The Road to the Future - 7. Part Seven

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Chapter Twenty: The Blue Devils

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Everything happened as Armageddon expected. Three of the four rebellious generals agreed to meet him in the village of Dor… halfway between Domus and the border of the new duchy of Aquanos to discuss a settlement. Each side agreed to bring only five legions with them for protection, leaving the rebels with only fifteen thousand men, with the sympathetic Famulus, to hold their supply lines.

 

In the weeks before the meeting, Armageddon moved his force of twenty five thousand men at an easy pace, to ensure that the rebellious generals arrived first. When he and his newly named Blue Devil legions, named so for the color of their skin, proof of their addiction to anima, finally arrived at the meeting spot, the village was surrounded by rows of sharp stakes, a hastily built stockade in the center. The Field Marshal of Demons smiled on seeing the enemy’s legions crammed into such a small space.

 

While the rebels had been busy fortifying themselves, Armageddon had sent the rest of his men on a forced march southward so that by the time he arrived, his men would be ready to retake control of the border, cutting off the support the Aquanos Famulus had been giving to the rebel Centurions.

 

Within a week after the start of the talks, the rebellious generals found out what Armageddon had done, but that just led to more arguing amongst themselves. One was unwilling to leave the relative safety of the fortifications his men had spent so much time to set up, while the other two tried to flee in the night only to be caught in a major battle with Armageddon’s men, who slowly pushed them back into the village. By then, their numbers had been cut in half.

 

Armageddon sent the rebel generals one final offer… surrender themselves and their officers, and the rest of the surviving men would be allowed safe passage to the Gate.

 

Once again the Field Marshal of Demons was not disappointed. The bonds encouraged between the lower ranks and their superiors, made it highly unlikely that the privates, corporals, and sergeants would allow their leaders to give themselves up.

 

And so, on the day after his offer was rejected, Armageddon sent his Blue Devils against the rebel Centurions in the fortified village. Even with a two to one advantage in numbers, the rebel Centurions fought that much harder knowing they were facing their own death. As a result, it was not until the sun was past its peak that the fate of the battle was decided.

 

Three special units, led by commanders Armageddon had selected personally, succeeded in capturing the rebellious generals alive and unharmed, along with most of their staff. The resulting vacuum of authority resulted in a loss of coordination between the different rebel legions, tipping the battle into Armageddon’s favor. At the end, less than three hundred of the rebels were left to surrender. Those that did soon found out that the Field Marshal of Demons and his Blue Devils, took no prisoners as they were sliced up, one by one, their Anima handed out as prizes of battle.

 

Now back in the capital, with the civil war in Domus almost over, Armageddon dressed himself in his blue lacquered armor and horned helmet to face the three generals. Taken to the Arena of Judgment, as was their right as officers, the Generals were to face Armageddon in single combat.

 

With the vast amounts of anima he had consumed, Armageddon was stronger than any Centurion in living history. His blue skin was taut due to the mass of muscles that covered his body. Added to his towering height and blue glowing eyes, the Field Marshal of Demons truly looked less than human.

 

In addition to giving him great strength, the anima Armageddon had consumed also gave him the natural skills and talents of all the Centurions whose life force he had consumed. If all the marks earned by those men in life were tattooed onto Armageddon’s back, the artist would have been forced to use the Field Marshal’s entire body and still would not have had enough space.

 

As Armageddon faced the generals one by one in the arena, each one fell to his strength and skill. Not even the hardened steel the men wielded could withstand the terrible swings he made with his double-bladed sword, hacking the rebels into a pile of mismatched puzzle pieces but leaving their anima cores intact, gifts to be presented to his master.

           

Only three men of importance resisted the emperor. One, General Dodain, the general who had refused to attend the settlement meeting that proved to be his comrades’ doom, had disbanded his legions in the south, going into hiding in Aquanos.

 

The second was the Commandant of the Academy, having refused to hand over his Legatio students for Xavier’s breeding plans. In the last report the emperor heard from his agents, the waterfall cave entrance to the Academy had been caved in to keep his men out.

 

Finally, and to Xavier’s most troublesome annoyance, was the insistant neutrality of the Lord Commander of the Gate. Grecoron's forces continued to stand aside, allowing more traitors to escape through the mountain pass. That rebellion was Xavier’s next target.

 

The Emperor was going to send one final warning in the form of his creature. Already ten legions loyal to his majesty had begun to surround the Gate, cutting off the fortified mountain pass from its supplies, and preventing more Famulus or any of the few remaining free Legatio from escaping by that route. With the only original Field Marshal, Darius, remaining, Xavier hoped that Grecoron would finally see that his position was hopeless.

 

Those were the things occupying the emperor’s mind when Armageddon left the arena, having finished off the last of the generals and cradling the three anima cores in his left arm.

 

Leaving his box seat, Xavier joined his creature, taking him in hand, bringing him back to his half-built palace to personally wash the blood from his Demon’s body and to partake in joining the rebel generals’ anima with his own.

 

Stepping out of the now red-stained water, Xavier walked to the table where Armageddon had left the cores. Taking a knife, he cut a small circular opening in each of the three bulbous organs, from which he pored out the precious blue elixir into a pair of silver lover goblets from Qul Tos.

 

By accident, or by some subconscious guidance, when Xavier walked to where Armageddon was drying himself, he handed his creature the larger goblet of the male aggressor, instead of the smaller, more slender cup of the female. Armageddon, however, did take notice.

 

Once both had drained their cups, their lips stained with the blue-glowing fluid, Armageddon took on the role the goblet he had been given symbolized. Nearly charging his emperor, he knocked Xavier’s goblet out of the emperor’s hand, dropping his own in the process. Soon he had Xavier pinned against a concrete pillar not yet sheathed in marble.

 

To Xavier’s own shock, he did not resist, his eyes frozen on the small goblet on the floor that moments ago had been in his hand. As Xavier felt his creature rip the clothes off his body and bend him over, he could not help but wonder if the goblets had put both of them under their sorcery. For the first time in his life, Xavier felt weak in the hands of a lover… and that scared him.

 

After he was done, Armageddon left Xavier on the floor, the resulting bruises soon disappearing from the emperor’s anima-rich body. The Field Marshal of Demons dressed back in his armor, strapped his curved double-bladed sword behind his back.

 

“Where will you send me now?” Armageddon asked, looking down at his master as he squirmed on the floor.

 

Xavier did not know how to respond he was so filled with both anger and fear. “You… you… you…” the emperor exclaimed in a weakening whisper.

 

Sensing his master’s unease and the danger it posed to him, Armageddon bent down on one knee, his head bowed to the floor. “I am your loyal servant.”

 

Xavier stopped writhing on the floor, attempting to stand up, only to feel a sharp pain in his innards, forcing him onto his knees.

 

Unable to stand, he remained on his knees, forced to raise his head to stare at the blue face of his demon. “Go to the Gate and crush Lord Commander Grecoron and his men!” he spat in pain.

 

“Good… Grecoron will be more of a challenge,” Armageddon grinned as if showing approval for a well-behaved child’s behavior, as he looked down on his quivering master. For a millennium, armies coming from the north had smashed themselves against the Gate. Now Armageddon was being presented with a chance to attack from the south, something never done in the centuries of long and relative peacefulness that had existed in Domus. That was, of course, before Xavier had declared himself emperor.

 

The Lord Commander was well protected by his men, Centurions whose oaths were to no Field Marshal but to the defense of the Gate itself. It would be interesting to see how such men would fight when facing Armageddon’s Blue Devils, men with only one rule of combat… obedience. “When do I leave?”

 

Trying his best to not show the sharp burning that was nearly overwhelming on his face, Xavier wiped the sweat from his forehead before responding. “Tomorrow… I want the Gate closed before any more traitors can make their way north and escape. Once they are trapped inside our borders, we can deal with them at our leisure”

 

“Then I should go at once,” Armageddon replied, standing and readying to leave.

 

“Go!” Xavier shouted, wanting his creature out of his sight, fearing what would happen if he let himself show any more weakness than he already had. He knew what had happened… what was supposed to be the satisfying of both his and his creature’s mutual anima induced lust had instead been a rape… something nearly unheard of between Centurions… Not that it did not happen, however it was a taboo subject. Any Centurion claiming rape would be seen as a Famulus or Legatio. Such dishonor silenced most lips and would silence Xavier’s as well. How could he, as emperor, dare claim that he had allowed his creature to take physical advantage of him? Even with just this first taste of fear toward his own creation… Xavier dared not make a move against Armageddon, for deep in the back of his mind he remembered his early days in the Home Guard. Back then he knew which of his superiors he could not cross. Now, after years as a Field Marshal, Xavier had a new superior. What an irony that he was the same person who had removed the last man who dared tried to become Xavier’s master… Senator Perils.

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Chapter Twenty-One: Death Trance

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“Come here Har-per…” Rojan said, finding Captain Harper’s name difficult to pronounce. After a week of making the sea captain and inquisitor his new lover, the crown prince had awarded his body guard by calling him by name.

 

“Yes, your highness,” Harper replied. He was dressed in a gold thread loincloth with gold bracelets and armbands around his arms and legs, giving off a light tinkling sound with each movement he made. Harper did not know if it was the face paint Rojan had his servants decorate him with, or the leers and whispers the crown prince’s friends made as they watched him and the prince engaged in bed, that enraged him more.

 

The middle-aged prince ran a hand down the war-trained body of the sea captain’s chest, now shaved and scented with oils. “Please pour me a cup of that wine our raiders brought back from the west.

 

“Huron Gold your majesty, the finest of that kingdom’s whites,” Harper replied, knowing that the prince enjoyed such tidbits of information, as he would later use them to impress the lesser nobles who made up his circle of friends. Still, it was not uncommon for them to feign ignorance when in his highness’s presence. And, that did not mean the prince did not take advantage of Harper’s own lack of knowledge of the lands to the east.

 

Such incidents usually happened around dinner, when the prince would have the cooks prepare some of the more exotic Lahorian dishes… salads made of plants that would trigger vomiting, usually served during feasts that would last days, to allow guest to empty their stomachs just so they could eat more. Peppers, usually meant to be eaten as acts of courage, would often be slipped into Harper’s food, leaving his face flushed red, tears running down his cheeks. Once, after he was served a strange fruit, he spent an entire night sitting on the first flushing toilet he had ever seen.

 

Even though it had only been a few weeks, Harper felt his torment had lasted months, as each day seem to take on the same pattern.

 

Today, however, he received a package; a white paper-wrapped box, marked by the small red ink emblem of the flamed sword, the seal of the Inquisitors. Letting a finger trace the outline of the mark, Harper thought back fondly to the days when the sign of the Inquisitors triggered respect from those who saw it, something Rojan had stripped from him. As his fingers followed the near perfect outline of the sword, Harper knew it had not been hand drawn but stamped, and that only Warren still wore such a signet ring.

 

After staring at the package until he had lost all track of time, Harper finally opened it, taking care not to tear the white paper. Inside was only a small vial, filled with a white crystallized powder. He held the vial up to the sun, the crystals inside ablaze with a rainbow of light. Suddenly, knowing he had some sort of poison in his hand, he slipped it under his loincloth, feeling the cold vial burn against his skin. His heart nearly beat out of his chest because of his fear.

 

Warren had promised Harper a way out of his predicament, but how was he to gain his deliverance by dealing death to the prince… but then that might have been Warren’s intent.

 

Before Rojan and his circle of friends were to arrive at the harem, Harper, fearing the slow death the Lahorians would give him for assassinating the prince, decided he would add the poison to both goblets, hoping the poison Warren had given him was fast and painless. It was, therefore, with great care that he emptied the vial into the bottle of Huron Gold.

 

As a man changed by Warren’s methods, methods that insured the loyalty of his Inquisitors, Harper had long known that one day he would be asked to give his life for the “cause”. Every Inquisitor was taught a twisted art of meditation, one that kept the mind focused only on the “cause” regardless of fear. This included one to prepare a person to give up his life.

 

At first Harper stuttered over the mantras as he tried to place himself into a trance. After nearly an hour, however, he had calmed down and was repeating the words over and over as fast as his tongue would allow. Soon he lost all feeling of his body, then all fear. When Rojan and his cohorts finally arrived for their nightly entertainment Harper was completely numb to everything, even while he wore a smile on his face.

 

After he had handed the laced wine to the prince and saw him drink from it, Harper emptied his own goblet, letting his eyes freeze on the face of the crown prince, waiting to see any hint of the death that he would soon face… it never showed. Nor did his own death arrive.

 

For the rest of the night Harper remained in a daze. It was as if the death he had prepared for had happened, leaving only an empty shell of his self. Not the burning peppers, not the mocking laughs of the prince’s comrades, and not Rojan’s hard ravishing stirred him. In bed, Harper was nothing but a limp doll.

 

That was how Rojan left him to attend a religious ceremony. Flat on his stomach on the bed, a cool summer night breeze prickled his skin. For most of the night Harper remained in that catatonic state. That was, until his ears jerked on the sound of growing wails coming from the women’s side of the harem.

 

As if only half alive, Harper stood up and walked outside to the courtyard where the iron gate separated the men from the women. The men’s side was empty except for Harper, still naked. On the other side, however, the courtyard was filled with dozens of women, wailing, some spinning around in circles while others were down on their knees, pounding the stone ground with their fists.

 

There Harper stood, not comprehending what was happening. Then, one of the other male lovers of the prince joined him in the courtyard, a look of total fear on the man face as his lips repeated the same words over and over again with increasing volume.

 

Slowly, Harper’s mind began to piece together the man’s words. “The… dead…. is……………….. the… is… prince…………… the… prince… dead… is……………. The… prince… is… dead…………… The prince is dead! The prince is dead!”

 

That short sentence rolled around again and again in Harper’s head. Each time a little more signs of life returned to the sea captain. First his fingers began to shake, then his knees. His blue eyes, dry from their long stare blinked quickly, returning moisture and removing the blind look on his face. Then, like a man who nearly drowned, he gasped for air while his almost post-mortem like stiffness disappeared, his body beginning to relax.

 

“The prince is dead…” Harper whispered as he released that first breath. “The prince is dead…”

 

Harper repeated those words in his native Jadoorian until he too was shouting them like the man next to him. Tears streamed down his face as he fell on his knees in disbelief for while he was shouting as if in mourning, what he said between shouts, covered by the noise of the women was; “I live… I live… I live…”

 

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Korish did his best to play the role of the mourning monarch when his son died in the middle of the Feast of Faloo, celebrating the day that Kaal planted and raised the first crops and herds. Rojan had just finished accepting and eating a piece of goat cheese from the first milk of a nanny goat, when he grabbed his left arm is if in pain, his face going pale just before he collapsed on the floor. Healers were rushed to the prince’s side only for him to release his last breath soon after. Poison was immediately suspected but, if so, why did not others who had eaten of the same food die as well.

 

Soon the priests began declaring it the will of Kaal, that their god had taken the life of the emperor’s first born, just as the prince had taken the first milk.

 

The Emperor knew that it had not been the will of Kaal, but that of a blind cleric who had taken the life of his son, for he had been well warned in advance to ensure he would agree with the priests. In return for not opposing their political machinations, one of the senior clerics had been kind enough to tell the emperor how his son would die.

 

From a rare plant that grew in the eastern jungles of the Dorrs, a calming drug could be extracted. The medicine itself was not toxic but ages ago an old cleric healer, studying its effects, found by accident that if a person who had consumed the drug later ate certain foods… something as simple and commonplace as aged cheese, he would soon die, the beat of his heart brought to a sudden halt. Such poison had been used on the prince, clearing the way for Rojan’s bastard infant son, Calis, to become crown prince and heir to the Lahorian Empire.

 

During the ceremony, Korish watched two men in particular, Harper, who stood by Calis’ side, and Warren, who was now dressed in the red robes of a cleric of Kaal. He glared at both with deep mistrust… knowing of their involvement in his eldest son’s death. He did not hate them, however. The relationship between past emperors and their designated heirs had always been distant, if not cold, due to both knowing that at any time the priests of Kaal might deicide to replace one for the other. No… what disturbed his majesty was the appearance of an alliance between the Westerners and his clerics.

 

Calis’ mother, a member of the Gorisha tribe, the dominate group in the north, had been assassinated on Korish’s orders to prevent her family from gaining a foothold in the imperial palace. That left Harper, as the last official consort of prince Rojan, to be the caretaker of the newly crowned heir. At the same time, the scarred, half-blind former High Inquisitor was now to serve as the personal religious advisor to Calis.

 

It angered Korish to no end that the clerics felt safe letting two pale skinned foreigners be so close to the future leader of the thousand tribes of Lahore. Yet He also understood their purpose… to prepare the heir for the invasion of the lands beyond the Desert of Flames.

 

Sitting on his gold throne, Korish could feel the time of his reign ending. Looking around the room, Korish saw that many old and familiar faces were missing. His generals, several members of the imperial council, even a few other members of his own family were absent. Instead, the long throne room was filled with the dusty red robes of the clerics and the brown ones of the more conservative tribal leaders and military officers. The few faces he still recognized as friends looked defeated, eyeing his imperial majesty with a look of pity.

 

Doing as the blind priest told him to, Korish announced he would take in his deceased son's child as his own, going against the tradition which held that a child who had not yet entered manhood be exiled to the great desert regardless of station. It had been the way many Emperors had removed future rivals, killing the fathers and removing any sons who could challenge the emperor's own heirs.

 

As a small ivory hilted dagger was placed in Calis’ hand at the end of the ceremony, Korish could not help but feel as if the boy had just been handed the imperial crown. When the ceremony was over, Korish found himself alone as everyone, including the emperor’s few remaining friends, left the room with the new crown prince, like moths following a rising moon away from the emperor’s own setting sun.

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Chapter Twenty-Two: Restoration

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It had not taken Warren long to learn that the clerics of Kaal, not the emperor, were the true rulers of Lahore. By giving his aid in the killing of Rojan, he had not only saved his own life, but earned a part in their plans to invade the west. Slowly, he was working his way up the hierarchy; making alliances and removing his rivals, until he rose to the title of Arch-cleric of Kaal so that he could rule over the entire west after it fell to the Lahorian Horde. The fact that he now worshipped another god did not disturb him for a moment. He never believed in gods anyway, only power. All he needed now was a way to regain his charisma. To be a leader of men once again, he needed to change from being the horror he saw each day when he looked at his burned flesh in a mirror.

 

Unknown to the emperor, Lahorian raiders, fresh from a deep probe into the west, had returned with their promised prize: three purported western scholars and two Centurions. The clerics of Kaal had wanted western scholars for Prince Calis, to teach him the ways of the west so as to better prepare him for the coming war. The surviving Inquisitors would also serve that purpose, in the arena, so the heir to the Sun Throne could witness the western style of combat and learn how to beat it. The two Centurions?... they were to serve a different purpose.

 

That is why Warren had waited with eagerness for the clerics of Kaal to allow him to interrogate the captured Centurions. He wanted to see if the legends surrounding anima were true.

 

Two days after Korish made his adoption of Calis official, Warren was summoned back to the palace, this time finding Harper sitting on a large cushion. At his side was the small boy, Calis, the new crown prince. As Harper had the luck of being the last of Rojan’s favorite consorts, he was now considered a part of the imperial family.

 

“Now burnt man, tell me what you know of this anima?” the blind cleric demanded. The emperor was no where in site. As of yet he did not feel that the stranger from the west deserved a name.

 

Head bowed down to the ground, Warren spoke. “It is an amazing substance, your holiness. Given to me it would heal my wounds and restore my appearance. Given to your son, he will grow to maturity, his body more impressive, his skill as a warrior even more impressive; impressive enough to earn the respect and devotion of the tribes.”

 

“I see… but how do I know that this is not some plot to poison the future Master of Ares.”

 

“Did I not help you in removing his highness Rojan? If you do not trust me, simply give the anima to me first,” Warren offered, his head still bowed.

 

“Hahahahahaha… But that is just what you want us to do. From the beginning you have wanted my men to risk their lives to find this anima and bring it back. You desperately don’t want to remain a 'burnt man'.”

 

“You are most clever to see the truth of my mind,” Warren replied, attempting flattery.

 

“Charming… now tell me where we can find this anima?”

 

“In the children of Demos, majesty… inside the body of a Centurion.”

 

“Sin!” the blind cleric shouted, jumping from the Sun Throne. “Contamination, abomination!”

 

“No!” Warren jumped up only to be slammed back down by a guard.

 

“Wait, your holiness…” another of the blind priests spoke.

 

“Yes, Lagono.” Korish bowed towards the Keeper of Records.

 

“Is it not true that Kaal was the holder of the sacred animus, the fighting spirit of our people?”

 

“Yes.” Korish grinned. “But this is anima they are talking about. Is that not the opposite, an unholy elixir?”

 

“It is the opposite but it was created by the holy Dominus… remember the words of Kaal, animus is neither good nor evil… it is only the spirit that guides you.”

 

“As always you speak with the wisdom of Kaal. So how do we obtain this anima?” the blind cleric asked as he sat back down.

 

“You must take it from their body… it is held in a core near their abdomen. I can obtain the elixir for you,” Warren explained.

 

“Bring in one of these Centurions,” the senior cleric ordered. In chains, with the points of three spears at his neck, a Centurion was brought into the throne room.

 

Handed a dagger by one of the clerics, Warren walked over to the Centurion, using the tip to scratch a circle around the Centurion’s abdomen, red blood marking the path.

 

Knowing Warren’s purpose, the Centurion spat into the newly anointed cleric’s face, even though it triggered the points of spears into his skin. “Get it over with,” the Centurion said, his neck now covered in blood.

 

“No…” Warren said sinisterly. I want to be sure to capture every single drop of your anima.”

 

At that moment, one of the three guards, lowered his spear and stabbed it into the Centurion’s calf, causing him to fall down to the ground, just at the place on the granite floor were iron loops stuck out from the stone. The Centurion was quickly chained down to the floor, spread out like a large “x”.

 

Once the Centurion was secured, Warren used his knife to cut open the man’s abdomen; revealing the blue, glowing core inside. Connected to it was a series of veins that allowed the anima to flow throughout the rest of the Centurion’s body. As he cut each vein, Warren watched as the Centurion struggled less and less until by the final cut he was completely still. Removing the remaining sinew material allowed Warren to remove the entire core from the now dead Centurion’s body.

 

“With your holiness’ permission,” Warren bowed, as he held the core with both hands. Grabbing hold of a mass of veins connected to the core, Warren drained the anima into his body, sucking on them like a bunch of small straws. Slowly at first, but then faster, the scar tissue covering over half of Warren’s body began fall off, showing perfectly healed skin underneath. As the anima took greater effect, Warren felt growing pains, as his body gained inches in height and pounds of muscle. Last of all, the void that had been his left eye grew back, but instead of being violet, it was gray… Centurion gray.

 

Letting his red robes fall off his now healed body, Warren took in a deep breath, letting his muscled chest rise and fall. “Have I impressed your holiness as to the value of this elixir?”

 

“Well?” The blind cleric asked, turning to the Keeper of Records.

 

“It is as the westerner said…” Lagono stated, awe in his voice.

 

“Now it is his highness' turn,” the blind man said. “Will this anima have the same effect on his highness?”

 

“More so… but the growing pains will be stronger as his highness is so young.” Warren warned.

 

Silently, the blind priest, the Arch-cleric of Lahore, weighed the cost of letting the newly crowned prince grow up so quickly. Even though he was blind, he could feel the aura the healed foreigner now radiated. If the same happened to Calis, he would be able to raise the Hordes of Lahore with ease and lead them westward. “Do it."

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Chapter Twenty-Three: The Eyes of Anima

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Sergeant Glover had never met a man quite like Aegis… never someone with such a dangerous combination of daring and cunning. In the dead of night, Aegis snuck into the Mathannon outpost across from the castle. When he came back he carried the head of the commanding Matriarch, his body covered in blood. And that was only the beginning.

 

The very same morning, Aegis gathered all of Lancaster’s men together and led them east of the wall, entering into Mathannon territory. For both Glover and Lancaster, walking in the land that had been the prison of their ancestors filled them with both excitement and dread.

 

Glover had to admit that Aegis had been right. Except for a thin line of guards along the border, most of Montanan’s army was occupied with the invasion of Austrola. Still, Aegis was not overly reckless, letting them move only at night and only after he had made sure the way was clear.

 

After two weeks of moving ever deeper into Mathannon, Glover was almost at his wit’s end. If Aegis did not tell him where they were going soon, he would turn back on his own rather than risk being captured and sent to the infamous breeding pits of Mathannon.

 

That night, after waking up, Glover went looking for the winged Centurion but was unable to find him. What the sergeant did find was that nearly every officer in the company looked different. It was as if each and every one of them had grown a couple inches or Glover had shrunk by that much. All of them also seemed to be in better health and spirits than any men who had been marching across rough territory for the past two weeks should be. Where Glover was sure he had lost several pounds of weight since this all began, each and every officer looked like he had gained… and all of it muscle.

 

“Have you and the other officers been stashing rations we don’t know about sir?” Glover asked Sir Neil, one of the four knights assigned to Commander Lancaster.

 

“What concern of yours would that be sergeant?” Neil said sternly but with a smile.

 

“No real concern of mine sir, just that…”

 

“Yes Glover?” The knight asked as he took the sergeant aside.

 

“Just that, nothing we are doing makes any sense. Why has Aegis brought us so deep into Mathannon territory? It can’t be to attack the enemy. If we are spotted by a patrol this far from home, we would have entire armies chasing after us.”

 

“Are you a commanding officer?” Neil asked.

 

“No sir.”

 

“Then I would not worry about what are command decisions.”

 

“I understand sir,” Glover said.

 

“Is there anything else sergeant?” The knight asked when Glover did not leave.

 

“Yes, sir. Have you and the others grown taller or has all this marching caused me to lose height as well as weight?”

 

“Hahahahaha… Your right Glover… we have been receiving special rations. Would you like some?” Neil said as he kept leading the other man further away from camp.

 

“Yes, anything would be better than the dried meat and beans we’ve been eating. If I keep on losing weight you will have to skewer me with a pair of swords to keep my uniform on.” Glover laughed, not paying attention to where he was being led.

 

“I’m sure it will never come to that.” The knight chuckled as he wrapped a strong arm around the sergeant’s thin waist.

 

It was not until they had walked several hundred yards away from camp that Glover began to become concerned. “Forgive me my lord, but you and the others must not trust us common grunts much if you have to stash food all the way out here.”

 

“We had to. We would not want one of you catching a whiff of what we are doing now, would we.” Neil said as he pulled Glover closer to him so that their bodies were pressed together.

 

“I see.” Glover grinned, thinking he was going to have a warm fire and hot food waiting for him.

 

Reaching a clearing in the woods near the roots of a gigantic tree a half mile from camp, the knight came to a stop. “Here we are sergeant.”

 

“Where’s the food?” Glover asked, not able to see much in the darkness.

 

“Who said anything about food?”

 

“But the rations… you said you and the other knights were eating.”

 

Neil pressed the front of his body against the sergeant, moving his pelvis in a small circular motion. “But that is not what you really want… is it Glover? What you want is what the other officers and I have been given.”

Feeling the hardening sex of the other man’s manhood against his stomach, Glover tried to pull away as his eyes went wide. All he achieved in struggling was ending up flat on his back, the much larger knight pinning him to the ground.

 

“Don’t hurt me!” Glover shouted, tears running down his face.

 

“We are not going to hurt you sergeant… not much anyway, and not without giving you a great deal of pleasure.”

 

Remembering the stories he had heard about Centurions, Glover began to understand. “It’s Aegis… he’s done something to all of you… made you a part of the Centurion abomination.”

 

“You should have been made an officer Glover. You always had a clever head on your shoulders. You’re right. Aegis has done something to me. He’s made me stronger, faster, better.”

 

Wishing he had kept his observations to himself, Glover began begging. “Please let me go my lord. I promise I will try and not be so clever from this day forth.”

 

“But you should be happy that you figured things out. You’ve proven yourself a worthy traveling companion… unlike the other men.” Neil said. The sinister smile on his face became visible when his eyes began to take on a blue glow.

 

Just as his mouth opened wide in horror, Glover ears heard shouts of alarm soon followed by screams of pain and death coming from the direction of the camp.

 

“It’s for the best sergeant… you will come to see that. Where we are going the others can’t follow.”

 

“You’re killing our own men?”

 

“Would you rather we abandon them here… have them make their way home without a scout? If Aegis had not been leading us, we would not have made it three days before being ambushed by those Mathannon bitches. You know what they would do. Better they die now by the hand of a man who will give them a clean death.”

 

“You can’t mean that sir… these are men you’ve led yourself.”

 

“If you had asked me a few days ago, I would have agreed with you, but not now. Aegis can be a very convincing man, something which you will come to understand eventually. I wish this bloodshed could have been avoided, that we never brought you and the other men with us. All Aegis needed was time, time to get a few of us to see that his way is the only way. That is, if Austrola is going to survive. Considering where he is taking us, the men would not have followed regardless of who gave the command.”

 

“I don’t understand… where is it that we are going?” Glover asked, confused.

 

“To the pits of hell itself sergeant."

 

 

*******************************************************

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Death of Nobility

*******************************************************

 

Armageddon stood across the table from Lord Commander Grecoron. “Surrender, there is no other option.”

 

“There is always another option,” the Commander replied, stone-faced. He had heard of the Field Marshal of Demon’s and while he was physically impressive, all he really saw was an ill-disciplined bully.

 

“All of them will result in the death of your men.”

 

“True Centurions never have long to live.” Grecoron replied cold faced. He knew that Armageddon was one of Xavier’s henchmen and that he had committed the ultimate crime… stealing the anima of a Legatio.

 

“But we can choose the manner. Would you die a pointless death or accept exile?”

 

“Exile?” Grecoron said in a surprised voice. In all the letters between himself and Xavier, exile had not been an option.

 

“I, not the emperor, am giving you this option. Leave the Gate, go to Qul Tos. There you can serve a just ruler.”

 

“The king is but a child,” Grecoron pointed out.

 

“He does have the aid of three Centurions as his advisors, three true Centurions.”

 

“But the protection of the Gate is our solemn duty. It is the Gate that is our master.”

 

“Which you can do from Qul Tos,” Armageddon insisted. “It is your choice, weaken Domus to the point where the Federation can complete its conquest or end the civil strife by leaving.

 

“Will Xavier allow us an orderly withdrawal?”

 

“That I leave to you. If you were to join the Tosian army, Xavier would have to invest considerable time, men, and energy making sure that King Jason does not use your men to remove him.”

 

“Then that is what we will do. Keeping Xavier off balanced is the best way to keep Domus safe from him. But my men and I will not swear loyalty to King Jason. It is our oaths to the Gate that bind us.”

 

“So be it… May I recommend that you leave two legions here at the Pillar of Flames to give the appearance that you are not withdrawing. I will do my best, but I can not say that the other generals loyal to Xavier will not attack if they see you leave.”

 

“Agreed. The two legions will remain here to control the Gate. If Xavier wants it, he will have to fight me for it.”

 

“Are you saying you will take command of those that will remain behind?”

 

“Yes,” Grecoron replied. “And I don’t want you to try and force me to do otherwise. I can order my men to leave their posts but I will not go into exile. It is not a shame I can bear.”

 

“If it is to be your fate…so be it,” Armageddon replied. He wished he had been given the option of facing such an honorable death before becoming the creature Armageddon.

 

“Now that that business is finished… tell me why you serve the tyrant Xavier?”

 

“He is the only man that cares about me.”

 

“I very much doubt that.”

 

“You are right, there is another, but he is beyond my reach. I have also done things… things beyond forgiveness. Even if the one I love could come to forgive me I can never leave Xavier. I depend on him too much for the anima he gives me.”

 

“So you are an addict…” Grecoron sighed sympathetically.

 

“You do know, Lord Commander, that it will be I who will command the legions sent to kill you,” Armageddon warned, not wanting the man’s pity.

 

“Yes, I understand, and I expect that in the end you will consume my anima as you will that of the rest of my men. I only want your word that our skulls receive the proper respect.”

 

“That, Lord Commander, shall be done. The trade in Centurion bones is over… we now use the bones of the Legatio.”

 

A look of disgust showed on Grecoron’s face. “An abomination. Have we Centurions fallen so far that we are willing to kill our own fathers?”

 

“We might have.”

 

“Xavier will destroy Domus, I swear, but I will not let it happen without a fight, even one that’s only symbol ic or, as you said, pointless.”

 

“I will now return to the capital and give the Emperor your reply. Expect to be attacked in one month’s time,” Armageddon said as he stood up to leave.

 

“We will be ready,” Grecoron promised.

 

******************************

 

Sirrus’ foul mood had not made life easier for his men or for his mistress, a farm girl named Lauren. Three days after the city had fallen, and the Centurions were forced back behind the palace walls, the envoy from Tal Sith arrived. It appeared that the Sithian King did not enjoy at all that he, Sirrus, a Huron noble, was running the entire campaign. To correct the problem, the royal court of Tal Sith had sent the Earl of the Urland, Brashear. The man came from a family that gained its title, not from battle, blood, or marriage, but by being the king's most aggressive and efficient tax collectors. This made Brashear's selection as the king's representative ideal, as his unique abilities had made him many enemies amongst the nobles. This had left the Earl dependent and loyal only to the king.

 

Since Brashear’s arrival, though, Sirrus had not been able to mount another attack against the Centurions. Brashear demanded maximum results, but was only willing to accept a minimum of risk. Sirrus could have ordered an attack on his own, but not with the needed Tal Sith troops to aid him in attacking the palace. This left the entire invasion plan paralyzed, waiting on Brashear's apparent whim.

 

That was the situation in which Sirrus found himself when word arrived that Rondus' men were in position to begin their attack on the rear entrance to the Labyrinth Keep. By this time in the war, Sirrus had wanted to have already taken the palace, pinning the Centurions in the Labyrinth. So far however there were no plans to even take the palace, let alone force the Centurions into the Tosian Mountain’s caves.

 

Finally having enough of Brashear's foot dragging, Sirrus walked across the camp in the summer heat to Brashear's tent, ignoring the guards’ orders to halt.

 

"Is this an invasion?" Brashear laughed, on seeing his counterpart march in, face red and sweaty from his hot walk.

 

"We are supposed to be in the middle of an invasion!" Sirrus shouted. "You, my dear Earl, seem to think it's a picnic."

 

"Not at all, Count Sirrus. The food is dull, the wine is not chilled, and the entertainment less than inspiring."

 

"If it is entertainment you want, Brashear, I can give it to you, if you will simply give me permission to attack!"

 

"You have my permission." Brashear smiled evilly. "You just can't use my men."

 

"Tal Sith makes up almost a third of the army!"

 

"I know... but that will still leave you with plenty of men."

 

"Maybe, but should not Tal Sith share in some of the burden if it expects to share in the reward?"

 

"Is that why you think Tal Sith entered this enterprise, my dear fellow?" Brashear asked, as if to a child.

 

"We are here to see the Centurions out of the east!" Sirrus fumed

 

"And why would Tal Sith want that?"

 

Now clearly frustrated, but not yet willing to throw his life away by killing his counterpart, Sirrus took a deep breath before speaking again, this time very slowly. "The Centurions are a threat. They have defeated and humiliated us for over a thousand years. If we do not beat them now, while they are weak, we will not stand a chance when they are strong again."

 

"Trust me, my dear fellow... Domus is broken. In fact, we have made our own arrangement with them."

 

"And what arrangement is that?" Sirrus asked suspiciously.

 

Brashear moved in closer so he could whisper into Sirrus' ear. "Domus is in a state of civil war."

 

"I knew that from the Jadoorian representatives," Sirrus grunted, not impressed.

 

"What you did not know is that Domus now has an emperor. One of their Field Marshals has disbanded the Senate and has made himself sole ruler."

 

"What about the Field Marshal we are fighting."

 

"Well, from what I have been told, a few senators escaped and made their way here to try and convince Field Marshal Darius that he was needed back home. It is now believed that it was our timely invasion that stopped Darius from going back to Domus and beheading the new emperor." Brashear snickered.

 

"So no aid will be coming from Domus." Sirrus grinned.

 

"Exactly... so we can take our time in this war."

 

"We still need to take the capital if we are going to be able to send enough of our men back to harvest this year’s crops."

 

Brashear reached over and patted Sirrus on the back in a comradely manner. "And we will... when the time is right."

 

"And when will that ever be? Keeping this army fed is not particularly cheap."

 

"As soon as we receive reinforcements."

 

"How many more men could we need?" Sirrus demanded.

 

"Trust me... the special unit arriving will shift the war to our complete advantage." Brashear winked.