7 Preparations for War

Baltazar was sitting with his legs crossed in the middle of a green meadow, slowly examining a curious flower he had picked up, a species he had never seen before and I couldn't identify. It was a moment of silence, among the few he had had in many months, except for sleep - and even any eyelash was often fertile ground for the nightmares that haunted him.

And so he tried to find some peace in every rare moment of quiet solitude, like that. Although, in truth, having such thoughts to occupy the mind only made it more difficult to ignore the pain for which he could not find relief.

Even months after that deformed beast had attacked him in Afonso's dungeon, Baltazar still carried the wound around his wrist - as apparent as if it had been done the day before. He will try every kind of ointment and treatment he knew, but he still felt it burn under the bandage he kept wrapped around. Sometimes it was as if the animal's tongue was still there, a phantom appendage poking out of the wrist like a shiny, hot handcuff, dissolving layers. of meat. Just another damn aspect of Magnus' black magic - the wounds refused to heal with medicine or time.

Baltazar was pulled out of his fantasies by the sound of footsteps on the soft grass behind him.

"The men are wondering if they will be sitting here all morning or if they plan to give them orders to attack," said Edgar. Baltazar looked at his knight friend. Since Baltazar was one of the few men in Afonso's kingdom who had won the right to speak to the king on an equal footing, Edgar was among the few who had the same privilege with Baltazar.

All the other Albaran soldiers, even the senior officers, approached Baltazar with a degree of deference that made any kind of useful or honest conversation impossible.

But not Edgar, a knight who, like Baltazar, had once been a commoner enlisted in Afonso's army. He fought alongside Baltazar in almost every battle against the southerners, before Galileo and after. They liked each other instantly, the first moment they split the heat around one of the enlisted campfires. They found out they were from the same county. Their families bought fruits at the same local market and even had some acquaintances in common. And both were blessed - or cursed - with the innate talent for fighting. They had a lot in common and quickly became inseparable on the battlefield. Soon, two had saved each other's lives more times than they could remember. In the beginning, they maintained a score, in permanent competition on the right to brag, but after a while they lost count. Except for Afonso himself, Baltazar did not know another man in all of Albaran to whom he would more readily entrust his life. And so Edgar was the first one Baltazar sought to help him hunt down Magnus and his army of abominations.

Edgar, unlike Baltazar, had not been so humble as to refuse abundant land and titles that Afonso will offer in gratitude to both of them after the war. But he ended up getting more and more restless in his retirement. He was tired of the castle, expensive to keep impossible to heat up, and even more tired of the woman, who kept disturbing him. In fact, he had never called his wife much, but he had always wanted to have children more than anything, and she was the youngest of five sisters, the other four all with children born and husbands. Fate had decided that she would not give Edgar any children, although it was not for the desire to try. When the inevitable fights came, she never failed to remind him that he was of fertile descent, and that was why the problem was in him.

Edgar began to resent her and the damn windy castle, with all those empty rooms that should, by right, be full of childish laughter. And so, when Baltazar came knocking on his door with the offer of combat at his side again, Edgar asked no questions about the nature of the enemy or even the size of the reward; he simply seized the opportunity to get away from everything that reminded him of an unfulfilled life. It seems easier for me to end lives than to eat, he commented sadly to Baltazar as they rode together.

Edgar turned his head to see if the woman was watching him go, at least he said he said he was leaving. Together they wasted no time in assembling the small but powerful infantry never climbed. Almost a hundred strong veterans who chose from the Southern campaigns, men that Baltazar and Edgar knew could make a difference on any mission and balance the odds against Magnus' beasts.

Afonso tried to warn Baltazar that only one beast was the equivalent of a dozen men. Tell that to the men I plan to take to fight them, Baltazar said to himself. Most of the warriors that Baltazar and Edgar sought to recruit first laughed out of the story they told him about Magnus and his abominations. Some do not; they had heard stories in breweries and around bonfires in villages devastated by unspeakable mutant horrors led by some dark wizard. But none hesitated to join them; they followed Baltazar and Edgar in battles against any enemy, no matter how unlikely.

With the strength gathered, Baltazar and Edgar rode to the northeast. tracking Magnus' path to the border of Nortimbias. Those among Baltazar's men who had first scoffed at history began to believe it when they followed the trail of horrors that the mad archbishop had left in his wake. Everyone saw the settlements looted by the Southerners, but nothing like that. There were no bodies, no injuries. Instead, entire towns and villages emptied, leaving behind nothing but bleak desolation. As they examined the silent ruins of the first ghost town they found, Baltazar reminded men of what the king had said about Magnus. Your enemies don't fall into battle - they become allies.

They were all hardened men, but none of them passed through that city without a shiver. They ended up reaching Magnus on the outskirts of Myamar, a small market town that he had plundered in search of souls that same morning. It was almost too late, as Myamar was dangerously close to the Nortumbias border.

And there was no longer any skeptic among the men of Baltazar, for they saw what was before them with their own eyes: a great horde of beasts out of some nightmare, oily and dark, their shapes beyond imagination, crawling and walking heavily through the land between howls, screams and moans, an infernal cacophony that only by the sound inspired disgust and despair.

And, in their minds, the lone figure of Magnus leading them in their advance, like a demonic shepherd. The irregular shapes and movement of the creatures made it difficult to discern the amount at a distance, but Baltazar estimated that the horde had at least five hundred individuals - the combined population of the dozens of towns and villages that Magnus will attack along the way, at that moment transformed into the grotesque tribe that was reeling under his command Baltazar was a scholar of war, of battle tactics He had thought a lot, during the persecution, at best way of confronting Magnus with his minions when he finally reached them, and decided to follow the plan of attack that had always best fit him directly into the enemy's heart, without fear or hesitation.

Baltazar knew that Magnus would be partially relying on the psychological fear that his abominations provoked in the hearts of everyone who set eyes on them. But Baltazar had neutralized that particular factor by selecting men who, he knew, would not be paralyzed or hesitate even in the face of the most terrifying enemy.

Magnus' omniscient is no different than any they have faced and defeated countless times, he reminded his soldiers the night before. A careless horde of barbarians and animals without honor or intelligence or God on their side. He also recalled that Cuth was working tirelessly on the armor each wore with the protection that would render Magnus' other advantage useless in battle. The speech had worked.

In the morning, Baltazar Edgar took his contingent of almost a hundred men straight to Magnus, across an open field, the horses' hooves roaring on the ground, fearlessly, roaring "bloody killer" at the top of their lungs that rivaled the howling of the pack. monster of Magnus.

At first, Magnus seemed to enjoy the approach. Defiant and fearless in front of his army, he focused his attention on Baltazar and the tip of the approaching spear. He raised his hands, bony fingers dancing in the air like a virtuoso harpist playing an invisible sword instrument while invoking a spell but the defiant look turned to consternation when Baltazar and his men had advanced, seeming immune to the spell that, at that moment, would already have them deformed, turning them into even more obedient and submissive servants. Cuth had done her job well.

Baltazar's breastplate glowed with an incandescent glow when the protective seal with which the young cleric covered it absorbed the weight of Magnus' magic like a lightning rod and dissipated it, rendering it harmless. Magnus screamed that they were cheating and screamed insults and blasphemed and began to prepare another spell, but Baltazar's horsemen were already fifty meters away and approaching at full speed. And so Magnus panicked and retreated close to his acolytes, ordering them to attack.

The creatures advanced to find Baltazar's warriors. In the moments before the clash, Magnus wondered why this small force of men, with five times fewer individuals expected at a much greater level, was not escaping the mere sight of their abominations, when so many had done so before them. I could only assume they were foolish or crazy. But, if he could not add them to his contingent, his beasts certainly wiped them out quickly. Magnus' arrogant assumption soon proved wrong. No doubt his entourage was a terrifying sight, but it had never been tested in battle; all the enemies they encountered before would have been transformed or fled in terror by then. That was their damned sons' first taste of combat, and Magnus found, to his dismay, that unlike Baltazar's hardened war veterans, they had no training.

In the first chaotic confrontations, his monsters knocked down several men, waving their claws, fangs and tentacles, but the Baltazar horsemen retaliated harder, tearing and trampling a bloody line in Magnus's crowd, leaving a trail of crippled, bleeding abominations. and screaming in agony. The form of the battle quickly changed after that the horde of Magnus's monstrous dispersed, terrified and confused.

To the surprise and happiness of Baltazar and his men, it soon became clear that those infernal beasts were not so terrifying when confronted on equal terms - more like wild horses.

They were just animals that had no knowledge and experience in a real battle. The entire horde was spreading and humble in the face of Baltazar's explosive forces, yet Magnus made a desperate attempt to maintain some impression of discipline between them. Although the men of Baltazar were still struggling with several beasts who obstinately fought with the majority, they were enraged after being wounded the archbishop realized that there was no hope. With so many of his forces running away and the magic failed, the battle was almost lost. So he tried to retreat, gathering a small group of his most obedient servants - the few he had transformed during his escape from Afonso's tower with them, ran through the cliffs down to the edge of a nearby forest where he disappeared amid to the trees while the knights of Baltazar supervised the rest of the beasts. Baltazar lost fifteen of his men that day - which was better than he had hoped for having dropped more than two hundred beasts with swords and scattered the rest in the wind.

Only Magnus himself and the abominations he still controlled remained a threat. From then on, the raids became a hunting expedition. Baltazar and Edgar chased the archbishop day and night, hoping to find him before he had a chance to regain his strength. The Trail took them to Caligula, Magnus's headquarters, and to the cathedral where all that horrendous misfortune had started. And there they were, precisely four months from the day that Baltazar had left an unborn wife and child behind.

It had been a long campaign, arduous for body and spirit, but already almost finished, he was almost at home his army camped not far from the Cathedral of Caligula. Magnus was known to be inside, licking his wounds like a dead dog. A final battle to end that story. Baltazar could finally come home. Soon he would see his son, already a month old, for the first time and fix things with Gwen. Finally, she would start her new life as a husband and father. However anxious he was to do all that, however, he did not allow haste to be his undoing in those final hours.

Magnus had been defeated in battle and his magic neutralized, but Baltazar was too smart to underestimate his opponent, despite the advantage. He knew that Magnus was a cunning, defiant man, and whatever he was doing in those three days he spent in the cathedral, Baltazar was sure that it was more than just waiting for him and his men broke down the door and finished him off. . No, Magnus wouldn't fall that easy. No doubt he still had a final card to play. The only question was: what letter?

Baltazar was still pondering when Edgar looked at him, one eyebrow raised, waiting for the answer to his question.

"That's why we're here, isn't it? To attack?"

Baltazar looked beyond the plain to the pinnacles of Caligula, covered by the morning mist.

"We will attack when I have a better idea of ​​what awaits us inside, not before that," replied Baltazar.

"We know what awaits us inside. Magnus and at most a dozen of those hellhounds ... much less than we already got rid of. Why wait?" They continue to continually watch the route that Magnus took to return to Caligula as they continued, taking note of any settlements or villages where he might have collected reinforcements. As far as they could discern, he had not passed through any village, opting for the most direct route - that is, he could only have recruited individuals or small groups he encountered along the way. Perhaps he had already transformed Calígula's servants and other employees, but even so the numbers could not grow more than Edgar's estimate.

The sorcerer was trapped and under siege, his strength exhausted, his magic useless. It was ready to be exterminated. Unless ... The word corrodes Baltazar like the burning "bracelet" around the wrist.

"He's been there for three days," he observed, nodding at the mist-covered cathedral in the distance.

"Doing what, only God knows. Perhaps refining the magic to attack the protections in our armor. Perhaps training the remaining forces to better endure the battle, fight more fervently. Perhaps something we don't even consider. I don't like that."

"What evidence suggests any of these situations?" Asked Edgar.

"None," admitted Baltazar. "Just a bad feeling. Like the one I had before Chippe. Remember?"

"Humpf," growled Edgar, looking at the horizon. The two men had many differences in warlike matters, from Infantry strategies to the best way to silently cut a man's throat, and they almost always debated until late at night, but Edgar had to admit that when it came to bad omens before of a battle, Baltazar's instinct was almost never wrong.

He sighed. "Baltazar, the only way to know what awaits us inside is to go ahead and find out." Baltazar let the disturbing flower fall from his fingers and stood up, turning to look at his men, gathered just behind him.

"Maybe not," he said. "Bring me Cuth."

Edgar passed the order on to a messenger, and a few minutes later they saw the little cleric running across the field where his commander was, huffing as he ran, blowing smoke from his mouth in the morning mist.

"It is really surprising that the boy is still alive," said Edgar, enjoying himself, as he watched Cuth's awkward walk, his scruffy tunic hanging from his thin body as if hanging from a sloppy chair.

"This boy is the reason we are still alive," replied the knight. Cuth earned his respect during the campaign. As tense and fragile as he might have seemed at first, he proved that he was not a coward. In Myamar, Cuth insisted on staying with the men until the last minute to ensure that each of them had a recent blessing on their armor, as well as on their mounts, before they entered the skirmish, should the spell's protective power - at that moment, still without known quantity. In doing so, he ventured closer to Magnus' horde than he ever imagined himself capable of. Only later, after the battle was over, did he realize that he had forgotten to make a protective blessing on his own robes and became vulnerable to one of Magnus' curses. It was only by chance that he would not become a target and had become some hideous beast that his comrades would be forced to overthrow.

Cuth spent most of the night vomiting, but until then her actions in the field had earned Baltazar's esteem and, by extension, everyone else's admiration. Cuth also proved to be valuable as a healer and archivist of the various forms of deformation that Magnus learned to conjure. Many of the beasts had dispersed in all directions after the battle in Myamar, and were now scattered throughout the kingdom, living in the shadows, without a master, savages. They had become an addition to a new folklore that quickly spread across southern Albaran: terrifying stories told around campfires and restless children about dark, malevolent and misshapen horrors pursued their prey - animals and humans - at night, taking any anything or anyone they could find, screaming their prey, to feed on it in the darkness.

Baltazar's men encountered several of these ferocious types during the pursuit of Magnus after Myamar, and after each death Cuth struggled to catalog them in his bestiary, kept carefully in a leather-bound volume. He made detailed drawings of each species they encountered, writing down their behavioral characteristics, speed, strength, intelligence and preferred method of attack, making the next confrontation with a beast of the same type much faster and less likely to result in fatalities.

Cuth's work was as exhausting and scholarly as its practical application was useful, and even Baltazar admitted to being darkly fascinated. It took him back to childhood, when his father taught him to study and identify the various forms of insects and snakes. There, insects and snakes were twice the size of a man and could kill him twenty meters away, but the principle was the same. Cuth arrived red-faced and out of breath. He tried to speak, but he was too breathless for the words to come out.

"Breathe, boy!" Shouted Edgar. "On your knees, if you need to."

Cuth waited a while to regain her composure and take a breath.

"Sorry. Sir Baltazar, you need me"

"A few nights ago you told me about another spell on Magnus's scrolls that you had started translating before he escaped," said Baltazar. It took Cuth a moment to remember the conversation.

"Ah You say the projection"

"This can be done"

Cuth hesitated. "I'm not sure. My translation was incomplete, and…"

"More, than it was translated, you remember precisely at that point", Baltazar knew that Cuth's claim of perfect memory was not unfounded. Cuth nodded.

"Sorry," interrupted Edgar, "but what are we talking about here"

"By my understanding of the scrolls, projection allows a person to see what is anywhere," said Cuth. "The spell describes the use of a reflecting medium, such as polished metal or a lake of calm water, to project the image of a place, exactly as it is at that moment, like a window into a distant place. I did my studies on the issue, and I believe it is possible to go further, actually launch an immaterial projection of someone in that place and explore it remotely, as if the person were there. "

"And can you do that?" Asked Baltazar, puzzled.

"In theory," said Cuth. "But in matters of magic there is always an abyss between theory and practice."

"I need you to try," said Baltazar, "I need to know what's lurking inside the cathedral before committing my men. That knowledge could be the difference between victory and defeat, or at the very least determine how many of us will see the end of the day. Got it "

Cuth was silent, as if the weight of what Baltazar was asking for began to make sense. He began to imagine what could have convinced him to get into this situation. He felt his stomach begin to turn until it formed a knot.

"Got it," he said at last, as calmly as he could muster.

"I'll try."

"Great," said Baltazar, keeping a hopeful look on Cuth. It took a while for the young cleric to understand.

"Ah! You say. Now?"

"Preferably," said Baltazar, with a slight smile. Cuth went a little paler.

"I will need a reflective surface," said the young priest. Cuth flinched when Baltazar drew his broad sword, the flat part of the blade gleaming in the sunlight that was beginning to pass over the gray, cloudy sky.

"It's enough" Cuth watched the sword and saw his own reflected face. Baltazar was proud of the meticulous maintenance of his weapons and armor; the blade, so exquisitely polished, was almost a mirror, "I believe so," said Cuth.

"I can..?" Baltazar offered him the sword. When he wielded it, Cuth almost fell forward - it was much heavier than he imagined. How does he carry that damn thing around, he thought to himself as he struggled to hold it, and still strikes it in fury? Baltazar and Edgar took a step back and watched Cuth with great curiosity as he left the sword on the floor and sat cross-legged in front of her. He touched his fingertips to the blade, being careful not to touch the edge - Baltazar knew it was as sharp as it was brilliant - then he closed his eyes and began to murmur the spell.

To Baltazar and Edgar, it seemed no different from the words they heard him use many times before blessing the armor on their armor; it was the same language as arcane, unintelligible. For several minutes, they watched him recite the same phrases over and over, seeming to have no effect, until Edgar became impatient. He leaned over to Baltazar and whispered, "How long will it take us to know if this is going to ..."

Then he stopped. He saw an incredible thing, even after everything that will come in the last few months. Cuth somehow seemed to shine, to remain for a moment translucent, like a muslin, as if it were no longer complete, before returning to a full bodily state. The two horsemen stared at him with wide eyes.

"You ..." began Edgar, looking at Baltazar

"What was that?"

"Do not know." Cuth had stopped reciting the words; he seemed to be in some sort of trance. Without moving, like a statue. Baltazar found it disconcerting. The only time he had seen such immobility was in dead men. He watched Cuth closely, looking for any sign that he was actually still alive. At first, he could not detect any sign, then he saw that the young priest was breathing, but slowly and superficially that hardly seemed to be. Still, the knight did not like that situation. Since I didn't know how it was supposed to work, I had no way of knowing if something was wrong.

"Cuth" No reaction.

"Cuth!" Louder this time. Still, no reaction. Baltazar leaned over to Cuth to shake him awake when the boy's eyes suddenly opened. But Cuth was not looking at Baltazar, Edgar or anything in the field of vision that they could identify. The body was still there, but he seemed to be seeing something completely different, something beyond perception. And finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured.

" I'm there." For an hour, they watched Cuth sitting still, except for occasional cringes or tremors, like someone in the middle of a powerful, lived dream. Or a nightmare, Baltazar thought to himself. And yet, Cuth's eyes remained open all the time, without blinking, staring into that distant place. Sometimes it flickered, as before, and was transparent for a few moments, as if it were more in the other place than there, in front of them.

"Something's wrong," said Edgar with growing concern. "Let's wake him up"

"Not yet," said Baltazar. He still didn't understand how this magic worked, but he knew enough to suspect that disrupting Cuth in his state could either get him trapped in that other place or bring him back. Everything changed when Cuth's twists and turns suddenly increased - strange spasms at first; then violent convulsions.

Baltazar's eyes widened in shock when Cuth threw his head from side to side, as if caught up in a sudden terror. He screamed, kicked, as if trying to get away, but his feet found no support, the grass beneath them still damp with morning dew. And yet, while the lower part of the body resisted, the fingertips remained firm on the mirrored blade of Baltazar's sword, immobile, as if that half of the body was paralyzed by its connection with it.

"Okay, enough," said Baltazar when Cuth continued to squirm and kick. Edgar grabbed the boy while Baltazar went to separate him from the sword. It took all Edgar's strength to secure Cuth just enough for Baltazar to drop his sword, but when Baltazar touched it, the world around him darkened. He was no longer in a sunny pasture, but surrounded by damp walls illuminated by flickering torch light, a narrow corridor that stretched out in shadows and gloom. It was difficult to see; his vision was somewhat distorted in that place, its surroundings indistinct and disorienting, as if looking through thick glass. He was able to see clearly only what lay ahead, while everything on the periphery of the vision was falling apart in a blur. He heard a low growl behind him and turned around - slowly, because moving in that place was difficult, like moving into a dream. It took a while for his vision to orient itself and focus on what he was seeing: one of Magnus's horrors, unlike any he had seen in those days. Most of those Baltazar's army had fought in Myamar had at least some characteristics of the human beings they had been before - most of them were standing on their hind legs. The thing in front of him was more like the plump monstrosity he had first encountered in Afonso's dungeon. It almost crawled on the ground, the four limbs with claws extended on either side of a bulbous torso, and resembled a giant lizard.

As much as Baltazar tried, he could not see anymore through the distorted lenses of his vision, except for the armored and thorny tail that wobbled back and forth. There didn't seem to be a head, at least none that Baltazar could make out, just an open mouth where his head should have been, with razor-like teeth lined up. The earth ran towards him aggressively. Baltazar's retreat was like trying to walk with sand up to your knees. He looked down and saw the sword in his hand, and thought of hitting the animal with it, but it looked so heavy that he could barely lift it. Then he heard a voice.

Low at first, so low that he thought his mind was playing tricks. But it got louder, unmistakably real, and recognizable was young Cuth's voice.

Sir Baltazar! Let's go! You must drop the sword!

He tried to do what the voice asked, but the hand did not respond to his command. When the hideous beast moved back toward him, a blow away, Baltazar concentrated all the mental capacity he could muster in the sword's hand and felt the hilt begin to weaken slightly. And then the beast jumped, and the rider fell on his back, the horrible stench of the monster's breath on him ... Baltazar screamed when he felt his body hit the ground and looked up to see the gray clouds hovering in the sky. Edgar and Cuth were on him, looking down with expressions of concern.

"What happened?" He asked, realizing he was panting, his heart pounding. Edgar and Cuth looked relieved when they saw Baltazar's eyes focus on one and then the other.

"You shouldn't have touched the sword," said Cuth. Baltazar saw that she lay on the lawn, far out of reach. Cuth had removed one of his robes and tossed it on the blade.

"I think it will have to be destroyed. The ability to disenchant you is beyond my reach. A thousand apologies." Baltazar sat up, dizzy. His head was spinning and spinning

"I was. I was there," he said. The mind spun, remembering everything they had experienced in those last moments.

"Notable, isn't it," replied Cuth with learned enthusiasm. "The sharpness of the vision is almost…"

"What did you see?" Asked Edgar, and Cuth was serious in an instant.

"I saw what I had seen before in Caligula," he said, and looked at Baltazar. "When the archbishop started his experiments." Baltazar nodded. Now he understood why the properties and pastures around Caligula were mysteriously empty of animals that were generally grazing there. He believed that they had been removed or fled in fear from the demons created inside that cathedral. But he knew now what had been done to them.

Baltazar mounted Polly, covered in his cavalry armor with Edgar beside him, in front of the assembled ranks of men on the back from whom they saw Caligula. The time they spent idle while Baltazar pondered only to heighten his anxiety for that final battle; he could see in those faces. And now that Baltazar knew what was waiting for them inside Magnus's lair, they would have their will done.

"In his despair, Magnus returned to the most primitive form of his cursed magic," announced Baltazar. He pointed with the sword at the cathedral.

"Caligula is home to our most sacred beliefs, though tainted by an unclean, blasphemous presence. No longer. Today, we clean that cathedral and we will return it to the grace of God. Today we will send the evil that infests it, together with the heretic who invoked it, back to the place where it had come to the depths of hell!

The men howled in unison, swords raised. When Baltazar turned his horse towards the cathedral, he and Edgar exchanged the last look, the type well known to soldiers who have seen many battles.

"Good speech," said Edgar with a smile as he looked at the assembled men.

"Their blood boiled." I just hope that no more than necessary is spilled today, replied Baltazar.

"Let's get this over with. I want to go home," and with that, he raised his sword, let out a war cry, and sported the horse in the direction of Caligula, with the sound of dozens of shards behind him.