Dark Crusade (2 page)

It had been a sleepless night, a long afternoon. Fordheir's tired joints ached, his belly was sour, his temper frayed. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that he had let the outlaw leader slip through his hands. Well, a good meal, a pitcher of ale, and his cot at the barracks would improve matters somewhat.

A horseman approached them at gallop. By his dark green shirt and trousers, a stripe of red along the leg, Fordheir recognized the rider as one of his men. He wondered what the guardsman's haste might bode.

The rider was out of breath as he drew rein. "Lieutenant Anchara ordered me to find you, sir. A group of Satakis are haranguing the crowd. He's afraid there might be trouble."

Fordheir swore. "If those damn pinch-faced priests don't have sense enough to stay hidden in their stone-pile during Guild Fair, it's none of our lookout if the crowd tears them to pieces!"

"It's not that," the guardsman said with a trace of worry. "Lieutenant Anchara thinks they've got the crowd behind them.

"Thoem's balls! One day it's bandits, the next a bunch of crap-headed fanatics! Does Anchara really think we need to bast them up? He's got men there--why doesn't he use them!"

"I couldn't say, sir. But something's definitely in the air. Lieutenant Anchara thinks he saw some of Orted's men in the ranks about the priests."

"Lieutenant Anchara thinks! Why doesn't he ask Tapper if they're Orted's men! That's what we're paying the little snake for!"

"The informer has disappeared, sir." The guardsman's tone was unhappy.

Fordheir spat in disgust. "On the double, then. Let's see what kind of fool's errand this is!" As he led his men through the streets to Guild Square, Fordheir tried to make sense of this latest disturbance. So far as he knew, the Satakis generally kept to their crumbling citadel and left the outside world alone. From time to time the disappearance of a street child or drunken beggar was whispered to be the work of the Satakis, but no one had ever been concerned enough to inquire within the fortress.

Tradition had it that their cult worshipped some elder world demon, and that Ceddi (which was said to mean "the Altar") had been raised on the stones of a still older fortress, of which the Tower of Yslsl was a survival. The cult was an ancient one, certainly; at present all but passed into extinction. Religious fanaticism had burned out some centuries previous when the Dualist heresy had fanned the flames that brought down the vast Serranthonian Empire. Today those of the Great Northern Continent who felt obliged to follow a god commonly worshipped Thoem or Vaul, or some combination thereof, and Sataki and Yslsl were names alien to any known pantheon. The seldom seen black-robed priests were held in some distrust by the populace, and few cared to venture close to Ceddi after twilight. While almost nothing was known about the cult, there were certain rumors and conjectures of an unpleasant sort.

Guild Square was as crowded as Fordheir could remember having seen it. Over a hundred yards across, the vast paved square was jammed to the point where walking was a labor. There was an atmosphere of suppressed energy, of building excitement about the crowd. Forcing passage to where Lieutenant Anchara waited with another contingent of the guard, Fordheir decided he didn't like the feel of it. Too many heads were turned from the business of the Fair, intent on the small group of black-robed priests who had appropriated a stage platform near the center. This far away, Fordheir could not hear their words--but the murmurs of the crowd were not reassuring.

His lieutenant gave him a nervous grin as he drew rein. "Hope I didn't cause you to break off anything important..."

Fordheir shook his blond head. "You didn't." Anchara had served under him in the old days in the southern kingdoms. Fordheir respected the man's judgment, and now to his mind as well there came a sense of danger.

"How long has this been going on?"

"About an hour ago I noticed that a bunch of them had climbed up on one of the stages, started their damn preaching. Few people tried to shout them down, but if you look close you'll see they've got some damn ugly-looking bastards cordoned around the stage. There were a few scuffles, nothing much, and I was wondering how to handle it or if I need bother, when I came to notice a few faces in the cordon. Damn Tapper demanded his money and lit out like all hell was after him, so I couldn't be sure--but I'd swear that tall bastard with the ear-rings there is one Tapper fingered and gave us the slip."

Fordheir studied the cordon of thuggish guards. Their dirty and ill-sorted garments had one thing in common--each wore a broad armband of red cloth, on which was emblazoned in black ink an "X" within a circle. Fordheir vaguely recalled that this was the sigil of Sataki.

"You're right," be said. "It is a tough-looking gang to be playing watchdog for a bunch of crazy-assed priests. Wonder where they got the money to hire them?"

"I'd swear they're some of Orted's men."

"We could check it. How long have people been listening to them?" "Well, like I said, at first there was some catcalls and that was silenced pretty quick. Then people close by started looking to see what the row was all about. And some drifted away, but more stayed, and the crowd just kept building up as more and more folks come over to see what everybody else was listening to. They've about got the square jammed solid, and nobody can get to the stalls or anything."

"Then we'd better bust this up," Fordheir decided, remembering who paid his wages.

The harangue of the black-robed priests had been working to a crescendo. At this distance Fordheir could catch only a little of what they said. Oft-repeated was the word "prophet" and certain phrases: "a new age," "a world reborn in darkness," "a prophet sent from Sataki," "he who will lead us." Fordheir's eye was drawn to the tall priest who stood in their midst--silent, motionless--enswathed in a great hooded cape of black silk, on which the sigil of Sataki was emblazoned so that its band of glyphs fell like a scarlet circle about his torso, and the avellan cross rose over his chest and back so that his head was the center of its "X." The words and gestures of the other priests more and more were directed toward their silent brother. Highly charged with excitement, the attention of the crowd focused on this enigmatic figure.

Suddenly the impassioned harangue of the priests broke off. Fordheir heard their cry: "Behold! The Prophet from the Altar!"

With a dramatic flourish, the silent priest flung off his cape.

Anchara gasped and pointed. "Thoem! Do you see that!"

Fordheir saw. Everyone saw.

With the majesty of a demigod, Orted stood before them. The leonine head with its mass of brown hair and clean-shaven features was unmistakable--albeit more carefully groomed than was his wont. Arms akimbo, clad in close-fitting trousers and blouse-sleeved shirt of black silk, he loomed larger than life. The gold sigil of Sataki hung over his broad chest, flashing in the late afternoon sun. His glowing black eyes passed over the many hundreds of faces before him, seeming to meet each man's gaze.

He cast no shadow.

"Block off every street out of the square," Fordheir ordered. "And send a rider to the barracks for every available man. I don't understand this, but Orted's no fool."

Grimly he contemplated forcing a wedge through the packed square. "Bring up archers," he went on. "We can't risk his escaping into the mob."

"Sir." Anchara's voice was uneasy. "He doesn't seem to cast a shadow."

"I know."

Guild Square grew quiet after the initial hubbub of surprise as the crowd recognized the outlaw leader. The carnival air was overshadowed with an atmosphere of wonder and expectation. In the hush Orted began to speak in measured tone, his resonant voice ringing clearly.

"I am the man who once was Orted, called bandit and outlaw by other men. I am that man no longer. A god has entered into me, and his will is my will, my words are his words. Listen to me, for I am Orted Ak-Ceddi, the Prophet of Sataki!

"The World of Light is doomed, and the Gods of Light shall perish with it, and the Children of Light shall be utterly consumed in their fall. Before Light there was Darkness, before Order there was Chaos. Light and Order are fragile abnormalities in the natural state of the Cosmos. They cannot long endure. The Gods of Darkness and Chaos are far older and vastly more powerful. Against their wisdom and strength the usurper gods must fail.

"The wars they wage are beyond human comprehension, but the time is close at hand when the victor shall conquer, and the defeated shall be destroyed. The day is close upon us when our world shall be utterly swallowed in darkness, when man's futile gods shall be destroyed, and with them their temples and the fools who seek shelter therein."

Evening shadows were closing over the square, giving dramatic emphasis to the sombre words of the man who cast no shadow. Fordheir could taste the aura of fear that claimed the awestricken listeners. The man's voice was hypnotic, compelling. Fordheir felt a sense of hopelessness creep through his thoughts.

"There is but one hope of salvation."

The tightly packed crowd waited in utter silence.

"The Children of Light shall perish with their gods--but the Gods of Darkness shall preserve all those who honor them. Our world shall be reborn in Darkness, and there shall be a rebirth for all who have pledged their souls to Darkness. For the Children of Darkness there shall be a new age, and they shall share in the spoils of victory. They shall know the pure freedom of Chaos, and they shall themselves live as gods. No pleasure shall be denied them, no longing shall pass unfulfilled. Vanquished gods shall be their slaves, fallen goddesses their concubines, and the Children of Light shall be as dirt beneath the feet of the Children of Darkness!"

Exultant shouts began to echo across the square.

Orted Ak-Ceddi waited for the excited cries to swell, then raised his arms for silence.

"Sataki, greatest of the Gods of Darkness, has entered into me, and he bids me tell you this: That he, Sataki, who has all but been forgotten by mankind, has not forgotten mankind. That he, Sataki, has forgiven mankind his negligence, for he understands that mankind has too long been misled by false gods. That he, Sataki, has determined that mankind shall be led forth from his ignorance, so that many thousands shall share in the triumph of Darkness. That he, Sataki, has chosen me, Orted Ak-Ceddi, to be his Prophet, and to lead mankind into the new age!"

"The men are in position, sir," Anchara whispered, reining nervously alongside. "The streets are cordoned, but if the mob turns on us..."

Fordheir felt his belly tighten. "I don't pretend to understand this," he stated grimly. "But I understand our duty. Have the archers prepared to fire on command. If we can conclude this cleanly, we will. But we will conclude this."

Orted Ak-Ceddi again raised his arms for silence.

"Sataki bids me tell you further: That it is his command that all mankind shall honor his name and his altar. The day of final victory is near, and Sataki commands that the Children of Light shall be destroyed by the Children of Darkness, even as The Gods of Light and Order are vanquished by the Gods of Darkness and Chaos.

"Therefore, this is Sataki's will: That each man must choose--Sataki or death! To all men who honor his name, Sataki gives the riches and pleasures of this world, and the promise of eternal majesty in the new age to come! To all men who refuse to honor his name, Sataki gives naught but death in this world, and eternal degradation in the new age to come! Their goods and their wealth shall be forfeit to Sataki, and all his followers shall share equally in that bounty! And the only law shall be: Serve Sataki and do as you desire! And the only command shall be: Serve Sataki or die!"

The crowd was in a rage--fights erupting throughout the square as reactions differed to the Prophet's impassioned oratory. Matters were getting out of hand, Fordheir decided, abandoning hope for a quiet arrest of the outlaw-turned-zealot. He gave a command to the archers, who had moved in as close as the press allowed.

A rush of arrows streaked past the stage, to the peril of those standing close by. Half a dozen shafts struck Orted Ak-Ceddi. His powerful body staggered under their impact, as their iron barbs glanced off his torso. Screams and angry shouts rose from the crowd. The Prophet held his feet.

"He wears good mail beneath his clothing," marvelled Anchara.

"Would you slay me, fools!" bellowed the Prophet. Abruptly he ripped the arrow-torn shirt from his chest. "Steel cannot pierce the flesh Sataki has touched!"

Orted Ak-Ceddi wore no mail. His bare flesh was unmarked by any wound, old or recent.

"More sorcery!" Anchara breathed. "Steel cannot fight sorcery!"

"We'll damn well know for sure!" Fordheir growled. "Prepare to move forward."

The archers had hesitated, stunned by what they witnessed.

Orted's shout carried over the tumult of the crowd. He raised his arms triumphantly. "See how Sataki protects his Prophet! So shall Sataki protect and reward all who serve him! Choose now--Sataki or death! Will you serve Sataki!"

"Sataki!" roared the crowd.

"Sataki!" the Prophet shouted back.

"Sataki!" the roar was louder--and louder into a chant.

"Then to the unbelievers, death!" Orted commanded against the roar. He pointed to the archers. "Death!"

"Death!" chanted the crowd.

Seeing their danger, the archers tried to withdraw to the main body of the guard. Too late. The press was too close, as the mob turned on them, hurling stones and clubs. The archers fired pointblank into the enraged mass of bodies.

There were many targets, but an archer can draw and loose only so fast, and thus...

Fordheir drew his long sabre, turning sick at the sudden wave of slaughter. Violence claimed the massed square in countless individual struggles. The first stalls and pavilions were surged over by the looting mob. From his platform, Orted Ak-Ceddi exulted them on.

"Can we break them?" Lieutenant Anchara wondered.

Less than a hundred horsemen against a blood-mad mob? Captain Fordheir knew that ordinarily the odds would favor him. This time?