The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  Frowning at the older man, but with the hint of smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, Shani Oakleaf slapped the man on the arm. “Varis! I swear, one of these days you’ll claim the last shreds of my children’s innocence!”

  “Hah! Too late for that don’t you think?” Varis joked.

  Enjoying the comfortable talk at the breakfast table, Alessan felt a twinge of guilt. Listening to the natural banter that flowed so easily between them, he could do little but smile. Looking around the table, he realized he would miss his family and friend dearly. Life, as much as he complained about it, could be far worse, but his heart truly sought to be outside the confines of Briar. For the moment though, being home was just fine, just fine indeed.

  In the hopes of entertaining their increasingly miserable tenants, Kayla sang that night in the Boar. She took to the stage with confidence, even when faced with the reality that many of the intoxicated customers sitting before her failed to possess even the slightest control of their actions.

  The wine and mead flowed steadily throughout dinner, and even the well-travelled Varis was skeptical of the mood. A rowdy crowd could spell trouble.

  Not being aware of the young singer’s talent, it took the better part of two haunting melodies of times gone past before the merchants settled quietly into their seats. They were astounded by the clear beauty of Kayla Oakleaf’s voice.

  To stay faithful, a bond of brotherhood was spoken,

  An’Darim heroes and many a tale told.

  Honour and glory for the heart of a kingdom,

  courage and love for a life not their own.

  An’Darim! An’Darim! Where can you be?

  Your people are gone, and their need so long past.

  A country divided, and your standard carried by the wind.

  Who will endure the burden of a nation?

  Who will be the shield guard to defend the downtrodden?

  Who will bury the dead and pray for new light?

  An’Darim! An’Darim! Why are we left so alone?

  Mighty were you, and true was your sword.

  Across rivers, forests and meadows of old,

  through rain and snow once came your cry.

  On steeds of glory you once rode till the dawn,

  Fear in our enemies, the heroes of song.

  An’Darim! An’Darim! Where shall you go?

  No king and no glory, yet the Drayen still suffer.

  Ease the pain of a people forever changed,

  Strength in each other and beliefs long held sacred.

  Alone we now remain, your company forever passed,

  but we hope for a change, a return to times long gone.

  An’Darim! An’Darim! What shall we tell the child?

  The one who believed, and now walks alone.

  As the last words carried clearly through the stunned silence of the room, Alessan wondered if he had seen his sister perform for the last time.

  She had chosen a strange tune for her final song. It was a heartfelt ballad dating back to the dark years after the Shattering. The An’Darim had been the king’s own guard; a personal company of elite soldiers that had disappeared after their liege lord was slain. Disgraced by failure, some said; others were convinced they had been betrayed by one of their own.

  Penned by Shenro Taleweaver, a bard of some renown hailing from the southern regions of a land now consumed by the Aeldenwood, the ballad was a call for their return, a plea for sanity amidst the slaughter and discrimination of that terrible time. The An’Darim had never returned, and scarcely any trace of their history remained. With the passage of so many decades, the tale lived on in song. Alessan was touched by the heightened emotion contained in that last lingering note. His sister, he marveled, had a way with music that could pierce the hardest heart and soften the darkest soul.

  As he settled into bed that evening, Alessan was overcome by a mounting nervousness over his impending departure. The letter Master Praxxus had left for him nearly five weeks ago lay on his small night table. The neatly folded parchment was his reminder of the opportunity waiting for him. He was determined to prove his worth to the wealthy man who had unexpectedly become his mentor. Although his mind was seldom completely at ease, for the first time in his young life, Alessan believed that he could find success outside of Briar.

  He was only mildly surprised when he awoke to find himself walking through the forest. His dreams had become meticulously detailed; the smells, the sounds, the feelings. It seemed as though he could control the environment to a greater degree each time he dreamt of the fabled woods. He could even sense an energy emanating from the trees, the earth, the air, and the water.

  As a boy he had never been naïve. At a young age, he had lost the opportunity to enjoy what it meant to simply be a child. Burdened by his twisted body, Alessan had often prayed that one day he would awake as if from a long dream. Wishful thinking from a sad child, he thought…

  Having been subjected to punishment and torment from the healthy growing boys of the town, Alessan knew all about his frailties. Yet when he walked beside the immense trunks of the forest and touched the gnarled bark, he felt more alive and capable than he had ever thought possible. There was no pain in his dreams. His arm was still shriveled and weak, but the throbbing discomfort was gone. He walked proudly along the trails of the ancient forest.

  Alessan could sense that he was striding upon one of the older paths in the Aeldenwood. Since meeting the stranger called C’Aelis, he often experienced variations of the dream he had first dreamt in late autumn. He had since decided that the man was not human, but could only be one of the long vanished Gorimm. Moreover, he believed that the connection made with the visitor on the riverbank had resulted in these prescient visions.

  The many trails of the Aeldenwood were the centerpieces of his dreams. On some occasions, he found himself sitting in a dilapidated stone building; other times, he sat in a beautifully furnished study admiring books and ancient manuscripts. C’Aelis sometimes appeared, but rarely acknowledged Alessan’s presence. So vivid and intense were the dreams, that they become permanent memories.

  Sometimes there would be nightmares. They would often take the shape and form of twisted abominations lurking in the shadows between the trees. The world would become dark, and the hideous creatures of the woods would hunt him, pin him down, and rend the very flesh from his body.

  On those nights he would wake screaming, his terrified cries often bringing his sister to his bedside. She had noticed a change in him, but Alessan was thankful for her silence. Apart from his arcane reference to the Gorimm that late autumn night, she had avoided the subject. If she did ask about C’Aelis, he would be hard-pressed to lie to his sister. Having grown up for so long without their father, the two siblings had forever leaned on each other for support; to deceive her simply felt wrong.

  When he awoke screaming early the next morning, body taut and eyes wide open with terror, she remained quiet once again. But the look in her eyes revealed that her patience was rapidly coming to an end.

  Two days later, the storm broke. The people of the north shook themselves from their wintery slumber and returned to work. Huge amounts of snow were cleared from the streets, and the sound of hammers were clearly audible that first morning as men worked tirelessly to repair the damage caused by the high winds.

  Varis spent the morning collecting broken shutters and patching up those that could be saved. Alessan assumed the older man would need help cutting the new ones and so took to his daily chores with zeal in the hopes that his mother would grant him permission to work outdoors. After so many days trapped in the inn, the fresh cold air would be a welcome respite.

  Alessan was sweeping a thick layer of dirt from the back storeroom when word arrived that a large caravan from Hallenford had weathered the blizzard at the Fey’Derin encampment to the north. Master Corian
Praxxus, true to his word, headed the convoy. According to the messenger, the caravan was due to arrive the following evening. The Black Boar was cordially asked to be their host with a special request that the Lady Kayla Oakleaf grace the common room with her beautiful voice. The request was gladly accepted by the young songstress.

  In silence, Alessan watched the large procession as it arrived. The main room and suites shone like new. The kitchen was prepped, and Varis was dressed in his finest clothes. The women of the household wore festive dresses in honour of the occasion. The arrival of such a large group would set the inn further ahead than usual when it came to counting their earnings for the year. The Boar had always done exceptional business, but with the high profile merchant staying for a second time, even Alessan’s mother could smile in anticipation of the rich rewards. An honest day’s work was nothing to be ashamed of, she would always say.

  The wagons started rolling into town from the northeast not long after midday. Alessan had only a few moments to watch as they made their way through the town’s recently cleared roads. There remained some time before the arrival, as their pace was slowed considerably by the deep drifts left behind by the great storm. Extra wood was still needed in the kitchen if the cooking was to go smoothly that evening.

  And so, some hours later, the Black Boar was left spotless due to their hard work. Alessan stood somewhat patiently near the entrance, his mother having set him on watch for Corian’s arrival. His nervousness was obvious, and he began to fidget as the minutes dragged on. His palms were sweaty, and his tight collar added to his discomfort. And then, with a great amount of zeal, the door to the inn was thrown open.

  “Young Master Oakleaf, it is a pleasure to see you once again!” boomed Corian Praxxus, surveying the room. “And the place looks simply wonderful!” he added.

  Alessan smiled broadly as the big man, bedecked in exquisite gold and silver jewelry, entered the Black Boar. His clothing was made of the finest silks available on the market, and his crimson winter coat was trimmed with thick white fur belonging to the rare Kelamyrian lynx.

  He looked heavier than he had at his departure in late autumn, with a rounded belly of girth bulging out even further than Alessan remembered. His boisterous nature and exuberant personality remained perfectly intact. Walking over to join him at a table near the roaring hearth fire, Alessan realized he had genuinely missed the curious man.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Master Praxxus.”

  Seeing Alessan waiting cordially upright near the table, much as an employee or servant might do, Corian waved impatiently towards the wooden bench. “Come, come, and sit. Until tomorrow morning, I’d prefer to pass on the formalities and enjoy a drink with a friend.”

  “My apologies, sir.” Alessan replied as he took a seat.

  “No matter, lad, no matter. But on the morrow, as I’ve already mentioned, things will change. You will be one of my bookkeepers, at least for the coming journey.”

  Reaching across his ample chest and unbuttoning the clasp that was holding his cloak in place, Corian smiled. “Enough of business, Alessan, I have need of a fine ale to quench my thirst, and I have still to pass on greetings to both your mother and sister. No one will ever contend that Corian Praxxus of Innes Vale is an unkind and rude guest!”

  Word spread quickly throughout town that Kayla was to sing for the guests at the Boar. Everyone was proud that it was not the arrival of strangers that brought the townsfolk to the inn, but the talents of the young woman from Briar. Strangers were passing moments; some good, some bad, and infinitely less important to a town that boasted only a few hundred souls.

  The night was a resounding success. Kayla sang, accompanied by Varis, and the crowd enthusiastically applauded each and every one of her renditions. They danced and sang along to familiar tunes; they drank and roared their approval at others. After hours of harried work, Alessan found himself seated across from Corian with a welcome mug of ale gripped tightly in his own hand.

  “Is everything is settled with your mother, Alessan?” Corian asked. The merchant was on his third plate of mutton and showed no signs of slowing down. Alessan had been given permission to sit with his new employer for a few minutes, as long as it did not interfere with his serving duties. Although unhappy with his choice, his mother respected the need to speak with the merchant.

  “Yes,” Alessan frowned.

  “She still thinks I will be the death of you then?” he inquired. “She’s still angry,” Alessan nodded.

  “Women can be such pains,” the merchant chuckled. “Sometimes you need to ignore their reasoning and worry about yourself. Who cares really?”

  “I am his mother, Master Praxxus, and trust me, I care,” responded a menacing voice from behind him. “It is my job and responsibility to worry about my child. I need no other reason for my anger, and I believe it is quite clear that Alessan has ignored my request to remain at the inn until he is older. Do not patronize me by explaining to my son, my son, how a woman thinks!” Shani Oakleaf slammed two new pitchers of ale down hard upon the table, turned without another word, and headed back through the packed crowd.

  At that moment, Alessan wished he could crawl beneath the table and remain hidden for the remainder of the night. Corian fared little better against the motherly assault. Red-faced and obviously embarrassed, the merchant refused to make eye contact with anyone.

  “I believe I should get back to work, sir. With the size of the crowd this evening, it’s hardly fair that I spend more time chatting with the guests than serving.”

  “Aye, that seems best, lad. I’ll see you in the morning,” Corian replied. “And remember…”

  “Yes?”

  “You work for me now. Friendships often get in the way of business, but I may need advice on occasion. When I do, I’ll seek you out.”

  “I’m sure you’ll know where to find me,” Alessan answered, shaking the man’s hand before slipping through the crowd towards the kitchen.

  Exhausted, Alessan reached his bedchamber well after mid of night. Despite his excitement about the upcoming journey, for one night at least, no dreams or nightmares pierced his veil of sleep.

  The caravan was immense; comprised of two dozen large wagons, each one packed to the brim with a multitude of items destined for the marketplaces in the southern expanses of Old Caledun. Twenty pack mules, all heavily laden with even more accessories to be sold in the south, waited impatiently in the snow that morning. The naturally stubborn animals sniffed at the snow while watching their handlers warily. Two larger covered wagons were placed near the center of the train, their ornately painted doorways a sure sign of wealth and prosperity. Gold trim adorned the outer frames of both the rolling carriages. One belonged to the venerable Master Praxxus while the second housed a robed figure that rarely exited the confines of his stately quarters. Alessan had only glimpsed the man for a brief moment when he had stepped out to speak to Corian Praxxus.

  The Sylvani milled about in ordered confusion. Many of the mercenary soldiers took the time to recheck their packs. To leave something behind prior to such a journey would be to lose it forever.

  The Sylvani had prepared for a lengthy stay down south. Captain Pragg calmly answered questions from various officers in the company, pointing here and there while riding up and down the line to ensure everything was in order. The mercenaries, after an extended stay near Oakfeld Patch, were as anxious as anyone to head south and into the warring Protectorate. They would arrive in time to attend the Gathering in the spring, and they were anxious to see what contracts would be offered for the next summer of warfare.

  With nearly sixty members of the caravan’s entourage and the combined hundreds of the newly formed Sylvani nearby, Corian Praxxus bellowed orders with an air of such superiority and arrogance that Alessan found himself glad he wasn’t responsible for the planning of the journey. The large merchant accosted any who reporte
d a delay or problem concerning the eventual departure. Seeing the entrepreneur in action, Alessan wondered briefly if he could ever command with such conviction and passion.

  Corian remained aloof as the company prepared to set forth. The camaraderie of the previous evening would be the last for some time. Upon his arrival that morning, Alessan had been issued a simple green tunic and dark trousers. His new uniform was sturdy and well-made; a little fancy compared to his usual attire, but acceptable just the same. He was treated with the same respect as every other man reporting for duty that morning. Although he caught several eyes warily watching his preparations, Alessan felt confident that his frailties would be viewed as insignificant. If Corian Praxxus determined that there was merit behind your service, most of the caravan workers took that as proof enough that you belonged.

  An hour before the sun was to rise that day, everything was ready. The departure, so long delayed by the brutal storm of the previous week, slowly began. Mules snorted and stamped their hooves, horses neighed and pushed forward into the deeper drifts that remained, and the wagon drivers whooped and called out instructions to their horses. The chaotic din of noise was like nothing Alessan had ever heard.

  Pausing at the entrance of the Black Boar, Alessan hurried inside. Clustered together near the entryway stood his mother, Kayla, and Varis. Fighting back a rush of emotion, he gripped the older man’s hand firmly. The often pragmatic and unemotional man pulled him fiercely into a tight hug.

  “You stay safe, Alessan. Watch your back, remember your place, and do us proud. I have no doubt that you will,” Varis whispered as they held each other.