The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  “My people would say you have been sent a wondrous gift, a warning that will serve you well into your future.” Caolte said, drinking from his own mug.

  “Just as many of your people would say I was tainted by a dark power that will consume my soul, would they not? I would be s’avelok,” Gavin replied.

  “Tainted? Hmm, you have no reason to believe that.”

  The two men stood in silence for a long moment, slowly sipping their tea, and staring up at the clear night sky. The soft glow of morning had started to erase the stars hiding near the edge of the towering mountains where the company had camped.

  “Have the bodies been removed?” Gavin asked, turning to face his senior officer and longtime friend.

  “Yes. Pier’s men were little more than a bunch of well-fed brigands. There wasn’t much fight left in them once we eliminated their sentries.”

  “Casualties?”

  “Twenty-eight, including most of his officers. That’s unfortunate, but under the circumstances we can still barter well for Pier’s release. We stripped their survivors bare, and the equipment should serve us well. Karn can do some modifications on the better weapons, but may just melt down most of the damned stuff,” Caolte replied.

  The Mercenary Code ensured the safe return of every officer in a company, regardless of their performance in a given engagement. A captain’s reputation weighed heavily into the negotiation of the ransom payment the victors could demand. To wantonly kill or maim a captive officer was an offence of the most grievous nature. Common soldiers were rarely kept as prisoners. More often than not, they were relieved of all equipment and money, and released within three days. Most soon found employment at the next Ca’lenbam, the gathering that took place each spring before the summer’s warfare commenced. With over three hundred registered mercenary companies, the Code was respected by all.

  “And the Lady Farraine?” Gavin asked.

  “Bider did give her one nasty knock to the head, but she’ll be fine in the morning. Can’t see how that noble wench will be happy to have been accosted by a lowly commoner, but I’m sure she’ll listen now,” the lieutenant rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll talk to her in the morning,” added Gavin. “Until then, post two men at her tent entrance with orders that she not be allowed to roam about until after I meet with her.”

  “Yes, sir,” Caolte nodded. Pausing as he headed back towards camp, the old soldier turned and inquired, “We strike for Garchester on the morrow?”

  “Yes. Sergeant Fearan has the details. We’ll leave at midday. No sense rushing out with Pier’s Brigade shattered. The men could use the extra rest as once we hit the siege, I fear sleep will become elusive.”

  Lieutenant Burnaise nodded and sketched a quick salute. Kneading the taut muscles of his neck, Gavin turned back to the stars and enjoyed what peacefulness remained before daybreak.

  The routine of yearly campaigning was at the core of a mercenary’s life. Gavin had always enjoyed the morning drills and swordplay. Even as a new recruit in Black Company some ten summers earlier, the captain had developed an affinity for the exercises, and the aching of his muscles after a challenging session. His cares and worries were forgotten when he stepped out onto the practice field. His focus shrank to the simple parcel of land where he did battle. A skilled soldier performed well in practice and one who became lax in his drills became lax on the real field of battle. Rare were the times that distracted fighters came back alive.

  Gavin had always toiled to instill that work ethic in his men, leading by example whenever possible. With the uncertainty of the coming siege still clouding his thoughts, he donned a practice vest and buckled a wooden sword to his belt. A session with the men always helped ease his troubled mind.

  Because of the passion their captain exuded when it came to the practice yard, most of Gavin’s soldiers were prone to the same excitement. It had become tradition among the men to challenge, and hopefully best, their captain. Gavin enjoyed the gamesmanship and encouraged his officers to join in the fun. Rarely did any real injuries result, and so most of the men did their best to attend the swordplay sessions.

  “What’s the wager today, Captain?” called out one of the men stretching near the edge of the clearing.

  “I’m feeling like a lucky man today, Aren,” Gavin flashed a grin. “I’ll give two silver coins for a hit and a full ten for a defeat.”

  More than a few whistles rang out at the proclamation. Word, he knew, would quickly spread through the tents. Gavin began his own preparations, stretching and meditating amidst the sounds of the morning. As expected, it wasn’t long before a crowd began to gather. He walked over to join Ethan Shade as Caolte started taking bets from the assembled mercenaries.

  “How many are you taking on this morning, Captain?” Ethan Shade asked.

  Gavin had met Ethan in the port city of K’oral. He had been on a recruiting mission with Ossric McConnal at the time, and had run into a problem with troublemakers in the Gilded Dragon, an inn of ill-repute. Granted, the large and often boisterous McConnal may have been at the root of their confrontation, but it mattered little. Ethan, fair of face and looking more like an aristocrat than a fighter, had come to their aid brandishing a thin rapier with both an entertainer’s flair and a veteran’s skill. Ethan had been exceedingly drunk at the time, and was barely able to stand once the last man fell to their blades.

  Impressed and somewhat charmed by the flamboyant aristocrat, a friendship had soon blossomed. Now, some three summers later, Ethan Shade, once an intoxicated gambler, was a changed man. He had taken the opportunity Gavin had presented to him very seriously and was now a responsible and well-spoken officer. Reared as a noble, the second son of a well-to-do family, he had been neglected most of his life, cared for by the family servants more so than by his parents. Ethan had taken well to the rigid rules of the mercenary company, and even more so to the familial atmosphere it bred. Dressed in an immaculate long black coat, his grey and blue tabard underneath, Ethan Shade looked as ready for a gala feast as he did for a fight.

  “I’ll take four on my own, but if you’re up for it, we can do this together.”

  “Heh, we might have to up the ante. We can’t have the men losing so often without providing incentive enough to fight,” the quiet man grinned.

  “By the gods, Ethan, I can’t afford any more!” Gavin protested with a smile.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Sir,” called out one of the men he had greeted earlier. Five men, all veterans of at least two campaigns, stood ready and eager to challenge the two senior officers.

  Although Ethan was an excellent swordsman, the Fey’Derin captain surpassed him in skill. Gavin Silveron had often been called a master, though he refused any such accolades. He taught his men patience and focus; not fanciful attacks and risky parries. Too many had died trying to create openings where none existed.

  Amid good-natured insults from the crowd, the two men took to the field and were quickly surrounded by the six challengers. The rules of the contest were simple; to be tagged twice meant defeat. Tagging another combatant could mean anything from the disarming of a weapon, to a sharp blow to the head, although such dangerous hits were frowned upon.

  Dropping into a protective stance, Gavin placed himself at his companion’s back, guarding Ethan’s flank. If he guessed correctly, the other soldiers would hope to overwhelm the two immediately by closing in quickly from all sides.

  Surprisingly, the soldiers were content to probe their defenses, each taking turns pressing a short attack. Gavin and Ethan repulsed the quick bursts with ease, content to wait them out. Finally, once a hearty chorus of hisses were showered upon the combatants from the crowd, the six men struck as one.

  The Fey’Derin were highly trained, and their battle skills were renowned across all of Kal Maran. Few companies boasted such a well- rounded ensemble of skilled warriors. Gavin was
immediately thrown backwards, nearly colliding with his partner. Fighting on the defensive, he parried desperately to the left as two blades snaked into his range. Sliding his blade along the second man’s thrust, he used the flat of his sword to land a numbing shot to his attacker’s hand. Cursing and grunting in pain, the weapon fell from the man’s nerveless fingers. Using the disarming to his advantage, Gavin frantically twisted to his right, dodging a third soldier’s slash and delivering a strong kick to one of his first attackers.

  Risking a glance at Ethan, Gavin saw that the noble had been struck in the leg. The officer limped slightly and was favouring his right side. Thinking quickly, Gavin charged the men, giving Ethan a moment to recover as they exchanged sides. With one man still disarmed, Ethan could better protect his wounded leg against attacks from his left.

  Gavin’s charge, as all in attendance would swear around the fire that evening, was flawless. With a quick succession of strikes, the deftly moving captain had defeated two of the three men, leaving the third desperately looking for a way past his guard. The maneuver was not without risk, as it had left him open on both flanks if Ethan were not able to cover his back.

  Ethan upheld his end admirably, and the combat was over within a few moments. Gavin greeted the roar of approval with a curt nod and salute.

  Ethan was the consummate entertainer. Flourishing his blade, he bowed deeply from the waist. Then, amidst the cheering, he flashed a few moves with his blade, saluting smartly to his commanding officer and partner.

  Laughing at the spectacle, Gavin returned the salute and firmly shook each of the challengers’ hands, graciously accepting their congratulations. Pausing for a moment, he dug into his belt pouch and tossed Darren, the soldier he had disarmed, twelve silver pieces, two to each man earned for the hit on Ethan.

  Watching the men joyously congratulate each other brought back fond memories of his first few seasons in Black Company. Gavin could still remember challenging his sergeant to a duel, hoping that he could break through Caolte’s guard and score a hit.

  Life was far less complicated as a recruit, and Gavin often wondered how different things would be had he never fought at Parksya’s Ridge. Too many companions had been lost in that battle, and too many good officers he had come to trust and admire had fallen. Strangely enough, that battle garnered him some renown, as well as a promotion, but not a day went by that he did not miss the many men who died on that blood-soaked field.

  Learning to deal with the aftermath of combat was a skill Gavin continued to work hard on improving. Even after his many campaigns, losing any man, from officer to recruit, was extremely difficult. Momentarily lost in the memory, the captain failed to hear the heavy footsteps of Sergeant Brock Fearan.

  “Captain, I believe we have a pressing matter that requires your attention,” coughed the officer.

  Turning to acknowledge the man, Gavin spotted a bright scarlet handprint that glowed red on Brock’s face. “Is it safe to assume that the Lady Farraine is in a welcoming mood this morning, Sergeant?”

  “She slapped me when I informed her that we had only one choice of meal here in the camp. She seemed angry that we didn’t have a menu, Sir,” he finished with a growl.

  “Seems like our lady friend may find things a bit difficult until we arrive in Garchester. I’ll wash up quickly and speak with our guest. Until then…” Gavin caught the quickly retreating form of his partner from the contest, “Ethan will entertain her. He certainly knows how to court a lady.”

  “Gavin, you can’t be serious?” Ethan groaned. “I need to have the Eagle Runners out within the hour, if we are to be on schedule for departure.”

  “I’m sure Orn will see that all the necessary preparations are made,” Gavin replied. Ignoring the man’s look of bewilderment Gavin pressed, “I’ll be no more than a quarter of an hour, Ethan. See to it that the Lady Farraine feels welcome in our humble camp.”

  “You worthless piece of common slime, I’ll have you know that I am the Lady Aria Farraine, eldest daughter of the Duke of Telmire and the last known ancestor of the family of Ki —”

  “And the long-time consort of Lord Dalemen of Avery,” Gavin finished slyly. Enjoying the sudden discomfort of his guest, he pressed his advantage. “The very same man who now leads his mercenary contracts against the city of Garchester, the home of my own employer, Duke Furnael Berry.”

  “I fail to see the importance. With whom I spend my private time is my own business, and it is far beneath a simple captain to have any interest at all in the private affairs of a noble lady,” Aria spat back, her words dripping with scorn.

  The noblewoman’s tent was in a state of complete disarray. The wash basin, Gavin’s own, had been thrown the length of the room, while the serviceable bedroll and cot had been overturned. Several plates of food, along with their contents, had been strewn about as if caught up in a midwinter storm. Even the Lady Farraine herself seemed quite disheveled. Her night clothes were wrinkled and dirty, the hem was torn, and the silk straps that held her ample bosom seemed about to snap. A pile of fancy clothing that Ethan had saved from her wagon were the only items in the room that had not been treated with disdain.

  “Allow me to explain,” Gavin answered calmly. “Your intimate business is very much my concern. Knowing the particulars of Lord Dalemen’s whereabouts, his connections, and his loves, is of the utmost importance to my employer.”

  “Speak plainly, you bastard! I’ll not stand here in such indecency and have you talk circles around your motives for assaulting my personage,” Aria roared in return.

  Gavin smiled patiently, “As you wish, my lady. It would seem very unlikely that your consort, Lord Dalemen, would wish to put you in harm’s way, would it not?”

  “My lord would never tolerate such an act.”

  “Well then, if Duke Berry were to have you as his noble guest within the very walls of Garchester, would your lord not be remiss if he showed no reluctance to fight against the very man who holds your life in his hands?”

  A horrified look dawned across the woman’s face as she realized the importance of Gavin’s suggestion.

  “By the gods, you would use me as a pawn?” she breathed quietly.

  “When outnumbered, Lady Farraine, a man must do what he can to tip the balance in his favour. With your Lord Dalemen hamstrung by your capture, ther leaves far fewer able-bodied men left to throw into the siege. Duke Berry now holds the trump card in this year’s game of war.”

  “He wouldn’t dare…” she whispered.

  “But he already has,” Gavin replied. “The moment you arrived in this tent, the game changed. In the case of Lord Dalemen, I would hazard a guess that it is not in his favour.”

  “Captain Pier will not stand for this injustice. He was well paid to be my escort, and he will return to rescue me. His life will be forfeit if he does not,” Aria replied in defiance.

  “The company with whom you travelled is no more. Captain Pier is also one of my captives. His head may very well roll for the failure of his contract, but for now he is my prisoner, and will be ransomed as per the laws of the Code.”

  “The damned Code won’t spare him once his failure is known,” she smiled wickedly. “I can assure you that I will enjoy making him suffer.”

  Gavin shrugged.

  “Almost as much as I will enjoy watching you suffer, Captain Silveron,” Aria Farraine added with a stare that held such hatred that even the staunch mercenary had to wonder at what atrocities this noblewoman would happily commit in the name of vengeance.

  He allowed his eyes to narrow and as he addressed her, “You would do well to remember your place. I am a patient man, but am known to possess a temper. Do not push my limits.”

  “I will expect a meal befitting my status, commoner,” she said as he collected a scattered cup and plates, and made his way towards the tent entrance.

  Refusing t
o acknowledge her with another look, he paused and spoke softly over his shoulder, his voice sweetly imitating the deferent tone servants used when addressing a noble.

  “I trust my lady has enjoyed her morning meal. It is a long time until we dine again, but I’m sure you knew that, even as you proceeded to throw your fare about the room, much like an impudent child.”

  Incoherent screams followed him out into the cool morning air as he considered the coming journey. A week in that woman’s presence would do little to warm his heart.

  There were few things Bider enjoyed more than scouting. As an Eagle Runner under the command of Sergeant Shade, the young thief had spent the last two years ranging about the countryside as a company scout. Bider worked best alone, and he thrived on the thrill of the hunt. This morning though, things seemed bound to remain dull.

  With the enemy easily defeated, he expected that Gavin and the other officers wanted a clear path into the western foothills of the nearby mountains. Across that land of rolling hills and lush green valleys, lay the city of Garchester. Near Garchester sat an invading army bent upon the removal of the Fey’Derin’s current employer, Duke Berry.

  At least some excitement lay in the prospect of a dangerous assignment once they arrived at their destination. Until then, the company scout sighed and sat down on a small cliff face overlooking a small babbling brook. Turning to survey the area, he watched as his mercenary comrades climbed slowly through the pass he had traversed earlier in the day.

  The Fey travelled light. Whereas many companies burdened themselves with an odd assortment of retainers, family members, and useless equipment, Captain Silveron would have none of it. Families were to be left at home, regardless of how long the company planned to be on duty. Distractions they were, Lieutenant Burnaise would comment, and he was one to talk, having left his wife and children up north during all of his many campaigns.