Sebastian ‘Oats’

  Seb/Bastian

  The ‘Squire’

  Brother Sebastos

  Red Bridge | don’t hurry the mule

  Part 3

  -Let that be our atonement-

  Sebastian traversed the open ground, ducking under dueling warriors, both Golden Spears and Nerot, a term he was to hear for the first time in about a minute. He hacked at distracted enemies, twisted and turned, even leaped over crippled living bodies and bloody still-stirring corpses, before he reached the broken wagon. Sebastian went around the back of it with the bellowing obscenities mixed with psalms Reinhart right behind him, and they got out into the open area before the west side of the woods, leaving the worst of the fighting behind them.

  He could now see clearly the Zilan attacking Brill, who had gotten up again and all but skewered the female with a spear thrust. She managed to dodge the long-reaching weapon’s lunge, grabbed it with the free hand and twirled moving her feet in a dance, flat stomach touching the shaft as she slid towards her attacker. At the end of this finely choreographed move the Zilan cleaved Brill twice in quick succession –once on the sternum, and right after she delivered a devastating blow that buried the exotic hatchet-like weapon on the construct’s forehead.

  The top part of Brill’s cranium caved in and the construct went down without a sound.

  Sebastian, breathing ruggedly, his lungs burning and still sprinting like a madman to cover the distance from them, spotted Luikens rising from a bush he had dived behind and walk slowly towards the female Zilan, who had stooped to retrieve the axe –it had a slightly curved shaft behind the head- from Brill’s half-mangled face. One of the arrows stuck there dropped when the blade came out.

  “Finish him off,” the bespectacled Luikens suggested, only to halt abruptly, upon realizing the Zilan wasn’t a member of the Golden Spears.

  Or any other of the Church’s holy Orders.

  “Are you the Assayer?” She hissed turning to stare at the sweaty, unassuming figure intently. While Luikens wasn’t a short man, Sebastian realized the Zilan female was very tall. Probably a bit taller than the squire even and on par with the lanky Reinhart.

  Luikens gulped down suddenly ill at ease, as if he had caught something in her undertone, or face expression, the fast approaching Sebastian couldn’t see.

  “This is my first day on the job… ahm,” he croaked taking his time, whilst using the back of a trembling hand to wipe some of the sweat from his weak chin and the Zilan took a step towards him, hefting the strange axe in her -now also shaking- right hand.

  For a different reason.

  Damnation!

  “He blew up the academy in Goras,” the Zilan snapped cutting him off. “Three hundred students were inside. Children. Their tutors. My young brother… his son, my whole family was present. Brought the dome down on them. They never dug them out of the ruins.”

  Luikens took a step back, his nervous eyes urging the arriving Sebastian to get rid of the Zilan for him.

  “It happened a long time ago— argh!” Luikens yelped when the Zilan interrupted his reply with a leap and a kick that connected with his chest. The Assayer was hurled backwards and then tumbled with a shriek on the ground.

  “I just learned all about it!” The Zilan hissed going after him. Sebastian reached to grab her shoulder, but she twisted around lithely and hacked at his arm with an angry snarl that revealed two rows of pearly teeth.

  And the enlarged twin pairs of incisors of an alien predator.

  “Urine in the priest’s bottle,” a horrified Reinhart gasped. “Spilled over Uher’s Sacrament! Let’s get her Bastian!”

  “Everyone halt!” Sebastian roared, stumbling back a couple of steps and with his heart beating wildly inside his chest. The squire had just barely saved his arm just a second earlier.

  Before anyone could answer, Brill got up on a knee with a grunt. Gore and brain matter had spilled down his face.

  “He’s not the one responsible,” Sebastian reasoned with the scowling Zilan that let out a growl and stared in his flushed sweaty face.

  “Your armed friend carries the ankh,” she argued. “Why should I trust any of you?”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” Sebastian replied. “Uher as my witness.”

  “Eah!” She snapped with a frustrated gesture, as if Sebastian’s words had just made her point.

  “It was all Flucht’s fault! I was going to quit—” the screeching Luikens went to add, but Reinhart intervened afore he could finish.

  “Kindly, shut your mouth your grace,” the Inquisitor told the frowned at his tone Assayer.

  “Ugh,” the scowling Zilan female exclaimed and then walked to the struggling to stand Brill. She raised her leg and kicked him back down again with a boot to the chest, then quickly walked near him. When the construct went to grab at her leg, the nimble Zilan used a fresh arrow she got out of her quiver, to nail Brill’s arm on the ground.

  “Where is he?” She asked the silent construct. “Suharto.”

  “Who’s he?” Sebastian asked, when Brill didn’t answer. He’d a barely functioning left eye, the right had turned into mush, and was missing a quarter of his brain, so the squire was unsure whether Brill could even speak at all.

  “He knows. This is an N’Rot warrior. A soldier construct. Poorly made, but tenacious. It must be Suharto. Look,” she replied and pointed at Brill, who reached with his other arm to extract the arrow. He yanked it out and then pushed with both arms to stand up again.

  “Answer me!” She snarled at the silent construct.

  Brill didn’t. He instead raised the arm still holding the arrow and hurled it towards Luikens, who swung with his right hand to shield himself on instinct, partially failed, so he ducked in panic behind Reinhart.

  “Ah! ARGH!” The Assayer cried out desperately, made a full twirl clutching at his arrow-pierced hand, but then lost his balance completely and fell down. While the squealing Luikens writhed like a snake on the ground, Sebastian took one step forward and lunged at Brill with his sword, trying to catch him off guard. Alas, the construct reacted swiftly. He snapped his arm and seized the descending blade, an action that cost him two fingers, but effectively halted the squire's assault.

  “Let go of the blade,” Brill growled in a low, menacing tone, his bloodshot eye fixed on the tense Sebastian as he reached for the squire's throat with his other hand. Suddenly, a swift whoosh echoed through the air, and Brill's head was violently severed from his body, spraying blood as it flew five meters away.

  In the space where Brill's head had been, Reinhart's anxious face emerged, his jaw clenched so tightly that his dark skin appeared almost ashen.

  “That long blade just barely missed thy nose,” the Zilan remarked casually, her tone almost melodic as she spoke in Common. “Your friend is either an exceptional swordsman or a complete fool and not a friend at all.”

  Sebastian and Reinhart exchanged a stunned glance, both silently agreeing right then and there, never to discuss the incident again.

  “Destroy the head,” the Zilan said and tossed them Brill’s head, she had gone to pick up. “Burn the bones.”

  Sebastian grimaced and turned his eyes on the Constructs attack that was slowly winding down. Dumont and Verhagen had managed to protect the machines. Reinhart had walked near the moaning Luikens to help him extract the arrow from his hand.

  The crawling away Assayer had almost reached the bushes at the forest’s western edge.

  “They are going to come back,” the tired Sebastian murmured and despite the ruckus raised from the sporadic clashes at the nearby crowded with people and vehicles dirt road, or the noise from the many scared animals, she heard him. “First they attacked our rear, then the middle and now they came from the front.”

  “Was there an Aken with them?” The Zilan asked and then elucidated in the edifying manner of a teacher speaking to a slow kid. “It’s an anthropoid creature with insect joints, very tall. They possess a cone-shaped head and copper skin—”

  “I know how they look,” Sebastian cut her off, then grimaced. “Apologies. I didn’t see one.”

  “Unless you find Suharto, they will come back,” she partially yielded to his previous point, but then added. “He must be at the rear, you just missed him.”

  “I spotted you, didn’t I?” Sebastian argued, a little annoyed with her condescending tone. “He was near Brill the previous time,” the squire expounded and dug in his collar with his free hand to get a cleaning cloth out. “So I wager, he must be near now too.”

  “Gambling is a sin, dear Bastian. Repent my friend,” Reinhart reminded him with a tensed grin. “Luikens is fine by the way.”

  “No, I’m not!” The disheveled Luikens protested, whilst the shaking his head Sebastian started cleaning some of the gore from his neck and face. “I need a Dottore urgently!”

  “You’re a scientist,” Reinhart suggested. “Patch yourself up.” The Inquisitor then approached the Zilan female and introduced himself. “Walk under Uher’s Light milady, I’m Reinhart,” he told her. “Whilst an Inquisitor, I always had a certain fondness for your species.”

  You did?

  “I didn’t,” she replied stiffly. “And never cared about your god.”

  A numb Reinhart nodded. “But I respect your wishes indubitably,” he muttered.

  “Young Bastian,” the Zilan asked, turning to the squire. “Where is the Aken?”

  “Only my friends call me Bastian,” Sebastian retorted with a grimace. “I’m Brother Sebastos.”

  “I shall respect your wishes,” she said with a bow of her blue head mirroring the now smugly smirking Reinhart’s earlier words. Reinhart had an uncanny ability to bounce back from uncomfortable situations, or total ridicule. “Where is he, Brother Sebastos?”

  “Right ahead of us, I… reckon. They know where we’re heading to,” Sebastian replied and the Zilan female’s face paled with worry. She took a step back, turned around and then sprinted across the field towards the river.

  “Look at her go. That’s a fine… creature,” Reinhart commented, with an annoyed glance at the groaning Luikens. “Where is she going by the way?”

  We all have our mission.

  “Let’s help Luikens afore he bleeds out,” Sebastian said. “Then we need to inform Flucht and the others.”

  He paused and turned to look at the thoughtful Reinhart. “You have a certain fondness for Zilan females?”

  “It’s needed in a spiritual context,” Reinhart readily replied and pursed his mouth to add pensively. All theater. “It comes with the job Bastian.”

  Oh, for Uher’s sake.

  “Well, that’s as weak an argument as I’ve ever heard and poorly acted to boot,” Sebastian countered. “One might even call it, a partial admission.”

  “My good friend,” Reinhart started and then breathed out afore giving up. Probably because the young Inquisitor-to-be realized he had been caught drinking the ceremonial wine straight from the chalice. “Alas, you are right.”

  -

  

  Vim Luikens convoy was ambushed by the mysterious Nerot Unit on Hunter’s Path, deep inside the Crimson Forest. The Issirs were attacked at the rear and in the middle of their drawn-out formation. They were attacked from the front. The Golden Spears soldiers had been spread out and split into different groups though that protected the length of the convoy and the Nerot warriors attacks were beaten back. The Issirs suffered casualties, mostly to machine crews, but they kept moving through the forest trying to reach Chinos Turn before nightfall. Unfortunately the Nerot warriors, despite taking atrocious casualties themselves, kept coming back.

  Soon the machines that had suffered the most losses in working crews and animals, were abandoned inside the path. Morale started dropping despite efforts by the priests to galvanize the men. The Nerot kept harassing the Issirs relentlessly, casualties mounted, but seven Deliverers led by Archivist Marcel Flucht, Brother Dumont and Sir Aryan Verhagen, broke out to better ground near the junction, pressing tired men and animals to their breaking point.

  The Golden Spears and Templars of the Chain arrived just in time to witness the final stages of the venomous mixed cavalry scrap between Tika Phanti and his Cataphracts, Maas Vellers Inquisitors and Sir Albert Kosters Golden Spears men-at-arms. Tika Phanti –who had almost routed the Inquisitors an hour earlier- was forced to retreat towards Chinos Turn after taking huge losses. Over a hundred Cataphracts fell in this savage clash fought way off the beaten path. Forty Inquisitors were also killed –Vellers had lost two-thirds of his men by this point- amongst them the 4th Brother Martin Bauman and the victorious Commander of the Golden Spears Sir Albert Kosters –his arrival and charge on the backs of the Cataphracts had saved the day- saw his 2nd in command and good friend Sir Iwan Dinter receive a shocking injury.

  Sir Iwan’s horse had received a crippling blow and the knight was hurled from the saddle headfirst onto a rare very-old Oak tree trunk. When his squire reached him minutes later, he attempted to revive the unresponsive knight. He appeared to succeed at first, but when they removed Sir Iwan’s helm, part of his cracked cranium detached –as squashed skin and bones had been plastered and firmly stuck on the metal helm- so most of the hapless knight’s brains spilled out.

  Tika Phanti quickly realized the Issirs had taken command of the east flank –although still too deep inside the woods- and messaged Besa Nafi to dispatch reinforcements. He thought of staying at Chinos Turn, but he didn’t have the manpower to defend the village and ordered his battered mobile force to stay on the –much better, nicely paved cobblestone- coastal road with darkness setting in.

  The Khanate Command faced a thorny dilemma as Cephas Mirpur could see the Issir field artillery advance near the 3rd Foot straight for their center, and had already messaged Besa Nafi earlier in the afternoon for reinforcements. Besa Nafi insisted on Sin Ota-Kmet’s Chariots to stay on the coastal road and Cephas, who had been skirmishing at the edge of Maple Grove with Sir Thor Est Ravn’s heavy cavalry for hours, decided to pull his Cataphracts back and wait for the Issirs to make the first move, or until he had a fuller picture of the battle. The solution was given by Muda-Zeket. The Jang-Lu general, had been informed from Muvelo’s runners and now from Cephas Mirpur’s missives to Advisor Nafi that the Khanate didn’t have control of the flanks. So he ordered his heavy infantry to halt their march towards the Issirs in the center and demanded artillery support from Rumen-Kot.

  The latter moved out from the main road’s fortifications, escorted by Hamadi’s Slavers, moved his machines near Pines Road making good time initially, but he halted there and set them up between the pines and the Grove –the southwest corner of the Crimson Forrest was called thus due to the many different tree types of copses and thickets amassed there. From chestnut trees, to red-leafed Maples and walnuts- that was seven kilometers from the first buildings of Rita’s Inn.

  Lord Grote, commanding the 3rd Foot, wished to attack immediately, but with only a couple of hours of light left, Lord Anker ordered him to halt as well and rest his men in the plains near the main road towards the capital, less than three kilometers from Khanate’s infantry. The High Regent had been informed by the Church that they had almost broken out of the woods and intended to be at Chinos Turn early that evening marching non-stop.

  When darkness came the Nerot returned. They snatched tired people from the path and attacked sleepy patrol sentries. The Issirs kept going on pure adrenalin and prayers, but even those started running out after ten hours of constant struggle. Just as everything appeared to be falling apart at the seams, with the night engulfing the Assayer’s flanking group and the first lit up houses of Chinos Turn well in sight of the Issir vanguard, the circumstances changed.

  -

  Thirteen

  “Think I heard something?” the Zilan whispered and walked near the bushes surrounding Tin’s tree. Then the Aken was on the move. A leap and he landed between two branches of a shorter maple, three meters lower and to his left. Tin immediately jumped down from there, landed amidst a pair of saplings and then ducked behind another mature maple.

  “There,” the unseen Zilan said somewhere near, as Tin rounded the trunk to get on his other side than the one Hoskuld was coming from. The Aken reached a small cut between the thick scrubs and stabbed his staff down to peek at the Zilan that had reached the undergrowth where Tom’s head had ended up. “Well that’s disgusting,” the Zilan said, talking to himself. “There’s a head here. Looks uneatable. Must have fallen from the tree… well, that’s quite bizarre.”

  The Aken eyed rather curious the dirty, but wearing fine-looking garbs Zilan crouch to better examine the rotting head. Three meters away Hoskuld had appeared marching towards the distracted Imperial buffoon with a sword in hand.

  Stab him in the ear.

  Yep.

  “Hmm, you don’t think there’s a puma lurking up there?” The Zilan asked sounding worried and Tin realized their friend wasn’t talking to himself.

  Uhm.

  Eh.

  Tin tried to find the hidden Baldrick in order to see through the construct’s eyes, but something dropped from a tree not a meter away and right in front of him afore he could locate the construct.

  “What kind of head?” The female Zilan queried, this one dressed as a proper Imperial Ranger, and stood up with her back to the stunned half-smiling, half-snarling Tin. No sooner than she finished her query the newcomer reached for a small sword strapped on her harness’ back, when she spotted Hoskuld almost on top of the stooped idiot.

  Attack.

  Everyone on sight, Tin ordered his constructs.

  Kill them all.

  Uhm.

  Starting with her, he added and stabbed a bone knife in the ranger’s back. The nimble Zilan twisted around her axis the moment she felt the blade cut through her leather armour in order to avoid the sneak attack, which was always pretty frustrating, and swung with a bow she carried in a wide arc alike a scythe.

  Which turned out to be painful.

  Tin dodged spastically -caught unawares after centuries of killing weaker prey, and the longbow’s wire-reinforced arm caught the top of his head, scrapped a flap of skin away and snapped it aside violently. Ouch. The next moment the female screamed and somersaulted backwards to get out of Tin’s staff reach.

  “Samblar look out! The vile Aken is here!” The ranger yelled and shot an arrow before her feet touched the ground.

  Ah.

  Annoying stupid cunt.

  Also…

  We have a leak, Tin decided and ignited the brittle bones in his palm to blink out of existence momentarily. The teleportation spell had a ten-foot radius and anchored at the caster’s last spot of choosing.

  Tin popped out four meters behind the ranger with a shiver, well inside the open animal trail and near Samblar’s trunk-bench. Hoskuld had reached the first Zilan in the meantime. The construct swung with his sword but missed and the yelping Samblar leaped away from the blank-faced Hoskuld, who went after him. Baldrick stirred somewhere near and Percival was heard as well moving towards them, just as the ranger pirouetted on her feet lithely ready to fire another arrow towards the grimacing Aken.

  Tin’s wounded head hurt and the glancing cut bled down his nape, whilst the flapping piece of skin had folded and touched the top of his left ear.

  “Enough,” the vexed Aken hissed and lunged with the staff to take the bow off of the ranger’s hands. She sidestepped out of the staff’s reach and loosed another arrow, which forced Tin to teleport again, burning valuable consecrated bones and stamina. He appeared right next to the female ranger, half his face numb from the aftershock and stabbed his bone knife in her thigh.

  She jerked aside, the cut going not as deep as Tin would have preferred and dropping her bow, attacked him with a peleg, a slick steel throwing-axe with a curved shaft. The cornered Aken retreated to regain the advantage, but the ranger lunged ahead with a scream not to allow him to use the metal staff.

  Eh.

  Tin jerked away to avoid a couple of quick hacks and snapped his arm to rock the female with a brutal knuckle punch to the face that split her lips and bloodied her mouth. He immediately folded backwards, breaking two ribs, to get away from an arching slash and with his long robes flapping, the Aken circled around her quickstep spell, the moment he smelled incense burning.

  The female ranger turned with him, but Tin blinked out of existence again, gums bleeding and the inside of his mouth bursting with lesions, only to reappear in the same spot and stab the half-turned ranger under the left breast.

  The bone knife snapped, weakened by the armour, but it had lodged into the yelping ranger’s flesh and Tin had another inside the bag. Hah. Yep. He got it out and went to knife the female in the other tit, but she slashed at him with a panicked scream, the peleg chopping away his index finger above the knuckle.

  Gobbledygook!

  A peeved Tin downed the staff like an axe, ogled eye watching his severed finger flying over their heads and broke the female’s forearm with a satisfying crunching sound. She let out a pained yelp, then went to leap away desperately, but the taller Aken snapped both arms forward and snatched her blue head by the ears.

  The next moment Tin’s elongated thumbs sunk in the Zilan’s gawking terrified eyes and shoved them deep inside her skull, which was a waste of good resources, but quite the satisfying activity. He kept digging in with both thumbs caught in the moment, with blood and fluids bubbling out and he was on the verge of finishing her off, when he had to stop abruptly. The reason for the halt was an arrowhead that had exploded out of his chest at some point, after collapsing a lung.

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  Well… fuck.

  “There is another,” Baldrick warned him, way too-late to make a plaguing difference and Tin coughed up a mouthful of blood, afore quickly stepping behind the collapsing female. The latter’s face a gory mask, with two hemorrhaging cavernous holes for eyes.

  Good.

  “Tanulia! NO!”

  Yes.

  A male had cried out sounding traumatized –not a bad thing- and the injured Tin teleported away from the dying Tanulia, or whatever the fuck her name was, to reappear ten meters away, with blisters forming in his eyes.

  Eh.

  Prolonged fights were not healthy for magic-using constructs.

  Or doppelgangers.

  Their bodies couldn’t handle the strains of casting as well as the original Bonemancer.

  Another Zilan burst out from the undergrowth holding a longbow, went past Baldrick, the latter staring at Hoskuld trying to corner the slippery Samblar and loosed another arrow towards the scowling Tin. The Aken jerked away, but not fast enough and the arrow nailed him on the right shoulder, then twirled him around. He dropped to a knee, used his staff to keep his balance and Baldrick decided to attack the new ranger finally, giving Tin the time to get away.

  Retreat.

  A strategic thing.

  Yep.

  Tin reached the thicker part at the edge of the trail, but heard feet thudding on the ground right behind him and twisted about in alarm. An armed Issir charged his way hoisting a longsword over his head and yelling obscenities.

  “Muttonhead fiend!” The human bellowed and the affronted Aken stood up, flipped the staff in his hand and delivered a savage blow to the charging human’s knee. Tin stepped aside and the man went yelping onto a tree trunk with a bang.

  Uhum.

  Tin left his rolling on the ground opponent and rounded the large tree to reach safety, but yet another much-taller muscular human came around from the opposite side carrying a proper axe. The Nord half-breed tried to use the axe against Tin, but the Aken’s staff blocked it and then snapped to whack the human’s head hard.

  Is this a blasted party?

  Who the fuck invited you cucks?

  Um?

  The man staggered back, Tin made to turn around, but the first guy grabbed at his foot and tripped him. The Aken went down with a curse, faltered to his feet stressed and whacked the still crawling man upside the conned helm with a loud clang.

  Unluckily, the wrong person to focus on.

  Luthos, you short-limbed knave!

  An alarmed Tin twirled right upon hearing the whoosh of the incoming axe, raised the staff to block it and swung with his bone knife in the Nord half-breed’s general direction.

  The axe’s head snapped his staff in two and then brutally lodged in Tin’s ribcage, after going through his right arm. The force of the blow catapulting the Aken sideways and dislodging the bloody blade from the grotesque wound, leaving quite a gory mess behind.

  Well… shit.

  Yep.

  Not good.

  The half-breed grunted and reached to extract Tin’s bone knife from his sternum, but the hurled away Aken leaped behind a tree, not interested whether the Nord would make it, or not.

  Tin knew it was long past time for him to get away.

  Someone had sent the cavalry after his arse for some reason.

  He faltered behind a thick bush, then rounded another tree with a rugged gasp, bleeding from several places and hurting from just about everywhere. His dangling right arm was holding on by a thin bloody piece of flesh and skin, the bone completely broken a handbreadth under the shoulder and he’d a squashed liver under all those broken ribs, not to mention the ghastly wound itself.

  Eh.

  Tin glanced back as he veered off the trail to head for a stream that run inside the deeper part of the forest and spotted yet another female ranger running doggedly after him. She leaped over a trunk just at that point and loosed an arrow on the gawking Aken.

  The blue bitch blew his knee out, aiming for the joint and the groaning, now properly panicked Tin, stumbled between a pair of walnut trees, lost the dangling arm in the process and used the maimed left to teleport as far away as he could.

  Tin blinked into existence ten meters away, rolled with a squeal in a desperate attempt to find his footing, but his knee gave two strides in. The Aken took a stubborn step forward just the same, as he could now hear water running, but his ankle got stuck between an oak’s surface roots and in the desperate attempt to dislodge it, his leg got severed at the knee.

  The blinding pain was a minor problem, given his horrific injuries, but also because Tin could barely see anything anyway, as the nasty blisters had burst earlier and both his eyes now leaked bloody fluids down his painted face. The Aken’s only chance of escaping was to crawl under the thick shrubberies and attempt to reach the shallow stream. He needed the water to throw the Imperial Ranger off of his scent.

  So crawl towards the stream Tin did.

  A half-dead Tin sunk to the rocky bottom of the stream, it was less than two meters deep, and kept slowly crawling south with the current towards Chinos River. He used a leg and an arm to do it, plus both bleeding stubs, which was painful and very taxing.

  Not soon after and whilst still under the surface of the water, his oxygen run out. It was a shock since most Aken Bonemancers could last long under water, because they habitually build themselves big lungs, as part of their self-improvement. The problem was that Tin had an arrow skewered right through the right one, the latter leaking more blood than air. He needed to get it out and patch himself up.

  Ah.

  A conundrum.

  Hmm.

  The submerged Tin slowly headed for the edge of the stream and slowly surfaced, his wounded conned head and bloodshot serpent-eyes emerging behind the lush cattails like a lurking crocodile’s. A good thing the crocs habitats are far from these parts of Jelin, the Aken thought, working the arrowhead out of his chest. He was missing an index finger from his left hand, which made the job more difficult.

  And twice as painful.

  Ouch.

  Eh.

  He puked some in his mouth and then spat it all out, eyes blurry and ears trying to hear over the sound of the running stream. Tin eyed the hidden behind the stirring cattails sun and wished for night to come sooner.

  He’d a prepared mixture to patch himself up, and he’d already stemmed the worst of the bleeding by inducing local necrosis, but Tin had to crawl on solid ground to work on himself properly. Also, killing parts of yourself off, is more times than not, detrimental to your survival.

  Uhum.

  Yeah.

  Tin had to wait and hope, his body survived for long enough to mend it.

  I need half-a-leg and a whole arm. Can’t make one right now, so it needs to be a brief replacement, he thought shivering from severe blood-loss and equally severe magic-poisoning.

  A transfusion could help.

  Where the fuck did they come from?

  What are Imperials doing here? A whole bunch of them depraved cretins, Tin wondered sourly and the Zilan ranger’s singing voice answered him.

  Coming from somewhere far.

  If you were stupid enough to believe it.

  “What’s the plan Sarco-Carasta? I know you are still around,” she told him in Imperial. “There’s a mandate on your head, Suharto.”

  A tick appeared on Tin’s pale, smeared with blood and leaking white paint, half-submerged face. The spasms and tremors ravaging the rest of his body underwater.

  “Exterminate on sight.”

  Fucking stubborn brutes.

  Uncultured savages! Tin cursed her with ogling eyes.

  “You now owe me twofold!” The Zilan female hissed hoarsely, her voice coming and going. “You’ll perish in these woods.”

  Suck my dick, Tin thought and grabbed a curious fish, squeezed it in his fist, then shoved the pulped flesh in his mouth to give himself some protein.

  “Thy vile scent stopped by the water,” the Zilan continued, trying to rattle him. “You either went upstream, or towards the bigger river.”

  A tensed Tin grimaced, half from jolts of agony and the other from fear.

  “A foul smell, most unpleasant. A soulless husk, irredeemable.”

  I’ve smelled worse.

  Ayup.

  “I shall make vellum of your skin, this I vow,” she continued sounding further away. Sneaky-sneaky. “Write her name on it and you’ll know, Aeleniel O’ Faelar ended your reign of terror.”

  Oh, you stupid pompous cunt.

  What hogwash!

  You don’t even have the right guy! Tin thought irate.

  ‘Thirteen,’ Suharto’s voice crackled from somewhere afar, using some poor soul’s unwilling offering in order to increase the range. ‘Where… Spoiled marrow! Are you taking a bath?’

  Yeah, in a darn mud hole beaming with the cousins of piranhas, he thought with a hefty dose of derision.

  ‘Imperial rangers are looking for you’, Tin replied and realized that a bunch of the fish’s friends had started nibbling on his wounds. Seriously?

  ‘Lead them away.’

  Tin tried to roll his swollen, bloodshot eyes, but they were too-damaged for such actions.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Make sure they kill you then. Yes. It would be helpful, if they think I died on Jelin.’

  ‘How will it help me master?’ Tin queried mockingly and listened for the ranger, but couldn’t hear anything. The sun had moved on the sky, behind the forest and darkness had fell upon his hiding spot amidst the dense cattails.

  ‘You lived a good life,’ Suharto’s breaking up voice said in parting. ‘Longer than most. It’s quite enough. A construct can’t wish for more.’

  No, it isn’t.

  A construct may not wish for more, but I’m as much a blasted Aken as you and I do.

  So how about you go and fuck yourself bloody with my broken staff instead?

  ‘Um,’ a sour Tin murmured and severed the connection he had with Baldrick. The construct was about to kill the injured human. Percival was dead by the Nord’s nasty axe and so was Brill it appeared. Eh. That dude is unlucky. Hoskuld still hunted Samblar around. Suharto had given him an idea. Closing his hurting eyes, Tin released all his constructs in one fell swoop.

  He hesitated to let Atae go after so many years together, but Tin could always build himself a new one.

  Yep, he decided with a pleased smirk, his ghoulish face ravaged with spasms.

  Then the Aken lowered his head under the water and patiently waited for the night to come. To increase his chances, Tin munched on the shoal of ravenous fish that had gathered to nibble on his torn flesh. In a macabre poetic sense, both the local fauna and the badly injured Aken shared a hearty meal in silence.

  Crimson Forest, midnight -right click to open fully

  Sebastian

  “She killed my wife darn it! Ate her face right off!” Old Vily Reb cursed hoarsely and harpooned an Issir teenager though the mouth. The savage thrust nailing the construct’s cracked-open head on the mudbrick wall of his farmstead.

  Sebastian parried another –less inconspicuous- construct’s slash aside, and carved a deep gouge at the hollow of its neck, above the armour’s collar. The Lorian went down, coughing up a splash of blood, only to stand up again with a guttural growl and the worn-out squire’s badly chipped blade caught it not two fingers above the first gory slash and hacked its head right off. The blood spurted out of the massive wound and the severed head banged on the wall next to Reb’s son Emil and cracked open like a ripe watermelon.

  “Who was that?” The white-bearded and rather unfriendly Reb asked Sebastian, who couldn’t speak and also had no idea, barely managed to stumble on dead legs towards the road in order to help out the first of the arriving wheeled-platforms. Vily Reb had lit up the village with every torch and lamp they had available, to guide through the summer night’s pitch dark the desperately fighting convoy, right after the last of Tika Phanti’s Cataphracts had departed.

  The lights had attracted the shadowing the Issirs Nerot warriors. They attacked the returning to the village civilians –mostly Reb’s extended family- slaughtering everything with a pulse for a whole hour, until Sebastian had arrived with Sir Albert Koster’s men-at-arms to rout the constructs. The squire had joined Sir Albert’s weakened mounted force and the remaining Inquisitors to form a vanguard that could potentially punch through a late night defense by the retreating Tika Phanti.

  Reinhart had been ordered to return to his badly mauled unit, the moment they reached the junction, and Sebastian spotted the young Inquisitor fighting with four constructs near the turn, still scared shitless, but still keeping it under control with fake bravado. Sebastian started heading there without a second thought. He stepped over his second lost horse of the day, the ground shaking under foot from the galloping about wild-neighing horses and the arriving machines. The Crimson Forest now carved right the middle by a strange winding and stirring yellow river, brilliantly illuminated by hundreds of torches and extending for at least three kilometers.

  It would be a sight to behold truly, Sebastian thought. But for the carnage.

  Sebastian took another step, raised his longsword and then downed it to cleave at the back of the nearest construct, splitting the mail rings, the force of the savage blow sending the construct to its knees with a broken spine.

  The squire got hit on the left shoulder with a sword slash that slid on the dented plate and sliced open his face, almost taking out his eye. Sebastian faltered, head spinning and his knees gave out from under him. He collapsed on his knees and the Construct, a burly Issir soldier he’d faced earlier –and killed twice already, moved to finish him off, despite the nearby Reinhart’s desperate efforts to come to his aid.

  Uher’s will be done. I shall walk in the light, Sebastian prayed, too tired to even lift his sword to protect himself and the Issir soldier opened his lifeless eyes wide, a spark appearing behind them, as if the God had reached with a divine hand to touch him.

  And just like that the possessed Issir lowered his bloody blade.

  “Bizarre. Hmm,” the Construct exclaimed and looked at the sweaty, blood-covered Sebastian uncertain. “I’ll go,” he rustled and Sebastian nodded numbly, just before Reinhart’s sword burst out of the Construct’s chest in an explosion of fresh gore, the frantic Inquisitor heaving the blade up and down to dislodge it, as he’d left himself open in order to save Sebastian.

  “Fuck!” Reinhart cursed, when he got the blade out of the collapsing Nerot soldier. Sebastian glanced at the two enemy warriors that were just attacking the young Inquisitor –Vellers had sworn him in on the spot a couple of hours earlier, and then immediately ordered the moved Reinhart to join the depleted Inquisitors’ ranks- but both Constructs had turned around and walked away from the fight.

  What in all saints is going on? Sebastian wondered and grabbed Reinhart’s offered hand to stand on his feet. Just then the arriving horse of priest Brukel stopped near them raising a large dust cloud. Brother Flucht and Falco with Luikens following right after him.

  “Get those two heathens!” Brukel bellowed at the arriving infantry. “Cut them down afore they get away! By the grace of Uher. Spare no one!” The priest ordered raucously and cast a tensed glance at Sebastian. “They killed Brother Tanner. Them Devil’s spawn.”

  “Something is seriously off—” Sebastian tried to argue, but Reinhart stopped him using a clenched fist to give a light knock on the squire’s chest. A cotton cloth lodged between the young Inquisitors’ gloved fingers.

  “Not worth saving,” the tired Reinhart rustled. “You are, so use this on the cut.”

  “They stopped fighting Reinhart,” Sebastian grunted, but took the cloth and pressed it on his bleeding cheek.

  “I know Bastian,” Reinhart replied with a tired pout. “I’m not an idiot, but let’s leave the difficult queries for the morrow. If you argue this shite right now in front of this bloodthirsty mob, they’ll gut and string you up right alongside them walking stiffs. Eh, plus we need a rest.”

  “There’ll be no rest and no plans for tomorrow,” Brukel snapped irate hearing his words. “Soon as the machines are here, we hit the road again. We’ve already sent a message to Sister Rita.”

  “Reb lost a lot of close family,” Sebastian told him fervently. “Many more locals lay butchered, from them barns to the fishing docks.”

  “See to avenge them. Let that be our atonement, Brother Sebastos,” Brukel replied icily, which was unexpected of him. “There are more heathens up the coastal road and in them fields beyond,” he added and reached in his saddlebags for a whetstone. The priest tossed the whetstone towards Sebastian, who failed to catch it midair and dropped it between his dirty, gore-stained boots. “Fix yer blade my good lad,” Brukel warned in a softer tone the stooping to pick up the now bloodied whetstone teenager. “Or find yerself another from those not in need of one,” he added and pointed at the laden wagons that carried the weapons of the slain.

  -

  

  Tika Phanti frantically messaged Besa Nafi before nightfall, who had his hands full trying to convince Rumen-Kot to advance his machines, and informed him that ‘a great number of Issirs are breaking out of the woods. Machines, Heavy Cavalry, scores of infantry.’

  The third missive that day didn’t reach the Khan’s advisor right away, as Besa Nafi had gone to an urgent meeting with Rumen-Kot, Muda-Zeket, Gika, Muvelo and Cephas Mirpur, near the frontline. Muda-Zeket and Gika warned Besa Nafi of the existence ‘of forty pieces of artillery to our east flank near the edge of the woods ready to pummel us come morrow,’ and it was agreed that given the situation further to the east –inside Crimson Forest- one of the two Cavalry forces (three with Sepa’s, but he was stationed further to the west) needed to deal with the Issir machines in the center. Muvelo was picked to attack slantwise across the open field, or circle behind enemy lines, as it was deemed he was the most probable to break through first. Mirpur had the Issir Heavy Cavalry and Crossbows unit in front of him and had already weakened his force by dispatching Tika Phanti to Hunter’s Path.

  Muvelo agreed to attack and clear the west maple thickets ‘the moment Tekem Dhouti, or Sakir get rid of Sir Reinir’s flanking force.’ To assist them and also safeguard Sepa’s spare horses, Bedas’ Slavers were ordered to advance from their rear camp during the night towards the Arid Plains and if possible, attack Pastelor’s cut off force from the rear.

  Tika Phanti’s missive reached the Khan’s Headquarters and Burzin immediately relayed it to General Sin Ota-Kmet, whose camp was across Rita’s Inn. Lord Ota-Kmet and captain Rumu, who was resting with his mercenaries there, realized Tika Phanti wasn’t anywhere near Hunter’s Path. He wasn’t at the junction, or Reb’s Trail and alas, he wasn’t even at Chinos Turn. Tika Phanti had in fact hastily camped in the middle of the cobblestone road near the walnut trees of East Grove, a mere five kilometers from Rita’s Inn, with the Issirs half that distance behind him.

  Lord Ota-Kmet immediately dispatched his son Tar Ota-Kmet with fifty scythed Chariots, the Ota-Kmet scion was positioned a kilometer east of the charioteers’ main camp, right on the coastal road, to reinforce Tika Phanti’s Cataphracts.

  His orders were clear, advance rapidly and smash the approaching Issirs. ‘Ride with courage,’ he wrote his son. ‘And cut them to pieces.’

  The Horselord’s words rather prophetic, under a certain twisted angle that is.

  -

  Half an hour afore midnight

  Chinos Turn

  “Listen up! Any able-bodied man, or boy that can hold a spear stands in the shieldwall!” Sir Albert Kosters boomed from atop his nervous warhorse, he then spun around to return to his riders. Sir Aryan Verhagen, Sir Brack and a few more Templars mixed in with the weary Golden Spears men-at-arms. Sebastian clenched his teeth and headed for a spare horse to assist in the coming counter charge.

  The enemy was still unseen in the distance, but they could hear the rumbling of many wheels and the thudding of hooves approach them from the west like a distant storm. The well-illuminated Chinos Turn was by now beaming with dozens of arriving carts, wagons and hundreds of men and animals. Most of the surviving Deliverers haphazardly strewn on the road and their despondent exhausted crews collapsed over the steel wheels, or near the pack-mules.

  “Stay out of it,” Brukel ordered and Sebastian turned to protest, but the priest cut him off. “Thor might need you. You’re not the Lord Commander’s squire to lose.”

  “I’m doing this,” Sebastian declared stubbornly and hearing commotion, they both turned to watch the Grand Archivist berate Falco and Carlson, who were helping him to unload a mule. Flucht had approached them as well and a lively discussion erupted, much to Sir Albert Kosters –the commander was trying to galvanize his men to defend against the incoming Horselords attack- chagrin.

  “Praised be Uher! We have bigger problems looming!” Sir Albert blasted the high-ranking members of the church, which caused many of the surviving Inquisitors –they had gathered by the other side of the road- to glare at him. Sir Verhagen, didn’t appear bothered though and kept his eyes on Luikens who held a cylindrical stick in his hands, he dropped inside the mule’s saddlebags.

  “Give me the paper fuses sack,” Luikens ordered Falco and the soldier handed him another leather bag. Luikens let it drop down and then stooped to get a strange brown-colored and rope-like piece of thick cord out of the bag, a meter in length.

  Is that a fuse? Sebastian wondered.

  What does it do?

  “Luikens,” a flushed Flucht argued with him, but the Assayer would have none of it. “You can’t try this in the open for crying out loud!” Flucht hissed irate.

  “As good a place as any. We hurry the mule towards them,” Wim Luikens told those gathered around him and the others close enough to listen. “Someone needs to lead it straight of course. Keep it going forward and not turn around… obviously.”

  His words caused quite the stir, and not even the approaching roar of the Khanate Chariots could contain.

  “What do you mean by ‘guide it,’ my lord?” Carlson asked with a heavy dose of skepticism.

  “Didn’t your holiness mention that we shouldn’t rush the mule?” Falco inquired, his tone more cautious and diplomatic.

  Luikens, drenched in sweat, raised a heavily bandaged hand and slowly adjusted his glasses with a finger, bringing them closer to his goggling eyes. “This situation is different,” he finally stated matter-of-factly.

  “In what way?” Falco questioned wanting to learn more, only to be met with Luikens’ indifferent gaze.

  “The plan, your Grace?” Sir Verhagen interjected, his voice muffled by his imposing helm.

  “We will send one of the marked pack-mules to disrupt the Horselords’ charge,” Luikens answered again with finality. Despite the gravity of his words, several onlookers coughed, cleared their throats in amusement, or gasped in surprise.

  “How will you... with a god darn mule?” Sir Kosters growled.

  “Let him speak,” the Master Templar rustled and the Golden Spears’ commander glanced his way in disbelief.

  “I heard him. Why not setup one darn machine and fire?” Sir Albert Kosters asked crustily.

  “We might miss,” a nervous Luikens replied and Sir Kosters threw his arms up in the air frustrated.

  Magister Sande De Hove, clad in his Inquisitor armour and riding a magnificent black stallion, crossed the road with a sharp click of his tongue at this point. He came to stand next to Sir Aryan Verhagen, his eyes stilled on Marcel Flucht. The other Archivist’s tensed face distorted with a grimace, but then he nodded once.

  Flucht spoke then with a calm determination, “We shall follow the Grand Archivist’s suggestion. This is neither the moment for pride nor the time for trivial disputes to arise. The fate of our people shall be decided tonight.”

  The bandaged Sebastian stepped back, feeling the weight of the Magister's statement.

  “So say we all. You have less than two minutes Luikens,” a scowling Sir Kosters yielded.

  “I’ll need a volunteer,” Luikens immediately said and turned to regard soberly the frowned Falco.

  “Hah, right,” Reinhart sniggered mockingly, not missing the very-heavy use of euphemism there by the Assayer.

  “I’ll do it,” Carlson intervened and Falco looked his way incredulous, since Carlson had threw his colleague under the wagon’s wheels many times in the past. “You’ve a rotten luck,” Carlson explained and Falco went to hug him, but Carlson shoved his friend back with both arms looking a little embarrassed. “Sentimental fool,” the Golden Spears soldier said hoarsely.

  “You shall lead the mule down the road as fast as you can. Go now,” Luikens said. “It’ll take one, or two minutes to approach them and they won’t see you in the pitch black, not until the very last moment.”

  Carlson puffed out and climbed up the saddle. Wim Luikens approached right away to close the saddlebags, but not before getting a small lit thermolampe near them, this ‘Luikens Lantern’ was missing one of its glass sides and he used the small opening to ignite the end of the cord.

  “You have between two to five minutes at the most mister Carlson,” Luikens told him. “Go now. Ehem, with Uher.”

  Sebastian furrowed his brows at the vague instructions.

  “Right. So when do I jump off?” The pale Carlson queried, staring at the smoking cord worried.

  “You’ll know,” Luikens replied coolly and then gave the mule a light slap on the buttocks to get it going under the bystanders’ unenthusiastic cheers.

  “You’ll either join us squire, or head back to Sir Thor right now,” De Hove scolded Sebastian, who stared at the trotting away mule engrossed. “Sir Kosters will order a charge whether this ploy succeeds, or fails. This is open ground and nicely paved cobblestone, so I understand, if you want to stay this one out.”

  Sebastian clenched his jaw tight, leaped onto the saddle, and then turned his unnamed horse to cross the road in order to join the other men-at-arms. He cast one last look at Carlson, who had all but disappeared into the darkness on the mule. The ground trembled, resonating from the trees to the riverbanks and everything in between. Small stones danced on the flagstones beneath his feet, while the illuminated section of the cobblestone road near Chinos Turn rippled like real water. The growing echo and rumble of the approaching Horselords made Sebastian's teeth chatter, and as he strained to find Carlson in the pitch black, the squire realized he was unable to do so.

  The aloof Luikens raised his arm, fist clenched except for his pointing to the dark skies finger.

  “Grab your lances! One minute!” Sir Albert Kosters bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos of the impending -now a faint glimmer in the dark- avalanche. Every piece of metal that brushed against the mail rings of Sebastian’s armor vibrated with an unsettling energy. The horses whinnied anxiously, and Sebastian exhaled a rough breath he had been holding, just as Reinhart's voice pierced the night afore the latter transformed into day.

  A minute after midnight.

  “Hey. What was you had called it again?”