The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  Long moments passed before he mustered enough strength to make another attempt. Gritting his teeth against the oncoming pain, the small man twisted his body, pulling his arms underneath his legs as he did so. For most men, the maneuver would appear excruciatingly painful, if not entirely impossible. Despite his best effort, a sharp cry escaped his lips. Breathing heavily after the ordeal, but resting far more comfortably, Bider cocked an ear towards the tent flap, straining to detect any change in the sounds coming from the camp.

  “I guess it’s my turn next,” Orn said in a tired, raspy voice.

  Glancing to his side, Bider could not help but smile weakly at the comment. Despite their predicament, the wily old veteran had found a way to diffuse the tension in the air.

  Shaking his head, Bider replied, “Sorry, old man, no grey hairs allowed during this escape. I’m afraid you’re finally out of luck.”

  Spitting up blood as he laughed, Orn did manage to right himself with Bider’s assistance. With the scout’s hands bound in front of his stomach, he was able to move about relatively freely. Regardless of their recent success, they both knew it would take some time before they could entertain any thoughts of making a run for freedom; both of them suffered from serious leg cramps from lying in such awkward positions.

  “Any ideas on who took us out?” Bider said.

  “The mages were definitely renegades, but the guardsmen wore tabards I didn’t recognize.”

  “Black on purple, no?”

  Orn agreed, closing his eyes as he fought back another wave of nausea.

  “Haven’t the Regulators been known to use that colour?” Bider asked.

  “They’re purple on black, a big difference,” Orn replied.

  Both men sifted through their memories, trying in vain to identify the uniforms of the men who had accosted them. “I’m at a loss,” Bider said, his frustration once again barely held in check. “Any ideas?”

  When Orn didn’t reply, Bider leaned over to check on his friend. Sighing, he realized that no reply would be forthcoming any time soon; Orn Surefoot had fallen unconscious once again.

  “Caolte, you’re in command. I want the men to be ready for a quick departure,” ordered Gavin as he donned the remaining pieces of his armour. Throwing his tabard over his head, he exchanged leather gloves for mailed gauntlets. “I don’t have to warn you to be careful and extremely discreet while you go about your preparations. We are sure to be under surveillance.”

  “Anyone familiar with the Fey’Derin would have known that such a contract offer would be immediately refused,” Caolte agreed.

  “I know. That is what has me worried. Apart from Khali and his band of butchers, we’ve made no enemies that I am aware of,” Gavin frowned.

  “Gadian Yarr has fielded armies against our employers these last three years though,” Caolte added.

  “And you believe that is reason enough to insult and alienate a company? Most captains here won’t look kindly upon such an uncompromising offer.”

  “It really makes no sense, Gavin,” Caolte said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Gadian Yarr is a cunning politician. Making such a drastic proposal wouldn’t have come without substantial consideration of the consequences. If he has unified the southern city states into a binding nation then he has betrayed the Mercenary Code of Conduct and will be judged harshly by the North, the Drayenmark, Innes Vale and the Shield.”

  “Agreed Gavin, but could this be nothing more than backlash, if indeed Bider and Orn were causing a ruckus last night? It wouldn’t be the first time those two have ended up in chains.”

  “Not this time, Caolte. Like you said yesterday, we’ve discussed this scenario over the past two seasons. It has coloured our contract choices these last two campaigns and now, with battle lines finally being drawn, we need to stay the course. All of the planning we’ve made with our allies will now, hopefully, pay dividends. I need you to send word to Duke Berry and have him immediately join you. He is not adequately protected at the moment, and the Fey’Derin can escort him north, if not to Garchester.” Gavin’s orders were concise and crisply delivered.

  “He’ll not be pleased, Gavin.”

  “I don’t care. Caolte, we need him alive. It is your decision on how you manage it, but he needs to escape the Gathering in one piece. If Gadian Yarr has decreed his contract offer as the only one, the Duke is in great danger.”

  “Agreed,” the veteran nodded.

  Reaching for his sword and strapping it to his back, Gavin paused momentarily before adding another command. “I also want every soldier carrying foodstuffs in their saddlebags. Nothing is to be left in the wagon, within reason of course.”

  “And the wagon?” queried the lieutenant.

  “Not a factor,” he replied immediately. “It’s more important we have enough supplies on the men. If anything ever happened to that wagon we’d be hamstrung.”

  The clansman nodded and barked for someone to find Era Colwyn, the company quartermaster, before asking another question. “And yourself, Gavin? How long do I wait?”

  “If you have no word from me by noon, don’t look back and ride into the woods. Strike for the camp and round up any of our recruits still in training with Eör. He has them well-trained and they’ll be ready if it comes down to battle. Don’t tarry though, make haste for Dragon Mount. I will meet you there.”

  “Will the Order allow us entry?” Caolte asked hesitantly.

  “Tell them I’m coming and Ir’Wolien won’t think twice about the full company passing through the Shield. Speak with Tel’Andros and inform him of what has transpired. With luck, he can act as our intermediary with the Council until I arrive.”

  “Can we trust the mage?” the Drayenmark asked quietly.

  Staring balefully at his friend, Gavin tried only a little to hide the anger in his voice. “Put your feud aside, Lieutenant. Our list of allies grows short and I’ll not have the Fey’Derin’s safety jeopardized. Understood?”

  “Aye, Sir!” saluted the old veteran. “And, Gavin…”

  “Yes?”

  “Safe journey to you always.”

  With that, the clansman threw aside the tent flaps and was gone. Taking a deep breath, Gavin Silveron clasped the formal cloak around his shoulders, glanced for a final time around the command tent, and made his exit.

  The first documented finding of the rare Aliendal wood dates back to the First Age. It was discovered by the renowned seer, R’hiale, while roaming the foothills of the E’rienn mountain range. The wood was used for the first time in the construction of the doors at the royal family’s palace in C’aisil Chro.

  —D’Elias, Gorimm Keeper

  Chapter XXXI

  The Tower of A’erinedor, Aeldenwood

  It would be three days before Alessan felt strong enough to make his way about the tower on his own. Strangely, although still exhausted from his experience in the ruined city of Telmire, his body had recovered quickly, and his withered arm felt stronger than ever before. Under the watchful eye of C’Aelis, he had started rigorously exercising the limb, and unbelievably, the arm had responded to the training. The rapid healing was a mystery to Alessan, but C’Aelis remained tight-lipped about the subject.

  During their time at the tower, Alessan told stories of his life growing up in Briar. He preferred to avoid some of the more pressing topics on his mind and found comfort in discussing his childhood. C’Aelis remained aloof, and no matter how many probing questions Alessan asked, the secretive Gorimm refused to elaborate on the details of his past.

  One interesting bit of information that he did divulge concerned the members of the Fey’Derin. Alessan was well aware of the elite mercenary company as they usually set up camp not far from Briar and had often visited the Black Boar. C’Aelis revealed that he had recently been in contact with Captain Silveron; a me
eting that also entailed a deadly altercation with the Gath. Although he remained vague about the reason behind the encounter, C’Aelis confirmed that the Fey’Derin soldiers had escaped relatively unscathed. What the mercenary captain was doing in the Aeldenwood was yet another question that piqued Alessan’s curiosity.

  Now he stood uneasily at the edge of a swiftly moving stream. Located only a short distance from the Tower of A’erinedor, C’Aelis had led him to the stream when he had asked if there was somewhere he could bathe. The dirt and grime from his recent escapades were now caked in thick layers upon his skin. Growing up in the meticulously clean Black Boar, Alessan could no longer stand the filth or the stench.

  Standing at the edge of the water, he carefully dipped his foot into the cool water. The shock of the frigid temperature made him second guess the entire idea of washing. Before he could change his mind, he peeled off his clothing and threw each piece off to the side. Then, taking a deep breath, he plunged in. The cold was invigorating and an icy numbness ran up his spine. Wasting no time, Alessan started to scrub furiously at the dirt covering his pale skin.

  Finding a small rocky overhang a little ways upstream, Alessan lay back and let the rushing water run over his head and shoulders. Enjoying the sensation, it took some time before he had the strange feeling that someone was watching him. Quickly dunking his head and pushing the hair away from his eyes, he smiled as he recognized the visitor. Greiyfois, tongue lolling about happily from her fanged mouth, was perched on the edge of the stream, her dark eyes staring intently at him.

  “Hey, girl!” he called out happily.

  The last few days had given Alessan the opportunity to spend some time with the young wolf. In many ways, it seemed as though she was watching over him just as closely as C’Aelis did. Whenever the Gorimm was absent, it was now routine to see Greiyfois at his side instead. He had never seen a wolf act so tame and it did take him a while to come to trust her. Now he greeted the animal warmly, and in response to his laughter, she let loose a short howl and launched herself into the stream, her legs churning furiously as she paddled towards him.

  They played together for a long while until finally the cold water began to numb Alessan’s entire body. Chilled, and yet content, he scrambled ashore and dried himself with a blanket he had found in the tower. Greiyfois shook herself vigorously, showering him with a fresh barrage of cold water. Laughing, he patted her on the head, his hand coming to rest near the long scar that marred her shiny coat.

  “Was it the Gath who did this to you, Greiyfois?”

  Immediately, a set of images flashed through his mind, vividly depicting the events that resulted in the wound. The first showed a dizzying chase through the forest, the trees flying by at great speed. At Greiyfois’ side, never once slowing the pace, ran C’Aelis. He sported a look of extreme determination and concern. All around the forest Alessan could see other fast moving shapes keeping pace with the fleet Gorimm.

  The second flash of images showed a chaotic fight at the base of an old tower, this one with an immense tree reaching up into the sky from the middle of the structure. C’Aelis and a pack of wolves were surrounded by the churning, twisted bodies of numerous Gath. Alessan could tell that he was watching the scene from Greiyfois’ viewpoint, but the chaos and terror of the battle felt very real.

  It was the last vision that struck Alessan with the greatest intensity. There, during a momentary lull in the fighting, a strange trio of figures crossed through Greiyfois’ vision. He recognized Captain Silveron and Lieutenant Burnaise immediately, but in their arms lay an unconscious man, one who wore the unmistakable robes of a Silveryn Mage.

  Giving the wolf a final pat on the flank, Alessan donned a new set of clean clothes that C’Aelis had provided him. His tattered old Sylvani uniform was so filthy that no one, not even his mother, could scrub away the sweat and dirt that clung to those rags.

  Feeling more like himself than he had in days, Alessan flexed his weak arm. Encouraged by the strength he found in the limb, he headed in the direction of the tower with Greiyfois padding silently at his side.

  “I’ve been thinking about something, C’Aelis,” Alessan commented. It had been some time since his return from the stream with Greiyfois.

  Yes?

  “Well, along with Captain Silveron and Lieutenant Burnaise, you curiously omitted the third member of the party in the Aeldenwood that night,” Alessan stated, knowing that the unexpected revelation would likely catch the Gorimm off guard.

  C’Aelis sent a dark look towards Greiyfois as she lounged comfortably near the fire. The wolf looked chagrined and followed up the piercing stare with a whimper.

  Alessan continued, “Strange how you could have missed two men carrying another, and wearing the robes of the Silveryn Order, as well?”

  It can be awfully hard to find a stalwart companion these days, and you, Alessan, may be far more trouble than you are worth, the Gorimm replied ruefully.

  “Are you a supporter of the Order, C’Aelis?” Alessan inquired cautiously.

  The Silveryn Mages were ever at odds with my people, but we respected their scholars as they did ours. The Order tended to… meddle… far more in the political affairs of humankind than did the Gorimm.

  Alessan frowned. “But you also had an advisor to the High King, did you not?”

  A flitter of amusement tickled Alessan’s thoughts as C’Aelis answered. You are well versed in certain matters of history, Alessan. You are correct; both factions had a designated advisor to the High King of Caledun. Regrettably, as the Shattering neared, my people failed in that capacity.”

  “How so?”

  The Gorimm elders, sensing that the fate of Caledun was at hand, opted to leave your kingdom bereft of Gorimm guidance, stating that it would be unwise to offer undue advice in such politically volatile conditions created by man. The move was strongly opposed by many of our leaders, myself included.

  “And the Order?” Alessan asked.

  The Silveryn Order was embroiled in dangerous liaisons with several powerful members of the Gorimm’s most esteemed Houses. They would fall as well. The lack of guidance from both parties may very well have influenced the terrible events leading to their demise…

  “Wait a minute, here you go making no sense again,” Alessan said, with a look of confusion on his face. “What were the mages and the Gorimm plotting and how could you have delayed the assassination of the High King without prior knowledge?”

  The silence that greeted his inquiry was answer enough. Alessan looked at C’Aelis with a raised eyebrow. “By the gods, you knew! You knew the king would die and yet you did nothing!” he said angrily.

  It is not so easy to explain, C’Aelis replied defensively, a touch of irritation lacing his sent thoughts. It was a tumultuous time for the Gorimm and we were divided as never before. We ignored the threat to Darion Lordares in an effort to heal the divisions between our disparate factions.

  “C’Aelis, you speak in riddles when I ask about your people. You speak of arrogance and sorrow, yet you answer nothing and expect me to understand everything as though a Gorimm myself. You abandoned humankind, watched Caledun fall, and condemned an innocent man to death!”

  It was not our place to alter the destiny of one man.

  “One man?!” Alessan raised his voice. “I know that you only recently returned to this land, C’Aelis, but is that what you tell yourself? That it was the life of only one human?! Thousands upon thousands were slaughtered during the Shattering. The Drayenmark were nearly destroyed and hundreds were enslaved and forced to work for the nobles who took power. Until the advent of the Mercenary Code, Caledun was in a state of chaos and despair.”

  We had no idea… C’Aelis whispered in his mind. Once again the feelings of shame, revulsion and regret crested a wave of utter frustration. You must understand, Alessan, those repercussions are not what we planned. Nothing h
appened as it should have. We were fooled by those the Elders trusted, one who exploited our growing vanity and greed, and sent this land into a dark age…

  “Cursed Arne, you make no sense!” Alessan spat and turned to leave. “Couldn’t you have done something? Couldn’t you have at least warned him?!”

  Some of us did try to help. Some of us saw the folly in the ways our Elders were leading our people, but we were so few. A warning was sent, and I always wondered whether the message was ever received. Recent events indicate that it may have been.

  Alessan threw his hands up in air and made his way briskly across the clearing and stormed into the woods. He called back to C’Aelis, “I give up! I can’t decide whether to hate you or pity you.”

  After the heated argument, Alessan returned to the bank of the small stream where he had bathed earlier that day. Sitting on the grassy slope, he removed his boots and dangled his feet in the cold water. A sudden feeling of homesickness gripped his heart and he valiantly fought back tears.

  He realized that he missed the day to day drudgery of the Black Boar. Each day in Briar, albeit relatively boring, had at least some order to it. He knew upon waking what was required of him and which chores had been assigned. Breakfast was always provided with a smile, even on the grimmest of days. He missed the old, practical Varis, always ready with a story. He even missed the man’s lectures on virtue and discipline. Above all, he would trade so much for the chance to hear his sister sing once again.

  Here in the expanse of the unfamiliar forest, nothing seemed to make sense anymore. The revelations of the past few days were still spinning in his head; some form of magic was in his family line, of which he did not know the capacity or limit, goblin-kind was kin to Gorimm-kind, and the Gorimm were party to the darkest period in the history of Kal Maran. It was all too much for Alessan to take in.