Captain Antillian Tommell raised his mug in the air and his men cheered. The shouts of the Iron Battalion grew louder as he took a pull from his mug. He made it look longer than it was, of course, a little extra flair never hurt, but they didn’t need to know that. Men patted him on the back while someone offered to buy the next round.

“Another battle to be fought boys!” he shouted their trademark battle cry.

“Another enemy to be broken!” they roared back.

While most captains wouldn’t dream of ‘lowering’ themselves in celebrating with their men, Antillian wasn’t so pretentious with his station. Yes, a captain must demand respect, but men didn’t gain it by sitting on the value of their name. They earned it by winning, not only in battle, but in the hearts of their followers. The Iron Battalion was famous in the lands surrounding the Heavite Nation. His men respected in the field and had, on several occasions, broken enemies no other battalion could. He not only lead them to victory, but he fought beside them, bled with them. Unlike the captains who sat back and waited for the outcome while good men died, Antillian was willing to go to the front lines; fully committed to the action if need be. Not always, of course, but soldiers respected a man that would risk his own life alongside theirs.

He loved his men and they, in turn, fought like the devils of the Void for him.

It had only been a matter of time before they were recognized by Queen Ruslana. For years the other battalion captains looked down on him for the way he conducted himself. They stared down their noses at the notches in his blade and dents in his armor. When he’d been wounded at the Siege of Ontaro, few nobles sent their condolences. His men, however, concerned themselves with mending his armor, replacing his sword, and making sure his needs were met. How many soldiers’ wives had sent him meals?

He smiled at the memory, allowing himself the indulgence of another drink.

Tomorrow all those skeptics and naysayers would see the Iron Battalion raised above them. He and his men would ascend to serve as Chosen of the Allmother. 

Chosen!

The queen had, until recently, only selected a handful to become her Light Wardens; men blessed by the Allmother with gifts that physically elevated them beyond the constraints of normal men. With the rise of a dark power in Pothium which had come against their people, the great Goddess of Creation had told Queen Ruslana that it was Her will that his entire battalion be ascended in order to combat it.The Iron Battalion was already feared for their tenacity. Add to that the gifts of the Light Wardens and they would destroy the Pothium army without contest. Pride filled his chest as he imagined seeing his battalion as a vanguard for the queen.

Looking about for a place to sit, he paused when he noticed the dark green cloak hanging from a chair in the back. Even in his slightly inebriated state, Antillian recognized the colors of Clan Ar’Lan when he saw it. The elite bodyguard didn’t flaunt their colors unless they wanted to be noticed. That one of their cloaks was so openly displayed meant that somebody wanted to talk. Antillian weaved through the crowd of rowdy soldiers, seeking the owner of the cloak, only to discover a face he knew quite well.

The man’s back was to the far wall, his grizzled and grim features settling around a once broken nose that had been poorly set. The hunch of his shoulders was at odds with the jovial mood around him.There were other places to sit, men offering to oust their comrades for a chance to drink with the captain, but Antillian knew when a conversation was being sought. Waving down the offers of his soldiers, he sauntered over to the man in the back. Sitting down heavier than he intended, he let out a snort and faced the man.

“By the Allmother Garious, you look like you need a drink,” he said, signaling a plump little waitress, one with a bosom that deserved more attention than he had time to give.

Perhaps later…

“A drink for my friend here, put it on my tab,” he told her, hand brushing along her hip.

She gave him a smile, but firmly moved his hand away.

“What’ll you have, hun?” she asked.

The man placed a hand over his cup and shook his head. He didn’t so much as scowl, but his body language spoke for him. The smile on the serving girl’s face wavered for a brief moment before she nodded and slipped back into the crowd. Antillian watched her go, admiring the swing of her rounded hips. When he turned back, he found Garious’ hard gaze fixing on him, sobering Antillian a bit as he remembered just who he was talking to. Garious, the Linebreaker, was a known commodity. While not openly distinguished on the field, his clan served as some of the most dangerous personal guard anyone could ask for, outside of the Chosen. Of course, that wasn’t all their duties entailed. It was said that Garious and his clan were at the peace talks when the new Pothium queen revealed herself as a servant of the Void.

“Antillian,” Garious acknowledged.

A soldier bumped into him, causing Antillian’s drink to spill a bit. He bit off a sharp insult and forced himself to laugh it off. Today was not a day to begrudge anyone, even if Garious’ presence put him on edge.

“Why are you here darkening my day?” he asked, wondering if he shouldn’t have phrased his words differently.

It didn’t matter, he would soon be elevated beyond such worries. “I came to warn you,” Garious said, scanning the crowded room suspiciously. “A favor for a friend.”

They had been friends of a sort, though they hadn’t spoken in years. Antillian had fought alongside Garious when they were younger. Antillian’s father, the former captain of the Iron Battalion and long since retired, had hired Clan Ar’Lan to keep Antillian safe in the reckless days of his youth. Garious, along with a handful of his clan, had fought at his side for several years before their contract ended. Of course that was back before Garious earned his Name and went on to protect the queen. Before Antillian had become captain of the Iron Battalion.

  Antillian seldom thought of the man since they parted ways, busy as he was with his new station. He felt a brief moment of guilt about that. While the clan had been hired blades back then, they earned their keep beyond even his own men. Obviously, their friendship meant more to Garious than it had to Antillian.

“Warn me about what?” he asked, curious now and feeling he owed the man a bit of his time.

“Don’t go to the fields tomorrow,” Garious said. “Decline the offer, explain to the queen how your services would be better implemented elsewhere. Make up an excuse, lie if you have to, just don’t take her offer.”

Antillian let out a deep belly laugh. Surely the man was pulling his leg? He must have come here to taunt him a bit before the ceremony tomorrow. Clan Ar’Lan had an odd sort of dark humor from what he recalled. Yet when the tremors in him subsided, he realized Garious remained as cold and composed as he had been.

“You’re bloody serious, aren’t you?”

Garious frowned at the contents of his cup, as if it might be to blame for this poor excuse of a jest. When he didn’t take his words back, Antilian pressed on.

“Come off it man. Who in their right mind would refuse to become one of the Allmother’s Chosen? Our queen is the bloody representative for the Allmother’s will. You have to know the threat to our nation more than anyone. You were at the peace talks, weren’t you? You saw what the heathen queen did to our nobility.”

A few soldiers, noticing their captain becoming more animated, began paying closer attention. Though they likely couldn’t hear anything, Antillian fixed them with a stare and they turned away. He would happily celebrate with them, but he was still their captain. They knew when he was about his businessGarious looked around once more and Antillian got the feeling that the man wasn’t supposed to be here. 

“Aye, I was there and I saw what happened,” he stopped as if the next words might betray something more. “Things are more complicated than word of mouth would have you believe.”

Rumors of that betrayal had been all the talk when the emissary group returned. Tales of the daughter and heir of the Pothium throne going mad with some foul power, killing her own family and half the Heavite royalty in attendance. It was a terrible act, one that only prolonged the war between their people. 

Of course, all that meant little to Antillian. His life was war and if there was one thing he knew above all else, it was that idle soldiers were only good for causing trouble and draining your coffers. If the war continued, his men would be set for years to come.

Then a stray thought wormed through...

Could the vaunted Linebreaker be jealous? Perhaps the laurels his clan never seemed to acquire were finally getting to him. Antilian’s mind was split for the moment, part of him suspecting, and the other, much quieter part, told him that this man didn’t care for fame or recognition.

Antillian took another drink. Men changed over time, especially those who had earned a Name. Ambition got the better of them and Garious was no exception. The louder voice in his mind won out and he felt his irritation rise to the surface.

“So you’d have me insult our queen by refusing the greatest offer any battalion has ever received? Come now Garious, tell me what this is truly about. I’ve not seen you in years and today, on the eve of my greatest accomplishment, you come to tell me not to accept it? Who should then, your little bloody clan of killers? Is that what this is about?”

Garious became very still and a part of Antillian knew he’d crossed a line. Even so, his blood was up and he was surrounded by fifty or more of his finest, not to mention the hundreds of others roaming the streets tonight. If the vaunted Linebreaker wanted to start something, Antillian’s men would take the boots to him in short order. However, Garious didn’t act at all. Instead, he shook his head, took up his cloak, and began to leave. 

“Something’s wrong with the Light Wardens,” he said, though Antillian had to lean in to hear him over the crowd. “I’d hoped to find the man I served beside all those years ago, but he’s gone. I see that now. Just another noble seeking trophies. I hope everything works out for you, old friend. I’d sincerely hate to be right.”

Without allowing Antillian time to respond, Garious walked through the tavern and out into the night.

  He sat there a moment, wondering what he’d just taken part in. Had the man really been trying to warn him of something? And what was the last part about the Allmother’s Chosen? The alcohol buzz seemed to fade for a moment while he sat there, alone but for his thoughts.

Then a fresh mug of mead appeared before him and Antillian looked up to see the serving girl from before. Her fingers ran over his hand as she reached over and took his empty cup, revealing no small amount of cleavage. He smiled and took another drink, forgetting about the momentary lapse in his celebration.

The next day found Antillian standing in the field some four leagues outside the city, his head pulsing from the heavy drinking the night before. The march and fresh air had helped, but was far from a cure-all. When the messenger came to inform him of the location of the ceremony, he’d thought it odd, but did as commanded. One did not refuse orders from the queen, no matter how strange they might seem. Despite it all, his excitement far outweighed his suffering. 

Today he would become one of the Chosen. 

Standing at the front of his battalion, some six hundred men in their polished breastplates and conical helms, he felt a surge of pride. Since taking on the role of captain, he had turned the Iron Battalion into a fighting force of no small reputation. These were his brothers in arms, his family beyond the blood in his veins. They were finally receiving the honor they so rightly earned.

Before him was the queen’s procession. It was smaller than he anticipated. In fact, save for Queen Ruslana’s bodyguard and a few Light Wardens, there was not a drop of noble blood to be seen. He had thought to receive his honor before a host of nobility and officers. He’d pictured rapturous applause as she bestowed the gifts of the Allmother upon them. But then, he reasoned, perhaps this was better. Intimate time with the queen herself was a rare thing. Only those who were worthy earned such recognition.

A small cluster of men in the dark green cloaks of Clan Ar’Lan fanned out around the queen’s carriage. Antilian spotted Garious amongst them, speaking to one of his companions in hushed tones. Bits of the previous night’s conversation trickled back to him and he let himself smile. The man had been all glower, he remembered that much. Jealous of what this day would mean for Antillian’s battalion. He almost felt sorry for the man. After all, he too might be envious if his sole purpose in life was to protect those who went on to achieve glory. The two of them locked eyes for a moment, and Antillian’s good mood dimmed. There was no envy to be found; just the cold hard stare of a man about some dark business. An executioner’s gaze would have been softer.

All thoughts of their conversation suddenly vanished as the queen stepped through the cluster of dark cloaks. She was beautiful, of that, no man could doubt. Fiery red hair flowed behind her, matching the ceremonial attire of gilded armor and crimson silk. Unlike other royalty he’d seen, her dress wasn’t simply for decoration, but to express the dominance and aggression of a matriarch at war. Her gaze took in those around her in an expression that conveyed an assumption of subservience and loyalty. In Antilian’s mind, she was the epitome of power. It was no wonder the Allmother had selected Ruslana to become Her representative in this world.

As she came closer, Antillian kneeled. Bowing his head low to express as much devotion as he could without debasing himself. The sharp shifting sound of the six hundred at his back, following his lead, echoed through the field, immediately followed by silence. 

“Rise captain,” Ruslana said, her voice smooth as cream.

He obeyed, looking up at his queen. There was a glow about her, emanating from what looked to be a strange shard over her breast. At first he thought it to be a piece of jewelry, but the closer he looked, he realized that it was jutting out of her chest. 

“Are you prepared to receive the gifts of the Allmother?”

For a moment his gaze broke away from her, falling instead to Garious. The man moved his head in what might have been perceived as a shake, but perhaps it had been his imagination? For one brief instant, Antillian had doubt. What could the man gain from this, unless…

No, he told himself. This was his day. He had been Chosen.

“I am, my queen.”

Ruslana stepped closer, pressing both hands on his head and kissing his brow. Then the shard began to pulse. It grew brighter, seeming to fill the queen’s chest with light. It traveled through her body, reaching out to her arms and filling her eyes with heavenly light. Her hands grew warm and, for a moment, Antillian knew that this was the beginning of something divine.

That was, until her hands began to burn. 

He found his gaze fixed where her eyes had been, only to find that they’d been replaced with burning orbs. Terrible light burst from them, so bright it was as if he was staring into the sun. Behind him, he heard his men crying out. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

He tried to protest, but the heat from her hands burned so intensely that he couldn’t make words form. He attempted to pull away, yet her vice-like grip held him in place. Like a rabid animal, he thrashed and kicked to no avail. As the heat continued to build, all he could do was scream.

  Then the hands that held him released and he turned away from her. The pain in his head continued, but he could see once more. What his eyes beheld was enough to bring him to his knees.

Golden tendrils of light snaked through the Iron Battalion’s ranks. Men ran, screams giving fear a voice. Yet the tendrils were too fast as they darted down toward each soldier. Those it struck began to fill with the same light as he’d seen in his queen until eventually each of his six hundred men became like candles, madly writhing on the field as the light took them. It burst from their eyes, their chests, leaving burned-out husks on the ground.

Had the pain inside him not been so overwhelming, he may have mourned their deaths. He likely would have wept as he witnessed the men he loved, dying in droves. But all he could do was scream.

Eventually, the pain became too much and he cried out for salvation, yet he found only death as his eyes burned out of his skull.

*****

Garious watched the men of the Iron Battalion wither and die. Flashes of light bursting forth before snuffing out along with their lives. He watched as six hundred of some of the finest infantry in their kingdom became piles of dead.

His queen watched the procession without remark until the last scream issued and faded.

There was a silent moment as no one said a word. To see death on so large a scale, and so fast…

“My queen, I’m not sure,” one of the Light Wardens began until he was silenced by Ruslana’s raised hand.

Another stretch of silence. Garious looked to the other dark-cloaked men of his clan. All grim-faced as they watched. His cousin, Weisen, stared at him, but all Garious could do was shake his head. This was madness.

Then, Garious spotted movement from the body of poor Antillian, face down in the earth. One hand gripped the soil as his legs began to shift beneath him. In stuttering movements, the Captain of the Iron Battalion stood.

  But Garious could see it wasn’t him. Not any longer. There was a glow behind the burned-out holes where his eyes had been. The same glow that he’d seen pouring out of Ruslana as the terrible power within her slaughtered her own soldiers. The queen beckoned Antillian forward and he obeyed; limbs jerking about. Slowly, the bodies of the Iron Battalion began to move and rise. Glowing eyes peering forward, toward their ruler.

“Not what I intended,” Ruslana mused as she brushed away the singed hair of the captain.

Her eyes began to glow once more as she raised her hand. The shambling horde that was the Iron Battalion, snapped to attention and she smiled.“But I suppose it wasn’t a total waste.”

Garious had long suspected his queen was not the woman she had once been. Ever since she returned from her pilgrimage with that shard she had changed, and none of it for the better. The Ruslana he served, the woman who had given him his Name, was gone. She was not chosen of the Allmother, she was something else. Something terrible.This was not his queen.It was with that awful realization that Garious knew, if he remained in her services, it was only a matter of time before he and his clan face a similar fate.

Or worse.