The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  “That you do, lad that you do!” Corian smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “And that brings us to the matter at hand.”

  “The matter at hand?” Alessan was puzzled.

  “Seems that since that Lumber fellow went missing, everyone’s on edge,” the merchant began. “No one wants to answer any of my questions regarding this strange disappearance, and so I deem it’s necessary to find out myself.”

  “How do you mean, Master Praxxus?”

  “Well, to begin with, you must know the whereabouts of this man’s homestead, do you not?” Corian pressed.

  “I do,” Alessan hesitated. “It’s not far from the larger stream we visited only a few days ago.”

  “Excellent!” Corian exclaimed, “That is where we shall find our answer. No one disappears without a trace, Alessan.”

  It took a moment for the man’s words to sink in before Alessan burst forth unexpectedly, “Are you mad?! By all accounts, a whole family has ceased to exist, and you want to go trudging about the woods on a hunt for whomever or whatever took them?”

  “You can choose to take such an attitude, young Oakleaf, but I’m only curious,” the big man huffed with disdain. “I promise I won’t do anything drastic, and in any case, you are my guide. As your employer, I am reminding you of who pays your mother a tidy sum of coin…”

  Defeated, Alessan grabbed his walking stick and headed for the doorway. Turning to don his warm woolen cloak, he glared at the merchant. “Coming, sir? We have a ways to travel and you know how slow I move.”

  The Elmwood homestead lay nestled next to a small riverbank. Where once the view from the stout wooden cottage would have carried all the way to the river’s edge, there now towered a multitude of thick trees. The tall trunks of the Aeldenwood choked the old farmer’s fields, and almost nothing remained of the old barn that had once housed the livestock. The trees had grown almost to the walls of the cottage, yet they seemed to shy away from anything built by the hewn limbs of the forest. It was as if the forest was aware of the house’s origins. The cottage itself was of a simple design; one floor high, it was well-built and serviceable. The people of Briar were not known to be skilled architects.

  The two men spent the first hour carefully trudging through the woods near the house, hoping, as Corian suggested, to find some trace of what may have transpired. As Alessan had already concluded, their time was being ill-spent. Undaunted, the merchant suggested they enter the house itself. As the two travelers approached the rear door, Alessan suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Catching a hesitant look creasing Corian’s features, he spun around and squinted at the surrounding trees.

  “I felt it too, lad,” Corian whispered at his side. He had removed a long knife from his belt and held it outstretched in his hand.

  “There is something in the woods, but what, I’m not sure…” Alessan responded, keeping his voice as low as possible.

  “We’ll circle the cottage. I’ll go left and you to the right. If you see anything call out, and keep calling until I arrive,” Corian instructed.

  Nodding, Alessan slid noiselessly to the right side of the building. A strange terror gripped his heart and pressed painfully on his chest. Struggling to catch his breath, he turned around the corner of the cottage, and was sure he heard a muffled thump from nearby.

  “Master Praxxus?” he hissed. “Master Praxxus?!” Fighting to keep his rising panic in check, he scanned the trees once more. Were those dark movements flitting among the old trunks of the forest? Biting his tongue to quell a scream, he spun, limping quickly towards where he had last seen his companion. Nearing the rear of the cottage, a shadow launched itself from the side and drove him to the ground. As the air exploded from his lungs, he tried desperately to scramble to his feet.

  Stay down low, Alessan of the Oakleaf Clan. If you value your life, you must do as I say!

  Shocked by the voice speaking in his mind, Alessan lifted his head from the earth, straining to catch a glimpse of C’Aelis; for he had no doubt it was the same voice. “My friend is somewhere close by. I need to find him,” he whispered.

  Your friend is stunned, but otherwise unhurt. He is stubborn, and I was left with no choice but to help him find a safe place in which to hide.

  “Why are you here, C’Aelis?” Alessan asked, and then added the question that burned in his mind. “Did you take the Elmwoods?”

  I hunt those that harmed your countrymen. You are in pain, Alessan, but within you there is a care and strength of which I can only marvel. There is much my people must atone for, and yet there is so little I can do…

  Unable to control himself, Alessan let out a sob that wracked his small frame. He felt a soft hand gently grip his shoulder. That simple offer of comfort allowed him to catch his breath and turn to look directly in to that same stunning pair of emerald eyes he remembered. Once again, he found himself lost in those green orbs, pulled deeply into the brilliant swirls of colour that seemed to move within each eye.

  You are strong, Alessan. I humbly request your pardon once more for opening my mind to you. I have become forgetful of my own strengths.

  “Can I get up?” Alessan asked.

  No, my friend. I must go now, but give me your word that you will remain here until the sounds of the forest have returned. Only at that time may you leave, until then you remain in danger.

  “But what do you hunt?” Alessan asked.

  In response, C’Aelis dropped to one knee and touched a finger to Alessan’s temple. Immediately, a series of visions invaded his thoughts like a windstorm over the deserts of Kaleen. Dark twisted bodies, guttural sounds, and red eyes flashed through Alessan’s battered mind. The visions raced by, too numerous to count, and then suddenly they were gone. Spinning around, he caught a glimpse of the green-cloaked figure slipping noiselessly through the trees.

  I must have your word, Alessan of the Oakleaf Clan… the words echoed in the air.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Alessan replied softly, “You have my word, C’Aelis.”

  The two men spoke little as they returned to Oakfeld Patch that day. Corian had almost no recollection of the events, and believed he had fallen and hit his head. A bump the size of a small egg had materialized near the top of his balding crown of grey hair. Alessan caught him stealing worrisome glances towards the forest’s edge during their sojourn home. It was apparent the master merchant was not being entirely truthful.

  It was far past nightfall when Alessan arrived back at the inn. Although aching and exhausted, he paused to tidy up the common room, and sweep the floor of both the kitchen and the foyer. Adding a few logs to the large stone hearth, he wearily trudged up the stairs to his room. He was sound asleep the moment his head touched the soft pillow.

  Three days later, Corian Praxxus and his entourage left Briar. Of the encounter near the Elmwood homestead, he would say little. Alessan believed that C’Aelis had been in contact with the man, for without his timely arrival, whatever had lurked in the surrounding woods would surely have claimed both men as prey. Trying to broach the subject with Corian had proved impossible, and resulted in more than a few heated exchanges.

  Corian’s caravan was headed northeast with a small company of Sylvani. They hoped to reach Innes Vale before the passes through the mountains became too treacherous to travel. The wealthy entrepreneur had sold all of his present wares, and remained determined to restock and head south for the spring. It would mean a risky winter voyage, but the dangers of such a journey did not seem to bother the businessman.

  Alessan watched sadly as a dozen Innes Vale wagons slipped quietly out of town. A light dusting of snow had fallen the previous evening, and looking around at that pristine beauty, Alessan felt at peace. Although the merchant had ignored his plea to join the caravan, Corian had winked conspiratorially when asked when they would meet again. Alessan trusted his new mentor; a man
who had taught him to examine his burdened heart, and find comfort in who he really was.

  Raising a hand in farewell, Alessan smiled as the vociferous merchant waved back, his ample girth nearly throwing him off balance as his wagon mired for a moment in the mud. They had exchanged only a few brief words of parting, words that, upon reflection, Alessan found wholly inadequate for the time they had spent exploring the Aeldenwood together. Yet Corian had seemed preoccupied, and Alessan did not want to distract the businessman. He grudgingly had to admit that the man from Innes Vale had probably met more than a few ambitious young men over the years. Alessan was worried he had been no different.

  Leaning heavily on his walking stick, he stood a silent vigil until the procession had become little more than a dark smudge on the horizon. With the sun glistening brightly off the newly fallen snow, Alessan sighed and turned away.

  With the Black Boar feeling so unfamiliar these days, it took Alessan far longer than usual to get his chores attended to. By mid-morning, although the large common room hearth had been lit and the stables swept, there were a number of cleaning duties that still needed his attention. With both Varis and his mother on the prowl, Alessan did his best to avoid both the kitchen and the main foyer. After the second dressing down by Varis, for what the older servant called shoddy work, Alessan could take no more. Seething, he slipped through the kitchen as quietly as possible, and headed towards the servants stairwell.

  Muttering under his breath, Alessan climbed the stairs to his room and slammed the door. Even before slumping into an uncomfortable chair, his mind registered a folded piece of gold-embroidered parchment laying on his bed. Reaching out slowly to grasp the paper, Alessan could feel his heartrate rapidly increase. Steadying a shaking hand, his eyes darted about the room before he dared open the letter. His eyes scanned the words written upon the single page of parchment.

  Young Oakleaf,

  You did not think I would leave without saying goodbye, did you? Corian Praxxus would never show such a lack of manners! It is hard for a man of my talents to invest in another man’s career. My business is, and will always be, the most important thing in my life. My children, my wife, my friends — they are all secondary when it comes to making money. It is simply, for better or ill, who I am.

  And yet in you, Alessan, I sense an ambition, a drive that reminds me of my youth. I respect such ambition, and yet am afraid of any who could one day be my competitor. Do you have the desire to make of yourself what you wish? That is an answer I cannot give, but can definitely offer to influence.

  You asked for my help, and after much thought, I have decided to honour that request. Upon my return, I will expect you to be ready to set out for the southern lands of the Protectorate. We will be spending at least two years down south, so do not take this commitment lightly. You will be a servant in my entourage, treated no better or worse than the others, and our camaraderie will cease to exist. I want you to learn from me, not to become my friend. Business is business.

  Expect my arrival by your Winter Festival. Your mother will be paid a large sum upon my arrival in compensation for your services.

  Until next we meet, young Oakleaf.

  Master Corian Praxxus

  Shaking with excitement, Alessan clutched the letter tightly as he read the page over and over again. It all seemed so surreal. He was to be given a chance to make something of himself, and he would not let this opportunity pass him by. Alessan leaned back dreamily in his chair, his thoughts racing with a multitude of ideas and goals. He was bursting with excitement and full of promise.

  And yet later that evening, as sleep continued to evade his frantically preoccupied mind, Alessan found his thoughts turning back to the strange encounter near the Elmwood residence. When his mind should be full of visions of the south with its lush vineyards and rolling plains, all he could think about was C’Aelis. Two times now they had met, and yet, what secrets lay behind that piercing emerald gaze? What lurked among the trees of the Aeldenwood? And what lay behind the terrible sadness in the strange man’s soul?

  Alessan knew he had been shown a glimpse of something evil when he had pressed C’Aelis about what he hunted, but the images in his mind were jumbled and incomplete. Excited as he was about his employment offer, Alessan’s thoughts remained preoccupied with the mysterious Aeldenwood, and the man he now believed to be a Gorimm.

  He slept poorly that night, tossing in his sleep as he had when nightmares of his father’s death had plagued him as a child. Twice he awoke in terror, and although his hands quickly reached for his old journal, he recorded nothing; he had forgotten the dream. Judging by his sweat-soaked bed sheets and quickened heart, he wondered if forgetting was not all that terrible.

  Contractual obligations are binding. Once a captain sets the company seal upon an employer’s parchment, it completes the agreement for both parties. The details of all prior negotiations and offers are private and must be held in the strictest of confidence. Failure to do so may result in breach of said contract.

  —Mercenary Code of Conduct

  Chapter IX

  Garchester, Protectorate

  The fourth day of the siege found Bider and Orn sitting atop the ruined remains of a small apothecary. The shop lay in the shadow of the eastern wall, and it had paid the price for being situated so close to the gates. An immense boulder, launched from one of the many catapults arrayed against the besieged city, had crashed through the roof of the small store. Bider wondered if the owner had been inside at the time.

  Fortunately, the casualties had been minimal during first few days. Gadian Yarr’s forces seemed content to remain at a distance and maintain a seemingly endless barrage from their engines of war. Most buildings located between the large outer wall and the inner walls of the keep had seen serious damage. Anticipating his enemy’s tactics, Duke Berry had long ordered the populace to move inside the city’s interior walls. Yet he could do nothing for their houses and workshops, except hope that they would be spared.

  The Fey’Derin’s multiple squads allowed for versatility in their deployment, and the company was largely spread out by task. Ethan Shade’s Eagle Runners were stationed near the eastern gate, and spent their time patrolling the walls and fortifying the inner defenses to protect against a possible breach. Sergeant McConnal and his Axemen were holding the main gatehouse alongside the duke’s heavy infantry units. Lieutenant Burnaise had joined Sergeant Fearan and his Footmen to the south.

  “Hey, Orn,” Bider said. “Any reason why they don’t attack? It’s been nearly four days since we’ve arrived, and still they only pound us with stones.”

  “They might still be smarting from their earlier losses, Bider,” Orn grumbled a reply. “I can tell you one thing though, Duke Berry is surely despised by those assembled outside.”

  “By all accounts, Lord Dalemen hated him even before this latest incident,” Bider repeated what he had heard from one of the duke’s soldiers. “Something about an argument in the council chambers of Imlaris. With his consort in Berry’s hands, his patience must be wearing very thin,” he added.

  “Aye, you might be right,” Orn agreed. “In any case, with little more than half an army able to fight, their commanders must still be debating the best course of action. Winter’s not so far off, and it would be quite idiotic to continue the siege once the snows hit.”

  “How long do you judge we have to hold?” Bider asked with some concern in his voice.

  “At least two weeks, three would ensure that snow will be on the ground,” the Fey’Derin scout replied after a moment’s thought. “Let them try sleeping while not able to feel their fingers or toes. Trust me, it’s not pleasant and their morale will suffer.”

  Pausing to survey the devastation around the high outer wall, Bider wondered if anything would remain for the victors if the barrage continued for much longer. It would be a shame, in t
he end, to defend only a decrepit shell of a city.

  Finishing the last few bites of his midday soup, Bider heard the unmistakable dull thump as a siege engine launched another stone missile towards the wall.

  “Incoming!!” screamed a soldier from the upper watchtower.

  Throwing his wooden bowl and spoon to the side, the small scout dove immediately to the ground. With his arms clutched tightly around his head, he clenched his teeth and awaited the inevitable. Most veteran soldiers swear that hiding from a barrage is pointless. If a stone is destined to fall within your radius, no amount of protection will keep you alive. However, being a thief for the early part of his life had taught Bider to trust his instincts. In this case, they screamed for him to lay flat, throw his arms up over his head, and hope for the best.

  Not twenty paces behind where Orn sat and Bider lay prone, a terrible crash sounded. When the dust settled, two large stone pieces lay entrenched in one of the small houses. It was severely damaged, and the weakened support beams buckled under the added weight. A few soldiers who had been resting nearby, ran quickly towards the crumbling structure. Bider cringed as the beams gave in and the roof came crashing down. He could only imagine how some of the inhabitants would react after losing everything they had once owned.

  “Don’t know why you bother panicking like you do,” Orn exclaimed. He was still calmly spooning up the remains in his own bowl of soup. “You young soldiers are so jumpy. I would bet you a month’s pay that Sergeant McConnal would never flee such a volley.”

  Shaking his head, Bider brushed off his uniform, bending over to recover two daggers that had fallen from his bandoliers. He was content in knowing that if another giant stone came his way, he would gladly find himself in the dirt once more. There was no sense in playing games with one’s fate.