Dungeon 42

Ardent Devotion

Chapter 155

At dusk, Hubert saw a flare go up and felt a little more relaxed. The entire day had been nothing but trouble, but at least one of the other detachments had the sense to let him know they were alive. He expected that was Lessner, as much as the man was a condescending pain in the ass, he was by the book. Jonus likely didn’t want to give away his position, intent on the hunt.

For his own part, Hubert had followed his path until he found a decent open bit of ground in the late afternoon. He’d called for a cold camp then. If they’d gotten unlucky and had to face the demi’s, his forces would have been at a disadvantage. It was better to find a convenient spot and act as the anvil if one of the other groups flushed them his way.

They weren’t far from the exit either, but Hubert didn’t bring that up. If they didn’t get any kind of signal the next day, they’d send up their own and backtrack to the exit. Something he’d have rather done immediately, but didn’t have the courage for. That was the sort of thing that could easily be called desertion and get you killed.

“Standard watches with an eye on the sky. We might yet see another signal,” Hubert said to his men. He actually doubted so, but it was good to keep an air of normalcy. If he didn’t make a fuss, they wouldn’t.

What had Hubert a little worried though was the oncoming night. Demi’s tended to have better night vision and he wasn’t fond of the idea of being caught unawares. Under happier circumstances, he’d have set watch lights but they had little fuel in the first place and the maze hadn’t supplemented it any.

Laying down to feign sleep once the camp and watches were set, Hubert mulled over the situation. It really was a bad day, given that he’d have been as happy as a new bride to see Lessner. The man was mostly fine, but he had a taste for killing Hubert found unsettling.

Drifting into a light doze, Hubert fantasized about a comfortable chair and never-ending paperwork with an expensive tea set at his elbow. That and a rank high enough to make others look the other way about there being more whiskey than tea in the pot.

Hubert had similar fantasies since he was still an ink scraper in his father's print shop. Of easy work and a social standing that would make his peasant origin something that tweaked the nobles noses but they couldn’t comment on. It was why he’d joined the seekers, they were the only holy order that would accept education in lue of background.

The day he’d recited two thirds of the book of Strom from memory had been the only day Hubert was glad of the long hours in his fathers shop printing verse pamphlets. The group in charge of admittance had been impressed, unaware he’d learned it because people had paid him to read the various pamphlets to them. Desperate to be a bit closer to Strom through the book despite their illiteracy.

A soft chime half woke Hubert from his near sleep along with something strange. A square of light like a covered lantern might produce but steadier. He swatted at it irritably and it disappeared. Falling fully asleep this time he dreamed of strange lights and the divine missive. A holy appearance of scripture in the air that was said to happen in the grand cathedral at special ceremonies where Strom conveyed his will to the most blessed of the clergy.

Hubert woke from his pleasant dream by a muffled scream. Blurry from sleep he, not the best of soldiers, still got to his feet, sword in hand, a moment later. Aspirations of desk work aside he was a capable if reluctant fighter.

It was still night, but not as dark as it should have been. Around the perimeter of the camp lights burned, revealing armor-clad people waiting in a loose circle. There were seeker bodies already on the ground and as he tried to make sense of the situation one of Hubert’s men moved forward to challenge the strangers.

Something happened then, the group made hand gestures at each other and exchanged indistinct but sharp words. A moment later one of them stepped forward to face the soldier. Hubert expected more to join in but they didn’t, the lone stranger making a gesture at his man. When the fighting started those standing in the circle started a rhythmic clapping and some called out jeeringly at someone named Andre who Hubert assumed was their comrade.

It took Hubert’s panicked mind a few moments to understand what was going on. They were challenging his men to a duel. The clapping increased in tempo as the fighting intensified but in the end the seeker lost. He was given a swift death, his body moved off to the side by the strangers who then looked expectantly at the survivors.

Hubert was still trying to figure out if there was an opening in the encirclement he could escape through when one of his men took the initiative. He’d picked a shadowed spot and bolted, but the resulting scream let everyone know he hadn’t made it far. Blue lights flashed in the dark and a new figure stepped forward to join the circle.

The inhuman glow of their eyes vanished as they stepped into the light but it couldn’t be unseen. Though they appeared human the group clearly wasn’t, or at the very least tolerated those who were not.

“Whoever you are, we are Seekers of Stromholt. Leave us be or know our brethren will find you even in this place,” Hubert called with a strength in his voice that was practiced. His men calmed a little on hearing that and one looked like they intended to run again. Not that it would help much, but them not panicking would help him think.

“Oh, they can consider themselves invited,” someone called out. Jeers and laughter followed.

“Then the root of your corruption will be torn from the earth,” Hubert added. Really he wanted to curse and run for it. They were in these creatures' territory and outnumbered. Worse the uniform of the Seekers clearly marked them out as enemies.

Hubert had never treated a collared Demi poorly, but that was the limit of his sympathies. He didn’t honestly care what happened to them and did as he was told when extermination orders started flowing in. By the same token he wouldn’t have hesitated to bury his uniform in the sand and pretend to just be a lost traveler if it meant getting out alive.

That was the core of Hubert’s faith, his own life and its betterment. Everything else was just a means to an end. He’d have served any god whose clergy would have given him an opportunity to raise his lot in life.

“Corruption?” a new voice inquired from the dark.

“You mingle with the unclean and stand against our holy mission,” Hubert responded. There was little hope of escape but considering the situation there was a small chance if his men attacked all at once. A coordinated assault might let a few of them escape the encirclement. For the remaining soldiers to have a chance of that he needed them fired up. His words struck a cord and got a few yeahs from his side.

“I take it you're the leader of this group,” The voice inquired. The others in the ring had all gone quiet and parted, allowing a single blue eyed figure to come forward into the light. Hubert expected an imposing Demi human but found himself looking at what he would have believed was a normal human if not for the glow of his eyes.

It was almost ridiculous, the man the crowd had parted for wasn’t terribly tall or broad and didn’t seem to be wearing heavy armor unlike some of the others. He was dressed in what could pass for formal attire, black and blue in color with a large hat.

“I asked you a question,” the man repeated. That got a laugh from the figures in the dark but it was quickly suppressed.

“I have that honor,” Hubert said, tilting his head imperiously. The man nodded then reached to his belt before throwing something in his direction. Hubert danced back a few steps but it landed with a soft thump, clearly not a weapon. Curious, he studied it and found himself looking at a black glove.

Hubert picked it up and found a crest on the back of it. A blue rose over crossed swords picked out in silver. Or what appeared to be two swords at first, the left one looked unfinished to him, a blade without a hilt. He’d never seen a crest like it but it didn't matter, the man had to be a noble of some kind and perhaps not as much of a fighter as Hubert had feared.

“If I win, will I and my men be spared?” Hubert asked. A cacophony of laughter erupted from the shadows at that but the man held up a hand and it died down.

“A swift death is all the mercy you will be afforded and already is more than you deserve,” the man replied. It was delivered without so much of a sneer and was a level of arrogance Hubert had never encountered before.

“As if we’ll lose to demi scum!” one of the soldiers shouted. Hubert felt his blood run cold as the rest joined him. He’d wanted to tip them into rushing a single point but now they expected him to duel, to prove their superiority. Hubert would have cursed vilely if his mouth hadn’t gone dry.

Taking a steadying breath Hubert considered the situation and what might still be done. Short of Jonus or Lessner showing up with their full forces, nothing could get him out of the situation. Looking at the man he assumed led the ones in the shadow Hubert made up his mind. If he killed him, there was a chance they’d be disoriented and he’d be able to command his men into rushing them. It wasn’t ideal as he’d be at the front of the charge, but it would have to do.

Stepping forward with his sword in a defensive position Hubert waited for his opponent to make his move. Rather than begin with a bow or other sign of respect the man strode all too casually forward, thin blade in hand. Drawing closer the unexplained light finally touched his face properly and revealed something new.

Hubert had grown up modestly well-to-do for a peasant and unusually literate. It was the only reason he understood that the sunburst style-burn over the man's left eye was anything but a strange scar. He’d seen it once before, in the illustrations of a history book.

The burn had been the marking of the clergy of a god whose name Hubert had never bothered recalling. It had been minor, disfavored, until a high priest went mad and declared himself the god’s living vessel. He’d taken the symbol and turned it into a form of punishment, destroying the eyes of those who opposed him.

It shouldn’t have mattered but Hubert felt his skin crawl at the sight of it. Picking up the glove he threw it back to the man, intending to use the distraction to strike first. He expected to land a blow or if he wasn’t quite that lucky, drive the lighter blade from the man's hand or even break it. His sword was heavy and made of good steel, the thinner blade would have to be exceptional to stand up to it.

The man caught the glove, his eyes locked on Hubert even as he did. He sidestepped and Hubert shot past him and felt a thin searing pain across his flanks. The man had whipped him with the blade in passing and the crowd in the shadows roared with laughter at that.

Enraged Hubert turned to find the man tucking the glove into his belt and came at him again. The man was nimble, fast, but Hubert was prepared for it. When he came in close the man moved to make distance and Hubert swung.

The blade was already in his guts by the time Hubert realized the movement had been a feint. One that proceeded a lunge that he’d charged on, skewering himself in the process. The narrow blade had found the mail beneath his tunic and punched through as if it were nothing but more cloth.

“Who?” Hubert asked even as he sank to his knees. Looking up at his killer as his vision clouded he felt he was looking at death itself. A skeleton in the man’s clothing was looking down at him.

The man, death, or whoever Hubert was looking at said nothing, pulling his blade free then slashing sword Hubert’s throat. A swift death was the only mercy they would be afforded. That was the last of his thoughts as he slumped to the ground clutching feebly at his neck and stomach.