by Ari Marmell
/I’m perfectly comfortable, Corvis,/ Khanda told him snidely.
“Give me a brief summary,” he said to Seilloah and Davro. “Company commanders. I need a new lieutenant now that Valescienn’s clawed his way onto my ‘Needs Killing’ list. You’ve known these people longer than I have. I want suggestions.”
Seilloah shrugged. “I’ll let Davro handle this end of it, Corvis. I can tell you which ones impressed me the most, but I think you want the opinion of a soldier on this.”
“Seems reasonable. Davro?”
The ogre frowned, his horn quivering a bit as his muscles tensed. “There’s only three worth mentioning,” he said slowly. “They’ve sort of elected themselves spokesmen for the rest of the happy mob we’ve got gathered out there, and they’re some of the most respected. It should be one of them.”
“I still have to meet with all of them, you know.”
“That’s entirely up to you, Corvis. You wanted my recommendation, so I’m giving it to you. You can’t imagine how little I care whether you take it or not.”
“My sincerest and most humble apologies, O wise ogre. Pray continue.”
Davro glowered for a solid fifteen seconds, then shrugged. “Teagan’s a strong man, probably a good fighter, and his people like him. But he doesn’t strike me as entirely the most dependable type.”
“All right.”
“Hmm. Ellowaine is damn good at what she does. She’s about as cold as they come, except where her men are concerned, and she’s efficient. But she’s a little temperamental to lead an army, and anyway, I’m not certain most of the men out there would accept a woman as their commanding officer.”
Corvis nodded blandly, ignoring Seilloah’s dramatic eye-roll. “And the third?”
“Losalis. Big man. Calm, collected, and, from what I understand, something of a genius when it comes to tactics. Probably the best man out there for the job, Corvis. If he wants it. Losalis is a little odd, and I’m not sure he’s in this for the same reason as most mercenaries. He doesn’t seem terribly interested in his reputation, which may just be why he’s got such a damn huge one.”
“He’s smart, too,” Seilloah added.
“All right. I’m not making any decisions yet, but I’ll keep this all in mind.” He looked with no small amount of distaste at the heavy helm, and then took a deep breath and slid it back over his head.
/You didn’t ask my opinion, Corvis./
“Noticed that, did you?” Then, after fastening the helm securely, he nodded to Seilloah. “All right, send the first one in.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Here you go, Sergeant.” The bag of coins clanked and cluttered weakly as it struck the scarred wooden desktop. “Tell your men they did an outstanding job, and congratulate them on surviving long enough to return home. Hopefully, it’ll be years before Cephira tries anything like this again.”
Corvis Rebaine, relatively new to the rank of sergeant in Imphallion’s army—and the only surviving officer of his squad-blinked once and looked meaningfully at the leather bag that sat quivering, rather like a weak pudding, on the desk.
“Sir …,” he offered hesitantly, unsure how to proceed.
“Is there a problem, Sergeant?” Colonel Nessarn leaned back in his chair, idly stroking one end of his drooping mustache.
“Well, sir, it’s just that, unless that bag is full of really small emeralds and rubies, there’s no way there’s enough in there for me to pay my men a quarter of what they’re owed.”
“No, there’s not,” the older soldier agreed.
“Uh, and why is that, sir?”
“Not enough funds.” The colonel’s voice was utterly flat. He might as well have been discussing such vital concerns as the phase of the moon, or which pair of socks were best on a cold morning.
“I …” Corvis actually had to work to force the words through a jaw that seemed somehow determined both to clench in anger and fall limp in surprise. “Sir, you assigned me to escort duty when the payroll arrived, remember? I saw the size of the chest they unloaded!”
“Are you questioning my orders, Sergeant?”
“I’m questioning your assertion. Sir.”
The colonel rose slowly to his feet, cheeks reddening in a growing anger behind his mustache. “The rest is for the Guild soldiers, Rebaine!”
“I see. They’re to be paid while my men go without, sir?”
“They won the war for us, Sergeant. I may not be a great admirer of mercenaries, but frankly, it’s far more important we keep them happy and content with us than it is for us to fill the grubby fists of a few conscripted peasants with coppers.”
Corvis felt his entire body trembling. “That’s your final decision, sir?”
“It damn well is! You take what you’ve got, and you go and tell your men that they’re lucky to be going home at all!”
The guards found Colonel Nessarn the next morning, the tendons in the back of his knees and ankles slit, a dagger pinning his body to the earth through his throat. The payroll chest, which had remained hidden in a false bottom in the desk, was open and held not so much as a single coin.
None of Imphallion’s officers saw Corvis Rebaine again—not until years later, when he would face them from beyond their fortified walls, behind the visor of a skull-shaped helm.
But before he vanished that night, every one of Sergeant Rebaine’s soldiers was paid in full.
THE DAY GREW MONOTONOUS, each and every meeting proceeding in exactly the same way. A commander would enter, sit before the desk, his gaze drawn in morbid contemplation of the iron-banded skull and the advisers who stood—or in the case of Davro loomedw—behind it. And each and every time, Corvis went through the exact same sequence.
“Name?
“Age?
“Size of company?
“Combat experience?”
That last one achieved some intriguing results. A great deal of them had been involved in the most recent border clashes between Imphallion and the nation of Cephira to the east that had threatened, perhaps eleven years back, to erupt into a full-scale war. What Corvis found surprising, however, was that Ellowaine had been an officer in the private army of the Merchants’ Guild until she finally got bloody sick and tired of watching less-skilled warriors promoted over her simply because, as she herself put it, “they dangle in different places than I do.” Even more interesting was the fact that Teagan, as a young soldier, actually fought during the warlord’s original campaign.
“Although,” the thickset warrior had admitted during his interview, “it was the other side I was fightin’ for at the time. Is that a problem, m’lord?”
“Not at all,” Corvis told him flatly. “You fought for the side you were paid to fight for. That’s what mercenaries do. Just remember that this time, I’m the one paying you.”
“Of course, m’lord.”
“Then why don’t I show you the gold, and we can move on to your colleagues? Can’t keep them waiting.”
“Of course, m’lord!” Teagan repeated, his eyes bright.
The bar that Corvis gave him—which had, until Khanda fiddled with it, been an amorphous lump of iron retrieved from the town blacksmith—was fairly small. Transmutation was an exhausting process, even with a demon’s power, and it would have been utterly impossible to generate the precious metal in large quantities. But then, mercenaries were commonly paid in silver pennies, and a single gold noble would pay an average sword-for-hire for a month. Even a bar of such modest size, then, was a sufficient advance to hold on to Teagan’s company for some time to come.
“And the rest, m’lord?” Teagan asked shrewdly. “I don’t mean to pry, but yer lovely lass promised us a look at the goods to come.”
“Of course, Teagan. Right over here.”
Concealed beneath the thick metal of Corvis’s breastplate, Khanda began to glow. A brief rush of magic swept through the chamber, and a sudden shiver galloped like a frantic gelding down Teagan’s spine.
“A wee bit chilly in here,” he commented with a grin. But the sorcery did its job: When Teagan left the storeroom, he was absolutely convinced that he’d seen half a dozen gleaming stacks of gold bars, hidden away inside the tavern’s empty crates.
“Think you can do that fifteen more times?” Corvis asked Khanda.
/Please. I’m just manipulating the human mind. It’s not as though I’m dealing with anything complex./
“Thanks. All right, send in the next one.”
And so it went. As the hours trudged by and the task grew nearer to completion, Corvis was forced to agree with Davro’s assessment. Teagan was a good man to have on his side, but too unreliable and unfocused to lead an army. Ellowaine would have been a good choice, except he didn’t quite trust her to keep a hold on her temper. Most of the others were equally unsuited.
Finally, as evening drew near, all the company commanders had paraded through. All but one.
“Name?”
“Losalis, my lord.”
“Age?”
“Thirty-four, give or take a year.”
“Size of company?”
“It’s more of a small Guild, my lord. About nine hundred men.”
Corvis glanced up. “All under your command?”
“Assuming you don’t count delegation, yes.” He placed his arms on the desk in front of him, the shield resting awkwardly atop the wood.
“I see. Combat experience?”
“In general, or with the company I lead now?”
“In general.”
“Hmm. A few Guild feuds and guard duty for more merchant caravans than I care to count.” He grinned ever so slightly. “Was doing that when you last appeared, so I’m afraid I didn’t have the pleasure of fighting in your first war.”
“Of course.”
“What else? That border dispute with Cephira, obviously. I think damn near everyone who knew which end of a spear to hold was involved in that one. Oh, and I was a battalion commander in the war against the Dragon Kings.”
That brought Corvis up short. The Dragon Kings of the north had sent a small invasion force against the southern nations perhaps eight years earlier. It was the only time in recorded history that Imphallion and Cephiran forces fought on the same side. That Losalis had commanded an entire battalion said more for his skill and tactical experience than the rest of his history combined.
The low whistle from behind him indicated that Davro, too, realized the significance of what was just said.
“As I understand it,” Corvis said deliberately, “they only put the best on the front lines against the Dragon Kings’ armies.”
Losalis leaned back, his gaze level. “I am the best,” he said, with no trace of braggadocio. “Whether you choose to acknowledge that fact or take advantage of it is entirely up to you. You’re the man in charge, after all.”
Davro snorted over Corvis’s shoulder. “I see that modesty isn’t one of your virtues,” the ogre observed.
The dark-skinned warrior shrugged. “A false modesty is just another sort of lie, isn’t it?”
Corvis tried to glance sidelong at Seilloah to gauge her reaction, only to find himself staring at a big curved blur that was the front edge of his helmet. The damn thing allowed nothing in the way of peripheral vision. Repressing an exasperated sigh, he said, “And what would you do if I were to designate you my first lieutenant, Losalis?”
“Pretty much just pass your orders on to the men, like a trained parrot. Isn’t that what lieutenants do?” A large white grin appeared within his night-black beard. “Of course, in most armies, higher rank means higher pay.”
Corvis laughed out loud. “I think, my friend, that we can arrange that.” Deliberately, he reached up and removed that abominably uncomfortable helm, then stretched forth his right hand. “Welcome to the war, Losalis.”
His expression bemused, the large soldier clasped the warlord’s hand. “Amazing,” he said drily.
“What?” Corvis absently brushed away a few strands of hair dangling in his eyes. “Are you shocked that the Terror of the East is a human being?”
“My lord, if you listen to all the myths, you’re iron-skinned, twenty feet tall with claws and fangs, eat steel, spit poison, and bleed acid.”
“It’s all true,” Corvis told him. “I’m in disguise.”
Losalis chuckled.
“All right, Losalis, here’s what we’re going to do …”
“SO, my girl, what d’you think o’ our new employer?”
Ellowaine’s eyes gleamed over the rim of her tankard. Teagan sat with his chair tilted back and his dirt-encrusted boots propped up on the table. He held in a greedy fist the largest mug Ellowaine had ever seen, and he was constantly reaching out to grab the harried barmaids—by whatever anatomy might be handy—so they might top it off.
“I think that if you call me ‘my girl’ one more time, you’re going to shit teeth for a week.”
“Why, darlin’, such language!”
“As for Rebaine … he seems impressive. He’s got one hell of a reputation and he certainly talks a good fight. But I’m withholding final judgment until I see him on the field.”
“Have you no respect for anyone you’ve not seen in battle, then?”
“No.” One tiny corner of her mouth quirked upward in the first trace of a smile. “Of course, for the amount of gold I saw in that room, I’ll follow a man I don’t respect to the gates of hell.”
“Aye, isn’t that the truth?” Teagan sighed lustfully. “I—”
A massive fist smashed into the table with a veritable thunderclap. The thick-bearded warrior’s chair crashed backward as Teagan shot to his feet with a startled oath. Ellowaine rose smoothly as well, her hands clutching the twin hafts of her hatchets.
“What the bloody hell are you doin’, Losalis?” Teagan screamed, red-faced. “You scared me half to death!”
“Just getting your attention,” the taller man said calmly. “Have I got your attention?”
“I’ve got half a mind to give you more’n that, you daft—”
“Good.” Losalis shifted his gaze from Teagan to Ellowaine and back again. Then, in an earth-shaking voice that cut through the tumult of the common room and carried to the far walls, he said, “Lord Rebaine wants the men organized. He wants camps set up by division, he wants them orderly, and he wants them ready to break camp and march at a moment’s notice. We’re an army now, not a mob, so start acting it. He’s called a meeting with all company commanders in exactly one hour, right here in the taproom. It’ll be quiet enough, because everyone else damn well better be out getting organized. There’ll be an inspection of the camp at dawn tomorrow; any shortcomings will be the responsibility of the company commander.”
“What are you blabbin’ about?” Teagan demanded angrily. “Who bloody well put you in charge?”
“I did.”
The door to the storeroom stood ajar, and Corvis Rebaine, helm clutched under one arm, surveyed the room with eyes even colder than the empty sockets of the skull.
“I’m naming Losalis my first lieutenant,” the Terror of the East announced. “As of right now, he is your general. He speaks with my voice, and you will obey him as you would me. Are there any questions?”
Perhaps unsurprisingly, neither hand nor voice was raised.
“Good. Losalis has his instructions. I trust you’ll all accept yours.” And with that, Corvis took a single step back and dragged the door shut once more.
Losalis turned his attention back to the occupants of the table. “From the mouth of Lord Rebaine himself. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with him. I’m sure he’s just sitting in there, anxiously awaiting your personal approval of everything he does.”
Teagan, with a slight flush, looked away. “All right, Losalis, I didn’t mean anythin’ by it. Just talkin’, you know.”
“Talk later. And it’s ‘sir’ now, not ‘Losalis.’ Are we clear?”
“Aye, Lo—sir. Quite clear.”
&nb
sp; “I’m so glad. Why are you still here?”
Muttering under his breath—very, very far under his breath—Teagan filed toward the door, Ellowaine walking thoughtfully beside him. As they moved into the street, a grin slowly crept across her face.
“Could you see your way to sharin’ the humor with me, darlin’?”
“I think Losalis should make an interesting officer, that’s all,” she replied distractedly.
“Interestin’? The man’s never expressed one whit o’ ambition in his life, an’ he’s the one Rebaine puts in command?”
“And I find that interesting.”
Teagan’s beard rustled as he frowned. “I just don’t see why Rebaine chose him. Surely there must’ve been better choices!”
“Who? You?”
Teagan shrugged. “No, probably not. I don’t know that I’d be suited to leadin’ that big of a mob. But there are others. Yourself, maybe.”
The slender blonde did something then that Teagan had never seen since the day they’d met: She threw back her head and laughed. “Me? Teagan, you’re crazier than I thought you were. I—” She froze, her hands once more dropping instinctively to her weapons. “Teagan, there!”
“I see nothin’, Ellowaine.”
“No. There! In that doorway.”
Teagan leaned forward, staring intently, then drew back with a muffled oath. “Is he one o’ the men who disappeared?” he asked, his voice gone quiet.
“I don’t know him, but I wouldn’t wager against it. You’d better go get Losalis. Now!”
CORVIS, clad in his armor but minus the obnoxious helm, leaned over the heavy writing desk. His fists were clenched tightly, and he rested on knuckles pressed against the flat wooden surface. His eyes blazed above an infuriated scowl.
Seilloah and Losalis stood before him, Davro looming over them from behind. All of them, even the ogre, looked just a bit contrite.
“I am not happy about this!” Corvis barked, as though it were somehow news that he might be upset. “And I’m even less happy that I’m only hearing about it now!” His fists tightened even further, his metal-clad knuckles grinding into the wood. “Would one of you care to tell me why I’m only hearing about this now?”