The Mercenary Code

by Emmet Moss

  Auric had already sliced through the rope, but the ferry had barely budged, even when Leoric arrived to throw his weight behind the effort. Judging by the speed at which the goblin trackers were approaching, he estimated they had fewer than ten minutes to cast off. Leoric preferred not to consider the consequences if they failed to do so.

  With an agonizing slowness, the boat began to shift on the sand. The four men made incremental progress, one slight movement at a time. At Auric’s insistence, Benoit threw his bow and quiver onto the deck and scrambled over the side. Using one of the long poles, he was able to begin pushing off the shore as the others continued to shove the ferry along the sand.

  As they struggled to maintain their balance while pushing the wooden barge into the deeper water, Benoit suddenly loosed a cry of alarm. From the trees near the shelf of rock where they had descended, a small group of goblins burst from cover.

  “Ware, they come! And they aren’t coming down the cliff!” Benoit warned, dropping the long pole and taking aim with his bow.

  “Push, Angvald! Push!” Leoric bellowed, straining his muscles to their limit.

  “There’s no time!” Benoit screamed.

  At his side, Leoric watched as Auric studied the oncoming attackers and reached for his belted mace. Then, the old man bolted across the sandy ground, raising his mace defiantly in the air as he closed the distance between himself and the goblins. “Get the ferry out into the water, I’ll be fine,” he called back over his shoulder.

  As Auric sprinted to engage the four guards, the lead goblin fell to his knees, one of Benoit’s black arrows lodged firmly in his chest. Shocked by the blow, the goblin sank wordlessly to the ground, hands twitching as he reached for the arrow.

  Auric never flinched. He flew by the wounded soldier, his mace sweeping aside the closest attacker’s blade and landing a heavy blow to the goblin’s sword arm. With a cry of pain, the goblin dropped his weapon, clutching at the crushed limb. Only partially able to avoid the last guard’s thrust, Auric stepped backwards and stopped, his eyes trained on the two remaining foes. A ragged gash where he had been struck on his upper arm started to bleed. The goblins had each moved to one side of the man, grudgingly showing respect for their adversary’s agility and skill.

  Standing on the ferry, Benoit notched a second arrow and sighted again down the length of the shaft. At the same time, Leoric finally felt the craft give way and begin to slide out into the water. Shouting with glee, he and Angvald leaned into the ferry and sent it moving even faster.

  “Auric! We have to leave now!” Leoric hollered, reaching for the nearest steering pole and pulling himself onto the boat. On the opposite side, Angvald was doing the same. Already the current was pulling the watercraft forcibly into the violent, choppy waters.

  Benoit loosed his second shot, and without bothering to chart its course, turned and grabbed a pole to help Angvald. Still on the beach, Auric danced about, the goblin attackers now reduced to one, a second guard incapacitated with Benoit’s arrow imbedded in his upper thigh.

  Leoric watched as the rest of the goblins suddenly burst from the trees only a scant hundred paces from Auric. If he didn’t turn to flee immediately, he would be quickly overwhelmed.

  “Auric!! Run!!” Angvald roared from the deck of the small ferry.

  If he delays any longer, he won’t make it! Leoric’s mind screamed in panic.

  Noticing the approaching soldiers, Auric leapt forward with a feint, his quick attack catching his attacker flatfooted. As Auric altered his speed, there was little the goblin could do in defense. With a loud crack, the mace came down hard against the goblin’s helm. The creature staggered back from the blow and collapsed.

  Auric didn’t wait to finish his opponent. Instead, he whirled around and tore off back towards the water. Already the ferry was pulling away from the shore with astonishing speed. As Auric reached the water, a first arrow struck him hard in the back. Stumbling from the force of the blow, the old man fell into the water, his body quickly disappearing under the waves.

  “No!!!” Leoric screamed, watching three more goblins raise their bows and take aim. He leapt into the water just as Auric was struck for a second time. Soaked up to his thighs in the fast current, Leoric felt an inkling of dread as his desperate jump nearly cost him his footing. Weighed down by his drenched leather armour and being a poor swimmer, falling would put him in serious jeopardy. With Benoit showering the goblins with arrows and Angvald fighting desperately to regain control of the craft, there would be no one left to save him.

  Steadying himself, he waded towards where Auric had gone under. As he approached, the man surfaced only a few paces away, his eyes glazed over in obvious pain. A second volley of arrows hissed through the air as Leoric reached his friend.

  In stunned disbelief, Leoric saw two more shafts sprout from Auric’s side and shoulder. He drifted into Leoric’s outstretched arms, his face constricted in a look of distress. Leoric barely registered the two arrows that grazed his own shoulder, one even lodging itself in his backpack, piercing the fabric.

  He planted his feet and threw the wiry old man over his shoulder. Surprised by the lightness of his burden, the borderman drew on a reserve of endurance he never knew existed and began to walk back through the water towards the swaying ferry. Angvald had planted his long pole in the sandy bottom, and with a formidable effort, the Kaleenian’s great strength held the large raft in place.

  Benoit, seeing Leoric with Auric over his shoulder, jumped into the water as the pair approached. Together, with arrows now assaulting them ceaselessly, they managed to slide Auric’s wounded body up on the deck of the craft. Leoric grimaced as he watched painful spasms wrack the old man’s frame.

  “Go!!” Leoric yelled as he and Benoit pulled themselves wearily out of the water. Ignoring the arrows landing all around him, and one in the pole he carried, Angvald ferociously raised the wooden shaft and allowed the powerful current to carry them away. On the shore, the distraught cries of their one-time captors could faintly be heard.

  Angvald showed some skill in commanding the ferry, leading the small craft slowly but steadily across the wide river. Confident that the big man could handle the task, Leoric bent down and gently lifted Auric into his arms, cradling the man’s wounded body. Unable to stop the flow of tears, he looked into his friend’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Auric…” he stammered.

  Auric smiled weakly, “There was nothing you could have done. At a certain point in our lives, our destiny comes to claim us. That you risked your life for an old wounded man only confirms my belief that it is to you that I must bestow my sacred trust.”

  “What do you mean?” Leoric whispered. “I never understand what you are saying,” he laughed through the tears that coursed down his cheeks.

  “You will, Leoric… you will,” Auric answered. Somehow, the old prisoner always seemed as though he knew something everyone else did not. “But you must listen to me now. Do you remember the night I spoke to you of a promise?”

  “Yes,” Leoric nodded.

  “I knew that night that my time upon this earth was nearing its conclusion, and that I must begin your preparation,” Auric gasped.

  “You knew?”

  “It is the curse that accompanies my gift. To know the manner of your death is no easy thing to live with, Leoric, but it is the burden my line endures in order to fulfill its destiny. I am the An’Dari, the last of a long line who have lived only to protect the kings of old.”

  “By the gods…” Leoric uttered, the words a barely audible whisper.

  “Do you know what I am?” Auric asked.

  “The An’Dari was the bodyguard to the High King; commander of the An’Darim, the King’s Guard. But they say Druan Warder was the last; with his death, so too died the line,” Leoric replied.

  “History is written by those in power, Leoric. Not e
verything that you have been told is true, least of all the destruction of the An’Dari. If there is an heir to the kingdom alive, there will always be one to protect them,” Auric stated, the words strangled by a cough from his bloodied lips.

  “What do you ask of me, Auric? I am no leader of men, and there is no king.”

  “But there is an heir, a descendant from the line of Lordares. Have no doubt, Leoric D’Athgaran, you will one day be a great leader of men,” Auric answered.

  “Without a direct descendant, I must choose a successor so that the line remains unbroken. I choose you, Leoric. I did so the moment you came to Lok’Dal hie, though you would never have known. But you must accept my charge with your own free will.”

  “What does it mean?” Leoric asked.

  “You will become the bearer of a sacred trust. You, and you alone, will bear the responsibility of keeping the heir alive. Your life will always revolve around that of the heir to Caledun, as mine did long ago although I failed terribly…” Coughing weakly, as though there remained little strength left in his body, Auric gripped Leoric’s arm with sudden power, “Please… I will explain more when next I see you…” he gasped.

  “I accept, Auric,” Leoric whispered.

  With a grateful sigh, Auric smiled and sagged in Leoric’s powerful embrace. As the old prisoner breathed his last, free after so long a time in captivity, a sudden charge vibrated through the air. With his head bowed in sorrow, Leoric felt the shock travel through his body.

  Crying out in pain, he fell backwards. Numbering in the thousands, visions flashed through his mind: battles, conversations, tragedies. A lifetime of experiences bombarded the stricken borderman. Overwhelmed, he could hear himself screaming, his voice eventually becoming hoarse as the images continued to race through his thoughts, imprinting themselves on his own experiences, intertwining with his own memories as though he had lived through them. In the space of a few minutes, Leoric lived the lives of hundreds.

  He had no idea when he had blacked out, but now he found that that he was no longer sprawled prone on the deck of the ferry. His head throbbed painfully, and for some odd reason the distant beating of a heart pulsed in the back of his mind. The beat was incessant, yet somehow not intrusive. Confused, Leoric looked around at his surroundings.

  He was encircled by trees, the faint sound of the river still audible. A small fire crackled nearby, the warmth of the blaze comforting him as he himself shivering inexplicably. Wrapped in a coarse blanket, he gingerly pulled himself up into a sitting position.

  “You had us worried, Leoric,” Benoit said from across the fire. “There was a moment there when I wondered whether you would return to us. Angvald, of course, never doubted that you would,” he added quietly.

  “What happened?” Leoric managed to say, his throat dry.

  “When Auric died you were enveloped by a silvery glow. I tried to reach you but it was as though you were encased in a ball of lightning. Touching the light gave me such a shock I was almost thrown from the boat. Then you screamed until your voice gave out. Angvald and I were both hoping that you would be able to tell us what happened.”

  “It was Auric,” Leoric replied. “He wasn’t what he appeared to be.”

  “Did any of us truly believe he was one of us?” Angvald commented from the darkness. Stepping into the firelight, he held out the dangling length of a silver chain, a small falcon hanging from the end, its golden wings raised in flight. “I believe this belongs to you now, Leoric. It’s the symbol of the Rhone family, is it not?”

  Reaching out, Leoric took the necklace and held it gingerly in his hands. “This chain was a gift from the High Kings of old. It has been passed down through the years, worn by the one chosen as the An’Dari.”

  “How do you know this?” Benoit asked skeptically.

  “I just do,” Leoric answered with alarm. Tapping his temple with a finger he added. “I have the memories in my head. Somehow, when Auric died, his knowledge became mine. His memories are now my own.”

  “Incredible…” Angvald muttered. “You’ve been blessed, Leoric.”

  “No I haven’t,” he retorted angrily. “I’m not even sure what I’ve done, and for the moment I’d appreciate some time to think.” As the words shot from his mouth, he was already filled with regret.

  Benoit and Angvald turned away, the hurt clearly evident on their faces even in the shadowy light of the fire. “I’m sorry…” Leoric stammered with dismay. “I just don’t —”

  “We understand, Leoric. When the time is right you will speak to us about the path you chose. Until then, as your friends, know only that we will be ready to listen,” Angvald replied solemnly.

  “I never really knew much about him, but I miss him already,” Benoit said after the silence that followed Angvald’s words. “There was a calming influence in his demeanor that I never really understood.”

  “Where does he lie?” Leoric asked quietly.

  “I built a cairn in the woods near the river. There was no time, and we didn’t have the tools to dig a grave. Benoit sent him to the heavens with a blessing of Arne so that his soul will find its way quickly to the gods,” Angvald explained.

  “And our pursuers?”

  Benoit frowned. “They headed north once we reached the midway point. If there is another crossing downstream, we may not be as safe as we believe.”

  “At first light we must press westward. Kelamyre lies to our south, Darkenedge to the west,” Leoric thought aloud. “If you could, Angvald, would you show me to the cairn? I would like to pay my last respects.”

  “Aye. I’ll do so gladly, Leoric.”

  The cairn lay nestled within a small natural grove of elm trees. Leoric approached the gravesite solemnly in the darkness, not wanting to disrupt the sanctity of the place. The various stones had been piled up in the center of the clearing, gathered from the ground where Leoric now stood. Angvald’s attention to detail was touching; not a stone seemed out of place.

  Leoric walked to within a few feet of the cairn and stopped. Alone with his thoughts, surrounded by the mysterious sounds of the Wilds, Leoric wished his friend well. Then reaching into his belt pouch, he retrieved the beautiful necklace Angvald had taken from their comrade’s body. Leaning forward, he stretched a hand out to place the jeweled falcon atop the nearest rocks.

  Angvald spoke truly, Leoric, that necklace belongs to you now.

  Leoric’s heart raced as the words drifted through the clearing. The voice was unmistakably Auric’s. Scanning the trees, his heart pounded in his ears, the sound drowning out any ambient noise of the forest.

  Turning to peer back behind him, Leoric gasped. Before him stood Auric, the old man’s form illuminated in the darkness. He was dressed as he had been at the hour of his death, his leather goblin armour even sporting the very gashes he’d received at the river’s edge. Only his eyes had changed. In them, there was now a look of peace that accompanied his gaze.

  Why are you so surprised? I told you we’d meet another time, the apparition chuckled.

  “I thought you knew not how serious your wounds were,” Leoric answered. As the shadow of his fallen friend glided forward, he fought back a rising desire to flee the grove in terror.

  Be at ease, Leoric. I cannot remain long here on this earth but I have been granted time to speak with you, to help you further understand what you have freely chosen to become. I swear to you no harm will come to you this night, nor will we meet like this again.

  “I’m not afraid, Auric…” Leoric said nervously. “I am speaking to a dead man, though.”

  In a fashion, yes, the ghostly Auric smiled. Do you feel the heartbeat yet, Leoric?

  Leoric nodded with apprehension. “I can feel it, but it’s faint, sometimes I even forget it’s there.”

  Good. That heartbeat represents the heir to the fallen Kingdom of Caledun. The High Ki
ng of old, with the help of learned mages, fused a piece of his soul with the An’Dari, binding the lines forever. At no time will you be able to lose sight of that which you are sworn to protect. As you draw nearer to your charge, so too will the heartbeat increase.

  “So I am to find Serian Rhone then?” Leoric swore under his breath. “That man deserves no one’s protection.”

  You are mistaken. Look deeply within yourself, trace the heartbeat you can now sense and tell me where it leads, Auric replied.

  Trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy in the midst of such strange proceedings, Leoric decided to sit down. Crossing his legs and resting his arms on his knees, he took a deep breath and focused on the strange pulsing sensation.

  The beating pulled at his mind like a string. He followed the thin line and suddenly found himself speeding over the land, his corporeal body remaining behind. His mind soared over trees, mountains, and plains, through rolling hills and over fast flowing rivers. In the end, he came to rest atop a high-walled city. Examining the area below, he knew where he must be.

  Opening his eyes, Leoric snapped back into his physical self, the jolt momentarily distorting his senses. “Serian Rhone is in Delfwane,” he said confidently.

  Not quite. Auric’s smiled ruefully. The heir is in Delfwane.

  “I don’t follow? Kaimon Rhone then…”

  The taint of madness in the blood of the heirs of Caledun blocks an An’Dari’s power. Around the age of thirty, Serian Rhone’s life force ceased to beat within my head.

  “Serian Rhone was no longer seen to be a fit ruler?” Leoric suggested.

  You are beginning to understand.

  “Strange though, the taint…”