Inquisitor Marius - Sample Chapter

Inquisitor Marius 

The flames consumed her body, melting her skin apart from her flesh. She screamed in pain and in agony, her voice raised as she fought to free herself from the chains that tied her to the stake. “Damn you all!” she screamed. But the crowd below her had their thunderous voice to match her own.

WITCH!

TRAITOR!

DIE, YOU TRAITOROUS BITCH!

They all screamed at her, throwing insults at a woman who’s at the brink of death. Some hurled stones at her. Was it an attempt to end her life before the flames could rip her soul out? To save her from the slow and painful death that befalls?

Marius do not know, nor did he cared. But to look at a woman dying at the stake was a disgusting sight for him. But it was his duty, his job, to drag whatever traitor he could find lurking in the corners who conspired against the throne. The ones who dared to betray his king – Arthur Pendragon. She’s a traitor, she deserved this.

He watched the execution from the sides, behind a line of City Legionnaires who held a shield. The crowds pushed each other, every one of them wanted to see her burn in agony. Such things made him uneasy. They shouldn’t have cheered for a death. He thought.

“Is this your 41st traitor this year?” asked Gared who stood beside him, donning the gold and crimson colors of the Inquisitors of the Crown. A golden embroidery fashioned in the standard of his noble house held the cloak together – a crowned skull. His bright blue eyes looked at the woman with glee, like a child watching lightning cracked in the sky in awe.

Marius sighed. His crimson cloak streamed behind him, “43rd, actually. She’s the eleventh we captured this month,” the man said. His ornamental lion helm held in one hand while another rests on his leather belt. He grimaced at the unending wails of the woman.

“Executed,” the man corrected him. “This is getting worst, is it not? Last year, we only got twenty five of these would-be usurpers and traitors. Now?”

“Now we’ve executed Legion-Commanders. The Thunderbolt and Blacksteel Legions already have their replacements right?” Marius queried, turning to Gared as he spoke. The crowd’s voices grew louder and the woman finally lets herself rest at the hands of death. Cruel it may seem, but it was all for the crown. All for the crown.

“Tullius and Severus got their legions respectively under their command,” Gared explained. “The 32nd still awaits for orders, by the looks of it. We have the Ironhearts there at Irongaunt and it bothers me to no end,”

Marius chuckled, amused by his words. “Why would you be bothered about those men and women in the Ironheart Company? They did nothing to you,”

“Bah, those bloody mutants conjured by the Lord-Warden of Dhûnwall disturbed me. But if they are as special as the Lord-Warden claimed, why don’t they gave the 32nd an order yet?”

Marius shrugged. He wasn’t fond of discussing the movements of the military. Go here, go there, attack here, attack there. He’d rather stay and hunt traitors. Burn them, cut their heads. They deserve it. He thought of the legionnaires being inferior to them. Trained only for a year and a half while the Inquisitors endured far longer stretches of time than the legions’ newest recruits.

“Speaking of the war itself,” Gared turned and reached for his satchel. He grabbed a rolled parchment sealed with a red wax, bearing the sigil of the High Inquisitor – a winged dagger. “You’ve got new orders from Castle Lyonel,”

Marius groaned and rolled his eyes. More orders. He thought. He’d rather walk through the streets, bust in through wooden doors and drag whoever conspired against the throne to the executioners.

He reached out and took it from Gared’s hand, breaking the seal. His eyes widened as he read through the lines in disbelief. “Lord Franz is dead,” the letter says. “The Legions of Four are left without a leader to command them. Take your steed and head for the Towers, they await for your arrival. Take their banners with you and march forth to the Northern Pearl,”

Marius tore the letter piece by piece and tossed it to the ground. He never would have thought to actually be in the front lines or to take command of an entire army worth twenty thousand men armed to the teeth. Curse it all.

“Lord Franz is dead,” Marius told Gared. “I’m about to take his command at the Towers,” he crossed his arms, watching the crowds slowly walked away from the burnt corpse of the woman.

Gared shrugged, “I’ve heard he betrayed one of the Twelve,” he says then chuckled, “But the gods aren’t real. Perhaps some other lord ordered an assassination, I’ll take a deeper into this. Root out more traitors to burn at the stake,” a gleeful smile curled on his lips. One that a child would have when receiving a gift from their parents.

He always finds Gared to be a maniac amongst the Inquisitors. Finding satisfaction in the art of killing more than the act of fulfilling their oaths as a protector of the realm. Yet he finds his words rather insulting. Punish this man, O great Twelve. He prayed. He knew that the gods were there, listening to his prayers. “I fear that there is something much larger at play, Gared.”

The Inquisitor beside him scoffed and puts his hands on his hips. He spat on the floor, “Why? Even if there is a threat much larger than all of us, the king would have them dealt with.”

Marius’ eyes fell on the scorched corpse by the stake. Her skin dangled on her burnt flesh, empty eyes with little strands of hair left on her head. She was a witch as the people say, until Marius sent her to suffer a long and painful death. “She said something before I toss her to the executioners,” he says. He felt his heart grabbed by the cold dreaded hands of fate. “They are coming, the king will fall. All of them will,” he said ominously.

* * *

He took a chestnut mare on the next day from the stables, armed himself with the usual equipment that an Inquisitor would carry. An ornamental bastard sword, a satchel filled with magically infused gems, several potions and a small bag of firepowder. His ornate brass armor have been reinforced the night before and his crimson cloak carried the sigil of the Inquisitors – a crowned three headed dragon lined in gold.

Marius rode for the Towers in haste. Following the road to the massive fortress-city located only a few days away from the capital itself. Lord Franz met his end. He pondered. The word of his death will soon spread across the realm in a matter of days.
He met the dead nobleman before, a loyal lord of House Fridd. Yet, he remembered little of him but he heard more of the man’s accomplishments. The Towers was his to govern, the seat for the sons and daughters of Fridd for centuries. And now, Lord Karl shall take the place of his father.

After days of journeying across the vast green fields and hills, the shadows of the Towers emerged in the distance. Four massive towers emerged from the ground, with a bridge that connects each of them in a circle. The Scholars traced its origins back to the days before the end of the Age of the Gods, where the Great Empire was at its infancy. “The City of the Gods,” he mumbled and galloped his horse into a full throttle.

Outside of its walls were a camp of legionnaires set up on a large field of grass. Hundreds if not, thousands of tents were erected. Banners flapped in the rushing northern winds, soldiers marched around in several groups of twelve. Merchants went past the camp itself and entered the city through a large iron door.

They were not kidding when they say that the army holds more than twenty thousand men. Marius saw cavalry auxiliaries preparing themselves in their part of the camp, sharpening their swords and tending to their Ghycari-breed steeds. There were the archers, some were practicing with training projectiles and others filled with their quivers with sharpened steel tip arrows. The legionnaires donned their usual segmented plate armor with mail underneath, scale gauntlets tightened by the straps and a shortsword dangled by their hips. In their left hands carried the large rectangular shields where the standards of their own legion were proudly displayed, Marius had saw four of them – a Minotaur, a blazing eye, a fistful of barbed arrows and a burning sword. All belonged to the four legions that would be under his command.

Green blood, most of them. He remarked. They do not have the empty eyes that have seen countless battles save for a few veterans that wandered around the camps and barked orders to the young ones. Clumsy, many of them and many more laughed as if it were their last days of living. How am I supposed to take command of them?

He rode past more of the tents and finds the commander’s tent itself. Banners of the four legions stationed at the Towers were arranged at the entrance with two on each side. Marius dropped down from his saddle and had one of the men-at-arms nearby to take care of his favored steed. He heard voices, many of them as they spoke.

Marius entered and kept a hand on his sword belt. They stopped talking as he saw the Inquisitor entered and raised a clenched fist to their hearts, thumping against their chest as a salute like a recruit to a higher officer in the army.

The old man Legion-Commander Horace Stone of the Scorched Blade stood there with a plumed helm tucked under an arm and beside him is where Legion-Commander Tytos Gorr of the Minotaurs took his position, he is younger than Horace but the presence of a scar on his left cheek made him a battle hardened warrior. To Tytos’ left was Legion-Commander Daeryth Feldawn of the Vigilants, Marius knew little of him and his legion. They were newly founded a few years ago with little accomplishments to their names – at least, none that the Inquisitor could think. Garrus Aquila of the Arrows was the last of the Legion-Commanders gathered in the tent. A decorated and skilled tactician, or so Marius heard. Why is Garrus did not take command of the armies himself? He questioned.

“At ease,” the Inquisitor gestured to them. “Notify me on the progress of the war,” he said to them, keeping his tone devoid of emotions and authoritative. He hated the notion pf taking an army into battle but it was an order he had to obey. “And before that, what of Lord Franz’s death? Do you have any word about it?”

Horace bowed in response, “The City-Legionnaires of the Towers are investigating this matter. We found traces of Dragon’s Tears in his drink. He assumed he was – “

“Assassinated,” Marius interrupted. “What is his condition by the time of his demise?” he queried once more. An assassination shall not be turned a blind eye. “You knew what Dragon’s Tears do to people do you?”

Garrus nodded and crossed his arms. “Purple skin and red eyes. Blood flowed down his nostrils and veins popped out where more blood trickled down his skin.” He explained. “That’s how we find him dead in his quarters. His mattress drenched in red liquid. Don’t worry, my lord. The City-Legionnaires have his food taster arrested and put into trial,”

“Excellent,” he breathed a sigh of relief. At least they have done the necessary things to be done – taking care of any potential suspects to Lord Franz’s death. But he knew that it was more than just this. Yet, he had to keep his mind sharp and focus on the war effort. “Now, how are the legions?”

“Awaiting new orders, my lord.” Said Horace.

“I said how are they. Not what are they doing,” Marius reiterated. Perhaps he should have rephrased his words better. But he felt relieved after hearing them to ready in order to receive new orders.

“My Scorched Blade legionnaires are ready. Eager as ever. Though I had to relinquish command two cohorts of mine to bolster the Towers’ overall defenses.” Horace explained. He went on to talk about the numbers of his troops left under his banner, their health conditions and so forth. “That’s all I have to say about mine,” he says.

Marius turned to Tytos and nodded at him. At that moment, the Legion-Commander spoke. “The Minotaurs had little losses sustained over the last two months. My forces were scattered at the time, leaving many of my cohorts were being attacked by Greccan forces as soon as we heard the order to rally here with the other legions,”

Marius nodded in approval. The Minotaurs had probably the most combat experienced men but perhaps the least number of troops in total. But experience is worth more than just the sharpness of a sword. He thought. “How many are left?” he asked.

“A good three thousand and seven hundred legionnaires. My new troops shall arrive in the next few days should we allow ourselves to wait for more of them,” Tytos proposed.

“Granted,” Marius looked to Feldawn, who had his eyes fixed on the map of northern Arno’or that was stretched before them on a table. “What about the Vigilants?”

Feldawn pulled himself away from the table and lifted his eyes to look at the Inquisitor. “Sustained heavy losses during one of our encounters with the Ghycari a month ago,” the Legion-Commander said. “Even with my entire cohorts of horsemen and knights were no match for their arrows,” he continued, his words were grim.

Of course they won’t be a match for the Ghycari. He thought. He knew of the great horselords of the Broken Spine. Not even the Vigilants’ own mounted soldiers and knights were capable of devastating the tribes of the mountains. “Have you reinforced your forces by then?”

Feldawn nodded. “I had bought several mercenary companies to bolster my forces. Horsemen, the lot of them. But skilled ones nonetheless,” he spoke with a crooked smile. That expression of his told Marius of something that he had to give him an advantage in the battles to come.

Garrus was the next to speak. Marius heard more of the Arrow Legion than the other three and that the man’s father have been heavily involved in the Maarnic Invasions years prior to the war. “Ready and healthy my lord. Suffered no losses during our march to the Towers,” he said.

Marius’ lips curled into a smile. “Excellent,” he said to him. As expected of the Arrows, he thought. “Then we shall wait for a few more days until the rest of the legions’ forces arrived. Until then, send a word to the Inquisitors to have the case regarding Lord Franz’s death handled by them,”

“That won’t be necessary,” a voice spoke out. They turned their heads to the entrance of the tent as a man clad in the unique Inquisitorial ornate brass armor entered. His crimson cloak streamed behind him and a winged draconic helm held in his left hand. “I have my own men dealing with that,”

Marius pulled himself away and crossed his arms. “Arhanion. Should have expected you’d be here. What are you doing here?” he asked, eyeing the man warily. He wasn’t fond of him, always seeking for a chance to shed blood.

“Carrying out orders from the High Inquisitor,” he said, smirking and stood next to Garrus. He pulled a rolled parchment from his satchel tied with a thread. Marius could see its broken wax. He extends his hand over to Marius, “Read it, if you find yourself in disbelief,”

“Toss the damned thing to the fires, Arhanion.” Marius said, “That smirk of yours would be more than enough to confirm my thoughts,” he continued. He read the man like an open book. Yet, he kept too many secrets left for him to unravel.

“My thoughts believe that Lord Franz is killed by the Red Rats,” said Arhanion. That smirk of his disappeared as he frowned. “It’s possible that we have a traitor in our midst,” he continued.

Marius looked at the Legion-Commanders and exchanged a glance. He gestured them to leave and left the two Inquisitors for a talk. Traitors? He thought. Then this is a matter needed to be discussed for their ears only. Marius watched as the four of them left the tent and turned his gaze to Arhanion as soon as they were out of sight, “Impossible, the Red Rats have been destroyed years ago, don’t they?”

Arhanion scoffed. “Don’t get mistaken by the Red Boars who have been dealt with sixteen years ago. The Rats were a far more dangerous adversary than what we’ve faced before,”

Marius raised an eyebrow, “Were you saying that an underground rebellion brings a threat far worse than having legions turning their backs against us? I’d say that I find it far worse than dealing with the Rats,” he said. Then the memories of him participating in the battles against rebellious legions rushed back into his mind. How many more of his own kin had he put to the blade? All of this began with the Defiance. He pondered.

The other Inquisitor approached the table and points his finger down at the map, placing it where the borders of Camelot and Grecca are. “You know how the saying goes. One kingdom can rise if it falls by the might of another, but those that fell from within shall face an eternity of death,” he said.

Marius rolled his eyes, “I knew what it says, Arhanion. If we are to face an enemy, the worse is the ones from inside,” he said. “No war is worse than those fought between our kin,” he continued. The Defiance of Dragonstorm is far worse than the Red Rats, Arhanion.
“Then you know we must deal with the Rats. If they managed to plant the seeds of rebellion within the kingdom, then the fall of Camelot would be inevitable,” he says. “But as far as I’m concerned, Inquisitor Wrath is dealing with such matters. Victarion Goldhand now heads for Grecca as we speak, burning everything in their path to weaken them,”

Will that be enough thought? He thought. Pillaging the towns of Grecca near the borders would only serve to fuel their hatred for the Camelots and Marius would hope that they are strong enough to face the wrath of its people. “Anything else I should be aware of?”

Arhanion sighed and pointed at a small town near the border of Camelot, one that is surrounded by a thick forest. “The 45th Legion rebelled. They holed themselves up in Westerstorm,” he said. “This is the eleventh Legion to rise against us since the Defiance. If we are to destroy them like we did for the Ninth Legion, then we would have to lose more of our experienced troops for the war,”

He cursed and curled his fingers into a fist. The 45th were one of the more experienced Legions to have existed. The only one who could rival them in reputation was the Ninth Legion, even then they have lost them to the Defiance. “Is that why the High Inquisitor wanted me to command the four legions here? To march on Westerstorm?”

“Us,” Arhanion corrected. “We shall command them. Have you forgotten that you’ll be heading to Latia? That’s our orders. The Westerstorm rebels shall be dealt with by the Ironhearts of the 32nd Legion,” he explained.

Latia, right. He would have wanted to deal with the rebels anyway. “The Ironhearts, you say? Why would our glorious High Inquisitor wanted those mutants to deal with the rebels?” he says. He had no fond memories of him being close to the Ironhearts, genetically enhanced warriors as they say. Enhanced by magic.

“Us Inquisitors were strengthened by magic as well, Marius. Would you like to call yourself a mutant?”

“Yeah, but we do not inject poisons and potions into our blood. They were…less human by the time their ‘trials’ ended,” Marius explained. Yet, he only heard of such trials in little details but he knew that only one out of ten candidates survived. “We’re better than them,”

Arhanion rolled his eyes, “Alright then. When should we march for Latia then? My sword yearns for blood, much like yours,”

He grabbed the hilt of his scabbarded sword. The memories of him carving through the front lines were fresh in his mind, he could remember everything in detail. The faces he killed, where he stabbed a man through his body and how many soldiers had he slew. “I am no longer that person, Arhanion. Only you that finds pleasure in slaughter,” he says. Marius had forgotten why he hesitates to go for the front lines now and yet, he knew something was holding him back. “We shall march for Latia in five days. Our troops will be reinforced by other cohorts during those times and I need more men if we are to take the Northern Pearl,”

“Excellent,” Arhanion replied and heads over to the entrance. “I’ll be having ‘fun’. Don’t send a messenger to get me,”

‘Don’t disturb me while I’m fucking the women’, is that what you meant? Marius watched as Arhanion left the tent. He slammed his fist against the table and took deep breaths. He had always hated Arhanion but he despised the notion of having to go into battle once more as well. Why am I here? Why am I in the Inquisition? He asked himself. He could remember the things he did when he first trained as a recruit, a green blood that had seen no battles and shed no blood. But before that? He could not remember.

All he could see was nothingness beyond the time he became an Initiate for the Inquisitors. Whenever he tried to think of his childhood, there were nothing. He could not remember the faces of his parents nor of his friends. Perhaps I’m too tired. He told himself. He fixed his eyes on the map once more, And the war is not over.

* * *

Latia was only two months away from the Towers. The four legions marched in haste and arrived at the city in only a month and two weeks, even with an overwhelming number such as theirs.

The banners of the four legions flapped in the winds. He ordered to set up camp far away from the archer’s range. Their arrival here is more than enough to declare a siege on Latia and one that would last months, undoubtedly. Supplies would only last for the next eight months, he estimated. He recalled seeing troupes of mothers, sons and daughters fleeing the borders in large groups, merchants carried goods were lesser than it used to be. At times, he’d even find these refugees covered in dirt and blood, all of them were escaping from the front lines where the battles were the toughest. And certainly the worst.

Marius ordered the engineers to assemble the siege engines, he thought that disassembling large catapults into smaller parts would make them easier to be transported across large distances and saved time quite a lot. Yet, it actually did. After all, theirs had a range farther than those used by Greccan armies.

As soon as they established their war camp, Marius had ordered some of his legionnaires and auxiliaries to forage the nearby villages for supplies. Latia is the heart of Greccan economy, or so he had heard. Merchants across the Thretian Sea would dock at Blackstone Harbor and trade with the locals before many of them travelled towards the rest of the continent.

But he had to be quick. The Inquisitor knew that a relief force would come in haste to reinforce its garrisons or to set up a counterattack in a few months’ time. A month, to be precise. He estimated. The Greccans knew which path to take, which route is the fastest and after all, its native tribes were allies to Gaiseric. The barbarians could attack us any moment should they wish to cripple us. He thought. If they can, that is.

Every three weeks, he ordered the siege weapons to let loose upon the walls of the city. Catapults hurled stones across distances and prototypical firepowder weapons such as the dreaded cannons were in use. He needed to weaken its defenses as long as he could. A direct assault is suicidal. He thought. The defenders were not mere warriors. They are Greccans. Unwavering fighters that descended from the Old Ghathi Empire. “The spear is their god,” some said. But he knew that Valerios favored the brave.

The Greccans were a brave bunch.

So do we.  Marius knew that the Greccans would fight to the death to preserve their freedom and he respected them for their undying resolve.

"Three thousand men would perish instantly," said Arhanion as he rode beside Marius, clad in his usual armor. His ornate bastard sword hanging on his hip, strapped with a leather belt. "Archers! Forward!" He ordered. In an instant, the horns were blown to send the orders to the rest of the army. Hundreds of footsteps stomp upon the ground as they marched, bow in hand.

"I won't be so sure, Arhanion. Greccans are fine warriors," Marius complimented. Even they were enemies the soldiers of Grecca were trained for years for the sole purpose of preparing for war. He remembered of the lessons taught during his earlier years in the Inquisition, If one wishes for peace, it is for war they must prepare. Those words echoed in his mind as if it was uttered just a few moments ago. "Infantry, advance!" His order was responded with a collective 'Aye!' as they begin to march closer upon the walls.

"Indeed," Arhanion agreed to his words. Even he knew that the skill of a Greccan is unmatched by the soldiers of Camelot. "But you can't deny that Grecca has the best wine, ale and women don't you think?" He said as he laughed, patting the back of his comrade. "It's quite a shame that they stood against our cause,"

He groaned. Traitor or not, those who stood against Camelot’s might are enemies. He said to himself. "For the crown, Arhanion. We did everything for the crown," Marius replied.

* * * * *

Everything that is displayed here are subject to change and is a work in progress. Nevertheless, enjoy reading one of the first chapters to A Field of Swords, the first book in my Song of the Dragon Kings series.