An Empire Forged

by Michael Greenfield

  “They don’t seem to like sentry duty, do they?”

  Lend sniggered, the objects of their derision slowly wandering about the camp that was no more than a hundred yards in front of them. “Desert people, no head for the rain.”

  The J’dar supply camp they were observing had been in place for over three months now, without any kind of disturbance interrupting their slow moving, daily routine. Supplies came to them from the northeast, and they sent them on their way to the front lines to the southwest. For the J’dar manning the camp it was seen as being one of the easiest tasks they had ever been asked to do.

  “I bet we could make our way through the outer pickets and up to the supply area without even having to silence a single sentry.” Helding’s eyes flicked to those of his friend’s.

  “No bet,” he responded, “how many naptha pouches have we got?”

  “Half a dozen each.”

  “Good, let’s go have some fun.”

  They quickly made their way back to where the other two members of their group waited. In the gloom surrounding the camp their grey cloaks blended with the shadows almost perfectly.

  Helding motioned them forward before speaking, “Simple one tonight,” his smile was lost in the dark, “sneak past their guards until your close enough to throw your naptha at the stores.”

  They’ve even left them in nice, neat piles for us.

  Wait for Marcus to do that awful owl impression of his and then throw for all your worth. Once done I want you all to run openly back through the camp screaming ‘Jor’ as loud as you can.”

  “Jor?” Marcus looked slightly puzzled.

  “It’s J’dar for ‘fire’. Enough screaming and pointing in the wrong direction should create enough confusion for us all to escape easily enough. We’ll meet up again at that small lake we saw yesterday.”

  Hamat Morla was a tribal leader amongst the J’dar. He wasn’t a leader of one of the bigger tribes, but he had enough experience fighting their enemies that he was respected by others.

  He wasn’t a big, strapping warrior, or a rapier thin swordsman. Instead, he looked fairly plain for one of the desert tribes. Dark hair topped a face that was deeply tanned, with dark eyes that missed nothing. He was average height and the only thing that gave away his prowess with a sword was the muscular form of his arms and wrists.

  Today he wasn’t fighting. Today he was staring out over the remains of a scene of carnage.

  This wasn’t the first supply camp he had visited in the last few weeks, and the picture he was seeing at each was the evidence of a smart, well trained military enemy that was eating his men up.

  All the camps reported very similar events. Unexplained fires, sentries turning up dead at the end of their watch, horses escaping from solid stockades. Someone was destroying his men’s ability to fight and there was nothing he could do about it.

  He didn’t have the extra men to increase the security of these camps, and the other option, clumping them all together I bigger camps, just made him shudder at the thought of what would happen if they failed to protect that as well.

  Smoke still rose from the centre of the camp, where he knew the supplies had been stored. Almost all of them had been either damaged or destroyed outright.

  As he stood surveying the damage, he noticed his second approaching.

  “Let me guess, hardly anyone dead but massive damage to our supplies.” He couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice.

  “As you predicted Hamat, both in the last few weeks and as you said at the council to decide whether we accepted the Mythra proposition.

  It would appear that the Shaler haven’t kept their side of the bargain by tying the Boraan army up, and we see no help coming from the east.”

  His long-time friend looked as bitter as he felt. “This is a war that we should never have got involved in, but I don’t know how we can back out of it.”

  He took one more look at the wreck of a camp before spinning round and starting toward their horses.

  “I have something to ask of you, my friend. It will not be easy, and if you are stopped, they could brand you a traitor.”

  There was no hesitation in the response, “I do my Lord’s command.”

  Hamat clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “This is what I want you to do.

  Head back east toward Churek. I want you to find Faruk Tulafu. He was tasked with transporting the Boraan Princess to Mythra, but as I’m sure you heard, he didn’t accomplish his task.

  More to the point, he was too powerful for the Council to kill him, so he was sent away in disgrace.

  He still has a lot of friends, and he was just as vocal as I was about declining the Mythraan’s invitation to suicide. Tell him what’s happening here, and that I’m bringing those that I can back to Miri.

  We’ll meet there, where we’ve got the Wall to give us some protection. Hopefully the Boraan army will give us time to negotiate.”

  Messenger

  The house that Periman had offered to let them use was situated in a small town just a day and a half of relaxed riding from Mid’gra. In Cal’s private opinion it put Myriana too close to the clutches of Chancellor Baridon, but Kormick and his merchant friend were both confident that the location was unknown to their enemy.

  The building itself felt tiny, but the youngster from Fallon’s Glen put that down to the size of the one he had spent the last several weeks at. You could probably have fit Periman’s house within Kormick’s twice over.

  Beside one servant, who apparently spent most of his time just waiting for the occasions upon which his master required the buildings unassuming façade, there was only the four of them.

  The following morning they were expecting another of Periman’s men, who would be tasked with carrying the message to Bor’a. It was also felt that it would make things safer this side of the Middle Sea, though once he left port he was on his own.

  He had gravitated to the fair-sized kitchen, where they had eaten most of their meals, and where Cal felt the most comfortable. As he found himself doing more often then not when he was alone, his thoughts turned toward a certain redhead. He wondered what she was doing at the moment, or even if she had made it to the Seers. He had to believe that Tamala had succeeded in her mission to reach the temple in the mountains, but there was no way he would be able to find out until they completed their task in Galorn.

  “I recognise that look my dear Baron.”

  Cal almost visibly flinched; he had not heard their host enter the room. Cursing himself silently, for he knew Farsighter would have more than harsh words for him being caught like that.

  “You move very quietly when you want to Master Merchant.” Periman performed a short, comical bow, before starting to laugh.

  “That I do. It has its uses sometimes.” He took a seat next to Cal, “It must be hard not knowing.”

  The young man nodded, “It wouldn’t be so bad if I at least knew what was happening with her.”

  “Look on the bright side, for the next few weeks I’d be very surprised if you had much time to think on it.”

  Cal chuckled before replying, “I’m not entirely sure that’s going to be a good thing.

  If I’ve no time to think about Tamala, then I’ll either be running, hiding or fighting.”

  “I never said that the alternatives were pleasant.” The merchant grew serious, “My man will be here this morning. I’ve already got word of two ships that will serve our purpose.” Periman’s clandestine residence was situated less than half a day from the coast, and he had sent one of his contacts to investigate departing ships a couple of days before.

  “It works out nicely that your ship will be the second to leave, so we can tell my man that you’re his escort. It’s not unusual for me to send a second person with a message, so you should have no issues until you get to Dorn.

  Your captain is known to me, and whilst he’s not the most honest man out there, he will honour any agreement with myself.”<
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  Cal nodded his understanding. He wouldn’t be carrying any valuables, and his sword would be covered by its scabbard. They had decided that it would be best if he left his bow, though it pained him to do so, as that would be a bit too conspicuous.

  His clothing had been adapted as well. A leather jerkin over a short-sleeved tunic, and the bracers his brother had made for him, leant toward the appearance of a young mercenary or private guard. His age wasn’t an issue as many young men tried their hand at fighting for money and one more in a port town wouldn’t draw undue attention. His hunting dagger hung in a plain sheath across his left hip, and a muddy pair of leather boots completed the look.

  Myriana had burst out laughing when he had appeared the evening before, clad in his new attire. He’d thrown her a dark look before explaining that he needed to get used to wearing them if he was to pass any kind of cursory examination.

  There was really nothing to do now except wait for the Master Merchants man to appear, so he returned to his thoughts whilst Periman left him to them.

  It was shortly before midday that the messenger they had been waiting for arrived. He had been let in by Periman’s servant and was now awaiting his employer in the front room. Cal knew that they would be leaving as soon as instructions had been passed, so he headed to his room to get his things together. It didn’t take long as he wouldn’t be taking a travel pack, and he was quickly back downstairs in the kitchen waiting to be called through.

  A polite cough from the doorway caught his attention. Turning, he saw the servant waiting patiently.

  “Master Periman requests your presence, Sir.”

  “Thank you.” Cal stood and headed through to where he saw the merchant stood with another man who could only be a few years older than Cal himself.

  “Ah, Carl.” They had agreed earlier that it was name that was close enough to his own that he wouldn’t have difficulty remembering it, and he would have an explanation if he reacted to an inopportune use of his real name. “This is Larran, the man you are to escort.

  Larran,” he motioned briefly to the other man, “Carl is my sisters youngest and I’ve been asked to break him in gently.

  I wanted to teach him trade, but apparently he’s shown some aptitude with the sword and wants to try his hand in that direction.”

  “I understand, Sir.” Larran nodded toward Cal, “When you’re ready Master Carl.”

  Cal held up a small knapsack which contained some bread and cheese before slinging it across his shoulder. “I’ve got lunch, and some coin to buy a meal and lodging before making my way back. Let’s do this.”

  Larran smiled at Cal’s apparent enthusiasm, motioning toward the door. With a brief nod to Periman, both men were on their way.

  The pair reached the respectably sized port of Manin shortly before sunset. Larran’s ship was due to leave before Cal’s, only because Periman had ordered the Captain to leave later than the other. Both would leave on the evening tide. The trip to Ren would only take a couple of days and he already had a small group of mercenaries aboard who had been hired to provide the illusion that Cal was part of the larger group when they eventually disembarked.

  It didn’t take long for Larran to locate the ship he was to travel on to Bor’a, and Cal waited until he saw the ship start to move before he turned and headed back down the quayside toward the second ship that he had noted when they arrived.

  It was smaller than the Hurricane, the ship he had travelled to Mid’gra aboard, only having two masts and a shallower draft. She was ocean going, but not built for extended voyages.

  His eyes swept the dockside as he walked, watching for any obvious threats, or unwanted attention being paid to him. Nothing appeared apparent and he rapidly reached his destination. One of the crew stood at the top of the gangplank and gave him a quizzical look as he started up.

  “Carl, I’m here with Gunnarson’s troop.”

  The sailor nodded and motioned toward the rear of the ship, where Cal could see several mercenaries lounging about, making fun of each other or tending to their weapons. One stood out clearly from the others, a brute of a man who wasn’t much smaller than Luda.

  Making his way rearward he saw several of the men turn their attention to the newcomer. Gunnarson himself turning as he noted their attention swaying.

  His deep, booming voice rang across the deck. “Ah, you must be Carl. Master Periman told me he had a likely candidate to join our merry band.” He held a big, meaty hand out and Cal grasped the man’s wrist.

  “Good grip. Can you use that sword, boy?”

  Cal bridled at being called ‘boy’, but he knew that the big man was testing his mettle as well as his grip.

  “We can find out whenever you want.” Cal grinned impudently with his response.

  A response that met with great approval amongst the reclining men. Cat calls and laughter filled the air as they showed their appreciation.

  Gunnarson clapped him about the shoulder, “You’ll do.

  Let’s go to my cabin to discuss what I expect of you.”

  Cal glanced at the others, but non looked particularly interested so he assumed that this must be something that Gunnarson did with all of the new men when they joined.

  Once they had made their way below deck Cal was led to a small cabin just rearward of the middle of the ship. Once inside, the big man sat heavily on the sleeping pallet contained within.

  “Sit boy,” he pointed at a small chest in the corner of the room, “Periman told me to look after you so I’ll make a few things clear.

  I don’t know if you can use that sword of yours or not, but you’ve the look of someone who knows what he’s doing in a fight. You’ll sleep in the main hold with the men, it’s only a couple of nights so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  He grinned, “Watch the lads though. They’re a rowdy bunch when they relax, and aboard ship they’ll relax. They won’t get violent, or anything like that, but you might have to search the ship to find some belongings in the morning. Particularly that sword.”

  Cal’s face carried a grin of its own, “I’ve an older brother, I think I know the kind of thing to expect.”

  Both laughed before the big man’s face took on a more serious caste. “Periman told me that we’re providing some cover for you when we reach Ren.” He held a hand up before Cal could say anything, “I don’t know any details, just that I’ve been given enough money to keep the lads entertained in port for a few days on the off chance that you need some additional help.

  There’s an inn, one street back from the dock itself, called the Seagull. We’ll be there if you need us. Guilmor has used our services several times in the past, and we have an understanding. He doesn’t necessarily tell me everything about what we’re asked to do, and I don’t ask all that many questions about it either.

  It seems to work.”

  Cal had to stifle a giggle at the stern way Gunnarson announced that he was obviously aware that there was more to his trip than met the eye, and that he didn’t particularly care.

  “My thanks,” Cal paused a moment, “what do I call you?”

  “You’re obviously no mercenary then. Captain will do whilst we’re aboard ship.”

  Cal held his hand out this time, “Thank you, Captain. Both for the security and the advice.”

  Ren

  The trip to Ren had actually been relatively peaceful for Cal, apart from spending the best part of an hour the first morning searching for his boots. He had taken the prank in good humour, and because of that he found that the rest of Gunnarson’s mercenaries treated him as one of their own.

  Gunnarson himself had told them that he was taking Cal on as a favour for Periman, whom they had all worked for in the past, and new to be a good and regular employer. Because of this Cal found himself being asked very few awkward questions, and those that he was asked were easily deflected.

  When he appeared on deck after finally discovering his boots, he had caused a few questions with his swor
d. Several men, including some of the sailors, had asked about it after he had been through his exercise regime. He had played it down, claiming it was a family heirloom, passed down from father to son. He had no idea where it originally came from.

  He was as confident that none of the mercenaries would be tempted by it, well, not too much, as he was confident that the presence of said mercenaries would stop any sailor who might be feeling a little light-fingered.

  By the time Ren came into view, Cal was feeling quite comfortable in the company of the Galorn men.

  Ren itself was fairly non-descript. As a town it was larger than Manin, the port they had left from, but it was nowhere near as big as Mid’gra. The land rose sharply about half a mile from the ocean, and the houses had been built along the shoreline, for the most part, rather than stretching back too far.

  There was a valley leading up from the town a short distance to the east, and Cal could see houses stretching up the valley. It was here that Periman had told him he needed to go. He had been given directions to the house where General Jerito was staying, but had decided that rather than heading straight there, he would spend the night at the Seagull with his new companions.

  He had discussed it with the big man, and they both agreed that it could only help put any possible prying eyes off the scent. Bidding farewell to the ship’s crew, they moved quickly to the inn. Gunnarson had obviously stopped there before, because the owner waved as soon as he saw him come through the door.

  Surprisingly, Cal noted that the inn was a lot cleaner than he thought it would be. It still wasn’t well lit, though he guessed that was so the clientele could maintain some level of anonymity.

  The innkeeper had set aside several rooms for their use, though all but Gunnarson himself would find themselves sharing with others from their group. Cal found himself put with two of the younger mercenaries, both of whom he had got on reasonably well with on the ship.

  The evening passed easily enough, most of it spent with more and more improbable stories being told by the older men to try and scare the youngsters. All in all, Cal found himself taking a real liking to this group of rough warriors.