by Damien Lake
“I am happy about that, but what direction are we walking?”
“Southwest, of course.”
“So we might never head north this season at all!” Frustration laced his words. “Remember what I told you? I like being in the Kings, but I joined in the first place hoping I could find father. I have no information, and being paid to wander around is better than going it alone and starving on the roads. I’m counting on running into him by pure chance while I work on a hire, but I don’t think that’s likely here in the south when my father left on a contract to the north!”
“I thought you didn’t know for certain why he left. Have you heard anything new?”
“No, but I’ve been thinking. The only reason that makes sense is that he got an offer he couldn’t turn down. I’m sure those gold nuggets he sent back to mother were part of an advance payment.”
“I suppose that might be the case,” Dietrik mused. He sounded doubtful. “But what sort of contract would offer that level of payment to a lone mercenary? The way you described them, those nuggets were unusually large, even if they came from an oversized vein.”
“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” Marik admitted. “But I can’t think of anything else that fits.”
“Still, that was several years ago. Your father could have traveled to any part of the kingdom since then, or out of it for that matter. You’re as likely to find him here in the south as the north.” Dietrik offered in a consoling tone, “Few plans ever unfold as you meant them to. Until new information pops up, you need to earn a livelihood. Try not to let it get you twisted out of shape in the meantime.”
“I’d still feel better if we were heading north,” Marik grumbled while he peered ahead along the road.
Kerwin and Landon walked together further on. The two debated with each other, which seemed to be their normal conversation style no matter the topic. Marik trotted faster to reach them, making his pack bounce against his back and his sword slap his side.
The two were reviewing terrain around their destination and speculating which routes the four sergeants and the lieutenant would or would not choose once they neared Fielo’s territory. Unlike the rest of Galemar, of which approximately forty percent of the land constituted scattered wood lots or larger forests, these two baronies were historically the driest in the kingdom due to their geographical peculiarities. Most of the barons’ land stretched open with few forested patches. Kerwin, it so happened, hailed from a southern town not far from there. He set his personal knowledge regarding the region against the information Landon had gleaned from studying maps in the records office after learning their contract’s destination prior to Earnell’s speech.
Marik realized he had never thought to do that, and wondered why. Certainly he would be fighting for his life if a real battle erupted. Any knowledge of the terrain would be useful. He had been so focused on improving his swordsmanship he’d forgotten that a fighter’s needs went beyond mere weapons skills. Maddock had spent a great deal of time on the road making sure Marik understood that.
Well, he had needed to improve as much as possible, and had managed that much, but the carriage did not stop there. They still had time before nearing the caution zone of Fielo’s lands. He would spend it talking to everyone around him, learning what he could about their new opposition.
It seemed to Marik he spent most of his time on the road asking questions yet that could not be helped. Becoming the best he could possibly become was more than his own desire; it would increase the chances of finding his father. Or learning about him. Besides, no matter what Pate might claim, Marik was not one to sit around once he willingly took on a job.
* * * * *
The temperature definitely grew warmer as spring edged winter further into retirement. Marik worried about how hot the chainmail would become against his skin in the summer sun despite his undershirt. He already walked under a constant sheen of perspiration from its weight in the springtime temperatures.
His squad chose to stop for this evening in a wooded glade. Men gathered their own kindling since everyone built private campfires or shared them with friends. After the sky darkened, the forest seemed to host a giant firefly swarm, the camps spread across the woodland floor and scattered though the trees. Men picked good spots wherever they found them. They were not required to pitch camp in any specific fashion.
Dietrik and Marik were joined by Kerwin, Landon and Hayden. They laid out their bedrolls on the ground after kicking the forest debris away and building their fire. Marik had learned to find wood quickly in these situations since the other men would also be searching for kindling. Forty odd campfires could pick an entire area clean of loose wood, forcing the forager to wander further afield in the dark.
“You see over there?” Landon commented. “The officers are putting their heads together. It must be time for a decision.”
Dietrik followed Landon’s sight line to see the four sergeants gathered around Lieutenant Earnell’s fire, talking low. “I think you’re right. Do you figure we’re in for a spot of trouble?”
Kerwin chimed in. “Doubt it. We’re still two days out from Fielo’s lands. I bet you they’re deciding the best route from here.”
“You’ll bet on anything,” Marik accused.
“That’s not true, but I would bet on this.” He held up his fingers to count off the options. “From here, we could go into Fielo’s lands and follow Vineyard Road south to Dornory. We could go deeper in and follow the river down, except we’d probably have to contend with Fielo’s men if we did that. Or we could stay on this side of their borders and travel south cross-country, but then we’d have to deal with the lords on this side who might not like us traipsing across their fields. Last, we cut back east and take a ferry down the Spine, then hoof it to Dornory when we get south enough.”
“I’ll lay five on the road,” Hayden offered.
“I think I’ll lay a few down myself as well.”
“All right, Dietrik,” Kerwin replied. “On what?”
“Hmm. The road would be the obvious choice, but if we wish to remain unnoticed by Fielo and his men, I’d say better not to enter his lands in the first place. I’ll go with this side of the border.”
“I’ll go with the baronies’ river. It’s the most direct course and it’s our destination anyway,” countered Landon. “Fielo can’t accost travelers simply for passing through his territory. He may know our intentions, but attacking us when we have taken no action against him risks being called into account by the highwayguards.”
“Marik? You going to chip in?”
Marik thought a moment. “No, I think I’ll save my coin. You have a nasty habit of stacking your odds.”
The others laughed at Kerwin’s scowl. Landon spoke thoughtfully, “If we continue on our current route, we should pass near the Plain of Vallan’zul tomorrow. I’d like to see it.”
Kerwin scoffed. “What’s to look at? It’s no different from any other stretch of grass from here to the borderlands, except maybe it’s a little more brown. Even the cairns are long gone.”
“You have no sense of history. If it cannot be eaten or wagered upon, it is of no interest to you.”
“I live realistically, friend. Tales of yesterday might distract you from your belly for awhile, but they can’t make it full.”
Dietrik asked, “What do you speak of? It sounds an interesting fireside tale at the very least.”
A snort from Hayden greeted the inquiry. “I thought it was the band’s history you were short on.”
“I’ve never had opportunity to spend a few seasons in Thoenar’s library,” Dietrik replied airily. “The only histories taught in my hometown were related by the minstrels in the dock taverns. And I was never overly obsessed with them, like my companion here.” He gestured to Marik.
“Then why don’t you ask him?”
Dietrik raised his eyebrows to his friend in silent question. After clearing his throat, Marik admitted, “Uh…the name
sounds familiar, but I can’t tell you why. It’s an odd name, though. It doesn’t sound Galemaran.”
“It’s a holdover from before the Unification,” Landon revealed. “The old names always held deeper meanings than a simple name today, but I don’t know what Vallan’zul stands for. The Plain of Vallan’zul is where Basill Cerella fought his final battle against the last of the Tristan Warlords.”
“Ah, good old Basill,” Dietrik mused. “Our great Unifier of Galemar. Known as ‘The Peacebringer’.”
Hayden repeated his snort, greater contempt lacing the sound this time. “Basill The Overrated is more like it. How much peace is there in the kingdom he forged? All the lords still quip at each other, straining their leashes, as eager to have at each other as they ever did. Fellows like us don’t have much trouble finding employers. And for a peacebringer, he waded through a river of blood.”
“But we are a kingdom now, Hayden,” Landon returned. “If the warlords had kept at each other, their lands would have been devoured by Tullainia and Nolier sooner or later.”
“These plains,” Dietrik continued. “They were where Basill Cerella brought the last warring lords under one banner?”
“The last of the Tristans at any rate. The Tristans only controlled the lower third of today’s kingdom.” Landon’s voice took on a somber quality. He began chanting low.
Three days they tore the plains asunder, neither yielding to the other.
Sharpest steel and coldest iron, neither toppling golden wyvern.
Two days next the arrows flew, fast and far, straight and true.
The standard still rode high, wyverns flying in the sky.
As the last day came, the wyvern waned.
Grass and stone and fertile earth accepted those brave men of worth.
The Warlords knelt at egret’s feet, humbled by their great defeat.
Beneath his banner fair, their battle cries then filled the air.
“Until our fight is done, we ride, we fight, we fall as one!”
“What was that from?” Dietrik wanted to know.
“It’s part of ‘The Ride of Basill Cerella.’ It covers Basill’s battles to unite the warring lords into one kingdom, according to Bard Wallace Mularian. I’ve found most of his works tend to over-dramatize whatever subject they cover. He prided himself on shunning classically structured stanzas and on using his own off-timing for the rhythms. I’m not especially fond of his prose. It’s doggerel. But for some strange reason, everyone else who wrote prose about Basill is even worse.”
“And what were those wyverns he mentioned?”
“When the Tristans realized Basill was a serious threat to them, they put aside their differences of the moment to fight against him united. That was probably a first in their entire history. They chose a golden wyvern for their standard and faced Basill under his silver egrets.”
Dietrik shook his head slowly. “A battle lasting over six days. I scarcely want to so much as ponder that!”
Hayden added, “The wars lasted a lot longer than six days. It took Cerella over twenty years to beat the kingdom into submission, and he destroyed half of it in the process. Hardly any of the old names survived. Only a handful of monuments and no holdings at all date back past the years of the Unification.”
Marik kicked in, “He was supposed to be a great hand with the sword from the other tales I remember. No one he faced in combat defeated him. He was supposed to be unmatched. Basill’s might was awesome to behold.”
“Maybe so,” Kerwin allowed. “But coins to pickles says that part probably is overrated. You can always count on bards to describe a sparrow as a dragon, and a toothpick as a lance. He might have been good, but I’ll only believe the tales when I see him myself.”
“I sort of doubt you’ll ever be able to, this side of life.”
“Then I guess I’ll never know, will I?”
Marik noticed the officers dispersing and retreating to their own fires. He pointed it out to the others.
“Must have agreed without much trouble, then,” Dietrik decided. “That’s good. I’ve seen peer commanders argue to the point of fighting when the time came for a tactical decision.”
“That’s why you usually have one officer with authority for the final say along on a Kings job,” Hayden told them. “He can override the others and keep the whole mess from bogging down in the mud.”
“I believe that’s the smartest way to handle it, yes.”
“Fraser’s going straight to his bedroll. Tomorrow’s probably going to be rough. I think I’ll follow his lead.”
The others decided to as well.
* * * * *
“Is that it?” asked Marik when they approached a town larger than any other since crossing Dornory’s border.
“I think so,” Dietrik replied. “Yes, it must be. Look, there is Baron Dornory’s manor.”
“Looks like a keep instead of a lord’s manor.”
“I gather Dornory’s lands have been unfriendly with Fielo’s for rather a long time. It probably did start out as some kind of fortress if the two families were established before the Unification.”
“That was a hell of a long time ago. Those walls don’t look six-hundred years old.”
“The entire place has most likely been rebuilt bit by bit over the years. I would be surprised if any of the original building remained.”
“You think these two barons are descended from the old Tristan families?” asked Marik.
“Who knows? In this part of the world, with family houses as old as theirs, I’d say it’s possible.”
“I suppose we have to go through town without stopping. I need to find new leather laces.”
“Fraser doesn’t seem to want to stop, no. We can find them later.”
“If we don’t get waylaid by the grand inquisitors again, I suppose we can. The others should be here by now at any rate.”
The bet the friends had joined in with Kerwin ended with no clear winner, since the next morning the sergeants announced the force would be splitting into halves. Units One and Two would follow Vineyard Road south and gather what intelligence they could on Fielo’s men while Three and Four would take the ferry down the Spine River. It was two days east to the Spine and two days west to the Vineyard Road, but the ferry would spend days on the river, followed by the trek overland. All in all, Units One and Two should have arrived in advance of them by a day.
Upon entering Dornory’s lands, they had found the nearest guard station to inquire after road conditions and possible hostile forces against the barony. Marik received his first real taste since Tattersfield of the esteem in which most of the world held mercenaries.
Despite the fact the Crimson Kings were fighting for Dornory, the lord’s men held no love at all for the hire-swords. Though they were outnumbered in the event of a serious conflict, they wished the Kings elsewhere. Their fields died of thirst, yet they regarded the outsiders as intruders, parasites feeding from their trough.
It was mildly understandable given the sort who usually became mercenaries, but being regarded as the lowest of the low by people he had never before met grated on Marik. The prejudices from Tattersfield seemed to follow him in spite of the reputation the band had earned over the course of its history.
The attitude persisted as they progressed to Dornory’s residence in Dornshold. Low regard from all in Dornory’s service greeted them, along with ill looks and mutterings from the common folk. Marik thought back, realizing why this seemed so odd to him. The towns close to Kingshome were accustomed to the mercenaries, familiar with the grade of man they employed. They might not be saints yet they usually caused no unnecessary trouble. Once on the road they had camped, minimizing their contact with residents in the towns they passed.
If they had stopped anywhere along the way, they might have been met with the same scorn most people seemed to hold for free fighting men. It almost struck him as funny when he considered it. Men traveling alone or in small groups like the one
in which he had arrived at Kingshome were usually welcomed and treated as any other traveler, while larger groups of exactly the same men were called cutthroats, coin hounds and scum. It bore thinking about, this oddity of human nature.
He mentioned it to Dietrik as they passed through the town, who replied, “Ah, that is normal. Especially among the soldiers. Most tend to hold their position as honorable and patriotic and view anyone who profits from the experience in low standing.”
“But they get paid their wages, same as us!”
“I never said they made sense. And I would avoid mentioning that to them. You would only start a fight.”
“I’m about ready to start one anyway.”
At the gate, they presented themselves to the guards. They in turn ran to fetch Dornory who arrived dressed in riding leathers and a fine tunic bearing his heraldry. He exchanged quick words with Sergeants Fraser and Giles before ushering them in. Marik found the courtyard smaller than he would have thought.
Long, narrow stables were pushed against the wall to the right. The main structure with its defendable bastions rose ahead. It might be a baron’s residence, but he had trouble looking at that cold stone exterior and imagining any of the grand luxuries the nobles were accustomed to enjoying.
They were sent to a stable that stood empty. The stalls were clean and had obviously been unused for a long time.
“Listen up,” Fraser shouted, his normal tone when addressing the men as a whole. “We’re bunking down in here, four men to a stall. The others haven’t arrived yet. Until they do it’s free time. You’re restricted to this building and the yard outside. We take meals in the main hall when the meal bell sounds. Stay out at all other times. Don’t go to town without asking. Don’t screw up!”
Grumbling surged through the two units, mostly from the Third who disliked Fraser telling them what to do, but Giles stood beside him so they accepted it. The other complaints addressed the restrictions.
“Where’s the other half of the squad?” Fraser paid no attention so Marik could as well have been asking the rough hewn beam next to him.