Deus Necros

Once Ludwig took the gate in the middle of the half deserted camp, he soon found himself in a new area. The shift came like a held breath let go. The frame behind him sealed with a faint click of old runes, and the world on the far side went thin as a memory. The place itself felt rather warm, at first that was, before the heat seemed to go up, and up… and further up. It crawled along his coat as a hand at first, then pressed like a body, then settled as a weight that would not be argued with. It filled the lungs the way smoke does, slow and stubborn, and left the mouth dry.

All around, the vision of gold spread along the horizon in mismatched ways, mounds of sand in the far distance while against Ludwig’s feet was chapped and chaffed earth. Ground true, but it looked like this dirt hadn’t seen rain in decades. The surface flaked under boot leather. Fissures spidered out in tight knits across the plain, white salts showing through like bone. Heat tremors rippled low, making the far dunes breathe when they were not breathing. The sky was a pale hard metal without seam.

This was a frontal portal, one way. Made so that even if taken over by enemy forces, they couldn’t simply use it to port deeper into the empire. The anchoring stones around the gate wore that logic in their carvings. Lines cut to end rather than lead. No return path inscribed, only arrival. A soldier’s tool rather than a pilgrim’s.

Ludwig walked out of the portal, the guards that worked it were wearing thin clothes and no armor, only a fool would wear something like that in this heat. Sweat had mapped their collars. Scarves were wound high to spare the neck. They had the blank, patient look of men who had learned to blink less to save water. And behind them was a massive fortress of stone. The fortress itself had a raised steel gate and along its walls several soldiers were keeping an eye out on the moving mounds. The iron had been heat-cured to a dull blue. It threw back the sun without shining. Dust devils ran at a distance like quick animals. On the ramparts, silhouettes leaned beneath canvas shades, scanning with lenses that flashed and went dull in a rhythm.

Two towers, one on each corner of the wall, stood higher than anything inside the fortress where even more watchmen were keeping a lookout. Flags hung stiff most of the day, then snapped once when a high wind remembered them. The towers had slits cut narrow and deep, the stone blackened around them where cooking fires had been kept too close for too long. Everything smelled of sun-baked mortar, oil, and skin.

Inside the fortress hundreds upon hundreds of clergy were moving about, Ludwig was confused as he saw them bunched inside. So many of them in fact he doubted that this fortress belonged to the empire. White and saffron and ash-gray moved in crowded tides. The pale linen of acolytes brushed against the polished plates of junior paladins. Beads clicked. Books passed from hand to hand like buckets along a wall. The air had taken on incense over sweat and steel. Lines formed at cisterns, cups lifted, prayers muttered over the water as if words might make it colder.

But seeing that many of them, and the letter in hand, he realized he could simply go and ask about their higherup and hand the letter to them. The envelope weighed like a stone against his ribs. The seal printed its circle into his memory each time he glanced at it. The simplest things are often the most irritating. Walk in. Ask. Hand it over. Leave.

Ludwig walked out of the gate and toward the fortress and was immediately stopped at the gate. The sun glared off the dust on the path so hard it seemed to glow.

“The fortress is currently supervised by the Holy Order. State the purpose of your visit,” one of the guards said. He didn’t sound rude, nor did he try to. In fact Ludwig realized that even the guard was feeling rather annoyed and suffocated. The man squinted past Ludwig at the shimmering horizon as if to remind himself there was a world outside robes and rules.

“Seems like these guys are overstaying their stay at your house,” Ludwig said to the guard. He let the tone carry just enough sympathy to be heard, just enough bite to be true.

“I know right!” the guard immediately said, his eyes lit up because someone finally realized his small plight. “But don’t let them hear you say that, all it takes is one petty cleric accusing you of being a demonic worshipper and there goes your head.” He glanced toward a knot of paladins as he spoke and adjusted his scarf another inch up his neck.

“Don’t worry about me, I got a letter here,” Ludwig said as he flicked the letter in front of the guard, all the guard needed to see was the royal seal on the red wax to realize this was big. The man’s pupils tightened. His back straightened without him deciding to stand straighter.

“I see, to who?” he asked. His voice softened one degree, caution sliding under curiosity.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out, my regiment commander asked me to hand the letter to someone of high rank,” Ludwig said. He kept his hand on the envelope, letting the sun show the impression and not letting anyone else’s fingers test the wax.

“There aren’t any right now,” the soldier shook his head. He scratched the salt trail at his temple with one knuckle and winced when sweat stung the small wound.

“Are you sure? How come the fortress has no one managing it?”

“Oh no it is being managed by a bishop, but Cardinal Sutros who was supposed to be stationed here was ordered right this morning to head back to Solania, seems like another wave of enemies from the Dark Continent are invading.” The way he said Dark Continent made the temperature jump another degree. The towers had already begun to turn their lenses north at the news, even if their bodies had not.

“So who’s the commander in chief for the Holy Order army?”

“Lady Titania…” The name made a few shoulders within earshot square. A scribe nearby pretended not to listen and absolutely did.

“And where can I find her?” Ludwig asked.

The guard simply gestured with his head forward, “She’s been gone for three days now… we don’t know her exact whereabouts. So we’re waiting for now.” The gesture had a hopeless patience to it, as if waiting itself had been made a duty.

“Who is this?” one of the paladins noticed that the guard and Ludwig were talking too long. The man’s armor had been polished to a dull discipline. His jaw had the tight look of someone who lived comfortably in orders and did poorly with exceptions.

“He’s a person of high interest,” the guard said, “He has a letter for lady Titania.” The guard said. He did not step back. He also did not step forward. He kept exactly the distance that would spare him from being mistaken for an ally or an obstacle.

The paladin noticed the letter and said, “Give me the letter I’ll hand it to her.” He held out a hand and expected the world to fill it. The sun found the edges of his gauntlet and made them too bright.

“No, I was ordered to give it to someone of high rank.” Ludwig said. His voice did not shift. He looked at the paladin’s eyes, not his armor.

“And I said I’ll give it to her, hand it over, boy,” the paladin said. The last word fell like a stone in shallow water. Heads turned. Heat and pride make quick friends.

A small twitch in Ludwig’s brow was all that was needed to reveal his rising annoyance. The amulet did little to sooth personal anger, if it wasn’t driven by the Heart of Wrath. The Heart stayed quiet and watchful. The irritation belonged to the man and not the monster.

“Do you not understand the words that come out of my mouth, I said I’ll hand it to your higherups in person.” His breath stayed even. His hand did not rise with the words. His patience did, barely.

“And I said,” the paladin said as he tried to snatch the letter from Ludwig’s hand, “HAND IT OVER.” The gauntlet flashed and lunged. The metal fingers came in quick, confident, used to being obeyed.

Ludwig simply raised his hand up, and the gauntlet of the paladin hit his forearm missing the letter. The impact rang a small bell of sound in the bones. The letter did not shake. The seal did not crack.

“You little!”

“You saw it right?” Ludwig said to the guard. He did not take his eyes off the paladin while asking. His tone was conversational. The pose was not.

“Saw what?” The guard swallowed, then answered himself a breath later as he understood. His mouth twitched at the corner.

“That he hit me first,” Ludwig smiled, “Anything from here onward is self defense.” The smile did not reach his eyes.

The paladin’s weight shifted forward for the second grab. Ludwig stepped once into the space that opened, turned his wrist with the economy of a man who had done this often, and let the paladin experience the feeling of flight with the speed and surprise of a thrown sack. The air left the man’s chest in a hard grunt. Steel rang. Dust leapt up in a golden sheet.

Now, things were ought to be interesting.