The Sellsword

by Cam Banks

  “As you wish, Excellency,” said the man. Before Rivven’s eyes, the four peasants began to swell in size, their features distorting, growing more and more metallic and scaled, their clothing melding into their bodies and being replaced by thick plates of armor. When the transformation was complete, four sivak draconians—as large as ogres, and capable of winged flight as well as being able to take on the forms of those they kill—stood before her.

  The four sivaks bore the markings and insignia of the infamous Red Watch, indicating they belonged to the elite forces that once served Emperor Ariakas when he was alive. They were a parting gift of his, before the end of the war and his death at the hands of the Whitestone Forces. She hoped those in front of her performed better than the others she’d left watching King Shredler in North Keep.

  As the sivaks took wing, Rivven chose an empty building in sight of the main gates as her own. As always, she was being forced to move pieces around on the khas board that was Nordmaar. With the information she had gained from her sources, Rivven felt she’d covered all possible moves on the part of the Ergothian.

  All she had to do was wait. That, and get somebody to wash away the stink of ogre.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Vanderjack was soaring above the early-morning jungle.

  Technically, he thought, it’s this creature that’s doing all the work. Theo’s new friend, who bore an uncanny resemblance to that totem Gredchen had identified back in Pentar, was a powerful flier. With the wings of a dragon and the strength of a great cat, the dragonne—or so Theo had identified it—could carry the gnome, the sellsword, and the baron’s aide without affecting its ability to fly.

  Theodenes had named it Star, but it was not a saber-toothed tiger kitten. Granted, the whole mess with the original Star and the circumstances of Vanderjack’s parting of ways with Theo was half a decade gone, and had Star survived, she could have grown since then. But it was very unlikely that Star could have sprouted wings and acquired the scales of a dragon. And besides, though the dragonne’s jaws were filled with razor-sharp teeth, none of them were as long as knives and permanently hanging out of the creature’s mouth.

  For the past few hours, Vanderjack and Gredchen had been slumped on the back of the beast, attempting to recover somewhat from the fight with the girallons as the sun rose in the east. Theodenes regaled them of the importance of ambush detection, the value of his multifunction polearm in today’s economic and military climate, how much the two of them were in his debt, and so forth. Gredchen had been initially grateful and apologetic, but that soon wore off. Vanderjack did the usual and appropriate thing and pretended to be unconscious. Given his broken ribs and numerous bruises, pretending to be unconscious wasn’t difficult.

  They were swiftly approaching the town of Willik, which would have taken them another day by foot but was merely a handful of hours by dragonne. The sell-sword had to at least go through the motions of waking up and acting surprised and astonished at Theo’s victory over his four-armed pursuer. While he did that, he took hold of the pommel of his sword, waiting for the ghosts to arrive.

  “You have escaped the apes,” said the Aristocrat.

  “You almost didn’t,” said the Cavalier.

  “Didn’t we say jump often enough?” asked the Balladeer.

  “You need to see a healer,” said the Apothecary.

  Vanderjack, at the rear of the dragonne’s back, listened to the ghosts harangue him for a few minutes. The Cook hovered there among them, not saying anything, but the sellsword was admittedly glad to hear their heckling voices.

  “… which is why you cannot ignore us,” the Philosopher was saying.

  “You know,” Vanderjack said, under his breath. “I’ve missed this. I’m sure I’ll be sick of it again soon, but I’ve missed it.”

  The Sword Chorus responded with more comments and opinions. Vanderjack focused on the Cook. He said, “Etharion?”

  “Vanderjack,” the Cook responded.

  “I, uh.”

  “Now probably isn’t the time,” said the Balladeer.

  “Right,” said the sellsword. “Probably not. But we have things to, uh, discuss.”

  “I’ll be around,” the Cook said. “I have some questions for you too. You see, I’m not—”

  “Later,” said the Aristocrat, cutting Etharion off. “They are descending.”

  Vanderjack looked over the side of the dragonne, who was apparently conversing with Theodenes and Gredchen while Vanderjack spoke with the Sword Chorus. He wondered if he’d been overheard talking with the unseen ghosts. “We’re there?” he asked loudly.

  Gredchen looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re awake. Were you talking in your sleep?”

  Vanderjack shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Weak comeback,” chided the Balladeer.

  Vanderjack added, “Or maybe my unconscious self provides me with more enlightening conversation than you and the gnome.” He winked at her, letting go of the sword’s pommel.

  Gredchen colored and said, “Fine. Be like that. Yes, we’re here.”

  Vanderjack stretched then winced as pain shot through his chest. “Theo. Tell … Star to put us down outside Willik, about a half mile. If this town’s under the thumb of that ogre shaman, he’s going to have a lot of ogre friends with him, and we don’t want to just land in the middle of that.”

  The gnome stroked his short, pointed beard briefly then nodded. “A wise choice of action,” he said. “Rare as that is.”

  Vanderjack rolled his eyes and turned back to Gredchen. “Has your employer had dealings with this Skerish character before?”

  She shook her head. “An ogre? Unlikely. Willik is fully within the territory claimed by Highlord Karelas and overseen by Rivven Cairn. They wouldn’t allow it.”

  “If he’s a shaman, what power do they have over him? I would have thought he’d be claiming independence to do the work of the Dark Queen or somebody like that.”

  “I heard that Rivven Cairn opened up Willik for him,” she said. “Before she arrived in Nordmaar a decade ago, Willik was a spice merchant’s town on the King’s Road to the west. I suppose she thought he’d make a good governor.”

  Vanderjack frowned. “Cairn’s the one in charge of Captain Annaud’s little faction, isn’t she?”

  Gredchen nodded. “Yes. She occasionally visits Lord Glayward to remind him where he is, put him in his place. The baron is far too proud to let that worry him.”

  It dawned on Vanderjack that Annaud’s group may have had survivors, and they would be telling the highmaster all kinds of things about him. “It might be a mistake for me to go into Willik,” he said.

  “Who said that you were going to go in?” Gredchen said with a smile, which came off more like a grimace. “No offense, Vanderjack, but you’re one of the most recognizable mercenaries in the region.”

  “You might say that. But on the other hand I’m really in need of a healer, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Gredchen paused while Star dropped below the trees, tucking his wings in and landing with barely a thump on a dense mat of vegetation some distance away from a crop of carved boulders. She slid off the dragonne’s back and continued. “Listen, I know you’re hurt, but you’re under contract with the baron. I’m his agent, and the reason I’m along with you is because I need to make sure his wishes are being carried out. Best if you stay behind and rest up.

  “So I’m going in myself and you’re staying here. You’ve been in military service long enough to be able to do your own field dressing, haven’t you? We can bring healing tools and supplies back with us.”

  Vanderjack pointed at Theodenes the gnome, who was talking quietly with his new friend. Star’s voice was deep and resonant, and at the moment the strange creature was speaking in a language Vanderjack had never managed to pick up—the language of dragons. “What about Theo?”

  “He can come with me.”

  “So I’m staying here alone in the jungle?” Gredchen
smiled again. “You won’t be lonely. Star’s here!”

  Vanderjack exhaled. “I think I’ll try to sleep my injuries off,” he said and started looking around the clearing for a likely spot to sit.

  “So we’re to visit the town?” Theodenes asked, coming over. “Star has agreed to stay with us for the time being.”

  “Star can stay with Vanderjack,” Gredchen told the gnome. “They can get acquainted.”

  Theodenes stiffened slightly. Vanderjack noticed, and shook his head. “What now?”

  “The last time I gave a feline companion of mine named Star over to your safekeeping, I never saw her alive again.”

  Vanderjack indicated the dragonne. “Does he look like a saber-toothed kitten to you?”

  Theodenes jabbed a finger in the sellsword’s direction and said, “Just watch yourself.”

  “Watch myself,” muttered Vanderjack, turning away.

  After sorting through their rucksacks, pouches, and pockets, Theodenes and Gredchen set off for Willik. Vanderjack found a place against a banyan, with a bedroll for support, and drew Lifecleaver from its scabbard. He laid the weapon across his knees and watched as the Sword Chorus appeared around him.

  “Wise of you to remain here,” said the Philosopher.

  “You’ll need some agaric, the root of the summer-foster plant, and some weak tarbean tea,” said the Apothecary.

  “What for?” Vanderjack asked, making a face. “Scouring out the inside of a cast-iron pot?”

  “A simple healing salve,” said the Hunter.

  “Any mercenary should know that,” said the Cavalier.

  “Not this one,” said Vanderjack. “Besides, I have you lot around to remind me.”

  “I think that’s the root of your problems,” said the Cook, stepping forward. Etharion somehow looked less spectral and indistinct than the other seven ghosts. He appeared much as he had in life, although as a ghost he was bleached of all color and partly transparent.

  “Hmm?” Vanderjack rose and began poking about in the edges of the jungle clearing for the herbs and ingredients the Apothecary was directing him to find.

  “Look how much trouble you were getting in when the Sword Chorus wasn’t here to help you.”

  The sellsword turned back to the Cook’s ghost. “I’m always in trouble. It has nothing to do with you and your ghostly friends.”

  The Cook shrugged. “Have you ever thought about whether you’re becoming too dependent on them?”

  “It may be dependence, but it could just be good advice,” countered the Aristocrat.

  “Indeed. Advice taken well is a boon,” said the Conjuror.

  “But nobody should be this reliant—” began the Cook, but mysterious looks from the other ghosts cut him off.

  Vanderjack shook his head and looked over at the dragonne. It was looking back at him. After a second or two, the sellsword realized that Star’s eyes were following the movement of the ghosts as well.

  “That dragonne can see you all!” he said. “Did you know that?”

  “They have a heritage of magic and heightened awareness,” said the Conjurer.

  The Cook turned and beckoned toward the dragonne. It got up from its scaly haunches and stalked over, stopping a few feet from where the Balladeer floated.

  “He’s right. It can see us,” the Cook said warily.

  “I can hear you too,” said the dragonne in an accented Ergothian dialect.

  The other ghosts seemed unsurprised. The Cook, on the other hand, seemed to be fascinated. “Hmm, that’s an unrecorded quality of dragonnes,” he said. “We knew they hailed from the Dragon Isles, and were once the guardians of the good dragon eggs….” His voice trailed off.

  “Mind what you say, Etharion,” said the Aristocrat.

  “How do you come to know of my kind?” asked the dragonne, clearly talking to the Cook.

  Vanderjack looked between the ghost and the beast and said, “That’s a good question. Etharion, when did you turn into a librarian?”

  The Cook shook his head. “Uh, just something I picked up from my years in mercenary camps.”

  “Right. All those years cooking.” Vanderjack lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yes. Cooking.”

  “Anything other than cookies?”

  “Another time,” advised the Cavalier sternly.

  Etharion looked somewhat apologetic and drifted away from Vanderjack to join the other ghosts.

  “Star’s not your real name, I take it?” Vanderjack asked the dragonne with what he hoped was a tone of polite inquiry. “Theo can’t be that cursed.”

  “The gnome likes the name, and so I honor the memory of his companion and bear it with pride,” Star said.

  “Whatever he told you about that, don’t believe all of it,” Vanderjack said, once again selecting herbs from the undergrowth. “These ones?”

  “Yes,” the Apothecary said. “Not the ones to the left; those will poison you.”

  “Oh. Nice of you to mention it,” he said, tossing the poison aside and stuffing the tonic herbs into his fist. He returned to the banyan tree. The dragonne moved closer and seated himself in the clearing, watching him.

  “Perhaps you should tell me about my predecessor,” said Star. “Why is Theodenes upset with you?”

  Vanderjack, with the Apothecary’s continued guidance, crushed the herbs together, set up a small traveling sellsword’s stove, and started a pot of tarbean tea brewing. “That’s quite a story, long in the past, and I really don’t think too much about the past. That was during the war.”

  “I was in the war,” the dragonne said with enthusiasm. “I joined with the good dragons.”

  “Really? I have to admit never seeing one of your kind before.”

  “Many of us resemble lions. One or two of us are cougars.”

  Vanderjack stirred the herbs into the tea, watching it thicken. “Hmm. Well, like I said, you’re the first I’ve seen. Has all this been happening here in Nordmaar?”

  “In various places.”

  “Like here in Nordmaar?”

  The dragonne growled, but the sellsword shrugged, feigning indifference to Star’s apparent annoyance. “Yes,” the dragonne said finally. “Here in Nordmaar.”

  Vanderjack grinned. “How’s that working out for you?”

  “As you can tell, it isn’t.”

  “Mmm. Well, you’re welcome to come along with us for a while. I’m being paid to rescue a beautiful girl for that ugly woman’s employer, a nobleman who for some reason hasn’t been kicked out of a dragonarmy-occupied region.”

  “She isn’t ugly,” said Star.

  “Are you serious? I don’t know about you and your magical eyes, Star, but I don’t think I’ve seen a person more likely to crack a mirror if she looked at it.”

  “As you like.”

  “I know what I see.”

  The tea seemed to have thickened completely. The Apothecary directed Vanderjack to soak a bandage in the salve. He wrapped his chest in the bandages, wincing as his ribs ached. He also hoped the Apothecary wasn’t setting him up for yet another stinking poultice that put him to sleep or threw his nerves off. With the other ghosts quiet and the Apothecary’s advice done, the sellsword set aside Lifecleaver and started another pot of tarbean tea.

  “I have been asked to remain with you, at least for part of your journey,” said Star.

  Vanderjack grunted, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean, you’ve been asked to remain with us?”

  “That is my purpose for the moment.”

  “Who asked you?”

  Star’s tigerlike features formed a curious expression of shame or discomfort. “It isn’t important. There are powers involved in the outcome of events here in Nordmaar that wish to see you succeed.”

  “Ho! Wait a minute,” Vanderjack said accusingly. “What powers? And since when has this been about anything more than a rescue mission for some noble’s daughter?”

  Star shifted his wings and settled them against
his flanks. “That is all I will say.”

  “‘That is all I will say,’” Vanderjack echoed mockingly. “It better be because I’ve had enough of your mysterious blather.”

  There was an awkward silence for about ten minutes. Vanderjack lay back against the overgrown roots of the banyan, muttering, “Powers. Powers wish for me to succeed. Hah!” Star sat there in the clearing, watching the trees, ignoring the sellsword. Finally, Vanderjack broke the silence and said, “So you can see the ghosts.”

  Star looked up, his massive chin resting between his forepaws. “Yes.”

  “The others can’t. You realize that, right?”

  Star shook his head negatively.

  “Nobody else does. It’s just me. The Sword Chorus is pretty much a secret. If you could keep that secret, at least until it no longer matters, I’d appreciate it.”

  “The Cook is right, isn’t he? You are dependent on them.”

  Vanderjack pointed at the dragonne. “That’s enough of that!”

  Vanderjack closed his eyes and leaned back again. This is a sign of just how far things have come, he thought. I’m talking about my feelings with a big scaly flying tiger. Vanderjack resolved to stop talking about his feelings in the future, whether the other individual in the conversation was a dragonne or not. People would start thinking he was crazy.

  If they didn’t already.

  Theodenes and Gredchen walked the quiet, early-morning streets of Willik, wondering where all the people had gone.

  Willik was supposed to be a fairly prosperous town, founded by a small cabal of spice merchants who felt that its central location would help them make a fortune selling spices all around Ansalon. That was in the first century after the Cataclysm, when the world was in disarray. Nordmaar had risen from the ocean floor, transforming itself from a small archipelago of islands to a single region of tropical jungle, grasslands, and swamp. It was the ideal sort of climate for spices, and the natives were more than happy to help the merchants with their business.

  With the invasion of the dragonarmies, Willik and other merchant-driven settlements in the region experienced a sharp decline, as might be expected. However, the canny highlords and highmasters found a way to make use of the already-established trade routes. Red Highlord Phair Caron made sure her officers, including Rivven Cairn kept the steel and goods flowing in and out of Nordmaar, Kern, and the other territories she conquered. Even after Phair Caron’s death in Silvanesti, her orders were upheld, and under Rivven Cairn the spice business had flourished.