The company had been assigned to patrolling the streets of Coranan until dawn.

Lothar had been put in charge of the squad. A mistake by any reckoning. Too much

damned spit and polish. However, the prospect of wandering the street of Coranan

appealed to Sylud and it was with much anticipation that he prepared his equipment

for the evening’s patrol.

“So Sylud, you know Coranan. What is the best route to take to patrol our assigned

area?” Lothar asked.

“Well, I guess we march round the perimeter an’ back ‘n forth a few times. That

should do it. Find a nice inn to wet our whistle” The thought of a real ale, not the

watered down small beer that was Legion fare made Sylud’s mouth water.

“There will be no drinking on my patrol. We have a job to do” ordered Lothar.

“Well jus’ listen to ‘im! Thinks he’s th’ bleedin Marshal of Coranan Province. Five

minutes he’s been an officer an’ already I hate ‘im” said Sylud.

The patrol started quietly enough. There were few people on the streets at that time.

Late night revelers, a few servants and townsmen making their way home after

finishing work, night soil collectors making their rounds. The few inns that remained

open were looked at longingly by Sylud, but despite trying his best to persuade the

others to stop for a drink and something real to eat, Lothar refused to let them and

starting quoting rules and regulation until Sylud could take no more and told him to

shut up.

Sylud made a point of making as much noise as he could as he walked along. No

point letting some cloth-eared gang member get nabbed by my patrol, he thought.

Even though he was with his legion comrades, decked out in his uniform and carrying

weapons, Sylud felt at home for the first time in months. He showed his knowledge

of the city by pointing out to the others the sights, that even by the dim light of their

lanterns, were impressive. Impressive enough to make the bumpkins he marched with

stare open mouthed.

“See that? That’s the Mangai hall…n’ there’s the Pamesani arena…y’ don’t want

t’be finding yerself in there”

It was late when they ran into their first piece of trouble. Lothar took it upon himself

to stop and search some poor bugger on his way home with a package for his master.

Sylud stood back and watched him push the poor sod around. He shook his head and

looked the other way.

A little later, while patrolling near the bonding house, they saw a group of furtive

figures struggling under the weight of some burden. Lothar immediately ordered

them to rush forward to investigate, whereupon the four men dropped their load and

ran. It turned out to be a large bolt of cloth, obviously recently lifted from the

bonding house. Lothar had them lug the thing to the nearest gate house where he told

the guards to keep it safe until it could be returned to it’s rightful owner. “Yeah,

right” thought Sylud. Once outside he suddenly realized that he had left his spear in

the guard house so returned to get it. Grunth, either a watchdog set on him by Lothar

or a comrade in adventure – Sylud was not sure which – came with him. Sylud was

not too displeased as Grunth already had a death sentence hanging over him. Sylud

did a quick deal with the guards about splitting the proceeds of the sale of the bolt of

cloth and hurried back to join his comrades.

The night wore on and apart from a drunken whore and two mercenaries, there was

little to see. The only light relief was when Nico wore the contents of a chamber pot,

emptied from an upper story window. Everyone laughed as he shook the foul

smelling material from his cape and brushed it from his helmet.

“Smell reminds you of home, does it?” Sylud asked, enjoying the sight immensely.

Nico grunted with some good-humour despite his predicament. “Does kind of,

doesn’t it,” said Grunth.

Their good humour lasted only a few moments longer as the night was shattered by

the cry of a man in obvious terror. Down the street, three cloaked figures were

dragging the screaming man along. When he saw the squad of legionnaires he

struggling and cried out. “HELP ME, please for Peoni’s sake” A clout with a billy-

club from one of his abductors silenced him and he slumped down, unconscious.

The squad ran forward, but the trio of kidnappers did not move. Lothar yelled “Halt!

Do not move” and lowered his spear to threaten the three. With a sickening

realization of who the three sinister figure were, Sylud slowed down.

“Lothar, they’s Morgathian priests. Leave ‘em be, for pities sake”

“I don’t care who they are. They are breaking the law, kidnapping a citizen” snapped

Lothar and turning to the priests he said “let that man go, or you will be arrested”

The priests laughed and one threw back his hood to reveal a nightmare mask that

made them all flinch back.

“This man is a heretic, and this is Church business. You have no jurisdiction here.

Let us pass!”

Lothar stood his ground, backed up by Nico and Grunth, who were oblivious to the

danger that these three posed. Sylud edged back into the shadows. This was no bear,

or run-away soldier. These were priests of the mad god Morgath, and Sylud knew

that they were not to be trifled with.

The air was tense, and Sylud expected a fight to break out any minute. To Lothar he

said again “Lothar, listen, these are Morgathian priests. Even the Agrikans stay clear

of these mad bastards. Let’s git out of here.”

The head priest stepped forward, his voice steady but threatening . “Make way or

things will go badly for you. I say again, this is a religious, not a secular matter.”

Sylud saw that Lothar was struggling, knowing that he must either back down or

commit himself to an action that would have severe repercussions – if he lived that is.

To Sylud’s relief he lowered his spear and stepped aside, allowing the three priests

and their prisoner to glide away into the darkness. Sylud clapped a hand on Lothar’s

shoulder. “Y’ made the right decision. That man, p’haps he was a heretic or p’haps

he wasn’t. Whatever, he should’ve run faster.”

“There will be a next time!” Lothar said, or something like that.

The rest of the patrol was accompanied by the blackness that seemed to surround the

group since their encounter with the Morgathians. Sylud was seeing things in every

shadow. It was then that they heard the emergency whistle of another patrol, and they

ran toward the sound. Rounding a corner they saw the other patrol in pursuit of a

small group of what Sylud immediately knew to be likely-lads. The squad was in a

position to cut the lads off and ran to intercept them. Lothar pointed and called out

“Sylud! Grunth! Take that one”. Grunth hurled his spear and one of the fleeing men

pitched forwards. He dragged the spear out of his back and continued the pursuit.

They chased the man down a side street and into an alley where they lost him in the

darkness. “Good” thought Sylud, “at least he had the smarts to get away”. Then

Sylud made the mistake of looking up. Grunth followed his gaze and saw the man

climbing up a balcony. “Hyah” Grunth shouted as he flung his spear again, taking

the man in the back. The unfortunate footpad fell backwards, hitting the ground with

a sickening crunch and the spear burst out of his chest, spraying blood everywhere.

“Grunth! You fucking mad or what? Y’ s’posed to let the poor bastard go, not kill

him,” Sylud swore as he watched Grunth pulling his spear out of the body of the

young bravo he had impaled. As Grunth cleaned the gore covered weapon Sylud

lifted the lantern closer to the body, hoping that he didn’t know the poor unfortunate.

“Next time just let ‘im go”

“He shouldn’t have run,” Grunth shrugged, unconcerned about the life that he had

just taken.

Sylud shook his head, quietly pocketed the poor bastard’s small purse and then stood

up. “You killed ‘im, you can drag ‘im out of this alley!”

Back at the intersection, Lothar and Nico were also dragging a body which they

dumped onto the pile.

“I got two,” Grunth said matter of factly. Sylud felt sick.

The other squad had not caught those they were chasing and looked aghast at the pile

of bodies. “You have killed three of them! What’ll you tell the Captain?”

“I don’t know,” said Lothar, “but these bodies are in your sector, not ours.”

“Shit, what’ll we do now?”

“Why don’t we just dump them in an alley and say nothing,” Sylud suggested, “bodies

turn up like that all the time.”

After some discussion, it was agreed that the best course of action was to dispose of

the corpses and, as Sylud suggested, say nothing to anybody. The other squad was

too scared of Grunth to disagree.

They returned to their patrol, Grunth and Nico having to stop by a well to wash the

blood off their weapons and clothes. It was then that they heard the sounds of swords

striking and parrying blows. They rushed to the sound to find the two drunken

mercenaries that they had encountered earlier fighting it out. The whore was slumped

against a wall, a nasty welt on her face showing where she had been struck down. As

the others rushed to disarm the two mercenaries, Sylud tended to the girl. She was

scared and hurt. Sylud felt anger building up within him. In his mind he could see

Karlyn and he turned to the two mercenaries, who by this time had been disarmed,

one was bleeding from a wound in his shoulder. Sylud wanted to run his spear

through them but Nico got in his way. Sylud settled for kicking one of them in the

balls.

“I’m taking this girl ‘ome.” He said it as a statement not a request. Grunth said that

he would come too but Sylud told him to keep clear. He helped the girl to her feet

and escorted her home.

“You know of th’ Libarn Street Lads, lass?” he asked her. She was afraid to answer

that question to a soldier and said nothing. “I understand, lass, listen. You pass a

message on to Willem for me, you know Willem Four-feet?” She nodded and said

through a swollen lip “You’re Sylud, ain’t you?” “Aye, I am. Tell ‘im Sylud says

thanks fer getting me outa jail, and to keep a watch on that damned litigant”. “Tell

‘im that I ain’t disappeared.”

“Thank you, I wont ferget this,” she said.

“Jus’ be on yer way, and get a poultice fer the swellin’”

He returned to his comrades, his mood blacker than ever, despite the false dawn that

was slowly illuminating more of the city with each passing minute. They walked in

silence, for the most part, as around them the city came alive once again. They did

one more circuit of their patrol and then it was time to head back to Caer Coranan.

Making their way through the now bustling Kotros Square, they picked their way

through growing crowds of stall-holders, hawkers, labourers and merchants.

Suddenly, a man in front of them fell forward. From the back of his head the stubby

black shaft of a crossbow bolt stood out. The squad looked around but could see no-

one. The bolt had probably been fired from houses that overlooked the square, but as

to why the man who was shot was targeted they could not tell. He was a dock worker,

and his comrades were shocked at the suddenness of his death. Sylud pulled the bolt

from the man’s skull, but could fathom no clues from it. He thought for some time,

before realizing that this was a professional hit. Someone had paid to have this man

killed.

Lothar and Nico questioned the man’s friends, who confirmed that he had no enemies,

and was well respected in “the Brotherhood”. Sylud remembered hearing about them.

Brotherhood. It was a collection of dock-workers, labourers and others who were

trying to achieve guild status. He didn’t understand the ins and outs, and to be honest

had not been particularly interested. He passed on what little he knew to the others.

It turned out that the man had a wife and family, and Lothar decided that the squad

should go to his house in case they were also in danger. It was a short walk to the

rough tenement that the man had called home. Inside they found the small apartment

ransacked and body of his wife sprawled on the floor. A young child, not six months

old was crying in a crib. Sylud lifted the baby out to soothe it. Nico and Lothar

looked in the cot and found a book. Being skilled with letters, they read it and

declared that it was a diary that told of the man’s life, his hopes and dreams, meetings

and business with the Brotherhood. Sylud shook his head.

“Chuck it away! You’ll get involved in shit that will cause us all sorts o’ grief.”

Looking at the faces of his comrades he knew he might as well be talking to a brick

wall…

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Next Story.

Written By: Brian Smaller (a.k.a Sylud of Maladon)