Cinders of the Past: The City of Heathens

The soupy road splattered with every one of Kurst’s footfalls. Kurst and his companions wore dark green cloaks that covered their armor with hoods drawn over their heads. T

he only weapons they had at their sides were daggers. Ran’Ura and Fald’Arn rode on the front of their wooden carriage while Tal’Athan and Dua’Kanta walked on either side. Kurst and Kal’Atav walked behind the group. A light rainfall misted the seven knights. Kurst was glad that the worst of the rain had passed the night before while they rested in the shelter of a local farmer. The farmer, a small man who had introduced himself as Anard had been reluctant to take the knights under his roof until Kurst offered him three silver pieces. Kurst remember the sight of Anard snatching the coin from his fingers and leaping out of their way to invite them in. His companion Kal’Atav hadn’t stopped giving him grief about paying so much.

“I still don’t understand what possessed you to pay so much for something we could have forced him to give us.” kal'Atav's scarred, dark face peered at Kurst from under his green hood.

“It is the path of least resistance. Besides, now he knows we will pay him for favors and he will jump to help us anytime we flash a coin.”

“What help would a farmer be for us?”

Kurst didn’t answer him. He turned his gaze to the small carriage that was in front of him. It was filled with sacks of food that would feed him and the soldiers under him. There was far more than what would be necessary to feed six men piled in the carriage. It was as Kurst planned before they left Ravenstill. There are many ways to win the hearts and minds of people. By far, the most effective means to do so is through their stomach. And now, with Anard, we have someone to bring in more for us. I’ll make sure he and every other farmer in the area will sell their excess food to us instead of at the market. Then all we have to do is give it away to the hungry populace. Kurst grinned. He was pleased with himself, but there was still more work to be done to ensure their success. Even with the people of Drubain on their side, six men and himself would not accomplish what needed to be done. First, they would need to meet their contact, the King’s Dagger. Next, they need to find a building to operate out of. Finally, recruiting help from the city’s inhabitants. If we can’t march an army into the city, we’ll raise one from inside it.

They could make out the gates of Drubain in the distance. Though they could smell the city long before. It was a pungent mixture of copper and mildew that clung to their clothing and skin. A sure sign that a witch was conducting human sacrifices to commune with the primeval gods. Kurst inhaled deeply. “The scent of blasphemy is strong in this city.”

“We should have come with an army to burn this entire place down to its foundations,” Fald’Arn said from the front of the carriage.

“Then we’d only prove that we’re no better than the Crimson Tyrant. We’re better than that and we’ll show it to all the dung heads living on this continent. They’ll turn to the light of the saints soon enough,” Ran’Ura said.

Fald’Arn spat. “These people don’t care enough to help themselves. They’ll follow whoever, so long as they don’t suffer too much discomfort. They’re not much different than pigs wallowing in their own shit.”

“I think,” Kurst said. “What they need is something to believe in.”

“What do you mean?” Fald’Arn asked.

“Why do you think we were able to win against the Crimson Tyrant and they weren’t? It’s not like they didn’t try,” Kurst said.

His companions were silent. None could find an answer to his question.

Disappointed, Kurst sighed. “We have something that they don’t. Our faith gives us strength. We could turn to the Five Saints for the power to banish the Crimson Tyrant’s evil from the world, who could they turn to? The primeval gods? Callous, scornful beings who would rather toy with our kind instead of help us.” Kurst chuckled. “We are the salvation of these people, whether they know it or not.”

“It’s strange,” Kal’Atav said.

“What?”

“The way you regard the natives of this continent despite being one yourself.”

A deep scowl drew itself across Kurst’s face. “Half native. I’m plenty Renaian and just as devout as any other knight of the Saint’s Swords.”

“I’m not questioning your devotion, I’m just curious as to why-”

“Drop it,” Kurst said, he stared daggers towards Kal’Atav.

Kal’Atav bowed his head and stayed silent.

“Well, putting aside from Kurst’s sensitivity,” Dua”Kanta said, “How are we supposed to find this agent who’s made it inside the city?”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Fald’Arn said.

“We’re not going to find him,” Kurst said.

“What? Then what are supposed to do, wander about until we bump into each other?” Dua’Kanta asked.

The rain had stopped, but the dark, puffy clouds continued to crowd the sky. The gates of Drubain grew closer and closer, creeping upon the group with each step. “Our contact will approach us when he deems it to be appropriate.”

“’Appropriate?’ What is that supposed to mean?”

“It is likely we’ll be watched and stalked by our enemies as soon as we enter the city.” Kurst waited until he was sure that fact was firmly planted in his companions’ minds. “For someone who’s entire job is to remain unnoticed, approaching us immediately would throw away his cover and put him at risk of getting murdered as soon as he steps back into the shadows.”

“So, we’re to go in blind?” Kal’atav said.

“Indeed.” A knot twisted deep inside Kurst’s gut. He didn’t like that fact either. They would have to find their own shelter, watch their backs, and remain close.

His sister’s words echoed in Kurst’s mind. “Because I know one day you’ll stop coming around because you’ll get yourself killed.”

It will take more than this city to kill me. Kurst turned his attention to Tal’Athan who had remained quiet. It was typical of him. Kurst appreciated that about the man. He spent more time thinking and evaluating than he did talking. I hope you can piece together some strategies while I’m busy keeping us alive.

The six knights passed through the gate. It was as if they were stepping into the city’s maw and being swallowed whole. The town’s denizens eyed the group and the contents of their carriage. Kurst’s gaze shifted, he rested his hand on his dagger under his cloak. Kurst glanced at the carriage. Their proper weapons were hidden below the food. Being Renaian already painted a target on their back but marching into the city openly proclaiming to be holy knights of the Saint’s Swords would garner then an immediate death sentence. Still, he wished it was his hammer that he had his hands on. If a fight were to break out in the streets, he would be fine, but if it were to involve alleyways or any other tight space, the dagger would be the better option.

Kal’Atav leaned close to Kurst, his kept his voice hush, “Do we have a destination in mind or are we wandering these streets until we happen upon some dilapidated building to take shelter in?”

“Our friend from the King’s Dagger informed me of an abandoned warehouse just past the city square. If nothing else, it will give us shelter for the time being.”

“The city’s leadership won’t mind us commandeering their property?”

Kurst scoffed. “Drubain has no leadership. It’s a paltry gathering that is allowed to exist by scum that festers here. If the city council appears to remain in power and is untouched, then we won’t have reason to march an army here and burn the city to the ground along with everyone in it. If the council take issue with us and not the filth here, then they’re traitors.”

Fald’Arn called back, “looks like there’s some kind of gathering in the square up ahead.”

Kurst peered past the carriage. A small crowd had gathered around several robed figures. Standing above all of them, was a bare chested, masked man next to an unlit pyre where several people were gagged and tied to a wooden stake. The masked man’s skin was as black as night. As they came closer, it was clear that his flesh had been charred. It was clear to Kurst that these were members of Arnek Relan’s cult and the people tied to the pyre were Renaians.

“The lord of punishment has graced my flesh! This mortal form bristles with suffering - with Sulfuryon’s power.” The masked man raised his hands to the sky and cried out “I Turek Delarn am Arnek Relan’s greatest student and heir, chosen by the wrathful lord!” He motioned to people tied to the stake. “My gracious offering to Sulfuryon, plucked from the populace of this city,undeserving of mercy. Learn from their deaths, turn to Sulfuryon and stay his wrathful hand.” The man nodded to his robed followers.

Two of the robed figures grabbed buckets and began dousing the pyre and their victims with oil. They had used up a dozen buckets by the time Kurst and his fellow knights had begun to circumvent the crowd. A torch was lit and dropped on the oil-soaked wood. Flames roared to life. The muffled screams of terror and pain were enough to chill Kurst’s blood. He turned his gaze towards Turek who had also been watching him. Kurst didn’t falter, even when Turek Delarn gave him a broad smile. Turek's charred lips cracked open and began to weep. “It is not often that people pass my sermons by. Especially when they appear to be so interested.”

Kurst halted in his tracks. The carriage and most of his other companions continued down the road.

“What are you doing?” Kal’Atav hissed.

Kurst ignored him. He grasped the hilt of his dagger, ready to stick anyone who comes too close. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for sermons today, however you haven’t failed to seize my interest, Turek Delarn.”

Turek Delarn let out a hearty laugh. He turned to address the crowd, “Do you see? No one can resist the call of Sulfuryon, not even these outsiders from across the waves!”

“Do you do this often?” Kurst motioned to the profane spectacle before him. “I’d like to witness one of these sermons from start to finish.”

Turek Delarn frowned. “No. Not as often as I would like. But if you would like to speak, to learn, then you can find my brothers and sisters on every street and in every alleyway. They will put you on the path.”

Kurst bowed his head. “I thank you for your courtesy. You are a boon to the great Sulfuryon.”

“Sulfuryon needs no boons. But I thank you for your praise.”

Kurst smiled and walked after the carriage and the rest of his group. Kal’Atav spoke when they were out of earshot, “what was the point of that? You could have put the whole mission at risk!”

“He gave us useful information. We’ll keep an eye on the square from now on and should we be in an advantageous position when he gives his next sermon, it will be his last.”

“And what if he doesn’t give a sermon?”

“You heard what he said. We have an avenue to him on every street corner and in every alleyway. However, I will have to be the one to stick my neck out if that is to be our course. For now, let’s catch up to the carriage, they’re about to pass our new home.”

The pair hurried to catch their companions. “Had yourself a pleasant conversation with that burnt fellow?” Fald’Arn said.

“Of a sort. In any event, our destination is coming up on our left.” Kurst pointed to a large warehouse with low stone walls lining the property many of the windows were boarded up. The door, however, was not boarded and was even ajar. There were two red guard boxes that sat on either side of the entrance. The red paint was faded from age and neglect.

“We’re going to operating out of here?”

“By the looks of it,” Ran'Ura said. “Someone already is.”

“Better us than cutthroats or cultists. Let’s go take a look.” Kurst led the group into the courtyard. “Tal’Athan, Kal’Atav, I want the two of you to watch the carriage. The rest of us are going inside. Get your weapons from under the food. Do not wear them openly, just keep them somewhere you can reach easily.”

The four knights readied their weapons. Kurst, dagger in hand, eased the door open. Dust danced in the sunlight that crept through the doorway and into the main hall. The floorboards creaked and groaned with every footstep ruining any hope of moving unheard. Several panicked footsteps could be heard overhead from the second floor.

“Fald’Arn, follow me. Dua”Kanta, Ran’Ura continue to search down here.”

Kurst and Fald’Arn continued up the staircase at the end of the hall. It was darker here than on the first floor. Kurst blinked several times as he waited for his eyes to adjust. He tightened his grip on his dagger under his cloak. Kurst moved at a slow pace as he fought to keep his breathing steady. He closed in on an open door, his chest tightened as Kurst warred with his own body. Before Kurst could enter the room, something fell and shattered behind the door closest to Fald”Arn. Kurst stared at the doorway for moment then shifted his gaze towards Fald’Arn. He nodded and moved to cover his companion. As Fald’Arn flung open the door Kurst was struck from behind. Something blunt had hit his pauldron and glanced off the piece of armor. Kurst whirled around to find a girl no older than fourteen holding a makeshift club in her hands.

A small scuffle had broken out in the room Fald’Arn had entered.

As she raised the piece of wood to strike again, he grasped her wrists and slammed her against the wall. “Easy, girl.”

“Fuck you!” She spat in his face and kicked feebly at his shins.

Kurst brought his dagger to her throat. The girl froze. “I said relax. I have no intention of killing you.” Kurst turned and called out to Fald’Arn, “did you hear me? Don’t hurt them.”

“Don’t worry, this one only has a few bruises,” Fald’Arn replied. “But there’s a problem.”

“What?”

“There’s children in here.”

Kurst turned back to the girl. “What are you lot supposed to be? Vagrants?”

The girl scowled. “Orphans. Our parents were all killed by the cultists.”

Kurst removed his dagger from the girl’s throat and returned it to its sheath. “We’re no cultists. What’s your name?”

“Stella.” She motioned to Kurst. “If you’re not cultists than who are you?”

“We’re from the Saint’s Swords. Our job is to clean up this city. Who’s in the other room?”

“My brother, Relland and the kids we’ve been taking care of.”

Kurst released his grip on Stella’s wrists and backed up to give her space. “Let the boy up,” Kurst commanded.

“What? Why?”

“You heard me. We’ll be taking care of them from now on.” Kurst turned his attention back to Stella. “When you and your friends are ready, meet us outside. I’m guessing you’re hungry.”

Stella hesitated, then nodded. “We could use something to eat.”

“Fald’Arn, we’re going outside.”

“As you command.”

The pair descended the stairway and left with the other knights in the house. They waited nearly an hour for the orphans to come down. Stella and her brother led the pack of nearly two dozen children. The pair were roughly the same age by the look of it. Without a doubt they were both natives of the land as shown in their blonde hair and green eyes. All the orphans were dressed in worn out clothes that age had turned to rags. Kurst couldn’t help but be reminded of his own childhood by the sight.

Stella stepped forward. “If we’re giving proper introductions now, then as I said I’m Stella and this is my brother Relland.”

“Sorry for the trouble,” Relland said.

“Trust me, boy, you weren’t much trouble,” Fald’Arn said, teeth appearing from behind his beard as he smiled. “But I’d be happy to teach you a thing or two about fighting properly.”

Relland smiled at that.

Kurst cleared his throat. “Before anything else, I think it would be best to feed them.” Kurst motioned to the carriage.

Stella and Relland organized the children into a line while Tal’Athan and Kal’Atav started handing out food to the orphans.

Kurst allowed himself a small smile. I think even you would be surprised by this turn of events, Kanella.