The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  “Are you still close now that you’re older?”

  An unhappy expression clouded the Gorimm’s features. My brother and I no longer see things in the same light. Our views are very different when matters concerning our people are discussed.

  “Hmm, did he support those that wanted to leave the High King to die?”

  Yes, although your wording isn’t completely accurate. My brother felt as my father did, that the Gorimm had outgrown the uncivilized peoples of Kal Maran. Instead they made a pact with those who couldn’t be trusted.

  “And will I ever be told who ‘they’ were?” Alessan pressed on with his inquiry.

  The people to whom I refer were masters of the arcane, more than that I cannot say, for I know far too little myself.

  “Hmm, the Silveryn Order then? There are no other groups of people who practice magic,” Alessan suggested, confident he had unmasked some of the mystery surrounding the Gorimm.

  Not everyone who practices the manipulation of Aer does so openly, Alessan. It is there that your hypothesis makes an incorrect assumption. In a way, the Order played a role in our downfall by poorly guiding those magicians we dealt with.

  “But I thought the Silveryn Order controlled everything having to do with the magical arts across Kal Maran?”

  C’Aelis smiled ruefully. Once more you have assumed incorrectly. The Silveryn Order definitely seeks to control all those who show talent, but that in itself is a nearly impossible task. Kal Maran is a very large place as well. The Order is not the only organized users of magic. There are many wilders —

  “Wilders?” Alessan interrupted.

  Those who show no spark at a young age, but manifest a wilder affinity to the earth later in life. The change is usually attributed to grief, fear, or a significant emotional shock. They are named wilders by my people because the event that triggers this latent power often leaves the person scarred in some way, making them difficult to harness. Many soothsayers and village seers fall into this category.

  “I never knew…” Alessan said. “We’ve always been told that the Silveryn Order controls all things magical.”

  The Order continues to visit your village? C’Aelis asked.

  “Oh no, the merchant caravans are our best source of information,” he replied. “My grandfather sometimes spoke of a mage that visited the town once in his youth. The man lined up everyone under the age of nine and tested them for magical talent. Only one girl was taken that day.”

  Taken?

  “Well, the family was paid an enormous sum of money to allow the child to go. My grandfather said that soon after, the family left Briar for Glenvale. Why stay in a small town when you can live with all the luxuries a city can offer?” Alessan shrugged.

  The two men sat quietly as they finished their lunch. Alessan poked at the fire with a stick as he grappled with the revelation. The existence of these wilders fascinated him, but he was somewhat unsettled after the conversation. His own power had appeared without warning. The Gath attack deep inside Rose Keep had been such a terrifying moment. Could it have triggered something? Could I be a wilder? Alessan pondered.

  “What exactly is Aer?” Alessan asked, a cold shiver accompanying his query. The prospect of magical abilities still frightened him.

  The large, bright eyes of the Gorimm stared mindfully back at him. In the simplest of terms, Aer is the life force of our natural world: the earth, the trees, the wind, the water, and the stars — everything. Those who can manipulate it draw their power from the world around them.

  “Because of my dreaming power, can I do the same?” Alessan asked with some apprehension.

  I’m curious, Alessan. Do you sense anything strange about me? C’Aelis prompted.

  “There are plenty of things I find strange about you, C’Aelis, but it wouldn’t be polite to comment on such matters,” Alessan chuckled.

  I meant at this moment, C’Aelis’ response tickled his mind. Then the Gorimm reached for his twin blades, holding them firmly at arm’s length.

  Alessan watched as his companion held out the blades and murmured quietly under his breath. It was one of the rare times that C’Aelis had ever spoken aloud. The words were completely unintelligible, and yet they carried a melodic tone that soared through the air of the forest.

  A soft green glow appeared around the sword blades. The radiant light crept up from the hilt, travelling steadily to the point of both weapons. More confounding than the glowing blades, was the white shimmering light emanating from C’Aelis himself. It was faint, but it encircled the Gorimm from head to toe.

  What do you see? C’Aelis whispered in his mind.

  “You’re…shining. Not like the swords, but there’s a light…” Alessan answered.

  Then you do have an affinity to Aer, although its origin still eludes me.

  “How do you mean? Could my battle below Farraine have woken it?” Alessan proposed.

  Never has a wilder become a dreamer, just as humankind has never produced one. There was a guarded tone in C’Aelis’ sending.

  “You’ve said it yourself that history doesn’t always represent the truth. Could it be that I am the first?”

  Perhaps, Alessan, but there must have been some catalyst, something that changed you or an ancestor enough to allow the power to be transferred to you.

  “But I’m a ba’caech,” Alessan said, shifting uncomfortably. The movement caused the Lumber axe strapped on his back to budge. Reaching behind, he pulled the weapon free from its bindings and thumbed the blade.

  It would not be a physical trait, C’Aelis responded, glancing sympathetically at the young man. His eyes suddenly widened as he watched Alessan handle the blade.

  The people of Briar, they are all Lumbers? the Gorimm asked anxiously.

  “Well, of the men, I’d say every household includes at least one or two members of the Guild.”

  And every one of the Lumbers carries an axe of their own?

  “Of course! The Lumbers’ Guild doesn’t allow full membership status to anyone who hasn’t finished crafting his weapon. To my knowledge, no one has ever failed the final ceremony in the Great Wood,” Alessan replied, a confused look on his face.

  What exactly is this ceremony? C’Aelis pressed.

  “The apprentice, after spending many hours at the forge working with a master smith, must remain one night in the Aeldenwood. When the full moon rises, the man fells one tree; a final act proving that he has no fear in the face of our greatest foe. He then asks a blessing from Fwaera, the Elder Goddess, and remains on guard, alert, and ready to defend himself should evil seek to destroy him. In the morning, carrying the freshly cut stump of the fallen tree, the apprentice is welcomed into the Guild. There is a festival that evening to celebrate those men who have recently joined the ranks of the Lumbers,” Alessan said.

  Fwaera… I wonder…

  “What is it? You’re hiding something, C’Aelis,” Alessan looked on in frustration.

  Can I see the weapon? C’Aelis asked politely.

  Alessan passed it to him and the Gorimm accepted the axe with an obvious look of disdain and disgust. He whispered once again under his breath, chanting as he had over his own blades.

  Alessan sucked in his breath as a white glow emanated from the hilt and blade. “Blessed Arne, is it magical?!” he exclaimed.

  There is power within this axe. I wonder whether the Elder Gods are not as dormant as we have been led to believe, C’Aelis wondered. Hastily passing the weapon back, his forehead was creased with worry. The magic of your weapon, Alessan, could mean that the Lumbers and their families could carry the talent within themselves. Your affinity with Aer could very well have come from your father. The possibilities of so many people attuned to the natural world may explain the Guild itself…

  “How do you mean?”

  By being attuned to the r
estlessness of the forest combined with the natural world in chaos after the disappearance of my people, it could be that your ancestors were only trying to correct the delicate balance we shattered.

  “With divine guidance from the gods?” Alessan ventured.

  C’Aelis rose from his seat and shouldered his backpack. Grabbing his black bow, he helped Alessan to his feet. It is very possible, but I need time to think. In any case, we must be off. Hopefully we can also find answers to some of your questions, Alessan. There is magic in the Guild of Lumbers. How exactly it came about is still unclear, but there is no doubt it exists and has possibly bled into the bloodlines of those border towns along the Aeldenwood. The Silveryn Order must have no idea… If the monks of Scholaris can’t help explain, then I’m afraid your powers may remain a mystery.

  Rushing to follow his companion, Alessan called for Greiyfois to follow. They continued their trek in silence, both men consumed by their own thoughts. As the ground passed swiftly beneath their feet, Alessan held the axe in his hand. C’Aelis’ argument made sense, too much so in fact, and Alessan couldn’t take his eyes from the weapon.

  Magic in my veins… magic in Briar… divine guidance… destiny, he contemplated.

  The journey through the northern expanse of the Aeldenwood passed swiftly and with little commotion. If any more Gath were roaming near P’haerin Vale, they had missed C’Aelis and Alessan’s frantic escape.

  The effort to elude the creatures had taken its toll on the young man from Briar. The steady pace his Gorimm companion set that first day had left him sore all over. His throat burned, his legs ached, and yet he voiced no complaints. The mere thought of facing the mindless fury of the demonic Gath was reason enough to push onwards.

  Greiyfois remained with the two travellers, the wolf’s wounds having finally healed. Although she would likely retain the scars of her battles with the Gath, she showed no signs of any prolonged damage. The animal was a welcome addition to the quiet procession. Alessan remained somewhat uncomfortable with the long stretches of silence that dominated large portions of the day; for if he did not speak aloud, no sound was ever heard. The fact that C’Aelis spoke in his mind was becoming less intrusive, but Alessan missed the simple sound of a voice other than his own. With Greiyfois, he had a companion whose barks and howls helped break the monotony of each day.

  Alessan persisted with his sword training. Although continuing to struggle, he had shown improvement. The techniques involved highlighted his physical condition, but as the days passed and their destination grew closer, he knew that were trouble to arise, he would be far more prepared than ever before. His arm had continued to strengthen mysteriously, showing definite signs of growth. The once shrunken limb had thickened noticeably, but why, neither man could guess.

  The pair finally reached the southernmost edge of the Druine Mountains as warmer nights and stifling days were ushered in by the late season. The temperature changed far less under the strangely warm cover of the Aeldenwood trees. Looking through the breaks in the foliage, Alessan stared in amazement at the rocky walls of the mountains towering thousands of feet above the forest. Growing up in Briar, he had never seen any mountains from such a close distance. An ecstatic feeling of awe swept through his body every time the trees thinned and he was able to catch a glimpse of the majestic formations.

  “I never imagined they would be so beautiful!” Alessan stared.

  At his side, C’Aelis nodded. Although I desperately love the woodland, the mountains of Kal Maran are magnificent. There is something so impressive about those lone peaks rising high into the sky.

  “And Scholaris is atop one of those peaks?” Alessan marveled.

  No, no. The temple lies only a thousand feet up the north side of that peak, the one my people call Gor’ A’gane, C’Aelis corrected, pointing a long slender finger up towards the flat-topped mountain behind the nearest peak.

  “The Gor’ A’gane?” Alessan twisted his tongue around the unfamiliar word. “Does the name mean anything in particular?”

  It translates to… ‘mind of the giant’, or something akin to that.

  They hoped to skirt around the base of the approaching peak and reach Gor’ A’gane by nightfall. They would camp at the base and begin their ascent the following morning.

  “You know, many of the people of Briar wouldn’t believe that I’m visiting Scholaris. The tale of the historian monks always sounded more fantastical than true,” Alessan said with a nervous laugh. “Come to think of it, I sometimes think I’m dreaming this whole adventure. One day I might go to sleep here and wake up back in my soft warm bed at the Black Boar.”

  And why wouldn’t they believe you, Alessan?

  “Scholaris is more of a legend than anything else in Briar. If it hasn’t anything to do with the Lumbers, you can assume the townsfolk won’t take it for truth,” he replied.

  Even though the story comes from one of their own? C’Aelis’ question was accompanied by feelings of surprise and confusion.

  “Me? One of their own?! Ha!” Alessan laughed, his sarcastic tone not lost upon the Gorimm. “I was an embarrassment, a defect not to be acknowledged or seen.”

  Your father didn’t agree…

  “My father commanded respect,” Alessan declared. “Had he lived, maybe things would have been different. My mother may have continued to smile, and I would have left Briar with the blessings of my family instead of their disappointment.”

  My father always reminded me that all things happen for a reason, Alessan. Could it not be that without your father’s passing you would never have found the courage and resolve to leave behind that which you loved?

  “If my mother’s pain exists only to further my own path, then the gods are less merciful than I once believed,” Alessan replied angrily.

  Alessan…

  With his head down, Alessan stalked angrily off into the woods. “I need to be alone. That means staying out of my thoughts as well,” he fired over his shoulder.

  Standing alone, the Gorimm watched his young charge disappear down the small overgrown path. At his heels, as she had been more often than not these past weeks, Greiyfois padded lightly after him, the young wolf nuzzling her furry head into the young man’s hand.

  Watch him, Greiyfois, C’Aelis sent.

  The following day found the trio beginning their ascent up the immense rock face of the Gor’ A’gane. The treeline eventually thinned as they trekked further up the north face with only a sparse crowd of stubborn trees defying the hard earth. The original trail C’Aelis had followed was now far behind them, and they continued to tread over a much larger path that held the ancient ruts of passing wagons.

  There was a time, C’Aelis reflected, where the Temple caretakers had welcomed all to their small compound, offering to spread the glory of all the knowledge their vaults contained. In the dark years following the Shattering of Kingdoms, the political chaos that resulted saw Scholaris pillaged and their treasures assumed stolen or destroyed. C’Aelis warned Alessan that there was the possibility that the legendary store of knowledge no longer existed.

  Cresting a particularly steep rise, Alessan looked ahead in astonishment. Below them, less than a thousand paces from where they stood, the sheer walls of the mountain sloped downwards into a verdant valley. It was as though one of the gods had carved out a few acres of pristine countryside in this spot on the mountain.

  The rolling terrain was lush and vibrant, small herds of cattle grazed lazily within a large fenced enclosure surrounding the southern point of the valley. A small river wended its way through the center of the terrain, and a wooden mill of a modest size, its water wheel turning steadily, stood beside the most dominant structure in the area.

  The Temple of Scholaris showed absolutely no signs of damage from the Shattering. It was built of immense stones and comprised of wondrous arches and a grand concourse. The arch
itecture was impressive, even from a distance. The elaborate windows were made of multi-coloured glass, dark reds and blues glinting beautifully in the bright sunshine.

  Only two outbuildings were close to the large structure; one obviously a barn, while the other appeared to be a small chicken coop. From their high vantage point, Alessan spied a few robed figures walking about the grounds, their movements relaxed, yet purposeful.

  “It’s incredible!” Alessan proclaimed. “I wonder how many monks live here?”

  Unless things have changed since I left, there are seventeen monks who call the temple home, C’Aelis replied.

  “An odd number,” Alessan uttered.

  The number is representative of the seventeen Elder Gods; those that have been in existence since the beginning of recorded time, C’Aelis responded.

  “You’re mistaken, C’Aelis. There are only thirteen Elder Gods, not seventeen.”

  Trust me, young Oakleaf, there are seventeen. Not every Elder God maintains worshippers. Although it does significantly lower the power and influence the deity might have in this world. The Elder Gods did not simply disappear because of the emergence of new deities like Arne or Fengar.

  “Fengar?”

  An eastern god, my friend, C’Aelis chuckled.

  Digesting the information, Alessan remained silent and walked on. Every day it seemed, brought with it new revelations. He realized now how truly naive he was before coming into contact with the mystical Gorimm.

  As the three companions began the long trek down into the valley, Greiyfois paused and whimpered. No amount of coaxing could alter the animal’s resolute stance.

  She is uncomfortable in such an unfamiliar place. Her home is the Aeldenwood, and here high upon the mountainside she feels farther from home than she really is. C’Aelis smiled sadly, brushing her affectionately. I should have expected as much. I believe she’ll wait in the nearby woods for us to return.

  Stooping down to meet her, Alessan embraced the wolf, nuzzling his face in her soft fur. “I’ll see you soon, Greiyfois,” he promised.