Chapter 1 - Group of Five

Amelia does not take her eyes off of him for an instant. She slowly creeps around the underbrush into a forest clearing, James close behind her. The man is a few steps in front of her, still oblivious to their presence. Amelia places a hand on her sword, still in its scabbard, her eyes trained on the man. It’s nearly midnight, but she can see that the man is shaking. He stumbles forward, his hand clutching a drawstring pouch attached to his belt next to a small dagger. Amelia glances over at James. They both nod in agreement.

“Drop your weapons and turn around. By order of the Church of Herus, you are to be detained and brought before Head Priest Ecclesia for judgment. Come willingly and you may be given leniency,” Amelia says. The man spins around, his eyes widen. Before he can take another step, James is beside him, sword pointed at his throat. The man stumbles backwards, tripping over his feet and landing on his back. He pulls his hands up in front of his face, his legs writhing in an attempt to scramble away.

“You can’t do this, I’m with the Royal Dominion! If they find out you tried to arrest me, they’ll have your head!”

“I doubt they care what we do to you,” Amelia says. James sheaths his sword and leans down, plucking both the dagger and the pouch off of the man’s belt.

“Just as we thought, stolen gold. When we tell the Dominion about this, they’ll be happy we arrested you,” James says. He spills a handful of golden coins onto his palm and inspects them. He looks down at the coins, and in that moment of distraction, the man jumps to his feet and dashes. Amelia and James run right after him, but the man is too fast. The man scurries out of the clearing into the murk of forest.

James and Amelia are both wearing Church of Herus robes. They’re white with the bright blue emblem of the church emblazoned on the chest and back. The robes are specially made for the church soldiers, called the church missionaries. Padding is placed inside the layers of the fabric and when worn with chain mail it provides ample protection during combat, but it comes with a downside - it slows them down.

“He’s getting away, we need a strategy!” Amelia yells.

“We’ve dealt with worse, this is child’s play.”

“Great plan.” She looks around. The forest is thick, dark, and deserted. They’ve been searching for the thief for almost an hour, and in the final step they let him get away? On her left she hears the distant sound of a brook.

“James, lead him to the left, I’ll meet you there!” She darts to the left, praying she makes it in time. She reaches the muddy bank of the river, and with no time to slow down, she jumps over and slides down the bank until she reaches the rocky water’s edge. The brook is a couple meters wide and she leaps over it with ease. Crashing comes from the other side of the river as the thief stumbles out of the underbrush and down the embankment, James following behind him.

Just what I planned.

The bed of the brook is filled with small stones, about the size of Amelia’s palm. She grabs one. The man splashes into the brook, and Amelia takes aim, then throws. The rock hits the man in the shoulder, knocking him over. He splats onto the muddy river bank, and in a flash, James is on top of him.

As soon as the sword makes contact with the chainmail, William knows he has won. His opponent is knocked to the floor of the amphitheatre as the audience rises to their feet, cheering for William’s victory. He basks in the glory, raising his sword arm in the air, his shirtless chest glistening with sweat and lit by the moonlight and braziers surrounding the arena.

William the gladiator is enormous, nearly double the size of his opponent. His biceps are thicker than the average man’s neck and his chest is so wide most people would not be able to wrap their arms fully around him. His face is large and stern as if it were carved from granite. He has some stubble on his chin and short black hair. His eyes are deep brown, and look foreign in their innocence and gentleness compared to his brutish body and attire. He returns to the centre of the arena as the cheering dies down. William stands before his opponent, who’s sitting up on the sandy floor.

“Here to gloat?” the beaten man says, wiping the sand off his shoulders and armour.

William reaches out his hand. The other gladiator hesitates, but takes his hand and gets back on his feet.

“You may not have won, but you fought well. It was an honour to fight you. I hope to see you again soon, perhaps a rematch is in order.”

“Perhaps so, William. I doubt the outcome would change, but I would enjoy the challenge.”

The fight has ended and the audience begins to file out. William watches them exit. He searches every stand and every person leaving. He doesn’t see her. He never expected to, but it would have been nice. That was his whole reason for being here, after all.

He changes quickly, not wishing to be in his gladiatorial outfit for any longer then he has to be. He’s leaving the changing room when the organizer of the games approaches him. He’s an older man with a short scraggly beard and a tanned face. His wrinkles are deep, but his face still looks young. His face is permanently decorated with a thin smile, the type of smile that makes you think he knows something you don’t.

“Another good performance William. Truly a spectacle to see you fight.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s been a pleasure having you these past weeks, but I have to ask, how do you do it? Where did you learn to fight? It’s unlike any other combatant I’ve seen perform.”

“I grew up in a strange place, sir.” William shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Well, it shows. We’ve had a few gladiators that hailed from the Royal Dominion, but none quite like you. I’m sure they’ll be needing you back soon, it’s a shame we can’t have you forever. If you quit now, you’ll truly be undefeated.”

“Unfortunately yes, my time here is limited, but there are a few things I still have to wrap up.”

The sun has long set and the remaining soldiers are returning back to the southern barracks. The barrack gates are still open, waiting for the last patrols to trickle in. Dylan and Levy are the last two soldiers returning. They approach the gate on horseback, Dylan waving to the guard as they pass through. Dylan is taller than Levy. He’s a young man in his early twenties, his soldier’s uniform hanging off his lanky shoulders and relaxed posture. The uniform is made from a black and red surcoat adorned with a chain belt and sword.

Beside him, sits Levy. Although he's shorter, his straight posture makes his head bob higher. Levy is of similar age, and wears the same black and red surcoat, properly buttoned.

“Home sweet home,” Dylan muses as they walk into the southern barracks.

“As if you consider Fesphia your home,” Levy replies, gesturing to the barracks, and city.

The southern barracks is a walled enclosure at the very bottom of the city. The northern wall of the barracks connects to the rest of the city's walls. The walls are made of stone and mortar, with a handful of guards stationed on the parapets. The inner grassy courtyard features a large area with cabins, pavilions, and training grounds scattered across in a haphazard design. The largest building is constructed of wood and sits against the northern wall. It has a long wrap-around deck and is wider than it is deep. It’s only a floor tall but is more than capable as the administration building of the barracks and as an office for the residing general. It isn’t the only barracks in the capital city but it is the only one that’s being used.

“Security’s really been stepped up,” Dylan says, motioning to the many guards walking around the perimeter of the barracks.

“Has been for quite some time, since the frost thawed. If you asked the church, they would say it’s because we’re preparing to attack them, but if you asked the dominion, it’s because the church is going to attack us. I say that it’s neither. It’s the same as it’s always been, as tensions rise, so does militarization,” Levy says.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing. Know how many hours we’ve worked this week? We might actually be able to afford to leave this city if this keeps up.”

“It is a bad thing. I would prefer it if the country didn’t go up in flames. We wouldn’t just be able to move out of Fesphia and clean our hands of it. The Dominion wouldn't let us leave, and we’d have to watch our backs for church soldiers trying to stab us, and that’s without even thinking of the consequences. If the church and dominion declare war…” Levy looks over to Dylan to make sure he’s still listening. Dylan is examining his fingernails.

“It wouldn’t be good, yeah, I get it. Fine, you’re right," Dylan says as they enter the stables to hitch their horses for the night.

Dylan and Levy hop off their saddles, hitch their horses, Daisy and Echo, and gather their belongings off the side packs. Together, they walk up the steps and into the administration's building. They head left to the office of their commanding officer, General Bergurn Whiteflaw. They knock.

“Enter.” The general says from the other side of the heavy oak door.

They enter and sit down.

“Greetings, Levy, Dylan. You scouted up north last I heard. Are all of our settlements intact? What is the church presence in that area?” General Whiteflaw asks.

“There was low church presence,” Levy says, “We did encounter one small church settlement which may cause us some trouble in the future, but as of now, they’re not a threat. As for our settlements, they were mostly intact.”

The general leans forward and clasps his hands together on his desk, waiting for Levy to continue.

“There was this one farm that was destroyed.” Levy says.

“The Church of Herus?”

“Hard to say, but I doubt it was them. We were riding on the main road when some desperate farmers approached us. They said that they needed help because their neighbour’s farm was destroyed. The farm was quite far away so we did not check it out in person.”

“Did the farmers give any additional details?”

“They did, but it wasn’t very clear what they were saying. It was all second-hand accounts, nobody was actually there when it was destroyed.” Levy says. General Whiteflaw strokes his chin as he listens.

“But the one thing they all agreed upon is that whatever destroyed the farm wasn’t human, something more powerful than a human,” Dylan says.

“I’m still not sure what to think of it. The farmer’s were insistent that we believe them. It took all of my self control not to laugh. Until I realized they were serious.” Levy says.

“I believe them. I’m telling you, some of those legends you always hear about? They have some truth to them," Dylan says, scratching the back of his head.

“So is that all?” General Whiteflaw says. “If so, then you are dismissed. Come see me in the morning.”

Amelia and her husband James rise with the sun. They begin their early morning ritual, eating breakfast together before walking to work. They put on their church robes and head out towards the main church of the capital city of Fesphia. They live together inside the city's walls near downtown. The road is paved and quite clean. They live in a religious neighbourhood. Although Fesphia is a city ruled by the Royal Dominion, there are few pockets of those who coincide with the faction of the Church of Herus.

They walk slowly, enjoying the nice weather and morning air. It doesn’t take long until they reach the church. It sits on the western side of the town square. It’s constructed of stone, and features a large steeple in the centre. On either side ornate glass-stained windows gleam. The church is the largest in Fesphia and the only church rich enough to train and upkeep missionaries such as Amelia and James.

They enter through the large reinforced wooden doors at the front. The church is structured around a large hallway leading through the centre. It’s lit with braziers and torches hanging on the walls with a long carpet. They pass school rooms, the chapel, sleeping quarters, and Amelia’s favourite room, the library. When they finally reach the back of the church, the main corridor turns to the left and ends with a waiting room. Chairs are lined up against the walls facing a wooden door leading into the office of the matriarch and high priest of the church, Ecclesia.

“Today’s my day off, I’m heading to the library. See you this afternoon, James,” Amelia says.

“See you,” James replies, sitting down at one of the chairs outside of Ecclesia’s office, waiting for his chance to receive today’s orders. Amelia turns around and heads towards the library.

By late morning, Amelia’s already surrounded herself with different books and texts. She spends most of her free time with James, or in the library. The library is a large and ornately decorated room. It has a hardwood floor with a large green woollen carpet in the centre. Where there aren’t bookshelves there are large wooden tables and chairs. The room is lit through large stained glass windows. The stained glass windows all depict different church myths, such as the legendary general Yther, the elven bard Aesis, the god Herus creating the sun, and Rhonas the bull. The library is filled with old tomes, parchment, scrolls, books and texts ranging from brand new to many decades old. The room is overflowing with information; new, old, wondrous and boring. It’s all collected in this dry, dusty, yet cozy space. The room smells of old parchment and burnt wax, but to Amelia, they are the scents that excite her most.

She flips open a new book. Running her hand down the spine, she reads the title: “A Brief History of Magic in the Belledelian Confederation” written by Arch Priest and Head Mage Leora Barkridge. Just as she begins to read, she hears the floorboards creak behind her. She turns around to see Ecclesia peering over her shoulder.

“Ecclesia, how nice to see you,” Amelia says, looking up from her book.

Ecclesia sits down opposite her. Ecclesia is a couple decades older than Amelia. She’s easily recognizable from the gold highlighting on her white high priest robes. She moves slowly, whether from caution or from age, Amelia can’t tell. She has a kind face, and a calming voice.

“Hello, Amelia. I know today’s your day off, but I just received word from the church about an important assignment. I wanted to ask to see if you’re interested. If you accept, I will be assigning James as well. I want to have another missionary travelling with you. It’s not the sort of task you attempt solo. Perfectly optional, but I think that this mission specifically would interest you.”

“How so?” Amelia responds, she closes her book and looks at Ecclesia.

“The concept is simple. Just north of here, there is a small village called Mapalia. You might have heard of it. You would travel to Mapalia and escort an Arch Priest back.” Amelia’s eyes light up at the sound of an Arch Priest. There are only eight Arch Priests who all serve directly under the ruler of the Church of Herus, the Pontifex Maximus. Each one is an expert in their field and known throughout the entire confederation.

“An Arch Priest? And it would just be James and I?”

“It would be, but I trust you. I know you haven’t attempted anything of this calibre before, but you’re one of my most able missionary and with the help of James I’m sure it won’t be too tall a task for you.”

“That sounds interesting. What are the details? I want to be sure what I’m getting myself into before saying yes.”

“You will depart at midday and reach Mapalia by night. In the morning, you shall meet with the Arch Priest and return them home safely before nightfall tomorrow. The Arch Priest you will be escorting is the high mage of the church, Leora Barkridge. She’s doing a study on an ancient temple of Herus and its magical properties, and she would like to do research in Fesphia.” Ecclesia places her hands on the table. She looks directly into Amelia’s eyes. “I’ve noticed your interest in magic, so I wanted to give you the first opportunity to volunteer.”

“I’ll do it, absolutely,” Amelia, without skipping a beat. Her heart is pounding, and she can barely keep a smile off her face.

“Well then, that’s sorted. Tell James, and you two can depart when ready.”