Posted by Visionary on July 11, 2001 at 18:25:22:
Author's note:
The Parodyverse is a chaotic place, and events, dates and even people are not as irrevocably set in time as they are in our own world. Contradictions are plentiful, and yet all seem to be equally true. As such, I must advise against trying to draw too many parallels between any given story and other accounts with which you may be familiar.
The predawn air hung heavy over the festering landscape, the thick fog
drowning out both sound and torchlight within a short radius. Simon Piso shook
out his cloak in an admittedly futile effort to chase the clammy atmosphere from
his body. His large Friesian mount shifted its stance in the muck and flapped
its mane impatiently in a gesture noticeably similar to that of its rider. The
mage patted her neck reassuringly. "Patience girl... I'm positive that the
captain knows what he's doing." The horse snorted derisively. "Forgive her, good
Captain... I'm afraid even the simple beast must eventually tire of standing
endlessly in a reeking swamp waiting for your men screw up the courage to act."
The captain scowled but continued scanning the edges of the torchlight vigilantly. "It's an ambush, not a frontal assault. If you wish to speed things up, then you're more than welcome to lead her out there and liven up both your mornings. I've nothing in my orders about being responsible for you."
Piso chuckled darkly. "Ah, but we feel so much safer in your company, don't we girl?"
The soldier opened his mouth to reply, but instead whirled at the sound of splashes in the shallow waters behind them. A faint string of torch lights were bouncing out of the fog and soon the shadows of pikemen formed from the mist. The captain, in a somewhat contradictory action, swore under his breath and then crossed himself. The column of men took up position around them and the mounted figures at its center approached. "Your Grace..." the captain inclined his head reverently towards the Bishop. "Dear Father..." he likewise greeted the Abbot. "I must object to you placing yourselves in danger like this. The scouts believe the beasts are hunting to the north of the lair... but they can prove elusive, unpredictable."
"We have the utmost faith in your abilities, Captain Boita" the Abbot assured him. "Besides, this is a matter that is of special interest to the church."
Piso's snort echoed that of his horse.
The Bishop's face darkened, but the Abbot simply smiled wryly. "Interest and support are two separate things, Simon."
The mage nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Such distinction was not necessary back when the church was beginning, Father. Flavius Valerius Constantinus himself signed the order for the Amnesty, after all. From day one, the project was in the hands of the ministry. Thankfully--as it turned out--we weren't able to organize it for another 100 years and so the Holy Emperor did not live to see the travesty it became... but he was quite enthusiastic about the idea."
"There are no writings in support of such unlikely events" the Bishop pointed out stiffly.
"No, of course not" Piso shrugged, turning back to scan the edge of the fog. "Emperors Livius Severus and Leo the First had all records destroyed following the debacle... just about the only thing they ever agreed on, in truth. But prior to that the church kept a very open mind about such things. Feel free to ask the Faie Folk... they remember the era as well as I do."
"Ah, yes..." the Abbot interjected delicately, with a glance towards the ever darkening Bishop. "The Faie. That was one of the reasons we felt compelled to come observe. Fairies are notorious tricksters. Certainly their word on this present matter should not be treated with perfect credulity?"
The captain shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "Begging your pardon, Revered Father, but though you are correct that they cannot be trusted in most matters, I feel confident that they are being truthful in their reports on the beasts."
"Indeed" the mage said. "They stood to benefit greatly from the Amnesty. The Faie are not forgiving, and they have very long memories. They are all to happy to see us fall upon their enemies and butcher them mercilessly." He smiled sourly at the Bishop. "In its own twisted way, I suppose the attempted Amnesty did indeed bring our two races closer together... certainly the Faie have become unusual bedfellows with the church in these exterminations."
As expected, that was all that was needed to push the Bishop over the edge. "Blasphemy!" he spat vehemently. "You would put the holy Church in league with... with... soulless abominations! Bad enough you wish to raise up beasts as men. I don't care what allies you have in Rome... Respected scholar or no, this unholy experiment ends here! Captain!" he turned to Boita, "Your men are to exterminate the creatures in their dens and then burn the bodies. No trace of them is to remain. Sergeant! Place the mage under arrest and escort him back to the abbey at once."
"Actually, that's exactly the reaction I would expect from the Faie Folk in light of what I have planned" Piso smirked. "And while I'm well aware that you've decided to appoint yourself my overseer in these matters, I'm afraid you simply don't have the authority to do it" he noted calmly, drawing a folded parchment from his breastplate. He handed it to the Abbot. "If the Revered Father would be so kind as to read that, he will find it a papal order signed by His Holiness, Pope Anastasius III, to lend any and all assistance deemed necessary in securing the beasts for study by Simon Piso, 43rd magi of the Holy Roman Empire." He grinned wolfishly. "Still don't care what allies I have in Rome, your Grace?"
The Abbot raised his eyebrows as he studied the document, suitably impressed. The Bishop fumed in impotent fury. "The Empire hasn't existed in the west for five hundred years."
"Sadly true" Piso conceeded. "One would have thought that you clergymen would have worked off your debt to me by now."
The Bishop came very close to using some very unholy invective. Instead, he wheeled his mount around in the muck. "I will have no part in this...this..." he choked off whatever else he had to say. "Sergeant!" he called, gathering the pikemen about him. He spurred his horse off through the marsh and back towards the abbey.
The darkness reclaimed all but a sphere of light from the single torch pole as only the Abbot remained behind with the pair. "Impressive, this" he noted, returning the parchment. "But why the '43rd magi'?"
Piso shrugged. "A comfortable fiction. Popes tend to find theological issues with a man as old as myself."
"Issues to which you have no qualms subjecting his Grace."
"The man has the intelligence of a pig farmer. He'll likely make Archbishop by the decade's end." Piso granted offhand. He chuckled again as Boita shifted uncomfortably at his words. "Reassure the good captain that God will not strike him down for hearing my blasphemy, Dear Father."
The Abbot ignored him. "What you're planning here, Simon... I've read the few texts that survive. It's unparalleled... I fear you're leading the Church towards a grave sin of pride to believe that this can be accomplished."
Simon Piso wearily rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "In my days in the Legions--now so very long past that it seems like 43 lifetimes in truth--pride was a virtue. Honor was impossible without pride, and honor meant everything. Pride pushed men to do their best. Pride in themselves and their fellows allowed men to do the impossible, the unimaginable. When the world was very much in disarray, the Legions put it right. Roman pride civilized the world... the same Roman pride that built your Church.." He scoffed. "To believe to your Bishop, my every breath--every heartbeat--is a sin. My continued existence in an embarrassment to his perception of creation, as are all the creatures of magic. And he's far from alone. The natural and supernatural are increasingly in disarray." He turned to look the abbot in the eyes, his own reflecting the flickering torchlight. "It may very well be that I am the last of my kind... the last Legionnaire. If that mean that it falls to me alone to do what is necessary, so be it. The world calls out to me, and my pride drives me to answer the call. Sin is found in those who do nothing... not those who dare all."
The Abbot remained unmoved. "And if you fail? What of the disarray then? You know the steps the Church will take. Natural and Supernatural must war."
Piso scowled. "Father, for a man of your position... you have surprisingly little faith."
"Hush!" the captain whispered back to them fiercely. Remembering himself, he raised a hand placatingly. "My apologies my lord Magi... Father..." He nodded his head towards the swirling mist off to their side. "Movement."
The three men fell silent, straining their ears against the muffled sounds floating out of the fog. It was hard to attribute a precise direction to the noises--quick, wet, thrashing sounds that seemed to come from the northeast one moment, then the southeast the next. The pauses between the struggles grew longer as the noise grew closer. The creaking of leather saddle and bridle, the rustling of Piso's cloak, the slight scraping of the captains armor as he breathed--all seemed unnaturally loud in that cramped circumference of light. Their eyes stayed glued to mist, waiting.
Suddenly a horrific squeal went up, and a hairy beast burst through the fog and into their presence. The captain's spear was brought about in a flash, meeting the charging form and using its momentum to run it cleanly through. The Abbot fought to control his mount while Piso bit off the spell that lay half worded on the tip of his tongue. "Wonderful" the mage said dryly. "I see we'll be having roast pig for dinner tonight at the abbey."
Captain Boita blinked at the dying animal half submerged in the marsh. It was definitely a wild boar. A sow, from the look of it. He stifled a curse and yanked his spear free.
"I think..." the abbot said suddenly, still peering off into the clouded swamp, "that something may have flushed it out to us."
Piso and Boita cocked their heads. The wet, thrashing sound was still out there, and close.
The captain wheeled his mount around determinedly. "Enough of this crap..." he muttered. "HO THERE!" he called out at the top of his voice. "REPORT!"
A strangled cry responded, and the thrashing took on a more deliberate pace, heading directly towards them. Soon a human voice could be heard, high pitched and shaken, ranting near incoherently. Finally, a bloody man in tattered leather armor came stumbling out of the fog-shrouded trees. He fell in relief to the muck at the feet of Boita's horse and babbled rapid German in a wheezing, frantic voice.
The Abbot leapt off his horse to help the man. Simon Piso stayed mounted, listening to his words carefully, then regarded the mists intently. Were they lightening in anticipation of the sun clearing the horizon? Or was that perhaps wishful thinking on his part?
"What happened to this poor man?" the Abbot demanded, drawing the shaken German out of the shallow water and trying to identify his cuts among the blood and shredded clothing.
"Fen born" Piso answered succinctly. "The Faie weren't lying."
The captain scowled. "This kind of thing shouldn't have happened. The men were entrenched... Prepared."
"Apparently not" the mage answered dryly. "How many huntsmen do you have out in the fen?"
"Twenty."
"Hardly half that by now, I'd guess." Piso replied. He drew a long, thin dagger from his belt. The blade glistened with an unnatural green oil. "Call them back... they'll be needed here."
"Are we giving up the hunt?" the Abbot asked with a mixture of hope and surprise.
"Hardly... but the ambush at their suspected lair proved a disaster from what our Captain's huntsman says. We make the stand here."
The Abbot blinked. "Here?"
"My Dear Father..." Piso answered in a deadly serious tone, "the boar was not the only game that was flushed out to us."
The captain looked to the gibbering German and then to the fog. "Impossible. No Fen Born is going to attack where torches are burning." He swallowed, then turned back to the mage. "Still, we definitely need to regroup and scou..."
He never finished the thought. A huge white shape came rocketing out of the woods, driving into the captain and his mount with an impact that sprayed the area with a warm, thick liquid. The two of them, horse and man, went down together in a splash that succeeded in taking the torch pole with them. The sudden darkness was blinding and chaotic, filled with the sounds of the riderless horses fleeing, the huntsman howling in terror and the Captain's vehement and inventive cursing.
Simon's mount reared and spun, wildly kicking her front legs to ward off perceived enemies. The smell of blood was strong in the air, and it had the mount spooked... she would have preferred to follow her stable mates. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of torchlight, Piso found that the swamp was lightening. Moreover, he was finally able to make out the pale white shape of the projectile that had laid the captain low. It was the entire back end of a full-grown stallion. Something had thrown half of a horse at them.
The mage wondered if the choice in halves represented a sense of humor.
Shapes were moving in the wet underbrush, crossing back and forth at the edges of their view... Large, crouching shapes moving far too much like men for Piso's liking. The captain quickly rolled to his feet and stood, grasping his spear. "How many?" he whispered fiercely.
Piso squinted. "Three at least... perhaps six at most."
The captain nodded. One hand went to his belt and produced a threatening looking knife with a six inch blade. He glanced at the huntsman who was curling up upon himself, head in hands, rocking in the muck. With a disgusted scowl he turned his back on the man and held the dagger out to the Abbot. "No arguments, Dear Father. They are beasts... no more a sin to kill them than to take an axe to a turkey's neck."
The Abbot frowned disapprovingly in the dim light. "If we were sure of that, this whole foolhardy excursion wouldn't have happened." He accepted the blade anyway. "What's holding them back?"
"Wards" the mage supplied. "I don't tend to stand in hostile swamps unprotected. They aren't strong enough to keep them out should they screw up the courage to attack directly, but they're enough to discourage anything rash."
The captain readied his spear. "When I make the call for help, they may charge. Keep together, slice--don't stab or you'll risk having the blade pulled from your hand. We'll need to hold them off until the others get here. With any luck the Bishop's pikemen are still where they can hear us."
"Not likely" the Abbot said, sparing a quick glance towards the bisected equine corpse. "That was the Bishop's horse."
The captain swore.
"Five adults" Piso offered, still studying the shapes at the edge of the wards as he struggled to keep his mount under control. "Two males, three females... The one I want looks to be hanging back. She's not likely to come to us."
"How disappointing" the Abbot grunted.
An odd series of complicated whistles sounded behind them. The Captain cocked his head, then whistled back. "We might survive this yet. Ten of my men are here. They'll be taking up flanking positions." He cast a quick glance at the mage. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
Piso caught his eye with a look of steel.
Boita frowned in distaste and set his spear. "Right."
"O, salutaris hostia..." the Abbot began to intone in a strained voice, "Quae caeli pandis ostium..."
The beasts began to howl... vicious, frightening cries of rage.
"Bella premunt hostilia..."
"Steady now..."
"Da robur, fer auxilium..."
"On my mark..."
"Sit semiterna gloria... Gloria, gloria semper..."
"NOW!"
"Kyrie Eleison" added the Abbot in a small voice as all hell broke loose.
The first of the fen born exploded through the trees into their midst. Piso's horse screamed raggedly and reared, but the magi was ready for that. Wrapping the bridle around one hand he swung his body low in the saddle, slashing his stiletto with a lightning quick motion at the hairy form that presented itself. The wound he inflicted was shallow but enough, he judged.
The creature paid him little heed. Instead it slashed out with a long arm at the exposed belly of the mare, intent on spilling her intestines into the swamp. An instinctual attack on the largest animal present? Or a calculated move to prevent escape? It mattered little as the war-horse connected with a hoof to the monster's cranium, knocking it back out of reach. Piso spit out the activating word of the spell while he still had the chance. The scratch he inflicted on the monster's shoulder suddenly flared, and then boiled over with pestilence. The creature screamed a very human cry of agony and fell writhing to the murk as its flesh swelled and burst around the wound.
He was intent on swinging the giant mare around and charging to join the melee surrounding the captain when an immensely powerful grasp took hold of the back of his cloak. He was spun backwards through the air to crash blindly into the dark, bloody water. He fought his head back above the shallow surface before he realized with a twinge of panic that he no longer held his dagger. Then he felt a clawed hand closed about his ankle.
The Abbot was totally unprepared for the ferocity of initial attack. A great shaggy beast with murderous yellow eyes burst out of the swamp, smashing him backwards into the terrified German huntsman. Piso's horse went wild, and for a fleeting moment the Abbot was sure his fate was to be trampled by the enormous black mount before one of the demons could even get to him. However, his reflexes recovered enough to dodge the crashing hooves just in time.
More of the beasts were charging now, and behind them came Boita's huntsmen. The fog churned with activity in all directions as cries of rage, fear, man and monster filled the air. The knife the captain had given him seemed ludicrously small in light of the chaos--He did not relish letting such beasts within the necessary range to use it. With a lunge, he dove for the half-submerged torch pole instead. Grasping hold, he swung the pole, tearing it from the muck and whipping the other end around to connect with the head of one of the smaller monsters. Blood spurted from a gash he inflicted, and the creature jumped back. The Abbot held the tapered end of the doused torch pole towards the beast, keeping the creature at bay long enough to risk a glance around him.
Piso was nowhere in sight, although his horse was still flailing about madly. Boita struggled against a truly huge monster that fought ferociously, oblivious to the multiple spears lodged in its hairy form. Four huntsmen formed a ring around another beast, hacking at it repeatedly while being as careful as possible to stay out of reach. A scream of agony drew the Father's attention as to his left. The German huntsman was caught in the embrace of a hairy demon. With casual, brutal efficiency the beast bit down into his collarbone and then began to literally pull the man in half.
The Abbot choked on the sight, and his own opponent made its move. With an inhuman speed it swayed down then lunged up. The clergyman's reflexes led him to overreact on the defensive thrust, and with an incredibly powerful downward blow the hairy fist wrenched the torch pole from his hands. The next blow was faster than the Father's eyes could follow. The whole right side of his body seemed to spark, then instantly go numb. He spun dizzily and slammed into a tree, finally sinking to his knees in the shallow, bloody waters. In a daze he saw a hand reaching for him from the muck. He made a move to help the poor fellow out of the water and then froze, blinking stupidly. It was wearing his ring.
Captain Boita danced to the side as the first of the Fen Born made its charge, knocking the Abbot backwards in its thirst to reach the mage. His men leapt from their concealment a heartbeat later, crying for blood themselves. Ultimately, however, it was the inhuman bellow to his left that drew the captain's attention.
It was a male, definitely... possibly the head of group. Its stringy, shaggy hair was clumped with slime and far worse matter, and its lips were peeled back to reveal a monstrously large set of teeth. It charged forward in a half crouch, knuckles to the ground, until close enough to lunge. Boita set his feet and let the creature's momentum do his work for him. The spear bit into the shoulder, hitting dense bone with a jarring impact that broke the shaft off just below the head. The captain sidestepped as best he could in the muck, bringing the broken shaft down upon the beast's skull even as it slashed out with a powerful arm.
Pain exploded through his torso and he watched a spray of his own blood follow the lethal claws through the air. First one, then another spear whistled past him as his men attacked the monster, giving him a chance to fall back. An experienced touch to his side told him the blow had not reached any of his vital organs. Scanning the battle around him, he turned just in time to see the German dropped in two separate pieces into the festering water. The Abbot was a bloody mess, slumped against a tree. Piso was chanting rapidly, and the scent of sulfur suddenly competed with the overwhelming stench of blood. The pain in his side and the horror around him combined to light a burning hatred within him. Fear and rage came together and his vision slowly went white. With a growl he rejoined the fray, tearing a spear out of his original attacker's leg and bringing it down again and again.
They were both mad with bloodlust now, and tore into each other with such ferocity that his own men fell back, stunned. Some crossed themselves to ward off evil after seeing the berserker gleam in his eyes. Claws raked the captain's face, but he no longer flinched from them. The creature itself was a bloody mess, yet it still struggled to rise, and repay what it took in kind. Finally a thrust connected to its spine and it fell limp, making no move to rise again.
Still, this was not nearly enough. Boita did not stop stabbing the thing until a powerful grip closed over his arm. He whirled to run the owner of the grip through when his body suddenly convulsed as if lightning were running through his veins. In its wake, reason came crashing back to him.
Simon Piso stood wearily before him, hand on his shoulder. "It's over, captain. We've won."
Four more of Boita's huntsmen were dead, if Simon counted up the body parts correctly. The Abbot was close to death as well, but the mage was fairly certain he could sustain him until they reached the abbey. A tourniquet had stopped the bleeding where the Revered Father's arm had been torn off above the elbow, and Simon had provided him with a mixture of herbs to dull his senses. The captain's bleeding was under control as well, although he'd likely never regain the use of his left eye nor charm many serving wenches with what was left of his face. Simon himself was hobbled with a pronounced limp... whether there was anything he could do to repair his torn ankle remained to be seen. All in all, the losses were acceptable.
In return, they had only managed to kill two of the Fen Born outright. However, as the mage explained to the bedraggled hunting party, the two killed were key. Without the males to lead the pack, the females had been left open to an enchantment. Two of them were now suitably ensorcelled to obey the mage, while the third was too far gone from her wounds to be of any use or threat. It lay bleeding to death in muddy puddle, making pathetic mewling noises and a hollow wheezing sound with each labored breath.
Still, the huntsmen eyed the now docile remaining monsters with reactions ranging from the uneasy to the borderline terrified, and Piso's horse continued to paw at the ground and flare her nostrils. The females themselves were in a submissive crouch, shifting back and forth in obvious panic but completely unable to act on it. One had her hairy arms wrapped protectively around an object close to her torso and the other cowered against her. The tableau of fear from all involved was nearly absurd enough to draw laughter in the magi's eyes.
"Captain" he ordered the weary man, "Kindly retrieve what we came for."
Boita snorted. "Kindly stick it up your..." he began to mutter to himself in a voice low enough for Piso to safely ignore. Finally he lifted his bandaged head and barked German to his huntsmen. They looked at him dubiously and shook their heads. Before they could switch to open defiance, the captain held up his hands to them, nodded and turned back to the mage. "I'm afraid we have no volunteers, Magi... including myself. Our orders were to subdue the beasts, and you claim they're properly subdued... Get it yourself."
Piso frowned sourly. "Don't forget yourself, captain" he warned darkly.
"I'm quite sure there's not enough wine in the abbey to make me forget nearly enough" the Captain replied levelly. "Although I certainly intend to find out, given the chance." He pulled out a chain-mail sack--specially made--from one of the hunting party's packs and threw it to the Roman. He then turned back to his men and ordered them to retrieve the horses and prepare a litter for the Abbot.
Simon Piso took the sack and, with one final glare at the others, approached the two agitated Fen Born. He bit back any soothing words that came to his mouth. His spell was sound... he had no reason to placate the beasts. Sure enough, though their eyes revealed the desire to run, the two females submissively stayed their ground. He ignored the unencumbered one and turned his full attention to the other. She tried to curl over her possession, shifting her back towards him as much as she dared under the enchantment. Piso produced his dagger, freshly retrieved from the waters. He laid one hand atop her head, feeling her flinch. He then felt down the back of her skull to the vertebral column. Positioning the point of the blade in the correct spot, he delivered a quick, powerful thrust.
The monster made one abbreviated gasp, then the body slid forward off the blade with a sucking sound to collapse face first in the mud. With a grunt of pain for his injured ankle, Simon bent down and forced the corpse onto its back. The arms fell aside limply, revealing a tiny fuzzy ball, no bigger than a kitten, clinging desperately to its mother's chest.
The other female was mewling in terror, rocking on its heals. Piso ignored it and reached a gloved hand down to pull the cub forcibly from the corpse's breast. The thing wailed pitifully as it was wrenched loose, its little hands grasping futilely to reestablish connection. A thrill of pride ran through the mage. It was perfect... male, healthy... its eyes had yet to even open to the world around it. A blank slate. Satisfied, he wrapped the tiny beast in his own wool cloak, then placed it carefully in the chain mail sack. Gathering up the ends, he returned to his horse.
"That's it, then?" the Captain asked, nodding his head to the wailing bundle as Piso attached it carefully to his saddlebags. "You're satisfied it was worth it?"
"Indeed. Is the Revered Father ready to be moved?"
The captain scowled. "My men are slinging his litter between two horses now."
"Fine... I shall watch over his health on the ride back to the abbey." Piso looked over his shoulder to where the lone female was sadly holding her pack-mate's body and watching them fearfully. "Burn the Fen Born... all of them together. Use enough pitch to keep them burning until we have safely returned to the abbey. The Faie will be checking up on this, undoubtedly. I don't want them knowing the cub is missing until he's safely caged back on holy ground, out of their reach."
Boita scowled but nodded. "I don't suppose the near universal disagreement with your actions ever bothers you in the slightest, does it Magi?"
"No Captain" the Roman replied, climbing astride his Friesian mount. "It never does."
With that he wheeled the great horse and rode off to join the party leading the injured Abbot. Jangling in the metal sack behind him, the baby continued its high pitched cries.
"Tsk-tsk, child... You should be proud to have this opportunity" he scolded softly as he rode. "Why, together... we're going to make history."