FIC: Chosen Twelve (7/?)

Veritas Callidus looked up at a knock on her study's door. "Enter."

The door creaked obediently open. The tall man who limped in was thin with an undertaker's cavernous face, and long, gnarled fingers. "Adjunct."

Veritas nodded shortly, hiding the disdain she felt for her guest behind a blandly polite mask. Of all her rivals for power and the emperor's favour, the chief of The Purge was the most dangerous; in addition to the one she loathed the most. "Chief Lex," she replied. "And how goes the hunt?"

Something of a distant, repellent, relative to a smile slithered across the enforcer's face. "There are but a dozen of these visitors. In contrast there are perhaps thousands in the resistance, thousands of elves and dwarves, and many priests of the old religions to be hunted down. Why are these paltry twelve so important?"

"If you think the emperor is in error perhaps you should raise the matter with our esteemed ruler yourself?"

Veritas felt a frisson of amusement when the Purge's head paled at her softly-spoken suggestion. "I did not mean to question our lord," the man smoothly replied. "Merely expressing puzzlement."

Veritas' patience with the oily snake ran out. "I never had you for the gossipy type, Areox."

The spy smiled. "No. I've had an interesting report from Rittum. Five Hordesmen have turned up dead. No reports of who or what did it."

"And you think these deaths are related to the strangers?"

Areox shrugged. "Any rebel attacks are either usually outside of the towns or assassinations of major imperial figures in the towns. Five dead in an alley doesn't fit any pattern, especially without the loss of at least one accompanying rebel."

"And what do you want to do?"

The spy chief's answer came instantly. "Flood the place with agents, lean on any informant in the city, and increase the garrison, stopping everyone going in and out."

Veritas considered the suggestion. "They might well have already left."

"More than likely," the spy shrugged. "But we might shake loose some information about them and where they have headed."

Veritas nodded slowly. "That makes sense. Do what you need."


"A demon made of stone?" The experienced mercenary shook his head. "Truly you are a warrior of renown!"

Faith shrugged, embarrassed and unused to the praise. "I didn't beat it. Truth is it pretty much kicked my ass."

"But you survived," Bellator scolded. "That is a warrior's most important task. To survive!"

"Your man means a lot doesn't he?" Faith smiled softly and nodded. X was her world. "That's good, Faith. When I was your age, I was always looking for the thrill of the next battle, the next conquest to bed, and the next country to explore." The weathered solider sighed. "But I had never the wisdom to undertake a far greater adventure. That of love." The greyed warrior smiled sadly. "That lad adores you, girl. Treasure his affection."

Faith glanced over her shoulder to where X was riding with Ken and Red. "I will," she promised.

"Good," the aging swordsman chuckled before shooting her a look. "Of course if you change your mind, I hope you will consider a distinguished looking older man."

"Nah," Faith shook her head. "G ain't my type."

Bellator's mouth opened and shut. Eventually he barked a laugh. "Ha! Perhaps you're right, a spirited lass like you would only drive me to my grave."

"But what a way to go, right?" Faith smirked.

"Indeed my de-," the man's face tightened and his voice trailed off. "Angel!"

The vampire's head snapped around. "I've seen it!" the demon called from his position at the front of their party.

Faith's brow furrowed as she looked left and right. "Seen what?" she demanded.

Her suddenly grave-faced companion pointed up into the sky. "That."

Faith's stomach hollowed as she saw several trails of smoke billowing up into the sunny sky. "What's that?" she breathed.

"Fires," Bellator growled, the man's face hardened. "Raiders or worse, come on!"


"Good lord," Giles admitted to more than a little queasiness as he surveyed the carnage before them. They'd followed the smoke to a plain beside a bubbling stream. The picturesque scene was ruined by the fifty or so bodies heaped around it, their life-blood coppering the grass beneath their corpses. Wagons had been over-turned and smashed, men, women, and children ruthlessly butchered. Death's foul stench hung heavy in the air, inter-mingling with the smoke from several burning wagons.

An ashen-faced Faith had taken the other three Slayers to 'secure the perimeter', although he suspected the poor child had just wanted to distance herself from the massacre. Not that he blamed her, Slayer or not there were some things his inner chauvinist thought no woman should ever see. Xander was leading the others in a feverish search for survivors although Angel had said it was fruitless.

Right now he hated the damned vampire and his heightened senses more than any time in the past. "They didn't even fight," he murmured.

"They couldn't," Giles turned to the grey-faced bard stood beside him. The minstrel shook his head. "These were 'Wanderers Of The Way', a cult who believe that a life of non-violence is the only way to achieve heaven."

"Lambs frolicking in a field of wolves," Giles swallowed bile. "Who would do this, bandits?"

"Nay," Osus shook his head. "Bandits rarely attack Wanderers' caravans, a combination of superstition and the Wanderers' custom of carrying little of material worth. The only enemies they have are the Cursed or the Howling Hordes." Giles looked towards the bard, seeking clarification. "Since taking the throne Azarel has decreed that he is the one true god and that followers of other 'false' gods should be hunted down, their temples and monasteries pulled down."

"It was the Hordes," Giles looked towards Bellator crouched by a corpse. The soldier's steady eyes met his. "None of the victims have been mauled in any way and tracks leading into the area are too disciplined for the Cursed."

"I see." Giles stared bleakly ahead. It was ironic really, scenes like the one before him made him doubt the existence of one god, much less full pantheons of the buggers. On any other day, he might even laugh.


"I have a report for you, Earl."

Fortis looked up at the quavering voice. In his doorway's study there stood a silver-haired, line-faced woman hunched over a walking stick, her green eyes gleaming with an intensity that belied her greatly advanced years. "Zauber!" Fortis greeted as he leapt to his feet and helped the hobbling ancient to his recently vacated seat. "If you had news, you should have sent a runner to get me."

"Nonsense, Fortis," the old woman scolded with all the ferocity he'd come to expect from the woman who with the death of Magoi was now their most powerful mage. "Your men have more important tasks than to act as errand-runners for me. Besides I could do with the exercise, it stops the old bones from seizing up."

"As you wish," he conceded with a nod. He knew full well there was little point arguing with his strong-willed childhood tutor. "Your news, then?"

"Aye," the witch chuckled. "Travos reported in via his communication crystal. It appears he, and more specifically Tachy, have made contact with our guests."

"Excellent!" Fortis enthused.

"Excellent?" the old witch shook her head. "Unfortunately Tachy's approach resulted in him being knocked out and the strangers fleeing."

"By the abyss," Fortis grunted. If not for bad luck they'd have no luck at all.

"I worry about these strangers that Magoi summonsed here," the elderly witch admitted. "The boy had great power." Fortis allowed himself a secret smile. Only Zauber would refer to a man past fifty as 'boy'. "But sometimes he could be reckless."

"These people have power," Fortis replied.

"Aye," the lines on Zabuer's forehead deepened. "That's what worries me."


"They're closing!"

"I know!" Aguda cursed as he looked over his shoulder to see the two score Clear-Bloods gaining on them. If not for his injured horse they'd have easily out-stripped their pursuers. As it was, the racists were gaining by the minute. "Leave me! You can escape on your own!"

"Never!" Elga screamed, his lover's beautiful face contorted in rage.

"We came together, we'll die together!" added Valentine.

Giles stared down at the trio being chased by about forty horsemen and women. From their vantage point atop of a wooded hill, he judged the race could only end one way.

"By the abyss!"

Tearing his eyes away from the pursuit, Giles glanced at the pale-faced bard. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"The fleeing trio are elves, the others, those in red capes with a human face embroidered on it, are Clear-Bloods, a group who regard non-humans as inferior, and hunt down any and all non-humans and kill them."

"Inferior? Unclean?" Rona's voice was a low growl. "That sounds really familiar."

Even as he opened his mouth to counsel caution, Faith spoke. "I'm with you, Ron. Let's go!" In a half-second, the four Slayers and Angel's group were galloping down the hill.

Giles threw his head back even as he dug his heels into his horse and drew his sword. "Leader?" he groused. "That's a bloody joke!"


Thanks to her upbringing, Kennedy had a familiarity with horses that none of her fellow Slayers had. As a result, she reached the Clear-Bloods several seconds before her fellow female warriors. Her ears filling with the raucous din of charging horses, Kennedy charged in.

Lips parted in a snarl, a Clear-Blood swung his blade at her. Kennedy ducked the attack, grabbed the hunter's wrist and wrenched him from his saddle at the same time slicing through the stirrups of another at the other side, the action spilling the surprised woman from her horse.

Seeing another Clear-Blood galloping towards her from the left, Kennedy pulled her foot out of the stirrup and kicked out. The Clear-Blood's mouth opened in a scream that was lost in the battle's clamour when her foot smashed into his knee, trapping it between her super-powered foot and the stallion's muscled flank. The bone imploded and the paling man pitched forward, vomit spraying from his mouth.

Some instinct caused her twist to her upper body to her right, sword flashing up to block a sword-slash aimed at decapitating her. She saw the shock in her opponent's angular face as she shot a left hook into his hooked nose. She felt the bone crack and saw blood spew out, splattering the warrior's tunic as he pitched backwards off his horse.

Kennedy looked around. The Clear-Bloods were retreating, the force of her and her friends' attack routing them. Kenendy looked down at the broken-nosed man lying crumpled on the ground and sneered. "Lightweight." Digging her heels in, she pulled her horse around and followed the others off the battlefield, victorious again.


"Owwww!" Odium bellowed as pain roared through his nose as it was re-set.

"Sorry."

Odium thought Invidia, a tall, slender blonde with swaying hips, full lips, and sly grey eyes, wasn't sorry at all. As his deputy Invidia would be eyeing any chance to show him as weak, to undermine his position.

Not that she was his most immediate concern. For over a decade he'd led the Parhean chapter of the Clear-Bloods, exterminating the non-humans, making the world a better place. And the only thing he hated more than the 'unclean' was the human traitors who aided them. And now one had dared lay a hand on him.

Well the black-eyed bitch would pay. When he'd finished with her she'd beg for death.