by Andrew Lynch
More precisely, it had been burned down deliberately.
‘That’s what happens if you build outside the walls,’ the rotund guardsman said.
‘Only just outside of the walls.’ Lucian rapped his knuckles against said walls, blackened by the flames. ‘Didn’t you try to fight them off?’
‘Oh yes, 'course. It was odd, actually. The guardsmen on duty said the whole thing started here. Rebel Alliance infiltrated the outskirts, and started a blaze for cover,’ the guardsman said, as if reminiscing over an amusing anecdote.
‘Seems a bit... bold?’ Lucian said.
‘No doubt, no doubt. They are getting a bit frisky. Anyway, I was only assigned here to let everyone in the area know that there will be no insurance payouts because you’re outside the walls.’
Lucian started to argue, but before he could get his first word out, the guard raised a hand to stop him.
‘Do you know how many times I’ve had this argument? Do I look like someone who made a decision regarding city finances?’
Lucian closed his mouth, bested by logic. ‘Well, I guess I’m spending this commerce break rebuilding,’ he muttered to himself.
‘Oh yeah. Also, no rebuilding by orders of the Empire.’
Lucian threw his hands up in question, along with a strangled blast of confused air from his mouth that could not be considered speech.
The guard put his hand up again. ‘Not up to me. If you find yourself stuck...’ He looked Lucian up and down, taking in his travelworn clothing and weapons. ‘I guess you could try signing up for a strike team.’
‘I don’t have much choice. I have nowhere to live now, do I? But, just out of curiosity, what’s a “strike team”?’
‘They get mustered alongside the city guard and the imperial army only in times of...’ The guard searched for the proper word. ‘Not strife... Need isn’t right... Maybe, uhh, mild concern? Well, on occasion, we want more people to help take the fight to the rebels.’
‘Do you think I should?’ Lucian asked, and jerked his hand away from the candle between them. He had always been a gesticulator, so nearby candles often involved minor burns.
‘The strike teams have proved useless, so you’d be in no danger,’ Lily said. ‘So sure, go for it.’
‘I guess.’ Lucian stopped to take a bite of his meal. As was the custom under Imperial rule, he had invited Lily to a posh local restaurant - the kind of place where they’d take you outside before stabbing you - and at the end of the meal they’d split the bill. ‘But if I’m not really going to be effective, what’s the point?’
‘Don’t be so gloomy.’ Lily speared a hunk of meat with her dagger. It was one of the cute little quirks that Lucian liked about her. She always ate with one of her many hidden weapons regardless of provided cutlery. ‘You’ll be getting paid. And hey, you’ll be keeping those skills sharp, right? If you want to be a hero, that’s exactly what you need.’
Unlike all of his group, she didn’t sound like she was talking down to him when she talked about him becoming a Hero. She supported him.
‘Oh yes! I didn’t get a chance to tell you before I left, did I? Lord Orson says he’s thinking of making me a Hero! I just have to prove to the Company that I’m a good choice - and I think that I managed that pretty well during our last mission.’
‘That’s great!’ Her dark brown eyes lit up the room as a lock of her light brown hair dropped in front of her face, and Lucian realised he had been staring at her beauty for the entire evening. He had no plans to look anywhere else. ‘We should celebrate once he makes it official!’
‘Which brings us back to before that happens. I guess I’m joining a strike force.’
‘I’m positive you’ll be fine. And I’m sorry your shop burned down.’ She patted the back of his hand from across the table.
‘Nothing you could do about it. So, what are your plans for the next month?’ He took her hand in his and they both had the challenge of eating one handed. She was much better at it than him.
And with that, Lucian found himself able to keep his skills sharp, meet new friends, and thanks to the continuing loose rules on what counted as entrepreneurship to the Company, collect his stipend.
He had signed up for four weeks of long walks through peaceful forests, occasionally stabbing his sword into bushes for good measure. His meals and room were paid for. He did however have to wear the official strike team uniform. Leather in a chocolate brown comprised most of it, no complaints there, and the chainmail fit underneath it without problem. It was the cloak he took issue with. A vibrant and very visible blue. The whole point of the strike team was to take the fight to the rebels to stop them from raiding the city, but the mandatory cloaks made it difficult to take the rebel bands by surprise.
Lucian had tried to convince command that, when trying to sneak up on someone, bright blue wasn’t a great choice. After two days of latrine duty, he grew to accept the cloaks, and decided they weren’t so bad.
Also, on his first tour, the moment the team was out of sight of the city everyone smeared their cloaks in anything brown or green they could find.
The rebels were an elusive bunch, and only two minor encounters happened during Lucian’s time of service. No one had been captured or injured from either side - the preferred tactic on both sides being to hide from each other.
Lucian had occasionally been a bit too enthusiastic, working on his heroism as he was, and had attempted to chase the rebels down. It never worked, and the rest of the strike team said his actions were stupid. Odd they couldn’t see the innate heroism.
By the end of his break, his patrol routes had been moved inside the walls, as the rebels grew bolder. There had been one night of odd occurrences involving the rebels infiltrating the city, but aside from that, it was a safe job.
All in all, not the worst holiday Lucian had suffered.
* * * *
Darrius lay on his front, the smell of lavender filling his nostrils. He was treated like a prince. How did his Love manage it?
She wasn’t talking much about the business. Normally she’d be filling his ears with all the minutiae of the day to day running. The amusing miscalculations Dorothy would make in the ledgers. Not Darrius' usual speed of exciting news, and that’s why he liked it.
This break, she hadn’t mentioned it, and when he asked she mumbled some vague answers and moved on. But he trusted her. Knew she was capable.
‘I can’t hear you!’ He heard the shout from downstairs.
‘Quiet!’ A second voice came.
‘I finished counting already!’ he shouted back. His son, Nigel, hadn’t quite gotten the hang of patience, but Sarah tried her best to keep him in line.
Darrius decided he couldn’t get away with lying down any longer. A month on the road spent in the back of a wagon, plus two weeks lying in a bed - on his Love’s insistence - and his wounds were almost fully healed. Gar played a large part in that, being the competent medic that he was. A drop or two of inherited demon blood probably helped as well, of course. He got up.
His room was a bright white, with dark oak beams showing the support they gave. The furniture matched the beams - on his wife’s insistence - and Darrius liked it that way. Left to him, it would probably have been a mix of all colours and random bits of scrap.
That was her way of coping with him being gone so often. Nesting, it was called. Darrius certainly enjoyed his nest.
Darrius walked slowly and loudly down the stairs, making sure his kids had plenty of time to start giggling in anticipation just before he found them.
On reaching the landing and the front door, he called out, ‘I wonder where they could be!’
The front door swung open, and his wife stood there, hands on hips, her face furious. Or maybe it was pretend fury. Darrius wasn’t sure, but he knew this could go very badly if he said the wrong thing. Having no idea what he might have done, he hedged his bets.
‘Love of my life, I was just going to start cooking dinne
r for you.’ He fluttered his eyelashes. Possibly too much if she was really annoyed.
‘And why aren’t you in bed?’
Oh right, that’s what he’d done. ‘Umm, part of my rehabilitation?’
‘If you’re well enough to play with the kids—'
‘Play? Kids? I was cooking dinner!’ he said in mock defence.
‘Then you can get to work.’
‘He was playing!’ Nigel and Sarah shouted together from another room.
Darrius couldn’t think of any defence. He pulled out the trick rose from his sleeve that he kept there for emergency situations around the house, and presented it to her with a flourish ‘For you, my love.’
She leaned in closer and whispered. ‘We need money.’
Darrius realised the anger was for the children’s amusement, but seeing him up and moving had spurred this conversation she’d been holding back. He whispered, ‘I have a friend doing some work during their break. I’m sure he can find something for me. It’s only two weeks.’
‘Nothing dangerous, of course.’
‘No, no. No more dangerous than letting small children whack at me with their wooden swords. I'll be fine.’
She pecked him on the lips and continued the charade. After several minutes of chasing him round the house, and rallying the children to her side, he found himself exhausted, and gave up. He could do with a couple of weeks of getting back into shape he decided.
He’d go to see Lucian tomorrow.
* * * *
Jezithel waited outside the Magister’s Circle. Her father had been in there for only a few hours, and already she was getting impatient, curling her toes in and out of the grass at her feet. Clearly being around Humans was starting to affect her. She found herself wistful for her childhood years, entire days spent uninterrupted in the grand libraries, not a thought given to upcoming obligations. She’d have to head back to the Human lands soon, and she didn’t want to waste her time.
Not long ago, she wouldn’t have minded sitting on a bench for six hours. Now...
As her thoughts moved towards anger at her time being wasted, the doors to the Magister’s Circle opened. Three females and two males came out. The entire council.
They were all dressed in their official robes, a deep purple with golden edging. A simple but efficient ranking system among Magisters, marking them out as the best of the best, unlike her red with silver.
One of them looked exceptionally unhappy. It wasn’t her father.
She stood and followed Lord Tharasian as he walked away. ‘What was discussed, Father?’
‘Just the usual, Daughter. Shall we enchant crops this year, shall we recall any diplomats, any change in political stance of neighbouring nations, do we need to reinforce our standing army at the Soulless Wastes? All very dull, I assure you.’
The Magister who had looked particularly annoyed caught up with them and walked alongside. ‘I urge you to reconsider. We can’t ignore the rest of the world.’
Lord Tharasian raised his hand. ‘I heard your arguments in the Circle. I understand your point of view. I just fundamentally disagree with it, Lord Jelith.’
‘We both know the Circle is no place for personal arguments, so you’ve heard none. Come to my estate tomorrow and I'll give you more to think about.’ Lord Jelith kept his voice calm, but it was obvious there was a deep strain beneath it.
The three of them walked in silence for a minute before Lord Tharasian spoke again, ‘Very well. I shall see you tomorrow.’
Lord Jelith left without a word.
‘What was that about, Father?’ Jezithel asked.
‘Nothing of importance. Don’t worry.’
‘Father...’
Lord Tharasian knew that tone from her younger years. Being with the Humans had only made her more stubborn, he had discovered. He sighed. ‘You know of the Rebel Alliance?’
Jezithel was lost for a moment. ‘You mean, the Humans?’
He nodded. ‘During the time that you’ve been gone, they've become more active. A new leader or some such.’
‘The rebels have been present for almost a decade. Nothing more than an annoyance, even to the Humans. A new leader may make them more active, but their numbers are still limited.’
‘You have a grasp of the situation, daughter, yes.’
‘Then what is Lord Jelith’s issue?’
‘The Humans recently sent a messenger, officially asking for help.’
‘An official request doesn’t change the facts. A single battalion from the Empire’s army would quash the rebels in a few months.’
‘It’s more complicated than that, and Lord Jelith is... eager.’ Lord Tharasian paused, wondering if he should verbalise the rest of his thoughts. ‘I suspect I know why he wishes to meet me tomorrow. Much like I did with you, he sent his sons to train with the Humans. Of course, being Elves, they rose quickly in the ranks, and are both Commanders now, if my information is correct. A few years ago, one of them disappeared. He wasn’t killed, so it’s assumed he defected.’
‘Which normally would not be an issue,’ Jezithel finished the process for him, 'as any experience is good experience. But if they face each other, which they will do, then one will surely die.’
‘No one wants to condemn their children to death. But I won’t commit our armies. Elvish lives are more valuable than Humans, as you well know.’
Jezithel couldn’t argue with that.
They rounded a corner in the road and came in sight of their house. A standard house for Elves, but Jezithel had become used to the relative squalor of Humans. She took a moment to admire the elegant marble building, the four floors, and the main spire twisting from the centre another eight floors up. The luscious green grass brushed against her bare feet. She was thankful for getting out of the rough shoes needed to travel in the Human lands.
‘It would only require a few well trained volunteers,’ Jezithel reasoned. ‘A dozen of our finest to track the rebels. Gods know the Humans are terrible at tracking anything in forests. Then report back to the Empire where they are. Elvish lives would hardly be at risk. Of course, I could help them - to continue my training.’
‘Hmm,’ was all Lord Tharasian said.
‘What, Father?’
‘Maybe sending you to the Humans has had too much of an effect on you. You’d never have risked your life for a Human’s before.’
Jezithel thought about this. ‘Perhaps you are right. We are more important than them in very quantifiable terms. Maybe my time with them should now be over, in order to help rid my head of these thoughts.’
Lord Tharasian broke his somber mood, throwing his head back and laughing.
Jezithel tried her best not to let her mask drop.
‘You almost had me, Daughter! Haha! I believed you for a moment.’ He wiped a tear from his eye. ‘No, your time with the Humans shall continue. At least until you don’t need to be knocked unconscious to release your power.’
* * * *
Khleb perched in a tree. Things weren’t turning out quite as he’d planned. Sure, the pay wasn’t bad, and he was with friends, but as his leg spasmed for the fifth time, he questioned his choices.
He’d found himself back at the Cock Inn. Scraggy was talking about some scheme to get out of the Monarch district, with Deadly Ted and Softie Steve ignoring him, when Fibrosis Fred came in, out of breath, spluttering, hacking phlegm everywhere, and looking like he’d just run round the city walls. Of course he hadn’t, that was just his usual state of being. A usual entrance for him. But this time he’d found a job, and there were spaces for all.
Not the mightiest of stories, Khleb supposed. Certainly none of the amateur heroics that Lucian would have trumped up, the intellectually correct choice that Jess would have made, or the moral choice that Darrius and Gar would agonise over before figuring out a course of action. But that’s how Khleb came to be in the employ of the Rebel Alliance. A friend had offered him a job. Simple.
All he’d reall
y decided after three weeks of sitting around and going for long walks in forests, was that the rebels had some very strange ideas. They hadn’t even asked him to sign a contract. He’d once signed a contract to steal a loaf of bread, so removing the bureaucracy for what was technically treason, murder, and assault - just some of the highlights of the break so far - seemed odd.
They were also very... he searched for the word... accepting. They'd paired him with a female Orc the first week. A big green brute, muscle-bound, about Gar’s height when hunched over. Of course, Khleb wasn’t much for entertaining other races, so he wasn’t surprised when in the second week he was moved to join his friends. Something about how harassment could be handled, but the mixture of racial hatred and sexual attraction was unsettling.
He hadn’t paid much attention when the camp leader was berating him. The guy also handed out the pay, so Khleb had to play nice.
He’d never seen an Orc so close to the capital. There wasn’t much to keep your mind occupied when sitting in a tree, forbidden to talk. Khleb supposed they weren’t the brightest bunch, so he wasn’t missing much. It would have at least taken his mind off a few spots of bad luck he’d picked up from a scandal girl a few days ago. He’d have to get that sorted out.
Fibrosis Fred coughed from the clearing below the tree. Good ol' Fibrosis Fred. He was born to be bait. He naturally made enough noise to attract the Empire’s strike teams for kilometres around. Dress him up in the rebel colours, and the plan was easy.
Every fool able to carry a weapon was being recruited to the strike teams to track the rebels. Inevitably they were sent here on their first or second outing. Easy prey, and the boys got a bounty for every confirmed kill.
Deadly Ted shifted uncomfortably on the branch next to Khleb. The man was all bone. In the weeks of doing this, Deadly Ted had managed to carve an entire series of rude pictures into the branch he sat on, and this amused everyone greatly.
Softie Steve sat on the branch below Khleb. Not much for climbing, it turned out. He looked up, opened his mouth as if to say something, but then presumably remembered the strict no noise rule, and went back to being bored.
