The estate on the other side was beautiful, if smaller than he’d expected and in some disrepair. Surprisingly, the guards had not followed their charge and his escort through the gates, momentarily leaving the two men alone together.
“Here’s your chance, Reaper. Kill me before my men get here.” Kendell said.
It’s a test of some sort.
I figured.
What are you going to –
Kendell moved with alarming speed, grasping and tossing a knife in Vykers’ direction almost faster than the bigger man had time to note it. Vykers, however, was alarming speed incarnate; he ducked backwards and slapped the blade from the air as if he were swatting at flies. The knife clattered onto the cobblestones and skittered another ten feet into a corner.
“Of course, it’s better to take some people in the back,” Kendell said, calmly.
“But then you miss out on the look in their eyes when they realize they’re done for.”
Kendell walked over to retrieve his knife. “Well,” he admitted, “there is that.”
Vykers was beginning to like the guy.
“Hungry?” his host asked.
“Always.”
“Good. Let’s go through the breezeway, here, into the inner garden. Wonderful place for lunch…and secrets.”
Once more Kendell took the lead, and Vykers followed him through a sort of alley into an exquisite little garden with a waterfall, a pool, and numerous benches scattered throughout. Just off-center from the middle was a tiny gazebo, barely large enough for two. Vykers hadn’t seen Kendell signaling anyone, yet lunch was nevertheless prepared and arrayed on the small table inside the gazebo.
Kendell picked up a decanter and began pouring a pale, yellow wine into two crystal glasses. “There are, as you may have heard, eight noble houses vying to succeed the Queen upon her eventual death. This,” he gestured to the grounds and buildings around them, “is House Blackbyrne. At any given time, all eight houses are at war with the other seven on a number of different fronts and levels.”
“What do you mean?” Vykers asked.
“We’re constantly trying to embarrass or damage the other houses, so they lose favor with the Queen, and the other houses are constantly returning the favor. In fact, not so long ago, we were considered the favorites to inherit her throne, but some of our less-careful members fell for a rather nasty political trap that cost us a tremendous amount of credibility. We’ve been scrambling ever since.”
“You look to be pretty well off to me.”
“We do a nice job of maintaining that illusion. We’ve fallen fast, far and hard. Time was, we had the best credit in the kingdom. Now, the dung merchant won’t sell us fertilizer without cash up front. We’re barely maintaining position above the Amberlys.”
“I take it they’re now the furthest from the throne?”
“And always will be. Right bunch of fuck-ups, they are. But, you know, being in the seventh spot isn’t all bad. When you’re in the top two or three, everyone’s always trying to poison you, stab you in the back, throw you in the dungeon. In the seven-spot, nobody takes you seriously.”
“Eight houses, you said?” Vykers clarified. Kendell nodded. “Then one of ‘em’s her own, right?”
Kendell offered a thin-lipped smile. “You count well.”
“Yeah, well, I got ten fingers. Ask me to go any higher than that an’ I’m lost. So, I’m guessing the Queen’s a Blackbyrne.”
“Actually, no. She’s a Gault. But she hates those bastards.”
Vykers shook his head. “Then, why did the old crone hand me over to you?”
Kendell grinned. “She’s got a soft spot for Blackbyrne. Oh, public opinion and the banks may think they run this town, but the Queen’s always several steps ahead of ‘em.”
There’s a lot he isn’t telling us, Arune said.
No shit, Vykers told her. But if he told me something that sounded like the full story, I’d be even more suspicious.
Good point.
“So…” Vykers trailed off, hoping Kendell would spill the rest and be done with it.
“So. As I said, I’ve got some mercs for you. Just prepare to be…surprised, I guess I’d say.”
“Surprised, huh?
Kendell reached over behind the decanter and picked up a small bell. It made no sound when he shook it.
“That’s cute,” Vykers said. “Does a little fairy come flittering in and grant you three wishes?”
Kendell didn’t reply. Instead, he turned towards a nearby archway and stepped back somewhat. Vykers followed his lead and stepped backwards as well. A few moments later, Vykers heard the sound of several feet walking their way.
You ready to act if we have to? Arune inquired.
I’m always ready.
You’re not ready for this, she thought back.
What –
And then they arrived, and Kendell was right: Vykers was surprised.
‘Reaper, may I present the Unborn?’ Kendell said, without a hint of drama in his voice.
There were five of them, roughly humanoid in shape and appearance, except that Vykers could clearly see they weren’t human. At least, not entirely. Instead, they were a mish-mash of features from several different races and species, some of which the warrior had never seen before. One was tall, lanky and very hairy, with claw-like nails and pronounced canines. Another was as broad as he was tall and looked like nothing so much as a living boulder, if boulders wore four foot long beards. A third was covered in quills and had solid black eyes. The next was almost as tall as the first, but was utterly hairless and the eyes in his over-sized head seemed to have no lids. The last was the ugliest of all, with scales, tusks, the ears of a bat – and cloven feet.
“I’ve been in the wild a while now. Might be I’ve lost track of time. It’s not Mummer’s Week, is it?” Vykers asked Kendell.
The mercs didn’t appear offended or amused by the jest.
Kendell looked at the five, appraisingly. “As best we can tell, they’re all chimeras of one sort or another.”
“Chimeras?”
“Just what they look like: a little of this, a little of that.”
“What’s their story?”
“Why don’t you ask them?”
“Vykers pivoted to face them better. “Right, uh…who’s your leader?”
The ugly one answered, in a voice that was amazingly beautiful. “You are. Or so we understand.”
Good start, Vykers thought to himself.
I wouldn’t trust them, Arune answered without invitation.
“And who am I?” he asked.
“You are the Scourge of Empires, the Reaper, the Merciless One, Vykers-the-Vicious, He Who…”
“Yes, yes, you can skip all that,” Vykers snapped, impatiently. “Where did you come from?”
The one without eyelids chuffed and chortled and wheezed like an asthmatic serpent. Vykers figured he was laughing. The ugly one regarded his laughing companion with a stern eye.
“We’re not entirely sure.”
“One of our agents found them about a year ago, wandering the Rehlorn. They broke out of some manner of subterranean laboratory in the mountains north of there. Place was a ruin, they told us, as if the whole thing collapsed on them unexpectedly. Our man brought them here. We’ve done all kinds of tests on them, magical and otherwise – believe me, we’ve been thorough. But their story seems to hold up, so we put ‘em to work for us, and they’ve served us well.”
Vykers was skeptical. “Uh-huh,” was all he said. Got anything more for me? he asked Arune.
Not much, she admitted. They don’t seem to have much in the way of memories beyond the last few months. But –
But?
Well, they’ve obviously had training – in magic, in arms, in languages. It’s odd they’d remember all that but not how they came by it.
You mentioned magic –
Yes. They all register to some degree, though a couple of them fairly reek of
it.
Is that good or bad?
I can handle it.
That last seemed a little cocky. Good, maybe he was rubbing off on the Burner. Vykers looked over at Kendell, who was clearly waiting for him to say something. “Right. Good,” was all he offered.
Kendell cleared his throat and continued. “Now, the Queen’s sending you to Ahklat, and these fellows have been there recently on another errand, they know the territory, so it seems prudent to send them along with you, too.”
Vykers didn’t like it. Of course he didn’t. But as murdering him didn’t seem to be in anyone’s immediate plans, he nodded his assent. “Can we eat some o’ this food now, or is it only for show?”
*****
Long & Company, On the Road
Long, his crew, and their charge came across any number of small farmsteads willing to sell them a bit of cheese, some bread, even a chicken or two, and most of it went, as expected, to keeping Mardine happy. There was nothing of the glutton about her, she just needed twice or thrice as much nourishment as the men in the party. Much to his chagrin, Long found himself wondering, in his idle moments, what a giantess looked like naked. At such times, he’d look up and find Mardine looking at him, too. Then, they’d both quickly look away, embarrassed.
“Have you lost your mind?” he muttered to himself. “A giant?”
Spirk overheard him and mistook that as his cue to chat, which he was capable of doing for seemingly limitless periods of time. “I like giants!” he began.
But Long had learned in his short time in Spirk’s company to simply walk away. Half the time, the young dolt didn’t even notice he was talking to no one. Instead, Long sidled up to Janks. “What do you reckon?” he asked his old companion.
“Nother day, maybe two.” Janks replied, spitting into the mud by the side of the road. “And maybe we’ll have more luck with our next job, eh, Long?”
“Hope so. It doesn’t need saying, but say it I will: I don’t fancy spending my waning years making twelve pennies a day…”
“Seven.”
“It is seven. You’re right! Seven pennies a day.” Long looked at his feet and chuckled ruefully.
“Well, there’s one sure way t’ make more money…” Janks began.
“Stealing or service?”
“That’s two!” Janks laughed. “But I meant enlisting again.”
“Shit, Janks. I’m a thousand years old. Leastways I feel like it. But I do hate this hired hand crap.” Long paused. “What side were you figuring?”
“Whichever side’s the stronger, I guess. Or the richer. Often, it’s both.”
“I overheard that old farmer a while back saying the Virgin Bitch was pressing men into service.”
“Yeah, but we’ve been officers. Low-ranking ones, but officers. Could be, we sign on before we’re pressed, we’ll get a choice spot.”
“And with six of us – assuming the others agree – we’d just about have a squad by ourselves. Might be able to set things up that way, anyhow.”
“I like it.”
“So much for our dream of riches and glory, huh?”
“Who knows how this next war’s gonna turn out? They might make you king, old man!” Janks laughed again. “They might just!”
*****
One shitty march of several days and being beset by bandits at every turn had fairly killed the whole team’s zest for adventure. What the death of Short Pete could not accomplish, drudgery had. In the end, it had been damned easy convincing Rem, Spirk, Mardine and D’Kem to stick with them in joining the army, although each had his own reasons. Rem seemed to think that exposure to war would make him an even greater actor. Spirk, well, Spirk had a puppy’s enthusiasm. He didn’t care, except to be included. As for Mardine’s motivations? Long got nervous just thinking about them. And D’Kem…no matter how Long looked at it, D’Kem’s continued involvement made no sense. The old Burner was washed up, filthy, haggard and just plain spent. Except for whatever he’d done to that sniper in the forest, Long hadn’t seen much out of him. But he had signed right up with the rest of the crew. It seemed the title “Shaper” could get you through doors that most would have slammed in their faces.
“What’s this, then?” the recruitment officer asked as Long and his fellows approached.
“Sergeant Major Peter…” Long fumbled for a moment. It had been so long since he’d used his surname, he’d almost forgotten it. “Fendesst, sir. Formerly of His Majesty, King Kronnr the Third’s Royal Forces, Red Company, having also served time in Badgers Elite and Stormite Regulars. This here’s Corporal Esmun Janks, of the same. And the rest are our crew.”
The officer looked him over. “Bullshit.”
Apparently, Mardine didn’t take kindly to the man’s attitude or language, because she pushed her way forward and towered menacingly over him. “Truth,” she insisted.
The officer took the tiniest step backwards. He looked up at Mardine and back down to Long. “This your giant?”
“And his Burner,” D’Kem added.
The officer seemed surprised.
“And his actor!” Rem offered, cheerfully.
“And his…me!” Spirk finished.
“Some kind o’ merc squad tired of working for bread and carrots?”
Long grinned, sheepishly. “That’s about it, yeah.”
“Six of you.”
“Yes.”
The officer made his decision and nodded. “Have it your way. You know the drill, then: one Merchant a week for regulars, a Noble for officers below captain, two meals a day at the company mess, march at sunrise, camp at sunset, all o’ that shit. Report to Major Bailis at the muster standard outside town.”
“Much obliged,” Long said, before leading his crew out of the man’s hearing. “This is it, friends. We meet this Major Bailis and we’re in, we’re committed. You can’t back out o’ the army if you’re bored or ailing or feeling afraid. You serve your time or else. Anybody got anything to say?” Long looked at each of his companions in turn. None of them budged an inch. “Well,” he sighed at last, doffing his cap and scratching his head, “I don’t understand your reasons, but I’m glad to have you. We’re brothers now, in truth.”
Major Bailis was shorter than Long had expected, maybe five and a half feet tall. But he was nearly as wide and, dressed out in full battle gear of chainmail and steel breastplate, helmet, greaves and pauldrons, looked like nothing so much as a human battering ram. His hair was a sandy blonde, slowly going white. He had five days’ growth of beard and large, bushy eyebrows that threatened to take over his face in the near future and obscure his blue eyes forever. His nose appeared to have been broken at least once and twisted ever so slightly to the right. Finally, when he spoke, it was plain he’d lost a couple of teeth on the lower right side of his jaw. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the companions’ approach and turned to watch, waiting patiently.
“I know you,” he said to Long when the group came within ten feet or so. “We were in the same trench at Bull’s Blood.”
Long searched his memory. He remembered a slight fellow – “You’ve filled out, sir,” he said at last.
The major patted his breastplate with a mailed glove, clank, clank. “Yes, well, decent grub and lots of exercise makes a difference. You make captain, you start eating better and sleeping worse. Funny thing, that.”
“Yes, sir. What’s the story, sir?” Long asked.
Bailis tilted his head, inquiringly. “Recruitment Officer should’ve told you: Queen’s mustering.”
“Yes, sir. I was wondering what the objective was, sir.”
“I haven’t been briefed, yet, but scuttlebutt says she’s tapped the Reaper to serve as Lord General.”
Long about pissed himself. “Sir? The Reaper? I mean, er, ain’t that…?” Long had fought against the Reaper a time or two. That’s what had convinced him to retire from the military.
“Don’t finish that sentence, friend. As I said: scuttlebutt. But if it co
mes to pass, you and I have to toe the line same as if he were one of our lads.” Bailis was silent a moment, regarding Long and his friends. “So…let’s hear your particulars.”
“Sergeant Major Peter Fendesst, sir. Formerly of His Majesty, King Kronnr the Third’s Royal Forces, Red Company, having also served time in Badgers Elite and Stormite Regulars at your service. With me are Corporal Esmun Janks, same companies. Then we have, uh, Mardine…” Long was surprised to discover he didn’t know that much about the giant. “Mardine of Farnsley, Remuel Wratch of…various and sundry, Spirk Nesso of Bloodge, and our, uh, Burner, D’Kem, of…”
Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1) Page 10
