Chapter One

"Warriors of God! Warriors of the Pope! Warriors of Freedom! Each and everyone one of you know your duty, your charge, to this glorious country. It is upon your blades that it relies on to sustain it's independance, it's unmatched power and it's ability to survive day by day, maintaining the beliefs that others would wish to destroy! The very beliefs that each one of you carries within your hearts as you march to defend them! Go now! Fight for what you know in your soul to be the true, pure way to live your lives! Defend your nation, your country, your God, yourselves.. your families. Go now, and defend your FREEDOM!"

Clang. As it had every day for the past 12 years, the cell door slammed shut, sealing Vince in the only home he could ever remember having. Stone walls surrounded him tightly on all sides save for the one at which he now stared, bearing the large iron barred door that he had always wished would just be another stone wall. The ceiling in his cell was so low that he could not even stand fully upright anymore.. he had literally grown up within those walls, and even when he had outgrown them, he had not been moved to a larger one. The only times he was able to stand his full height, he could not bear to bring himself to remember.. for as he was their prisoner, he was also their slave. As their slave, his life was filled with horror.. pain.. and unending agony. The memories of what he was being forced to do, unable to stop himself, kept him awake for days at a time. It was all he could do to learn how to block his emotions and his thoughts.. or they would destroy him.

Vince, as he lay on the sand-covered floor, closed his unswollen eye, shutting off his view of the little cell. Thoughts flashed through his mind almost instantly; the clang of steel against steel, raging fires, the screams of the defenseless dying, blood everywhere.. then himself; standing amidst the burning remnants of a massacre. A little girl, maybe 4 years of age at his feet, crying. He was staring at her, not knowing what to do. A shadow fell across the girl as a large man appeared behind her. The man's harsh voice sounded in his head.. kill her.. No.. what are you waiting for.. I can't.. He looked up at the man, away from the girl.. You can't?.. The man pulled a blade from his waist and pointed it downward at Vince's feet. Vince shut his eyes. The girl stopped crying.

Shaking violently Vince woke up, breathing hard and in a cold sweat. One eye still swollen he opened the one good one. He lay in the same spot as before, where he had been thrown by the guard. His whole body aching, it protested painfully as he rolled over onto his left side, propping himself up with the opposite arm. Turning his gaze upwards, he looked through the small window at the top of his cell, set above a stone bench. The same window he had looked through for as long as he could remember. The same window that, as far as he was concerned, carried beyond it the memories that ended his life. No light shone through it presently.. it was night time. He knew not how long he had been lying there, asleep, nor did it matter. Time wasn't with him anymore.. there was only himself, his cell, and his memories.

There was, however, one time of the day that did matter.. that he looked forward to; the only reason he made himself keep track of where time was. Once every 5 days he was put through training. Unlike the battles he was forced to fight, he trained with a clear mind. He had control over his body and his actions. It was during this time that he felt the freedom that he long desired.. nobody owned him. His trainer was the local regiment's battle captain.. a brutal man by the name of Zich. Vince wasn't told of his first name, only to address him as Captain Zich. Zich did not know the meaning of emotion, feelings or mercy. He drove his men with an iron fist and pushed them to their brink. If they could not handle the pressure, they would die, by fatigue or by Zich's own hand. Vince didn't care.. he was left alone by Zich. It wasn't always that way, for Zich was the man that guided Vince when his duty first began.. the man who taught Vince how to fight. Since then, though, Vince had far surpassed any teachings Zich offered.. surpassing the Captain himself in only a matter of a few years. The Captain was edgy around Vince, though kept his composure and his command over him. Vince allowed it.. there was no reason to challenge the man. He had no where to go.

It was this training, and only that, which encouraged him to rest and allow his body the chance to heal. It was his motivation to keep himself alive for another day.. one day at a time. His next training session wasn't far off.. only a few days. Right now his body ached to the point it hurt to move much at all. He had been pushed hard lately, nearly beyond his limit. He needed rest, and though he knew it wouldn't be pleasant, he needed to be ready to train. If he hurt when he trained, he couldn't enjoy it, and if he showed any signs of weakness, he'd have to deal with Captain Zich more than he desired. For now, it was time to rest. Not wanting to expend more energy and cause more pain to his already hurting body, Vince closed his eyes and waited for the disturbed sleep that he knew awaited him.


Not deviating from the ritual of the past 12 years, Vince was awakened by the sound of his breakfast being tossed through the bars of his cell door. It normally consisted of scraps of raw meat, usually the unwated fat, along with whatever wasted food they happened to throw on his plate. Today it was stale bread and moldy cheese. The way the guard throws his food through the cell it normally lands on the ground covering most of it in sand anyways. Today we was lucky however; for only the bread fell off his plate. He ate the bread anyways.. today was the training day he had been awaiting, and he needed his energy.

Over the past 2 days his muscles had had time to heal, along with most of his recent injuries.. though his eye was still swollen too much for it to be of any use. After he had finished his meal he sat on his stone bench and waited. Training wasn't until nearly noon, while his breakfast arrived at just after dawn each day. His lunch would be waiting for him when he returned in the evening. He did not recieve a dinner. As he waited, he sat under the window allowing himself to enjoy what small breeze entered through it. He liked to clear his mind during times like these.. when he was feeling healed, and his thoughts had returned to him after they had been taken away for the battle. He liked to left his mind drift into thought, though not too far. If he left his mind wander too much his mind would likely bring up imgaes he would rather not witness again.

"Hey! Wake up!" The cell guard was banging on the bars to the cell with his short sword making enough noise to wake up the entire jail. Vince opened his eyes and saw, as usual, the ugly, over weight cell boss with two guards at his back staring at him through the bars. "It's time for your training, get off your ass."

The taunting was something that Vince had gotten accustomed to over the years. It used to anger him, but now it was merely something he accepted. Standing up, he walked over to the iron barred door and waited for the boss to open it. As he did, the two guards on either side of him each grasped one side of Vince, one hand on his wrist pinning it behind his back, and the other on his shoulder.. so they could control where he walked. With the rolling cell boss in the lead, they marched down a long hall filled with a dozen cells just like Vince's.. though bigger. Most were empty, though a few still held their captives.. some alive and ragged looking, most dead. Just as his own cell was, the rest were covered in sand. At the end of the hall was a small desk with some papers on it.. where a guard with keys sat staring at several pieces of the parchment. The four of them walked past this guard silently, continuing through a small archway which led to two sets of stairs; one ascending and one decending. They took the one leading up.

The stairs were, unsurprisingly, covered in sand, making their footsteps crunch on each step. As they reached the top of the stair case and walked through another archway they entered a room and were faced with 3 doors; one directly in front of them; one to the right; and one to the left. Without pause, they walked to the left door, the cell boss pushing it open. Vince had never seen beyond the other two.

Through this door lay a small courtyard, bordered in on 3 sides by the jail itself and a large stone wall on it's fourth side. The jail was a 2 story high building made completely from rock. The area they just exited, however, was only one story tall. At the base of the walls were small iron grates.. like the one in Vince's cell that allowed light, and sand, to penetrate inside. Vince did not know how to reach the higher floors of the jail as he had never been to them.

The courtyard, basically a sandpit, was about 100 square yards in size.. fairly small but large enough for it's purpose. At the center, the sand had been packed hard into a ring from years of use. And blood. The only structures in the courtyard were several wooden dummy-bodies built onto stakes, used for training.

At the moment, Vince and the 3 guards were the only ones present.. Zich had not arrived yet with other prisoners. Unconcerned that they were early, they pressed on towards the center, where the small ring of packed dirt was. Uppon arriving the two guards at Vince's sides released their hold of him, one pushing him forward into the ring.

"Wait for Captain Zich. You know the drill." The cell boss instructed Vince. Vince did indeed know the drill.. there was no where to go. No way to escape. On the other side of the wall, more than a dozen guards were posted.. 2 every few feet. He had seen them.. years ago. Thus, he would wait here for Zich, as commanded.

Vince turned around and nodded his understanding at the cell boss, though it was unnecesary.. he had already begun to walk away, back towards the building. Vince watched him walk across the courtyard and into the building, the door closing hard behind him. As the boss left, he turned his gaze upward towards the sky.. the sun was bright today, unhindered by clouds.. as it was often. It was hot, not helped by the sun's reflection in the sand. Vince, living in this desert his entire life, was well accustomed to the heat. His skin was a dark brown, tanned by the sun and the sand. His hair was a lighter color, almost completely blonde.. the sun sucking what color he could have had from it. His body was thinly built, the food in the desert scarce enough as it is.. the scraps from the jail even more of a detriment, though at the same time due to the fights and the training, his body had been built well. Dressed in only thin, brown sun-faded cotton breeches and some worn leather boots, he was nearly fully exposed to the sun. The only color the sun hadn't taken away from him were his eyes.. as if in defiance of the orange glow he had always known, they were colored a very deep shade of blue.

Hearing the door to the cells open again he took his gaze from the bright sky and looked over to the squat section of the jail to see Captain Zich entering the courtyard, a few of the other prisoners following him. Zich, a fairly large man, though short, wore his dark black hair neatly trimmed and low cut.. quite a difference from his beard which was long and unattended to. The prisoners following him were carrying an assortment of wooden weapons.. swords, spears and clubs. Vince had been looking forward to this.. he could use all of the weapons well, though he favored the spear.

Sneering as he approaced, Captain Zich looked at Vince in disdain. "Survived another battle did you? Not without a good beating though, I see." Zich noted in acknowledgment to Vince's swollen eye.

Vince nodded, to which Zich replied, "Pity, you're expensive to feed. I don't know why they keep you around."

He knew. As did Vince. But it mattered not.. he was here, and though he could not remember why, he was powerless to do anything about it.

Zich, having stopped only a few feet from Vince, though shorter, stared at him as if he was trying to make him back away. When he didn't, Zich scowled and as if knowing Vince's thoughts said, "Don't worry why you're here, scum. You deserve to be, and it doesn't matter why. It's better that you don't remember.. you can thank us for that."

Vince remained motionless, looking at Zich, waiting for him to say something else. Still scowling, Zich turned around to the prisoners behind him who were still holding all the wooden weapons, having not moved during the whole conversation. Zich snapped his fingers and said simpy "drop" and the prisoners dropped the weapons. There were only five of the prisoners today.. there was usually more. Though they didn't ever last long, so it was no surprise. Vince had stopped trying to recognize them because there were new faces nearly every other session. He didn't recognize even one of the faces this time. He also didn't even make an attempt at noting who they were or what they looked like.. he knew he wouldn't see them many more times.

"Alright shit bag, you get the first pick." Zich commanded over his shoulder. Vince cared not about the names, it was something new each time and each was as meaningless as the last. Vince walked around the Captain and picked a long staff, blunt on each end: the closest thing to a spear the sad pile of wood had to offer. At his selection Zich commented, "You have a thing for feminine weapons, I've noticed. Alright, the rest of you weaklings can take one now, once you've picked march your lazy asses over to me and stand in a line." After giving his order, Zich turned around and walked towards the center of the "ring", as he called it. The other prisoners sorted through the wooden weapons and picked theirs out, not really putting much thought into what they picked. After they had all choosen they walked over to Captain Zich and, along with Vince, stood in a row before him.

"Okay slobs, you know why you're here.. you're the lucky ones that were picked to serve your.." Zich began his speech, which he gave to the prisoners he trained on every fifth day. Vince had heard it so many times he needn't listen anymore.. he knew the words. Knew them enough to disbelieve them. He tuned Captain Zich out for the remainder of the speech, thinking instead about the upcoming training. He didn't train with the other prisoners anymore.. he trained on his own without supervision. The captain's usual pronounced "understood!?" marked the end of his speech and brought Vince back out of his thoughts. The others were nodding their heads, in agreement that they understood.

"You," Zich pointed at Vince with a stubby finger, "You are released to your training."

Vince nodded and departed the group, walking as far from them as he could while remaining within the ring. Behind him, he could hear Zich telling the new prisoners what they were to do. Vince walked far enough that Zich's voice was only background noise. Finding one of the dummies, he stood in front of it, holding his staff at his side. His training always seemed to end too fast, as much as he tried to enjoy it. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath he turned his head upwards, the sun's heat beating down on his face. Turning his mind off, he prepared himself for his training. He couldn't have any distractions.. he needed to concentrate only on what was important.. himself, his weapon, and his enemy.

Bringing head back down to level he opened his eyes, looking at the dummy before him. He pictured it in his mind, and nothing else. It took on the form of Captain Zich.. it was much easier to fight if he was fighting something he loathed. Almost without command his muscles began to move. His arms.. his feet.. his hands.. his entire body moved almost as if on it's own accord. He swung the stick through the air, sideways, upwards, downwards. He jabbed it forwards, swept it around, and swung it backwards. His weapon moved through the air quicker than his thoughts could command it, connecting with each movement. His feet moved in rhythm with his strikes, moving him around the target almost as if dancing along with the fight. He noticed nothing, yet everything all at once.. he was aware of his surroundings, yet paid them no heed. He was aware of the 5 prisoners clumsily weilding their weapons in the motions that Captain Zich was showing them.. though he ignored them completely. Unless they became a target, they were nothing more than distraction.

Only one noise could tear him from his dance, and it always came abruptly and what seemed to be far sooner than it should. The sharp whistle pierced his ears and immediately the world about him came crashing down, filling the senses that he had blocked out. It came so suddenly that he was caught in mid swing. His staff missed the target and flew out of his hands, in the direction of Captain Zich, landing a few yards from his feet.

"Pathetic, worm. If you wish to challenge me you'll have to be closer than that. Now get over here and pick up your damn stick!" Vince obliged and walked towards the man, stooping down to pick up his weapon on the way. After doing so he closed the gap between the two and stood there infront of Zich awaiting a command, staring over his head.

"Give me your weapon."

Vince held his arm out and allowed Zich to take the staff from him. Without warning he thrust one of the blunt ends into Vince's stomach causing him to double over, dropping him to his knees. Zich stood over him looking down. Vince looked up, hands over his stomach and saw a smirk on the man's face. "Maybe that'll teach you to pick a fight without being serious about it. Get up."

Zich handed the staff off behind him to the prisoners who had already gathered up the load of weapons they brought out. Vince stood up, never taking his gaze from the man before him who's smirk still held in place. They looked at each other for a moment longer before Zich turned around to the other five and ordered them to follow him back inside. He did not tell Vince the same, nor did he need to. Vince was to wait here for his own cell boss to bring him back to his cell. The five prisoners followed Captain Zich past Vince without so much as looking at him, their eyes diverted to the ground. Vince followed them with his own eyes until they had reached the heavy door and disappeared inside it.

The sun still blazed overhead.. the training sessions normally only lasted a couple hours. It wasn't getting cooler yet and Vince was in need of water. He stood there, unmoving, waiting for his cell boss to come through the door with the small wooden bowl of water that was always brought to him after a training session. Though the cell boss did not appear. Vince waited for nearly an hour with no sign of the ugly cell boss. His throat burned and his body weakened by the minute as the sun soaked up what fluid he had left in his body.

Not wanting to wait any longer Vince walked over to the door that the cell boss was supposed to walk out from and pulled on the handle. It didn't budge.. it had been locked from the inside. There was no getting in. He banged on the door loudly, hoping the cell boss would hear him though knowing it wouldn't matter if he did. He knew he was meant to stay out here for the night.. as his punishment for challenging the Captain, though it wasn't his intention to do so at all.

Closing his eyes, Vince sighed. It was not going to be an easy night.. he had no water, no food and the nights did not cool much, even as it got dark.. and it was still early in the afternoon. The sun, however was moving slowly towards it's Western horizon. His cell building was to the south making the one on his left, one of the two story sections, the West. It was already beginning to stand up to the sun, a small shadow starting to form near the bottom.

Not wanting to stand in the direct sunlight anymore, Vince walked over to the Western building and found a spot in the shade where he would be covered, and sat down. The temperature did not drop much and he was still unprotected from the burning sand all around him, but it was at least a small refuge. When the sky darkened he would cross the courtyard to the Eastern side so he would not be in the sunlight in the morning either. For now though he waited, his body becoming more fatigued by the minute, for dark.


His arms were above his head, a strong hand gripping each wrist pulling his exhausted body across the sand painfully. Vince opened his good eye and looked above his head at the two overweight men gripping his wrists. He did not recognize either of them, though they appeared to be jail guards.. most likely sent out at the Captains request to retrieve him. He turned his eye towards the sky, where the sun was nearly in the middle of the sky.. he had passed out soon after it got dark, unable to wake up. It had been nearly a day since he had any water, and in this dry heat he could barely function as it was, waking up was a miracle in itself.

The guards reached the door leading inside to his cell. They let go of his arms and dropped him momentarily as one opened the door while the other pulled him in by himself. Once they were inside, the other guard grabbed an arm and they pulled him through the door leading downstairs, held open by another guard who seemed to have been expecting their arrival. Down the stairs they dragged him, each step painfully bruising his body as he slid down. They pulled him down the hallway and upon reaching his cell threw him in unforgivingly. Vince looked up at the guards and watched one of them close and lock his cell, smirking. Before walking away the third guard, who had held the previous door open placed a small wooden bowl of water through the bars.

Vince, his legs closest to the barred door, used his forarms to prop himself up off his back and rolled onto his stomach, using them again to pull himself towards the water. Not having enough energy to position himself to correctly drink out of the bowl. Still on his forarms he lowered his head and drank.

One of the guards still lingered, perhaps to make sure he got his water. "Yeah. Just like a dog.. a filthy dog. Pathetic." Kicking the door and spraying Vince's face with sand he walked away. Vince didn't care.. he continued to drink until the bowl was empty. As he licked at the last few drops in the bowl he rolled onto his back once again and stared at the ceiling, reveling in the sensation of the water as is soothed his throat and his dry lips. He sighed, closing his eyes.

Before he had the chance to drift into sleep he heard a voice. "A warrior."

Turning his head to properly look through his door he noticed that the cell across from him was now occupied.. something it had never been since he could remember. The cell was identical to his.. even the size of it. It's occupant was a man. His figure was lean and covered by the same garb as he. His skin was a far darker tone than Vince's own though, his head hairless. Vince couldn't make out many more of the man's features through his one tired eye.

The man looked back at him, staring. His expression serious, he continued what he was saying.. repeating what he had said the first time.

"A warrior.
His boots worn, his clothes faded.
His weapon in his hands, his opponent's in his.
He fights with his mind. His heart.
His feet moving in synch with both,
Dancing through the quicksand.
He fights for what he believes in.
For what he desires.. for what he has.
He fights because of what he is..
A warrior."

Vince continued to look at the man. He didn't know what to make of the man's words. He was fading though.. too quickly to try and put a coherent through together. Just before he slipped into unconsciousness he caught a last glimpse of the dark man.

"I am Gagnier."

Vince succumbed to darkness.

***

They don't even wake him up. There is no reason to.. they wake him up in order to torture him, to lessen his sleep. When it comes time for him to perform the duties of which he is bound to, as a slave, they need not torture him beyond that; for what he does is torture enough. He never truely wakes up.. from the moment their serum is applied he is bound to a dream that merely hold hands with reality. Quietly, the guards enter his cell.. as he sleeps one guard crouches down and carefully lifts up an eyelid, while the other holds a small dagger above his exposed eye, allowing a drop of the toxic serum coating on the blade to drop downwards. It would only take a few moments for the poison to enter his blood stream.. to circulate through his brain.. cloud his concious thought.. instill within him a feeling that was not his own..

Consciousness takes a back seat as Vince's world blurs in front of him as he is escorted on all sides, moving under his own power. His muscles work well, his reflexes are keen, his vision is sharp. All this is not under his immediate control though, it is as if he is simply in the background watching as someone else moves his body, thinks his thoughts, for him. He can understand what is happening, but cannot put reason to it, nor can he alter it.. he has become a puppet. He is taken outside of the jail, through a door he has been before, into an open area he has walked through before.. these areas are familiar to him, yet he does not completely recognize them.. he knows only that he has seen them before.

He is taken, again, to a familiar place that he only knows about but cannot remember, it is as if he has heard of this place before and is only just seeing it for the first time.. yet through someone else's eyes. There are a dozen men standing infront of him, aside form his escorts. Horses, large and strong, bear these men as they stand in a row. One horse is riderless.. it is this one that his escorts bring him to. A distant voice echoes in his head, "Get on." He obeys immediately, swinging himself onto the back of the beast. The other men, once he himself is situated, turn their mounts around, facing a large crowd of people.. a crowd he had not even noticed until his own mount did the same. Still not fully aware of his surroundings, and not knowing even what is taking place he sits there, atop the horse, and awaits a command.

One of the dozen other riders begins to speak, then another.. and another.. Vince absorbs not a word. Once they are finished speaking the crowd before him issues a collective yell and reverts to silence. Following this those mounted turn around again, a command is issued and they begin to march, forward. Vince had done this before.. of that he was sure. But that is where, as with everything else, the familiarity ends.. he is unaware of the destination, or the purpose.. and he does not ask; he waits.. waits for that command.

Something loud is yelled to Vince's right. It is echoed several times behind him, as this happens the mounted riders come to a halt, as does everyone behind them. They have stopped on the top of a rather large sand dune. The day had faded during their trek, the sun fading beyond the horizon on their right. The hill they were on overlooked a moderately sized, well spread out, gathering of tents.. a camp of sorts. It lie perhaps 400 yards away, at the bottom of the dune and spread out to the north. Small lights could be seen dotting the ground in the dwindling sunlight.

To Vince's left came a deep grunt. When he didn't respond he felt a slap on the back on his shoulder. He looked over and noticed a short sword being extended to him, blade first, from a man with a beard so thick the lower half of his face could not be seen. Vince immediately reached out and grabbed the sword from it's hilt. Vince recognized this notion as soon as he had grabbed hold of the blade. He knew what the sword symbolized and what he was meant to do with it. Moving the slightly dinged and nicked blade to his right, more dominant, hand he continued to wait for another command. The men flanking him on either side talked amongst each other for a few moments, though nothing was directed at Vince, thus he ignored it all. From his immediate right, the man who had previously been issuing commands to the entire fleet of people caught the attention of the bearded man who had given him the sword with a sharp whistle. Vince did not look in either direction, yet what was said could easily be heard as he was being talked across. "Keep a closer eye on him this time, -name-, we don't need the same thing as last time repeating itself." A grunt is all that came in response from Vince's left.

Without a word, Vince's horse along with all the other surrounding him begun to move forward, down the gradual slope of the dune. The day had decended into dusk by now, covering the desert in an orange glow. There was no noise; the sand muffled footsteps; the absence of wind left everything else stagnant. Vince watched through another's eyes as his horse and the others around his crept slowly down the dune, the camp growing ever closer. When it was perhaps 50 yards away and they had left the base of the dune abuot the same distance behind them they came to a complete halt. Vince's horse turned around to it's right, as it did he noticed a man a few horses down holding a large sword above his head. Completeing the turn Vince saw the army of soldiers which had always resided behind him. There were so many people that the closest were at the bottom of the dune, and the rear of the formation was still near the top. In contrast to the orange hue of the desert, that dune appeared scorched. Off to his left, Vince noticed a quick movement as the man holding the sword brought it down forcefully. The entire army went up in a roar and began a charge down the dune, across the sand, towards the camp.

Vince's horse turned around once again, bringing the man with the sword into view once again. He had it raised above his head, as before. Vince waited, his own sword in his hand, by his side. Being held by another person, controlled by another's emotions, though in his own hand all the same. The desert wasn't quiet anymore: behind him the shouts of thousands of men rang out, infront of him shouts of alarm were thrown out into the quickly blackening sky. The lightly armored infantry were closing in on the rear of those in the front on horses, their quick pace creating a ruckus as their light armor was jostled. Vince could hear them getting quite close. He awaited his command. When the army had caught up to them and their shouts were very nearly being issue from directly beside the horsed men, Vince's horse snapped into a charge, as did the others around him. They took off so quickly, Vince had almost fallen backward of his horse.

As they charged, defenders of the camp began to appear at the edges of the camp holding spears, directly in front of where they were charging. Vince's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. He was getting closer. 10 yards. More men stood in front of him. 5 yards. He raised his sword. 2 yards. The spears were raised. Vince continued to charge until he was upon them. The first spear was thrust forward ... Vince brought his sword down. Another battle was begun.