Four Horsemen: Chapter 11 Part 2 of 2

Valter drank from his canteen, looking at the altar, its motifs had been cleaned away, leaving it in its silver coated glory. Runes and lines traced through it, the metal plate underneath and across the walls creating a massive runic.

Stone masons and smiths rubbed their tired eyes, the last of the silver being poured into the cut grooves in the floors.

Bells tolled in the distance.

“Clear a path!” A guard yelled. People dropped to their knees in prayer as a man of blue eyes, brown hair and freckled skin wearing runic engraved armor turned into a piece of art with Lord Jorai’s crest strode into the room with a sword on his hip.

He looked over the runes.

“Clear them out.” His voice was familiar but Valter couldn’t pin it down. “The Defilers are at our gates it is time that we showed them the power of our lord.”

Defilers? He remembered that word being yelled in a similar, no the same voice. He was the champion of Jorai, Berox.

Armored men wearing priest crests on their breastplates guided them out of the tunnels.

Guards and priests were running around the Cathedral, heading towards the walls. People in the barracks cried out for help.

“We need to keep you close incase we need to repair the altar,” One of the armored priests said.

“What about our families?” One of the stone masons asked.

“Lord Jorai will look over them.”

A few looked like they wanted to argue as they were marched out of the tunnels and the cathedral.

“Guards!” A priest called out to a group that were manning the recently build defenses.

Several buildings had been leveled around the cathedral, the remains turned into defenses circling the cathedral, barracks and administration building.

A group of guards ran over to the priest.

“Imprison them.” He waved to the group.

“What the hell?”

“What are you talking about?” Voices rose in alarm as the guards surrounded the group, drawing weapons.

“Lay down your gear! Do it or else we’ll have to use force!”

“Fucking bastards! Who do you work for?”

“We’re citizens of Sorelli!”

“Put your gear down!”

“Make me you bastard!” One man yelled, stepping forward, holding his chisel.

A spearman lowered his spear and stabbed him in the chest.

The man gawped like a fish upon the shore, looking at the spear point in his chest, chisel forgotten as pain, loss and fear filled his expression, cries of horror and then silence filled the air as the man collapsed on the ground, confused, trying to hold his life in as he coughed and shuddered and went still, the only movement, his blood through the cobblestones.

His body withered, crumpling in on itself as it turned to dust, every drop of his essence being drained from him, dragged towards the cathedral.

Similar to Petor’s. He knew where the power went, after all he’d been part of the group that created it.

“Gear down!” The guard captain yelled again.

Valter laid his gear down, rubbing his hand over their runes, the age stained wood and pitted metal. I’ll be back for you.

He could taste the fear in the air as the crafters dropped their gear. Pale faces and wide eyes, fear and confusion filled them. Guards were supposed to protect them and go after others why were they now pointing their weapons at them?

“Get moving!” The guards ordered them into the barracks. Valter studied the path. Why was he so calm, he’d seen an innocent man be killed but he was preparing his escape, memorizing the layout. Death it seemed was some familiar acquaintance.

The only thing one can control is their thoughts. Plan, prepare, patience. The words rang through his mind, his muscles relaxing, come what may he would take it, he would accept it, he would silently suffer. A fire kindling in his chest. But he would not forgive.

Images started to flow into his mind, a boy, barely able to grow a stubble, holding onto his shoulder like a close friend as Valter drew his blade out from his stomach. The boy knowing death came for him.

Valter closed his eyes, focusing his mind. Through the gate, main parade square, towers at all four corners , rectangular. Enlisted quarters on the right, officers on the left.

He opened his eyes as they continued towards the enlisted quarters. Stone buildings with windows too small for any but a child to crawl through. The doors were barred from the outside. Each was six meters wide and twenty long.

“Back up, get out of the way!” A guard at the door to the nearest barracks yelled, he checked through and pushed the door open.

“Get in there!” The guards with spears stayed right behind. The crafters pushed one another into the barracks.

The door slammed shut, solid wooden bars dropping into place.

“What’s going on?” someone asked.

“I didn’t do anything, why is this happening?” Another called out.

Others looked around blankly, some cried.

The men already in the barracks ignored them, taking up places at the windows, others sleeping on rough cots, others chatting or throwing stones against the wall.

He read their faces, a few understanding that the world had already changed infront of their eyes, many still trying to force it off, like lies would change the world they now lived in.

Valter looked over the room, seeing a familiar face, bruised and battered as he sat in a cot.

Valter walked through the crafters.

“We can appeal to the head priest and get this all sorted out.”

“Why did they kill Jorgan, he had two little ones.”

“We’ll get the priests to listen and, some of the real guards and they’ll see them hung for killing him.”

“Real guards? Those were our guards?”

“They were all the ones sent from the other nations, none of them were Sorellian.”

This was some dream they would surely wake up from, a nightmare that would change, right?

Valter didn’t waste time on worrying about the world changing, it had, now was time to deal with the new realities.

“You’re Clemens right?” He asked the battered man.

He coughed and turned his eyes to Valter, red-rimmed and broken.

“Whas it tuh euw?” He said through a mess of broken teeth.

“I saw you down at the Head Rags, Mya my friend told me about you.”

Clemens cut his gaze away like a beaten dog, like he might break.

“You know what’s going on?”

Clemen gritted his teeth, grimaced in pain and spat blood on the floor. His face spread in an ugly smile, of one wishing to be beaten up.

“They’re going to sell this city and its people, one bloody household at a time!” He sunk into laughter, dark and brutal.

“How?”

“You don’t care about the fact they’re going to sacrifice us, only how?” Clemen sneered. “They captured the council, locked them up in the officers barracks. They’ve been forcing every prisoner they have to devote power to Jorai to wake him up. But he’s not waking up. The inquisition is good at getting anyone to give up anything y’know?”

“Torture will make you do anything,” Valter looked through a window at the enlisted quarters. “Do you know about the alchemy and the inscriptions?”

“Alchemy, inscriptions?” Clemen’s eyes sharpened.

“They had us inscribe the altar beneath the cathedral.”

“I didn’t know there was an altar down there, why would they do that?”

“Something to get more power to Jorai?” Valter studied the man again.

Clemen’s eyes moved back and forth. He sat up and held his face.

“Those monsters. No wonder, by Jorai.”

“What?”

“They have all of the Sorelli guard units out on the walls, the ones that are up here are from the four nations that believe in Jorai. The wall is broken, it will fall, when it does then the Sorelli guards will fall, then the enemy will advance through the city, killing the people.” Clemen squeezed his eyes shut. “When someone dies, then their soul goes to the Celestial plane to be rewarded or punished. Jorai accepts everyone that believes in him. If the guards, the people die, then all of their souls will go to him, all of their power will become his.”

“The more believers die, then the stronger Lord Jorai himself. If he wakes up then the priests will be able to call down blessings and attacks, to turn the tide.”

“A valiant defence of Sorelli,” Clemen spoke the words as if they were the deepest curse.

“A quick injection of power to wake him, up, but even if they do that, then how do they think they’re going to save the city?” Valter frowned, picturing the city’s map in his mind. The cathedral held the high ground, but all roads led to it, the enemy would wash through the streets, and up towards it.

You’d need a powerful counter charge, mounted would be best, but I saw no horses. There was no guarantee that they’d make it out of the city, it would most likely lead to a slaughter.

“Well if all of Sorelli dies, then Berox will still be able to escape and then he can spread a lie to the other nations. Rally them.”

“Ah, Sorelli isn’t the only city that believes in Jorai,” Valter nodded.

“How can you be so calm hearing a story like that? They want us to all die!”

“I have no intention of dying here, I still have places to see and gear to make.”

“Are you mad or delusional?” Clemen ran an eye over him.

“No, just one with a different plan,” Valter pursed his lips. “Even if we get out of here, then we’re going to be in the middle of a fight. I don’t think we can just escape. The other armies are going to have some kind of rear-guard.”

“You going to save the city?” Clemen snorted.

Valter shook his head sadly. “The city is already lost,” He pictured Percy, Gus, looked at Clemens. “And you’re already dead,” Valter turned and stepped away.

“What do you mean by that you bastard,” He grabbed Valter’s arm.

“I can’t save you, can’t save this city, but I can maybe save myself. Save my friends. I have no god I want to be visiting soon,” Valter tilted his head to the side, listening.

“The bells,” Clemens shuddered, pulling his hand away, turning into a fist, glaring at the wall of the quarters as if he could see the city wall beyond. “They’ve started the attack.”