Wayward Son
14: Before the Storm
"Come on, get up. It's time to go."
It was very, very far from the first time Renault had been woken up like that, but even after nearly two years of working with Tassar, he'd still not gotten used to it.
He blinked and groaned, more than a little displeased at the prospect of getting up. Partially this was because judging by the light (more specifically, the lack of it) coming through their windows, it was still dark out, and partially because the bed he was in was one of the more comfortable ones he'd enjoyed in quite a while. They'd chosen the Ballacetine Inn for its proximity to the Palace and its reasonable prices more than anything else, but it really had been a good deal—the quality of the hospitality was definitely more than they'd been expecting.
Renault wasn't the only one who wished he could enjoy the inn's comforts a bit longer. "Mmmrf," mumbled Braddock, "Now? At this hour? The sun hasn't even risen yet." He sat up in his bed and yawned, shivering slightly—it was still a bit cold even in an inn like this one.
"Uh-huh. I let you two sleep in as much as I could, but our army's leaving at the break of dawn. We have to be at the North Gate in about half an hour or else we'll get left behind."
That was enough to rouse both Renault and Braddock—neither of them wanted to miss out on their chance to cash in on their potentially lucrative contracts.
"Aw, man, we gotta move," said Braddock as he hastily jumped from his bed and started to get ready. "The agreements we signed said we had to follow the orders of…who was it, uh, that Exedol guy and Paptimus…if we're even a little late they might kick us off the campaign altogether."
"Which would be a shame," continued Tassar still standing in the doorway of their room, "because we could make an immense amount of money off of it. This is looking like the largest battle we've yet participated in. From what I've heard, Nerinheit's managed to cobble together a force of about 3000 men, mostly laid-off conscripts, poor disgruntled townies, and a few lower-ranking nobles who want a piece of the guys above them on the social ladder. Since we get paid by performance, we'll almost certainly have an opportunity to make a small fortune. At three hundred gold a kill, between the three of us I'd wager we'd be able to break 10,000 easy."
"Sounds nice!" Renault grinned, feeling much more energetic already. "Alright, we'll be there in ten minutes. We don't need to do much besides get ready and get our equipment, right?"
"Nope. But it's better to get yourself prepared for anything, Renault. I know I taught you that. So hurry up, I'll be waiting for you downstairs." With that, he left his two companions to dress and pack by themselves.
"Be prepared for anything," snorted Renault as he began to don his thicker winter clothing (cold as Aquleia may have been, things would get much colder when they moved north), "I know that's a good idea, but we're not gonna be waylaid right after we start, right?"
"I wouldn't bet on that, Renault. The rebellion's occurring up north, yeah, but there're a lot of angry people down around here too, from what I've heard. We might find some trouble earlier than we expected, so I don't think it's a good idea to let our guard down, no matter where we are." Braddock said this as he was buckling on his cuirass, and proceeded to turn around and point to its back. "Hey, speaking of, could you get this clasp right here?"
Laughing, Renault did as his friend had asked, and within a few more minutes they were both fully suited up, packed, and ready to go. In good spirits they then headed down to meet up with Tassar, make their way to the staging point at the North Gate, and face the challenges that lay before them.
-x-
"Hey, what the hell? What's King Galahad doing out here?"
The sun had not yet peeked out over the horizon, but the sky was growing lighter and Renault could easily make out the details of the great crowd assembled in front of the North Gate. The gigantic procession occupied many of the streets and lanes of even a great city like Aquleia. As he expected, Renault saw the Mage Corps standing in perfect columns in the roads, as disciplined and well-maintained as if they were on parade. Behind them milled the motley collection of freebooters, adventurers, and fortune-seekers which composed the bulk of this impromptu army—and the group of which Renault and his friends were a part.
What he was not expecting to see, however, was the group gleefully idling in the center of the procession, behind the Mage Corps but in front of the mercenaries. Nestled safely within the army's formation was a small group of immensely ornate, gilded carriages. There were about a dozen in total, with the largest of them located within the center of their own little formation. It was a gigantic, gaudy, monstrosity of a vehicle, borne on six gilded wheels pulled by four large destriers with the visage of a solid-gold eagle with its wings outstretched (symbol of the Etrurian government) glowering down from atop the bejeweled hood. It didn't take a genius to tell that the person sitting in that carriage was the King himself.
The answer to Renault's question came from Dougram, who had arrived at the staging point just a few minutes before they had and had happily waved them over to him when he saw them coming. The Nabatan muttered something unpleasant under his breath, and then, more loudly, he told his friends, "It was a last-minute thing. Galahad decided he wanted to see what a real battle was like, because," and at this Dougram's voice lengthened into a sarcastic affectation of a posh accent, "Battles are such exciting things, and I grow tired of just hearing and reading about them! I wish to see one for myself! And what greater choice could I make than personally witnessing our great victory over Nerinheit and his pathetic rabble?"
"Tell me you're joking," groaned Braddock in response. "What kind of a fool is that guy? Are we gonna have to babysit him and his idiot friends?"
"Unfortunately, yes," said Tassar. "Like I said, our contracts state we have to follow the orders of the Mage Corps absolutely. If they say we have to protect their little king, that's what we have to do."
"What a pain." Renault looked at his leader curiously. "Hey, you don't seem to be too angry about this, though. Were you expecting it?"
The older mercenary merely chuckled in response. "No, not really, though it's not surprising, given Galahad's personality. Still, we've dealt with worse inconveniences before, haven't we? Comparatively, this is no big deal, right?"
"Yeah, I guess." Privately, Renault couldn't quite shake the suspicion that there was another reason Tassar was so blasé about this unexpected and unpleasant new complication (judging from the faces of the mercenaries around them, virtually everyone was displeased at their army's newest "volunteers"), but his questions were quickly banished from his mind when his attention was drawn to a new problem.
He noticed several large shadows flitting across the ground and over the heads of him and his fellows, and curious, he peered upwards to see what cast them. What he saw did not please him. A couple of Wyvern riders soared lazily through the air on the backs of their mounts—one of which was pitch black, the steed of that crazy Yazan guy they'd met yesterday, Renault assumed. That wasn't what really unnerved him, though. It was the Pegasus Knights who were accompanying the Bernites in the brightening pre-dawn sky.
Braddock noticed what he was looking at, and clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically. "Hey, man, I know how you feel," he whispered quietly. "Reminds you of Scirocco, doesn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Well, don't let it get to you…remember, that's the thing about being a mercenary. You go where the money takes you. Sometimes you'll be allies with someone one day, but the next day you're on different sides of the battlefield. At Scirocco, those Knights were just doing their jobs, like we were. It's the same now.
"And hey, it's a good thing, right? I mean, with all the trouble they gave us back then, they're definitely strong warriors…I'm glad they're on our side, eh?"
Renault was about to agree, but Dougram, who had overheard that last bit of their conversation, quickly quelled any good feelings he was starting to have. "You mean those Pegasus Knights?" he asked. "You're right…I'd hate to be facing them. Even so, though, I'm not even glad to have them for allies, though. Most Ilians are brave, loyal soldiers, at least going by their reputation, but I've heard some very bad things about the wing that'll be accompanying us.
"They're one of the most skilled and highly-priced contingents the Ilians put out for hire. Count Bramsel got 'em partially because he wanted to show off his wealth, partially because he had a thing for their uniforms, I guess. But there's a reason they command such a high price. They're called the "Bloodwings." That's their official name, and it should tell you something about them. The members of that wing are the best Ilia can field, but they also take the most dangerous missions. Most of the time they're thrown by themselves into the hottest action of any given sortie, and only half of them come out alive—if that. Their commander doesn't care about their safety at all. She'll do anything, and make them do anything, if the money's good enough.
"In fact, it's because of that commander that the unit's got their nickname—"The Shrike Team." She's…insane. I can't think of any better word to describe it. She used to be just a regular Pegasus Knight, but after her whole wing was annihilated on one mission they gave her a squad of her own. From there, she quickly distinguished herself as one of the best fighters in Ilia, but also one of the most vicious and reckless. Almost every battle she participated in she left piles of corpses behind her…she'd pursue her foes even if they were retreating, or when she wasn't ordered to. She just likes killing, plain and simple. Maybe even more than money. At least that's what I've heard."
At the end of this monologue, both Braddock and Renault were visibly unnerved. Even Tassar looked somewhat disquieted, though the only evidence of this he gave was a flat expression and a couple of blinks.
"W-well," stammered Braddock, "so much the better for us, right? At least those girls will be soaking up the brunt of any enemy attacks. And if their leader is as crazy as they say, it'll make our jobs that much easier, won't it?"
"I sure hope so," grunted Renault in response. "In any case, we're gonna find out soon, right?" He pointed to the horizon. "It's almost dawn. We're moving out, aren't we?"
He was right about that—well, almost. At the great North Gate the guardsmen manning the alabaster watchtowers raised trumpets to their lips and blared out the loudest herald they could, signifying the departure of the "mighty Mage Corps and the valiant, heroic warriors they had hired" on their "glorious campaign to bring peace back to Etruria and mete out righteous punishment to Nerinheit and his lawless rebels." The army began to move, and Renault sighed, more than ready to begin his long march to his destination—he'd gotten used to long, boring marches ever since his very first job.
However, to his surprise and dismay, marching would not be the only reminder of his first ill-fated mercenary expedition. Upon hearing the call of the trumpets, the airborne members of the expedition ceased their flighted milling and quickly set themselves into the most common formation they used with armies containing both ground-based and flying warriors. It was a diamond-shaped phalanx composed of all twenty Pegasus Knights and the four Wyvern Riders the crown had managed to hire. The strongest warriors served as its points at the front, back, and right and left flanks of the marching columns—which meant the commander of the Shrike Team took the front position, two of her Knights the sides, and the ebon-mounted Yazan carrying the rear. This was obviously dangerous for the fliers, since they would be the first ones to be attacked, but it had the advantage of giving them the widest range of view over the surroundings and made things much safer for the infantry, because they would be alerted well in advance of any enemies lying in wait for them.
Yazan and his fellow Wyvern Riders took their allotted places in the formation with a minimum of fanfare. But as the army began to make its way through the North Gate, the Shrike Team decided they wanted to put on a little show just as they left the city. Gathering themselves into the distinctive V-shaped formation the Pegasus Knights were known for all over Elibe, the Knights soared high into the air, turned back, then descended steeply towards the army's rear. Just as they almost hit the ground, a moment before it was too late to control their fall, all of them simultaneously banked upwards and forwards, flying right over the heads of the surprised mercenaries and Mage Corps.
The soldiers didn't take very well to that little display, but then again, it wasn't for their benefit. A loud clamor could be heard from the carriages at the center of the procession; the nobles and the king in particular hooting, clapping, and cheering loudly, very impressed.
Renault, on the other hand, was struck—and for a different reason. In the half-second it took for the Shrike Team to fly over his head he had looked up, and locked eyes with their leader—a green-haired woman with a vicious grin and a wild expression in her eyes. A spark of recognition had burned between them, and right then and there the sinking feeling in his stomach told Renault they had met before. No matter how desperately he wished to be wrong, he'd long since learned to trust his instincts, and they were proven right once again.
Finishing their display, the members of the Shrike Team took their ordered positions within the aerial diamond. All of them, except for their leader. Laughing happily, she dug her spurs into the sides of her mount and pulled back harshly on its reins. Quick as lightning it turned back and careened towards the even more surprised mercenaries at the army's rear, its mistress' vicious, serrated lance turned towards one of them in particular.
"IT'S BEEN SO LONG! I'M SO GLAD TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"
Renault barely had time to let out a stuttered "W-what the hell?" before leaping to the side (almost crashing into Braddock). Without even thinking about it he came up kneeling on the ground and holding his sword in his hands. A good thing, too, because the crazy Pegasus Knight had barely finished her first dive when she swooped up and then back down for a second. Renault, still slightly off-balance, probably wouldn't have been able to avoid this strike—but fortunately, a well-timed throw of a hand axe forced the Knight to veer to the side and abort her attack.
This didn't faze her a bit, though, as her mount hovered in the air and she turned to look at Tassar, who had caught his axe as it returned to him and was wearing a distinctly grim expression. "Hey, I remember you too!" she exclaimed. "And your handsome, blue-haired friend there. Ahhh, so many memories. Let's relive a few!"
She once again readied her lance, but was stopped yet again by a chorus of angry, perplexed shouting, coming both from above and below her. Two of her Knights had broken formation to fly up beside her, and upon hearing the commotion Paptimus and Exedol themselves had made their way through throngs of curious mercenaries and nobles to plant themselves right in the middle of whatever was going on. All of them were calling for the commander of the Shrike Team to explain herself.
"Sister, what's the meaning of this?" asked the Knight hovering at her commander's left side, who shared her bright green hair but kept better care of it and looked a year or so younger. "These men are our allies."
"Yeah!" exclaimed the other Knight, who had green hair as well but kept it much shorter and looked (and sounded) like the youngest of the trio. "They're our friends, aren't they? We shouldn't be fighting each other!"
She probably would have ignored them, but the entreaties of her employers finally caused her to roll her eyes in exasperation and give up her plans of attack completely. "Commander Kasha, what the hell are you doing?" boomed Paptimus' strong voice from the ground. Beside him stood Exedol, who seemed only marginally less irritated than the Prime Minister was. "Have you gone mad?"
This elicited a peal of laughter from Kasha, and that was enough to make Braddock, Renault, and Tassar realize quite fully what an unfortunate reunion this was. Still smiling broadly, the woman set her mount down right in front of the three men, forcing all of them to take several steps back—as far as they could, since they were surrounded by a ring of interested spectators. Even a couple of the Wyvern Riders, most notably Yazan had drifted downwards to get a better few of the proceedings.
"Mad? No more than usual, m'lord," Kasha chuckled. "I just wanted to say hello to a couple of old friends! We met back at Scirocco, y'see." She looked straight at Renault. "What was your name, kid? I only saw you a couple of times, and the only thing I remember about you was when you fell on your ass trying to brandish a sword!"
This caused almost the entire crowd to burst out into laughter, and Braddock and Tassar both stared at Renault in horror, expecting him to rush at his old 'friend' or do something comparatively stupid. He almost did—the young man felt his face grow hot and red, and felt more anger than he had in years. But Tassar's lessons had been well-learned. Renault did not staunch the rage flowing through him, be he channeled it, and with a grin on his face as vicious as that of his opponent's, he simply held out his sword and shifted his feet into a defensive stance.
"You're right," he spat. "I sure as hell didn't know what I was doing when we first met. But it's been a long time, and I've learned some things since then, vulture. Sorry to disappoint you, but I think you'll find me a tougher nut to crack than you expect!"
Lamentably, this didn't have the disheartening effect on Kasha he'd hoped it would. "That's great!" she cheered. "I was worried I wouldn't be able to have much fun with you, but maybe you'll keep me occupied for more than a couple of minutes! Let's go!"
She wouldn't get a chance. A small streak of fire lanced through the air right in front of her face, forcing her to halt her charge. Paptimus had held out his right hand and was pointing in her general direction, a wisp of smoke drifting from his outstretched finger.
"Enough," he said, in the most commanding tone he could muster. "Any more of this and you can consider your contract terminated, Kasha. Bramsel'll be displeased, surely, but he won't even think of crossin' me."
"Fine, fine," replied the Ilian. "It's no big deal, though, right? Sooner or later I'll get a chance to pay all you bastards back for Scirocco. And I drink from a canteen, too, so don't think you'll get out of it by poisonin' somebody's water again!" She flashed them another of her vicious smiles. "See you later, boys."
With a light flap of white-feathered wings she had lifted off, followed by her two sisters, both of whom looked back with expressions of shock, horror, and disgust, and took her place at the head of the mid-air diamond formation, which now had a series of holes in it thanks to its members wanting to look at what she was doing. Her departure wouldn't mean the end of Renault's troubles, though. "Hah hah, God damn!" laughed Yazan, whose mount was currently hovering a few feet above Renault's head. "Now that's my kind of girl. Maybe I'll get to know her a little better before he hit Nerinheit. Anyways," he looked downwards, "So you guys were the ones who poisoned Scirocco? Wow. And they call me a bastard!"
"Shut up, Yazan!" Dougram shot his newest friends a quick, hard glance, knowing that much of the crowd around them was looking at them the same way. "That's not true, right? He—she—they're just making things up, right?"
"Yes," yelled Renault in frustration, "we didn't do anything there! Hell, we still don't know what even happened, or why! Come on, don't believe every stupid rumor you hear! Besides, it's our word against hers, and who the hell would believe a stupid Ilian?"
This seemed to win over the crowd at least somewhat, though Yazan just shrugged. "Well, whatever. We'll see." His wyvern flapped its wings and drifted lazily upwards, back to its former position. Before anyone else could start any trouble, Exedol would quickly cut off any further discussion. "Enough! This nonsense has delayed us enough already. All of you, stop jabbering and resume your march. The King of Etruria deserves better from his men!"
This provoked a lot of disgruntled grumbling from the mercenaries, who had a less than glowing opinion of the country's monarch. Still, it at least drew their attention to subjects other than the crazy Pegasus Knight and her 'old friends,' allowing Renault, Tassar, and Braddock to resume their marching with little further attention paid to them.
Little cheer that provided, of course. As he passed through the giant North Gate and followed his army into the wilderness of Etruria, Renault couldn't help but reflect on the fact that even though the campaign had barely started they'd already ran into some problems.
He desperately hoped he was wrong, but he couldn't shake the premonition that this job would turn out to be even worse than his very first.
-X-
One hack of the iron axe chopped the training dummy's arm clean off, and a second did the same to its straw-filled head. Even wearing the gigantic, immensely heavy armor of a General, Glaesal Nerinheit had not broken a sweat. And he had been at it for a good half an hour.
"Meris!" he called, turning to the red-haired woman who stood patiently by the doorway of his manse's great training hall. "Bring in another dummy, would you?"
"Ah…forgive me, my lord," she walked up to him and bowed her head apologetically, "but we have no more. You've, er, destroyed most of them today."
"Have I, now? Oh well. I suppose it couldn't hurt to take a break. In fact, I think I'm done with dummies altogether…there are only so many times I can repeat the same strokes over and over before I've learned all I can. How I wish I had an actual sparring partner." He chuckled sarcastically at this. "Of course, it's not easy to find a good one when you're a rebel. Well, I knew what I was getting into when I declared my independence from the Crown." Not even bothering to remove his armor, he sat down right on the ground beside one of the large room's walls, right below a window which allowed a pleasant amount of sunlight to reach his white-bearded face. "Meris, if you haven't any more dummies, could you bring me some water?"
"Of course, my lord."
"And stop calling me 'lord,' Meris. I'm no longer an aristocrat. Besides, I'm not even your lord anyways. That was Paptimus, remember?"
"Yes, my—y-yes, of course."
She quickly made her exit (not bothering to bow, realizing Glaesal wouldn't have liked that any better) and just as quickly returned, carrying a full jug of water. She walked over to the former Count and held it out to him, which he took and drank from with relish. Wiping his mouth, he offered the jug to Meris, who hesitated for a moment before taking it and enjoying a couple of sips herself.
"Glaesal," she then asked, "Are you done training altogether, or is there anything else you'd like me to bring? We have several spare targets and a pair of Fire—"
"No! No magic. I haven't touched a book of spells since Exedol stole my position and I don't plan to start now. I've rejected everything about the nobility, including their reliance on magic. Nothing but plate, axe, and spear for me now."
"Yes, I understand. I was just—"
"Were you, now?" Glaesal shot his companion a hard look. "What were you thinking of doing, hmm? Trying to remind me of my past? Perhaps trying to weaken my resolve? Hmm?"
"S-sir—"
"Yes, that would be fitting, wouldn't it? Maybe you're in Paptimus' pocket. Maybe he sent you here to suborn me! Fitting…he betrayed me, why wouldn't you? He promised to help me if I rose up against the king, and he broke that promise. Who's to say you'll be any different? Besides," and his eyes narrowed, "You've always been a bit suspicious, haven't you? The girl the journal from Scirocco mentioned…she had red hair, and her name was Meris. Similar, eh? Yes, perhaps you're hiding many things from me, my girl. Many things—"
He looked at Meris and then stopped almost immediately, because the girl seemed as if she was about to cry. A wave of shame rippled through Nerinheit, and he sighed heavily in a combination of weariness and embarrassment.
"Meris, I—no, never mind. Forgive me. I have no excuse save for being overburdened by too much care and too little sleep. The news of Exedol leading his Mage Corps and Paptimus leading his mercenaries against me and my allies has not done my mind much good, and I lashed out against you. Again, forgive me."
"I understand, l—Glaesal. I will leave, if you so wish." The young woman's eyes still looked a bit wet.
"No, no. That would do me no good. Come, sit by me." He patted a gauntleted hand on the spot on the floor next to him, which Meris reluctantly accepted.
"I've been much too hard on you, my dear," he began. "It must have been terribly difficult for you these past for weeks. You were as close to Paptimus as I was, yet when news of my rebellion reached you, and you learned of his refusal to help, you left his side, left even the Palace, and traveled all the way up here."
"I…I just wanted to help you, Sir Glaesal. You have always been so kind to me, and to others like me…most nobles of the Palace treated us servants like…like…we weren't even human. It was no different from—"
"I understand" he replied sympathetically. "I was with Paptimus when he found you in Lycia. I know what you had to endure." He reached out to lightly stroke her hair, and although the gesture itself may not have been comforting, coming from a mailed hand as it did, the feeling behind it certainly was. "The slave market is terrible in that country, especially for girls like you."
Meris nodded and bit her lip. "Mm. In Lycia, they…there's a superstition that says girls with red hair are…ah, my very name itself means 'bountiful' in the old Lycian tongue. It's given to so many like me, and I doubt our parents would have thought the pain it would cause us, at least in our own homeland. If Paptimus hadn't come and taken me from there, I might have spent—"
"Yes, yes. You needn't say any more, my dear. Well, so long as I rule over Nerinheit, no-one else will ever have to endure what you experienced. My men will always ensure that no trade in flesh will ever go unpunished."
"Th-thank you, sir."
He chuckled sadly. "Well, don't thank me too soon…I may not be in control of this land for much longer, for what it's worth. Make no mistake, I am under no delusions about the success of my little revolution. Against the might of the King and his dogs, my men, brave as they may be, stand no chance. But we will die like men, and not the cuckolds Galahad has always treated us as. I cannot ask you to make the same sacrifice, though. Meris…when the army comes…when Paptimus comes…leave, would you? You're a young, beautiful woman with a whole life ahead of you. There's no need for you to throw it away beside me."
"Lord Glaesal, please, please don't say that! I am here because I believe in your cause, and I am willing to put my life behind that. Besides, all hope isn't lost, yes? Perhaps a foreign country will come to our aid! Bern has long been at odds with the Etrurian government, and surely the Lycians grow tired of being under Etruria's thumb. Perhaps now they'll see a chance to assist us!"
"No, no. I very much doubt it, Meris. Bern's king is a very cautious man, and they still haven't recovered from the losses they suffered during their ill-fated incursion into Sacae. And Lycia? That country is in shambles, it'll take them another decade at least to restore their armies to anything resembling their former strength. I don't think a single marquess lost less than a fifth of his men, most much more." The rebel count's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Still, Ostia and several other cantons have an excellent spy network, one that has mostly survived from what I understand. It may be possible they're interfering with us somehow…in fact, that would make sense. Like you said, there are many red-haired girls named Meris in Lycia, particularly from the cantons of Pherae and Cornwell. Perhaps one of them was involved with what happened in Scirocco…p-perhaps there are Lycian spies in my city, even now! My men will have to be on watch…"
"Yes, Glaesal. Perhaps. But let's deal with the problems we know exist, and which must be addressed now." She smiled at him, feeling a bit better, and rested a hand on his shoulder. "If you are done training, perhaps you now have time to attend other matters? A small group of merchants has arrived from Padstow asking if they might receive any preferential treatment in regard to tariffs and customs, since that countship is allied with us as well. I thought it would be best to ask you than to treat with them myself—"
"You thought right, my dear. Thank you. Here, help me out of this armor and then we'll go meet them together."
"Of course!"
She seemed quite content, carefully unclasping each piece of her leader's armor with both haste and skill. Nerinheit himself seemed to have been at least somewhat cheered, and she was very glad for that.
A few small lies were more than acceptable if they kept him happy, weren't they?
-X-
"AH-CHOO!"
Sitting next to the Mage General at the front of his personal carriage—actually, it was a pair of very large wagons hitched to each other—near King Galahad's, Paptimus furtively wiped his nose and shot a somewhat embarrassed look at Exedol. "Heh, sorry about that. Guess this cold must be gettin' to me."
"Hmm." Wearing a distinctly nonplussed expression, Exedol reached to a pocket near his belt and brought out a small handkerchief, which Paptimus accepted gratefully. "Mind your manners, Paptimus. I know your birth and your background, but after all this time you should know better than to wipe your face with the back of your hand."
"I know. Sorry."
"In any case, are you coming down with something? If so, you really oughtn't push yourself. It will be something of an inconvenience to have the commander of the mercenaries incapacitated even slightly when we reach Nerinheit, but my Mage Corps will be able to take care of anything. If you'd like to rest, feel free to. I can even send you back to Aquleia if you wish."
"No, no, s'alright. Just a passing thing, it was. Anyways, what did you want to talk about?"
"We're still quite some distance from the countship of Nerinheit, not to mention the city as well. Despite my confidence in my men, I'd like to know as much about what we may be facing as possible. Since you're Nerinheit's protégé, I figure you'd know. What do you expect he'll send against us?"
"Mmm." The Prime Minister's face grew grave. "Well, you already know about how many men he's been able get together…it's been a month or so since he first launched his declaration, so he's had more than enough time to gather an army of his own. However, keep in mind that Count Padstow has risen up as well, and there are probably many more supporters of this little rebellion who've wandered in from across the land. 3000 rebels is probably a low estimate…even going with that, we have what, 500 of your mages and a thousand of my mercenaries? At best we'd be outnumbered two to one, six to one counting only your forces, and those odds are almost certainly even worse in reality."
"I realize that. However, keep in mind the power of the Mage Corps of Etruria. We have long triumphed against opponents many times our number, especially those with little magical ability of their own…people like the ones Nerinheit has managed to draw. More important, to me, is where we will be facing them. In the open will be annoying, and we may have to rely on your mercenaries then. However, in an enclosed space or a narrow defile my men will have every advantage."
"Uhh…well, I guess that's something of a problem. Have you ever been this far north, Exedol?"
"No."
"Well, there are a lot of woods and forests in this part of Etruria. The largest is called the Lurkmire Forest. There are a lot of bad rumors about it…the superstitious say it's haunted, and those who know better still say it's home to many vicious brigands and highwaymen.
"Even going quickly, the forest would take a couple of days to get through. The trees are thick; within the forest it seems like night at mid-day and as black as the Cursed Land at night. It would be the perfect place to stage an ambush, and that's exactly what I think Nerinheit is gonna do. If it WAS an open battle, it'd probably be easier on us, but clearing out that entire forest…it's gonna be really, really tough going. Nerinheit's men may not have much raw skill, but they do know this area. Guerilla tactics could inflict very heavy losses on us if we try to make our way through the forest. We could go around it, but that would waste at least a week, if not more."
"Is that all?" Exedol sniffed. "Hmpf. You were beginning to worry me. Well, if they're all in a forest like what you describe they'll be very easy prey."
"Uh…huh? Exedol, I don't understand."
The Mage General simply smiled smugly. "You'll see. Anyways, after we drive them from the forest, what will we have to deal with?"
"Well, after the Lurkmire there's only really Nerinheit himself. Glaesal will make his stand there, I think. It won't be easy going either…since the city is so close to the Shield of Durbans, it's always had to deal with many pirate attacks from the Western Isles. It is not lightly defended. Its walls are strong and defended by many ballistae."
"Is that all? Again, no matter. We have many, many Bolting tomes with us—a great extravagance, really, even more so than the mercenaries. There are also several staves we have in store which will be of use. We can deal with the ballistae on their own terms with little problem."
"Oh yeah? And what about the walls? The city itself?"
Exedol simply shrugged. "If worst comes to worst, the mercenaries will serve as fodder, distracting the city's defenses long enough to for us to decimate them with our magic. And even then," he grinned cruelly, "we might not have to rely on the mercenaries at all. Again, our Bolting spells can blow apart even stone walls as if they were naught but silk."
"E-Exedol, you can't be serious. D'you know how much damage that would cause the city? How many innocent people might die? This countship is extremely important, both to Northern Etruria as a whole and our colonization efforts to the Western Isles. If we follow your strategy, it'd take a fortune to reconstruct it!"
"So? These rebels deserve it. It's their fault for daring to raise arms against the Crown. Besides, it's not as if we have any lack of funds." He waved lazily to the wagons behind them. "It seems you've brought along your personal fortune with you, Paptimus. Even I haven't seen so much gold in one place! This is all for the reconstruction effort, yes?"
"Well, yes, but money can only rebuild buildings, if that. It can't restore lives!"
"So what? The lives of rebels and traitors are worth nothing." He cast the Prime Minister a suspicious glare. "I think you concern yourself overmuch with the fate of this scum, Paptimus. Have you lost your nerve?"
"I haven't, Exedol. Don't start that. But Glaesal is—was, my friend. Nerinheit's like a second home to me."
"But you're here anyways, fighting against your former friend. Or do you mean to betray us?"
"NO!" Paptimus was growing somewhat angry now. "Don't even say that! I made my vows t' the king, and even though it hurts more than anything, if I have to stand against the man who's like a father t' me, then that's what I'll do! Wouldn't you do the same?"
"Yes, I would." Exedol's voice softened somewhat. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to impugn your loyalty to our liege."
"Uh…yeah. It's…fine. Still," he grumbled, "You can see where I'm coming from, don't you? I love this land. I don't want t' visit any more destruction on it than necessary."
"Hm. Admirable sentiment, I suppose. Still, we do what we must. If Nerinheit surrenders, as he should if he were intelligent, all this will be irrelevant anyways and we'll have nothing to worry about. But if he doesn't, as I fear, then I am afraid we must undertake whatever measures are necessary."
"Again, Exedol, 'necessary measures' aren't things that oughta be thrown around lightly. Ostia and Cornwell both took what they thought to be 'necessary measures' seven years ago, and Lycia's still a wreck."
"Ah, yes, I remember that. Well, I think you worry too much, Paptimus. Those Lycians are pathetic bunch of squabbling weaklings, really…they play at being a respectable nation like us, but all they can do is a pale imitation of our greatness. There's no way this little matter could ever spin out of control like theirs did."
"Don't be so sure, Exedol. I was there. I saw the war begin. Absolutely nobody would have thought that little incident would spark a civil war that lasted two years either."
"Oh?" Exedol turned to Paptimus, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "You mean you were in Lycia? Why?"
"Glaesal took me. Seven years ago he was preparing me to assume the position I'm in now. He wanted to give me some hands-on experience with diplomacy, so he took me with him on his trip to Lycia. Several Etrurian nobles were invited to Maxim and Pamela's wedding, and he was one of 'em. They never said he couldn't bring along his adopted son, so I got a free ride. It's kind of sad, though. Lycia was a pretty nice place. I was only there about a week before the trouble started. Maybe I'll come back some day, when things are better."
"Hmm. Well, you brought along a memento of your trip, at least, didn't you?" Exedol chuckled sarcastically. "Didn't you bring a servant girl or something back to Etruria with you and Nerinheit? I remember hearing she came from a brothel…or perhaps those are just rumors?"
"No, they're true," replied Paptimus defensively. "Yes, I did find her in a brothel. F'r pity's sake, she was only 13! I couldn't just leave her there. Everyone deserves a chance at a better life. Glaesal saved me from the fighting pits pretty much the same way. How could I not do the same for her?"
"Yes, yes, I understand. Hmm…well, I can't say I approve of such uplifting of commoners, but in your case it worked out well enough. Perhaps it will be the same with her. Odd, though, I haven't seen her in quite a while." If Exedol was more perceptive, he might have noticed his companion's face darken slightly, but of course, he didn't. The Mage General continued, saying, "Well, in any case, the whole thing was somewhat amusing. It says a lot about Lycia if they started a civil war over a wedding."
"It's not that simple, Exedol." Paptimus was somewhat disappointed by his colleague's racism. "Fighting over a wedding is one thing, but wouldn't you say it's justifiable if both the bride and one of her former suitors turn up dead? Especially if both were high-ranking members of the nobility?"
"Hm? Is that what happened? You'll have to excuse me, I didn't know that. I don't pay much attention to foreign affairs…most of my time is spent maintaining the forces of the Mage Corps. So tell me, what was the real story?"
"Well, that's something I honestly don't know for sure…like I said, I was only in the country for a week. I'll tell you what I heard, though.
"It was supposed to be a great celebration, lots of good cheer and good feelings all around. The Marquess of Ostia had finally managed to get Maxim married off. This was an accomplishment—I never even saw the boy personally, but most people said he was such an incompetent screwup that his parents intentionally kept him as far away from court affairs as possible. Now, his wife wasn't much better—he was s'posed to have married Pamela, the youngest sister of Marquess Char of Cornwell. She wasn't even anything close t' beautiful—hell, I mistook her for a boy the first time I saw her. She was hard to get along with and wasn't good at poetry, religion, or anything a noble lady's supposed to be. Only good things about her were that she was good with a spellbook, liked dancing, and had red hair. You've heard about the Lycian thing with that, right?"
"Indeed. Sometimes I get the feeling that lot is almost as superstitious as the Sacaens."
"Well, superstitions or not, you can see why she ended up with Maxim. Both of them were screwups, so it was only fitting they got together. Worked out real well politically, at least from what Glaesal told me. It'd cement an alliance between Ostia and Cornwell, which given Cornwell's wealth was a good thing. There was a problem, though. The Marquess of Laus, Bishop Volker."
"Hmm…Bishop Volker? But he was a marquess as well? I thought one had to renounce any title of nobility before taking a position in the Church hierarchy."
"Well…I'm not the most devout guy there is, but from what I understand, though the Church doesn't sanction holding both a noble and a clerical title, it doesn't explicitly forbid it. It should, though, at least I think so. Guys like Volker really gave it a bad name. The only reason he took his position was so he could add tithes from his diocese to his coffers in addition to his taxes. Not to speak ill of the dead, but he was a greedy, petty little man."
"Even the clergy of Lycia is sub-par, it seems. We'd never have such scum in the ranks of the holy in Etruria!"
"Yeah, maybe." The expression on the Prime Minister's face indicated he didn't really believe this. "In any case, though, Volker desperately wanted Pamela's hand in marriage. He'd had two wives before her, both of whom died…after they failed to bring him any heirs. He was hoping a redhead would do the trick this time. Naturally, when he heard Pamela was getting hitched to Maxim instead of him, he was less than pleased. Still, nobody thought he would actually do anything about it…at least not until just two days before the wedding.
"Pamela turned up dead…her body was found by a guard near Laus' borders, and from what he said it looked like someone had…used her before killing her. Things blew up from there. Most thought it was just a bandit attack…a gang of thieves looking for some quick fun who just happened upon a noble. Pamela's fiancée, however, insisted it was Bishop Volker, who obviously denied it.
"I don't know what the truth is. All I know is that Maxim apparently believed it. With the bride dead, Glaesal and I made a hasty exit back to Etruria after paying our condolences to Char…but a few days after we left, I heard that Bishop Volker was dead. They'd found Maxim in his room the night before, smashing his head in."
"Vigilante justice," asked Exedol, "is that common in Lycia?"
"No. But like I said, Maxim was a screwup. Probably couldn't control himself. But it still made Ostia look very, very bad. Volker's younger brother took the throne of Laus and started to accuse Maxim himself of killing his wife to be. After what he did to Volker, it seemed pretty likely. Still, there was some hope that the whole mess could be salvaged…he was sent to Ostia to be imprisoned, and under the demands of Cornwell and Laus, they agreed to execute him for his crimes. Hanging their own son…pretty harsh, huh?"
"Not in my view. Laws must be upheld, no matter who breaks them."
"Yeah, I thought you'd say that. I guess you have a point, too. Still, they never got a chance to send Maxim to Ostia. He escaped from his cell one night, and they could never find him."
"Escaped? From an Ostian prison? How? I think little of those people, but I can appreciate the strength of their defenses. Did he magic himself out of there somehow?"
"Nobody knows, that's the thing. Cornwell and Laus thought that the Ostians were hiding him, while the Ostia denied it. They didn't believe it, and went to war over it. That's the story. To this day nobody knows what became of Maxim."
"Hmm. So who won the war?"
"Ostia and its allies, barely. They didn't get what they wanted, though…they were too weakened to ask for anything but a very conditional surrender. Bishop Volker's brother remained on the throne of Laus, and Marquess Char…again, nobody knows what happened to him either. Ostia wanted him dead for his viciousness in battle, but he managed to get out of their hands as well. How, I don't know either. Maybe their prisons aren't so well-guarded after all."
"Char? The Red Comet? I've heard of him. There are rumors floating around that he's in Etruria right now."
Paptimus blinked, clearly surprised. "Are you serious? Where did you hear that?"
"From some of our spies. Our intelligence networked is close-lipped, though, even to us. The only one they answer directly to is the king. For all I know, it could just be misinformation they're spreading."
Paptimus pursed his lips thoughtfully, yet another gesture Exedol ignored. By this point, he had a distinctly sour expression on his face. "Anyways, this is such a horribly sordid tale, Paptimus. All that bloodshed over a woman. What savages those Lycians must be!"
"Well, take the speck out of your own eye before you look at someone else's. Isn't that what the Saint said? I wouldn't say too many bad things about those Lycians if I had your women troubles. Glaesal always thought your thing with his wife was why he lost his position to you. It—"
"Silence!" Exedol was glaring at his companion now, the sour expression having turned to one of irritation and anger. "Cease your gossiping. You know nothing of what went on between us."
"S-sorry, Exedol. I didn't mean to, uh—"
"Hmph." The Mage General had been mollified, but not by much. "Yes, you apologize for quite a lot, Paptimus. You need to learn to mind your mouth. I can understand it is difficult, given your low-born origins, but you have been among us for long enough to have learned better. Know that there are things you should not say in the presence of your equals, not to mention superiors. Try to speak more like a noble than a commoner, would you?"
Paptimus simply nodded, appropriately chastised. "Very well, m'lord. I'll try."
"That's a start."
Exedol leaned back in his seat, and the two men continued their journey in a silence that was neither cold nor warm.
-X-
Crunch, crunch, crunch. After hearing almost nothing but that distinctive sound of heavy boots tramping the snow and seeing nothing but leafless trees and seemingly endless snowdrifts for about one and a half weeks, Renault was beginning to wish he'd stayed in Sacae. At least there he'd probably have had something to do.
Braddock, marching beside him, sympathized more than a little with his friend's sentiments. "I know I always told you being a mercenary was a tough business," he grinned sheepishly, "but I guess I should've mentioned it was boring a lot of the time too, huh?"
"Nah, don't worry about it." Renault grinned right back in response. "So long as you're here things'll be interesting. Besides," and at this he looked up at the sky, "with people like those around, sometimes I think a little boredom isn't such a bad thing."
The loud whoops and yells coming from above them were the only things necessary to illustrate his point. As usual, and as they had been for the better part of the week, the two most skilled fliers the army had, Yazan and Kasha, were at it again. They called it 'sparring,' and to an extent this was an honest description, since neither of them ever seriously injured the other, but judging by how close they consistently came Renault would call it something a bit less euphemistic.
Both of them were shouting at the top of their lungs as they spurred Pegasus and Wyvern against each other. Hambrabi roared in irritation as he attempted to chomp on Kasha's swift Pegasus, the woman laughing maniacally as she attempted to skewer Yazan with her nasty-looking Killer Lance. The Bernite was all too happy to return the favor, a wide grin on his face as he swerved his mount to and fro in the air, attempting to get close enough to land a solid blow on his opponent with his own heavy steel sword.
"Uh, I guess it's nice to see them become such good friends in such a short amount of time?" Braddock was still wearing his sheepish expression.
"Yeah, right," snorted Renault. "Hey, where're Tassar and Dougram? With another group up ahead a bit, right? Let's link up with them. We stay by ourselves too long around here, we're likely to attract that crazy lady's attention."
Unfortunately, he spoke too late. Kasha careened away from Yazan after he repelled her last attack, and as she was turning Renault happened to catch her eye. With a wide grin on her face, she angled her mount downwards and spurred him to increase his speed. Instinctively, Renault leapt and rolled to his left just as Kasha crashed into the spot he would have been standing.
After a moment, the brief snowstorm created by the force of her attack dissipated, and Renault was left staring at her as she maintained an infuriatingly innocent expression on her face. "So sorry," she pouted, "I really didn't mean to do that. Yazan's attack was so strong I just lost control of my mount!"
Yazan, who'd followed his friend down to earth, chuckled as he heard the compliment. "Like I always say, I wasn't called a Wyvern Lord for nothing. But hey," he smiled at Renault, "that was a quick dodge. You've got good reflexes, kid. In a little while, maybe you'll be good enough to actually provide me with a challenge! All this time in Etruria I haven't had one yet."
This prompted a venomous glare from Kasha. "Hey! What the hell are you implying?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing. Just that I've seen better moves than yours from fresh recruits barely a year out of training!"
"Oh, really? THEN LEMME SHOW YOU SOME NEW ONES!"
Almost faster than any of them could see, Kasha's Pegasus galloped forward and she flicked out her lance twice with a pair of equally swift jerks of her arm. Yazan and his mount were quick enough to dodge the first jab, but the second came dangerously close to the Bernite's face and with a grimace he raised his sword to deflect it. He did so successfully, but not while maintaining his grip on the weapon, and it went flying off into the snow.
"Nice!" he exclaimed, unlimbering his second weapon, a heavy spear also made of steel. "Now things are gettin' interesting! C'mon, hon, show me some more!" With a flap of leathery wings he and his mount ascended once again, and laughing gleefully, Renault completely forgotten, Kasha followed.
"Lunatics," Renault muttered. "Complete lunatics."
"We're in complete agreement there, my friend," said Braddock with a frown. "C'mon, you were right. Let's get out of here before they notice us again." The two men quickly increased their pace to a light jog, soon passing by most of the other mercenaries around them, who were marching pretty quickly themselves. Exedol and Khyron had set a very quick pace, because they wanted to hit Nerinheit before Glaesal could consolidate his position any further, but the guests they had brought along necessitated a few changes to the army's pace. The nobles found the mercenaries "distasteful" and wanted to stay as far away from them as possible, so as a result the hired swords marched slightly slower than the Mage Corps and the nobles' carriages traveled. The nobles also didn't care if they marched in lockstep or formation so long as they actually marched, so within a short amount of time Renault and Braddock reached the head of the disorganized mercenary columns, managing to spot Tassar and Dougram, who was currently busy conversing a small distance away with a couple of other veterans.
"Ah, welcome," said Tassar when he turned and heard his subordinates crunching through the snow towards him, trying to catch up. "You look like you're in a rush. Remember, don't get too excited…the Mage Corps won't like it if it seems like you're trying to one-up them."
"Don't worry about it," answered Renault. "We just wanted to get away from Kasha and Yazan, that's all."
"Ah, I can understand that. Seems like she still has a grudge against us. Heh…not good form. In our line of work it's not much good to build enmity or affection, since you may be side-by-side with your rival against your friend someday."
"True enough," said Braddock, "but then again, I get the feeling that Pegasus Knight is too crazy to care."
"Maybe." Tassar grinned. "Well, she's not the only one. Be glad you haven't seen Roberto around."
Both Braddock and Renault looked distinctly surprised. "Roberto? So it was him we saw back at Aquleia."
"Uh-huh. He's become quite a terror with that axe of his, so I've heard. But I don't think he's forgotten us…when I went up to him to say hello, he got a pretty ugly look on his face and looked like he wanted to plant that big blade through my head. I got away from him before he had a chance."
"Damn." Braddock now looked distinctly sad rather than surprised. "I guess I can't blame him after what happened in Scirocco. I'd like to apologize again, but…if he's still like this after two years, I don't think anything I say will do much good."
"Wise thinking," said Tassar with a slight smile. "Both of you ought to keep away from him."
"I will, at least," said Renault. "So is there anybody else around here we have to watch out for?"
"Fortunately, I don't think so. Khyron and Rosamia are around as well, but they're with the Mage Corps…we won't see much of them. Other than that, I don't think we'll be seeing any more old friends over the course of this expedition."
"I hope so," said Renault. Braddock and Tassar started chatting a bit, talking about the weather's effect on their equipment (the armor they wore had to be protected from significant amounts of moisture, including snow) but the sellsword from Thagaste remained quiet.
The bad feelings he'd had since this job started were only increasing, and he was getting fairly certain things would only get worse.
-X-
They were almost there.
After marching north from Aquleia for almost three weeks, the army Renault was a part of was just a few days from their final destination. They had penetrated the countship of Nerinheit, passed by the dead castle and equally dead town of Scirocco (raising some very, very unpleasant memories for Renault and his friends) and after a few more days had finally arrived at the largest functional settlement in the area aside from the city of Nerinheit itself—the moderately-sized town of Austros. It was quite a bit bigger, than most of the other towns in the region, especially compared to Scirocco, and obviously much livelier (though still not nearly as impressive as Aquleia or even Thagaste).
The journey to it had been surprisingly easy going—Count Nerinheit had laid no forces in wait for them, apparently concentrating everything he had in the forest and his city. When they actually reached the town Renault figured they might actually have to capture it, but as the army marched up to it, much to his surprise the town just opened its wood gates and essentially rolled over for them.
Tassar wasn't at all surprised. "We were all expecting this," he told Renault and Braddock as they stood outside with the other mercenaries while the Mage Corps and the nobles entered. "A lot of people up north may support Nerinheit's rebellion, but not enough to fight for it. These townies are probably surrendering and pretending to be…loyal," and he spat this with a bit of venom that somewhat surprised Renault, "in the hopes that the Crown will show them some clemency." The veteran mercenary then chuckled sarcastically. "I doubt they're gonna end up pleased, though."
Tassar's prediction turned out to be correct. The three men watched as a portly, brown-haired man who seemed to be the town's magistrate hastily went out to meet with Exedol and Paptimus. After a few minutes of apparently frantic discussion he returned to the town hall, shouting loudly, though Renault couldn't make out what he was saying outside of its walls. Exedol and a portion of the best men he could find in the Mage Corps began to escort the carriages of the King and his nobles into the village, while Paptimus returned outside to address the troop of waiting mercenaries.
"Sorry about this," he boomed, once again using an enchantment to raise his voice, "but we're going to have to camp outside the town for tonight. This town's not big enough to quarter more than a thousand men, and in any case, it's best to keep some forces outside of the town walls, just in case there's a surprise attack heading our way."
Renault and his friends were none too pleased to hear of this, and the other members of their army definitely weren't either. "So what the hell were the King'n his nobles goin' inside for?" one shouted.
"Uh…the King, his nobles, and some of the Mage Corps will be staying in village. That's'—"
Paptimus was cut off by a chorus of angry shouts from his audience. "What the hell? We're the one's doing the fighting! Why are they the ones getting the luxuries?" "They're too good to sleep out here with the men they hired, huh?"
The Prime Minister raised his hand and cut off the chatter with a resounding "ENOUGH!" Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Look, I don't like this any more than you do. It makes the rulers of this country look even worse to people who already don't like them. But the King's word was final, and I couldn't go against it. Besides, from the way the nobles complained about the 'amenities' whenever we camped out in the open, it's probably for the better they're lodging in a place they can't complain about as much. And frankly, the people of this town have it even worse than you do. Many of them are getting kicked out of their homes to make room for the nobles. Hell, they've even turned a hospice into an inn for the night to keep one of the Counts happy! So just be thankful that our journey's almost over, and you'll all be able to go back home much richer men once we finally put a stop to this rebellion business. It's the people of this countship who really need the sympathy here."
With those words, the tensions among the crowd dissipated—the mercenaries agreed, for the most part. With that, the crowd dispersed, beginning to set up tents and build fires in preparation for the night (duties with which Paptimus himself helped, endearing him even more to his employees).
"Incredible!" sputtered Dougram as he, Renault, Tassar, and Braddock gathered up some kindling and rations (a few small rabbits Braddock had managed to trap earlier) to prepare dinner. "Don't the nobles of this country care about their people at all? This isn't justice!"
"It sure isn't," replied Braddock, "but that's how the nobility works in every country."
With those words, they sat themselves around the fire they'd just managed to light up and set about making some rabbit stew.
-x-
"So that's the hospice, huh?"
Renault was standing with Braddock outside of one of Paptimus' tents. The Prime Minister had brought several spares, as he was a fairly cautious man, which allowed many of Austros' townspeople to have at least a bit of shelter for the night after being temporarily "relocated" from their homes to make room for the King and his retinue. The fact that it was a "great honor" to sacrifice for their monarch (whom they had never seen before) was of little comfort to them.
It was perhaps the least comfort for the sick and hurt people who had been laid up in one of the town's larger halls, which was now occupied by Count Bramsel. Austros had been without a professional apothecary for a few months, but from what Renault had heard a wandering Eliminean preacher had traveled to the region and agreed to take up shop in the town for a brief period. This tent was where he and his patients had been set up after Bramsel occupied their previous lodgings.
"We'd better stay away from this place," Renault said, sounding extremely bitter. "They're hotbeds of filth and disease."
"Well, I guess that's to be expected," said Braddock, a bit surprised and disappointed by what seemed to him his friend's lack of charity, "but it's not the fault of the people in them they get sick or hurt, right?"
"Yeah, maybe not. But they can still hurt the people who try to help them." Renault's voice lowered. "That's how my dad bought it."
"R-really?" Now his friend was even more surprised, and couldn't think of anything more to say.
"Yeah. My dad worked at a hospice not too different from this one. One day he came down with…consumption. Caught it from one of his patients, I guess. Died a while later." Renault snorted. "He was a bishop too. I thought God would protect him because of that, but…hmph. Well, I was a kid back then. Served me right for being dumb enough to have 'faith' in anything."
"I…uh, I see. I'm sorry, Renault, I didn't mean to pry or anything." Braddock truly was sorry. Not having known of this before, this insight into his best friend's psyche made him feel embarrassed for potentially hurting the guy's feelings, sorry for what he'd gone through, and a bit sorry for having thought Renault was being (entirely) selfish as opposed to dealing with bad memories.
Renault, though, saw this on the Ostian's face and quickly moved to dispel his friend's unnecessary guilt. "Hey, man, don't worry about it. You didn't know. And besides, it's not bad talking about it…at least not with you."
"R-really? Thanks, bud." Once again, Braddock couldn't remember the last time anybody had confided in him quite like that. "Relieves me a bit, at least. But, uh, you wanna go somewhere else? I understand if you don't wanna hang around…"
"Well, what do you wanna do? Honestly, I don't like places like these, but you were the one who said you wanted to check it out. If this is where you're going, I wanna come to."
"Yeah. I was just wondering if these folks needed any help or anything, since it's kind of our fault they got kicked out here…well, those damn nobles' fault, anyways. And there's some kind of priest watching over them, isn't there?" His face hardened. "I'd like to make sure they aren't being mistreated."
"Knowing the clergy, that's not a bad guess. Alright, if you wanna check things out here, I'll be right behind you. So long as you're with me, I think I'll turn out better than my dad did, at least."
Both men feeling much emboldened by the support of the other, together they made their way into the confines of the tent. It turned out that both their fears turned out to be unfounded.
The first thing they noticed was a distinct lack of disease within the makeshift hospice. There were eight beds on the snowy ground (moved by Paptimus himself—even years after his days as a gladiator he still had great physical strength), all of which were clean and well-maintained. Two of them were isolated from the others, their occupants covered with blankets and apparently suffering from some sickness, but on the other six lay townsfolk who were not sick but rather injured or incapacitated—bandages swathed the head of one man who'd suffered a fall several days earlier and an elderly man had been wrapped up in thick blankets with his extremities doused in small pans of warm water to ease his frostbite, for instance. These kinds of injuries were better cured by rest and kind ministrations than the magic of a staff, but fortunately, they were not the kind of maladies one could catch by mere proximity. Since the ill patients were isolated, Renault had no need to worry about coming down with something.
Judging by the way the proprietor ministered to his latest patient, Braddock needn't have worried about maltreatment either. The man on the bed lay groaning, a red blotch spreading over the bandages around his waist. He had actually been brought in just a few minutes ago—one of the town's hunters, he had been gored by the antlers of a buck he had been pursuing.
His savior stood over him dressed in nothing but a thick brown cassock, holding a Mend staff above him and chanting intently. He was far too engrossed in his spell to pay any attention to the interlopers who were watching him at the moment. As his chanting grew louder and a soft blue light spilled from the gem at the tip of his staff, the red blotch on the man's bandages stopped spreading, and his breathing began to slow and relax. Though his eyes were still closed, a smile of relief spread across his half-conscious face.
"You'll be alright," said the brown-haired priest. "Good thing you were brought in when you were! The spell should've closed your wound right up…uh, er, at least it looks like I did it right. Just rest for a while and you'll be as good as new!"
The pilgrim turned around, and when Renault got a good look at him he blinked, suddenly struck by a bolt of recognition. The young man before him had a friendly expression that might have looked vapid a few years ago, but seemed to have been weathered by some degree of travel and hardship. He was not fat, but his skin seemed to hang slightly, as if he once was.
"A-ah!" the man stammered. "Oh, Elimine forgive me, I-I'm sorry for not noticing you! You're the King's men, aren't you? D-d'you need any help or healing or anything? I didn't think there was a battle but—" He stopped his rambling when he got a good look at his old friend from Thagaste. He was about to shout but a cough from one of his sick patients reminded him of where he was. "R…are you…no, it couldn't be, I'm sorry—"
"No, you were right," Renault groaned. "It's me. Renault of Thagaste. Serapino, what the hell are you doing here?"
"God's work," came the cheery reply. "The Saint came to me in a dream and told me the people of the north would need my help for the troubles ahead of them! So over the past few months I've been traveling from village to village, preaching the Word and doing what I can…I c-can't do much, b-but I've gotten better with a staff! Really!"
"Wait a moment," Braddock asked incredulously, "You came all the way up here because of a dream? You have to be joking!"
Serapino was completely oblivious to the man's sarcasm. "No, not at all! I'm completely serious! I…I may not be much, but if the Creator has called me, I'll do my best!"
"Jeez." Distaste was evident on the Ostian's face. "Religion really does make you do crazy things. Well, at least you're helping people, I guess, but still…"
"Helping people? Yeah, he certainly is, though I guess it's up in the air as to how well," snorted Renault derisively. "He and I used to be friends back when I was younger. He's definitely not quick-witted, but Serapino's honest. If he's running things around here I don't think you have anything to worry about. These people are in…well-intentioned hands, at least."
Even Serapino managed to figure out he was being mildly insulted by the two men, but the timid pilgrim didn't really want to start a fight. "So, uh," he stumbled, attempting to change the subject, "what're you two doing here? I never thought I'd see you around here!"
"I came up here with my best friend, Braddock." He grinned at his Ostian comrade. "We're mercenaries."
"M-Mercenaries?" Serapino couldn't hide his surprise. "You? Renault? A mercenary?"
"Uh-huh."
"Oh. Uhh…wow. S-so…uh, no stoneworking?"
Renault's face twitched in irritation. "No."
"Uh…ah…okay." Renault gritted his teeth as he prepared to deal with a barrage of dumb, increasingly annoying and probing questions from the befuddled young man, but he was much pleased to see that Serapino's travels had apparently forced him to become much better at reading people. "Uh, um, I guess I can see why. This whole rebellion business is really bad…I mean, the church even issued an edict condemning it and everything! So it's really good that you're here helping the Crown! W-with you around, I'm sure things will be back to normal in no time!"
This was good enough for Renault, who simply snorted again and grinned in response. "Yeah, hopefully. We'll see about that." He turned to leave. "Anyways, we'll get out of your hair now. Nothing more for us to see around here, eh, Braddock?"
The Ostian nodded and followed his friend. "Uh-huh. See you around, priest-boy."
Together they left the makeshift hospice, and Serapino made no effort at all to pursue them. Probably for the best. Although Renault was thankful this little reunion had turned out better than the one he'd had with Kasha, it still didn't sit too well with him.
Then again, perhaps it was best to appreciate his blessings. He had no idea what was waiting for him up ahead, after all.
::Linear Notes::
WHOOO-EEEEE! FINALLY! Managed to get this chaptar out, my friends :D I'm super-sorry for the looooooooong wait…I can't claim extreme length this time, since it actually manages to be shorter than the previous chapters :D;; However, several reasons for my tardiness:
1: Graduated from college last summer! :D
2: GRAD SCHOOL APPLICATIONS D: D: D:
So yeah, that's why I was so busy. And I apologize, but I shall continue to be busy for the foreseeable future…first off, I have to do the FAFSA financial aid crap, and then assuming I manage to get in somewhere I have to start preparing for going to grad school, doing some catching-up reading, and even getting started on my dissertation…I'm shooting for a Ph.D ;_; I wanted to take another year off, but my parents wouldn't let me…ah, well, no rest for a Gunlord. But what that means is that I likely won't be able to resume my chapter every 2 weeks schedule ;_; Maybe a chapter per month, at most, but I can make no guarantees ;_; Please bear with me, my friends ;_;
Also, just a couple of changes in the earlier chapters:
Chapter 6: Fixed a small continuity error—Apolli's parents have been long dead since before the story began, not alive as he originally implied.
Chapter 12: Another small continuity error—the town of Sorveno *did* receive a sizable amount of money thanks to Khyron's "generosity," but their dialogue with Dougram didn't mention that. I have rectified that error.
In general, the title 'Mage Knights' has been changed to 'Mage Corps.' I remembered that mage knights were a class in FE8, so I thought it would be best to give these guys a different designation to remove confusion ^^
Finally, updated character data and stuff has been posted at "gunwritings" on Livejournal and on LTS. Enjoy that too! :D