The goblin trailing them let out an unintelligible shriek and mayhem erupted in the alleyway. More of the creatures appeared from amongst the debris and waste in the alley. Others materialized from windows and doors along the narrow lane. One such leapt from a nearby roof intending to tackle Tyrion from the saddle.
Seeing the creature hurtling toward him, Tyrion's hand clenched the hilt of his Elven blade. In a single motion the half-elf drew the blade and brought it down in a savage slash across the creature’s path. Unable to avoid the blow, the creature let out a guttural shriek. Gravity and steel met with brutal efficiency, and the hapless goblin was split in half from shoulder to hip in a single stroke.
The spear-armed goblins rushed down the alleyway to meet their victims as another of their number fell dead, an arrow twitching in its chest as it fell. Struggling to maneuver from horseback in the narrow passage, Tyrion dismounted, drawing his second blade as he did so.
The creatures swarmed into the street but Tyrion moved swiftly through their midst. Long sweeping strikes driving the creatures back, those too slow to avoid the blur of blades perished before them.
The spear-armed goblins soon reached the melee, their weapons thrusting wildly at the warrior in their midst. The longer weapons made it difficult to engage the creatures as more of them continued to materialize from the surrounding buildings. With each graceful strike, the horde of green skins thinned, their disordered shambling proving little match for the Elves battle discipline.
Hiejie turned to see the leader of the goblins almost upon her. Nocking another arrow she let fly. With incredible swiftness, the creature dove and tucked into a ball, rolling deftly causing the arrow to clatter noisily off the cobblestones behind it. Without breaking its stride, the creature rose and was on its feet again.
Tiring of the awkward dance with the spear armed goblins, Tyrion batted one of the weapons out of the way with the short sword in his offhand before disemboweling the poor creature with his Elven blade. Another of the goblins hurled himself at the half-elf. The thrust of the spear was timed well and it caught Tyrion right in the stomach.
His tunic split like paper, and Tyrion doubled over as the strike winded him. As Tyrion struggled to regain his composure, the creature looked flabbergasted. Through the tattered tunic Tyrion’s chain mail was now visible; the finely woven Mithril chain was exquisitely crafted, and the crude spear was unable to make an impression on the brilliant Mithril. Tyrion hurled his short sword at the goblin, catching him in the chest. Tyrion tore the spear from the creature’s hands as its life ebbed away. Without pause, Tyrion drove it into a nearby goblin, its corpse adding to the growing pile of dead goblins.
The leader of the creatures closed the gap and leapt from the cobblestones to a barrel, before throwing itself at Hiejie. The spry beast drew a dagger from its waist as he hurtled through the air. Seeing the creature leap Hiejie spun her bow and caught the wiry creature with the lower limb of her bow. Shifting her weight in the saddle, Hiejie flung it headlong into the alley's wall. Surprise flashed briefly across the creature’s eyes as the impact snapped its neck. With the threat dispatched, Hiejie returned to picking away at the creatures threatening Tyrion.
With the death of their leader and an increasing number of their brethren, the goblins began to waiver and disperse. As more and more of their number began falling before the elves, the potential pay day seemed no longer worth the price being exacted. The goblins broke and fled, disappearing almost as quickly as they had appeared, leaving almost a dozen of their brethren dead or dying in the alleyway.
Tyrion retrieved his short sword and began carefully removing the fine Elven arrows from the goblins slain by Hiejie. The craftsmanship of the arrows made the labor worth the effort, they would not easily be replaced this far from home. While human bowyers were adequate they were certainly inferior to the Elves who had honed their art for centuries.
Hiejie joined her husband in the street and began searching the creatures. There was little of consequence on them, some simple yet crude weapons and a few personal effects. The leader yielded a pouch heavy with coins. Opening the pouch Hiejie saw a dwarven impression struck on the coins and supposed that they had belonged to the carousing dwarves from the night before. "Their loss is our gain." Hiejie thought to herself as she pocketed the pouch.
"Are you sure that is wise?" Tyrion spoke. “The others may yet return for that."
"Let them." Hiejie answered swiftly. "We’ll add a few more to the pyre before we are through. Besides, the coins were stolen anyway and we could use the money; the coins we brought with us won’t last forever."
"You have a point, dear. Let’s take what we can and be on our way. The House of Heirodius can’t be more than a few minutes ride from here."
"The House of Heirodius you say?" A voice behind them queried.
The elves spun; in their distracted state they had not heard the man approach. Tyrion’s hand went straight for his blade as Hiejie reached for another arrow. The voice belonged to a man, a warrior judging by his appearance. The man was in his twenties, he had a well-tanned complexion that spoke of a life outdoors. His facial hair was immaculately groomed and his dark eyes weighed the two elves carefully. The newcomer was dressed in battle leathers with a bright steel breastplate. The insignia on the steel was not one Tyrion was familiar with. A pair of crossed battle axes over a sword. At his side a large war hammer hung.
"Easy." The newcomer spoke with a hand raised. "I didn’t mean to startle you. I have business with the House of Heirodius and you seem new here. Let me show you the way."
Tyrion and Hiejie examined the newcomer and exchanged a hurried glance. Tyrion spoke first. "You are right, we are new here, but from our experiences this morning you would seem out of place to be traveling alone in these alleys, stranger."
"Indeed you are right, Shallowtide is a fickle and dangerous place, even the most desperate brigand would think twice before attacking me as they have you."
"Why is that?"
The warrior patted the insignia on his chest as he spoke. "I am Belios, son of Tindyr and heir to the House of Mercer. If someone were to harm me… the retribution from our house would be terrible to behold."
"The house of Mercer you say, than our meeting is fortuitous indeed. I am Tyrion and this is Hiejie, we are from Aethel Asari. We were on our way to seek employment with Heirodius."
"Then you are indeed in luck," Belios responded jovially. "One of his caravans is due to depart today; I have been tasked with its protection. Having seen your skills firsthand, I would have no issue hiring you. If you acquit yourselves well, there may be further opportunity for employment with the house of Mercer. Also, you will have housing and meals provided while in our employ."
"How does it pay?" Tyrion asked burdened with concern at the need to provide for his young family.
"Considerably better than guarding one of his holdings here in the city. It’s not without danger. The caravan will be considerable, and we will be on the road for at least two weeks. The going rate is five pieces a day for each of you. With a chance at further work to follow, you would be mad not to take it."
With a nod of assent from Hiejie, Tyrion reached for Belios outstretched hand and took it. "We’re in."
"Then let us be on our way, Heirodius will be less than pleased if we cause the caravan to be late."
Chapter 3
Tyrion and Hiejie followed Belios through the gates and into the citadel. Inside the citadel was a hub of activity, teamsters hurriedly hitched horses to wagon while soldiers assisted in loading the wares. An army of clerks and merchants fussed over the shipment as it was loaded, ensuring nothing was damaged or missing.
At the entrance to the citadel two men stood speaking as they surveyed the courtyard.
Belios made his way directly toward them. The man on the left was dressed head to toe in emerald green with ornate gold trim, the figure was lean and wiry and looked with interest at the approaching travelers. The second f
igure dwarfed the first in both height and breadth.
Although aging, the man had a distinct presence and a warriors bearing, his leather armor bore the same iconography as Belios’. On closer inspection the resemblance between the two was unmistakable.
Belios bounded up the stairs and embraced the warrior. “Father, my apologies for keeping you waiting, we were waylaid by gutter runners on our way here.”
“Gutter runners!” The giant bellowed. “Those creatures had the audacity to attack one of our house. I will have them purged for their impudence.”
“I don’t believe I was the target of their intentions, father, I merely happened upon them as they ambushed my companions here. Allow me to introduce you to Tyrion and Hiejie Nelvar. Tyrion and Hiejie, meet my father Tindyr, Lord of the House of Mercer, and First Sword of Shallowtide.”
The two elves placed a fist over their heart and bowed deeply. Tyrion spoke first. “My lord it is a pleasure.” As the elves straightened Belios gestured to the man on the left. “As you may have surmised this is Hamilcar Heirodius, Ruling Lord of the House of Heirodius.” The elves resumed their bow.
Hamilcar broke the silence. “Am I correct to believe these two will be accompanying our convoy?”
“Indeed,” replied Belios. “Between them they slew a dozen gutter runners and put the rest to flight. I think they will be a valuable addition to our party.”
“A dozen you say? Most impressive.” Hamilcar mused as he looked over the elves. The wiry liege carefully examined the newcomers with skepticism. Stepping closer, he eyed Tyrion’s tattered tunic and the Mithril glimmering beneath it. “Very well, I am confident the caravan is in good hands.”
Tindyr turned to his son and spoke quietly. “Belios, remember your purpose here goes beyond that of protecting the caravan as it travels. When you reach Ryoko Owari, one of our agents will find you. He has obtained an artifact that is rumored to possess great power.
You are to return it safely to Shallowtide so we can ascertain if the rumors are true. Ryoko Owari lies in the foothills between the Desecrated Battlefields and the Deserts of the East. I do not lightly put your life in harm’s way, but if the rumors are true, it is a task we can trust to no other.”
“I understand, father. I will not disappoint you.”
Tindyr embraced his son. “It seems the preparations are finished, travel swiftly but safely my son.”
Belios bowed deferentially to Tindyr and Hamilcar and turned to the caravan. Clambering onto the buckboard of the front wagon he gave the signal for the caravan to move out. Tyrion and Hiejie checked their mounts and swung into the saddle before following the lead wagon out of the citadel.
As the wagons rolled out, Hamilcar turned to the Lord of the Mercer. “Tindyr, what do you make of those two elves?”
“Two elves?” Tindyr queried. “I’ve seen many elves in my day. That Tyrion was as much man as he was Elf.”
“I thought as much,” frowned Hamilcar. “He reminds me of someone I used to know.”
“Who’s that?”
“It doesn’t matter, he is far too young, merely a coincidence, I suppose.” “You and your scheming Heirodius, it will be the death of us all.”
“My scheming, Tindyr? I am not the one playing god with my family’s succession.”
“You know the circumstances I face. Belios is a good boy but he doesn’t have what it takes to rule in Shallowtide, either the Atar or whichever one of your bastards crawls out on top will see him destroyed and our house consumed. I won’t have the House of Mercer’s legacy crumble to dust in a single generation. His brother is much more suited to politics; Carston will make a fine leader.”
“It’s a dangerous game you play, Tindyr, tread carefully.”
“Not if everything goes according to your plan,” Tindyr responded, the edge evident in his voice.
“You know as well as I do, Tindyr. The last caravan of autumn always perishes. It has ever been so. It’s why we pay you so well for it.”
“It had better...” Tindyr let the words hang heavily in the air.
“Hush, Tindyr, your threats hold little meaning for one as old as I. My only concern is those Elves and the part they will play.”
“Why do they bother you so?”
“Did you not see the chain mail beneath his tattered tunic? It was Mithril and as fine a weave as I’ve ever seen. The shirt alone is probably worth as much as the entire caravan. Whoever he is, his death will not go unnoticed.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Tindyr responded, his spirits returning. “Until then I’ll be at the keep. Send word when it’s done.”
“Certainly.” Hamilcar turned and made his way into the citadel, as he walked with measured steps he thought to himself. “With planning like that it’s a miracle your dynasty survived your generation, Tindyr.” The unfortunate rebirth of our old enemies in the East has purchased you a lifetime of peace you did precious little to earn.
Chapter 4
The caravan of Heirodius moved steadily eastward. It made good time as it crossed the rolling Plains of Vantacor. To the south, mountains sprung up, and the caravan adjusted its course toward them. The blackened peaks divided the Desecrated Battlefields of the south from the verdant plains in the north. Traversing them would be difficult, fortunately the caravan needed only to follow the foothills as they moved east. The caravan would be able to use the mountains to navigate their path east. Progress began to slow as the procession made its way through the rocky lowlands.
As the caravan moved east, the couple became acquainted with their fellow travelers, there were a company of guards led by the verbose warrior Belios. Besides the guards, the caravan consisted of two dozen teamsters and attendants responsible for Heirodius' wares making it safely to their destination.
As the wagons wove their way through the wooded foothills, Tyrion and Belios rode in the lead wagon, Hiejie rested lazily among its wares. One morning, a week into their journey, movement to the right caught Tyrion’s eye. As he searched the rocky outcropping, his keen eyesight made out the form of a bowman perched among the stones. The assailant had an arrow nocked and was drawing a bead on the lead wagon.
Without stopping to explain, Tyrion grabbed Belios by his breastplate and dove off the buckboard. Moments later an arrow struck the wagon where seconds ago the two had been conversing. Glancing from the arrow to Tristan and back again, Belios’ shock was evident. Shaking off the effects of the fall Belios shouted at the top of his lungs, “Ambush!”
Arrows rained down from the wooded outcroppings and several of the guards fell under the onslaught. Others heard the warning and made for the tree line, seeking cover and retribution for their slain comrades. “Hiejie!” Tyrion called loudly.
“I see him,” was the calm reply as the elf rose from the wagon bed, longbow raised, arrow at the ready. In a second, it was sailing toward the assassin. A scream split the air and the black-clad archer lurched forward clutching the shaft protruding from his chest.
The brigands may have had the element of surprise, but their archers were hopelessly outclassed by the nimble and keen sighted elf. Two more fell in quick succession. Belios recovered quickly and began barking orders at his men. "Find cover! Now! Into the trees."
As the Mercer made their way into the tree line, the ambushers broke cover. The sight alone threatened to break the beleaguered caravan. A sea of black emerged from the rocky outcropping and surged toward the caravan.
As the tide surged forward, the creature in its vanguard howled its outrage. Towering above the black-clad humans was an immense creature. If the creature they had crossed earlier in the tavern was a half-orc, it was readily apparent that the beast before them was its vile purebred kin.
The beast stood head and shoulders above its comrades. Its skin was a mottled mix of green and black hues. Humanoid in shape, its broad muscled form was as wide as two men standing side by side. The orc’s bestial visage was accentuated by the large tusks protruding f
rom its lower jaw. As the creature bellowed its outrage, it raised its axe, the weathered weapon seemed almost as large as a man and brandished as though it weighed little more than a butter knife.
The mercenaries at the tree line fell back toward the caravan. Tyrion drew his blades and interposed himself between the assailants and his beloved. Belios glanced at the determined elf. “Now is as good a day to die as any I suppose,” he muttered as he unlimbered his hammer.
“Belios, I must tell you... I have no intention of dying today.” With that he leapt into the fray. The first bandit died quickly, surprise still registering on his face as the half-elf ran him through. The second paused and took an arrow through the neck.
As a third bandit met his end in as many seconds, Belios charged into the fray. Raising his voice, he shouted above the din, "Men of the Mercer to me! Let us cast these fiends back into the pit." Looking to their leader, the remaining guards mustered quickly to his side. Swinging his hammer like a madman, he delivered a devastating blow that brushed aside the nearest bandit’s defense and struck him in the torso. The bandit was thrown like a rag doll as the hammer shattered his sternum.
Nearby a bandit took advantage of the hammer’s long swing and ducked inside the Captain’s reach. The bandit’s sword missed its target, but a dagger in his offhand was buried to the hilt in the verbose warrior’s belly. Satisfaction registered on the bandit’s face... for a moment... a flash of steel was visible before the bandit’s severed arm fell to the ground. A brutal kick from Belios sent the crippled bandit sprawling into the dirt. "My thanks, Tyrion," the wounded captain called after the half-elf as he continued through the attackers ranks.
With a bestial roar the orc lumbered into the fray, with surprising speed the creature swung its great axe. There was a howl as the axe split the air before a nearby guard was cleft in two, the weapon tearing through his torso in a single violent stroke. Blood splattered across his companions. The guard at his side thrust at the beast with his spear, managing to drive the blade into the creature’s thigh. The orc howled in rage and lashed out at the guard. Too terrified to duck, the guard was caught by the throat and lifted off his feet. Before the hapless guard could respond, the orc crushed the guard’s windpipe and hurled the lifeless corpse at a nearby warrior knocking him off his feet.
Rise of The Mercenary King Page 2