The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  “Not at all,” Gavin answered with a forced smile. “Safe journey to you always,” he added.

  The Duke would be none too pleased to hear of the mage’s presence. Although quite progressive, the southern noble still carried many of the prejudices instilled by his forefathers. Distrust in the reclusive Silveryn Order was paramount among those beliefs.

  Waving as the visiting captain rode out through the gates of the fort, Gavin hoped his suspicions would prove to be correct. He could ill afford to speak of such matters with Duke Berry unless absolutely sure that his assumptions were accurate.

  Gavin, Caolte, and Tel’Andros left early the next morning. Only a faint brightening of the eastern sky heralded the coming of dawn as the three men rode along the winding trail leading north into the fringes of the Aeldenwood.

  Gavin had insisted they pack enough food to allow for an extended stay in the old watchtower. He couldn’t predict how long it might be before the Aeldenwood would alert the Gorimm of their arrival. The ever-present danger of the Gath remained the biggest risk. With the new information gleaned at Dragon Mount concerning the Fallen, Gavin suspected that the coming days would be fraught with peril.

  The Fallen had long been held as a mere unfortunate rumour by the mages of the Silveryn Order. Now, the Shield breach provided irrefutable proof of not only their existence, but also of distinct coordination between the defectors. The Council of mages had long avoided being used as pawns by the powerful clans of Old Caledun, but now they faced a new problem. How could a group so stubborn in their arrogance, come to realize that help would be needed in order to quell the threat of the Fallen?

  Left unchallenged, the number of renegades would certainly swell. Surely they would perceive inaction by the Silveryn Order as a weakness and exploit it to its fullest. It also remained a glaring truth that one of the Fallen had been hired by the opportunist Gadian Yarr to help in the safe passage of the Lady Farraine. Gavin could feel the invisible chains of his past tightening as Yarr’s political schemes gained momentum.

  That evening, the trio camped on the edge of the forest. There, in the lengthening shadows of the Great Wood, Gavin dreamt once again…

  He found himself walking through the ruins of a majestic city. Tall spires rose gracefully into the night, piercing even the tops of the ancient trees present within the boundaries. The trunks dotting the cityscape were enormous, easily larger than any he had ever seen. Here were the sentinels that had seen the passing of ages, each season but a brief flicker in their eternal existence. Gavin was drawn to the majestic trees, his hands sliding and probing along the coarse and knotted wood. A sudden sadness poured into him, enveloping his soul with a suffering wail.

  Here, deep within the ancient forest, the call of that pain was so intense that he fell to his knees. He stared sadly at the towering trunks until it was no longer bearable, for the bark itself seemed to writhe in anguish. Defiant, he turned to survey the city that was itself a reminder of the generations that had already passed before his birth. In the constantly flowing river of time, he felt less significant than a single drop of water.

  The stone buildings and incredible towers were in disrepair. Clear marks of a struggle still remained. Rusted armour and weapons, long left abandoned to the cruel elements, felt brittle to the touch. Crumbling skeletons told a story of loss as he walked deeper into the city. An unholy battle had been fought here, one that had seen thousands slaughtered in the streets. For how long had the bodies remained untouched, undisturbed by the arrival of any living creature?

  The numerous shops and houses fared no better. Doors hung on broken hinges with many of the rooftops in a state of partial collapse. Evidence indicated that fires had ravaged whole city blocks. Black ash covered almost every street and structure in sight. Gavin passed through one section of an inner wall that had been bombarded into dust.

  As he crossed a long bridge that spanned what was once a beautiful moat, he caught a momentary flicker of movement. Fighting back a sudden surge of fear, he turned to acknowledge the new arrival. A black wolf scampered quietly along the edge of the cobblestone road and paused to sniff idly at each and every doorway it passed. The creature’s fur was matted and dirty, its breathing laboured in the silence of the night. Its nose was bloody, with long sweeping wounds crisscrossing the snout.

  A putrid smell like that of a decomposing body in the sun, assaulted Gavin’s senses. Gagging, he covered his mouth and nose in the hopes that it would minimize the odor. The wolf watched him with eyes as black as night, the pupils covered by a sheen of ebony darkness that emitted no light. With a shudder, Gavin realized the black wolf was blind. Worse, he knew why it had come…

  Crossing the bridge, Gavin watched as the creature hounded his footsteps. Oddly, the beast refused to close the distance between them. Retching from the horrendous smell, he quickened his pace and passed under an archway that defined the foundations of a great castle. In the courtyard lay the dry bones of hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers. The battle fought here upon the very doorstep of the keep was a vehement last stand. Briefly caressing a discarded blade, Gavin eyed the area with a wondrous melancholy.

  In the center of the blackened battlefield were the remains of five large tree stumps. Clutching his head in pain, Gavin tried to dismiss the feeling of despair that assaulted his mind. A sudden high-pitched cry brought him a moment of respite. The black wolf had reached the courtyard and was sitting back on its haunches near the center of the clearing. With blood dripping from its snout, the wolf threw its head back again and howled piercingly into the night.

  For long minutes, Gavin dared not to move or even breathe. Finally trying to regain his balance, his foot brushed against a rusted breastplate. The creature’s head spun immediately towards the noise, its black lifeless eyes holding his gaze captive. The horrible stare bore into his soul, and Gavin screamed as he tried to break the bond. His body trembled as the wolf began its approach…

  With a start, Gavin opened his eyes, a scream ready to erupt from his lips. Clapping a hand quickly over his mouth, he tried to muffle the noise. Surveying the campsite, he looked for any signs of the scarred wolf Only the covered forms of his companions and their three mounts were present.

  It was only a dream…only a dream.

  Gavin removed the soaked undergarment that clung coldly to his skin. Stoking the fire and adding a new log to the blaze did little to ward off the chill in his veins. Fully awake, it was now that he recognized the animal from his dreams. It was Ordus, the Drayenmark spirit of war and death that had stalked him during his dark vision. The blind wolf was a mythical idol among the descendants of the old blood. The seers gave rise to the belief that the beast followed the scent of blood, and that where Ordus trod, death would soon follow.

  Sleep, Gavin knew, would not be forthcoming this night. Too many questions whirled about his troubled mind for rest to be truly considered. Sighing heavily, he gripped his shivering body with bare arms and sat hunched near the fire until the morning light crested the hills to the east.

  The three men approached the old fortification with trepidation. In the middle of a large grove, the Watchtower of Al’Taers loomed high overhead. Some of the building’s worn stone blocks were cracked and split beyond repair. The structure reached a height not quite matching that of the surrounding trees, but impressive nonetheless. A solid black door of dense wood barred entry into the interior. Even the outer shutters of the tall windows were still intact, most thrown wide open. From their vantage point on the ground, the top floor appeared to be in good condition, and the peak of the roof looked sound. In the very center of it all rose the thick and healthy wood of an enormous tree, its highest branches creating a living roof over the entire structure.

  Legends spoke of the tower as the home to a company of Gorimm hunters. The trackers were said to have roamed the wild expanse of the great forest while acting as a vanguard against any enemy m
ovements to the southeast. Now, only the shadows of a time long forgotten survived within the stone walls.

  Both Gavin and Caolte brandished their weapons as they approached the base. Gavin’s blade glistened in his hand, while Caolte held his Drayen spear as he led the way forward. Tel’Andros was tense, yet his mind was clear as his eyes ceaselessly flickered about the underbrush. A soft blue luminescent glow surrounded the mage.

  “Anything, Andros?” Gavin whispered, following his friend’s lead and sliding noiselessly from the back of his mount.

  “There is some latent sorcery present that I can’t seem to identify. It’s nothing that indicates trouble, though” the mage replied.

  “Gath?” Caolte asked.

  “None in the vicinity. How long that will last, I cannot predict.”

  The Drayenmark lieutenant passed the reins of his mount to the captain and dashed across the clearing. The sun was shining brightly that morning, creating a myriad of dancing shadows on the trails of the Aeldenwood. Caolte’s figure appeared to flicker as he nimbly slid his crouched form skillfully along the edge of the walled stone.

  Gavin watched the man disappear behind the tower and dropped to one knee. He often assumed a crouched position while covering his men on a sortie. Resting one hand lightly on the cold ground, he kept his sword at the ready. A brief tingle of energy crackled through his fingers as he touched the snow covered earth. Tense moments passed as the two men waited patiently for Caolte’s return. The soldier eventually reappeared near the base of the building and motioned them forward.

  The Fey’Derin officer was gently pushing on the ebony door as Gavin approached. Caolte appeared puzzled. “There’s no discernable handle or trigger mechanism to open the door. Beautiful wood that Aliendal, and native only to the deep heart of this forest,” he added.

  “Nonsense, there must be a spell encased in the wood. Scholars have often referred to Aliendal as ‘living wood’. A simple casting should reveal our next move,” Andros said.

  “As you will,” Gavin implored and watched the mage with some interest. Andros had often attempted to explain the essence of Aer, but to no avail.

  The two soldiers watched the robed mage murmur under his breath and complete a series of hand gestures that Gavin was unable to recall. This had always been his experience with the arcane, even when he was younger. As with seeing Aer, so too did the ungifted immediately forget the movements used to conjure a spell. Andros sulked and finally shook his head.

  “Nothing…” he muttered.

  Frustrated, Gavin circled the tower hoping to find a low window that could be reached with some creativity and effort. Seeing nothing, he returned to the south side and slumped wearily on the stoop.

  “No luck I suppose?” Caolte joined his friend. “And here I was thinking you had a plan.”

  “Hmm, I guess going on instinct doesn’t always work,” Gavin answered sheepishly.

  “In your case, this is one of those rare times,” Caolte said, leaning back against the door.

  Settling down, both men watched in amusement as Tel’Andros stubbornly continued his sending. By his reaction alone, it was obvious he was having no further luck with his incantation.

  “It’s a nice rest at least,” Gavin said. Stretching his tired and cramped muscles, he yawned loudly and joined Caolte in leaning back against the doorway.

  A barely audible click immediately grabbed their attention.

  “What the —” Caolte yelled as he fell backwards alongside Gavin and in through the doorway. He looked towards his commander quizzically. “Any notion on how you managed that one?”

  “I don’t think I had anything to do with it” Gavin answered truthfully.

  “Lieutenant, you are a fool. It’s obvious that my last attempt opened the passageway,” Tel’Andros broke in. “Don’t tell me you believe that the credit should go to Gavin?”

  Caolte cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Ware your tone, mage. Do not presume to know my thoughts. I was just curious is all.”

  Gavin was already examining the new surroundings. The main floor was a circular chamber comprised of one large area with two sets of stone stairs rising up to the next level. The stones near the center of the room had been cleared to allow for the earth to remain where the gnarled roots of the large tree were embedded. Staring directly upward, Gavin could see the spherical openings that allowed the tree freedom to penetrate all the way to the top floor. It was a stunning feat of natural construction.

  “By the gods, the tree grows straight up the middle!” Caolte exclaimed, joining Gavin in staring upwards.

  “Gorimm architecture was always based in the natural world, Lieutenant,” Tel’Andros said. “The histories record that the elder folk focused much of their attention on the living earth and less upon what they considered ‘the cold heart of mankind’.”

  “It’s damned impressive is what it is,” Caolte whistled appreciably.

  As the men travelled through each of the levels, it was obvious that the tower had been long-abandoned. Only the crumbing remnants of some old broken furniture remained. If the Gorimm had once inhabited the place, no real evidence had survived the test of time. If the histories were correct, it was close to two hundred years since the last of the elder folk set foot within this edifice.

  As they reached the top floor with an exit to a high open battlement, the trio entered a final room, one that could very well have been a study. The decaying shelves of what were once large oak bookcases cluttered the outside walls, their shape and form still recognizable after the passing of so many seasons. A large desk, also of oak, lay slumped near one of the two windows. Even a high-backed chair, the once plush cushions having disintegrated into little more than a grey tattered rags, remained in its place behind the desk. A hearth, cold and unused, was situated against the north wall, creating the only break in the smooth sides of the chamber.

  The Aeldenwood tree, although much thinner near the height of its reach, still twisted its way through the study. The many tangled branches gave the chamber an unearthly look, and Gavin could sense an ethereal timelessness not present in the bare rooms of the previous floors.

  “Incredible,” Andros breathed as he entered the room. “There are still traces of old magic being used here. This was once a place of great power.”

  “Any danger with such dormant sorcery?” Gavin asked, carefully threading his way over to the old desk while deftly avoiding the outstretched arms of a few errant branches.

  “Absolutely none, Gavin. Whatever spells were cast have only left a faint signature as to their origin. There is no real power remaining.”

  Peering out of the tall window, Caolte asked, “Well we’re here, now what do we do?”

  “We wait,” Gavin replied.

  In the year 3AE292, the first Silveryn mages to study the recent encroachment of the Aeldenwood through the land of Farraine found no correlation between the disappearance of the Gorimm and the subsequent forest growth.

  —Lady Talia, The Histories, Volume XI

  Chapter XXIII

  Old Farraine, Aeldenwood

  Alessan was hungry and terrified.

  He had lost all feeling in his fingers and toes, and judging by the pale colour of his companion’s face, Corian was faring no better. The two men were so tired that Alessan briefly wondered if death might be more welcoming than the aching pains and hunger they were being forced to endure on their trek.

  They had been on the run for almost a full day and continued to stagger through the dark forest. Alessan had lost track of time, but faint light filtered through the leafy canopy above, and he believed that some daylight hours still remained.

  How so much could have changed in such a short period of time was inconceivable. A new life, one that had only just begun, was being ruthlessly torn from his grasp, as was his hope for the future.


  Although hearing no signs of pursuit, he refused to believe they were completely safe. The doomed expedition had ignored all warnings, and now a few hundred souls had gone to join the gods, their deaths terrible and cruel.

  The fate of the brave men who had selflessly given them time to flee the attacking Gath remained unknown. Alessan could only hope that Sergeant Holt and the other Sylvani had found a way to fight free from the attackers.

  With the slaughter at the Crossroads still fresh in his mind, Alessan was also plagued with a deep sense of guilt. How could he, of all those who had travelled south, have been spared? What of the numerous husbands, fathers, and mothers who had died? What of the young girl, whose name he would never learn? What cruel game did the gods play with the lives of the people of Caledun? Is not Arne supposed to be a forgiving god, one who watches over his people, one who protects, and one who guides? Shivering as much from his beleaguered thoughts than from the weather, Alessan chanced a look at Corian.

  The big man lay slouched against a large oak tree, his ample body splayed out in a pose of sheer exhaustion. He had reacted far worse to the prolonged flight than Alessan, and his usual lively demeanor was now hidden behind a mask of agony and laboured breathing. Corian’s silence was somewhat alarming, but at this point Alessan was glad for a period of quiet reflection. He was still recuperating from the shock of the event and trying to settle the rapid thoughts that continued to flicker like lightning through his mind.

  Regardless of their discomfort, both men soon drifted off to sleep. Yet with every unknown sound they would jolt awake, their eyes fearfully scanning the surrounding foliage for any sign of the Gath. As they lay there in the dark, Corian finally broke his silence. With a heavy sigh the large man shifted and stretched his aching muscles.

  “Well, Master Oakleaf, I’ve sat here trying to sort out my confused thoughts, knowing that had I only listened to your impassioned plea, we would surely not find ourselves in such a predicament. I can’t even find the words to express my heartfelt sorrow.”