Legacy of Blood

Two

In the land of Aranoch, at the very northern fringe of the vast, oppressive desert which made up much of that land, the small but resolute army of General Augustus Malevolyn remained encamped. They had set up camp some weeks previous for reasons that still mystified most of the soldiers, but no one dared question the decisions of the general. Most of these men had followed Malevolyn since his early days in Westmarch, and their fanaticism to his cause remained without question. But in silence they wondered why he seemed unwilling to move on.

Many felt certain that it had to do with the more gaudy tent pitched not far from the commander's own, the tent belonging to the witch. Each morning, Malevolyn went to her, evidently seeking portents of the future and making his decisions based upon those. In addition, each evening Galeona made her way to the general's tent-for more personal matters. How much influence she had over his choices, none could truly say, but it had to be substantial.

And as the morning sun began to peek over the horizon, the slim, well-groomed figure of Augustus Malevolyn emerged from his quarters, his pale, clean-shaven features-once described by a now-deceased rival as "the very visage of Lord Death without the kindness inherent"-entirely without expression. Malevolyn stood clad in armor of the darkest ebony save for the crimson border running along every edge, especially around the neck. In addition, the symbol of a red fox over three silver swordsdecorated the breastplate, the only reminder of the general's far-flung past. Two aides attended the general as he put on ebony and crimson gauntlets that looked as if they had just been forged. In fact, Malevolyn's entire suit looked to be in perfect condition, the result of nightly cleanings by soldiers trained to understand what even a single hint of rust might mean to their lives.

Fully covered save for his head, Malevolyn marched directly toward the sanctum of his sorceress, his mistress. Resembling something of a tentmaker's nightmare, the abode of Galeona looked as if it had been put together like a quilt, with patches of more than two dozen shades of color sewn together over and over. Only those like the general, who saw beyond the facade, might have noticed that the various colors created specific patterns and only those cognizant of the inner workings of sorcery would have known the power inherent in those patterns.

Behind Malevolyn the two aides followed, in the arms of one a covered burden that vaguely resembled something akin in shape to a head. The officer carrying the object moved uneasily, as if what he held filled him with distrust and not a little fear.

The commander did not bother to announce himself, yet just as he reached the closed flap of the witch's tent, a feminine voice, both deep and taunting, bid him enter.

Even though sunlight now toyed with the encampment, the interior of Galeona's tent appeared so dark that, if not for the single oil lamp dangling from the middle of the ceiling, the general and his aides would not have been able to see more than a foot beyond their noses. Had that been so, they would have missed quite a sight, indeed.

Pouches and flasks and items unnamed hung everywhere. Although once offered a case in which to house her wares, the sorceress had declined, finding some purpose in hanging each piece by noose in carefully preselectedlocations. General Malevolyn did not question this idiosyncrasy; so long as he received his desired answers, Galeona could have hung dry corpses from the ceiling and he would have made no comment.

She nearly did just that. While many of her prizes remained thankfully hidden within containers, those that dangled free included the desiccated forms of several rare creatures and various components of others. In addition, there were a few items that looked to have come from human sources, although full identification would have required too close an inspection.

To further add to the uneasiness her sanctum engendered in all save her commander and lover, the single lamp somehow created shadows that did not move in conjunction with normal reasoning. Ofttimes, Malevolyn's men would see the flame flicker in one direction, but a shadow move in another. The shadows in general also made the tent seem much larger inside than its outer dimensions warranted, as if by stepping in, the newcomers had entered a place not entirely set in the mortal plane.

And as the centerpiece to this unsettling and distracting chamber, the sorceress Galeona presented the most arresting and yet also disturbing vision of all. As she rose from the multicolored pillows covering the patterned carpet below, a fire stirred within each man. Lush, cascading black hair fell back to reveal a round, enticing countenance marked by full red and inviting lips, a generous but pleasing nose, and deep, so very deep, green eyes matched only by the sharp emerald ones of the general himself. Thick lashes half-draped over those eyes as the witch seemed to devour each newcomer in turn simply by looking at him.

"My general…" she purred, each word a promise.

Built voluptuously, Galeona displayed her assets as she did every weapon at her command. Her gown had been purposely cut as low as it could without failing itsmost basic function, and glittering jewels accented the edges near her chest. When she moved, she moved as if the wind gently pushed her along, her thin garments billowing seductively around her.

The visible effect of her charms on Malevolyn proved to be little more than a slight touch of his gloved hand on her deep-brown cheek, which the sorceress accepted as if he caressed her with the softest fur. She smiled, revealing teeth perfect save that they had a slight catlike sharpness to them.

"Galeona… my Galeona… slept you well?"

"When I actually slept… my general."

He chuckled. "Yes, the same myself." His very slight smile faded abruptly, "Until I had the dream."

"Dream?" The momentary intake of breath before she spoke signaled well enough that Galeona took this comment not at all lightly.

"Yes…" He moved past her, staring at without actually seeing one of the more macabre pieces of her collection. He toyed with it, moved one of the joints, while he spoke. "The Warlord of Blood arisen…"

She swept over to him, a dark angel now at his shoulder, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Tell me all, my general, tell me all…"

"I saw the armor without the man struggle from the grave, then bone filled the armor, with muscle and tendon joining afterward. Then flesh covered the body, but it was not Bartuc as his images have shown." The ebonyclad officer seemed disappointed. "A rather mundane face, if anything, but artisans were never known for carvings such as those. Perhaps this was the face of the warlord, although he seemed more a frightened soul in my dream…"

"Is that it?"

"No, I saw blood then, on his face, and after it appeared he marched off. I saw mountains give way tohills and hills to sand and then I saw him sink into that sand… and there the dream ended."

One of the other officers caught sight of a shadow in one far corner of the tent. It moved, shifting toward the general. Trained by experience not to speak of such things, he swallowed and held his tongue, hoping that the shadow would not, at some later point, turn in his own direction.

Galeona draped herself against General Malevolyn's breastplate, looking up into his eyes. "Have you ever had this dream before, my general?"

"You would have known."

"Yes, I would've. You know how important it is to tell me everything." She separated from him, returning to the pile of plush pillows. A glimmer of sweat covered every revealed portion of her body. "And this most important of all… For this is no ordinary dream, no it is not."

"I suspected as much myself." He waved one negligent hand toward the aide who carried the cloth-covered object. The man stepped forward, at the same time ripping away the material in order to reveal what lay beneath.

Ahelmet with a ridged crest glistened in the weak light of the single lamp. Old but intact, it would have covered most of the head and visage of its wearer, leaving but two narrowed gaps for the eyes, a slight passage for the nose, and a wider but still narrow horizontal gash for the mouth. The back of the helmet hung low, protecting the neck there, but leaving the throat itself completely open.

Even in the dim illumination one could clearly discern that the helmet had been colored bloodred.

"I thought you might need Bartuc's helm."

"You may be right." Galeona separated herself from Malevolyn, reaching out for the artifact. Her fingers brushed the aide's own and the man shivered. With the general facing away from her and the second officer unable to see from his angle, the sorceress took theopportunity to let one hand briefly caress the aide's wrist. She had tasted him once or twice when her appetite had demanded some change of pace, but knew that he would never dare tell his commander of their encounters. Malevolyn would be more likely to have him executed rather than his valued witch.

She took the helmet and placed it on the ground near where she had originally been sitting. The general dismissed his men, then joined Galeona there, placing himself directly across from her.

"Do not fail me, my dear. I am adamant in this."

For the first time, a bit of Galeona's confidence dissipated. Augustus had always been a man of his word, especially when it came to the fates of those who did not live up to his expectations.

Hiding her concern, the dark sorceress placed her hands palm down on the top of the helmet. The general removed his gauntlets and did the same.

The flame in the lamp flickered, seemed to shrink to nearly nothing. The shadows spread, thickened, and yet somehow also seemed more alive, more independent of the frail light. That they had a surreal, unworldly sense to them did not bother General Malevolyn in the least, though. He knew of some of the powers with which Galeona conversed and suspected others. As a military man with imperial ambitions, he saw all as useful tools to his cause.

"Like calls to like, blood to blood…" The words slipped readily from Galeona's full lips. She had uttered this litany many times for her patron. "Let that which was his call to that which was his! What the shadow of Bartuc wore must be linked again!"

Malevolyn felt his pulse quicken. The world seemed to pull back from him. Galeona's words echoed, became the only focus.

At first he saw nothing but an eternal gray. Then, before his eyes, an image coalesced in the grayness, animage somewhat familiar to him. He saw again Bartuc's armor and the fact that someone wore it now, but this time the general grew certain that the man before him could not possibly be the legendary warlord.

"Who?" he hissed. "Who?"

Galeona did not answer him, her eyes closed, her head bent back in concentration. A shadow moved behind her, one that Malevolyn vaguely thought resembled some large insect. Then, as the image before him grew, he threw his attention wholly back into identifying and locating this stranger.

"A warrior," the sorceress murmured. "A man of many campaigns."

"Forget that! Where is he? Is he close?" The warlord's armor! After so very long, so many false trails…

She twitched from effort. Malevolyn did not care, willing to push her to the very limits and beyond if necessary.

"Mountains… cold, chill peaks…"

No help there, the world was filled with mountains, especially the north and across the Twin Seas. Even Westmarch had its share.

Galeona shuddered twice. "Blood calls to blood…"

He gritted his teeth. Why repeat herself?

"Blood calls to blood!"

She teetered, nearly losing her grip on the helmet. Her link to the spell all but broke. Malevolyn did his best to maintain the vision on his own even though his own magical skills paled in comparison to Galeona's. Yet, for a moment, he managed to fix better on that face. Simple. Nothing at all like a leader. In some ways, panic stricken. Not cowardly, but clearly far out of his element…

The image began to falter. The general silently swore. The armor had been found by some damned foot soldier or deserter who likely had no idea of either its value or its power. "Where is he?"

The vision faded away with such abruptness that itstartled even him. At the same time, the dark witch let out a gasp and fell back onto the many pillows, completely shattering the spell.

Atremendous force threw Malevolyn's hands from the helmet. Astring of harsh epithets burst from the general's mouth.

With a moan, Galeona slowly rose to a sitting position. She held her head with one hand as she looked at Malevolyn.

He, in turn, considered whether or not to have her whipped. To entice him with the fact that the armor had been found and then to leave him without the knowledge of where it was.

She read his dark look and what it likely meant for her. "I haven't failed you, my general! After all this time, Bartuc's legacy is yours to fulfill!"

"Fulfill?" Malevolyn rose, barely able to keep his frustration and fury in check. "Fulfill? Bartuc commanded demons! He spread his power over much of the world!" The pale commander gestured at the helmet. "I bought that from the peddler as a memento, a symbol of the might I sought to gain! A false artifact, I thought, but well done! The Helmet of Bartuc!" The general let out a harsh laugh. "Only when I put it on did I realize the truth-that it was the helmet!"

"Yes, my general!" Galeona quickly rose and put her hands on his chest, her fingers caressing the metal as if it were his own flesh. "And you began to have the dreams, the visions of—"

"Bartuc … I've seen his victories, seen his glories, seen his strength! I've lived them all…"-Malevolyn's tone grew increasingly bitter—"but only in my dreams."

"It was fate that brought the helmet to you! Fate and the spirit of Bartuc, don't you see? He means for you to be his successor, trust me," the witch cooed. "There can be no reason, for you're the only one to see these visions without my aid!"

"True." After the first two incidents, each during a period in which Malevolyn had worn the helmet, the general had commanded a few of his most trusted officers to try the artifact on for themselves. Even those who had worn it for several hours had admitted to no subsequent dreams of their own. That, to Augustus Malevolyn, had been proof enough that he had been chosen by the spirit of the warlord to take on his glorious mantle.

Malevolyn knew all that any mortal man could know of Bartuc. He studied every document, researched every legend. While many in the past have shrunken away from the warlord's dark and demonic history-fearing some taint spreading to themselves-the general had devoured each scrap of information.

He could match Bartuc in strategy and physical strength, but Malevolyn himself wielded only the least bit of magic. Barely enough to light a candle. Galeona had provided him with more sorcery-not to mention other pleasures-but to truly be able to emulate the warlord's glory, Malevolyn needed some manner by which to summon and command not one demon, but many.

The armor would open that path for him, of that he had become obsessively certain. Malevolyn's extensive research had indicated that Bartuc had imbued the suit with formidable enchantments. The general's own meager powers had already been augmented by the helmet; surely the complete, ensorcelled suit would give him what he desired. Surely the shade of Bartuc wanted that. The visions had to be a sign.

"There is one thing I can tell you, my general," the sorceress whispered. "One thing to encourage you in your quest…"

He seized her by her arms. "What? What is it?"

She grimaced momentarily from the pain of his grip. "He-the fool who wears the armor now-he comes nearer!"

"To us?"

"Perhaps, if the helmet and the rest are meant to be with one another, but even if not so, the closer he comes, the better I'll be able to specifically locate him!" Galeona pulled one arm free, then touched Malevolyn's chin. "You can wait just a little longer, my love. Just a little longer…"

Releasing her, the general considered. "You will check each morning and each evening! You will spare no effort! The moment you can identify where this cretin is located, I must know! We shall march immediately after! Nothing must stand between me and my destiny!"

He seized the helmet and, without another word, departed from her tent, his aides quickly falling into line behind him. Malevolyn's mind raced as he pictured himself in the ensorcelled armor. Demonic legions would rise to his command. Cities would fall. An empire spanning… spanning the world … would spring up.

Augustus Malevolyn hugged the helmet almost protectively as he returned to his own quarters. Galeona had the right of it. He only had to be a little more patient. The armor would come to him.

"I will do as you once dreamed of doing," he whispered to the absent shade of Bartuc. "Your legacy will be my destiny!" The general's eyes gleamed. "And soon…"

The witch shuddered as Malevolyn vanished through the tent's flap. He had grown more unstable of late, especially the longer he wore the ancient helm. On one occasion she had even caught him speaking as if he were the Warlord of Blood himself. Galeona knew that the helmet-and likely all the armor-contained some mysterious magical force, but as of yet she had been able to neither identify nor control it.

If she could control it… she would not need her loverany longer. A pity in some ways, but there were always other males. Other more malleable males.

A voice broke the silence, a scratchy, deep voice that even to the witch sounded something akin to the buzzing of a thousand dying flies. "Patience is virtue… this one should know! One hundred twenty-three years on this mortal plane in search of the warlord! So long… and now it comes together…"

Galeona looked around at the shadows, searching for one in particular. She finally noticed it in a far corner of the tent, a wavering, insectlike figure only visible to one who truly looked close. "Be silent! Someone may hear!"

"No one hears when this one chooses," the voice rasped. "Know you that well, human—"

"Then quiet your voice for my sanity, Xazax." The dark-skinned sorceress stared at the shadow but did not approach it. Even after all this time, she did not entirely trust her constant companion.

"So tender the ears of a human." The shadow took more form, now resembling a specific insect, a praying mantis. Yet, such a mantis would have been more than seven feet tall, if not more. "So soft and failing their bodies—"

"You'd do well not to talk of failures."

A low, chittering noise spread throughout the tent. Galeona steeled herself, knowing that her companion did not like to be corrected.

Xazax moved, shifting closer. "Tell this one of the vision shared."

"You saw it."

"But this one would hear it from you… Please… indulge this one."

"Very well." Taking a deep breath, she described in as good detail as she could the man and the armor. Xazax surely had seen everything, but for some reason the fool always made her go over the visions. Galeona tried tohurry matters by ignoring the man for the most part, going more into the armor itself and the landscape vaguely seen in the background.

Xazax suddenly cut her off. "This one knows that the armor is true! This one knows that it wanders this mortal plane! The human! What about the human?"

"Perfectly ordinary. Nothing special about him."

"Nothing is ordinary! Describe!"

"A soldier. Plain of face. A simple fighter, probably the son of farmers, from the looks of him. Nothing extraordinary. Some poor fool who stumbled onto the armor and, as the general clearly thinks, has no idea what it is."

Again the chittering. The shadow withdrew slightly. When Xazax spoke, he sounded extremely disappointed. "Certain that this mortal journeys nearer?"

"So it seems."

The murky form grew still. Xazax clearly had something in mind. Galeona waited… and waited some more. Xazax had no concept of time where others were concerned, only when it came to his own needs and desires.

Two flashes of deep yellow momentarily appeared where the head of the shadow seemed to be. What might have been the outline of an appendage ending in threeclawed digits shifted momentarily into sight, then quickly vanished again.

"Let him come, then. This one will have decided by then whether one puppet is better than another…" Xazax's form grew indistinct. All semblance of a mantis, of any creature, faded away. "Let him come…"

The shadow melted into the darkened corners.

Galeona swore to herself. She had learned much from the foul creature, increased her power in so many ways because of his past guidance. Yet, much more than Augustus she would have preferred disposing of Xazax, being rid of his horrid self. The general could be manipulatedto a point, but not so her secret companion. With Xazax, the sorceress played a continual game of cat and mouse and too often she felt like the latter of the two creatures. However, one did not simply break a pact with Xazax's kind; if done without precautions, Galeona might find herself minus her limbs and her head-all before he finally let her die.

And that made her consider at last something new.

He who wore Bartuc's armor certainly looked to be a warrior, a fighter, and, as she had also described him, a simple man, too. In other words, a fool. Galeona knew well how to manipulate such. As a man, he would be defenseless against her charms; as a fool, he would never realize that fact.

She would have to see how matters went with both the general and Xazax. If it seemed one or the other still worked to her advantage, Galeona would do what she could to tip the balance that way. Malevolyn with the armor his to command could certainly deal with her shadowy partner. However, if Xazax gained the ensorcelled artifacts first, truly he would be the one to follow.

Still, the stranger remained a possibility. Certainly he could be led around by the nose, told what to do. He presented potential where the other two presented risk.

Yes, Galeona intended to keep an eye on this fool for her own good. He would be far more susceptible to her desires than an ambitious and slightly mad military commander-and certainly far less dangerous than a demon.