The Templar Chronicles: Freedom's Price
Chapter 5: Bad Intentions

Jay, or at least that is what his subordinates called him, was not pleased, not pleased at all. He paced around his headquarters in the ruins of what was once a small mission on a large river south of Granada that no longer had a name. He was a short and bald creature who, to an impartial observer, appeared human. However, every real human in the room with him knew that was most certainly not the case.

And all the while, he paced, he brooded on the past days’ events. Things are not going as well as I had hoped. How could those filthy drones have allowed my prey to escape? They came with the highest guarantees from that stuck up prig. Ah well that is what I get from trusting Pride, he never tells the truth about the defects or possible drawbacks of his machines. He stopped pacing suddenly, as the irony of this thought struck him; he leaned his head back and began laughing high and uproariously. A butterfly that had been flitting about outside keeled over and died, and the birds roosting in the nearby trees flew off in a panic as if there were a predator hot on their trails. The sound of his laughter was like the tolling of a death knell mixed with the clashing of steel, it was cruel and sardonic and all nature either rebelled against or fell before it.

Jay turned towards the humans littered about the mission; they were dressed in rags but just barely so, everything they had, including themselves, was covered in dirt and filth. Most of them had some form of skin disease, though none of them paid any attention to their poor physical conditions, or to each other for that matter. Their eyes were glued on their master. They each had a tattoo roughly in the center of their foreheads, and their eyes were glazed.

Jay sniffed, Thralls! He thought in disgust and began pacing again. They are so irritating to have around all the time, but I needed the disposable bodies. The androids are much more valuable, though I may have to rethink my continued reliance upon them. He continued his pacing his minions watched him with hopeful eyes. He was annoyed at the state of things, he had to force march half his androids and prisoners many miles and it had cost him in resources and time. He was now twenty short of his quota rather than sixteen.

He paused his tramping and looked at the almost two hundred individuals lined in cages behind the massive number of Thralls. Damn it all, what a waste of talent assigning me to collection. AGAIN! Don’t we have enough thralls without having to steal them from those wretches up north? The people in the cages were as silent and as inconspicuous as they could be; they were terrified out of their minds and did not want to draw the attentions of either the thralls or the little man. Jay smiled to himself, a cold and malicious smile that would (and did) make flowers wilt. If they are afraid now, just wait until they were brought further into the demonic wastelands, oh the delights that await them there. He resumed his pacing.

How do I respond to this escape? I cannot allow it to go unpunished and still keep my hide once I get back to Slartum and the others… there must be an adequate answer that does not involve losing the drones, which would equally cost me. He stopped his pacing and began looking at the thralls again, this time more closely. This is what the thralls had been waiting for, as their master’s gaze passed over them they cried out each in their own individual manner. Some fell on the floor and began writhing with delight, others started having fits of uncontrollable laughter, and others simply smiled, a look of ecstasy on their faces. Jay was disgusted again. He understood the demons’ intent when they created the thralls; that a servant who loves you undeniably is more useful and loyal than any other. But did they have to be so ugly and slovenly. He ignored their cries of, “Master we love you!” or “Over here, look at me master!” turning his back on them and resuming his pacing. As soon as he averted his gaze, the thralls were silent again and resumed their original stances of guarded but hopeful expectation.

Jay was going through another circuit when he suddenly hit upon an idea, Aha! That is delicious; his slippery mind began putting together a plan to remove two problems with one swoop. I will send the thralls! Why not? There are more where they came from right? Besides, maybe some of them will survive. He knew that the chance was actually very large. He had the reports. The refuge of the escapee was only a small bastion with somewhere between 55 and 60 soldiers. The drones had gone on to report that their radar only picked up a simple base camp with two heavy machine guns, and that the majority of the soldiers were armed with only relatively simple small arms. Perfect, I have over seven hundred thralls at my disposal here; they could wipe that bastion out with only perhaps sixty percent casualties. He glanced at the thralls again sneering; at least the ruined mission would smell better for a while.

“Maggots!” his voice slithered out of his throat, it was loud and commanding but it sounded as if it belonged to a body reanimated after being interred for over a year, sticky and filmy, that made any sane being who heard it think of moist holes filled with insects. The thralls leapt to attention again with squeals of delight and pleasure at being addressed directly. “I have something for you to do.”

“Anything master, anything!” they shouted jumping up and down in excitement, slapping each other on the back, and otherwise having a great time. The prisoners looked through their bars on this scene with utter horror and shock, what could make anyone so loyal to the demons?

“There is a small base of the pitiful worms from whence you came. You are to travel north this very moment and slaughter them. When you have finished return to me for your rewards.”

They understood where and what he meant immediately, another benefit the thralls offered beyond their infallible loyalty, the orders from their masters were communicated directly to their minds. Jay just liked yelling at them.

The thralls hooted, hollered, and charged out of the mission, falling over and trampling one another wanting to be the first to obey their master’s command. Jay watched them go holding weapons that were more likely to explode and kill them than do any damage to the enemy, or of course the always present variety of crudely designed blades and clubs. Jay was having mixed emotions as he watched the exodus. On one hand, he wanted to watch the thralls get massacred and do some massacring of their own, but on the other, there was now no one to guard his prisoners. He sighed and sat down. The screams of his minions faded into the night; at least it will be quiet for a while. He looked at his prisoners, who shrank back. He smiled maliciously, or at least it might be.

Jay was pleased with himself; he had managed to follow orders while also making life a little more enjoyable for himself. There was no possible way that any sixty soldiers could stop that many thralls, especially when they would be surprised. This decision also carried with it the added bonus that there would soon be many fewer thralls to deal with, they will get there around midday tomorrow I should think. He smiled that creeping horrible smile again revealing his pointed teeth. In the cages, the prisoners shuddered, huddling close together. They drew on the only thing they had: each other.

Jay felt bored, and briefly considered taking out his frustrations on one of the younger prisoners. However, he knew that would set him back even farther in his quota. He sighed and began reflecting on the events in his perfect memory, savoring the gruesome and horrific images that traipsed through his mind.

҂ ҂ ҂

Many kilometers to the north, Jericho rode hard into the night. He rode with a gripping urgency he could not fully explain. He did not know why, but he felt that he was trying to outrun a sense of doom. He needed to get the long-range sensors set up, and he needed to do it soon. He was not sure exactly how, but he felt in his bones that somewhere in the night someone was thinking of the people that he had sworn to protect with bad intentions.