The Fists of Panaria

By John Lasiter III

Chapter 1

Padreic's tired eyes surveyed the tiny draw. The sweat and grit stung his squinted vision; his muscles were tired and shaky. Crows were settling among the trees already, up much earlier than usual. Thank Panar for the lightening salvation of the sun. Diaphanous steam rose from rent bodies in the bloody slush. Over there, the place where the priests had made their stand, the ground was a reddened muddy quagmire of body parts and broken weapons. His men, those who'd survived, went among the dead pulling out the remains of their comrades. Foes were speared or stabbed again for good measure. Aldon, the Daum of the Second Fist, was preparing the wood for the Cleansing. Not many of his Fist were still alive.

No, thought, Padreic, not many men at all would enjoy the grace of daylight again. He'd come here with two Fists, each made up of five Fingers of ten men. Far less than half remained.

Moans from the wounded drew Pedreic's eyes. Surgeons worked diligently trying to save whom they could. It was a bloody affair. In fact, Pedreic supposed that could well describe the whole Endweek. He stepped around a severed spear haft, picking his way through a tangled mass of limbs and bodies to gather the reigns of his mount. He reflected soberly as he rubbed Greyfire's neck. Just two days past (although it seemed like a week), a reliable source had acquired information about the Ritual to be conducted here - before the usual one at Deepwinter's Night. Padreic had ridden hard to make the engagement. These bastards were right in the middle of their unholy rite when the Fists bore down on them. Although frost and snow covered the ground, the priestesses and their evil ilk were stripped, pale skin tattooed or scarified or branded. All bore weapons of some sort and were applying them to two-dozen poor victims carefully staked in a circle. Padreic shuddered, the mere thought of such abominable actions turned his stomach and steeled his heart.

The fight had been bloody as hell. The head priestess had been powerful - and thus difficult to subdue - but in the end two Priests of Panar and three feet of blade did a neat trick. The attack had been sprung hours before dawn - even now, though, the pieces were still being put back together.

His eyes fell on Aldon once more. The old grizzled man, as if sensing his leader's attention, turned from his work party.

" Sir?" he called over the distance. His face was one of dour disposition - Padreic knew he hated the cleanup.

" Aldon, let Eurith take over for you. I need a message sent." Padreic had barely to raise his voice, the echoes had been ferocious during battle, and it seemed the relative quiet was fragile. Aldon gave over a list of verbal instruction to the armored woman near him. The long bloody gash across her left cheek had missed the eyeball, but would require serious stitching. " Eurith," Padreic said.

" Sir?" came the melodious reply. She seemed about to come to attention, but hesitated. Padreic smiled inwardly - remnants of time in the Legionnaires...

" You will see the surgeon within a half-glass. Or else."

" Sir, yes, sir!" She immediately turned back to take over the cleansing task. Aldon made his way to his superior.

" I'll send Mullock and Jask, they could do the job right nicely-"

Padreic held up a hand, but was silent a moment. " You will choose out ten men. The best out of either Fist. I have prepared the report for Captain Asraithe. Lieutenant Mandred has finished interrogating the prisoners - although they have a devil's own strength – we have news of extreme import. There were goings on here that must needs be brought to his attention." Padreic looked the man in the eyes. " I know what you are thinking - and yes it is worth a quarter of my current command."

Aldon was aware of the hours of… questioning. But he had not been informed about his officers' findings. His face grew pinched and the corners of his mouth dipped.

" My destination, sir?" The man had come to attention, as if he understood how important the information in the report must be.

" You, Daum Aldon, are to go with great haste to Albaquar. There, Captain Asraithe awaits your dispatch with twenty Fists." Again, Aldon looked shocked. " After that, you will be remanded to Asraithe's command. As well as any who survive the trip."

" Aye, sir it be but a hundred fifty miles, do I be right..." Both men looked to the sky. Most of the morning would already be gone trying to clear the filth from this area alone. The pilings took the longest, and they were burning even now. More - fuel - was being added every minute.

" Yes. I expect you to expend any and all necessary security precautions. That is an order, Daum Aldon."

Aldon paused a moment, the import sinking in. " Yes, sir!"

" Panar bless your mission, Aldon. What we have found here will likely attract attention from friend and foe alike. Dismissed."

" Yessir!" Aldon turned shouting orders. Padreic winced at the noise. He could hear Aldon calling out names as fast as Padreic could put a face to them. Toady, the seemingly foppish young man who could best anyone in a knife fight. Jask, Aldon's responsible right hand. Ahren, an attractive blonde woman who had reputedly been a professional bodyguard for the Khyren Princeling. Fingers, a thief, albeit a reliable one. Bull, the strength of two men, and thankfully no dullard. Bobo, a solid ex-farmer who was tough as nails. Red-haired Himmel, once a scout for Padreic in the Legionnaires. Aldon hesitated, then chose out Quiet, Lorry, and brown-haired Teneil. Quiet was a mute; they had picked her up after they raided the keep of a High Baron in Rovara. The woman had been raped, beaten, and tortured; her tongue cruelly cut from her. The priestess responsible was hanged. The fire of vengeance burned hot in Quiet's innocent-looking blue eyes. Lorry was a nasty fighter, with a mysterious past. The current rumor says he was once the understudy of a warlock of sizeable power - of course the last one had him the deposed King of Arethia, too...

Teneil, that was the kicker. Padreic saw her fall into formation with the others. Her past was known to Padreic only. He had taken her on early in his Captaincy. He had her trained in the ways of the soldier. He'd had her drilled like a soldier, treated like a soldier and punished like a soldier. She took it with unsettling acceptance and equanimity. Coming from a high family, though not so high as hers, Padreic hadn't learned so fast nor as well. She was certain for a commission, given time. Her lupine grace defied her soft upbringing, her sword arm was equal to Aldon's.

Padreic walked over, to make sure no one was too injured to go. No one was, Aldon had chosen well. Aldon turned and saluted. Padreic returned it. His eyes took in the curiosity disguised behind discipline. He handed Aldon a purse with all the coin Padreic carried - it was not a small sum.

" Sir the detachment is formed, do you have words for any?"

Padreic was silent for a minute, surveying the soldiers with minute scrutiny, as if to memorize every wrinkle, nose, and strand of hair.

" In my tent," he said motioning them towards the clearing not far away. Once gathered there, Padreic broke out a bottle and passed it about. " One swallow, amongst brothers and sisters."

The surprise on their faces was monumental. Glances flared from one face to another. As with all good soldiers, they new something important was in the wind and waited without comment for it.

" I have a mission for which Aldon has picked you to discharge. I have information which all of you must know, in order that the information will reach Captain Asraithe in Albaquar. This - abomination - we witnessed was the precursor to a larger gathering in a week. We have chanced upon a document which links two of the Houses in Erinara to the Seventh Circle." There were some murmurs at that. " Six of the Black Hand are currently in Erinara, at this point we know nothing of the High Priestess. Erinara's Festival of Deepwinter's Night is six days hence. Captain Asraithe is currently in Albaquar, about to conduct the winter scouring of Tellaria. We must stop him and direct the Fists to Erinara. The Ritual there will be catastrophic if allowed to come to pass. You have less than two days to make it. With speed, and care you will come in under your deadline. You must ride like the hounds of hell are at your heels - for they will be. Buy or steal fresh horse if you must, but get to Albaquar ere Asraithe begins his march. That is all - the sands are falling."

The group left the tent, save Aldon, and made haste for their horses. Jask cried for water skins, and a young soldier handed over a skin to each rider. Padreic told Aldon the last bit of information.

" The Circle is planning to sacrifice an entire town for their ritual, Aldon. You must succeed. I will go there to prepare for your arrival - I hope to give Asraithe accurate reconnaissance."

Aldon nodded, understanding. He would succeed, or at least one of them would. Aldon ran to join his charges. With a last huddle to acknowledge their route, Aldon led the soldiers out of the area at a gallop. Padreic listened for the last sounds of the hoofbeat before turning again to the grisly task of cleaning up.

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