The Conciege
patreon
(THOB) Chapter 141: Beast
🕑 Added 2024-01-29 05:55:41 +0000 UTCSix days into their march they were going three thousand six hundred priests strong, and at most, seven one-thousand-man generals. At over ten thousand men strong—priest horses ridden by white cassocks leading war horses ridden by black armor—they were a sight to behold, and a force primed for battle.
Then they began doing what Ezril considered the unreasonable.
Whenever they came upon a city, Bratvi would divide them into two groups. The first group—which he would lead—would march through the city in an uneven mixture of priests and soldiers. Every time the soldiers would vastly outnumber the priests. While the second group would go around the city and they would converge at the other side of the city’s border.
Ezril had spent enough time with Salem to understand the purpose of the ceremonious ritual: morale. It was a secret no longer that the realm was at war. By marching through the cities, the king’s subjects could see how strong and prepared the realm was for the war. The presence of priests and soldiers together was to let them know that Truth was with them, and the ratio was to give the illusion that the king commanded the direction of the war. If it was working, Ezril didn’t know.
He never marched the cities. Apparently, news of Levlin’s heritage was no secret in the realm, and opting not to risk any disruption in their plan, Bratvi insisted the scribe always joined the contingent designated to march around the cities. Though Levlin marched with the infantry during the day while Ezril marched on the last line of the cavalcade to keep an eye on the man, he couldn’t trust the man to the soldiers in his absence.
The seminary might have taken command of the scribe for the sake of the war but anything could happen in such a large body of armed men and horses marching hard. The death of a Merdendi scribe could simply be chucked up to inexperience in such a large march. A scribe who did not belong in an army would easily be trampled should he make a mistake. Ezril kept a watch to ensure such never happened, and if such a story was ever told, then he would be damned if it wouldn’t be the truth.
Besides, since the addition of the realm’s soldiers, they rested every night and Ezril took any opportunity he could to talk with the scribe, which was mostly him learning the language of the savages. So he never marched within the cities.
By the time they began passing lands Ezril recognized to be close to their destinations he had already mastered the basics in the savage tongue. He could name all trimesters of the day, days of the week—which was strange because he hadn’t thought the Merdendi counted the days—and knew how to hold the most basic and short term conversation with a child. Levlin had thrown an unneeded extra, teaching him about the minute customs he knew of the tribe. The gods they worshipped, although he claimed he didn’t know the why, having been too young at the time.
A day’s ride from the fort, they called a rest after sunset. The night was still young as they settled in for the night in a forest they had been marching through at the time. Considered, it was nowhere near as large as the Arlyn forest, but it was large enough to hold ten thousand men easily.
The priests opted to take the watch for obvious reasons, but some of the Hallowed amongst the soldiers volunteered their support. Whether out of a simple lack of trust, or a sense of pride, no one was certain, but Bratvi shrugged an uncaring acceptance, nonetheless.
It was in the darkest time of the night when the Most Reverend Father came to find Ezril. Ezril laid uncomfortably within the groove between the roots of a massive tree.
“Wake up, boy.” Bratvi nudged him in the side with his booted foot.
Ezril turned to regard the priest. There was no way the man hadn’t known he was awake. He turned to check on Levlin on the other side of him, separated by a massive tree root. The scribe was fast asleep.
He turned back to the most reverend without getting up. “Greetings, Most Reverend.” It was the most he was willing to offer the man.
Bratvi nodded. “Greetings to you too, young brother.” Then he dangled a key attached to a ring and Ezril sat up.
Sometimes he often forgot he was in chains, but never when he was meant to be asleep. Asmidian steel was just too cold at night to be ignored, colder than it usually was against his skin. He brought his hand within sight and rested his back against the tree not worrying about what color it added to his white cassock. Bratvi sat on a root beside him but didn’t make a move to remove his restraints. Instead, he gestured towards Levlin.
“The last three weeks I could not help but notice you and the scribe are inseparable,” the man said in the flat baritone.
Ezril found the brogue—or lack of one—so odd that he was certain the man could hold a simple conversation about the weather and still sound like he was threatening fire and death with it.
Ezril spared Levlin another glance before returning his attention to Bratvi and shrugged.
“You are like package deal,” Bratvi said. “I see you. I not need look far, I see him. Does he follow you or do you follow him?”
“I keep an eye on him.”
Bratvi furrowed his brows. “Why?”
“He’s necessary,” Ezril answered. “And most of the men around here can’t see past the hate for what he is to see that. So someone has to make sure he gets to the battlefront in one piece.”
“And why does that have to be you?”
Ezril shrugged. “I guess it’s because of every man here I’ve known him the longest.”
Bratvi stroked his beard. “You shared a cell with him.”
“I served at the tower we’re marching for, for over a year. He was there at some point.”
“Alright, brother,” Bratvi adjusted so he could lean forward comfortably. “Here’s the thing. We are not enemies; we are priests of the seminary. However, we are not friends. The bishop asked that the savage be taken to the battlefront in one piece, and the savage will get there in one piece. As for you, the only reason I make no objections to having you ride under my command is because I hear you are best solution to seminary’s berserker problems on the front lines. Now if you cannot calm the priest down and get him to follow orders then I have no use for you. And if I have no use for you then the seminary has no use for the berserker. I will put him down without batting an eye.”
Ezril met his glare. “Have you met the berserker?”
Everyone always thought they could end a beast until they meet a beast.
Bratvi’s glare intensified. “I will end him without batting an eye.”
“Maybe,” Ezril shrugged and his chains shrugged with him. He rested back against the tree. “Maybe not.”
Bratvi chuckled. Unsurprisingly, even that sounded like a threat.
“Every priest within a fifty-mile radius knows what you did, brother,” he said. “We know why you are in chains. You think because you wreaked havoc on the Venin guild and scare a bunch of young priests that you are scary, hm? Big, bad, rebellious priest? We are all priests, any one of us could’ve ended the guild but we didn’t. Why? Because we never received the order. So if you ever want to think of anything stupid, know that every priest here is capable of taking you on. Alone.”
The man rose, tossing the key into his hands. Then extracting a sack Ezril hadn’t seen him bring from behind him, he tossed it at his feet.
“Your Sunders,” he told Ezril. “A strange choice. Not many priests carry short swords, and in my life I’ve only ever seen Sunders like those on one man. I guess you do take after the man who adopted you. Just weaker, and foolish earlier. Let’s hope you don’t lose your frock too. Having a man with that much promise defrocked was a huge blow to everyone. But having you defrocked will matter to no one. Now get yourself looking like a priest. Tomorrow we march into the tower before dusk.”
They marched at dawn, and just as the Most Reverend had said, they arrived at the fall of dawn.
The massive walls stood tall on both sides as far as Ezril’s eyes could see. The gate, which was in actuality a raised bridge, stood almost as tall as the walls themselves, perhaps higher even than the king’s mansion. But the assumption was induced, if not uneducated.
Ezril knew how tall most Lord’s manors were, and could only assume the palace would do more to tower over them in some way of emphasizing its superiority over them. And the walls definitely stood taller than the manors. The towers within them easily rose over them, however.
A multitude of soldiers stood between him and the wall, and a larger number still stood behind him. The walls wailed and metals groaned. A demanding boom cresting the air as massive chains ran begrudgingly through fashioned holes in the wall. The massive flat bridge fought against the resisting air as it lowered and Ezril thought he could hear the sounds of turning windlass somewhere within the walls formation. But with all the noise everything was making, he couldn’t be certain.
The bridge hit the ground with a shuddering boom he could feel even from so far away and he wondered at the impact to those at the head of the march. Somehow, he had a feeling Bratvi wouldn’t have betrayed even a flinch. The man’s expressions—as he had come to know—were as flat as his brogue.
As they marched, he realized he hadn’t been on this side of the fort. Ever. He looked to the north. Somewhere in its direction was the pedestrian entrance; the one he had used most during his earliest days in the fort, designed to receive the occasional small number of riders. He turned his head in another direction. Somewhere to the west… perhaps, was the entrance that faced the Arlyn forest, almost as large as this one. While the former was guarded by a most likely currently raised portcullis, the latter, like the one he was about to go through, was a draw bridge.
Then there’s this one, he thought, easing Apparit onto the massive expanse of wood. This entrance was the largest of the three. Characteristically designed for the purpose it now currently fulfilled: swallowing armies whole and undisturbed.
The arched entrance was so long it took Apparit twelve paces to cross beneath it. Ezril was hit with an unexpected shock of nostalgia as he debouched on the other side. The realm referred it as a fort situated at its western border, and though that was what it was, it was also more of a small city. A small city with soldiers as its only inhabitants. Looking behind him, Ezril checked on Levlin once more. Satisfied the scholar was still following, even if barely, he nudged Apparit into a trot. They were within the fortress, but judging from how little he recognized this part of it, they still had to cover some ground before they arrived at the main grounds.
The procession hurried forward, never breaking the unity of their arrangement. And while the soldiers proved practiced, the priests simply seemed to fall into place out of habit. A habit Ezril didn’t recognize. Somehow he had the feeling it was more the horses than the priests who rode them doing the work.
Baltar’s contingent was the last in the order of cavalry arrangement; something about being the youngest reverend in the group. So when the march came to a final halt, it was a moment before they, too, came to a halt.
Around them the already present soldiers went about their duties, unimpressed by their presence. Ezril had no confusions of them being the first batch of priests to arrive, however, this helped to solidify the knowledge.
A mild commotion began far ahead. Soon, Bratvi approached Baltar contingent, flocked by two priests and a man clad in armor depicting himself one of the realm soldiers. The Most Reverend exchanged brief words with Baltar who dismounted and handed the reins of his mount—whose name Ezril doubted he’d ever learned—to one of the priests, before walking towards the end of the group.
Approaching the end, Baltar turned his attention on him. There was no joviality in his eyes, and his tone was one of business when he addressed him.
“Father Antari. You are to hand over your stead to the care of one of these men.” He gestured at the priest and soldier. “Then you are to follow us. Your presence has been requested upon arrival.”
With Sunders and his bow—retrieved from Baltar earlier in the day—strapped firmly in place, Ezril dismounted, handing Apparit over to the obvious choice of the priest, and followed them.
