The Fifth Star - Prologue (1/2) - A Strange Connection

The view from atop the diverse buildings of this city had become a sight Darius indulged frequently since he had been sent to Lothan the year before. The solitude he sought on the rooftops served him well, an escape from his service in the castle and the daily drudgery and politics that it accompanied, without the crushing weight of silence he felt alone in his chambers. People could always be heard going about their business on the streets below and it was comforting in his dark moments, to remember that he was not alone in this world, though it often felt like exactly that.

Darius didn’t fit in with the other occupants of the castle. He found much difficulty in speaking with the nobles, courtiers, and merchants, those rich and admired in society, as he had been born on a farm and had little regard for the value of coins. Though he was a skilled mage, he was reviled by the others of his kind; his illicit and – some would say evil – work for the ruler of this region, Harlemont, prevented any interactions on their parts except when absolutely necessary. And while the soldiers and guards were amiable enough, he could not share in their war stories or their lamentations about barracks life or drills, for his killing was done under cover of night, with no horns blazing for his victory. He had figured out long ago that assassins led lonely lives and garnered no glory.

He did not sit atop the rooftop today for selfish reasons, however. From his post he had a perfect bird’s eye view of the town square, a massive natural dip in the land where the tri-annual Homecoming was being held in just a few minutes. It was an event he hadn't been a spectator to before, but he knew its history well enough; every young man in the city was conscripted to the Lothanian army, and therefore into the Empire's ranks, when they came of age if they had no other trade already. Their required length of service was three years, but the generous coin the Empire paid their soldiers was usually enough to keep most of them for much longer. Those who were not enticed by the gold would be allowed to return home on the next Homecoming day, so it was meant to be a joyous occasion – but over the years, officials had started performing public punishments whilst most of the population was gathered together, and now it was an event of mixed repute.

Nearly every soul in the city was gathered in that dusty, flat-bottomed bowl. It was sparsely decorated; the centre of attention was all on the tall and sturdy whipping posts that had been long ago pounded so deep into the ground that no man could ever hope to shift them. A great canvas tent, dyed a deep shade of green, had been erected for the healers near the posts, and beside that, a white canvas sunshade where stood an assortment of waiting squires and stable boys. Darius made himself comfortable by slipping off his cloak and folding it into a neat pillow to sit upon, and settled in to watch the events for anything strange, as he had been ordered.

Not long after he was situated, the last few stragglers made their way into the square, and the ring of guards who had been waiting in the alleyways along the outer rim moved inward at once. Their bodies, clad in brilliant purple cloaks to mark their status and well armored, formed a barrier against any who might attempt to leave before the proceedings were over. He’d have found that quite ominous, were he one of the regular citizens, but Darius already knew beforehand that there were to be so many guards present. From what he had been told, the last Homecoming had ended on a sour note – a slightly riotous crowd and a dagger lodged in Lord Harlemont’s leg, to be exact. Apparently the lord’s noticeable limp during the winter months was the clinging remnant of that injury, and he had refused to attend another Homecoming unless the crowd could be controlled. The sheer amount of guards around now attested to that compromise, and the lord himself would soon be led to the centre of it all.

A stream of mounted people flowed down the road from the castle in towards the square. Harlemont was present in the front, flanked on all sides by mounted knights. He probably looked dashingly handsome, on his white steed with his golden hair rippling in the wind, if one didn’t know what a twisted and cruel man he actually was once he was out of the public eye. Behind the lord and his immediate group of knights followed about thirty more purple-clad guards who, once Harlemont dismounted by the posts, formed another ring of bodies like the first, this one on the inner rim of the space. The common folk would be contained on both sides.

Stable boys darted out as one and retrieved the horses, taking them aside away from the commotion to wait beneath the shaded canopy. A herald stood by the posts, and he called out for the crowd’s attention. “People of Lothan, pay heed to your lord!” he cried in a booming voice that immediately brought all whispers and shuffling feet to a halt.

The white-clad Harlemont strode confidently to the raised wooden dais and held out his arms. “Lothanians!” he began, his voice ringing out clearly in the dead silence. “You all know why you are here. Your beloved husbands, fathers, sons and brothers have returned.” He paused for a cheer, which the people gave him willingly.

“Three years ago, your men joined me in a golden opportunity to bring honour and wealth to your families. You good townspeople have gone without a word of your loved ones for all this time. Today is the end of your waiting!” He stepped away from the dais and strode back and forth, his cloak whipping up dust. His demeanor turned theatrically downward as he continued to speak.

“Unfortunately, some of you will not have your joyful reunions. Not every man can return from battle unscathed, and some will not return at all. But some few others… they take the opportunity I have given to them, to serve their glorious Empire, and they throw it away. We’ll return to them later. For now,” he clapped his hands loudly and a cluster of guards parted by a blocked-off road to the square.

A smart line of soldiers in dazzlingly bright-red formal uniforms emerged from the newly opened gap and began their procession, down the hill and then around the inner circle of guards. They did not wave or look out over the crowd, as one would expect. They marched with perfectly timed steps and looked steadfastly straight ahead as if they wore blinders. Each of them took their turn standing before their lord, and Harlemont removed the badge of service from their chests before allowing them to leave the inner circle of guards. The men only relaxed themselves once they were past the inner circle, and many happy squeals and laughs followed as people were rejoined with their families.

Darius guessed it was a half-hour before Harlemont’s voice finally rang out again over the people, everyone falling completely silent as the first note hit their ears. “If this is your first Homecoming day, let me tell you what happens now,” he began ominously.

“Those who accorded themselves with honour have been given back to you. But there were those among the men who sought to bring shame upon themselves, who have committed various offences against Valteria, and these offences must be brought to light and punished under the watchful eyes of the gods.” As he spoke, a much smaller procession than the first came forward, bound hand and foot, shuffling towards the circle with their heads hung low. Their once-vivid uniforms were tattered and faded, their faces taut and grim. They were relentlessly prodded forward by the butts of so many guards’ spears who accompanied them. Darius spared a pitying moment for them. Oh yes, Harlemont, like they are supposed to be grateful to be conscripted to your army. You’ll never make a perfect soldier when they have no choice but to serve you.

The first man in line was lead in front of one of the posts and untied from his bindings. No sooner had he begun to massage his wrists than was he forcefully positioned by two guards and strapped without mercy or care to the post. His back was exposed by a short knife worked under his shirt at the neck and jerked downwards.

“For the crime of looting without direct orders, ten lashes!” Harlemont cried. Darius was sure that down in the square that his lord would be having difficulty containing himself; if there was one thing Harlemont enjoyed it was blood spilt by him, whether through orders or his own hand, it made little difference.

A bulking torturer in a black leather mask strode down the path the prisoners had walked, the men and women in the crowd shying away from him as he passed. He wielded a whip and he dragged it on the ground behind him ever so slightly, the pointed tip leaving a snake’s trail in the dust in its wake. Every heavy footstep he took thundered in the quiet until he reached the restrained soldier.

Without hesitation or ceremony he positioned himself behind the man, raised his arm high above his head, and brought the whip slicing down through the air, landing against the exposed flesh with an earsplitting crack. No cry accompanied it, at least that Darius could hear. Blood welled from the wound and had barely begun to trickle down when the second crack landed, splitting open another.

Eight lashes later, when the man’s punishment was finished, he was untied and led away from the post, leaving a trail of scarlet drops in the sand. A few whispers broke the eerie quiet, but subsided when the lord’s voice broke out again.

“For the crime of stealing rations, fifteen lashes!” he announced as the next man was led out.

The proceedings carried onwards, the sand in the square becoming stained with more and more blood with each punished soldier. Darius was sickened by the punishments, but even with the position he held, he was powerless to stop them. The compulsion spells which clouded his mind, placed on him at the College of Magi, would not allow him that level of freedom. He could not disobey his orders, no matter how dearly he wanted to climb down from the rooftop and put a stop to the suffering below.

What seemed like an eternity later, the last man in the line was led forward. The crowd was becoming restless and edgy, eager to go home and be done with this evil. Sniffling and quiet sobs could be heard from those who had figured out by this point that their loved ones were not returning to them. Celebrated or shamed, alive was better than otherwise.

“For the crime of attempting to run from his duties, fifty lashes!” Harlemont screamed to be heard above the crowd. A discontented murmur ran through the people, disbelief in their tones. No others had been given such a severe punishment, and this man’s was likely a death sentence. Even Darius had a hard time believing the lord would perform what would essentially be a public execution on a day that was supposed to be as much a celebration as it was a warning. He stood to prepare himself for the chaos that was sure to follow. A few sparse people dared to yell out in defiance, but were quickly silenced by the guards that had immersed themselves throughout the crowd.

The man in question fell to his knees, but Harlemont’s expression was set and unforgiving. “Let all who stand here today,” he announced, “bear witness to what happens to traitors.”

A great keen came from the man, the sound of a dying creature escaping from his throat as he realized there was no escape at hand. He was lifted bodily by two guards and strapped to the pole, forced to stand with his captors steadfastly ignoring his horrific noises.

Down in the crowd, Darius saw someone running in a headlong dash towards the posts. Strange enough as this was – most people tended to run away from the guards, not towards them – the person in question appeared to be a young girl. Not a child, but not yet an adult. She was so focused on her goal that she paid no heed to the guards rapidly making their way towards her. Foolish girl, they’ll catch you in no time, he thought.

But oddly enough, they didn’t. The girl managed to weave and duck her way through the crowd, although not perfectly as a few people tumbled to the ground in her wake, and made it all the way to the inner circle. No sooner had she broken through into the centre circle than a purple-cloak accosted her. He wrapped his arms around her slight body and held her fast in place, forcing her to watch the torturous event from such close proximity. Darius found he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Who is the punished to her, I wonder? A father, a brother, a friend?

The crowd had been fixated on the courageous stranger, despite the brutal display in front of them – but bystanders were notoriously fickle, and their collective attention reverted to the man on the post as his life was flogged out of him after only a pitifully short diversion. All except his… his eyes were glued to her for a reason he could not fathom. She struggled fiercely in her detainer’s arms, spirit far from gone though she had no hope of escaping his grasp. Darius supposed he admired her bravery in the face of people who could do unimaginable things to her, could torture her or kill her without any worry of retaliation. Even now, she didn’t give up. She cried out, “Stop!”, her voice full of anger, and though his heart went out to her and a few onlookers gave her another momentary glance, the proceedings carried on uninterrupted. He could not help her.

But when she screamed, a valiant and desperate “NO!” full of accusation and childlike innocence, Darius’s whole world changed irrevocably.

The world became eerily silent as the guard who’d been holding her flew back through the air as if slammed by an unseen giant to land bodily in the dirt several feet behind her. The torturer’s arm halted mid-swing, the whip hanging there limply. The girl slumped to the ground lifelessly and Darius inexplicably followed suit; consumed by blackness that came all at once and gave him no opportunity to fight its impending grasp.

When he came to, his honed reflexes made him jerk straight up from where he’d tumbled backwards onto the roof, eyes scouring around him for any immediate threat. Seeing none, he relaxed,  then was momentarily grateful when he noted the pitch of this particular rooftop was not dramatic, for he’d surely have broken at least a few bones from a fall from this height. What just happened? he thought in a daze.

Darius retreated into his mind to mull over what he’d seen, and he reeled in shock at what he found. His mind was free. Unclouded from the perpetual fog of compulsion magic he’d been prey to since the day he had been taken by the Seers, he was able to think straight, his wits immediately sharper. He forgot about the girl as, uncomprehending, he sent his mental gaze into all the corners of his brain.

“Not totally free, though,” he muttered aloud as he encountered an area that still didn’t belong entirely to him. The magic within it was active, tugging incessantly at him that he needed to be elsewhere, most certainly not on this rooftop. One thing was sure, it was not an Empire compulsion spell. Rushing through all he’d been taught regarding compulsion, though admittedly that wasn’t much as he didn’t possess that particular talent, he found nothing to explain why the Empire’s magic had been broken. Their mages were incredibly skilled – he’d never even heard of someone managing to get free of their control.

The girl! he recalled suddenly, with a little start of shame that he could have forgotten her so soon in his confusion. He surveyed the area below him. Dismayed, he didn’t see her anywhere. It wasn’t until he heard a piercing female cry of pain that he realized she hadn’t left, or been escorted out. It was her turn on the post.

Disgust rose so thick in Darius’s throat that he nearly choked on it, and he wanted nothing so badly as to protect this girl from this needless suffering, though he had no idea who she was. Before he’d even decided on a plan of action, he was on his feet and headed for the backside of the building where he’d climbed up.

Idiot! he thought at himself as he descended. You’re going to get yourself killed, servant of Harlemont or not! But the other part of him, the part that had been so long contained, controlled him with more authority than fear of future punishments and it argued back, she’s what’s different. Somehow, she did this. I need to know more. The thought propelled him onward, while the echoing cracks of the whip added its spurs.

Darius tried as well as he could to push through the crowd, but it was thick. Bodies did not separate as easily for a grown man as a young girl, and many pushed back at him as he attempted to break through. By the time he drew near to the center, the girl was untied and being led to the healers’ tent. He watched her go, his feet frozen in place for fear of losing sight of her.