The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  Gavin reeled in shock. Lord Berry had lost his city? Little doubt remained that the nobleman’s life was also in danger. Gavin tried desperately to collect his thoughts.

  “You’ve launched an attack before the summer season?” cried Herod in disbelief. “Have you gone mad?!”

  General Armsmater gave Herod a sly grin. “I can assure you that I am perfectly sane, Captain Blackwain, but let us return to the matter at hand. All of you, your rank as captain with your current company is hereby revoked, and your status as officers is under review.”

  The table erupted in chaos as the captains rose furiously and howled their objections. General Armsmater continued to speak over the din.

  “Your men will be incorporated into the Protectorate Army in order to quell any heroic notions of rebellion you may be entertaining. I will personally meet with all of you to determine your new status and assignments. Your men will be paid well, but their loyalty is now to the Protectorate. It is time we forged a new nation out of the ruins of the old.”

  “And Gadian Yarr is the one to lead us to this promised land, General?” Gavin fought to maintain his poise.

  “The matters of the Protectorate are for those of the inner council to decide and not the concerns of the common soldier. You would do well to stay silent, Silveron, lest I grow weary of your tongue.” The general’s voice was like iron. “You have until tomorrow to notify your men. By mid-morning, you are all to report to my command area. At the appointed hour, my officers will have further instructions for each of you.”

  And with that, Gerald Armsmater, legendary soldier of fortune, broke the very foundations of the Mercenary Code, and left the pavilion.

  “Has the man gone daft?!” asked Herod, amidst the uproar that continued following the general’s declaration. “He must know that all other political factions won’t stand for such behaviour. Gadian Yarr has just declared war!”

  “Come, let us leave this place. I need to speak with the magistrate before rejoining my men,” Gavin said, leading both Herod and Dyana outside in order to escape the angry, raised voices coming from within. Arguing at this point, Gavin thought, was nothing but a waste of time. It was obvious there would be no talking sense to the newly declared general. Armsmater had made his choice; soon Gavin would have to make his own.

  “It’s certain that our companies have been under watch since this morning,” Herod stated as they pushed through the crowd.

  “I took precautions before coming here today. We’ve known for some time now that something was amiss, and I wasn’t going to chance the lives of my men,” Gavin replied. He suddenly pulled both Herod and Dyana into a space between two large tents.

  He gripped their arms and whispered, “Listen to me, both of you. Get your soldiers moving the minute you arrive back at your camps. My men will be drawing enough attention as it is, so use my Fey’Derin to cover your own escape.”

  “Gavin I wo —” Dyana tried to express her concern.

  “We don’t have time!” Gavin hissed. “Promise me you will get your soldiers out and head north towards Dragon Mount. Tell them Silvares sent you, and you’ll be granted entrance. There’s no time for explanations.”

  To his credit, Herod Blackwain paused only briefly before nodding in assent. Dyana took a moment longer to weigh her options. Then, with a fiery determination in her eyes, she also agreed.

  Satisfied, Gavin turned away from his companions and disappeared into the crowd. He had little time before the Fey’Derin made their move. It was essential that Orn and Coren were back in his custody as soon as possible. If not, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t be slaughtered the very moment the Fey’Derin treachery was revealed. Gavin had never left a man behind – ever; and he had resolved not to break that rule on this occasion.

  Thankfully, the offices of the magistrate were within close proximity of the central pavilions, allowing for a short walk through a far less crowded thoroughfare. Spotting the sign on a large tent, he rushed inside, avoiding two drunken louts loitering by the entrance. Gavin was surprised to find a dozen of the general’s guards already stationed in the interior. It was now apparent that Armsmater had every key sector garrisoned with his own men; all loyal to the core, no doubt.

  The magistrate’s tent was sparsely decorated with only a few wooden tables and several chests full of documents on the ground. Two elderly gentlemen, dressed in costly aristocratic livery, sat patiently behind one of the tables, quills in hand. Pushing past the two of the general’s guards, Gavin approached.

  “State your name, rank, company, and request,” droned one of the scribes with disinterest.

  “Gavin Silveron, Captain of the Fey’Derin, here upon summons for the release of Orn Surefoot and Coren D’Elmark.”

  Shifting through a large stack of paper at his side, the scribe pursed his lips thoughtfully as he retrieved a series of documents. “Both men were arrested for assaulting the General’s soldiers. Surefoot is also being held in connection with the resulting death of one of those same men. It does appear that both your soldiers were intoxicated at the time of their arrest.”

  Cursing silently, Gavin knew that the damning report had to be a lie. That Armsmater’s soldiers were involved could only mean one thing; the two scouts had sifted through the rumours and had gleaned enough information to warrant an attack. For the moment, this was the scenario Gavin chose to believe. He preferred to trust his men and give them every benefit of the doubt. If, in fact, they were to blame, Gavin swore they would come to rue this day.

  “I would like to speak with my men, please. As well, I would request that they be released into my custody pending a formal review of the incident. If you look at my record, you will see that it is impeccable; both men will not be leaving my sight,” Gavin stated.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Silveron,” the scribe replied, shaking his head. “General Armsmater has declared that all serious cases pending review are to be dealt with by the General exclusively.”

  Gavin nearly choked. Struggling to compose himself and control his mounting frustration, he probed further. “And how many other cases would that include?”

  Shifting through the papers once more, the man finally replied. “Why, it appears to be only yours, Captain. My sincerest apologies that I could not be of better service to you, sir, but you may inquire regarding the fate of your men at General Armsmater’s pavilion.”

  Ethan Shade, wearing his long, black leather coat, stood inside the tent entrance, impatiently fingering his rapier. “Nearly time, Lieutenant,” he said, peeking outside for what seemed like the tenth time in the last few minutes.

  “Damn you, Sergeant! If I hear another word out of those lips of yours, I’ll have you castrated,” Caolte Burnaise growled.

  “Understood, sir,” Ethan replied quietly. “We’re all worried, Lieutenant, I’m sure Gavin is fine,” he added after a moment’s hesitation.

  “Gods above!” Caolte fumed, throwing a dark look towards Ethan. The Fey’Derin’s second-in-command added, “Ossric, please tear this man’s tongue out. That’s an order.”

  Tension filled the air at the Fey’Derin camp. With their captain now absent for the better part of the morning, his whereabouts unknown, the company officers realized that their plan might commence without the one man they all trusted. With preparations for their escape now complete, there was nothing any of the officers could do but wait.

  “Caolte, I know the Captain said he would be here, but we need to be realistic. He gave us an order, and if it were to be his last, then I plan on executing it,” Ossric said, rising from his seat and pacing about the tent.

  The veteran lieutenant sighed deeply. “I know, I know…” he muttered to himself.

  Caolte Burnaise had known Gavin far longer than any of the other men in the company. There was no secret that the Drayenmark warrior also knew much about Gavin’s shrouded past. He
had even trained him for a short while during his rapid rise through the mercenary ranks, and it was wearing on him that no word had been sent by his friend.

  Placing a hand on Caolte’s shoulder, Brock mustered a weak smile. “He’ll be fine, Lieutenant. Let’s worry about the rest of the men.”

  “I trust that all preparations have been made?” Caolte asked, looking to the Eagle Runner sergeant.

  “Aye, sir,” Ethan answered. “All saddlebags are packed and ready. The men have placed them just inside their tents, easily within reach once we give the word.”

  “Estimated time for a full departure?” Caolte inquired.

  “As fast as a watch change, quicker if the newer recruits keep their nerves under control,” Brock answered.

  “I placed all recruits in my squad with a trusted veteran. If there’s a breakdown, they will be guided through any difficulties,” Ethan added.

  “Good. I trust the others have done the same?”

  “Aye, sir,” the others responded in unison.

  “Has Duke Berry arrived?” the Drayen lieutenant finally asked.

  “I have six of my best Axemen escorting him even as we speak,” Ossric replied confidently. “It would have looked too suspicious if I had met the Duke, so Kevan is leading the squad.”

  “Excellent. He’s a competent soldier and will keep the man safe,” Caolte commented. “Sergeant Shade, pass the word that we’ll be leaving immediately upon Duke Berry’s arrival.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Ethan confirmed the order with a salute.

  Caolte looked over the assembled officers. “Alert all sentries that their partners should have mounts ready and tied to their own. Also, check with Garett and see who’s on point. He’ll know by now what sort of opposition we’ll face in the woods to the west. The Eagle Runners will form the rearguard, Ethan. Choose your best for that assignment,” Caolte ordered.

  Ethan nodded curtly and ducked under the tent flap. Lieutenant Burnaise turned to the rest of the officers. “Alright then, gather your belongings if you haven’t already done so. Don your armour and wait with your squads, I’ll pass word through Ethan’s runners once I’m ready. Gods be with us.”

  “Please be seated, Captain Silveron, and make yourself comfortable,” General Armsmater said.

  “I prefer to stand, thank you,” Gavin retorted cautiously.

  “Come now, sit and relax,” the famous general replied. “I merely want to speak with you; nothing more, nothing less.”

  Gavin took a seat across from the aged mercenary commander and sat in silence. His visit had been expected. The soldiers guarding Gerald Armsmater had been briefed, and they let Gavin through with no questions asked. He had been forced through three separate checkpoints, bypassing numerous diplomats waiting for an audience with the new commanding officer of the Protectorate Army. News of the general’s appointment and subsequent declarations had swept through the Ca’lenbam like a bristling fire over grasslands. Gavin was disgusted by the thought of the political maneuverings that were likely to be in full swing, with members of the nobility trying in vain to cement their highborn status with the new regime. Gavin likened the response to a pack of wild dogs devouring their prey, each one tearing at the corpse in the hopes of receiving even a tiny scrap of anything that remained.

  Gavin had been ushered, without pomp or ceremony, to the main administrative quarters of the nobility, where the once retired general was busy setting up his command post. Heavy, military-style tents were being rapidly placed where gaudy pavilions had once stood. It seemed to him that the new General of the Protectorate had little patience for the comforts enjoyed by those of noble birth.

  Lords and ladies, wearing their finest clothing, were making unsuccessful attempts to countermand General Armsmater’s orders. Their complaints fell on deaf ears, as stoic, hardened soldiers refused to entertain the spoiled prattling of the upper classes. Despite the circumstances, Gavin couldn’t help but be somewhat amused. If anyone in all of Kal Maran could use a little humbling, it was the nobility.

  “Feran will be arriving shortly with some refreshments. And don’t worry, Captain, we will be dealing with the unfortunate criminal charges against two of your men. Until then, we have some time to discuss some matters of great importance,” Armsmater said with some embellishment. “To begin, I would like to commend you once again on your Fey’Derin company. They are excellent soldiers, well-trained and quite an interesting lot, no?”

  “My men are no concern of yours, General,” Gavin answered firmly.

  “Ah but they are, Captain. You see, we have been watching you very closely these past few years...”

  “We?” Gavin interjected.

  “My associates and I,” Armsmater smiled cunningly. “Now, as I was saying, your company has proven quite effective on the battlefield regardless of the checkered histories of your men. It is an accomplishment that I deem impossible to overlook. So much so, that we have decided that you would be a worthy ally.”

  “You treat your allies strangely, General; taking away their company, and yet praising their ability to lead,” Gavin retorted.

  “Point well taken, Captain Silveron, but let me explain,” Armsmater implored, waving in a guard carrying a silver tray containing goblets of red wine and a thick loaf of fresh bread.

  “Please go on,” Gavin said politely.

  “I don’t negotiate. My reputation over the years will attest to that. I make an offer, and it is either accepted or refused. And yet,” he continued, “here I am, breaking bread with you, in an effort to change your mind. Many would say you have been granted an exceptional honour.”

  “I’m listening,” Gavin replied.

  “Excellent! That, at least, is a beginning,” Armsmater laughed. “Now then, may I ask you something, Captain?”

  “As you would say, General Armsmater, for the moment you hold all of the cards, and therefore I would be remiss in declining.”

  The general sipped his wine. “For a man who shies away from political opportunities, you seem well versed in the intricacies of negotiation, young Silveron.”

  “This is a business negotiation, is it not?”

  “Well said, once again,” Gerald chuckled. “And so, on to my question. I was wondering where you hail from, Captain? I will admit that despite my best efforts, your past continues to elude me. From what I can gather, it seems as though you did not exist before walking into the training yards of Black Company seven years ago.”

  “What importance does my past have with your offer? I fail to see the significance as part of this negotiation,” Gavin said, with a tinge of impatience.

  “When one seeks to form an alliance, Captain, one should know everything possible about the other party; even more so, if the man were to become an enemy,” he added pointedly. “Do you really have a problem with the way our world is fashioned?” he continued. “This shattered kingdom has provided for you and given you a purpose in life. Men with our skills have been given the rare opportunity to make something of ourselves, attaining both wealth and power.”

  Gavin took a moment to contemplate before responding. “There are many problems with our world, General, but I do believe it should remain governed by the Code if the only other option is open war.”

  “The Code is outdated!” Armsmater’s voice rose up in anger. “It was created to control the anarchy that erupted over the death —”

  “Assassination,” Gavin corrected.

  “— assassination… of a king,” he conceded. “In the aftermath of the Shattering, the populace needed guidance and protection, hence the reasoning behind the Mercenary Code of Conduct. Its time has come and gone, Captain Silveron. Is it so wrong to hope for unification?” Armsmater asked.

  “I have no problem with a unified kingdom, but I do not believe its leader should be Gadian Yarr,” Gavin answered truthfully. “Nor do I believ
e in the cost in lives it would take for peace to be forged from such bloodshed. It isn’t worth the end result.”

  “Men die every summer, Captain,” Armsmater countered. “It has become a way of life. And who would you place in Gadian Yarr’s stead? The mad, true heir, Serian Rhone? He would drive the world further into shambles.”

  “And his son, Kaimon?” Gavin suggested. “By all accounts, he is a good man, in no way tainted with the curse of madness beset on his forefathers.”

  “He is precisely no different than his father! Can you be so blind, Captain Silveron? I offer you a chance to fight at my side, with the power of a unified nation behind us. I am offering you a post in my command, a valued member of my war council,” Gerald Armsmater paced impatiently around the room as he spoke, his eyes displaying a fervor that Gavin found disconcerting. The legendary commander exuded a powerful aura; one that even Gavin could see was incredibly alluring.

  “I am not interested,” Gavin answered flatly.

  “If money is your concern, I can pay you handsomely. Our coffers are deep, and one officer’s pay is of no concern. Think on it, Silveron, and don’t try to tell me you aren’t sorely tempted by my offer.”

  Gavin nodded. “I can admit I am not immune to praise, General, but I am still not interested. Flattered, yes. My company will travel north after this year, as it has been too long since we have been home. I do have one contract yet to fulfill before we do so.”

  “Signed with that fool, Furnael Berry?” Armsmater asked menacingly.

  “He is my employer, and more than a fair one at that. After this summer, I think I will leave you to your war.”

  “You are a fool, boy,” Armsmater hissed.

  “Perhaps, but you realize that your proclamation will bring about the combined wrath of the other leading factions of the land. Glenvale, the Northern Council, and especially the Drayenmark, will not be pleased,” Gavin responded calmly.