The captain stopped moving his mug and looked at the innkeeper carefully, but the man didn’t pause again.
“Their accusations against her were outweighed in the king’s books by her considerable tributes. This was before the Scarlet Summer rebellion; what had the king to fear from some she-wolf in a frontier colony across the sea, and one who paid her dues promptly?
“But a cousin who came here with her threatened to return to Kerath and personally denounce her to the king. Claimed her rise had been largely at his expense, and she hadn’t shared her increase as they’d agreed. The morning before his ship was to leave, they found him in bed with his throat ripped out. The poor devil’s wife blamed the killing on Leisha, and the evidence did seem to point her way. Several barons feared they might be next, and moved against her.
“Leisha fought back. Her own people were fiercely loyal and denied blame for the murder. But the other barons had far better connections in the royal court than she, and it was only a matter of time before the king’s envoys would arrive with a judgment against her. The king could no longer overlook her indiscretions when a small war was breaking out in his colony.”
Damicos folded his arms and leaned back. “I can understand that. So this Leisha, outraged and ruined and desperate, she disappeared.”
Brannon nodded. “With all her people.”
“Any speculation as to where she fled to?” Hundos asked. “North or south?”
“West, most likely. Into the trees, with five hundred of her loyal followers. She had a few lumber camps and mining villages there. But since no one else dared venture in after her, and all that knew her mind had gone with her, it was months before the barons realized she hadn’t just retreated, she was gone. Never been seen since.”
“Until now,” Pelekarr guessed.
“That’s right. Well, I don’t know if she’s actually been seen. But rumors have been surfacing for years that she’s still out there somewhere, amassing wealth and power in her own private kingdom with none to say her nay, just as she always wanted. A queen by her own hand, free in the world. Maybe even allied with the raff—she’d have to be, I suppose, to last long out there. Now and then she gets blamed for whatever mischief the barbarians get up to on the frontier, as if she were commanding them.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No. They don’t act in concert, there’s no single guiding hand behind the depredations of the raff. If she’s in with them, it’s an arrangement of convenience so she can survive in the deep forest.”
“And has no one sought out the truth of it?” Pelekarr asked.
“A few have gone looking, of course, but none ever came back. The deep interior is a lost land, a place of wild vastness where the gods themselves fear to tread. Most explorers would be eaten alive long before finding her, if she still lives. Now, though, there’s this old trapper holed up in Garrim who says he went farther up the Southwhite river than anyone else has ever gone. Says he saw a city guarded by men riding on terrible beasts. He claims they’re Ostorans, most likely Leisha and her people, and he’ll guide anyone back there who wants to go. Some rich benefactor is already working to take him up on it.”
Damicos tipped his head back, looking up at the high rafters of the inn’s vaulted roof. “This queen, Leisha. How old would she be now? The tale you spun had her as a beautiful, proud young noblewoman. But it was long years ago when she left the coast, am I right?”
Brannon thought for a moment. “It’s practically legend at this point. Must’ve been thirty, forty years back, I suppose.”
“So if she is still alive and ruling from some undiscovered city,” Pelekarr asked, “what’s in it for us if we go and make the discovery? A certain amount of fame, to be sure. Anything more… tangible?”
Brannon grinned. “Oh, yes. Yes indeed. Very tangible. Besides securing your position as the bravest, most capable company in all Ostora, there may be far more lucrative rewards in store for he who succeeds in reclaiming Leisha’s colony. This trapper says his lost city is sitting right on top of the Great Lode, the mythic source of all greenstone. Says the city was fairly clad in the gems, from foundation to tower top.”
That raised the captains’ eyebrows. Greenstone was a gem unique to Ostora, prized in Kerath for its sparkling lustre and brilliant color. It commanded prices comparable to gold and was generally easier to mine—if you could find a significant source of it. More than one baron had come to Ostora in the early days and left rich after finding a deposit of the green gem. But by the time the Kerathi military arrived, the easy sources of greenstone were long gone. Still, rumors persisted of vast deposits in the interior, which had lured more than one adventurer to his death.
Pelekarr smiled. “This story improves by the minute. And it sounds exactly like what a drunken trapper would say while swilling a barrel of ale to forget a bad trapping season.”
Brannon shrugged. “Could be. I haven’t met the man. But Leisha’s mines were truly the richest in Ostora. If she’s out there, there’d be nobody more capable of finding the Lode.”
Pelekarr ticked the points off on his fingers. “A beautiful queen in hiding, a lost city, a horde of wealth waiting to be plucked out of the forest like a ripe fig. If it is even half true, it’s an adventure I’d be willing to take. But there is the possibility, nay, the likelihood, that if we travel to Garrim we’ll find naught but a sodden lump of human wreckage looking for free drinks.”
“And yet,” Damicos replied, “many wild tales have a kernel of truth at the bottom. It’s risky; the route would venture far from any source of resupply, and we’d need more information before we could think of committing. But someone believes this trapper’s tale. I’d like to talk to the man putting this expedition together.”
“Then you’ll have to go to Garrim,” Brannon said. “I’m not familiar with the organizer or the trapper, but they’re both there gathering supplies and men. It’s worth a jaunt down the coast to look into, at any rate. Garrim’s a rough place, but it’s a good town for finding jobs. It’s likely you’ll find something to do down that way even if the Leisha rumor ends up just being ale fumes.”
“If it does end up being ale fumes, all the more need to follow up on the other opportunity,” Pelekarr observed. “We can’t afford to err at this point, and the job for Baron Bax sounds like a simple way of getting good pay. I will take the cavalry north, along with archers and skirmishers if we can get any in Dura.”
“I certainly hope we can,” Damicos said. “We’ll use up every man that comes to us, be he a grandfather or an errand boy or anywhere in between.”
“Only to the maximum number allotted us by Governor Spatha,” Pelekarr reminded his co-captain. “The missive I received from him yesterday congratulated us for our recent victories—though I’m still unsure how he feels about the outcome of your duel against Chiss Felca—and yet it also included a not-so-subtle reminder that we forfeit our charter if we enlist more than two hundred men in the company.”
“That still leaves us room for a healthy number of recruits. We cannot sit still for long, regardless. Not only are the men restless again already, but some of those who refused to come along with the new way of things are causing trouble. You remember Pirim Triyor, one of my spearmen? Apparently he’s going about spreading ugly rumors about us to anyone who’ll listen, and I think he means to lure more of ours away to other pursuits, if he can. Best we get out in the field again and prove the effectiveness of our new organization in battle.”
“Agreed,” the cavalry captain replied. “But once you get out beyond the frontier, anything could happen. Be sure you know what you’re heading into before you commit the half of the company to this venture.”
Golden light slanted in through the latticed windows, awash with dust motes, glowing on the soft wood of the tables and floor and signaling that it soon would be time to eat. The kitchen sounds were growing louder, and already early patrons were stumping through the doors.
Captain B
rannon’s wife Haila, a cheery woman with laugh wrinkles and a thick dark-blonde braid, came by to replenish drinks and leave a small bowl of kerl nuts on the table.
“Would you go?” Damicos asked Brannon, cracking open one of the nuts. “If you were a few years younger, and had nothing keeping you here in Dura? Would you venture off into the wilds to see what Ostora is hiding from us all?”
Brannon’s eye gleamed and he laid a weathered hand on the table, tapping his gnarled knuckles for each word he spoke. “Unhesitatingly, Captain. Even now I’d go, if Haila would let me out of sight for a moment.”
His wife shook her head silently and poked the back of Brannon’s head as she turned to take a couple of empty tankards back to the kitchen. “You swore an oath to me, Bran,” she said.
“I did, dear wife,” Brannon replied. “And you know I’ll go to my grave having kept it. You know that.”
Haila sauntered off as the men smiled at each other. “If you come to Ostora at all,” Brannon went on, “it’s because you’ve got some fire in your belly. You’re looking for something; we all are.
“Well, here it is! It doesn’t get any purer than this: there’s glory to be won, fortunes and legends to be made. There is land to be delved into. If you want adventure and a piece of the reward, Ostora’s giving you an open invitation. She’s saying ‘Come one, come all, and those that aren’t cut down along the way may just get to the heart of me’.”
He paused, letting the passion in his words dry out before he came across as too fixated. Looking out the window at the light that was beginning to die away, he lowered his voice a measure.
“It’s what I came here for. Just the kind of glory-or-death quest I always hoped to find. Most of my campaigns were against other men on the coast, or hunting down irksome barbarian tribes. Now this comes, after I’ve settled my old bones in comfort once and for all.” He shook his head and sighed. “I’m not going to urge you to go just so I can relive some of the old excitement through you. But it’s as good a chance to find what fame and fortune we all want as I’ve ever seen. And I’d hate to see the call for valiant men at arms go unanswered while I yet live.”
Damicos looked at Pelekarr, who shrugged. Then he looked at Hundos, who nodded.
“Sergeant,” Damicos said, getting to his feet and stretching, “get the foot ready to march for Garrim as soon as the new skirmishers are integrated. We’ll see where this path leads, at least that far. Who knows? ‘Come hunt with me, come hunt with me, until the last and silvered sea.’”
Hundos grinned and raised his mug. “To Quel,” he said. “Goddess of the Hunt.”
The others joined him. “To Quel! Quel of the silver horn!”
“And to Drasss, God of Wealth,” Pelekarr murmured, raising his mug with the rest.
CHAPTER 3: REINFORCING THE RANKS
The news of two new campaigns for the company, both likely to extend far into the interior, spread quickly from the soldiers to the locals and then on to the surrounding towns. Dura’s merchants quietly raised their prices on horseshoes, grain, and leather.
By morning on the second day, thirty souls had answered the company recruiters’ call. Some were local but others came marching in to Dura from as far away as Genka and Fort Delion to vie for a place in the trinity of skirmishers: archers, slingers, and javelin-throwers. No horsemen, of course; it took a lot more training and a degree of nobility to make a cavalry trooper, not to mention an animal bred for war.
Kerathi military doctrine placed skirmishers as expendable second-rate troops useful mainly in softening enemy formations and harassing enemy movement. This led to hundreds being stranded in Ostora, unable to find passage aboard the departing ships. Masterless men filled the taverns and highways, and some had already turned to crime; those that hadn’t were hungry and eager to sign with the Tooth and Blade. Most brought their own equipment, which was good because arrowheads, spears, and even knives had suddenly become precious in Dura.
So it was that after breakfast Pelekarr and Damicos stood in the same field where they had reorganized the company, partially enclosed by the ruined walls outside Dura, which the elders of the town had granted to them for a makeshift headquarters and encampment. The sergeants had formed the ragged group into loose ranks in front of them. The infantry captain eyed the sags and bulges in the line; these men would need stiff training if they were to match the precise, cohesive movements of the hoplites. On the other hand, every one of them was alert and attentive, excited to belong to something again.
Here and there the captains picked out a familiar face. There was one young man that had tried to join the company when it first began, in Belsoria, but he’d had no armor and little training. Now it seemed his time had come.
Damicos recognized another lean, long-armed fellow: it was Ica Mistshaper, a local hunter who had previously fought alongside the company. The green-eyed stalker had taken grave wounds in the battle against Black Tur’s outlaw band, and likely wouldn’t be ready to march on a campaign for some weeks. But he had come out to try for a place among the company’s archers, and Damicos didn’t doubt he’d be up to the challenge.
“Welcome to the Tooth and Blade!” Pelekarr shouted as the chatter died down. “We formed last month from what used to be Lord Jaimesh’s Cold Spears and the Storm Furies. You’ve had our charter explained to you, so you know we’re different than the Kerathi companies. We force no man to join, but once he has, he’s ours. You may muster out only between campaigns.
“You men want to soldier, or you wouldn’t be here, so I won’t treat you like farmboys and runaway apprentices. But know that we’ve already been sorely bloodied, and our upcoming campaigns aren’t likely to be any easier. We fought to a draw in the barons’ dispute on the north coast, and we exterminated an entire pack of pale apes at the cost of many cavalry. I’m telling you this up front: we don’t hide anything in this company, and you’ll learn the details soon enough if you haven’t already.”
Damicos stepped forward and added a word.
“We’re learning to fight differently here. You heard correctly that we’re offering you full pay, equal to that of a hoplite or cavalryman. But,” he raised his voice to be heard over the murmur that ran down the line at this confirmation, “I promise you, you’ll earn every coin. Those of you who’ve never ventured into the wilderness can’t imagine what monsters Ostora keeps in store. As skirmishers you’ll often be first to make contact, and we expect a high casualty rate.”
Pelekarr nodded. “You’ll learn quickly, or you’ll die quickly. And we can’t slow down to hold your hand. Truth is, you’re easily replaced at this point. You’re going to have to prove that you’re worth what we’re paying you. Once you do, however, we’ll stand by you through the fires of hell.”
“How many here are native-born Ostorans?” Damicos asked. About half the group raised their hands.
“So either you’ve served in Kerathi regiments or you’ve grown up on the frontier where you probably saw some fighting. Which of you have killed before, either man or beast? Not including game animals.”
Again, about half.
“Now, then,” Damicos continued. “If you’re good with a sling, raise your hands.”
Of the thirty, fifteen raised their hands. Damicos made a tally on a wax writing tablet he held.
“Archers!”
Twenty hands raised this time, which surprised Damicos. In Kerath he’d have expected to see many more that grew up slinging rocks. Here, it seemed, the bow was the preferred tool. He noted that some of the slingers also considered themselves archers.
He also noted that two of them were women. Pelekarr saw them at the same time and stared at his co-commander, nonplussed.
“Lieutenant, what are these?” he asked Leon Stonehand, Damicos’ burly right-hand man. “Camp followers? We’re here to sign fighting men.”
One had a typical Ostoran braid down her back, and was tall and angular of jaw. The other was shorter and had cropped her hair clos
e. Both looked capable enough, built for work and hard travel, with muscled arms that looked more than capable of handling a bow.
They noticed the captains’ consternation, and the tall one spoke up. “Just give us the same chance to prove we’re worth the pay, Captains. If we can draw a bow as good or better than these others, why not take us?”
Pelekarr frowned. “You two are aware of the rigors of combat and hard marching, I presume, and the difficulty of living among fighting men?”
The short-haired one nodded. “We heard you had a raff girl among you already.”
“But not in a combat capacity,” the horse captain stiffly replied. “She is a guide and consultant.”
“If she’s a raff, sir, then she can fight. Like a wildcat. They all can.”
Pelekarr’s frown deepened. He was unused to debate with enlisted personnel, let alone not-yet-enlisted. “We employ whom we will, whether for combat or—”
“We’re archers, sir. For combat. I slew one of those pale apes you mentioned when I was sixteen. We won’t cause trouble for you, only the enemy. You have my word on that.”
Pelekarr gave an exasperated grunt, unable to find words to dismiss the woman without stooping to a level he didn’t want.
Damicos grinned. “We’ll give it a try. If you can use a bow as well as you boast, you may be an asset to the company.” He turned to the other captain, who was about to furiously protest. “Think of Kallida, the charioteer.”
“The Red Lioness is of noble Kerathi stock, Damicos. She doesn’t mingle with enlisted men.”
“Still. Perian could use these two alongside her, I’m sure. A special scout unit?”
Pelekarr grunted again, then shook his head in resignation. He glared at the women. “Very well, the chance is yours. But understand that there will be no special treatment. If you can’t keep up, you’re done.”
“That’s all we’re asking,” the tall woman replied.
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