The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  The goblin captors herded the prisoners together along the rocky shore. They straightened their armour and stood at attention while waiting for the large raft. Their mannerisms at that moment reminded Leoric of a young Darius; the boy always so intent upon making a good impression. Yet he had always found a way to cause a problem and bring about the ire of Sergeant Alleran. Leoric paused when he remembered that Darius lay dead upon the forest floor; cold and lifeless for over a month now.

  Little time was lost on pleasantries as the craft docked against the shore. Immediately after the two goblin parties met and exchanged guttural words, Leoric found himself pushed onto the slick floor of the wooden vessel. Large enough to accommodate the ragged band of prisoners as well as both groups of goblins, Leoric was surprised when only the pilot guards on the raft remained with them as they continued north.

  Midway through the passage, Leoric caught Angvald’s eye as he was leaning heavily against one of the vessel’s railings. Sidling nonchalantly up alongside the support, Leoric joined the Kaleenian.

  “I caught wind of something those bastards said when this band landed on the western side,” Angvald whispered through clenched teeth.

  “You speak goblin?” Leoric exclaimed. Upset by the near outburst, it was a long few moments before Angvald could reply.

  “I’ve listened to them for long enough now,” he finally explained. “Walking at the rear gave me a chance to catch some phrases that were repeated or accompanied by a laugh or a curse. It helped keep my mind focused.”

  “Fascinating.” Leoric whispered. “I still have much to learn from you. Did you hear anything of value?”

  Angvald grunted, “It seems as though the Marshal escaped the ambush. Somehow the old veteran ran free with a small company and headed to the rendezvous point with the rest of our men.”

  Weeks earlier, the report Angvald had brought forth regarding the battle was grim. They had both been captured before the combat ended and were skeptical that the defenders could have held out for much longer. Even though the remaining men had travelled a fair distance and used the terrain to the best of their advantage, the numbers had simply been overwhelming.

  The news buoyed Leoric’s flagging spirit. At least he knew the fortress would be forewarned of the coming tide, and preparations would be made for a likely attack in the spring. His brothers in arms would exact revenge for the men of the Iron Shield lost in the ambush.

  “I can almost imagine Sergeant Alleran at the Marshal’s side,” Leoric gave his friend a slight grin.

  “There’s no way he’d let the goblins take him down,” Angvald coughed, trying his best to cover a chuckle. “And if they did, they’d receive such a tongue lashing before he died that I’d bet none of the savages would ever forget it!”

  “The Sergeant did have a certain way with words,” Leoric smiled.

  “They’ve also been repeating a strange word that I don’t even begin to understand, but have come to believe refers to a place, possibly a town,” Angvald added.

  “Our destination?”

  “Aye, I believe so. Strange though, they speak the word with a reverence. If not a place, it could possibly be a king, or perhaps a general of some sort.”

  “Do the goblin tribes even have a royal family?” Leoric mused. “In any case, what is this word?”

  “Lok’Dal hie.”

  It took the better part of the day to cross the rapidly moving current of the immense river. With the short winter days upon them, the light quickly began to fade as they landed on the far shore and once again began to trudge forward on foot. Although well-rested compared to recent days, most of Leoric’s muscles had seized up.

  By nightfall they were only six, and the march stopped for the night. As he devoured his daily piece of bread, Leoric realized with some surprise, that they now trekked upon a cobblestone road and not the uneven forest floor. Mystified by the change, he had an uneasy feeling lodged firmly in the pit of his stomach. He sensed that their journey would soon be coming to an end. As he bedded down and pressed in closely to the warm huddled bodies of his companions, he wondered about the meaning of the strange word Angvald had overheard during their travels. What could it mean?

  By mid-afternoon the next day, with the sun shining brightly above, the gruff soldier from Darkenedge was given the answer to his question. Standing atop a steep cliff, he gazed at the green valley below. With a sense of foreboding, Leoric D’Athgaran looked down upon Lok’Dal hie.

  Company salaries and bonuses fall under the discretion of the company captain. In an effort to increase the tenure of a member, and as a show of good faith, it is understood that each soldier will be entitled to mandatory leave, or a subsequent rest period, between contracts.

  —Mercenary Code of Conduct

  Chapter XV

  Galen’hide - Sanctuary of the Silveryn Order

  The fire crackled as Gavin read the long awaited words written so carefully on the parchment he held in his hands.

  Dearest Beloved,

  How long has it been since last we set eyes upon each other? Would that you had stayed north for the winter. I hope that this letter finds you well. News has arrived from the merchant ships on the coast, and I can only assume you fought for Lord Berry again this summer. By all accounts, the duke held the city once again.

  My father seems unimpressed that Lord Yarr has gained so much control in the Protectorate. I’m afraid your warnings have fallen upon deaf ears. Instead, he has continued to entertain the greedy, self-absorbed men of the courts with my impending marriage. He sees only political gain where he should be seeking happiness for his daughter. I know his allies are using me as a pawn to gain favour with the enemy, but I would be wed to none other than you, Gavin.

  Reginald has since informed me that both the barons Welch and Haldwell have made offers concerning alliances that would benefit my father’s interests. I fear time has grown short, and I reflect daily on what would happen if I was ever to make public my feelings for you. A great man like my father would shudder at the thought of his ‘noble’ daughter in the arms of a mercenary captain. The commoners have long been considered beneath the rulers of the Northern Council.

  I miss you so much, Gavin; your smile, your touch, your voice. Can it be that two people could fall so madly in love and yet never be granted the pleasure of the other’s company? I can only pray that the gods are merciful and hear of our plight.

  Please pass on my regards to the others. Tell Caolte I am proud he will be a father again so soon. Ethan’s father took ill in the fall, but has since recovered. There is not much in this world that can defeat Lord Shade. Ossric, I’m sure, is miserable. That he can’t find an excuse for battle in the dead of winter must be driving him mad!

  Be safe, dear heart.

  I am yours, Gavin Silveron, always and forever,

  Danys

  Gavin sighed. Receiving mail from Danys Ford rarely came without a cost. The joy of reading the words expressing her love for him was tempered by the realization that they could never be together. Their worlds were so different that in the eyes of her family it would be a crime for a low born mercenary to engage with the daughter of a duke. And so it was that the only woman he had ever truly loved was among the class of people that he was unable to marry. Nobility married nobility, and that was the end of it.

  Lord Angelo Ford was the most powerful man in the Northern Council. Although his influence paled in comparison to the expansive reach of Gadian Yarr, still did his word hold favour with the nobility. As with the south, the concerns of the populace were largely ignored. The nobles looked only to themselves.

  Frustrated, and realizing he would not be seeking the comfort of his blankets any time soon, Gavin donned his thick cloak and stepped out into the crisp air of the winter night.

  Life for the soldiers had regained some sense o
f normalcy. After another successful campaign fighting for Duke Berry, the company had been resting quietly for the past month. Loud clanging from the smithy’s shop rang out every morning, and the training yard was always crowded. Upon their arrival, Gavin had allowed the men to spend a few days in town, the nearest being a small backwater place named Gamewood. It was no city, but it boasted two taverns, an inn and a brothel.

  Once the merriment had concluded, the Fey’Derin officers returned to the business of training and upkeep of the company. The daily routines the recruits had tried so desperately to forget returned, and yet there was only a smattering of complaints about wood gathering, cooking, cleaning, and of course, winter night duty.

  Gavin relished these times; periods of rest where he could actually sit back and reminisce on the year. It was a profession that rarely allowed time for pause or reflection. The young captain was satisfied with the minimal loss of life this year. The men had performed admirably under duress, and the new arrivals, now well trained and soon to assume their new commands, showed great promise.

  The stout Eör Rockfar had his troubles dealing with a few of the more stubborn men, but had resolved every issue with tact. It had taken a monumental sacrifice on the dwarf’s part to remain at the base camp for a summer. Eör was proud of his battle prowess, almost as much as Ossric McConnal. The two warriors took great pleasure in dueling on the practice field; the towering Ossric with great axe in hand, and the stout yet powerful Eör wielding a heavy iron mace. Those contests were something to behold, even more so than his own, Gavin thought, but far less successful in coin for the loser. He was thankful to have another few years before he needed to ask the dwarf to remain behind once again.

  It was late in the night, and the camp was quiet. A few men walked the walls, their eyes scanning the countryside for movement. In this freezing weather it was normal to expect the men to move about as much as possible. Keeping warm was crucial with the cold winds sweeping over the low hills. Galen’hide was on a small peak bordering the edge of the land claimed as a sanctuary by the Silveryn Order of Mages. A fort built of sturdy logs hauled up from the nearby Aeldenwood, it stood in the foothills of the Erienn range with towering mountains beyond soaring high into the eastern sky.

  Clasping his heavy cloak at the neck, Gavin climbed the stairs and headed towards one of the fort’s tall wooden towers. Inside, he knew he would find Caolte Burnaise puffing on one of his long-handled wooden pipes whittled from discarded wood. Sure enough, as he finished his short climb up the ladder, Gavin accepted the outstretched hand of his long-time friend.

  “Another sleepless night?” Caolte commented with concern. He turned his gaze immediately back to the countryside once he had pulled Gavin up from the ladder. The arrival of a friend was no excuse for failing in his watch duty. Neither did being on guard warrant the absence of his pipe, Gavin noted.

  “I’m starting to wonder if I’ve forgotten what it means to sleep, Caolte,” Gavin answered. “Danys sends her greetings, and her congratulations as well.”

  “Karli wrote that she believed it might be twins this time,” the Drayenmark soldier answered proudly, a fatherly glow radiating from his face. Although often absent due to his chosen profession, the veteran doted over his three boys and three girls, whenever the chance presented itself.

  Gavin took no offense that the man eagerly awaited the turning of the seasons. With the spring, Caolte would attend the Ca’lenbam before heading home north to his family. The latest group of new recruits would be his only charges for the upcoming year.

  “I’d best watch you and that wife of yours, old man,” Gavin chuckled. “Before long you may have the numbers to rival our company. What will I do when the Burnaise family comes to claim its place in the leadership?”

  “Bah! You just worry about finding yourself a woman of your own before you bother me about my brood.” Caolte joked. “You wouldn’t even know how to bed a woman, let alone make twins!”

  Reacting with mock indignation, Gavin playfully shoved the man with his shoulder. Even before completing the movement, he sensed the tautness in his lieutenant’s arm.

  “Hsst! Movement to the left,” the clansman whispered urgently.

  Peering into the night, Gavin spied three dark shapes crawling slowly along the parapet towards a pair of company guards. Before he could react, the two Fey’Derin sentries fell to the stealthy attackers’ blades. The two officers leapt from the tower to the wooden walkway below and raised the alarm.

  “Awake! Awake! Assassins on the wall, assassins on the wall!” both men shouted.

  As they landed, Gavin watched two shapes run from the interior of his quarters. Yelling at the slowly rousing men in the adjacent barracks to watch the ground, Gavin registered the incoming glint of a naked blade.

  Instinctively, he rolled forward and dodged the deadly thrust of the outstretched dagger. He heard the whiff of the slicing blade whistle in his ear, passing within a hair’s breadth of his temple. Caolte was several paces behind him and had not been so lucky. A painful grunt followed by a loud thud announced the clansman’s heavy fall.

  Leaping to his feet, Gavin reached for the dagger hidden in his boot top; it was missing. Cursing himself for his carelessness, he could picture it lying atop the small chest stored in his quarters. Unarmed and vulnerable in the darkness, he had only to buy time before help arrived. Two other assassins now closed in on his location. The Fey’Derin captain glanced at the fallen veteran and quickly assessed Caolte’s condition; he was still breathing. Knocked senseless and bleeding only a few yards away, Gavin moved to protect his fallen friend.

  These were trained killers that would stop at nothing to finish a job, unconscious man or not. Bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, he eyed his opponent. The black-garbed attacker waited patiently for his companions. No sense in attacking alone when you could control the fray easily with three to one odds, Gavin thought.

  Realizing he had little time left, he went on the offensive. Weaving as he charged, he managed to slide under the assassin’s guard, though the maneuver cost him dearly. Pain lanced across his unprotected ribs as he blocked the second dagger thrust and twisted up and behind the assailant. Applying weight to a pressure point slightly below the wrist, Gavin barely paused before snatching the falling weapon and slicing the man across the neck. Blood spurted wildly, splashing his face with gore.

  Ignoring the blood trailing down his side, he glanced hopefully towards the now awakened barracks. Men were running to his aid, but even from a distance he could see other sentry guards lying flat and motionless on the walkways. As the next two black-armoured intruders closed in, several arrows flew past the chaos. One of the men staggered forward, two shafts protruding from his back.

  The second man expertly gauged the battle and launched himself over the side of the wall. Gavin scrambled towards the spot and watched as his enemy landed lightly upon his feet and tore off into the darkness. Swearing profusely in the dark, Gavin watched as Ethan Shade, bow in hand, reached his side and vaulted over the edge with three Eagle Runners in tow. Bloodied dagger in hand, Gavin pressed his free hand to the wound in his side and slumped to the ground beside Caolte. The man’s pulse was strong, his breathing deep. Even so, Gavin insisted the men tend to the fallen officer before any time was spent on his own injuries.

  Sitting with his back to the wall, Gavin shook his head in disbelief. Someone must truly want him dead to send assassins from the Guild his way. They didn’t work cheap. Puzzled and exhausted, Gavin knew one thing for certain; death had come to the Fey’Derin that night, and retribution was now the next order of business.

  The Aeldenwood was a real forest, a forest of old, Bider thought as he examined a light depression near a patch of tall grass valiantly protruding from the snow. The trees were ancient beyond compare and he had the sense of walking under a green sky, verdant and timeless. Dangers were ever present, yet Bider could
spend hours uncovering secrets the dark wood hid so convincingly. It was incredible to think that the lost kingdom of Farraine, with its towns long since abandoned, lay buried beneath this twisted woodland. That curiosity alone was reason enough to hike deeper into the forest.

  He turned his head back to the task at hand. Assassins from the previous night, their target clearly Captain Silveron, were of greater importance on this winter morning. Six attackers, all skilled and commanding a hefty price for their services no doubt, had been employed in an attempt to strike at the very heart of their company. The Fey’Derin had apparently alarmed the elite of the Protectorate enough to warrant particular attention during this usual period of rest for the mercenary companies across Kal Maran.

  Early that morning, Bider and the bulk of the Eagle Runners were sent out to scour the countryside for clues that might lead to the remaining attackers’ whereabouts. Lieutenant Burnaise, his arm bound in a sling, fumed at any mention of the enemy’s escape. Based on the accounts of several witnesses, two of the six had evaded capture, with each heading in a separate direction in the hopes of throwing off an organized pursuit. Captain Silveron issued explicit orders to take the men alive, but after hours of fruitless searching, Bider was unsure they would ever be found.

  The assassins of the Thieves’ Guild were notorious for both stealth and subterfuge, as well as the price they charged for their services. Only the rich and powerful could afford to use the resources such a fell group offered. It was rumoured that the Guild had ties to most of the dominant noble houses in the land. Even the mad Serian Rhone of the Drayenmark was said to have an agent that lived in the Thieves’ Den. Bider was one to know; his history as an amateur thief was a story he had done well to keep hidden from the rest of the company. The Fey’Derin were all reformed men, but there was little love lost for a man who had once spent his evenings mugging and stealing.