A/N
Sorry this update took a while. I've been battling the coronavirus and have been in and out of bed for the past four weeks. Inspiration's a bit hard to come by when the body wants to just sleep half the day off. I'm alright now, thankfully the strain I got wasn't strong enough to put me in the hospital.
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The horde dispersed at the crossroads, dividing themselves into two groups. One chose to head East, where the fertile lands of Serusia promised plenty of good ground to plant roots and begin anew. The other chose to follow Angronius, who opted to accompany Ionos and the Stygians in search of their people beyond the borders of Vendhayana. There, the horde and the Red Maiden's marauders parted ways. They had no reason to linger nor did each party hold anything that the other did not have, so Sonjita set upon the path at first light without even a word of farewell.
Angronius was grateful to have her gone. The woman was trouble, and he didn't need any more of that sort in his company.
Ionos led the way back to his home through the mountains, and into the long flatlands of the savannah. The silhouette of Mt. Khyaltuwa guided the way, though the journey forward was not in any way shortened. The trek would take them through a land scarred by Acraesius' war against the horde, one that bore a very stark resemblance to the Lands-Between that he and the freedmen horde passed on their way to a new beginning.
Charred bones littered the poisoned ground, while the earth itself bled bright molten rock into the soil. The air choked with the foul stench of sulfur, of radiation, of death. The scattered remains of the Nucerian legions, their broken war machines and men-at-arms, mixed in with the thousand Stygians half-buried in the glowing and ruined landscape. Their golden armor shone dimly when struck by the rays of the morning sun, tempting the greedy to pilfer the dead, only to be ensnared in a radioactive trap that ensured a long and painful death.
Angronius had to be firm with his men this time. The bounty of riches they carried had given them an appetite for more gold, and the drive to loot was ever strong in them.
For nearly a week, the freedmen navigated the wasteland, unwilling to stop even to rest for the night at the end of each day. For the savannah held more dangers than poisoned air or cursed ground. The dead were not content to stay in their graves and were prone to rise up and roam the wasteland as soon as darkness fell over the savannah.
Dead men were stupid but fearless. The living knew when to give a war god like Angronius a wide berth, but the undead had no such limitations. As a thief is drawn to gold, so did a shambler crave the warmth of living flesh. For many nights, as the freedmen moved through the wastes, many abominations met their permanent end at the teeth of the gladiator king's chainaxes.
Then, when the freedmen reached the valley that preceded the holy mountain of Khyaltuwa, Ionos stopped to survey the remote little village in the middle of the sea of green grass. Memories that haunted him since the day of his capture and enslavement came rushing back. The look on his face was a mixture of despair and relief.
He'd finally come home. But there would be no festivities to greet him, no songs borne on eager lips, no joyful cries from grateful kinsmen. Ionos and his brothers came home to find misery, sorrow and devastation. He knew all this would be so the moment he chose to traverse the great Sodian Sea and cross the ancient land of his ancestors, to return to the place of his birth.
The Stygians spoke not a word, but made their way into the village erected upon what had been a great battlefield. The green sea stood as a grim monument, a testament to the horde's last stand and greatest failure. Angronius' people would never see it in fully, but the valley held the bones of thousands of Stygians and Nucerians alike. Their blood fed the soil, and the drunken earth repaid their tribute the only way it knew how. Highborn or tribesman, it buried them both beneath the grass.
There were no sentries at the wooden palisade that surrounded the village, no guards posted at the perimeter. Ionos remembered the place well, it used to have high walls of arcane stone. The last bastion of the horde that held for months against the legions of General Acraesius. It was little more than a shadow of its former self, just like his people.
When the freedmen entered the gates, the air of misery grew thicker.
The once proud Stygians were reduced to a small community of broken and sullen-eyed women, scarred beyond repair in both soul and body. Acraesius made certain that his legionnaires not only destroyed the fighting spirit of the horde, but also murdered the souls of their women. The mass rape that followed their defeat saw to that.
The women working the gardens close to their mud huts stopped to stare at the men pouring into their village. The dim light of recognition shone within their eyes as they watched their fathers, brothers and husbands return home.
But alas, what had they returned home for?
A heart-rending shriek from one of the Stygian women pierced the stillness of the moment. A young woman, dressed in a patchwork tunic, broke down in sobs as though the last piece of her sanity shattered. The freedman who was her husband, who had been taken from her the day the Nucerians defeated their people, rushed to her side and embraced the weeping woman.
The others gave a similar welcome. Truly, there would be no joy or gladness that day. Only tears would greet the Stygians.
"My mother..." Ionos pointed to the stone tower sitting in the middle of the village. Upon its ramparts fluttered an old and tattered flag which bore the faded emblem of the horde. "She would be there, I reckon. Come."
Angronius hesitated a bit before following him inside. The collective emotions around him conjured a storm that none but he could feel so keenly. He felt so much loss, so much anger and despair that it threatened to overwhelm all sensation. It took every ounce of his godlike strength not to give in to the biting rage in his head. He reminded the Nails of who was master of the body, surmounted the agony of the barbs digging into his brain, then strode forward to enter the tower.
Ionos pushed past the beaded curtain that served as the front door. Angronius followed, seconded by Lucretia and Rissio. The tower was the village temple to their old gods, as well as the new home of the horde's warmother. And yet, no incense burned upon the altar. No candles were lit to honor the ancestors. Ionos searched for his mother with growing concern, until at last he found her kneeling beside a stone sarcophagus.
It was the sarcophagus of his father, who died to unite the tribes to form the horde that Minerva once led. One could only imagine the shame the warmother felt for such a failure. Mixed that in with the horror of witnessing the brutality of her oppressors that final day, it was enough to drive anyone mad.
Minerva certainly looked that way when she heard her son's voice in the darkness.
"Mother. It's me." Ionos said as he approached the woman, "Your son has come home."
She turned her head slowly towards his voice, revealing an old and battle-scarred face whose eyes were forever bound by scarlet rags. The crown of braided locks, her crown, was a mess of fraying and unruly gray strands. Instead of traditional robes spun from wool, or leather armor, Minerva donned the mourner's garb of tattered sackcloth. To Ionos, she looked like she'd become a thousand years older.
In a shaky broken voice she answered, "Son? I have no sons. No daughters, no kinsmen... no people. They are all dead."
Minerva turned away, thinking that she'd finally lost her mind. "Now... only ghosts come to me."
Her world was darkness. She simply couldn't fathom how her son, a slave to the Nucerians, could ever escape his masters and cross both heaven and earth to return to her arms. She couldn't see him, only hear him. For too long had her cruel imagination played tricks on her that she couldn't be bothered to discern which was which.
"A fitting punishment for my failure... Would that we had fought till the end, instead of bowing before the Nucerians..."
Unable to suffer the babbling of his mother, Ionos seized Minerva by the shoulders and pulled her into his chest. The startled old warrior-queen squirmed and resisted his touch, screaming that the ghosts have finally come to drag her into hell. Then suddenly, she calmed down.
"You've come for me, then?" She laughed dryly, "Go on, bring me to my husband... I shall brave his rebuke and stern gaze, if I shall have my sight and hold him in my arms again..."
It was all Ionos could take. The Stygian wept bitterly, sharing in his mother's sorrow but grateful that he was home. His people were a hardy lot, they will rebuild and they will thrive once again.
Angronius and his lieutenants stood by awkwardly, watching the scene unfold for as long as they could before departing. The gladiator king returned to the caravan train camped outside the village and searched for Polgara. He found her sitting comfortably inside one of the heavy transporters, so he sat down beside her and placed his weary head on her lap. It wasn't the journey that sapped him of his strength, but the destination itself.
The air, heavy with despair, exhausted him.
"What's wrong, Angron?" Polgara asked as she played with his hair.
The man gave no reply. He closed his eyes and tried to blot out the wails going over and over inside his head. The journey had been made, they've gotten where they needed to be, so the gladiator king rested. Polgara hummed a particular tune he liked, then set to braid his hair while he slept. The rest of the freedmen decided to pitch camp at the gates of the palisade, and so they got to work. By the time Angronius woke up from his nap, the freedmen were gathered around campfires singing songs and sharing tales of their adventures through the long exodus to freedom. Their tents were pitched all over the green valley, and the sweet smell of dinner from roasting game filled the air.
The lively freedmen, along with their jovial dispositions, were a welcome change to the overall bleak atmosphere.
Angronius went on a casual stroll with Polgara and Etrusca through the countryside, intent on surveying as much of the land as he could. Both the woman and the war hound relished the opportunity to stretch their legs, and they went with him willingly. The areas around Mt. Khyaltuwa were just begging to be settled. The soil was rich, good for setting up farms. The mountain itself had whole forests of trees, providing a bounty of timber for the builders among them.
He'd been a gladiator, it was the only life he'd ever known. But now that he was free, the mind of Angronius soared. He'd played at being captain and sailor just a few weeks ago, and would've mastered those roles if he had time to do so. Here, he could become so many things. A lumberjack, a stonemason, a hunter.
A father.
Angronius glanced at Polgara, who stood proudly at his side as they both took in the land that was theirs. He imagined what she would look like with those wide hips holding up a swollen belly, carrying his child till it was ready to join them in the world of the living. It would have to be a decision they both had to make. Angronius didn't like the idea of forcing anything on her, not on Polgara.
She noticed him staring and saw a smirk growing on his face, "What?"
"We are here, Polgara." He said, turning his whole body to face her. "Here, we will have our new beginning."
"I agree, it's perfect."
"It will be. It's just missing something."
Angronius pointed to a spot near a creek running with clean crystal-clear water. "A house of stone, not wood. Right there, near the water. Around it, a garden that will soon turn into a farm. A good spot, we can see clearly for miles around. No one will sneak up on us."
"Angron, you're not a stonemason nor are you an architect. What do you know about building houses?"
"What? You don't think I can learn how to become either of those?"
Polgara laughed, "Alright then. I guess I'll have to get comfortable living in a tent for a bit longer."
Feigning offense, Angron seized his lover and hoisted her up by her waist. Polgara squealed like a child and demanded he put her down, but Angronius could not be swayed from his vision. "Oh, you'll see! I will build a palace for you one day, one that will rival all the gilded towers of Reksia!"
He let her slide down till she hung by her arms around his neck. Polgara kissed him and shook her head, "A simple house will be enough for me. I would rather live in there where loving hands laid the foundations and put up the walls of crude stone, than spend my days in all the palaces and villas Nuceria has to offer."
"Lucky for me, I guess, that you've tired of the high-rider's life." Angronius rumbled in her ear as he let her down gently. Polgara bent down to scratch Etrusca behind the ears. As she did so, Angronius worked up the courage to ask her what he'd spent many a night thinking about. Finally, he had his chance. The timing was perfect, the place was as good as any.
"Polgara, what do you think about starting a family?"
City of Reksia
The Exalted Palace
Emperor Acraesius paced around in front of the men assembled in his private study. Customarily, he would've received visitors at the palace throneroom. He liked the throneroom, it had everything an emperor needed to assert the height of his station and was quite comfortable. The only problem was that it lacked privacy. The nobles were always watching, and the kind of work he would have these particular visitors do depended heavily on discretion.
He asked for the best from the Perfidium Guild. And he got the best, so he had been told.
What they gave him were things of a sort that were less than human. Their bodies were shadow made corporeal. The Empyrean bled through every pore in their skin, and they reeked of something evil. It took every ounce of his will not to recoil in fear, for the emperor had to have a spine of iron. "You spoke highly of these... creatures. You're certain they can do the job?"
Secilia of House Ashtura, the only survivor of the assault on Palace Praxica, revealed herself from the darkened corner of the room. She had been restored after suffering near-fatal injuries from one of Angronius' men, and she burned with a need for vengeance. Like Acraesius, "They are to seek the prey, not deliver the killing blow. No, my lord. I've provided you something else entirely to do that part."
She gestured for another creature for the emperor to meet, one she had crafted personally for the task of killing Angronius.
The hulk of a man, altered cybernetically beyond any recognition and towering at roughly the same height as the gladiator king himself, stepped forward. His body was a mass of rippling hard muscle and steel coils, his face covered by a golden mask resembling the sun god Sol. Acraesius had been far from the arena for a long while, but even then it wasn't hard for him to recognize the former champion of House Thal'kyr.
"Is that...?" He gasped, "Cannicus Thal'kyr?"
"No. He is Cannicus Ashtura." Secilia said proudly, brushing her taloned fingers across the gladiator's muscular arm. "To kill Angronius, one must meet him on equal or greater terms. A gladiator against a gladiator."
"I put more faith in the arms of my legions than this venture." The emperor replied, "How can assassins, or a glorified showman, succeed where they cannot?"
"The Perfidium Guild has served Nuceria for hundreds of years. Rarely do they fail in their tasks."
"But they do fail, correct?"
"Rarely." Secilia tilted her head to the side, "But when they do, their lives are no great loss to you, yes?"
"That is... true." Acraesius mused, "Better to lose gold than lose my men... Very well, consider the both of you hired. I want Angronius' head, but if you can bring me Polgara Thal'kyr alive I will double the reward."
"Polgara? You wish to let that bitch live?" The woman said incredulously.
"I never wished any harm upon her." The emperor declared, "It was your master, Meslim, who disobeyed me when he fell upon the House of Thal'kyr and sought to murder or defile all who were at Palace Praxica. I would advise you all to avoid making that same mistake."
The shades bowed before him, then disappeared to see to their task. Secilia led her pet away, leaving Acraesius to attend to matters concerning his empire. The emperor placed his hands over the table where the holomap of the Freelands flickered like a candlelight in the wind. He'd conquered all there was to conquer. There was no other land to sate his hunger for conquest, save for the stars.
Plans were already put into motion. Nuceria would begin its first ambitious venture to rise into the heavens. Space was their final frontier, and Acraesius was determined to have it done in his lifetime.
Although, for the moment, he could divert some attention towards dealing with Angronius. He had failed to break the man in the coliseum undercity, his legions had failed to kill him at Hyrkan. Now, his legend grew each day he remained free. Slaves from all over the empire spoke his name in reverence, as though he were some god.
Killing the man was one thing, killing his legacy would be another matter entirely.
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