In those days, The Black Company was in service to the Illuminatan of the Plains, Ruler of Eldorath, Bringer of Light, so on and so forth. We've never heard what his real name is. He has roughly fifty titles, real or imagined, and he likes to hear them read off as often as possible. He's an ugly, fat, balding little man with squinty eyes and a mouth that just screams 'punch me!' Nobody really likes him, including us. The only reason we took the job is the size of his purse and the relative thinness of ours. Our enmity for him is only augmented by the fact that he's had us laying siege to the heavily fortified city of Angorath for three months now.
Eldorath and Angorath have been engaging in a blood feud between the ruling houses for the last two centuries. It's been so long that no one actually remembers who spilled the first blood, though both sides will blame it on the other if you ask them. The constant feuding between the cities has torn up the landscape around the town and driven off every farmer that could pack up his belongings and head for the hills. The rest of the unfortunates that either couldn't or were just too stupid to leave packed themselves behind the walls of their respective cities and are now tightening their belts just like everyone else.
Each ruler knew that he had to end the feud soon, kill off the ruling family of the other city and annex it or else he would become a ruler of a dead city. They began raising armies. The last skirmish had wiped out nearly all of Eldorath's standing army, so the Illuminatan began conscripting young men. The only problem was that there were almost no veterans left to teach them how not to get killed on the battlefield. Enter the Black Company.
We were trekking through the area on another leg of our endless wandering, journeying with no direction and selling our swords to the highest bidder. At fifteen strong, eight brothers and seven petitioners, we didn't look like much, but for Eldorath, who was desperately seeking anyone with military experience, we were like manna from heaven. The Illuminatan offered us a contract at whatever price we wished. We named a ridiculously high figure. He smiled and agreed. We raised our eyebrows and wondered if we should have asked for more. We weren't cheap, but the figure we had named would support us for the next two years. Anyway, no sooner had the ink dried on the signatures than he had us out in the training yards trying to teach plowboys to be soldiers. There were twenty thousand of them. We knew we should have asked for more.
After a month of intense work and hoarse voices, we finally had whipped enough backbone into them that they could march in formation and wouldn't break at the first sign of resistance. Word came down from the palace that the time was now. We were to lay siege to Angorath, immediately. We bitched and moaned, but we went. Regardless of all else, we honor our contract. After a week on the road, we arrived at Angorath and began the siege. That was three months ago.
A lot can happen during three months. Outside of the occasional skirmish, we didn't really attack, or make any attempt to destroy the city. Our orders were to starve them out. While we sat on our butts, we drilled the men, built siege engines, drilled the men, foraged for food, drilled the men, and of course, drilled the men. The alternative was cards, and you can only play so many games of Tonk before you try to climb over the table and gut the lying, cheating piece of shit across the table who's been taking your money for the last hour and a half whether he wears a company ring or not. One other great thing happened while we were there. The rainy season rolled around. It's amazing how much mud a nice, grass-laden prairie can produce when it's been walked on by twenty thousand men and then rained on for a month and a half. It currently comes up to mid calf, and it keeps getting deeper. Drills are tedious and exhausting at best, and the men in charge of the artillery alternate between trying to keep their charges out of the mud and in usable condition and binge drinking in despair of ever doing it. I think they must have consumed half the grapes, barley, and wheat in between here and Eldorath by now.
Needless to say, morale was low. Every man was sure that the guys on the wall were laughing at him, going home to feast on a ten-course meal every night in front of a blazing fire, then going on to get laid three or four times. The best they had to look forward to was a damp blanket and a sodden tent. At least we weren't having any problems with the food supply anymore. With all the rain, rice was growing everywhere. Everyone had only to reach out his hand for a midnight snack. It was even sprouting in the tents. We called a Company meeting that evening.
I was the last to get there because I had to go back to my tent to pick up quill and parchment. I ducked under the flap and settled myself. Everyone, including the petitioners, was present and already sucking down their drink of choice. I sent a beer wench in search of a mulled wine and wetted my ink. The candlelight was a trifle dim, but I had been in worse. Across from me sat Williem Roybert, the Old Man. To his right was Talious Dennan O'Brien, one of our Lieutenants; and next to him, Big Dave, the Gentle Giant. I have to work hard to keep from calling him Big Bear, for his immense size and impressive beard bring to mind a massive grizzly. He's senior to me, though I've just met him. He was off running around with a splinter group supporting us elsewhere when I joined up. I can't help but like him. Beside him sat Wolf, our forward scout. He is a short little man who can disappear on command in the woods. He's hell on picket lines. To Williem's left; Fergus, our other Scot and the field sergeant who recruited me; Kalador, our weapon smith and the other Lieutenant; and Yi, a Chinaman and the company cook. The man is a culinary genius. The petitioners present sat behind out circle. Connor Silverstone sat in the corner next to me. He's an elf we picked up while skirting around the edge of a cursed wood. He joined up without a second thought, which made me intensely curious. Elves normally don't run with humans. Nobody pried at him, even though they all felt the way I did. It's a company rule that we never break. Nobody asks about your past. If you tell us, that's one thing, but nobody asks. There have been plenty of brothers who joined up in the past who were running from something or other and were grateful for that protection. Connor has been mainly closemouthed about whatever it was that drew him out of the woods, though he's dropped enough hints that I know it has something to do with a famous ancestor who got exiled or something.
Next to Connor sat Ting, a smaller Chinaman, and one of the angels. They're leftovers from another company, now disbanded, and we have two of them, though I can never remember their names. On the other side of the tent sat Greg, a young, blond kid with some potential; Rob, another young one with brown hair; and our other angel. And of course, there's me. I'm Winblades, the de facto annalist. It's not official yet, but I don't see anyone else picking up a pen.
"It's about fookin' time ye got here." Fergus bitched at me around a mouthful of chaw. I flashed him some sign language to tell him how much I love him, and he growled back something pleasant. We might have gotten descriptive, but about that time Talious butted in.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He slammed his fist on the table, making the maps jump and gaining silence. He turned to Williem. "I believe the table's yers, Cap." He grinned at us.
"Thank you Talious. We called this meeting to solve a problem. Morale is dropping, and we're no closer to starving these bastards out than when we started. If this mud gets any deeper, we're going to be in danger of drowning in our sleep. We need to break this siege, and we need to break it tonight. Ideas?"
Faces were glum. A couple plans were put forward and rejected. We couldn't mine under the wall because of the intense rain. Ladders were nearly useless because they would sink in the mud. A battering ram would be miserably slow because of the mud, and we would lose men rapidly as archers on the wall picked them off. None of the classic tricks would work. That's just fine, though, because sneaky is our middle name.
"What we really need is to get a man over the wall and open the gate. If we could do that, we could take the city. Its main defense is the wall. The roads are broad, and you can't pass from roof to roof, it's an invader's dream."
Fergus got an evil little gleam in his eye. "Well, I've got and idea."
We all looked at him. He grinned. "Wolf-a-pult."
Wolf just stared at Fergus for a second. Then whatever it was sunk through, and he was up and headed for the door as fast as those short legs would carry him, spouting denials all the way. He hesitated a little too long, though. Big Dave's massive paw clamped down over his arm and dragged him bodily back down. The other paw closed over Wolf's mouth, and he and Greg combined their efforts to keep him still and quiet. I'd never heard of the concept before. I opened my mouth and vented my ignorance.
"What the hell is a Wolf-a-pult?"
"You'll see. What I need you to do is take Ting and Connor and clear the wall on the catapult side of sentries. Talious, roust out the army and have them get ready to invade, but quietly. Surprise is a must. Got it?" We all nodded. "Good. Go."
I went back to my tent to ditch my writing supplies and grab my gear. I belted on my blade, a standard hand-and-a-half sword, and threw my quiver over my back. By the time I got to the right vicinity of the wall, Connor was already there with a strung bow. It was the weirdest bow I'd ever seen, with wheels and extra bowstring wrapped around it in a most outlandish fashion, and a few things sticking out to the side that he claims helps him hit his target. It looks hokey, buy it's certainly powerful. Ting showed up later with his Chinaman bow, which looks like a normal bow that had one end get twisted by some manic tree demon. Mine, of course, is a stout straight longbow. He strung his bow and we got down to business. When we were done, I had seven kills, Ting five, and Connor twelve. I felt pretty good, since none of them had lived long enough to give an alarm. I heard stealthy footsteps behind me, and I turned to see Greg.
"You finished?" He whispered. I nodded. "Good. Captain says you'll want to see this."
We headed into artillery country; Kalador's domain. Not only was he proficient with the making of smaller arms, but he was also a master at building the larger artillery pieces. When we got where we were headed, we beheld an interesting sight. The Company, sans Talious, was gathered around the largest catapult we had. Kalador was checking the tension and windage on the arm. Wolf, now resigned to his fate, sat in the basket on the business end, a grapnel and coiled rope in each hand. His resignation appeared to have a great deal to do with Big Dave's presence at the side of the catapult, casually swinging his flail. I gave it the hairy eyeball. It looked, to say the least, unorthodox.
"Ready?" The Old Man asked.
"All good here." Kalador affirmed.
"Wolf?"
"You'd better shoot me out of this thing soon, you treacherous scum. You know, there was a day when a brother was given more respect than this. I-WHOOAAA!" Whatever he was going to harp on about was lost as Williem gave Kalador the go-ahead, and Wolf was launched into the air. He flew up and over the wall at maximum velocity and was lost to sight. I just stood there, openmouthed.
"C'mon, let's go meet up with Talious."
I rounded on the speaker. "What the fuck was that for? You just killed Wolf!"
Williem wasn't intimidated. "He's fine. He'll use those grapnels to hook onto a building inside the wall and slow his fall. Then he'll kill all the guards at the main gate, open the doors, and let us in. All we have to do is massacre everyone we see." I found this a ridiculous concept, but my opportunity for bitching evaporated as the rest of the company moved off. I hurried after them.
The camp was deserted. Somehow, Talious had managed to get the entire twenty thousand up and armed without alerting the guards. I was impressed. We scattered to our units. I commanded the archers with Connor and Greg beneath me. We waited. And waited. And waited. About the time when I was starting to wonder if I had accidentally left any food in my cloak, the small door in the main gate opened and a very pissed-off Wolf came through. A wetness stained his uniform where he hadn't been as stealthy as he'd thought he was, but I could see from the way he moved that it wasn't serious. He beckoned to a few of his scouts, and they ran inside. Soon, a heavy grating noise of wood-on-wood was heard, followed by a heavy thud. It sounded loud to my ears, but no one inside seemed to notice. Finally, the heavy doors creaked open and we flooded into the city. There was nothing to stop us. The light of the full moon glinted from armor and bared steel as we rushed down the wide avenues. There was no mud here, some thoughtful engineers had built actual paved roads and put in a decent drainage system. The buildings were made of some gray stone that appeared black in the darkness. It was so quiet that it felt like a ghost town. Some poor soldier stepped out in front of our rush. His eyes got really big, and he had enough time to manage a slight squeak of surprise before our farmers cut him down. All good things must come to an end, though, and so it was with out easy conquest. The soldier's buddy witnessed his comrade's demise from the alley where he was taking a leak, and wasted no time in screaming his head off. We silenced him quickly, but the damage was done. Shouts rose up around us. Half-dressed armed men started pouring out of their homes. We kept going, but things bogged down as we slowed to kill everyone who showed their face. Slowly, resistance stiffened until we were stalemated at the gates of the palace, which was more of a large home at the edge of a square than anything else. The enemy formed a wall of tower shields and refused to give ground. I looked behind the wall of human flesh and discovered something interesting. Half of the men behind the shield wall had no shields and almost no armor. They had obviously just awakened. I grinned evilly and ordered my archers into the nearest tall buildings. They were homes of rich merchants, some of them larger than the palace. I felt bad as a child of ten carrying a butcher's knife charged us from around a corner and was slaughtered. I felt less bad about killing the pompous, bejeweled, and fat owner who ordered us out with a dandy's pig sticker in his bloated fist. I ordered off ten men to guard the remaining family members, and the rest of us headed to the roof. When we got there, I saw that the other archer squads had had similar difficulties and were now getting into position. As I looked, a soldier in the elf's unit backhanded a young woman who was clinging to his leg. Her blouse had been ripped open and I could see that she was really not much more than a child. He gave her and extra kick, just for good measure, I'm sure, before turning back to the battle. I made a mental note to explain the way things work here and have him flogged, just for good measure. I focused my attention back on the battlefield. Things were degenerating. More men were getting shields, buckling on armor, and worse, their shield line was holding. I could see Williem down there, using his axe to hook their shields out and kill them, Big Dave making a bloody mess with his flail, and Kalador's glaive being put to good use, but nobody outside the company was nearly as effective. I decided to be generous and give them a hand. I signaled my troops on both buildings and arrows poured down on the enemy. Two score died outright, and more were wounded. We kept firing. Dimly, it penetrated sleep-fogged minds that if they simply stood there and took it, they would die. They raised their shields, and the guys on the ground cut them down. I love a stupid enemy. Soon, we pushed through the opposition and I ordered the men to stay put and snipe at targets of opportunity. I re-descended to the bottom floor. Glancing at the prisoners, I saw that the farmers told off to guard them had done their jobs and only guarded them. I left the building and met the rest of the Company at the front door of the palace. The Old Man was breathing hard.
"Are ye ready?" Talious asked. We all looked at the Captain. He nodded and readied his weapons. Talious grinned. The torchlight made him look like a death's-head. "Good!"
He turned his back and walked towards the door of the palace. We followed. He kicked the door in and dashed inside, rapier and man'gosh at the ready. Nothing. That was weird. We walked in. No guards. Candles, burned down most of their length, lit the place sporadically. It was a well-appointed house, full of dark woods and plush carpets. Not a soul, or a breath of wind stirred the house. It was getting downright creepy. We searched the place from bottom to top. Nobody there, and nothing moved. My scalp prickled, and goose bumps appeared on my flesh. What kind of prince exists without any servants? Finally, we came to the bedroom door of the Ruler of Angorath. It was a deep mahogany paneled door. It was also ajar, and the room beyond was dark. He had to be here. It was the only room left.
"Hey, Dave, some light here." Williem whispered. Dave, who was standing next to one of the flickering candle stubs, lifted it from its niche and passed it forward. Talious held the light up as Williem pushed the door open with his axe. It opened like silk, no surprises. We saw a figure lying on the bed. It didn't move, or react at all to our presence. It stayed staring at the top of its canopy bed. We all walked into the room. We'd found the Ruler of Angorath. He stared up out of glazed eyes, his last sigh still on his lips. His cause of death was readily apparent when we flipped back the blanket. A gory mass of blood, flesh, and bone made up his chest where his heart had been cut out. I grimaced. Fergus reached down and touched the grisly wound. "Still warm."
"I found a lamp." Dave bent over and lit it. It had a reflective mirror behind it, which scattered the light around the room. We all looked when he spoke, so we saw what was on the mirror when the lamp caught. I sucked in a breath. Someone had cut out the man's heart, then dipped their fingers in his blood and written "Black Company, beware Dame Fortune, for she is fickle." The blood hadn't even had time to solidify, and was still a little runny. Whoever had murdered this man, they might still be in the building, and I don't know about you, but I consider that little bit of loveliness on the mirror a sinister message.
The captain said, "Let's get the hell out of here." We got.
We brought the head of the Ruler of Angorath back to Eldorath and received a hero's welcome. The Ruler of Eldorath paid us handsomely and placed the head of his enemy on a pike over the main gate. He also begged us to stay, but we declined. We had honored our contract, and we didn't like that ugly, pus-faced little scamp. Sooner or later he would have decided we were expendable and tried to off us. Besides, somewhere or other there was some freak that killed in the dark and knew our names. We didn't know where, why, or who, and we really didn't want to know. After all, if we're going to get in a fight, we prefer to be paid for it. So we shook the dust and mud of that plain off of our shoes and departed for parts unknown. Fifteen strong.