp pain as several rock splinters struck him. He had reflexively raised his arms to protect his face just in time to avoid worse injuries. Nevertheless, the aging father didn’t even pause to examine his wounds before he continued his limp walk down the streets. His parched throat was already hoarse yet he continued to cry out:
“LAIA! MIREIA!”
Marius knew he needed to calm down and not allow desperation to cloud his judgment. However, he could not stop the increasingly frantic emotions running through his mind. He had returned from his meeting with the town’s magistrate as a representative for the refugees, only to find their encampment near the city’s walls in flames. The place had been struck by an incendiary barrel flung out from the besieger’s catapults. And the only survivor who remained told him that everyone had fled into the center of town to seek shelter after the Imperial forces began a full-scale assault against the southern walls.
The old veteran with a crippled leg forced himself to trot as fast as he could. He scanned his gaze in every direction as he spotted small groups of women and children huddled in narrow alleys and behind stone buildings. Others formed long lines to pass buckets from nearby wells to burning buildings. But every once in a while, a boulder launched by the siege engines would land among those brave women to leave a strung out line of corpses.
Several such bodies laid ahead on the road in a grim reminder. A home to their left had been completely pulverized by what must have been a direct hit. The ruins of the building remained aflame while more embers burned from a blast crater on the left side of the dirt road. The old veteran immediately recognized it as the result of an explosive bomb fired from a heavy mortar which plunged down from a high above.
Then, about two dozen paces away from the crater, Marius felt his blood chill as he spotted a familiar figure on the ground.
“LAIA!”
The body which lay in the middle of the street was half-wrapped in a bloodied green cloak. A silver leaf-shaped buckle that he had gifted his wife as a wedding gift was attached to the torn garment. The left rear of the cloak and her body was visibly shredded as dozens of jagged rock splinters could be seen lodged into the dirt road all around her.
“No, no! Laia! Laia!”
Marius cried out as he scrambled forward and fell to his knees beside the body. However, part of him knew that she was already dead even before he turned her over to gaze into her bloodied and lifeless expression. He could tell from her body’s posture that she had partially turned her back towards the bursting boulder. It was as though she was using her own body to protect someone.
It was not difficult to guess who that someone was. Yet, there was no sign of his daughter Mireia. For a moment, as Marius cradled the lifeless body of his wife, he hoped that at least the frightened four-year-old had run off after her mother’s gruesome death. But as he looked around, he spotted the torn-off head of a stuffed rabbit which had been his daughter’s favorite a mere thirty paces away.
“Mireia?”
The aging father spoke in a stunned voice as his eyes noticed a small pool of blood by the rabbit’s head. A red droplet fell into it from above and another drop followed seconds later. The father felt his chest constrict in terror as for the first time since the Battle of Montaiglin Gap, fear took hold of his body as he was almost too afraid to look up.
Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as the already grieving father could do nothing else. His eyes gradually raised upwards where he saw a reality that surpassed his worst nightmares. He saw the body of a young girl hanging off an iron post that had once hung a shop sign. Her small dress had been ripped to shreds and her face was too bloody to recognize, yet Marius could instantly recognize from the silhouette that she was his daughter.
…
Marius could only remember the events that took place afterwards like images from a passing dream. He had survived the siege only to receive back-to-back news that his two sons had been killed in combat. Now, a father bereft of his family and purpose, he enlisted in the Garona Liberation Army once more and joined the ranks of the Mòrt-Vivent — the ‘living dead’ who had nothing remaining in life to live for.
He remembered attending his own funeral, where he laid down upon his empty grave to let the Albigense priestess to inscribe a rune upon his chest. It was a combination spell that would be triggered by pounding into it with his own fist as his final action in life. The priestess claimed that it would bring salvation as his angelic spirit would finally shed its sinful flesh and be released. But truth be told, Marius had never seriously cared for the Church’s religious disputes and preferred for the Holy Father’s truth to remain mysterious.
The old veteran looked towards Ramón as the middle-aged man bore the same rune upon his body. The same applied to Arnau, whose immortal soul had gone on ahead of them to reunite with his own lost family. Every infiltrator and saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army had joined the Mòrt-Vivent willingly. The runes inscribed into their flesh cut their remaining lifespan to no more than ten years, for after that the magic would unravel and destroy them regardless.
Not far away, Marius saw a crying girl sitting on the ground. It made Marius think back to the child he saw earlier who reminded him so much of his own daughter. The old veteran knew that these children all had parents and what he was about to do would inflict the same gut-wrenching pain that he felt upon them.
The grieving father reached absentmindedly into a pocket with his left hand. His fingers wrapped around a soft item before pulling it out. The old man opened his palm and felt tears pool into his gaze once more. Within his hand was the severed head of the stuffed rabbit the Mireia always clutched, its white fabric still stained with her blood from that fateful night.
How can there be justice when my sweet Mireia is dead while these Imp spawn remain alive?
Ramón was still trying to remove his axe from the melon rind that it was stuck in. But just as he used his feet to hold the fruit down and pull, a thrown pilum impaled him through his chest and pushed his body forward into the canal. Two other javelins flew at Marius but both missed as the veteran stepped aside. The four legionaries then drew their swords and charged forward toward him and the moving wagon that continued to spill muskmelons.
There were still minutes before the timed fuse would set the wagon off. Marius would not risk these soldiers finding and defusing it. He squeezed the furry memento in his palm before sprinting towards the moving wagon. His right arm reached out and prepared for his final action.
“THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!” He heard another cry in the distance followed by another explosion. Dozens of people screamed as yet another comrade martyred himself in the middle of a crowd.
Within seconds, Marius reached the side of the wagon that had its wooden board broken. He stabbed his dagger into one of the muskmelons that had yet to roll out. He used the handle to pull the fruit out of the wagon and turned to face his assailants. The soldiers were mere steps away from him when he screamed and pounded his left hand — still grasping the severed head of his daughter’s favorite toy — into his chest.
“AND WE SHALL BRING VENGEANCE!”
It took but an instant for the rune to activate and for Marius’ body to be ripped asunder. But in that final split-second of his life, Marius’ thoughts were filled with an image of his wife Laia, their two sons Lois and Pau, and his little girl Mireia. All of them stood together in front of the house that he had built and the farm behind them, a picturesque afterlife which he had always sought.
And he could finally retire to it in peace, for he could tell his family that their deaths had been avenged.
—– * * * —–
Needless to say, Marius’ infiltration squad wasn’t the only one who acted. Nor was the city of Augusta Tanarus the only city struck by the Mòrt-Vivent that day. Instead, a simultaneous attack by over thirty infiltration and saboteur squads of the Garona Liberation Army had struck over a dozen towns, cities, and ports of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. And by the day’s end, most of those settlements lay in trembling terror and blazing ruins.
It would go down in Imperial history as ‘Unholy Friday’ — the day that marked Hyperion the Dragonlord’s ritualistic sacrifice for the people of this world was corrupted into a gratuitous revelry of destruction and death.
Yet despite its name, the Garona Liberation Army was more of a paramilitary militia group than the official army of the Kingdom of Garona. Nevertheless, the Imperium held the Kingdom, and by extension, its overlord, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, as responsible for the terror attacks. And on that night, Imperator Augustus Skantarios issued a formal declaration of war against the Empire, which Pope Vigilius, in a show of obedience to his caesar, promptly sanctified as the 4th Trinitian Crusade.
And thus, the stage had been set for the most destructive conflict the continent of Hyperion had seen since the departure of the Dragonlords.
Author's CommentIf you've enjoyed this update, please take a moment to vote for Daybreak on Hyperion at TopWebFiction. Aorii isn't good at self-promotion so every bit of your support helps.
Thank you \(•ᴗ•)/
P.S. Please note that comments need to be approved (or your submitted email must have a previously approved comment) before they'll show up.