Tales of the Vangen: The Siege of Middengard (Book 2)

Chapter 27: Metasomatism

{And so the infamous Captain Fortis proclaimed himself traitor as he fled, forsaking his solemn oath to the Empire. His treasonous desertion did we feel through all of us on that holiest of holy days, when the Empress ascended the great dais and took the Onyx Throne. Her dark angels she did send after and for twenty years did they hunt, till death was met by the fury of a falling star. Thus is the will of her majesty. Thus is the will of the Empire.}

-Archdeacon Pharosis, an excerpt from "Her Holy Will: Passage 32, verse 8,9,10."

"Captain!"

Regis tore back the tent flap, breath burning, body screaming with the effort of staying upright. The lad was nowhere to be seen. His chair was empty, bare face of the polished table glistening where the Archive should have been.

"I thought he'd be with you," Civis grunted as the needle of the Medicae plunged into the meat of his shoulder, thread working to seal back the flap of skin he'd nearly lost in the fight. He was sitting down, right leg up over a stool, no doubt to nurse the broken ankle he'd suffered back in Byzantia.

Regis frowned. He had an uncanny knack for knowing other people's injuries. A warrior's intuition, he often called it. Libro's leg. Civis' ankle. Nox's nightmares. Indeed, he knew them all quite well. "Must be he's still with that chieftain girl. He should be in good hands then."

The tent flap flew open then as a clattering of chainmail and furs came bursting in. "Where's Elba?" Sigismund roared, a surge of anger unlike any Regis had seen plastered over that sharp, pale face of his. "Where is she?"

"What the feck?" Regis reeled back, nearly got his eye poked out by Sigismund waving his sword about. "Hold on now, lad! Shit!" He cringed back a second time as the boy turned to face him, teeth gritted, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Freya's fething dead because of you!" Sigismund roared, his voice cracking at the very end. "They killed her! Those damn fething Middenites killed her!" The boy made a move as if to swing, and on instinct Regis pulled his sword out. There was a flash of light as a shock of red hair came flying past, grabbing at Sigismund's wrist and twisting the weapon out of his hand before tossing it away.

"That's enough, Sigismund!" Kirick roared, his other hand grabbing the lad by the shoulder and driving him against a tent beam, pinning him in place. "What's done is done! We all agreed to this! She agreed to this!"

"She was my friend." Sigismund whimpered through gritted teeth, the fight all but burnt out of him now. "She was our friend."

"I'm sorry for his behavior." Gretta, the young Pellar, came sweeping in next, her eyes pink rimmed and shimmering in the half-light. "We've all had a terrible time this morning."

"An understatement of a fecking lifetime!" Civis hissed as the needle jabbed into his flesh anew. "It would seem we've lost both our respective people! Feck!" he yowled, the Medicae's grip tightening to keep him in place.

"And we all have suffered casualties today," Regis added, eyeing Sigismund in particular. "We lost good men. Good people, but we showed those iron bastards our mettle. We will be back."

"The only question is when." Three new figures swept into the tent. Ohban, standing large and imposing with her beaten breastplate, flanked on either side by Culter and Nox. "And by whom."

"Leiesoldat," Regis spat. "What the seven hells are you doing here? This is official Vangen business. Get out before I have you thrown out."

"I will be going nowhere," said Ohban, shaking her head so that the toggles clicked and clacked annoyingly around her neck. "Not until a new Captain is decided."