Olimpia

Excerpt From The Mad Scholar's Wall—

As the voices calling for conquest rang out at their loudest, they vanished under the screams of the dying and desperate.

No one cared about the mutters of human supremacy when we were fighting for survival.

One night we enjoyed a typical evening with our friends and families, only to wake up to the Red Dawn. It was a bloody morning that redefined our city and set us on the path the elves had laid out, but how could we know at the time?

A beastmen hoard tore through the streets of Olimpia, staining the streets red with a blood that seeped into our souls, filling us with rage. We wanted vengeance. We needed blood.

The monsters from our past had returned, and the legion, so long neglected, became the center of our society once more.

From one morning to the next, the priorities of our city shifted from a growing internal power struggle to that of unity. We all called for war.

Gender, social rank, or age did not matter. Every person who was able to fight or contribute to the legion did so.

It was not a matter of want. Though many called for immediate action, they were not the reason the families dove headlong into war.

Our city was under a near-constant assault. There was no street without one or two manned barricades blocking them. And it became common to wake up to the sounds of distant — or not-so-distant — fighting and the smell of fire as we rushed to build a wall around the city.

And for the first time, we begged the elves for help, and they refused. They said they were dealing with hoards of beastmen in the hundreds of thousands far to the north and west. That we were dealing with the remnants and needed to handle them on our own.

We could only accept and acknowledge that we had to rely on ourselves if we wanted to survive.

**********

Opening my eyes to slits, I looked up into the dark room. I kept my breathing steady while trying to keep my thoughts calm and clear.

No one was paying attention to me specifically, but there was always an orderly assigned to monitor the surface emotions of those recovering for high levels of anxiety or pain. Never knew when someone would go into shock and die afterward.

Currently, there were no critical patients in the monitoring ward partially through a healing, so I doubted the orderly was paying that much attention. And the assigned orderly definitely wasn't walking around checking on patients.

Been awake long enough to make sure of that. Keep my mind clear and calm. Don't draw any attention, and wait just a little longer. Almost there. I thought to myself.

With only the smallest motion of my head, I kept my eyes slightly open as I rolled it from one side to the other, scanning the ward.

It was early in the morning, and even in legion life, it was hard to find those abominations that identified as morning people.

With shift change going on, no one was paying attention to the patients that really didn't need to be paid attention to.

My scan of the room showed it was all clear. I flipped my blanket with a jerk of my arm, throwing it to the side of the bed, then slipped out from underneath it, sliding my feet onto the cold stone floor.

I already had my trousers on, so I slipped my feet right into my boot, lacing them up and tying each one in thirty seconds. It was amazing what years of practice can teach you to do.

Gently opening the lid to the small box under my cot, reaching inside, I grabbed my cotton tunic and belt pouches. I slipped the shirt on as I stood and walked to the end of my bed, putting on my belt pouches as I went. Not much was inside them, but I felt better having them on.

None of my other gear was in the box, as I had an orderly take it to my room yesterday. Thanks to Bark, I might not have gotten much rest, but I didn't have to walk across camp to drop off my crap as I prepared for my escape and rest day.

I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining a whole day lounging around camp. A shiver of anticipation ran through me at the thought as I opened my eyes.

Reaching the center passage of the ward, I looked toward the treatment room, making sure no one was walking around inside.

I could tell people were in the treatment room as shadows kept passing in front of the light leaking from the cracks around the doors. I also saw the feet of the ward monitor in the small alcove beside the treatment room.

I hesitated for a moment, straining my ears for anyone about to burst out of the room and see me. After a moment, I was confident no one would come out, the turned starting to walk towards the exit.

Quiet snores and some murmurs marked my passage through the room.

My footsteps were soundless on the stone floor, and there was hardly a rustle from my clothes.

Stopping in front of the door, I lifted the latch, stiffening as a slight squeak sounded from the hinge.

All things considered, it was a pretty small noise, but in the quiet of the early morning, it was like a shout.

I stood still, the only sound from my body the rapid beating of my heart.

When nothing happened, and the snores of the ward continued unchanged, I fully lifted the latch, causing another squeak I ignored as I cracked open the door and slipped through it, closing the door behind me.

I stood in front of the door, looking at the camp in the gray fog-filled light of morning. Calling the structures and walls around me a camp wasn't really accurate.

Saying camp implies that it's temporary. The Triad was the farthest thing from temporary.

It was one of — if not The — oldest fortress still in operation.

Even calling The Triad a fortress wasn't right. It was fortresses. Plural. And one of those fortresses wasn't really a fortress anymore.

The Triad consisted of three fortresses connected by three bridges that met in the middle, arching over two rivers that combined into one which headed south. One fortress was sitting on each of the combining rivers' northeastern, northwestern, and southeastern banks.

The legion built it back in the first decade of Olimpia's expansion. It was meant to act as the linchpin to the northern border and act as a transit point to The Plains, Foothills, and Steps.

In the golden days of The Triad, Four legions constantly manned The Triad's walls unless there was a call to battle out in the field, in which case only one legion would remain at The Triad.

Now, we had one legion based in the foothills northeastern side of The Triad and what amounted to half a legion of trainees camped outside the walls that rotated through every few months.

The fortress was a relic of a different era.

Sure every decade, there was a legion or two that had to meet a beastkin warband of a few thousand out in the field, but the legions were never pushed so hard that they had to hold up in fortresses and wait for a siege to be lifted.

Though, the legends said that sieges weren't lifted very often in the early days.

There were stories of waves of beastkin that would throw themselves at hundred-foot walls. Piles of the dead would be left in their wake for every step the beastkin gained, but they would not care. Eventually, there would be a hundred-foot-tall ramp of bodies they could use to climb up and over a fortress's walls.

If the legends could be believed, such hoards hadn't been seen in centuries. And the hundred-fifty-foot walls of The Triad suggested that the stories held some level of credibility. So did the hundred-plus-foot walls of every other old city or fortress in the Republic.

As I looked at the stone buildings surrounding me, I stretched, raising my hands to the brightening sky. I was trying to get my hands into the morning light burning away the cold fog, but it was still a bit out of reach.

I don't like getting up in the morning, but once I was up and about, I did enjoy the fresh cool air.

A smile slipped onto my face as I rolled my shoulders, turning to start swaggering down the street. Maybe I should go soak in the baths all day.

"So, I guess you're all healed up, hmm?" A sweet voice said, breaking into my thoughts and sending a shiver down my spine. "Didn't know you were a healer and could decide that."

A figure shrouded by fog walked out of a shadow by the side of the ward building.

“Umm… W-well… You see…" I stammered, taking a few steps back and raising my hands in defense. "I just thought… to get some fresh air?"

“Ohh… I see." Bark said in a dry, unbelieving tone as she appeared next to me, grabbing my arm in her iron grip.

I felt her release a pulse of mental energy into my body, and I did nothing to fight it. She would have her way, and it was better to just get this over with now.

"Hmm, I was going to let you stay another day, but now that I see you outside, you look fine to me."

"Uhh, no! I'll go right back to bed. Now that I think about it… I don't feel that good." I said in desperation, but I could already feel my dreams of relaxing crumbling around me.

"No, no, no, you're so eager to get up and going." She said, reaching up and patting me on the cheek, pushing my head to the side with each pat. "You young legionaries are all eager to get back to your cohorts. I'll make sure the Prime knows you're released."

Flinching at her last words, my arms hung limply at my sides, my smile still plastered onto my face. "Thank you, Elder," I said woodenly as my eyes tracked her as she walked back into her treatment center with only a wave of the hand to acknowledge my words.

I had worked all day yesterday as I fed her energy while she healed dozens of legionaries.

It was a good way to wring me out… I guess… More fulfilling than lifting up rocks with my mind and throwing them around until I collapsed. Then getting up hours later to do it again.

Healing people is great. There was something nice seeing a person healed because of your efforts. Not that I wanted to do it all the time.

Trying to heal someone and feeling them slowly die despite your best efforts — or because of them — was not something I wanted to experience regularly.

I've killed plenty of humans and beastkin, but the few times I've felt someone die while feeding mental energy to a medico still haunts me…

Shaking off that line of thought, I began walking down the street, feet clacking against the molded stone.

Bark would send out a report that I had left the monitoring ward. She might give me an hour.

Might not.

Probably won't.

It was best I report to the Prime soon. I could get away with not giving my report when I had already given it to Vlore.

He would take all the credit for the information, but somewhere in the report would have to be a sentence about me being the source. And with me showing up, no one would be in a rush to get a report they already had the highlights of. And if they rushed to get my report, it would look like I did something important… Can't have that. I thought with more than a hint of resentment.

Now that I was released by the medicos, and with Bark sending out a report, there would be questions if I didn't show up soon.

People in the legion were picky about showing up on time for some reason. Especially once someone got to centurion and above, it was like they forgot how to relax or something.

Sighing to myself, I traversed the camp as I made my way over to the Prime to report in.

I Couldn't even say I got lost, as all legion camps are built the same. Ancient stone fortresses like The Triad and current legion field camps, all the important buildings, were in the same spots. However, the proportions might be a bit larger for those made of stone.

I began kicking a loose stone as I shuffled along the road, my head held low, shoulders slumping.

Despite my lackadaisical pace, it wasn't long before I reached the barracks for the scouts in the first cohort block of buildings. Pocking my head inside, I found that no one was around. Everyone must be out on patrol.

Not that I wanted to see them. Calling the scouts acquaintances would be a bit of a stretch. Coworkers was the best word I could call them, and most couldn't even remain professional with me.

Markus was the only one who I cared lived or died, and I would find out if he lived soon enough.

With no way around it, I walked away from the barracks, heading towards the Prime Centurion's — or Prime for short — quarters.

I walked to the end of the block of the First Cohorts buildings, walking past the main entrance to the building, as I strode up to a smaller side entrance where I knocked on the Primes office door. His office was attached to the first century of the first cohort's barracks, but he had a private entrance leading to his office.

Hardly a second passed before I heard a clipped and gravelly, "Enter."

Squaring my back, I opened the door taking three steps into the office before coming to a stop, feet together, slamming my fist to my chest, then lowering it to my side.

"Prime, reporting from the medicos after treatment." The middle-aged man didn't even look up from the stack of papers shuffling around and writing on as I spoke. When I finished talking, he only gave a brief grunt before sliding more of the documents to the side of his desk. Seconds passed as I continued to stand at attention, waiting for him.

Finally, the Prime stood up, walking around his desk and giving me a tilt of his head to follow as he passed.

Falling into line behind him, I kept a step back as I followed him out of the building and down the line of buildings.

After a while, the Prime Centurion of the first cohort spoke, "Did you tell Vlore all the important information?"

I didn't answer for a moment as I thought back on the conversation before saying, "Yes, Prime."

He only gave a slight nod as if he was expecting the answer. "You fully healed?"

"Slight twinge in my arm and ankle, but nothing serious, Prime."

“Good… Good…" He slowly said as we made it to the walls of the fortress and slowly began climbing up the stairs. Once we reached the top, we stood at the ramparts together, looking out at a sea of tents and earthen ramparts surrounding them.

It was the fish training camp.

"If what you reported is correct — and the number of missing and dead scouts suggests you are — we will need every legionary we can get. And we need them trained as well as possible. We just got a new crop of fish, and the old one marched out a week ago. Bad timing, that…" He said, trailing off for a moment, his eye clouding over in thought.

All of a sudden, he was facing me. His sharp eyes roved over my body for long seconds. He must have seen whatever it was he wanted because an instant later, he nodded before turning back to the camp of fish.

"You're one of the best scouts we have, but no one of skill—" we both know you mean social rank, “—will put up with me placing you over them." It was a fact and needed no explanation. "We got a new crop of scout candidates with the fish. You're going to train and lead them. Make it work and get to work. We are going to need all the information we can get soon." With that, he turned around and started walking away down the ramparts. I could feel subtle pulses of mental energy radiating off him into the wall.

"Prime?" I asked as he turned to walk away.

He turned back, raising a single eyebrow at my questioning tone.

Seeing he was willing to answer, I asked, "Did Opito Markus make it back?"

He said nothing for a second, then gave a single sad shake of his head, "No, Centurion Markus is currently MIA." He said, emphasizing centurion.

"Thank you, Prime," I said, saluting him. I was surprised Markus became the centurion of the scout cohort. He never said anything. It must have happened right before we left, and he didn't want to distract us. The old one did transfer a couple weeks ago… just keeps getting better and better.

He gave another nod of his head as he started walking down the wall again, inspecting it with pulses of mental energy.

I turned and looked down at the tents seeing an unusual amount of activity in the fish camp. I could not disobey a direct order. “Well… fuck."