Free Men

The Freelands of Stygia

Landfall, Nucerian Legionary Staging Ground

General Coriolanus was displeased with his officers.

When the 5th Legion arrived on the shores of the Freelands well in advance of him, he'd hoped the vanguard would adhere strictly to his orders when he explicitly commanded them not to engage the rebel forces until the full strength of the army had arrived. Coriolanus had been a hunter for much of his youth, and most of the skills he learned in that life proved useful when he joined the legion. It was his intention to avoid spooking his prey, to buy himself time to prepare the proverbial snare and close in when the time was right. The hunter's strategy worked well for him in the past, when he hunted down separatists or put down rebellions.

Unfortunately, a hunt concerning an elusive quarry such as Angronius Thal'kyr proved most difficult. Coriolanus wasn't in command of a small hunting party anymore, but a legion full of ambitious and largely disobedient men. So many variables, too many moving pieces, too many things that could go wrong with such a delicate strategy.

Nevertheless, a legion could not be forgiven for its failure, especially one concerning blatant disobedience. The sentence was clear, and although Coriolanus took no pleasure in meting out the punishment due, he chose to mete it himself. There were many ways to discipline the men of the 5th Legion. Reduction of rank, flogging, crucifixion, decimation.

Coriolanus chose all four that early morn. Each for the four legates who conspired to attack without his authorization, both for insubordination and cowardice. Ambition could be forgiven, if the legates brought victory in the end. But what they brought back, the embarrassing defeat at Mt. Khyaltuwa, it was simply too much.

"You have disgraced the Empire!" The general bellowed to the legionnaires assembled before him, "You have all shamed the colors of the 5th Legion, by allowing your ambitions to guide you in place of duty! Even worse, you have shown weakness to the enemy by fleeing from the battlefield! Such dishonor, such cowardice, will not be forgiven!"

The four legates were stripped naked and forced to kneel in front of the assembly. All the while they muttered prayers to their patron gods as Coriolanus laid their deeds bare. The legionnaires, one and all, were stripped of their shirts and commanded to perform self-flagellation. Thirty lashes for every man, each carefully accounted for by their respective centurions.

"Mars demands blood, and the 5th Legion will answer!" Coriolanus shrugged off the fur cape draped over his shoulders, revealing a bared chest and an agoniser-whip in his hand. The general did not shy from shouldering the weight of the shame brought upon by his soldiers, and he shared in their pain as he bled for the honor of his legion.

His personal bodyguards set to work on the legates. One was beaten to death with mallets, another was scourged, and the third was crucified. The last legate was branded penitencia and reduced to the role of a simple legionary footsoldier. Before the day was done, almost everyone in the 5th Legion was stumbling over to their tents from the pain and loss of blood.

Redemption hadn't come, not yet. In Coriolanus' eyes, the gods remained unsatisfied but allowed them a slim chance of regaining their lost honor. In the Nucerian legionary creed, to recover from such a travesty, one must face the enemy responsible for their defeat and win. Now, Coriolanus was even more driven to meet Angronius on the battlefield.

As soon as he retired to have his wounds cleaned and dressed, the general immediately turned to the war table and swept away all previously planned strategies, all of which he now deemed irrelevant now that Angronius had mobilized his forces. Yet again, he found himself facing another dilemma with no answer in hand.

By this time, Coriolanus was aware that Angronius was no mere rebel slave and never once underestimated the former gladiator. His subordinates, however, did not share this opinion. But Coriolanus did not care, his only concern with his men lay with their ability to obey his every command. The harrowing punishment he meted out to them that day would see to that, he hoped.

'How was one to contend with an inspiring firebrand like Angronius Thal'kyr?' That was the question. A slave with the mind of a skilled tactician and the voice of a charismatic diplomat, who in a single day rallied together the conquered provinces of the Freelands into a single and unified body, the likes of which had not seen since...

"Since the day Marsus Acraesius took over the Freelands Campaign." Lord Sevran Fowl appeared in his tent out of nowhere, startling the general and all his bodyguards. The surprise of his visit overtook the general's astonishment at how the unwelcome visitor seemingly read his thoughts.

"What-" Coriolanus growled, his men closing in around the noble mystic. "How did you get in here?"

"Would it matter to you, if I held the solution to your problem?" Fowl tugged at the edges of his robes like a crow tucking in its wings, "Every puzzle can be solved, general. Sometimes, it helps to have a second pair of hands-"

"I am not interested." Coriolanus abruptly waved him away. "Battles are not won through the schemes of politics, they are won by strategists and soldiers. You are neither, and you're trespassing. Men, show him to the harbor."

As the bodyguards moved to escort the man out of the camp, Fowl's demeanor changed. The air around him turned cold, and an invisible hand seemed to prevent the guards from touching him. Try as they might, the aura repelled them like poisonous cloud against flies. And that's what they were to Fowl, as it would seem.

Flies. "You are making a mistake, general. But have it your way."

Coriolanus turned his back, still fresh with cuts from the agoniser-whip, and ignored Fowl as the mystic swept his feathered cloak behind him and disappeared into the camp. The bodyguards followed him out, but lost him when he rounded a corner. They spent the next hour trying fruitlessly to search for him from all over the camp up to the harbor of Landfall. They returned to the general in silence, hoping that he'd remain too busy with his work to even notice their mistake.

From dawn till dusk, Coriolanus scrutinized every piece of land in the map, searching for future battlefields where he and his legion would draw advantage from well in advance of the barbarian horde. And yet, he found little satisfaction in any of them. As the hour grew late, Coriolanus made his way to the altar of Mars to pray and clear his thoughts.

The crude altar, made of rough stones piled up on one another until they formed a pillar, was located a few feet away from the general's tent. A human sacrifice of a healthy gladiator novicii was chained to the pillar. The young man, strong as a bull with a temper to match, was offered up the day before. The legionary priest scattered white ash upon his shoulders before cutting his throat. His blood, dark and dry, still stained the stones and filled the eight-fold mark of the God of War etched upon the ground.

A crow picked at the corpse's eyes and cawed as Coriolanus approached the altar. It stared at him defiantly before flying off into the night.

The general struck a match and lit the blackened torches around the altar. He replaced the candles on the stones and lit them too. Then, he drew his dagger and cut into his hand to draw fresh blood, then let the red trickle over the candlelights as part of the invocation ritual. He knelt before the altar and prayed in silence.

He did not expect an answer. While Coriolanus was a firm believer in the gods as the next man, he did not believe that they would condescend to concern themselves in matters of the mortal realm. Still, when backed into a corner, it was only natural for anyone to turn to the gods for aid. This was true, and the silence of the heavens that came after, this was also true.

But for the general of the 5th Legion, whose determination to defend his legion's honor and the Empire itself knew no limits, it was enough to turn the eyes of Mars upon him. That night, the god would not answer in silence.

The cold air grew hot like the inside of a furnace, as the veil between realities thinned. Coriolanus opened his eyes, the quiet holy words still hanging from his lips unspoken, and glanced around.

A towering figure wrapped in flames approached him from behind and stood beside the astonished general. Coriolanus' bodyguards, perhaps seeking to make up for their shortcomings earlier, shouldered the stocks of their stubbers and prepared to fire. Their due punishment came with a dismissive gesture of the stranger's hand. They burst into flames, supernatural fire that consumed them in mere seconds. This figure was clad in the armor of the legion, or at least that was all Coriolanus could comprehend. In that moment, after witnessing the deaths of his own men, the general knew who the figure was and he prostrated himself reverently before it.

"Mars..."

Hateful red eyes burned from behind the narrow slits of a horned helm, and with a gauntleted hand the figure pointed to the chained corpse of the altar sacrifice.

The corpse moved, convulsed and started to fold in on itself. Bones snapped and muscles ripped, blood burst from the skin as it peeled off in layers to expose scarlet brass. Once the fleshy exterior was excised, what remained in place of a corpse was a suit of bronze armor. It was a glorious piece of craftsmanship, almost as good as the one the divine avatar was wearing. The chains that once held the slave's body melted off and snapped, sending the armor crashing into the dirt.

"Take it... bring me his head." Mars rumbled, seemingly unfazed by the apparent desecration. He gave the general one last look before disappearing from sight. He was gone, but his voice still rang clear through the air. "If you can."

A gift and a challenge. Mars had found him worthy. Coriolanus donned the brass armor and marveled at the invigorating feeling it gave him when the metal touched his wounded flesh. It didn't mend his flesh. Rather, it kept his wounds open and bleeding. The armor drank the general's blood as though it were an extension of his body, but if there was any pain, he felt none of it.

In fact, he couldn't feel much of anything anymore.

Coriolanus had no fear, no apprehensions or doubt. Not anymore. He knew what the God of War wanted, and he knew exactly how to get it. No more schemes, plots or lengthy stratagems. Mars would see him through to victory. He had shown him and the 5th Legion favor for a night, Coriolanus would answer in kind.

"Blood for Mars." He found himself saying as he slid the helmet down on his head, "A skull for his throne."

Two Weeks Later

Vendhayana

The Former Governor's House

Angronius sat down on the floor beside Polgara to watch their daughter make her first steps.

Lotara was growing quickly, much like her father in his youth, and in the days following her birth she had jumped the span of years between an infant and a toddler. A few days before when she still fed from Polgara's breast, her gums had sprouted teeth and she nicked her mother's flesh, drawing blood. Polgara knew early on that raising this demigod of a child would be challenging on her part, but it was a challenge she did not shy away from.

She loved Lotara. She nearly died trying to bring her into the world. A little pain wasn't going to change that.

"Come, Tara." Polgara coaxed, "Come to Mama."

Little Lotara ignored her mother and kept her eyes on the ceiling, which had been painted with depictions of mythical creatures by the previous owner of the palace. They were pretty pictures. Fascinated, the toddler stared and stared, unaware of the exasperated pair sitting a few feet away from her. Polgara hung her head in defeat while Angronius snickered with amusement.

"Lotara. Come." Her father beckoned.

His voice finally caught Lotara's attention, and the toddler grinned as she wobbled on shaky legs. Slowly, she made her way to her father's waiting arms. She failed to walk up to him halfway and dropped to all fours. The toddler's lips quivered, but she didn't cry. She looked up to Angronius and saw his encouraging smile. So, she smiled too and crawled closer to the gladiator king.

When he held her, she looked like a tiny doll in the war god's massive hands, and Angronius held her with utmost care for fear of crushing her between his fingers.

She would be the first among many children. And Angronius would give them the world. They will not live as slaves or fugitives like he did, they will live as kings and queens.

They will be conquerors.

Sonjita, welcome to come and go as she pleased, watched the little family play from the opening archway leading into the room. She felt a growing feeling of jealousy, for the happiness and love they shared. Things she had been denied, and will probably remain forever denied thanks to the Nucerians. While she swore to devote her life to avenging what she'd lost, the Red Maiden couldn't help but long for those things again. It was moments like these when Sonjita realized that the Red Goddess was right about her having a void in her heart that couldn't be filled even with the blood of every Nucerian in the world.

She found herself wondering what it would be like, having a man like Angronius in her life, who would love her and give her children. It was downright awful for her to wish it, but she wondered if he would deny her this should she dare to act on it.

"Little Brother!" Rissio called out as he made his way past the Stygians standing guard along every corridor. Ever since the attempt made on Angronius' and Polgara's life, Ionos made it his priority to see to his blood-brother's safety along with all he held dear. Especially now with a child to worry about, his concern for the gladiator king overruled any objections Angronius had for his near-fanatical devotion.

Rissio strode into the room and grasped the gladiator king by the arm, "My men are ready and eager for battle. It is time we set out on another raid."

The handsome former gladiator had changed his looks over time. His long brown curling hair had been braided like Angronius' and he had grown a beard to match his brother. If one was to look at the two and excuse the slight difference in height and their differing preferences for weapons, it was easy to mistake them for twins.

At Angronius' behest, Polgara picked up a mirthful Lotara and carried her upstairs. She met Sonjita along the way, who politely asked to see the child in her arms. Polgara had long considered her a friend, even more so after she'd helped save her life when she led them up the holy mountain to see the Red Goddess. The toddler was fascinated with her red locks and clutched several handfuls in her tiny fists.

"What a beautiful thing you are..." Sonjita murmured softly, her iron heart softening as dormant maternal instincts kicked in. She smiled as Lotara stuffed her hair into her mouth. "Goddess... we'll make an Eater of Cities out of you yet."

"Perhaps." Polgara said, "She might choose to walk that path, but until then I will have the final say on that matter. Never forget that."

Sonjita nodded and handed the girl back to her mother before she devoured all the hairs on her head. She waited a bit before broaching a particularly sensitive matter with Polgara, a matter that could possibly alienate her completely from that which she coveted most. "Polgara, there's something I must tell you."

Both women left the men alone to discuss their war stratagems, heading for the balcony to get some fresh air and discuss the aforementioned matter in private. Rissio was planning to assault a 5th Legion garrison east of Vendhayana, to the province of Serusia. The season favored them, it was close to winter. The legions of Nuceria would slow down in the cold, they will favor their defenses and stick close to their little fortresses.

Angronius was still gathering strength for the horde at Vendhayana. A full-scale assault at the moment would leave all flanks exposed to Nucerian counterattacks. Raids would have to suffice until consolidation was completed. The gladiator king trusted Rissio, he had proven himself to be a capable leader many times over. He will fare well against the garrison, of this he had no doubt.

"Be cautious, my brother." Angronius said to him.

"Fret not, Angron." Rissio grinned, "I will scream your name and it will be enough to shatter their resolve. That garrison is as good as ours."

He left Vendhayana with a force of one hundred former gladiators and two hundred Stygian warriors. A warband for a brief skirmish, nothing more. The barbarians headed straight for Serusia, the graveyard of empires far more ancient than Nuceria and all the kingdoms that rose and fell from the Freelands.

Three Days Later

Serusia, The Green Wilderness

It took two days to travel from Vendhayana to the lone Nucerian garrison sitting comfortably in the middle of the flat green plains of Serusia. Far from the cities and towns, but connected to the main roads in which trade caravans would frequent in times when trading proved most lucrative. Lately, with another war raging in the Freelands, people tended to stay out of the roads entirely. The same could be said of the legionnaires, who once marched with impunity upon the roads following their victory against Minerva and the horde.

Everyone in the garrison was on high-alert, for the feared Angronius was only a few miles away from their position. Patrols were reportedly wiped out when caught alone in the main roads, and further attempts to counter these raids ended with even more cohorts being wiped out overnight. Currently, the bulk of the 5th Legion was still at Landfall, busy with licking its wounds from their defeat at Mt. Khyaltuwa. Last the supervising centurion heard, General Sargon Coriolanus dispensed a brutal punishment to his officers and the legion entire for supposedly disobeying his command.

That was almost three weeks ago, and in all that time they heard nothing else on the vox.

While they prepared and expected an attack, it still came as a surprise when it actually happened. A brazen assault on the garrison's walls by warriors on jetbikes and dune cats. The gates were blasted open with rockets pilfered from Nucerian armories, and the sentries brutally massacred with Nucerian stubber-rounds. At the helm of this assault was Rissio, whom the legionnaires mistook for the gladiator king himself.

It didn't matter to them that he carried a spear into battle. The martial spirit of the Slayer of the Maw was present in the former gladiator, and he carried himself in a manner so uncanny they thought that Angronius had indeed come for them. Rissio found to his delight that his words proved true when he roared at the top of his lungs, shattering the resolve of the beleaguered defenders with three fateful words.

"I am Angronius!"

With his spear, he painted a red masterpiece on the canvas of war. Within a few short hours, the garrison fell to the horde and Rissio claimed yet another victory in his brother's name. What was to be done next was to pick up the bounties left behind, then back to Vendhayana. Unfortunately, it was not to be. The garrison was a trap, to draw the gladiator king out of the citadel to a battlefield of Coriolanus' choosing.

Flat and open land, easily strafed by Imperial strike-fighters. Screaming ordnance and rockets bombarded Rissio's warband, softening up the former gladiators and Stygians for the main assault. Men and mount-beasts perished in the black burning clouds of chemical explosions, and the poisonous miasma that followed.

Only Rissio and a clutch handful of ascended gladiators remained when the barrage finally halted, surviving only due to their cyber and genetic-modifications. Coughing violently as his insides burned with the chemicals, the former gladiator rallied his men together to face the Nucerians on the fields of the Green Wilderness. There, Coriolanus' heavy transporters swooped down from the hills and landed outside the ruins of the garrison. The legionnaires that marched out to meet them now outnumbered them ten to one.

It was the vanguard of a greater force, one that would later move to assail the walls of Vendhayana.

Rissio knew he would die that day, but he endeavored to at least cut down as many of the Nucerian bastards as he could to make it easier on his brothers and sisters who remained free and alive within Vendhayana. He turned to the freedmen who stood with him, mouth frothing with red and spit. "Behold, freedmen! They want to bring us back in chains! Make them regret ever leaving the shores of Nuceria!"

The former gladiators roared in agreement and rushed out to meet the foe, never once flinching from the storm of las-fire and stubber-rounds that were hurled against them. Flesh bent and ripped away as steel edge met gilded plating. Lesser men fell before the freedmen in scores, but for every three that fell they claimed one of the rebel slaves.

Of the three hundred warriors that rode out to fight that day, in the end, only Rissio remained standing. Nucerian blades had cut through his fighting arm, and las-fire burned away his right side. Though wracked with pain, he managed to make one final kill before he was incapacitated completely. Rissio lunged forward and sank his teeth into the throat of an unfortunate legionnaire who stood too close to him. With a savage twist and a pull, he ripped the flesh right out and spilled the man's blood onto the ground.

After that, no one dared to get within three meters' length of him until the general himself arrived.

Coriolanus approached the former gladiator and fearlessly stared him down. Clad in the brass armor blessed by Mars himself, he was undaunted by the fierce wounded animal growling at his feet. "Are you the one they call Angronius, former champion of House Thal'kyr?"

Rissio replied without an ounce of hesitation, "I am."

"Good." The general said as he drew his sword, "Mars demands your head. You should feel honored, slave. Your skull shall decorate his altar for all time, and will have company soon once I've piled the heads of all your rebel friends next to it."

"There are no slaves here, Nucerian. You have fought only free men."

Those were Rissio's last words before his head toppled free from his shoulders.