The Sellsword aot-1

by Cam Banks

  Gredchen tapped one of the nearest people on the shoulder. “Excuse me.”

  The woman turned around slowly, lifting her head toward Gredchen. Gredchen gasped and took a step back. The woman’s eyes were black-no white or colored iris, just empty black orbs. Others nearby seemed to notice the two outsiders as they also turned to look. All had the same black stare.

  “By the gods, look at them,” Gredchen said, moving a little closer to Theo. The gnome had his polearm at the ready, currently configured as an axe at the end with a vicious-looking barb behind it. He boldly flourished the weapon before him.

  “Fascinating,” said Theo. “Some kind of enchantment, perhaps. No doubt the work of the ogre shaman.”

  Neither of them were very experienced with the supernatural, not even Theo, who had let that side of his broad underpinning of scholarly research subside in his lifelong pursuit of weaponsmithing. As they watched, the woman whom Gredchen had touched rose from her bench and stood to face the new arrivals.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Gredchen whispered to Theo. “Are they ogre slaves? Are they dangerous?”

  As if in answer, the closest woman’s face twisted into a hideous, snarling mask. She no longer looked human. The other townsfolk curled their fingers into clawlike shapes, hunched themselves over, and leaped up onto the benches. As Gredchen and Theo backed away, the first woman opened her mouth, and her tongue extended out, long and barbed and monstrous.

  “It would seem they are very dangerous indeed!” said Theo, pulling the polearm back for a swing. “In fact, I would wager that they intend our immediate harm.”

  The woman-creature sprang, propelled by strength that her slight frame gave no impression of having, hissing like an angry snake. Her fingernails were chipped and broken but long, and once Gredchen had a better look at them, she saw that dirt, or worse, was heavily crusted underneath them. The other black-eyed strangers leaped through the air and landed close by Theo and Gredchen, bent over, some on all fours.

  Theo let the closest one have it. He took a step forward to give himself additional leverage and swung the axe head of his polearm straight at the torso of the fiend. It crouched low, barely evading the swing, then jumped right for Theo. The gnome was able to bring the polearm around and up just in time to knock the creature to one side. He let out a grunt and prepared to defend himself against another, a female, edging forward.

  Gredchen, unarmed but for her satchel, looked about for something handy to wield as a weapon. She spied a long-handled shovel thrust into the closest pile of dirt, about ten feet away. Breaking from Theo, she made a dash for the shovel as two barb-tongued men scampered toward her on all fours. She reached the shovel, grasped the handle with both hands, and used her forward momentum to pull it out of the dirt and leap over the pile at the same time.

  The two barb-tongued men followed her over the dirt mound, but she was waiting for them. The first one she cracked across the side of the head with the flat blade of the shovel. It tumbled away, leaving the second one to hiss wickedly at Gredchen and her makeshift but effective weapon.

  Theo was trying to strike at the female creature, which leaped from side to side, successfully keeping out of his way. He finally caught her thigh with the hook on the axe head, snagging the point in her dress and knocking her flat to the packed earth. With a couple of twists and a press of a button, the barbed hook extended out a foot, with the axe head collapsing into the shaft of the weapon. Theo effectively held a scythe and was able to pin his opponent down quite handily.

  As more creatures closed in, however, Theo backed away until he stood next to Gredchen, who was busy fending off her own handful of foes. They stood back-to-back on Willik’s main street, knocking back the foul and ravenous former residents of the town and occasionally severing a limb or two. Theo even lopped the head off one of them, but its body continued to claw its way in his direction as the head lay on the ground, tongue whipping in and out of its toothy mouth.

  “I wager these people have been waiting for visitors,” called Theo above the din of hissing and rasping. “Indeed, I’d guess that the ogre shaman left them here just for us.”

  “I can’t have Skerish take the credit,” declared a woman’s voice, resonant and ringing clear across the main square. Looking up, Theo and Gredchen saw a woman in red and black dragonarmor, no helmet, standing astride the upper-level balcony of the spice merchants’ hall. Her hair was thick and blonde, falling just below her pointed ears in waves, and her features were ruddy and tight, like somebody whose favorite emotion was anger. “He was going to have the ghouls buried, but I decided to make use of them.”

  Gredchen paled. “That’s Highmaster Rivven Cairn,” she hissed to Theo, just before driving her shovel into the neck of an attacking ghoul. “She’s a mage. She’s used magic to bind these creatures to her!”

  Rivven floated from the balcony, borne by unseen forces and drifting over the top of the hissing, clawing creatures. “I have to say I wasn’t expecting you specifically, dear Gredchen,” Rivven said. “Nor you, gnome, although I was aware you were caught up in this adventure.”

  “I’m surprised you gave me a moment’s thought at all,” replied Gredchen through clenched teeth. “And this is no form of hospitality I’m familiar with.” Another pair of ghouls leaped at her, but Theo’s scythe cut them down.

  “I’m looking for somebody your employer paid to work for him, Gredchen,” Rivven said, her black cloak fluttering in the morning breeze that carried the stench of rot to the gnome and the baron’s aide. Many things had died in Willik. “If you’re here, then you must have come with him-I should have guessed as much. And Theodenes is apparently the new mercenary boss in Pentar. So that explains why he is here too.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” yelled Gredchen. She noted that Theo had kept his mouth shut the entire time. “We’re just passing through these parts, taking a little sightseeing trip, my boyfriend Theo and I.”

  Theo winced but still bit his tongue.

  “Why yes, a little sightseeing with your boyfriend,” the highmaster smirked. “I can send even more of the ghouls at you, if you’re inclined to keep this ruse up. Then when you and your boyfriend are dead, you can join their ranks.”

  “This is pointless, Highmaster,” Gredchen yelled. “We’re under highlord protection, bearing the seal of Baron Glayward and a legal and binding contract of mercenary activity for Nordmaar and Estwilde.”

  “Who do you think gives that seal any degree of legitimacy?” responded Rivven. She waved a hand, and the two remaining ghouls fell backward as if tugged on a leash. They scrambled, a male and a female, eventually clambering onto a pile of dirt and watching eagerly.

  “All right, he’s not my boyfriend, but we’re only here for supplies,” Gredchen said as innocently as she could. “I’m on my way to North Keep. It’s that time of the year. I insist that you let us pass without further threat.”

  The highmaster drifted slowly to the ground and swept her cloak behind her in a functional manner. “I’m amused that you think you’ve got any room for negotiation or threats, Gredchen,” she smiled. “I have spies and agents everywhere. There’s no other reason for you to be so far within the Sahket Jungle, which you know quite well is firmly in my territory, unless it’s got something to do with the Ergothian.”

  She looked down at Theo, who still held his scythe in front of him. “And I can’t so much as spit in Pentar right now without hitting some minor sellsword or freebooter who would rat you out, Theodenes. Especially since the Monkey’s Ear burned to the ground. They’re talking about rebuilding it in the Floating Marketplace. Isn’t that clever? Right above the water, in case of future fires.”

  Theodenes finally spoke. “I have relinquished my position as boss,” he declared haughtily. “I am presently under independent contract, and by Shinare’s seal, I am under no obligation to reveal any information not pertinent to the proper completion of the contract.”
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  Rivven tapped her foot angrily, glaring at the two irritants-bugs she would prefer to squash. “The Goddess of Oaths and Contracts has nothing to do with your mischief.”

  “Are we under arrest?” Gredchen asked indignantly. “I’m asking because if not, I really would like to carry on my way. Legally. As I said.”

  Rivven paused. “You really do have guts, don’t you? I would slap you if I didn’t think it might somehow improve your looks. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to let you go. I’m pretty sure you’re going to hook up again with the Ergothian at some point, despite what you claim, and when you do, you can tell him for me that he owes me for significant damages-some expensive draconian troops, some soldiers, and a valuable officer. Tell him that I got the ogres out of the way here, just for him. He might elude me today, but when he gets where he’s going, I’m going to be there waiting for him. And I’m going to collect.”

  Gredchen frowned. “You sent Skerish away? Why would you do that?”

  Rivven smiled. “I don’t like interference with my plans. Just tell him that it appears I have a vested interest in his career and that he’s going to have to either settle up with me or deal with the consequences.”

  “I’ll tell him, but I don’t think he’s going to be any more trusting of you than I am.”

  Rivven lifted her shoulder plates in a shrug. “I really don’t care. I’ll be in touch. And Gredchen?”

  The baron’s aide and the gnome had begun to back slowly away, keeping the highmaster and her two ghouls in sight. Gredchen said, “What now?”

  “Say hello to the baron’s beautiful daughter for me when you see her.”

  Gredchen let out a small gasp but quickly recovered enough to furrow her brow. She didn’t say another word, instead turning and walking forcefully down the street and away from the highmaster. Theodenes, glancing warily over his shoulder, trailed behind, stopping only long enough to grab a handful of items from abandoned shop front carts and windowsills.

  The highmaster watched them leave, then turned to the two remaining ghouls. “What are you two monsters looking at? Pick up a shovel. There are bodies lying all over this street.” She walked off, leaving the ghouls to clean up the mess.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Vanderjack was dreaming.

  He was back on the island of Southern Ergoth, in the lands of the refugee elves during the war. Winter had claimed so much of the region, frosting the evergreens and encrusting the grassy foothills of the Last Gaard Mountains with ice. It could be overwhelming, the cold, and more bitter and pervasive than anything he’d felt in the north.

  He was in his old mercenary outfit, with his old mercenary buddies: the kender, Danilo Findabuck; the men from Coastlund, Antor and Claustin, with their stolen Solamnic swords; Agate Splintergem, the dwarf outcast from Kayolin who’d killed his own father for selling out to the dragonarmies. He vividly remembered asking Agate if it was still fratricide if you were already regarded as a fatherless dwarf, and Agate had just glowered and told him to watch his lousy human mouth. Those were the days.

  In his dream, they were with him again, just as they were for three years, in and out of service with the Solamnics and the dragonarmies. They were the band he’d been traveling with when he met Theo. That was the place where it had all started. Or rather, that was where it ended.

  Vanderjack never found the Treasure of Huma. He’d gone looking for it and signed on with the elf refugee kingdom-some old regent named Belthanos had actually paid his band steel coins to help them kill ogres and track down a missing Kagonesti elf woman-just as an excuse to get closer to the legendary tomb in which the knight was said to be buried. He’d combed the foothills and mountain passes looking for the right place, somewhere known as Foghaven Vale if his sources were right. He’d never made it.

  Theodenes had fallen into some trouble near Daltigoth, and being as Vanderjack was supposed to be fighting ogres (it was in his contract, after all) and was in the area at the time, it wasn’t hard to convince his band to help the poor gnome out. The gnome had some strange cat with him, a kitten he said, although it was about as big as a large dog. No problem, said the band. Can’t go wrong with a kitten as big as a dog and teeth as long as steak knives.

  Then everything went south. After they saved the gnome, they’d all been drinking ale and telling stories around the campfire. Next morning, they did the usual scouting of the area, with Vanderjack and Theo getting acquainted and sharing theories about the location of the tomb. When everybody got back together, something was amiss. None of them talked about the Treasure of Huma or even about the Kagonesti woman they were on the lookout for.

  It happened again the following day and the next. In his dream Vanderjack relived that lack of caution, the almost constant drinking. He had the Sword Chorus to help him in a fight, so he always sent the others off to scout around, poke their noses into avenues of interest. His dreaming mind saw the change coming over his companions and how it hadn’t even registered with him. He dreamed of telling Theodenes that it was all right, he’d watch Star for a few hours while Theo scaled a cliff face and examined the signs of possible ancient ruins. He saw himself simply wander off, a flask in hand, whistling merrily. He saw himself not anticipating what happened next.

  The others had returned. Theodenes was a hundred feet up, and Star was at the base of the cliff, and there were Danilo and Claustin and Antor. Agate came up the rear. Vanderjack’s dreaming self saw them, even as he saw himself sprawled somewhere not far away, draining the last of his drink and ignoring the Sword Chorus’s warnings. He saw them shift and change and grow in height. He saw the sivak draconians, for that was what they were, closing on Star. Red markings on their armor, wickedly serrated swords, and-

  Vanderjack awoke with a start. Daylight still washed the clearing in radiant green, stirring up the humidity of the jungle, reflecting on the brass scales of the dragonne not twenty feet away. “Ackal’s Teeth,” he said, shaking himself out of the daze.

  The dragonne was awake too. “You made a lot of oaths to the founder of Ergoth,” Star said in his deep voice, “when you were dreaming.”

  “I never dream,” the sellsword said, pulling himself into a sitting position. He felt his ribs gingerly. The pain had substantially subsided. The poultice and bandages seemed to have worked miracles, at least as an anesthetic. “Almost never. I think I had a dream last year when I ate some bad goulash in Kalaman, but this was different.”

  Star rumbled. “Omens, perhaps.”

  “I don’t get omens.”

  “You are having a lot of first-time experiences,” said the dragonne. “Change is part of life.”

  “Are the others back yet?”

  Star looked in the general direction of where they had gone. “No. But it has only been two hours. What was your dream about?”

  “I told you, I don’t dream,” Vanderjack said.

  “As you wish,” the dragonne replied. “But don’t expect this to be your last dream. On the Dragon Isles, the dragons of Light dreamed for a thousand years, and great magic worked its way into the world as a result. Your dreams, Vanderjack, may be important too.”

  “No offense,” the sellsword said, standing. “But I think all that dreaming was the reason they had their nests ransacked by the Queen of Darkness’s dragons. I don’t think that’s the kind of magic they wanted.”

  Star growled. “Never speak ill of the Children of Paladine. My brothers fought and died to protect them as they slumbered, defending their nests. Had they the power to waken, they would have. We bear their sorrows for them to this day.”

  Vanderjack raised his hands. “Hey now. Look. I’m just a human, I don’t know from dragons other than the ones I met working for both sides a few years ago. I’m sure you did your best and all.”

  Vanderjack shook his head. That was smart. Get the dragon-tiger good and mad; that’ll help matters.

  The sound of somebody approaching proved a welcome distraction. Vanderjack pu
lled on his sword belt, and in so doing he grasped Lifecleaver’s pommel. The Sword Chorus appeared around him, the Hunter already setting off in the direction of the noise.

  “Sleep well?” asked the Apothecary.

  “You know how I slept,” said Vanderjack. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

  “Lucid dreaming is a possible side effect of that compound,” the Philosopher said.

  “Indeed,” said the Apothecary. “The swifter the healing, the more intense the dreams.”

  “They aren’t saying it,” said the Cook, stepping forward. “But we all saw the dream ourselves. While you slept, you had your hand on the sword.”

  Star watched but stayed out of the conversation. The sellsword, however, shot the Cook a look. “You mean they had something to do with the dream?”

  “We merely observed,” said the Aristocrat.

  “Quite an eye-opener, though,” said the Balladeer.

  “Had you known your fellow mercenaries were sivak draconians?” asked the Conjurer.

  “Of course I didn’t bloody well know they were sivaks,” said Vanderjack.

  “You were drunk,” said the Cavalier.

  “And soon after that, Theodenes returned and there was only the remains of the cat,” said the Balladeer. “Sad. Worthy of a ballad, if I say so myself.”

  Vanderjack rolled his eyes. “I had already left,” he said. “I could hear Theo screaming for help a mile away. There was such a mess. I didn’t want to deal with it, so I took off.”

  “And your mercenary band?” asked the Cook. “What happened then?”

  “I found them-the real them-all dead, a couple of miles away. They had been dead for days.”

  The ghosts fell quiet, as if to let that sink in. Star still watched and still said nothing.

  The Hunter appeared through the trees and broke the silence. “They are approaching. The gnome and the woman.”

  “Well, thank the Abyss for that,” Vanderjack swore. “I can tell the gnome all about what happened-in the past, in the dream-and we can all stop talking about spilt milk.”