by Elliot Burns
“Your population morale is thirty. That is sufficient for creating watchmen, but to create soldiers you will need to raise it to forty.”
“Hmm. I’m gonna have to think of a way to get them onside, then. I don’t suppose there are any more field wraiths I can go take care of?”
“Not every action a lord takes is combat focused,” said Elena. “Sometimes, there are other ways to get your people onside.”
Mav licked venom from a shard of pastry, then popped the shell in his mouth and crunched it. “Don’t pander to them,” he said, between bites. “Forget about all this morale crap. Just use conscription. You’re a lord, and you have the right to force them into your army. It won’t make you Lord Popular of the Happy kingdom, but it’d fill your ranks.”
“What about if I give them all a flek donation?” said Jack. “It’d mean more hunting, but it could work.”
“You only have two hundred and twenty-nine flek, Lord Halberd,” said Elena.
“I told you, in here you can call me Jack,” he said absently.
“It is conceivable that with days of hunting you could save enough to flek to improve morale, but then you wouldn’t have enough left to create soldiers. You simply don’t have enough flek to improve morale with a gift, create soldiers, and then sustain their costs.”
He put his fingers to his temples. It didn’t really aid his thought, he knew, but it was like a placebo. As if by adopting a thoughtful pose, he could make his mind work better. The problem was that Mav and Elena were fundamentally different people, and they were giving him different advice. Mav was cutthroat, whereas Elena was diplomatic. Jack didn’t know which of them to side with.
Then again, should he side with either of them? Ultimately, responsibility for everything here fell on him. It was his future at stake, after all. He had to be his own man. With that decided, an idea came to him. He had the solution!
“What about this?” he said. “I ask the unoccupied peasants to volunteer to join the army. That way, morale doesn’t matter, because it’s their choice.”
“And how the do you propose to get them to do that, Lord Silvertongue?” said Mav.
“Every man or woman who volunteers earns citizen status for their families," said Jack.
"Fancy words, but what would it actually mean?" said Mav.
"Citizen status is something I’ll make up. It means that they pay less tax on their crops, we give them the option to buy more land. So, anyone who serves in my army voluntarily, can earn the status.”
“And what about the stubborn buggers who aren’t in a hurry to get their heads cut off by raiders?”
“They can still stay in my land, but not as citizens. They pay a higher tax rate. Elena, what do you think?”
The tacher smiled. “It seems that you have paid attention in our studies,” she said.
“Let’s roll this out then. How do I make this a decree?”
“You are the lord,” said Elena. “You can only create units and structures in the building room. For orders, you merely touch your bracelet and issue them.”
Jack pressed his fingers against temples and concentrated. He found that he merely had to think of the details of his order, and text appeared advising him that they were done. Seconds later, more text greeted him.
Policy created: Citizen Status
The people approve of your new policy!
- Population morale increased to 33
-Unoccupied peasants can now be made into soldiers, regardless of population morale
Population increased by 20! [Total: 50]
New people:
Farmers – 13
**Armorer** - 1
Watchman - 1
Unoccupied – 4
Soldier – 1
Woo hoo! It always made him happy to see new people enter his land, but it made him even more so when he saw one with ‘**’ next to them, since this indicated a less common type of person. With an armorer living in his lands, maybe he’d be able to get himself some armor and improve his defence. The next time he was in his building room, he’d take a look. Not only did he now have an armorer, but a soldier had come to live in his lands, and an extra watchman. His force was slowly growing.
“We have another issue, Lord. Jack, I mean,” said Elena. “Even if you had enough flek to create soldiers, you can’t just yet. You can only create watchmen, and they won’t be good enough.”
“Why not?”
“In order to create soldiers, you need to employ a military commander. And you cannot create a commander yourself; you must recruit one from elsewhere.”
“I need a commander, then.” He drummed the table surface with his fingers. “Who do we know who used to serve in an army, and who likes to show off and act tough?”
Both he and Elena focused their gazes on Mav. The thief held up his hands. “Now hold on a minute. I was never an officer. I was too much of a selfish git for that. Too prone to be looking out for number one. You don’t want an army formed in my image, trust me.”
“Yet again, I find myself reluctantly agreeing with Mavelin,” said Elena.
“Then I need to find myself a commander. One who’s capable of leading an army, but cheap enough that they’ll work for a pittance.”
“Commanders like that don’t grow on trees,” said Mav. “But I know where we can start looking.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Golden Troop was a day and a half’s ride northeast away from the castle. Jack was reluctant to leave his castle without a leader for that long, but he had no choice. Before departing, he had stationed one watchman in the castle, another in the peasant village, and the last near the borders of his land. He also spent flek erecting a wooden guard post by the road that would serve as a checkpoint, so at least he would know about any more visitors. They had left Bluntfang in the castle, since Elena’s pet was old and wouldn’t have fared well on the journey.
“This is the place,” said Mav.
Elena pulled her horse to a halt. Since their first ride together, she had improved her riding technique tremendously. “I don’t know what I imagined,” she said, “Perhaps something a little more like a fortress.”
A couple of guards stood on watch outside a wooden gate. They wore stained leather armor and gauntlets, and each had a sword sheathed at their waist. It wasn’t shoddy equipment, by any means. On Jack’s approach, one of them turned a pulley. There was a clanking sound as the gate swung open.
“Remember,” Mav said, glancing at Elena. “this is a place where men train. You know, with real swords and stuff. You might hear some naughty language. Try not to be so tightly wound.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Fuck off,” she said.
Both Jack and Mav laughed at this. There was something inherently funny when Elena lost even the slightest bit of her temper.
Jack clearly remembered Uncle Alfie telling him about this place one night. The Golden Troop, he’d explained, while Jack was tucked up tight in bed, was a mercenary complex where officers without armies waited for command vacancies. Mercenary fighters were allowed to train there in exchange for paying a duty on any flek they earned. They’d answer calls from all parts of Royaume, taking jobs from towns that needed a dose of brawn to solve their problems.
The complex itself was situated where the territories of three lords intersected. The Golden Troop were granted this plot of land centuries ago. Since then, it had been agreed that no lord could lay claim to it.
It was exactly as Alfie had described it, and Jack found it amazing how his uncle’s vision had been translated into game form. Much of the complex was taken by training fields where men and women learned to fight. Most were orphans without a home, or unruly sons and daughters of lords who were sent there to learn discipline. The others were criminals or outcasts who had no other means of earning flek. Humans weren’t the only occupants of the Golden Troop, though. Monsters were bred there for the soldiers to fight, and they were raised on the outskirts by critter farmers.
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br /> “This way, Lord Halberd,” said a guard. “General Bordan likes to meet new arrivals.”
The complex rang with the clash of metal on metal. There was a smell of gunpowder from a nearby field where tinkers practiced with bombs. Near a stone building that formed the command centre, there were rows of tables covered with waterproof tarpaulin. Soldiers sat under it eating their lunch. Some laughed with each other, some played cards, while others were more serious.
“You’d think it’d be a cesspit with the number of mercs around,” said Mav. “Make no mistake. The guy who oversees this place is an ex-general called Bordan Vine. They say he doesn’t take any shit. If you want the right to train here and take jobs, you have to live under his rules. He still insists on being called General, by the way.”
After stabling their horses, they were escorted into the command centre. They walked up a flight of stairs before being led into the office of General Bordan Vine.
It wasn't your standard military leader's room. A giant desk made from varnished wood dominated the room. A gem-hilted great sword laid horizontally across two hooks on a wall behind the desk. A large strategy map covered the east wall, while the west looked out onto the training fields. There were dozens of books on a shelf, and the titles on the spines showed that they were all history tomes. On the desk was a sheet of paper where the name ‘Bordan Vine’ was written several times in signature form, a little better each time. It was like the General had been practicing improving his autograph.
There was just one chair in front of the desk. Filled with a nervous energy, Jack decided to stand. He gestured to Mav. “Age before beauty,” he told him.
“Arseholes first,” replied Mav.
Through the window in the general’s office, Jack could see the training fields outside. In one corner, a group of tinkers were all huddled around what looked like a bomb. They were speaking to each other with concerned looks on their faces. It looked like they were trying to diffuse the bomb.
The door burst open, and a hulk of a man filled the doorframe. There was no doubt that this was General Bordan Vine. He was old, yet Jack couldn’t tell that from his body. Despite his advancing years, he still carried a lot of muscle. It was only his face that gave him away. His brown skin was wrinkled on his forehead and under his eyes. Dozens of tiny little dots scarred his cheek, as though he'd caught the full blast of an explosion at some point. Without a word, Bordan settled behind his desk. He seemed too big for it, and Jack imagined that if the General rested his arms on it, it might break under his bulk. Before Jack could say a word, Bordan snapped his fingers.
A man with a crooked back hobbled in. He wore a robe, and the loops sewn into it jangled as he crossed the room. He was obviously a tacher.
"You wanted to see me?" asked Bordan.
“General, two lieutenants have complained that longsword and buckler stocks have run out,” said the old tacher.
“Didn’t we order more?” asked Bordan.
“You wanted to save flek.”
“Then I must not have realized our supply was so low. Come on, Allvem, what do I pay your cobweb-brained masters for?”
“I did tell you…”
“Damn it, you loop-rattling ninny. Can I be expected to make every decision around here? That’s why I pay those shit-arsed tachers to keep you around. Perhaps I could save flek by sending you back to your hovel.”
The whole argument unfolded as if Bordan hadn’t even realized Jack was in the room. Elena gave a polite cough. When Bordan looked at his guests, he gave a beaming smile.
“Hello, my young friends. Take a seat, please.” He paused. “We seem to be short a chair. I’ll have an extra one brought in for you. Johnson?”
The guard who had escorted them to the office peeked his head into the doorframe. “Yes, sir?”
“Could I have an extra two chairs brought in for my guests?” he said. He then spoke to Jack, Elena and Mav. “Would any of you care for a drink?”
“I’m good,” said Mav.
Jack elbowed him. Thankfully, Mav took the hint that he needed to be polite. “I’ll take a glass of water if you’re so kind. Purified by seep beetles if you have any.”
“Regular water’s fine for me,” said Jack.
The soldier nodded. He was gone for just seconds, before returning with a tray of drinks. He placed three cups on Bordan’s desk, before starting to pour water into them.
“I can serve my own guests,” said Bordan. “Go back to your dice. I know you and the others have a game going on.”
“I’m here to serve,” said the soldier.
“Come on, Johnson. You work hard. Don’t pretend you don’t have a hand you need to win. Just be ready for when I call you again.”
“Sir.”
After the soldier left, Bordan reached across the desk and poured water into each cup. Jack found himself liking the old general immediately. There was something trustworthy about him, an aura that he gave off that said ‘I’m a good guy! Be my friend!’
“Regretfully we don’t have seep beetles,” said Bordan. “That’s rather an exotic taste, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Where I’m from you can buy a dozen for a flek,” said Mav.
“Ah, so you’re from the Dirtrun Isles, then? How interesting. We must talk one day about what the area is like. And what about you?” he said, looking at Jack.
Jack had to admit that this man was nothing like he had expected. His hulking frame, thick armor and bulky muscles hid his courteous manner.
“You’ve probably never heard of where I’m from,” he answered.
“I have seen a lot of the world, young master.”
“Trust me, you wouldn’t know this place.”
Tacher Allvem stood in the corner. Each time he shifted position, his loops rattled. He seemed to be eyeing Elena with some venom. Jack could tell that she was trying not to show it, but he could feel anger beginning to emanate from her. Before he could do anything, she leant forward.
“Something to say?” she asked.
The old tacher scowled. “Rather a strange costume for one of our order,” he said. “Where are your robes?”
“Never mind my robes, you old bastard. Where are your brains?”
Jack felt his eyes widen. What was with Elena today?
“I assure you, you scruffy little bitch, I will-”
Bordan interrupted Allvem. There was a boom to his voice that Jack imagined would cross a battle field with ease.
“That is quite enough,” he said. “Please attend to our inventory problem.” Then he smiled at Elena. “Don’t listen to this blustery old shitbag’s jibes.”
“A tacher should not attend her master while dressed as a commoner,” said Allvem. “She should-”
“That is quite enough! Get the fuck out of here, Allvem. You really are a ratchety old bollock-waffle. Why is it that you argue with anyone who shows the slightest hint of academia? Do they threaten you?”
Tacher Allvem said nothing. He stayed in his corner with the crookedest of scowls on his face.
“Apologize to our guests for your rudeness,” said Bordan.
Tacher Allvem bent into an impossibly low bow, putting every possible fibre of sarcasm into the gesture. He spoke with a mocking inflexion in his voice. “I do so apologize if I have offended you, our distinguished guests. Please forgive me.”
“No go and rattle your loops elsewhere, please,” said Bordan.
After the tacher had departed, Bordan focused his attention on them.
“I don’t know why I tolerate him. Perhaps it’s because I love arguing with him. He’s so amusing when he gets annoyed. I know I shouldn’t goad him, but sometimes I can’t help it. Now, where were we? I’m sure you’re not here to listen to an old general prattle. What can I do for you? I’m assuming you have need of some men with swords?”
“Well,” said Jack, “we’re looking-”
Bordan interrupted Jack’s speech by slapping his head. “Sorry. I am missing
a step. Introductions – that’s the way to do it. I’m General Bordan Vine, warden of Golden Troop. And your names?”
Mav was the first to answer. “Mav Coyne.”
“Coyne... Coyne… Do I know that name? It’s rankling around in my head, for some reason. And you, pretty miss?”
Was Elena blushing at being called pretty? Jack could have sworn she was. “Elena A. Gaard,” she answered.
“That’s a tacher name if I ever heard one.”
“That’s right.”
Bordan his attention was focused on Jack. There was something deeply charismatic about the general. His manner was that of a kindly uncle, except one covered head to toe in armor. “And you?” he asked.