Wayward Son

4: A Nasty Surprise

All in all, Renault thought, the life of a mercenary wasn't so bad. A lot more boring than he had expected, but otherwise not bad at all.

It was the fifth day of his little journey, and so far, the only real work he had had to do was march steadily forward while enjoying the reasonably mild weather and pleasant scenery. A comparatively easy life as a stoneworker in Thagaste had not given him much tolerance for the rigors of travel, but the pace Tassar and Khyron had set was hardly grueling, and Renault had an easy time keeping up with his troop.

He yawned conspicuously (drawing an amused chuckle from Braddock, who was walking beside him as usual), indicating the only real problem he had with life on the road. There were few inns or taverns between Thagaste and Scirocco, and Tassar was unwilling to spend the money required for rooms anyway. Thus, the mercenaries and the mages alike had nowhere else to sleep but the hard ground. Renault's bed back at his mother's house was hardly luxurious, but it was certainly more comfortable than soil and stones.

Still, he was getting used to it. In many ways, Renault actually found it easier to fall asleep under the stars than under his own roof. For the first time in months, he could close his eyes without dreaming of a mother who hated him, friends he didn't have, and a city which held so many painful memories for him.

His father's ghost, it seemed, had not followed him outside of his birthplace.

"If you clock out on the road, I'm not gonna carry you." Braddock grinned sardonically as he watched his friend yawn yet again.

Renault grinned right back. "Smart move on your part. I don't think you'd be able to!"

"You may have a point there. How tall are you? Let's see."

Ceasing their march for a moment, the two friends stood ramrod-straight back-to-back. "Stop cheating, Renault," Braddock laughed as he felt the other man trying to stand on the tips of his toes. He put a hand atop his head, and it hit empty air as he moved it above Renault's. "Just as I thought! You're about an inch shorter than me."

"You serious?" Renault looked at Braddock suspiciously. "Are you sure it's not just your hair?"

Braddock laughed again and ran a hand through his uncut and unruly blue locks. "My hair goes down, not up. Still, I'm a pretty tall guy, so don't feel too bad. Hell, you're pretty big yourself, especially for a city boy. Are most stoneworkers your size?"

"If they are, I haven't seen 'em." Renault grimaced as he thought of Henken and their unpleasant parting. "My last boss was a little shorter than I was."

Braddock saw the expression on his friend's face and clapped his shoulder sympathetically. "Hated your boss, huh? Well, don't worry about it. Not like he's here with us, right?"

Renault didn't quite hate his former master, but the sentiment was close enough and he smiled. "You got that right! To hell with him!" He then winced out of habit, expecting a rebuke for the profanity.

Braddock looked at him curiously. "Eh? What's with the expression?"

"Sorry, man," Renault said sheepishly, "My mom and most people back at Thagaste had a thing about bad language."

"Hah! How stupid!" Braddock laughed, very loudly this time. "Words are just words, and anyone who actually cares about a bunch of harmless words is just an idiot. Mercenaries like us don't give half a rat's ass about silly stuff like that." He grinned mischievously at Renault. "And you can be damn sure you heard me right."

Renault joined in his friend's laughter, feeling better than he had in a long time. As the two of them resumed their march, Thagaste's wayward son once again felt like leaving the city had been exactly the right choice.

-X-

The mercenaries continued their march for the rest of the day, and by the time dusk bathed the countryside in its signature purple hues, even Braddock was beginning to feel a bit fatigued. He was not the only one, of course, as Yulia, one hand on her horse's reins, clamped her mouth shut and put her other hand over it to disguise what would otherwise have been a most unladylike yawn. Apolli, noticing his fiancée's weariness, hastily called out to Tassar. "Oy, boss! Don't wanna push, but d'you think we could rest for the night? Some of us are gettin' a wee bit bushed."

Yulia smiled gratefully at her beloved, and Tassar glanced at Khyron. "How about it, sir?" he asked. "It's getting dark. I'd say it's a good time to set up camp."

"Hmph!" Khyron snorted haughtily. "We've wasted enough time already. Aren't you mercenaries supposed to be used to journeys like this? And you, Yulia," he turned his head and called out to her, "Even if you're a woman, you're still a recruit for Etruria's magic battalions. I expect you to be stronger!"

Apolli bristled, and Roberto opened his mouth to upbraid the arrogant sage, but before either of them could get a word out Yulia stopped them. "Sorry, m'lord!" She called back to Khyron, "You don't have to worry about me. I can keep on, but please, don't y'think my poor horse's earned a break? I'll go on foot if I must, but at least let the mare some peace."

"Yulia, you don't have to—" Apolli began, but his beloved stopped him again.

"It's alright, sweet," she said quietly to him, "Someone has to rest, and if it can't be me, it might as well be her."

"Bollocks!" Roberto fumed. "The beasts are fine, it's you who's needin' the rest! I'm just gonna go up there and set that popinjay straight! He can't just push you 'round like that!"

Before an argument could begin, it was Rosamia, sitting besides Khyron on their wagon, who convinced him to relent. "Sir," she began respectfully, "I really think it would be advisable to set up camp before it grows dark. We're already well ahead of schedule, and if we rest now, we should be able to arrive at Scirocco early tomorrow afternoon. It might prove beneficial in the long run."

"Is that so?" Khyron frowned. "Keep in mind, Rosamia, that you are my apprentice, not my advisor. I shall be the one to decide our pace, not you."

"Of course, my lord." She bowed her head deferentially, and as a testament to her discipline and control, a barely perceptible twitch of her lips was the only indication of her irritation. "Forgive my presumption, I only wished to serve you."

Tassar continued the cause Rosamia had begun. "Your apprentice has a point," he said. "We all need rest, including you. My men won't be able to do their job if they're too tired. If we stop now, we'll be able to reach Scirocco in top shape. If you want your money's worth from us, you'll set up camp." He shrugged. "Not that I'm telling you what to do, of course. Your choice."

Khyron snorted again, both in irritation and disdain. "Not much of a choice for me, is it?" he huffed, "If I did have a choice, I would have just brought along some of our royal mages instead of wasting money on you freebooters! Of course, since the king's advisor seems to love your ilk so much, His Majesty dispatched only my apprentice and a trainee healer and told me to just hire a complement of mercenaries! What nonsense!" He sighed heavily. "Still, I am a noble of Etruria, and I shan't let this inconvenience stand in my way! If a brief rest is all you need to do the job I paid you to do, then so be it. However! We shall leave the very moment dawn's first rays break the horizon, understood?"

Tassar nodded as a show of gratitude, barely managing to hide his exasperation at the pretentious noble's obstinacy. "Thank you, sir," he stated tersely. Turning to the rest of the troop, he called, "All right, everyone! Time to set up camp! We start again early tomorrow morning, so make sure you get some rest!"

Upon hearing this, Renault, walking with Braddock at the tail of their company, almost let out a whoop of joy. "Finally!" he exclaimed. "I am dead tired!"

"Same here." Braddock shot a venomous look at his employer. "Man, can you believe that Khyron? Ooooh, I'm a high-and-mighty Etrurian noble," he drawled in a sarcastic imitation of the sage, "I'm so very generous for having hired those nasty mercenaries to do my dirty work! And to think, they even demand a decent night's sleep! How very presumptuous!"

At this, Renault burst out laughing, bending over and clapping his hands on his knees. "Oh, man," he gasped between chuckles, "If that's not a spot-on impression, I don't know what is!"

Khyron had not heard Braddock's snide jab at him, but he had heard Renault's laughter, and he was none too pleased to hear his hired men goofing off. "Oi! You there!" he called. "I'm not paying you for whatever stupid rubbish you're laughing about! If you've enough time to be loitering about like this, you've enough time to earn your keep! Help Rosamia set up camp!"

Renault opened his mouth in the beginnings of a blistering retort to the arrogant noble, but Braddock clapped a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. "Don't bother, man," he grimaced. "We'd be in deep shit if we picked a fight with him. Nobles get to do whatever the hell they want, and nobody can do anything to stand up to them, especially guys like us. It's disgusting, but that's the way it is."

Renault saw the expression on his friend's face, and got the distinct feeling that Braddock's hatred of the ruling class ran far deeper than simple jealousy. Before he had a chance to question him about it, the blue-haired man had already set off for the wagon. Renault hurriedly followed him, only for both men to find Rosamia hard at work unloading the company's bedding for the night. She was a statuesque woman, but not a particularly strong one, and while she wasn't having much trouble unloading the modest sleeping mats, Renault and Braddock could still do it faster. "Hold on, miss," Braddock said as he went beside her and hauled up another mat, "my friend and I can help you out. Come on, Renault, lend a hand!"

Renault hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and went over to assist Braddock and Rosamia. "Hey, at least this is gives me something to do besides march all day!" he smiled.

Rosamia, however, wasn't particularly eager for help. "I appreciate your assistance, but it isn't truly required," she stated matter-of-factly. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of this myself."

"Hah! We didn't mean to insult your pride, Rosamia," Braddock smiled. "We don't really have a choice, though. Khyron ordered us to help you out. Isn't that right, Renault?"

"You got it. After all, we gotta earn our keep, don't we?"

Braddock let out a loud guffaw at Renault's sarcastic jibe at Khyron, and for all her discipline, Rosamia had to put a hand to her mouth to suppress a chuckle. "Very well, I accept your aid." The smile she gave them was not wide, but it was genuine.

As the three of them set out sleeping mats for the rest of the company, they noticed that their fellows were hard at work as well. Although the wagon was well-stocked with rations, Roberto and Apolli still wanted to hunt up some game—"No point wasting the food we were given if we can find some ourselves" was what they'd said. Yulia was busy watching over the horses as they grazed, and Tassar was fastidiously checking over all of their equipment, making sure their weaponry was in top shape. Conspicuously absent from all this activity, however, was Khyron.

"Where the hell is that guy?" complained Braddock. "I guess the Mage General's brother is just too good to do any work like the rest of us, is that it?"

"Not quite," Rosamia said. "I think he's meditating. Look in the wagon."

The three of them did so, and sure enough, they saw Khyron seated in the same place he had been all day, but in a very different position. His eyes were shut tight and he sat cross-legged, with his arms held out in front of him and his hands clasped together. Braddock reached out to tap his shoulder, but Rosamia hastily and insistently stopped him.

"No!" she hissed quietly but firmly. "Whatever you do, don't disturb him. This meditation is crucial for mages. We need to focus and balance our energies before using magic; otherwise it's much more difficult to cast spells and they won't be as effective. That would be a very bad thing if we need to use magic when we reach our destination, so it's important to leave Khyron alone. I'll do the same thing later tonight, to prepare for whatever's waiting for us at Scirocco." She scrupulously led her companions away from the meditating sage.

"Is that so?" Braddock was somewhat suspicious. "Sounds like a convenient excuse to slack off to me."

"I think she's right," Renault said. "My parents used light magic, so I'm not sure if it's exactly the same, but I remember my dad talking about how praying made casting magic a lot easier, especially if you were about to head off to battle. I'd guess this is what anima users do instead.

Rosamia nodded to him gratefully, and Braddock just shrugged his large shoulders in assent. "I can't complain if that guy's actually doing something useful, I guess. It's nice to see he understands the importance of preparation, at least."

"Khyron is very dedicated to his duties," Rosamia said. "I can admire that about him, if nothing else."

Renault grinned. "If nothing else, huh? Sounds like you don't like him too much."

Rosamia hastily slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing her misstep, but that only elicited amused laughter from Braddock and Renault. "Don't worry about it," Braddock said. "There's no need to put on airs with us. Trust me, we don't like that pompous windbag much more than you do."

The young woman smiled gratefully. "Thank you, but still, I am his apprentice. I simply cannot speak ill of him, whether with friends or not." She looked behind them, where a little campfire had been set up. "Oh! It seems Roberto and Apolli have returned from their trip. I have some preparations to make myself, so why don't you two have a meal with them?"

"You won't be joining us, Rosamia?" Braddock seemed a bit sad.

"I'd like to, but I must attend my master. Khyron would scold me if he saw me getting too friendly with commoners. Troop solidarity and morale are foreign concepts to him. Farewell."

She turned away from them and headed back to the wagon where Khyron was, causing Braddock to spit angrily on the ground. "Damn nobles!" he growled.

Renault shrugged. "Hey, I liked her too, but it means more grub for us, bud. Let's go see what Apolli and Roberto managed to find."

Renault and Braddock walked towards the campfire, where Apolli, Roberto, Tassar, and Yulia were already busy enjoying their meals. Roberto heard them coming and waved them over to a couple of empty seats around the crackling flames. A large black pot was suspended over the fire, and the smell happily wafting from it reminded Renault of yet another reason he was glad to be a mercenary. Strange as it was, the food he'd been eating was some of the best he'd ever tasted. While the hardtack rations he had for breakfast and lunch were nothing special, dinner was always delicious. It had been nothing but rabbit stew for the past few days (in this area, bunnies were quite common and easy to catch), but he found it to be many times better than Lisse's beef stew, and almost as good as his mother's cooking. Maybe he just liked rabbits better than beef, but whatever it was; the meals thus far had been immensely satisfying.

With great satisfaction, Renault got a wooden bowl and spoon and helped himself to a ladle of the stew, with Braddock doing the same right afterwards. After stirring it and blowing on it to cool it down, Renault had a spoonful and found the stew to be as good as usual. "You're sure this is made just from the rabbits that are everywhere around here, right?" Renault asked. "This stuff's pretty damn good for wild game."

"It's all wild!" Roberto grinned broadly. "So far, we haven't eaten even a bite of the stuff in the wagon, at least not for dinner. Everything we've had we caught ourselves!"

"Aye, sorry for not being able to bag heartier fare," Apolli said sheepishly. "If we were back home, I'd be able to shoot up a good buck or boar, but around here there's not much else but rabbits to catch."

"Oh, really?" Renault smiled as he took another ladle of the stew. "These rabbits are so tasty, I can only imagine what the chef could do with something bigger. Yulia's not as good as my mom, but damn, she comes close!"

At this, Apolli, Roberto, and Yulia exchanged furtive, slightly surprised, and somewhat embarrassed glances among themselves. This display greatly confused Renault, for as boorish as he was, even he realized his offhanded compliment should not have been that offensive. "What? What'd I say?" he asked, fairly puzzled.

"Ah…while I'm greatly thankful for your kind words, sir, I'm really not the girl y'should be givin' em to." Yulia blushed slightly, looking quite sheepish.

"Huh?" Renault was now even more confused.

"I think the fella you oughta be complimentin' is right here!" Smiling affectionately, she sidled up to Apolli, who Renault noticed was easily the most embarrassed out of the trio, clasping his hands in his lap and earnestly looking down at his feet.

"'Ey, why're you bein' so sulky, ya chump?" Roberto happily clapped Apolli on the back. "Take some credit when it's due! 'Bout time someone besides us noticed how good y'cook!"

Renault gazed at the slight young man in astonishment. "YOU'RE the one who's been cooking these meals?"

Apolli nodded. "Uh…yep. I'm, uh, sorry?"

Renault chuckled in response. "Hah! No need to apologize. Like I said, this food's pretty damn good. I'm just surprised it's a man cooking it! Me, every time I tried to help out my mom with a meal, it turned into a disaster!"

Yulia giggled sweetly. "Well, don't feel too bad. There are plenty of women out there who can't cook either." Blushing slightly, she admitted, "I just happen to be one of 'em. 'Course, that's just one of the many reasons I'm so glad to have Apolli around, eh?" She snuggled up to him, resulting in the young man finally displaying some pride in his abilities and puffing up his chest—eliciting chuckles from Roberto and smiles from the rest of the party.

"You know, you seem like a pretty nice girl," Renault said thoughtfully. Yulia blushed and her brother and fiancé beamed at the compliment, but it was followed by a somewhat probing question. "So I have to wonder, what are you and your friends doing here? Me, I just joined you guys because I wanted to get out of Thagaste. But what's your deal? Wanted to see the world outside your hometown as well?"

Yulia, Apolli, and Roberto exchanged looks, but the young woman just shrugged, figuring it was all right to tell their story. "Well, for me, at least, I didn't have much of a choice, or at least not too many good choices, anyways."

"Huh?" Renault didn't think the lively young woman was dragooned into this operation.

"See, me, Apolli, and Roberto all come from the same village. It's a tiny little town up in the north, just a few miles to the east from Scirocco, in fact." She looked down a bit, as if ashamed. "As y' can imagine, our home wasn't exactly what you'd call wealthy."

"You weren't destitute or anything, were you?" Braddock cast a sympathetic gaze towards the three commoners.

"No, no!" Yulia was quick to dismiss the notion. "We weren't wealthy, but we sure weren't starving. All of us here and the rest of our friends back home. We got by through farming, fishing, and huntin'. It was a pretty good life, when you get right down to it."

Roberto's eyes misted with nostalgia. "Aye, sis's right. Things were pretty peaceful, we had enough to eat, and we had each other. A man can't want for much more'n that!"

Apolli nodded in agreement. "Even after the king levied that new tax, we managed to make ends meet. A coupla old ladies in our village knew how to knit, and one guy's a decent carpenter. They managed to whip up some clothes and wooden toys for us to sell, so we always managed to scrimp up enough gold to pay the bills one way or another. We always had enough."

"Still, though, I really thought our town should have more," Yulia said. "See…me and Roberto, we're the magistrate's children. You'd think Roberto'd take on the position after Dad, but…"

"He'd make a terrible magistrate!" Apolli chuckled goodheartedly. "Can you imagine how the place'd be run with this guy in charge? The town hall would be turned into tavern!"

"Bah!" Roberto snorted, "Never saw the use in all that talkin' anyways. Not a problem in the world that can't be solved with a few kegs of good ale!"

"And that's exactly why you're not going be followin' our Dad!" Yulia scolded. Turning away from her booze-loving brother, she continued her story. "Well, Pop talked things over with the townsfolk, and, well…they all decided that I oughta be the next magistrate."

"Really?" Renault seemed to be amused. "A female magistrate, huh? Never thought I'd see the day."

Yulia wasn't sure if she was being insulted or not, but she decided to take the flippant remark as a compliment and move on. "As the next magistrate…well, t'be honest…I felt I should do something for it, y'know? Sure, we had enough, but there was so much more we didn't have. Didn't even have a blacksmith or school!" Yulia's bright eyes seemed to dim as she mentioned the last item on that list. "Aye, it's a shame. Most of the kids in our village won't ever know how to read their own names! Me, Dad, and the priest're the only ones who're much good with books."

"The old man tried teachin' me some letters, but I was never much good for 'em," Roberto said apologetically.

"I can't read either, but Yulia's been teachin' me a few things for the past coupla months. I'm gettin' better, right?" Apolli looked to his beloved for affirmation, which she provided by smiling sweetly at him.

"Pfeh, illiterate?" Renault sneered. "Ignorant country bumpkins. How surprising."

At Renault's sarcastic jab, the three townsfolk did appear to grow offended, with Roberto seeming to grow quite angry, but Braddock managed to defuse the situation. "So, uh, what's that got to do with how you ended up in Aquleia?" he blurted.

Renault looked at him curiously, his sneer disappearing. "Aquleia?"

"Yeah," said Braddock, "That's where we met."

Yulia, Apolli, and Roberto forgot about Renault's insult at the mention of Etruria's grand capitol city, and the young woman continued her story. "Getting a bit ahead of yourself, m'friend!" She grinned at Braddock. "See, it all started a few months ago, back at home. As the magistrate's daughter, I often had to help the parish priest with a lot of his duties. It was expected of me, 'cause the Church helps out so much with administration and the like.

"I didn't have to do much, mainly organize books and copy manuscripts and stuff like that. One day, though, the priest decided to teach me a little bit about the magic he used—not Light tomes, surely, but the staffs I'd seen him wield to patch up minor injuries and the like. That's when things really changed!

"The very first time I picked up a lil' Heal staff, it felt like it belonged in my hand my whole life. Just that day, one of the milkmaid's sons had broken his arm after tryin' to scamper up a tree and fallin' down, but I just went over to him, said the words, and set it right without even a second thought! Father Brentus'd never seen anything like it in his life!

"He was pretty excited, so over the next few days he spent a lot of time with me, working with staves and the like. Now, I wouldn't say I'm anything special, but he thought I had some real talent or somethin', because he whisked me right to m'Dad and told him that I'd make one heck of a fine Troubadour for the court!"

"A Troubadour for the royal court?" Renault was somewhat suspicious. "That was a priest recommending you, right? Why didn't he tell you to go join the clergy? I'd expect the Elimineans to be falling all over themselves for someone of your talent." That last statement was spat out with a cruel dose of cynicism, and oddly enough, Renault saw Braddock nodding bitterly, as if he understood and agreed.

Yulia seemed to miss Renault's scornful undertone, as she answered his question honestly and sheepishly. "Don't get me wrong, I'd love to join the sisterhood," she said. "But the thing is, well…the Royal Court pays a lot better."

Renault grunted knowingly. Could there really have been any other motivation besides greed?

"It's not just for my own wallet!" Yulia retorted insistently, seeing the expression on the cynical young man's face. "Think of the good I'd be able to do with that money! Hire a few architects, a stoneworker…in a few years as a Troubadour, I'd be able to scrounge up enough gold to build the town a decent school!"

"Altruism, huh?" Renault made no effort to hide his sarcasm.

It passed clean over the head of the good-natured Roberto, who merely shook his head. "Aye, that's sis for ya," he said, "Always thinkin' of others first, herself second."

"Well, can't the same be said of you two?" Yulia grinned broadly. "After all, I sure didn't force ya to follow me here!"

"She's got us there, Roberto," Apolli chuckled. Looking at Renault, who was a tad confused, the young man continued his fiancée's story. "Our village priest was an accomplished spellcaster and an honest man," he explained, "So when he went to Yulia's pop and told'im his girl would make a good Troubadour, we sure took him seriously. Heck, he even had a letter of recommendation written up and everything! At the very least, everybody in town figured it was worth a shot, since we all knew what'd be coming if Yulia actually made it in.

"Problem was, though, she'd have to travel to Aquleia to present herself afore the nobles and everything. They don't let just anybody become a royal magic-user, after all. So Yulia got herself a horse, took the priest's letter, and was all set out to go, but…"

"Surely y'don't think we'd let her go alone, do ya?" Roberto roared. "The roads are dangerous these days, with the bandits 'n everything! No way we could just leave her to the wilds!"

"Ah, that's just more of your bluster," Yulia replied, "We didn't meet with any trouble on the journey to the capitol, did we?" She smiled sheepishly at Renault and Braddock. "Well, as you can see, that's why my brother and m'sweetie are here with me. Just couldn't leave well enough alone, and felt like they just had to escort me all the way to Aquleia!"

"So then what are all of you doing here?" Renault asked. "Aquleia's a good ways south of your hometown. Why are you heading back up north to Scirocco with us? Did the court reject you?"

"Nope, quite the opposite," Yulia answered. "When me and my protectors got to the city gates, we showed the guards the priest's letter and they showed us to the Mage General's mansion." She grinned again, pride in her accomplishments plainly apparent. "He read the letter too, and was pretty impressed by what it said. So he gave me a set of simple lil' tests—cast a spell here, memorize something there. Well, I passed with flyin' colors!"

"Good thing she's on our side, right?" Braddock smiled reassuringly, and Renault had to nod, as he was genuinely impressed. Etruria's spellweavers were indisputably the best on the continent and for Yulia to be accepted into their ranks with such ease indicated indisputable talent.

"What are you doing on our side, though?" Renault was still curious. "Were you ordered here by the king?"

"Well," Yulia was a bit hesitant, but she decided to come clean. "Yes. As it so happened, just as I was accepted as a royal Troubadour, word came in about what happened to that taxpayer in Scirocco." A shadow fell across her face as she considered poor Revil's fate. "The higher-ups at court wanted something done right then, and the king's prime minister—Paptimus, I think—thought that puttin' down this little ruckus might be a good experience for the Mage General's lil' brother." She pointed towards Khyron, still deep in meditation near the wagons (and now joined by his apprentice). "That's why the two of them are here. Guess they thought it'd be a good way for me to earn my keep too, though, because one of 'em mentioned something about needing a healer, and I just happened to be the newest one on their hands."

"Is that so?" Renault sat back, considering the girl's story. "Yeah, it sounds reasonable. I have to wonder, though, what're Apolli and Roberto still doing here? They sure don't look like royal mages to me."

"That's quite simple," a voice echoed from beside the group, "They came as mercenaries under me."

A set of surprised faces turned to look at the newcomer, whose presence was previously unannounced. While Yulia had been telling her story, the blond-haired mercenary leader, Tassar, had quietly come and sat down to the side, going quite unnoticed in the deepening night as he pensively munched on some rations taken from the wagon.

"You see, my friends," Tassar began, "Apolli and Roberto were obviously quite excited to hear that Yulia had been accepted into the royal court as a Troubadour. After all, now her greatest dreams were open to her! But they were obviously less pleased to hear that she would already be heading into an assignment—especially one that seemed as dangerous as putting down a lynch mob in Scirocco! No good brother or boyfriend could allow her to go alone, am I right?"

Both Apolli and Roberto nodded insistently, and Tassar smiled knowingly. "The problem was, of course, that the nobles," this word was spat out with bitterness comparable to Braddock's, "wouldn't permit them to tag along. They were just civilians, after all."

"Bollocks!" Roberto said, waving a hand in the air dismissively. "Me an' Apolli would be as good in a fight as anybody! I've been choppin' wood since I was a wee lad and m'axe can cut flesh just as well as wood! And Apolli here, this kid's got eagle eyes, I tell ya! He can fletch a deer a mile away w' that bow of his!"

"I'm not that good, ya oaf!" Apolli protested.

"Bah, close enough!"

Yulia looked at her teammates, with just a hint of guilt in her eyes. "I really didn't want them to come along," she said. "They'd already escorted me all the way to Aquleia, and that was more than enough. I didn't want to cause them any more trouble, y'know?"

"What'd I tell ya?" Roberto said, "Always puttin' herself last!"

"Yulia, we didn't come with you because we felt obligated or anything," Apolli smiled gently. "We came because we wanted to be close to you. We both knew what you were trying to do for us and our town, so we wanted to help you out any way we could."

Yulia smiled affectionately at him, but Renault was more interested in their story than their feelings for each other. "It's nice that you two are so devoted to each other," he pointed out, "but I don't think that's why Khyron let you come on this little trip."

"You got it," Braddock said. "It was a little quick thinking on Tassar's part that got 'em recruited. See, you don't think the court would send one Sage, his apprentice, and a Troubadour completely alone, did you? Even the king realized that a little muscle was necessary.

I think he's big on mercenaries nowadays, though, probably because of how much the Prime Minister loves 'em. So instead of sending a contingent of soldiers or guards, King Galahad gave Khyron about six thousand gold to hire a few mercenaries. Problem was, though, there weren't too many in Aquleia! With all the bandit activity around here and this country's deteriorating relationship with Bern, most of the city's mercenaries were already away on jobs. Tassar and I were the only ones he could find and afford who hadn't already taken some other assignment."

"Both of us can more than hold our own in a fight," Tassar grinned reassuringly, "but Khyron still wanted more men at his side, especially fighters. His spells are pretty deadly, and it'd look bad if he ended up torching the people he'd come to arrest. Still, though, it didn't look like he had much choice, until the day we finally left. Just when his group met up with me and Braddock at Aquleia's north gate, those two," he motioned towards Roberto and Apolli, "came along raising one hell of a ruckus."

Roberto crossed his arms over his chest resolutely. "We were comin' whether Khyron liked it or not!"

"Our employer was pretty angry," Braddock chuckled, "but then Boss made a suggestion. Why not hire them as mercenaries?"

"It was perfectly logical," Tassar said, "since Roberto was obviously the kind of big, tough man Khyron was looking for, and I felt Apolli's skill with the bow might come in handy. It wasn't difficult to convince Khyron to sign them on."

"The money's not bad," Roberto grinned, "so Yulia won't have to spend all her paycheck spiffin' up our town, huh?"

All three of the country-dwellers looked at Renault. "Well, we've told you our story," Yulia smiled, "so why don't you tell us yours?"

Renault grunted. "There's not much to tell. I saw Tassar, Braddock, and your friends hanging around an inn I liked, and Tassar offered me a drink, which I didn't accept, and a chance to join his mercenary band, which I did the very next day. I wanted to get away from my mom for a while and to see the world outside of Thagaste, so I joined up. That's it, really."

The rest of the group nodded approvingly. "Same here," Apolli said, "as much as I love my hometown, I always wanted to see what other parts of Etruria looked like."

At this point, the campfire was burning low and the entire party was feeling sleepy and sated after a good meal. "Man, I'm tired!" Braddock yawned, "Boss, think we should pack it in for the night?"

Tassar nodded. "We should get to Scirocco by tomorrow afternoon if we manage an early start. If you want to be at your best by the time we get there, you'd better get some sleep now. That's my first order to you as your commander!"

That was an order Renault and his friends were quite happy to follow. Khyron and Rosamia had already eaten their dinners from the wagon's rations and were already fast asleep atop their respective sleeping mats. The rest of the troop headed towards theirs, with Yulia, Apolli, and Roberto's mats close together, slightly farther away from Renault, Braddock, and Tassar's. They had no blankets with them, but the summer night was warm enough that they didn't need any. With a satisfied yawn, Renault curled up on his mat, with Tassar and Braddock already snoozing away above and to the left of him.

His belly was full and his heart was free of the anxieties which so plagued him in Thagaste. As Renault slowly drifted off to sleep, all he could think about was how sound his decision to leave his birthplace had been.

Of what he would find and what he would do when he reached Scirocco, he paid no thought.

-X-

"C'mon, bud. Time to get up."

Renault opened his eyes, and this time he expected to see the person squatting before him. Smiling, Braddock gently shook Renault's prone form. "We're leaving pretty soon, man. You don't wanna get left behind, do you?"

Renault sat up, stretched, then yawned contentedly. "No way," he smiled, "I haven't had a good night's rest like that in a while! I'm ready to go when you are."

Braddock laughed. "That's good to hear. Getting used to having the ground for a bed, huh?"

"Hey, I've slept in a cobbled stone alley before." Renault rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "This isn't so bad compared to that, right?"

Laughing yet again, Braddock lent a hand to help his friend get on his feet. "Even I've never bedded in an alley before, so I guess I'll have to take your word for it. We've got a few minutes before we head out, right? Pack up your mat in the wagon and have breakfast with me."

"Sure thing. Rabbit stew again?"

"Nope. There's no time for Apolli and Roberto to go hunting again. A quick meal of bread and water is what's on the menu this morning." Upon seeing the slightly dismayed look upon Renault's face, Braddock grinned cheerily. "Aw, come on, it's not so bad, right? Better than nothing."

Renault nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go."

The two men walked over to the troop's supply wagon and stashed their sleeping mats in its interior. Braddock stepped inside to get at the food packs, soon returning with two loaves of black bread and a pair of canteens filled with water. 'Eat up," he smiled, tossing a canteen and a loaf to Renault, who managed to catch both without dropping either.

As the two of them began eating, Braddock sparked up some conversation regarding the party's planned destination. "You know, Renault," he said through a mouthful of bread, "I just don't get this whole problem with Scirocco."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, these people lynched a tax collector just trying to do his job, so that's definitely bad. Still, though, don't you think the king's to blame for this as well, at least a little bit? I mean, it's obvious this new tax isn't working out. How the hell could anybody expect a tiny, out-of-the way hamlet like Scirocco to provide much gold?"

Renault shrugged. "I dunno, man. Just between you and me, King Galahad's a halfwit. I don't think he knows what he's doing!"

Braddock chuckled, inadvertently showering wet flecks of bread onto his chest. "Yeah, I thought as much. Typical aristocrat. If he doesn't know what he's doing, though, how come the entire country has to suffer for it? Does every region of Scirocco have to follow the king's dictates, no matter how stupid they are?"

"Well, yeah. He's the king." Renault took another bite of his bread and looked at Braddock strangely. "You're not from Etruria, are you?"

"Nope. I was born in Lycia."

"Hah! I thought as much. I figured a Lycian like you wouldn't know stuff like this." Braddock frowned slightly at the dismissive insult, but didn't say anything. "Here, I'll explain it to you," Renault continued. "Here's the difference between Lycia and Etruria. Lycia's a federation, right? It's not really one unified realm, but more like a bunch of allied territories, called 'cantons,' am I correct?"

"Yeah."

"Now, each of these cantons is pretty much independent, right? There's no king or anything that rules over all of Lycia, each little territory is governed by its own marquess."

"Well, that's not quite true," said Braddock. "Ostia's the strongest of all the Lycian cantons. In times of war, all the other marquesses have to follow the lead of its marquess."

"Well, yeah. But most of the time, in peace, each canton is pretty much independent, right? Each has its own customs, each can set its own taxes, that sort of thing."

"Okay, that's right, at least."

Renault grinned. "That's not how it works here. Like I said, Etruria is a monarchy, not a federation. All of the regions in this country aren't autonomous. They can't set their own taxes or laws, regardless of what's appropriate for them. The monarch of Etruria, the king, has absolute authority over every last parcel of land in this country."

"Are you sure?" Braddock smirked wryly at Renault. "I know for a fact Etruria, Bern, and other monarchies are made up of smaller territories as well. Reglay, Caerleon, Latium, and several others, so I've heard. They're called 'countships,' aren't they? For instance, we're in the countship of Nerinheit right now, right?"

Renault blinked. "Yeah, you're right. How do you know that? You're not Etrurian!"

Braddock's smirk became a smug smile. "I've just done some reading, is all."

Renault's smile was both genuine and admiring. "I'm genuinely impressed, I didn't think a foreigner would know the names of Etruria's countships. Down to earth AND well-read? Never thought those two attributes would go hand-in-hand."

Braddock chuckled jovially, the tension between the two men dissipating. "Hey, man, don't get all mushy on me. It's not like I'm a sage or anything. Just a bit smarter than your average mercenary, huh?"

"Hah hah, I guess so. Still, you're not quite on the mark about Etruria's countships. See, here's the difference. In Lycia, all the marquesses are technically equal, right? Even though some territories are stronger than others, and Ostia is the strongest of them all, each marquess can essentially run his canton as he sees fit.

Not so in Etruria. Every count in the realm can administrate his countship, that's true, but it's not really considered his. The king of Etruria is the guy who actually owns the land. Essentially, he just gave it to the count to oversee, and in return, the count has to make sure taxes are paid to the crown, the laws are obeyed, and, in times of war, serve the king as a soldier. So really, while the marquesses in Lycia are pretty independent, the counts and nobles of Etruria aren't. They're all the king's vassals—they have to do what he tells them, no matter what, or else they'll be considered rebels and lose their positions."

"Ah, I get it!" Comprehension dawned on Braddock's face as he finished off the last piece of his bread. "So even if a count doesn't like the new taxes, he still has to make sure they're collected? He doesn't have any choice?"

"Uh-huh."

Braddock snorted. "Man, that's stupid! What kind of government is that?"

"Hmph!" Renault grunted and washed down the last bits of his bread with a gulp of water from his canteen. "What, you think Lycia's government is any better? There's a reason it's just a minor power, you know! No strong central authority! Each territory has its own military, own tax system, and a few of its own laws. It's so disorganized! For every marquess who runs his territory well, there's another who's a complete incompetent, and the marquess of Ostia can't do anything about it because he's just the 'first among equals' or some crap like that!"

"Well, you have a point there, Renault," Braddock had to admit. "Still, though, think about it. Sometimes that disorganization can be a good thing. In Etruria, all these problems are occurring because there's just one law for the entire nation. Every single region of Etruria has to pay this new tax, regardless of whether they can shoulder it or not. It's not a big deal for the richer countships, but for a poor one like Nerinheit, it's completely impractical. If this was Lycia, of course, this wouldn't be a problem. The rich cantons can levy heavy taxes since they can afford them, and the poor cantons can go with lower taxes. Even if one marquess doesn't know what he's doing, he can't mess up all the other territories. If the king of a monarchy doesn't know what he's doing, though…well, that's a much bigger problem."

"Huh," Renault pursed his lips thoughtfully, "You know, you're right. I never really thought of it that way before. I gotta admit, you've got a point."

"See? I told you so!" Braddock grinned mischievously. "Guess Etruria's not so great after all, huh?"

Renault grinned right back. "Hey, I wouldn't go that far. After all, even if our present king's a halfwit, his stupidity is what's paying our wages when you think about it. If it wasn't for this dumb tax, there probably wouldn't have been a lynching in Scirocco, and we wouldn't have a job right now!"

"Well, that's true," Braddock laughed. "And speaking of that job, I think it's about time to get moving, eh?" The two men looked around the camp, where their compatriots were finishing their breakfasts and the last preparations for their journey. Apolli had armed himself with a sturdy iron-reinforced bow, Roberto had unlimbered his trusty iron woodcutter's axe, and Yulia sat astride her horse, holding a larger version of the birch, sapphire-tipped rod Renault had seen in his mother's home—he believed it was a Mend staff. Khyron and Rosamia had taken up their seats at the front of the wagon, and Tassar making a few last-minute preparations at its back.

The mercenary leader looked over his shoulder. "Renault, Braddock!" he called, "Come get your stuff ready."

Renault looked at Braddock, who merely shrugged, and the two of them made their way over to Tassar. "Put on your equipment, Braddock," Tassar said. Braddock readily complied, retrieving a fine-looking breastplate, greaves, gauntlet and axe from the supplies.

Turning to Renault, the mercenary tossed him a heavy, padded object. "Oof!" Renault grunted, managing to catch it with some difficulty. "What the hell is this?"

"Leather armor," Tassar replied. "It's just about your size, lucky enough. It's not as good as mine," he gestured at his worn but sturdy-looking breastplate, "but it'll provide a bit of protection."

"Protection?" Renault was growing somewhat worried. "I thought we wouldn't need any! This job's supposed to be easy, right?"

"Yes, that's right. Still, even though I don't expect to see real combat, wearing this'll make you look more like a real mercenary. It'll be easier for you to impress the townies."

"If you say so." Renault proceeded to don the armor, which actually fit him quite well, much to his surprise and Tassar's satisfaction.

"Ah, take this, too." Parsing through the wagon's weapon rack, Tassar managed to find something suitable for Renault. He handed the young man what would be his very first weapon—an unassuming iron sword, still sheathed in its scabbard. Renault took the offered weapon with equal measures of pride and trepidation, for while he felt stronger and more confident just by holding a weapon, he also hoped that he wouldn't have to put it to use.

"Go on," Tassar grinned, "take it out. Have you ever held a sword before?"

"No," Renault stammered sheepishly, "I can't say I have. Uh—"

"It's no problem." Tassar's voice was sweet, almost hypnotizing. "Everybody has to start somewhere, don't they? Go on, unsheathe it. You're right-handed, aren't you? Just grip the hilt with that hand, the scabbard with your left, and pull the sword out."

With the mercenary's gentle encouragement, Renault finally worked up the courage to brandish his new weapon. With one strong, fluid motion, he drew out his blade.

The young man was almost surprised by how easily it slipped out of its sheath. Even though there was nothing at all exceptional about the weapon—it was a simple double-edged iron longsword, and Renault had seen better arms on Thagaste's city guard—he still felt the slightest twinge of awe as he held the sword up to the sun, watching its edge gleam in the light.

His very own sword! How far he had come from under his mother's wing!

"Pretty good, Renault!" Tassar clapped his hands together. "You move well. I think you've got some potential! You're just a fresh recruit, so you're nothing special yet, but I think I can teach you a couple of basics."

"Whoa, hold on a second!" The brief surge of self-confidence Renault had felt as he brandished the sword dissipated at the frightening thought of actually using it in combat. "I thought you said we wouldn't actually have to fight!"

Tassar chuckled. "Easy, easy. I meant what I said. We don't want to kill anybody, after all, we just want to put a couple troublemakers in chains and drag them back to Aquleia for trial. I'm just saying, it couldn't hurt to know how to at least hold your new weapon, right?"

Despite his apprehensions, Renault found himself growing more confident just listening to Tassar's comforting words. "Well…all right."

"Good!" The mercenary leader smiled. "I'll just teach you a couple of stances first. Like I said, you don't actually need to learn the strikes," and as he said this Renault couldn't shake the feeling he wasn't being quite truthful, "but a good stance will make you look more professional." His eyes narrowing somewhat, he said sternly, "No mercenary of mine will bumble around not even knowing how to hold a sword!"

And so it went, for the better part of fifteen minutes, while the rest of the troop finished up packing their supplies and getting their equipment ready, Tassar patiently guided Renault through the four basic stances of the longsword—Ox, Plow, Fool, and Roof. Even though he was completely new to the art of swordsmanship, Renault found these stances easy enough to comprehend, drawing pleased compliments from Tassar.

"Looks like you've got the hang of the Roof stance," he said with satisfaction. Renault was standing before him with the sword raised above his head (which was why the stance was called the Roof), both hands gripping the handle (with his right above his left), and with his shoulders also raised about forty-five degrees. "Just lead with your left leg and bend both legs a little more," Tassar advised, hastily interjecting "not too much!" as Renault bent too low. The young man quickly straightened out just a bit, and Tassar grinned. "Good, good. That's it. Just as a pointer, you don't have to hold the sword over your head at all times. In some situations, you may want to hold it a little lower, over your right shoulder."

"Is that so?" Renault followed his leader's suggestion and shifted the sword downwards.

"Not too low!" Tassar cautioned. "Keep your hilt in front of your collar, not in front of your chest. And don't rest the blade over your shoulder, you can cut yourself that way, and it makes you look lazy."

"Alright, I got it." Straightening up slightly, Renault moved the blade upwards. "Like this?"

"Yes." Tassar smiled. "Good form, Renault. I think that should be enough for now. If you remember how to keep these stances, you'll look less like a kid with a sword and more like a professional warrior."

Before Tassar could continue, he was suddenly interrupted quite rudely. "Are you two done playing around?" Khyron harrumphed, getting up from his seat on the wagon to march towards the two men. "We're ready to move out! Stop wasting time and get to your positions!"

"Hey, we were just training—" Renault began, but Tassar cut it off.

"Of course. Our apologies, sir. Renault, you heard him. Let's get going."

This satisfied the haughty sage, and as he headed back to his wagon, Tassar turned back to Renault. "I understand how you feel," he said sympathetically, "but remember, that guy is the one paying our wages. Most of the time, lords don't even care whether their mercenaries live or die, much less about what they have to say. If you don't want to get sent back home without even an extra gold piece in your wallet, you'd better learn to keep your mouth shut around your employer, no matter how stupid he may be. That's an even more important lesson for a mercenary than knowing how to use a sword."

The wagon had started to move, with the rest of the mercenary troop following behind it, and Tassar quickly turned away from Renault to catch up. The young man stood still for a moment, watching his mentor jog away and digesting what he had said.

"Fine," Renault muttered to himself. "I'm getting paid good money for this little trip anyways. I can deal with a popinjay like Khyron."

With those words to soothe his wounded pride, Renault broke into a light run, hurrying to keep pace with his companions.

-X-

"Nice axe, man!"

Walking along the modest dirt trail that served as a road for most of the poorer north of Etruria, Renault stared admiringly at the vicious-looking axe which was Braddock's favored weapon. It was indeed impressive—where Roberto's axe had merely a cheap iron head attached to a modest wooden shaft, Braddock's had a cast-iron shaft and two polished steel heads, one larger than the other and particularly vicious-looking.

The Lycian grinned proudly. "Really is, isn't it? Here, watch this." Braddock took one gauntleted hand and gently ran a finger over the edge of his axe's larger blade. He then lifted the finger and held it before Renault's face, where his friend could see a thin tear on the gauntlet's metal.

"Whoah!" Renault was taken aback. "That's some edge!"

"Yep. This axe can chop through even the most heavily armored knight like he was wearing nothing but rags!"

"Where'd you get it? I've never seen something so sharp!"

Braddock held his weapon up to the sun, gazing at it fondly. "You won't see something like this outside Lycia. It's called a Wolf Beil, and it's an Ostian specialty. We're the only ones who know how to forge 'em and how to wield 'em." He looked at Renault slyly. "Guess Lycians aren't so stupid after all, eh?"

"Heh, maybe not. Still not as smart as the Etrurians, though!"

Braddock chortled at this, but stopped as something in the distance caught his eye. "Hey, what's that?"

Renault turned his eyes forward and saw what appeared to be a squat mound rising above the ground. He squinted and strained his eyes, but whatever it was, it was too far away for him to make out any details. "I have no idea," he said, "I guess we'll see when we get closer to it."

The group continued their march for a little less than half an hour, and by that time they had just about reached the mound Braddock had seen in the distance. Up close, they could easily discern what it actually was.

What had looked like a mound in the distance was actually the derelict ruin of a small castle that had not seen a single visitor in decades. It might have been quite beautiful once, but age and neglect had not been kind to it. The stones of its walls were chipped and crumbling, and the bright colors of the shingles atop the pinnacles of its spires had turned dull and stained with the guano of the bats which had taken control of the building after its original inhabitants abandoned it. As a former stoneworker, Renault couldn't help but wince when he thought of the amount of work it would take to restore that building.

"We're nearing our destination!" Khyron announced cheerily. "I've heard quite a bit of this castle! It used to be the seat of the previous count of Nerinheit before he moved his family to a manor in the countryside about thirty years ago. The present count, Glaesal, has spoken much to me about his youth here."

Despite his employer's cheerful chatter, Tassar wore a grim expression indeed. The reason for this became apparent when he pointed to a small, dead tree growing a few yards away from the abandoned castle. "Look at that," he said bluntly. "We're definitely close, all right."

All of the travelers turned to get a good look at that tree.

The sight which greeted them was enough to make Yulia shriek with fear and nearly fall off her horse.

The rotting corpse of Revil, the unfortunate tax collector, hung swaying from the highest twisted branch of the dead tree. His skin had turned a repulsive shade of gray and was beginning to slough off, and his glassy eyes bulged from their sunken sockets. A fat, limp tongue lolled from his gaping mouth, and flies buzzed incessantly in and out of the orifice. The corpse itself was bad enough, but when the party looked downwards, even the battle-hardened Tassar felt more than a little disquieted. The enraged townsfolk had not merely excised Revil's genitals, as Valentius had stated in his letter—they seemed to have gouged out his entire groin, and a host of maggots writhed vilely in the ragged hole of the man's crotch.

Renault blanched and shut his eyes as tightly as he could, and even Braddock had to look away. Khyron's face tightened into an angry scowl, and Rosamia stared resolutely at the horrid sight, using every inch of her formidable discipline to restrain her impulse to retch. Yulia had not the same strong mettle, and as she nearly vomited, Roberto and Apolli hastily helped her from her horse before she fell off of it. She promptly threw herself into Apolli's arms and buried her head in his chest. The young man stroked her hair and put his head next to her ear, whispering "it'll be all right, it'll be all right," over and over again, as much to distract himself from the horrifying image as to comfort his sweetheart.

After allowing his troop a few minutes to compose themselves (and to allow Yulia's fearful sobbing to subside), Tassar deemed it time to press on. "This may be horrible, but we've no time to waste," he said grimly. "Whoever did this has to be punished. Let's go."

"Wait," Apolli said, drawing hesitant stares from the rest of his companions. "I…I don't think we should leave yet."

Tassar narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Apolli met his gaze with a sincere, determined one of his own. "We can't just leave the poor man hanging there like that! He…he deserves a decent burial, at least!"

Yulia broke away from Apolli's embrace, sniffled, and wiped her face with the sleeves of her flowing white blouse. "I…I agree," she stammered. "Nobody deserves…deserves this. It's just wrong to leave him for the crows to pick at! I wouldn't be able to sleep at night thinkin' of him just rottin' there!"

Tassar shook his head. "We don't have enough time," he stated flatly. "Isn't that correct, sir?"

"No, it's not," Khyron replied, greatly surprising the rest of the group, who never would have thought the impatient, haughty man would accept a delay. Khyron got up from the wagon and strode up to the corpse, anger flaring in his brown eyes. "This was once a royal servant!" he declared, his voice rising. "Even the humblest tax collector is an agent of the king! No matter who they may be, they are still deserving of respect! And these…these commoners have done this?" The sage was yelling now, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. "Unacceptable! I shall never tolerate such flagrant disrespect towards the crown! I cannot allow a servant of my country to hang here and rot like…like an animal! He SHALL be buried, on my pride as a royal Etrurian sage! All of you, get to work!"

"I thought we were mercenaries, not gravediggers," Renault said callously, drawing angry stares from the rest of the group.

Tassar quickly cut off any argument before a fight could erupt. "Mercenaries obey the orders of their employer," he stated firmly and coldly. "You have just been ordered to bury this man's corpse. Do it, or leave."

The mercenary leader's tone invited no dissent, and Renault saw that he had no choice. "Fine," he mumbled despondently as he headed off with his companions to fetch shovels from the wagon.

"Come on, Renault," Braddock admonished, somewhat disappointed by his friend's petulance. "We might as well get the body out of sight while we're here. It'll be pretty bad to have to look at some nasty corpse when we're heading back, won't it?"

"Not as bad as watching somebody die from consumption," Renault grunted.

Braddock had no idea what to make of that remark, but he let it pass as Renault took up a shovel and began helping Apolli and Roberto with the digging. The ground was soft and gave quite easily, and they had soon dug a makeshift, shallow grave for poor Revil a few feet away from the dead tree. Tassar, wearing heavy leather gloves, expertly cut the body from the tree with a well-aimed throw of his hand axe and proceeded to dump it into the grave.

"Do…do you think we should read him the rites?" Apolli asked before his friends began dumping dirt back into the grave.

Khyron nodded. "That would be appropriate. However, I have had no formal religious training. I don't think I would be able to do so properly. Rosamia, could you?"

The woman shook her head. "I only know what you have taught me, Lord Khyron. I don't know the words of the rites."

"Hmph! Useless as usual," Khyron sneered, unaware that he was insulting himself as a teacher by demeaning his student. "Can anyone fulfill this task?"

"I-I can," Yulia piped up. "Th' priest back at home taught me a bit of that kinda stuff. I think I can do it."

"You may be a commoner, but you are still a troubadour of the Royal court. It is only appropriate that you show some worth." Khyron nodded. "Very well. Go ahead."

"Ugh," Braddock muttered under his breath before the young girl began reciting the solemn prayers. He coldly walked off a short distance so he couldn't hear any of the words, and Tassar merely nodded knowingly as he watched him go. Curious, and wanting to get out of earshot of an Eliminean ritual he disdained, Renault followed his friend.

"Hey man, what's up?" he asked.

"Huh?" Braddock looked at Renault apologetically. "Sorry, Renault. I…I'm just not so big on Eliminism, is all."

"Hah! Nice!" Renault grinned broadly and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Same here!"

"Really?" Braddock's sheepish look became a hesitant smile.

"Hell yeah! That's one reason I wanted to get away from Thagaste!" Renault snorted. "I hated all that religion crap people always tried to shove down my throat. Especially my mom, she was the worst. I had to get away from it all."

"Sorry to hear that, my friend," Braddock said sympathetically. "I wouldn't have as much of a problem with Eliminism if most of its adherents were nice, like Yulia. People like your mom are what make me hate it. Uh…no offense."

"None taken. You're spot on." Renault looked over at Yulia, where it seemed she had completed the rites. "Well, looks like it's over with. Come on, let's finish the grave and get going."

Soon enough, the hole in the earth had been completely filled, and it was as if a dead body had never hung from that tree in the first place. Despite this, nothing could shake the atmosphere of gloom and dread that had settled over the once-cheery party. Tassar and Khyron didn't care, of course, and the troop was once again marching on the final leg of their journey.

Suddenly, it seemed, this journey would not be quite so fun.

-X-

"Looks like we're here," Tassar said.

The party had marched north from the abandoned castle for a little less than half an hour, and had finally reached Scirocco. Even though their journey was at an end-all they had to do was apprehend whoever worked up that lynch mob-none of them felt particularly glad. The sight of the mangled tax collector had made all of them much more wary of what could potentially be waiting for them inside the small village.

The mercenaries were currently standing in front of the tall wooden double-doored gate which served as the only means of egress into the small town. Like many northern Etrurian villages, the people of Scirocco had erected a tall wood fence around the perimeter of their settlement, in order to provide at least a modicum of protection from wandering gangs of bandits. A single bowman stood as a sentry in a watchtower behind the gate, watching the approaching procession with some curiosity.

"Hold!" The young man shouted. "Who are you, and what business do you have here?"

Khyron stopped his wagon and imperiously strode up to the wooden gate, looking up at the boy in the lookout. Tassar, Braddock, and Renault hastily got into position close behind him, in order to protect their employer if something went wrong.

"I am Khyron Caerleon, brother of Exedol Caerleon, Mage General of Etruria!" he declared. "I am a lawful emissary of His Eminency, the King of Etruria! By royal decree, we have been ordered to apprehend the criminals responsible for the death of Revil, agent of the Etrurian crown! You will grant us entry and hand over those we seek, or you will face the wrath of the king himself!"

The young sentry took a moment to digest all of this, and then sneered contemptuously. "The king?" he called down, "None of us here are afraid of that fat, ugly bloodsucker! The king and all his men can go rot in a gutter!"

At this, Khyron's face contorted and scrunched up, his cheeks turned a bright shade of scarlet, and his hands trembled at his sides. Everyone around him wisely took a step back, for none of them had seen the sage so incensed before. "How dare you!" He screamed up at the young man, who looked no more intimidated than he had before. "You impertinent worm! I shall teach you the proper respect!"

"Khyron! Wait!" Rosamia and Tassar both yelled, but the furious sage paid them no heed. He quickly held up a thick red book filled with eldritch flame-an Elfire tome-and began chanting. Before he could cast the spell, though, he was interrupted by a sharp report from above.

Upon seeing the intruder begin to cast magic, Scirocco's young sentry put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill, sharp whistle. Khyron stuttered and looked at the strange fellow, not at all sure what that whistle was supposed to herald.

The sound of a host of flapping wings was the first answer he received.

"What the hell?" Renault asked, instinctively drawing his sword from his sheath and holding it before him, as if it would ward off whatever threat was fast approaching. His companions readied whatever equipment they had as well, not knowing what to expect.

What emerged from behind Scirocco's walls defied any expectations they may have had.

A score of Pegasus knights soared into the sky above the heads of the frightened travelers, circling over them like vultures over a corpse. The pure-white wings of their mounts seemed to glow softly in the afternoon sun, and the edges of their slim spears were all pointed downwards, ready to dive into flesh. The eyes of the young female knights riding the pegasi seemed to be almost as frightened as those of the mercenaries below them, but they were Ilians nonetheless, and their expressions showed beyond any doubt that they were more than ready to kill.

As he watched the winged warriors glide ominously above him, Renault knew then and there that this job would prove much, much harder than he had originally thought.

::Linear Notes::

Phew! Yet another uber-long chapter...hmm. It seems my expectations were wrong...from this point on, my dear readers, I must most humbly apologize, but it seems each chapter of this story will be above 10,000 words in length. In any case, though, things certainly seem to be looking interesting...Braddock seems to have quite a few secrets of his own. What's an Ostian like him doing in Etruria? Why can he use the Wolf Beil? Why does he hate Eliminism as much as Renault? And, of course, the chapter ends on quite a cliffhanger...Scirocco's just a poor, podunk town, isn't it? What are Pegasus Knights doing defending it? Stay with me, my dear readers, and all these questions shall be answered :)

I must apologize again for the length of time it took for me to release this latest chapter as well, though I hope you didn't have to wait as long for this one as you did for the other ones :) As I said, I've been working on a job over the past couple of weeks and haven't had as much time to work on this story as I'd like. Unfortunately, I must confess that I cannot provide any certain date chapter 5 will be released either...you see, my employer has told me that I need to do a bit of follow-up work before I get paid...unfortunately, he has not told me what kind of work I need to do or when it is due. As a result, I am unsure how much time I shall have to work on this fanfic. Thus, I must apologize, but you may have to wait a very long time for chapter 5 to be released. You can keep updated on my status by checking out this topic at a certain small forum I'm VERY fond of, Left the Server! I will be providing updates on the progress of my work in the "Personal Writing" topic, which can be found here: lefttheserver/ ? t78&mforum lefttheserver (add the http and www thing, of course, and remove spaces).Yes, yes, I know, I'm pimping out a forum. Well, it's a great place, and this is my fanfic, so I think that's a luxury I can afford :) I would seriously recommend it, in all honesty, though. It's a great, fun, laid-back place, and the proprietors are some of the coolest people I know, and they are particularly well known for their knowledge in the field of military history and weaponry, so if those are your thing, you'll definitely like LTS :D :D

Also, as a fun little bonus: I've also written up a small character guide, where you can see the stats/classes of all the characters as of chapter 4! You can check it out here:

serenes-forest forum / ? showtopic 42 (add just the http, no www :D)

Yes, yes, I know. Pimping out another forum. Still, it really is another great forum! VincentASM is one of the most knowledgeable folks in the Fire Emblem fandom, and his "pretty good" site is probably the BEST in the English world. Even so, the forums are a nice, friendly, laid-back place, so by all means, come on in and make yourselves at home :D

Finally, I must acknowledge the sources I used in writing this fic. The description of longsword stances comes from the fine people of the Association for Renaissance Martial arts, or ARMA. You can check 'em out at The specific source I used was "The basic guards of the Medieval longsword" (I'm too lazy to do a full citation) which can be found here: www .thearma essays / StancesIntro. htm

Aside from that, I also looked at the Advanced Dungeons and Dragons "Arms and Equipment" guide, which is actually pretty good-the authors did their research and based most of the weaponry and armor on historical European forms, with sidebars containing actual history before the sections detailing the various magical permutations of this equipment in the game world. I'm not sure HOW to cite something like this, so you'll just have to make do...PM me if you want to learn more.

Finally, just as a favor to me-guys, are you getting my review replies? So far, I'm proud to say that I have replied to every single review my dear friends have posted for this story :D :D So I'm just wondering, you guys are getting my review replies, right? If you haven't received a single reply for ANY of your reviews, please tell me and I'll be happy to re-send it. Thanks for bearing with me, my friends! I look forward to seeing you in the future :D