The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  Hoping fervently to put distance between both groups, Gavin had pushed his men hard, preferring to ride carefully throughout the night rather than resting and in turn risking a possible confrontation. The following morning saw no fading in the threat of those who dogged their steps. If anything, their pursuers had continued to gain ground. Without the benefit of any break in the barren plain, Gavin resolved that their only hope of escape was through the broken terrain to the north.

  Already Gavin could make out the rough foothills of the Erienn range, the cracked and treacherous ground being the first line of defense leading to the sanctuary of the Silveryn mages. The rough countryside might give them the cover they so desperately needed.

  As the morning passed, Gavin increased the pace of their march, alternating between fast trots and a slower canter in order to maximize the stamina of their mounts. It wasn’t until Tinaes came riding at a full gallop back into their ranks that the young Fey’Derin captain knew that no choice was left; they would need to race for cover.

  “How many?” he asked, the breathless scout reining in at his side for the second time that day.

  “A handful over two score, just as you suspected, Gavin,” Tinaes replied gravely. “They carry unfamiliar banners adorned with a hyena,” the young man added between breaths.

  “Khali…” Gavin swore.

  As Remus came riding back into their midst, Gavin made his decision. Throwing an apologetic look towards Bider, he paused to survey the men entrusted with his safety. “The men who pursue us are known to me. They will offer no terms of surrender, and they will show us no mercy,” he began with terrible conviction. “We ride now for the hills and broken ground of the mountains. If at any time it appears we will be overtaken, Cail you will ride east while the rest of us make our stand.”

  “By the gods, I won’t!” the Drayen shouted defiantly. The veteran soldier, his feathers shaking madly in his fury, pulled hard on his horse’s bridle, causing the mount to rear up.

  “You will do as I say,” Gavin interjected calmly. “Whatever my feelings towards your liege lord, Serian Rhone must be contacted. You are the most experienced soldier here, and whether you agree with my decision or not, you will follow my orders.”

  “I won’t leave like a coward,” Cail growled, turning to the Drayenmark veteran Benias for support.

  Benias shook his head. “There’s nothing else that can be done. You know the land and can survive where most of us could not. To you must fall this burden.”

  “You must reach Lord Rhone,” Remus added.

  In silence, Cail nodded in agreement, his face a dark mask.

  “Then it is decided,” Gavin announced. “Time is not on our side, let’s be off!”

  Without another word he spurred his mount into action and rode hard towards the northeast, the beckoning outline of the foothills still far off in the distance.

  The jarring force of the prolonged ride was agonizing for Bider. His ankle throbbed unbearably as Gavin led the band towards the closest of the hills. With luck, Bider thought they might find a canyon or gully in which to hide or defend themselves, but staying conscious was proving to be the more pressing need at the moment. Clutching a handful of his horse’s thick mane, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth to fight the pain.

  The sun rose high overhead as the chase wore on. Having already spent a portion of their strength in racing back to report their findings, both Tinaes and Remus found their steeds flagging noticeably. Unwilling to leave any men behind, Gavin gently eased the pace even though by doing so, Khali’s Reavers would certainly gain ground.

  As they neared the edge of the broken ground, Bider risked a glance at their pursuers. Unlike earlier that morning, Khali’s men no longer resembled a simple dust cloud on the horizon. Clear figures on horseback, each man wearing the black and scarlet of the New Protectorate, were now distinguishable.

  Tinaes had figured correctly; at least forty men tailed them. Without adequate cover there was little hope for the eight men. The numbers were simply too overwhelming. Not even Gavin Silveron’s skill with a blade would be enough to help them in an open field battle.

  The captain led them carefully through a smattering of crumbling boulders and steep canyon walls that rose up from the very edge of the flat plain. As they passed into a long but very narrow defile, the entrance partially blocked by large broken stones that had long ago fallen from the sloping sides of the canyon, Gavin slowed their pace. Beckoning Benias to his side, the two men bent their heads close and spoke privately. For Bider, those few minutes seemed to stretch out endlessly. For every moment they were delayed, Khali’s Reavers drew ever closer.

  Finally, Gavin nodded at the Drayen warrior and gracefully leapt from his saddle. Grabbing his longsword from over his shoulder he unsheathed the weapon and stabbed it point first into the ground.

  “This is where we make our stand.”

  The thunder of hammering hooves echoed off of the cracked walls of the small ravine where Gavin and Benias waited with their small group. The sound seemed to come from everywhere all at once, and Bider could do little to hide his discomfort. The defenses behind which they now hid were barely adequate. Granted, the charging riders may very well lose a man or two as they roared around the sharp corner of the gully, but Bider surmised they could still be easily overwhelmed.

  “Not such great odds, are they?” Tinaes whispered from his left.

  A quick glance proved that he wasn’t the only nervous man. “Being outnumbered almost six to one is never a bet I would take,” Bider answered with a failed attempt at a smile. “But we have archers and the Captain, that’s got to count for something.”

  “We place our lives in the hands of the gods,” Remus added reverently. Try as he might, Bider still couldn’t make hide or hair of the strange Drayenmark scout.

  The noise increased and was now almost deafening. Bider found himself loosening the straps on his bandolier, patiently waiting with his hands ready to throw daggers at the first of Khali’s riders as they came into range. How effective he would be in a fight considering his injuries still remained in doubt.

  By the gods the noise is incredible!

  Of the seven men, Cail had been dispatched east once they entered the foothills, only three stood on the ravine floor, the others were positioned on higher ground like Bider and his two comrades. Gavin Silveron stood foremost in the small line, his companions gripping their Drayen spears and preparing to block the impending cavalry charge.

  “Hold tight, here they come!” Benias shouted, his braids dancing wildly. He tossed his head back and loosed a Drayen war cry. “T’aheris ni feldnar!”

  “T’aheris ni feldnar!” the remaining Drayenmark echoed the cry.

  It was at that moment, with the loose rocks and stones of the little gully shaking and sliding about, that the clear cry of defiance by the Drayen warrior inexplicably sounded from behind the small band of defenders.

  “T’AHERIS NI FELDNAR!!” A voice cried out, and Bider turned towards the rear of the ravine just as the first of Khali’s Reavers rounded the bend.

  In awe, the Fey’Derin scout watched the tough, weather-beaten face of Caolte Burnaise charge up through the canyon with two scores of Fey’Derin and Delan Fere riding at his side. With jarring force, the lead elements of both companies collided, the powerful charge of the Fey’Derin forces slicing through the shocked Reavers.

  On the valley floor, Gavin and Benias stood shoulder to shoulder as remnants of Khali’s assault slipped through the carnage, most of the men immediately falling to the arrows released from both sides of the gully. But for those that reached the two soldiers, little hope remained for their survival. With calculated precision both warriors slew any that approached. Through it all, Gavin wore an expression of unwavering resolve.

  Bider suddenly realized that he was shouting in triumph, his voice mingling with
that of his companions. He could feel the blood rushing through him, and he was unsure of what to do with all his energy. He had been so close to death, and now suddenly the world seemed brighter than ever before.

  The battle itself raged for only a short period of time. Khali’s Reavers, outnumbered and outclassed, broke as easily as Caolte had expected. Within minutes of blunting their charge, those left alive from the group of forty former mercenaries scattered in the hopes of escaping the wrath of the Fey’Derin and the Delan Fere. Caolte ordered most of the men back instead of giving chase. Pursuit seemed of little importance. Only a small group of Eagle Runners ranged about the plain, the company scouts on guard and alert for any further signs of danger.

  Bider was sitting quietly with Tinaes on the very ledge where they had been standing during the short-lived engagement, when he spotted a familiar figure among the assembled men. The man’s unmistakable long black coat could be easily identified among the milling soldiers as Ethan Shade broke from the cluster huddling near Captain Silveron and approached the pair.

  Bider limped painfully towards his company officer, offering his forearm to the man. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Sergeant,” Bider grinned.

  “Well, you look like you could use a drink or two of ale from my saddlebags, Bider,” Ethan gripped the scout’s outstretched forearm. “You’re lucky Sergeant McConnal isn’t here to greet you or he’d have had much more to say in the matter,” the Fey’Derin officer laughed.

  “I have no doubt of that!” Bider conceded.

  “Are you well enough to travel?” Ethan asked, staring at the splint on Bider’s lower leg.

  “I can manage, sir,” Bider replied with a shrug. “In any case, I’m not staying behind. There could be another Sciloc nearby,” he added slyly.

  “A Sciloc…?” Ethan uttered. “Bider, I believe you have a story to tell.”

  “And without some ale, I’ll not be telling it, so you’d best get me headed in the right direction,” Bider answered. “Oh and I’ll need a drink for my new friend as well,” he waved a hand at Tinaes.

  “All right, all right, you win!” Ethan threw an arm around the smaller scout’s shoulder, and the two men headed off towards the horses, Tinaes not far behind.

  The manner in which Gavin had spoken of the promised healing should have been the first clue for Bider. The captain had always spoken of his shattered limb and the magical procedure in hushed tones, as if he never really felt comfortable broaching the subject. Bider had always assumed that Gavin’s behaviour meant that some pain must be involved, or that the Fey’Derin commander had himself already been a beneficiary of a similar treatment.

  Bider had had no idea that the pain would be so great.

  Three robed women had placed him on a strangely warm, black wood table and warned him to expect only a ‘slight discomfort’ during the procedure. He now knew what those words truly meant. He would not even wish such torture on his worst enemies.

  Upon their arrival in Dragon Mount, Gavin had immediately been ushered into council while Bider had been escorted by Ethan Shade to the lower levels of the Silveryn fortress. Bider had been fighting a fever for the better part of the journey, the harrowing chase across the plains at least partially to blame. His body ached all over, and his damaged ankle throbbed mercilessly. For days at a time sleep eluded the scout, but through all the hazy memories of the journey, familiar faces returned to lend him strength: Gavin, Ethan, Caolte, and even the Drayen scouts Tinaes and Remus.

  Guided through the immaculate corridors of the Silveryn citadel, Bider was led into a large oval chamber with only one piece of furniture - an immense, black wooden table. Set at an angle, the strange contraption had restraints for his arms, legs, and head. Wondering if he had been mistaken for an enemy, he was worried about what was to come, but Ethan Shade never moved from his side, the hawk-nosed sergeant encouraging him even as the straps were tightened in place.

  The three grey-robed women, mages no doubt, started to chant and his body had been filled with a wave of warm light that soothed his harried mind. The euphoric feeling lasted no longer than a heartbeat before it was replaced by the pain. It was as if every inch of his being was on fire; every vein, every fiber, every vessel, burned with a white hot heat.

  He had screamed himself hoarse before the magical healing process was completed. He had passed out twice from the pain, but the second time he had been aware of his bones knitting themselves together. The effect was unsettling to say the least. Time soon lost all meaning to him, and he finally succumbed to the darkness.

  Squinting at a slash of blinding light poking through a pair of thin white curtains, Bider gingerly opened his eyes.

  “Good afternoon, Coren,” a familiar voice sounded from beside him.

  Turning his head slowly, as if in anticipation of more pain, Bider looked at Gavin Silveron. “I can’t believe I’m still alive,” he groaned.

  “I can assure you, you are very much among the living.”

  “It hurt so much,” Bider said.

  “The process speeds up the natural rate of healing for a patient,” Gavin explained, a guilty flush colouring his cheeks. “Unfortunately, tampering with the laws of nature brings with it a steep price. Your body, and more specifically your mind, cannot understand the speed in which your bones are knitting, your cuts healing or your bruises fading. What would have been a lengthy recovery time for your shattered ankle was amplified in your mind over the course of an hour. Our bodies simply don’t know how to deal with such an event.”

  “You could have warned me,” Bider retorted.

  “I am truly sorry, Coren, but there was no time once your fever caught and the infections from your broken ribs spread rapidly through your system. You were nearly lost to us by the time Ir’Calen and her novices began their ministrations,” Gavin said regretfully.

  “I wish an explanation could make these horrid memories go away…” Bider lay quietly in the bed, a contemplative look on his face. Gavin remained seated in the high-backed chair for long minutes before finally speaking once again.

  “It wasn’t my intention to bring you to harm. I only wanted to help,” he said.

  “I know, sir… I know.”

  “How do you feel?” Gavin continued.

  “I’m hungry, I guess, and apart from that I feel fine,” Bider answered. “Almost…”

  “Your ankle will always ache, especially in colder weather, but it has been fully restored,” Gavin answered.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Captain. I’m not sure if you can deduct the treatment from my wages, but…”

  “I’ll hear none of that,” Gavin held up a hand in protest. “Without your well-fired crossbow bolt, neither of us would be here discussing this subject. Consider your healing treatment a recompense for time well served in the company of your commanding officer.”

  “How are the men?” Bider asked with some concern.

  Gavin fairly glowed with pride as he answered the question. “Lieutenant Burnaise successfully led the company out of the Caeronwood and to Dragon Mount, as I knew he would. We took losses, but on the whole we’ve come out relatively unscathed. The men fought hard and we’ve no doubt given Gerald Armsmater something to remember us by,” he smiled.

  “And the Delan Fere?”

  “Both the Sisters of the Sword and Herod’s company reached the safety of the Silveryn Order with more significant losses, but regardless, they stand ready to continue the fight,” Gavin replied.

  “Thank you for everything,” Bider bowed slightly at the waist. “I also feel well enough to fight once more,” he added with a relieved sigh,

  “Excellent,” Gavin nodded in approval as he rose to his feet. “Then I’ll expect you to report to Sergeant Shade immediately after you’ve found something to eat downstairs. Era Colwyn should have something boiling over the hearth.”

 
“Any particular reason for the urgency?” Bider asked, slipping out of the large bed and reaching for his tunic and Drayenmark leathers.

  “On the morrow the company will ride for Delfwane.”

  “So soon?”

  Gavin chuckled. “You’ve been recuperating for almost a week.”

  “Alright then, why Delfwane?” Bider asked.

  “Because that is where Gadian Yarr wishes to make war. I plan on being there to remind him of my views about his sovereignty,” Gavin replied.

  With a smile, Bider reached for his bandoliers.

  The river is immense. With such a mighty current, I deem it unlikely the goblins cross the water without trepidation. That is, of course, if they attempt to cross it at all. They are fearful of the water by nature, are they not?

  —Lord Crispin, The Explorers Vol. II

  Chapter XLIV

  The River D’Erlin, Goblin Territories

  Auric was the first to descend the rope. The instant he landed on the earth, Leoric ushered Benoit over the side of the cliff. Their survival depended on a speedy descent. As the moments slipped by, he kept a close watch on the approach of their enemies. It was as though they had sensed their prey was close, and now they moved with unbelievable speed and focus. Leoric had to grudgingly admit that the goblin soldiers were in excellent shape, their stamina far exceeding that of the weary fugitives.

  “Can we fight them if need be?” Leoric asked his towering companion.

  “It would be hopeless, Leoric. We’ll take some to the heavens with us, but we’ve little chance against so many. They know we’re here, and sometimes one’s courage matters little in battle,” Angvald answered.

  “They are too many…” Leoric agreed and turned back to the task at hand.

  He was the last to drop down below the ledge. Hitting the ground in a sprint, the others were already far ahead. Benoit and Auric were standing hip deep in the water trying desperately to drag the beached ferry off the shore. Unlike their first crossing of the River D’Erlin, this time the ferry wasn’t tied to a dock. The heavy boat had been dragged partially up on the shore and tied to the nearest tree with a length of thick rope.