Chapter 4: Candlelit Sky
1 Year Later
Daniel walked through the camp, looking around as he passed through the tents around him, standing out from their haphazardly placed compatriots. These tents, and the men that slept within them, were now under his command.
The men that filed out of them, nodding to him, had been under Donovan's 'command' before his untimely death. Gambino had, quite surprisingly, put it up to a vote as to who would be the next captain over Donovan's former forces. For all his grumbling, he had at least honored the overwhelming vote for Daniel to head them up.
He looked back as Guts caught up to him, his new helmet under his arm, and smiled as he got to his side. "Good morning, Guts. Sleep well?"
Guts nodded. "As well as I could."
Daniel patted the boy's shoulder, looking down at the freshly forged helmet that Guts had used his hard-earned money to have forged by their blacksmith Artur. It was in two pieces, a steel cap that had a swinging faceplate, a long gap down the middle of the plate only ending on the small span of metal that connected the two plates. It bore a striking resemblance to Daniel's own helm, he noted.
"How are the men?" Guts asked.
"Looking better," Daniel replied. The words carried with them no small amount of justified pride. The troops had, in Donovan's 'care', grown sloppy and sometimes quite careless. There had been no small amount of complaining when he'd gotten the regiment together for drilling. That Guts had taken to it wholeheartedly, and Daniel capitalized on how a boy half their age was doing better than them, had made the grumbling change its tone, then stop as time went on.
"Are we going to be doing any more drills?" Guts wondered.
Daniel shook his head. "With us going into battle today, there won't be much time. Besides, it'd leave the men too tired for my liking."
Guts nodded. They were at the tail end, hopefully, of the siege that they were helping their Tudor employers break through. This was going to be a big one, as the fort they hoped to capture was quite central to a network of such forts, and after this one fell, they would get within two weeks' march of Wyndham, the capital city of Midland.
And, Daniel noted, there were rumors going around the camp now. Whispers of a new legion, a penal legion, called up by Midland, distinguishing itself with its utter brutality in its first few battles. The Black Dogs had arrived. 'And ahead of schedule, to boot. Years ahead.' Daniel mused as he began to muster the troops. 'What is the king of Midland thinking? Is he really that desperate?'
It was going to be dangerous, whatever else might be. Especially if Wyald was at its head. 'I'll have to keep Guts close. If Wyald kills him, this will all be for nothing.'
It was decided, then, he thought as they marched out towards the smoking castle, their orders clear. He'd have to take on Wyald himself if it came to it.
. . .
Battle thundered around Daniel as he once again charged up the ruined wall. Gambino and the rest of the group were the vanguards pushing in, true to their reputation. In every battle since Donovan's death, Daniel had noticed, his forces were always the tip of the spear, cresting over the outer wall and surging towards the hastily made embankment, lined with wooden walls, stakes, and no small amount of crossbows and cannons.
The fire that laid into them was incredible for its relative technological simplicity, cutting down men left and right of him as they crouched back behind the ruined wall. "Come on!" he heard Gambino say from behind him. "One more push and we're through!"
"Stay close to me!" Daniel shouted in turn to his men. "Form a spearhead around my advance! We'll punch through!"
"Charge!" he shouted, his men shouting wordlessly with him as they charged once more, Daniel at their head with Guts just behind him as the others raised their shields against the crossbow bolts and pike blades.
They slammed into one of the palisades, Daniel's swordspear going through a Midlandian soldier's chestplate with almost supernatural ease as he heaved, lifting the man over the wall and tossing him behind before he began to climb up on the wall. The hum and buzz of his blade, ancient power coursing through it, was lost in the noise of the press and cannon fire.
He crested the wall with a little effort and no small amount of blades clattering against his armor, landing on dirt as two soldiers came up at his sides, spears leveled at what they assumed were the weak points of his armor.
The greatcoat blunted the first blows, the others skating off his armor as he swung, stabbed, and chopped through the men that stood against him, opening the way for the others to hop over the wall, Guts covering his back as always as he pressed to the right of the fortification.
The shock of the men breaching the wall sent the Midlandian forces into a panicked retreat, men scurrying away even as Daniel's forces cut them down, the rest of Gambino's force not far behind as a section of the wall behind Daniel collapsed from a cannon shot.
The rest of the way to the fort's inner sanctum lay mostly clear of obstacles, the men before Daniel falling back towards an opening doorway. Out of the doorway charged a mass of new soldiers, clad in simple steel, a few donning black furs.
They bolted past the Midland soldiers, slamming into Gambino's force with a wild ferocity that the men found themselves struggling to match.
Daniel saw the reason why they were so wild in what he was sure was the Black Dogs' eyes, even as he cut down man after man who refused to flag or falter. Fear. Fear of what was behind them. A well-founded fear, he knew, as he looked around himself and found the lines buckling, bowing under the press of the Dogs.
The reason for that fear soon made itself known, as the Black Dogs dispersed in front of him while pushing past him, making a circle of open ground within which only Daniel stood, facing his opponent as he leisurely strolled towards him.
The man, a massive hound's pelt draped across the back of his armor with the upper jaw hanging over his helmet, was massive, easily head and shoulders over Daniel if not somewhat taller still, his face an almost comical exaggeration of humanity, more like a great ape than a man, with a massive nose and a jutting chin. His eyes… they were at once utterly devoid of humanity and filled with interest. Bemusement, even. In his hand, he held a large, tall club, studded with metal up and down a great deal of its length and capped with a stout spike, resting against his shoulder.
"Well, well," he said, his voice loud and deep even as the battle around him began to become quiet, "I must admit, crossing ways with the Midnight Dragon wasn't quite what I'd expected from the prisoners of war's stories. I expected you to at least be a little taller."
Daniel felt the weight of Wyald's gaze on him. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir. Who are you?"
Wyald smiled, a feral grin of a thing. "I'm Wyald, leader of the Black Dogs. And I'm here to have fun while I'm in the service of king and country."
The man — the thing's — sheer presence was almost overwhelming, his aura of danger seeming to try at smothering movement and even thought. Daniel was able, at least, to resist as he shifted the grip of his swordspear. The trio of men who broke through the ring, Rickard leading them, thus seemed to have surprised Wyald as much as they did Daniel as they charged towards Wyald, Rickard's sword and his men's spears at the ready.
"Rickard, wait!" Daniel shouted, but it was too late as Rickard aimed a deadly thrust toward Wyald's face. The massive man stepped away, batting aside the other strikes that came toward him with ease.
So it continued on for long, almost agonizing moments, every swing and stab levied against Wyald growing more and more desperate, wilder and wilder. Eventually, however, Wyald rolled his eyes. "I really should stop toying with you people when I'm bored."
With that, he made a lazy sweep of his club, Rickard and the man on his right narrowly dodging. The man on Rickard's left, however, was too slow, his head coming off and flying into the air, his body shoved to the side as it fell.
In the shock of losing their companion, Wyald acted almost too fast to catch, sweeping the legs out from the other man beside Rickard and slamming the spike of his war club into the man's back, piercing through the plate the man wore like it was wet paper.
Rickard's shout of rage mingled with the dying man's screams as he rushed towards Wyald, his sword raised high.
As Rickard made his chop, though, Wyald's hand flashed up, grabbing the man's arm and stopping the blow cold in its tracks. An attempted bashing with his shield had the same outcome, and Wyald lifted the man off his feet, Rickard's shouts transforming from rage into panic as he writhed.
Wyald grinned, a feral thing that grew wider as he lifted a knee to Rickard's chest, pressing him against it, and began to pull at his arms.
Panic became pain, Rickard's voice going higher and higher until his arms finally gave way, Rickard falling to the ground armless as Wyald began to laugh.
Wyald took a step forward, his foot landing on Rickard's head and snapping the man's neck with a crunching sound as he tossed the now dead man's shield arm aside, looking down at the bloody end of his sword arm for a moment before licking the blood from it, his grin now stained pink as he tossed the arm aside.
"I am the strongest! I am always dominant!" he shouted as he took up his club again, blood dripping from it as he threw his arms wide in showmanship. "This is the law I will etch into this world's flesh."
His gaze fell on Daniel, and the tip of his club slowly came to point at the man. "I want you to find out for yourself. Come on. Fight me and die."
Daniel took a deep breath, then stepped towards Wyald slowly, the tip of his swordspear making a lazy figure-8 as he approached. He absolutely had to be careful. However newly-minted he may be, he was still an apostle. He didn't know what kind of time he'd already had with his new strength, but it would be far greater than his own normal strength.
"Daniel!" Guts shouted from behind him, making Daniel pause as the boy struggled past the rather surprised Black Dogs. "Don't!"
Wyald looked behind Daniel and shook his head he chuckled. "You brought a kid to the battlefield? I thought you'd be smarter than that."
"He can take care of himself," Daniel replied. "Right now, you focus on me."
As he said the last word, he lunged forward, aiming a thrust at Wyald's daringly exposed neck. Wyald was quick on his feet, the war club batting away the strike before he swung down at Daniel's head, Daniel jumping back and letting the club slam into the ground.
Daniel then charged forward, beginning to push his physical capabilities more and more as they traded strike for strike, Wyald's seemingly instinctive reflexes matching Daniel's rapidly growing strength and speed as their weapons began to move faster and faster, Daniel's blade buzzing more and more, the buzzing becoming a growling as Daniel let the power within the swordspear become more and more unrestrained, and more than a few eyes widened, he was sure, as they saw the blade seemingly begin to glow as it sliced through the air.
Then, an unlikely opening presented itself. The club, near the head, was slowly being chopped away as their strikes collided. If he could land a strike right in the cleft…
The club was moving again, stabbing at him with the still-bloodied spike. Daniel danced to the side, bringing up his blade and slamming it down into the cleft. He struck true, and the top 1/4th of the club bounced into the ground, rolling towards a stunned Guts.
Wyald stepped back, regarding the now somewhat ruined weapon for a moment before he shouted in rage, swinging into the oncoming stab that Daniel leveled towards him and slamming into it with enough force to rip it out of his hands, the wooden haft shattered and the metal strips that held onto it bent at a solid 45-degree angle.
'Shit!' was all Daniel managed to think as he dodged back from the wild follow-up, his attempts to draw his sword and knife met with Wyald pressing the attack more and more. Finally, in an act of pure desperation, he charged into Wyald's body, slamming into the man's chestplate with his shoulder.
A gasp went up as the blow, against all odds, sent the massive man stumbling, Wyald slamming onto his back as Daniel gathered his breath for a moment and drew his sword and hooked dagger. They wouldn't be as reinforced as his swordspear was, but they would be better than nothing.
As Wyald began to get to his feet, Daniel offered him a salute that was almost ingrained in him, the sword in his left hand pointed out towards Wyald while the dagger went across his arm, the crossguard resting in the crook of his elbow.
Wyald began to chuckle as he finally stood, taking the now less useful weapon in his hand. "You're much more of a challenge than I thought. Most men only last as long as your friends did."
"It's going to make you that much more fun to put into the dirt!" Wyald shouted as he charged forward, their weapons beginning to meet again. As expected, the blows they traded began to dull Daniel's sword almost immediately, and he swore it bent somewhat from a particularly desperate parry.
'I just need an opening…' Daniel thought as he put a shallow gash on the back of Wyald's hand, causing the man to growl in pain. 'I could make an opening. End this with… no!'
He couldn't use his powers yet. It was still a dangerous slope sliding back towards that… thing. Only in the most dangerous circumstances here could he escalate to such a thing.
"Come on, come on!" Wyald shouted as he batted Daniel's sword aside, the club swinging back towards Daniel's open side. He shouted in triumph, and the mercenaries groaned, as the blow connected, sending Daniel flying to the side, slamming into the backs of three of the Black Dogs, and crashing to the ground along with them.
"Daniel!" Guts shouted as the man he cried out to struggled to get up. Then he heard a deep chuckle, and his gaze turned back to Wyald as he began to approach, his smile still bloody.
"Your old man made a mistake bringing you out here," Wyald said as he hefted his club, Guts raising his sword and doing his best to guard against him, the tip of the blade still shaking regardless. "Let's make sure he doesn't make the same mistake twice."
As Wyald raised his club, Guts' eyes went wide as he saw, of all people, Gambino charge past him, swinging his sword towards an open portion of Wyald's armor, landing a gash on his bicep as he charged forward. "You idiot!" Gambino shouted back at him. "Let us deal with this! Get back into the ranks!"
"Oh-ho-ho! Protective, are we?" Wyald said as he turned his focus to Gambino, parrying and striking slowly, probing into Gambino's defenses for a few moments. Then, Wyald shouted in triumph as he thrust forward, the thick club slamming into Gambino's chestplate and crumpling it at the point of impact. Gambino tumbled onto his back, his shout becoming a wheeze as a follow-up blow from the club slammed down into his chest, denting the plate further as the sound of more than a few cracks could be heard over the noise.
Gambino began to kick weakly at Wyald's legs, but the massive man simply chuckled as he reached out and took a hold of the leg. "Kicking like a baby. How impressive. Here. Let me help you grow up."
He planted his boot on Gambino's chest and began to pull up on the leg, Gambino shouting, then screaming in pain until it finally tore free from the knee, Wyald stepping back and waving it like some sick trophy as a group broke through the ring of Dogs and dragged Gambino back.
As he turned to face Daniel, however, his eyes went wide as he saw the man going low and fast, the blades in his hands glinting in the sunlight as one drove towards its target.
The blade struck true, stabbing deep into Wyald's loins as the man gave, at last, a shout of pain, going to his knees as Daniel's knife sliced deep into Wyald's right arm, the deep gash in the man's bicep forcing him to drop his club as Daniel sliced into the other bicep, withdrawing his sword from Wyald's ruined testicles to strike at Wyald's throat.
With a shout, however, the other Black Dogs intervened as the battle recommenced, Daniel's attention drawn away as he caught four of the Dogs dragging Wyald away, two taking the pieces of his club.
It was a quick battle, still, the Black Dogs retreating away from the fort, much to the anger and chagrin of their commander. The rest of the Midlandian forces followed suit, and the day was won as the sun began to set.
Guts made his way to Daniel in the aftermath, stepping over bodies as Daniel picked up his swordspear, inspecting the damage. "That sucks." Guts said bluntly as they began to walk towards their camp.
"A little, yeah," Daniel replied. "I'll have to get a new haft for this thing, but the blade's undamaged. It could certainly be worse."
Guts shrugged. "That guy. Wyald… he was crazy."
Daniel nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly. "He was."
They went silent as they passed the liter that carried Gambino away. Guts wondered if he had died.
. . .
He was shocked to find out that the man was still alive. Barely.
"He lost a lot of blood, but I managed to stabilize him." Leonard, their chief medic, said as he wiped a towel across his hands to get said blood off. "That he got this far is something of a miracle."
"Come on, Gambino's tough," Gerard said somewhat incredulously.
"Yeah, but…" Horace trailed off. "Look at him. He's never going to fight again."
They all regarded him, wrapped in bandages around his chest and the stump where his leg had been. Horace would have been a fool to suggest anything to the contrary of what he'd said.
Horace sighed quietly as he turned to Daniel, who stood silently by Guts' side. "We'll need to think about what happens next. Who's going to lead us from now on." his gaze settled intently on Daniel, Wendell's following his lead. "I know who I want leading us."
Daniel's brow arched. "I'm honored you regard me that highly. But we should talk to the others first. Maybe they have someone else in mind."
"Let's go get them, then," Wendell said as he made his way out of the tent, Horace following suit.
Gerard followed, then paused for a moment as he turned to look at Daniel. "You coming?"
Daniel looked down at Guts for a moment. "I'll meet you at the command tent in a few minutes."
Horace nodded. "Alright."
With that, and the quiet departure of Leonard, Guts and Daniel were alone in the tent with Gambino. "Do you want a moment here?"
Guts considered the question as he looked at the man who had saved him. Who had given him so much grief in his time. Almost without thinking, Guts reached up to the scar across his nose from when the man had cut it so deeply. Then he thought about the medicine that he'd given him.
There was more than enough to hate about Gambino, that much was sure. But… why save him, heal him, then?
Then, Gambino began to stir. "Sh… Shisu…"
Guts' brow rose as Gambino unconsciously reached up. "I'm… I'm on my way… I'm trying…"
Guts considered, for the briefest of moments, trying to comfort the man, somehow. Hold his hand, for what little it would do.
Then Daniel put a hand on Guts' shoulder, and they left Gambino alone with his dreams.
. . .
Castle Hegon, Tudor Controlled Territory, 1 Year Later
Daniel Theisman, now the head of the Thunderbolts mercenary company, considered his options as he watched the men drilling in the courtyard below from the low tower he stood on alone.
The last year had been one of consolidation for their Tudor employers. Thus, instead of being paid to assault forts and castles, they were now being paid to defend this castle, the one where he'd gotten the sword and dagger, rather amusingly.
It made some of the more battle-hungry men a little grumpy. But on the whole, they all appreciated the chance to rest, train, and be paid to do it. All in actual houses and inns instead of in tents. Though he was clear that any who were too rowdy should expect to lose the former for the latter. Most importantly, it gave them room to think about their options.
He heard a knock on the door behind him, turning to see a taller man with tanned skin and light blond hair, grey eyes intently looking at him from above a broken nose, and a stripe of a scar where an arquebus shot had narrowly missed him that ran across his left cheek. "Yes, Willem?"
Willem, who was his second in command, fully stepped onto the tower, shutting the door. "I assume you're finishing the groundwork for what you're planning?"
"Somewhat. Have you thought it over?"
Willem nodded as he joined him by the window, looking down at the troops. "Yes… but it still confuses me. The Tudors have been reliable employers for us. We're in this castle right now because of that. Why leave it all behind now?"
Daniel smiled slightly. "It's remarkably simple, really. Economic prioritization."
Willem's brow rose, and Daniel began to elaborate. "The Tudor Empire is riding high right now. As far as they can tell, this war will be over in a year or two if Midlandian resistance holds out the way it has."
"And I know you and I are both of a different opinion," Willem said, thinking of recent news.
Daniel nodded. "Especially now that groups like the Band of the Falcon have publicly thrown in their lot with Midland, I fully expect that there could be a stalemate, if not a reversal of some sort. Even still, with the way things are going, and how the Tudor generals are, well, in general, I wouldn't be fully surprised if they decide that their funds that go towards paying their mercenaries should instead go to consolidating their gains in other ways. Midland, on the other hand…" Daniel trailed off as he looked meaningfully at Willem.
"Is more desperate," Willem said slowly as he nodded. "With how things are going for them, they'd likely be more than willing to pay a premium for good soldiers, whatever their war chest looks like. On top of that, it'd mean that we'd get better weapons, better gear, a number of actually decent horses…"
"And we'd get to be big damn heroes while doing it." Daniel finished as he looked down at the courtyard again, and saw Guts off to the side from the men who trained. He'd become quite skilled under his tutelage. Even the massive sword that he carried flowed through the air with a grace that he'd never seen elsewhere now.
"It… it might work," Willem said, silence following the words for a few moments. "Have you told anyone else?"
"I haven't filled everyone in on the details. That's what today is for. Afterward, if all goes well, I expect to be on my way to Wyndham with Horace and Guts before the sun sets."
"I hope the Tudors won't notice." Willem grimaced. "That could make things… awkward."
"We'll look like we're leaving for the back lines for something then loop around once we're away from the castle." Daniel slapped Willem's shoulder. "We'll make it work. After all, we've made it this far, haven't we?"
Willem chuckled. "We have indeed."
. . .
In the courtyard, Guts put the tip of his sword on the ground as he gathered his breath. The other men he'd been training beside, under the watchful eye of Wendell, had gone their separate ways, Wendell having dismissed them to go to a meeting with Daniel.
To do what, he didn't really care. There wasn't much that he cared about beyond fighting. He'd taken up some woodcarving under Daniel, but other than that, all he really wanted to do was be alone with his thoughts, and train with his sword.
For now, though, he was thirsty. He sheathed his sword and made his way to the well that was a little ways away from the courtyard.
As he approached, seeing several men clustered around it as well, he heard barking and yipping. As he looked over to the sound, he found its source.
Gambino played with a small dog, one that he'd taken a shine to. It seemed to be the only living thing now that he tolerated for any length of time, and Guts wondered where that smile he had, possessing an impossible hint of warmth, had been for years.
As he drew from the well, grabbing a cup, he wondered for a moment as he turned, looking over at Gambino. He could smell the reek of alcohol from here, and see a few empty bottles at his feet. He hesitated. This was a lot more than he deserved. Leagues more.
Then he remembered something Daniel had said long ago.
He'd been wounded after a battle. That much was neither surprising nor uncommon.
However, he'd gotten away from Daniel, and chased after one of the enemy lieutenants. They were worth a pretty penny. Then, Daniel had gotten wounded himself getting him out of the situation. Far more than Guts had.
After the battle, as they settled into their tent, one more slowly than the other, he hadn't been able to look at Daniel from the shame.
"You forgot your training." Daniel had said after a moment. "Got caught up in the moment."
He'd nodded, and Daniel chuckled softly. "It happens to the best of us. Don't be too down about it. You lived, after all."
Guts had remained silent. "Guts…" Daniel said quietly.
"Do I deserve this sword?" he'd said, looking up at the blade that was utterly his. "I'm just a kid, as Gambino likes to remind me. Maybe I don't deserve to be training under you until I've grown up some."
He'd suspected that Daniel was somewhat taken aback by the words. But the feeling had been stewing in him since the end of the battle.
The words Daniel would say next would be etched into his memory. "It's not always about deserving, kid. I train you because I enjoy it, and I'm sure you do too. You're a prodigy when it comes to the blade, whatever reason that may come from. You have the ability to watch my back, that much I'm sure. And you can keep whoever you set your mind to safe. That's because of you. I could only encourage you."
Daniel had paused, and he'd looked up to see the man staring into the middle distance. "Besides," Daniel said quietly, "if it was all about deserving… I wouldn't be here."
'It's not always about deserving…'
Guts grabbed another cup, filled it with the cold water of the well, and walked over to Gambino.
Gambino looked over at him as he approached, his somewhat hazy eyes narrowing as Guts held out the cup for him. After a moment, he took it, downing it in one long draught. "Well, at least you're still good at doing this, kid." he nearly mumbled as he set the cup down and rested his arm on his crutch. "Meat," he said next as if the word explained itself.
"What?"
Gambino's brow furled as he looked back at Guts. "Meat. For the dog. I'm sure Daniel taught you to help out those in need. So hurry up and get it."
Guts hesitated for a moment, and anger flashed through Gambino's eyes as he brought his crutch up and smacked Guts in the shoulder. "Hurry up and get it!" he shouted, the words becoming a racking cough as those soldiers looked over at him.
Guts took a step back as he looked between Gambino and the dog. The dog looked back up at him, a pitiful whine escaping it. 'I can at least do it for the dog.'
"I'll go get some," he muttered as he walked away.
As Guts disappeared from sight, Horace looked over at Gambino, and Gambino looked back. "And what're y' looking at?" Gambino said as he took another swig from a bottle.
"You treat a kid who helped you out like shit, is all," Horace said.
"You wanna say that again?" Gambino said, reaching for the sheathed sword that leaned up against his chair, drawing it, and pointing it at Horace. "The little shit's lucky I decided to let him live."
Horace said nothing, simply regarding Gambino for a moment before the crippled man sheathed his sword, setting it up against the chair and placing the bottle beside it. "Damn cowards," he muttered as his eyelids began to droop. "Won't even… fight a cripple…"
. . .
Guts, having bought some meat for the dog, began to go back on his way to the room where he and Daniel were staying, looking around himself at the walls that were still blackened and somewhat blasted from the last time they were here.
As he made his way through the streets, drawing the attention of those garrison members that he passed, he saw Daniel walking towards him, and his mood began to lighten at least a little.
"How was your training session, Guts?" Daniel asked.
"It was alright. Why're you out here?"
Daniel smiled slightly. "We'll be heading off tonight with Horace. Willem is going to keep an eye on everyone while we're away."
Guts' brow arched as he fell in with Daniel, the pair entering the castle proper. "Where are we going?"
Daniel looked around for a moment to ensure that they were alone in the hallway and lowered his voice regardless. "We're headed to Wyndham to try and get employed by Midland. It's about a week's ride from here, so we're getting started as soon as we can."
Guts' eyes went wide as they entered their room, one usually reserved for whatever decently ranking knight was staying. "You can… do that?"
"As a mercenary? Oh, yes. There are plenty of reasons to do it, too. But…"
Daniel settled on the bed, his readied pack next to him. "We aren't just doing this to gain a little more coin. I'm sure everyone else will find that nice, but I have other reasons."
"Like what?"
Daniel was silent for a moment as he considered the question. "Something tells me that the tide's about to turn. That we're about to be on the wrong side of things if we aren't careful. News has been coming to my attention from outside. News of mercenary bands joining Midland's side that are proving themselves in this war. Bands that I think are going to be victorious."
"So," Daniel said as he stood, shouldering his pack, "let's try to be one of them, shall we?"
. . .
1 Week Later
The journey had been a rather more tense one than Guts had expected, more than a few moments spent waiting with bated breath as a Tudor patrol marched by. Then Midlandian ones.
As they camped a half day's ride from the city in a wooded grove, however, that would hopefully come to an end.
Guts waited outside the tent while Horace prepared the horses, looking out at the sunrise and wondering why people liked to look at something that happened every day. It was just the sun rising, after all.
Except… here, framed between the trees with their leaves beginning to turn into the oranges, yellows, and reds of autumn, it took on a different air than the ones that he had seen before, somehow.
Before he could wonder why for any length of time, the tent flap opened behind him, and he turned to see Daniel stepping out, clad in his armor save for his helmet. This time, however, his greatcoat and pants were white, a striking contrast to the rest of his armor. "Where did you get that?" he asked as he watched Daniel tie a white cloth to the haft of his swordspear.
"The same place I got the rest of my armor," Daniel replied. "A long time ago, when I was someone whose story is far too long and complicated to explain."
"But," Daniel continued, "what matters now is that you stick with me. It's a straight shot to Wyndham, and hopefully, one where we don't get killed along the way. Once we're in, I'll do the talking. You two will do your best to support me. Even if it just means staying silent and bowing to some snooty royals."
The trio mounted up and began to make the long ride towards their destination, the sun to their right as they now followed the road, a welcome change from the foraging through the wilderness that they had mostly done to this point.
In time, as the sun began to reach its peak, the still untouched, tall walls of Wyndham came into sight, the towns that surrounded it large and prosperous as they made their way past them.
Finally, they came to the gates of the city itself, the trio pausing as they waited for someone to notice them.
"Who goes there?" someone shouted from the top of the gatehouse.
"I am Daniel Theisman, the Midnight Dragon and commander of the Thunderbolts! I've come to seek an audience with whoever commands the mercenaries here! With me are one of my captains and one of my finest soldiers!"
It was silent for long moments, Daniel sitting still as he regarded the gate, then the doors opened slowly, a squad of soldiers slowly approaching, more than a few spears and swords ready.
"Your fame precedes you." the man who seemingly led them, a well-built man with brown hair and blue eyes, said, his gaze sweeping the trio and lingering for a moment on Guts. "You'll be coming with me to meet Lord Harrison of the White Tiger Knights. I will be escorting you."
Daniel nodded. "And may I know the name of the man who is keeping an eye on us?"
"I am General Laban, the current leader of the Capital Garrison."
Daniel smiled slightly. "Well met, master Laban. Lead on."
The trio's horses were taken to a stable close to the gates, and they made their way toward the garrison buildings of the city, weaving their way through busy streets.
"So," Laban said as they walked, looking back at Guts, who stared around him with wide, almost wondrous eyes, "is he one of your captains, or your 'finest warrior'?"
"He's the best fighter I've had the pleasure of working with," Daniel replied. "The former leader of the Thunderbolts had a strict policy when it came to the men in his care serving in battle. I've simply made sure that he stays safe. He's proven himself every time."
"Maybe so… but to take a child into battle…"
"It is all he has known since birth. Long before I took command, our band found him as a newborn under a hanging tree." Daniel paused for a moment. "Death is all he has ever known," he said quietly.
Laban's eyes went wide, then he closed them as he shook his head. "I feel like an old man these days with how young some of the soldiers are, regardless of whether they're regulars or mercenaries."
Daniel smiled wanly. "I know the feeling."
"If the war drags on much longer… I think we may both be destroyed by it." Laban said ominously.
They came to the doors of the garrison headquarters, a long, low building, at least compared to most within the city, that was made of stone, its halls lit by torches and candles when they were not illuminated by windows.
Finally, they reached the door to a room, the door itself somewhat fancifully gilded and decorated, and Laban knocked.
"Enter." a voice, clear and steady even as the growl of age began to creep into it, replied from the other side.
Laban opened the door and led the way into an office that was dominated by a long table with maps and papers nearly spilling off of it, the walls decorated in the heraldry of Midland and what he assumed was the White Tiger Knights' standard, a white tiger rampant to the left on checkering of red and black. In the corner on a table was armor that was either recently used or was being prepared to be used again, an ornate helm shaped like a snarling tiger sitting atop shoulder pads shaped into claws that held a white tiger pelt.
The man who sat behind the desk was, unsurprisingly, an older man, silver strands beginning to spring up amongst the head of black hair and the mustache of the broad, barrel-bodied man.
"And who are these, General Laban?" he asked rather curtly.
"This is Sir Daniel Theisman, the Midnight Dragon, leader of the Thunderbolts, and guests, sir," Laban replied. "They're here to discuss joining our cause against the Tudors."
The man, whom Daniel assumed was Harrison, leaned back in his chair. "I see. The Midnight Dragon. You've been quite the terror to our forces on the field and in sieges."
Daniel nodded. "Such is the business of war, my lord. But the tide, I feel, is about to turn in your favor. And I'd rather preserve my men than see them thrown away for a suddenly lost cause."
"Bold of you to glad-hand me, seeing as you still are the enemy," Harrison said. "And how unlike most mercenary leaders, to actually care about your men over the next payday."
Daniel smiled slightly. "Besides being morally just, it's a sound financial investment, keeping the men you have alive."
"Now," Daniel said, stepping forward, "we're going to be joining you, regardless. There are only two things I want to square away today. First, what we're going to do in our first few days in your employ. And secondly, the payment for the men."
Harrison's brow rose. "You are an unusual mercenary. What did you have in mind?"
"We're currently stationed at Castle Hegon, about 3 weeks' march to the north-east. As far as I can tell, it's a clear shot to the castle, and it represents a key foothold for the Tudor forces' encirclement of this city. Our forces are just about equal with the Tudor forces stationed there. If you marched a force out to the castle, and we helped you take it, Midland would at least begin to knock the Tudor forces onto the back foot."
Harrison leaned forward again, shuffling through the maps on his desk before he pulled out a map of the kingdom, marked with battle lines and Tudor holdings, and studied it for a moment. "You know what…" he said after a moment. "You might be right. This might just be the punch in the jaw that we've needed to catch the Tudor bastards with."
Harrison looked up at Daniel. "What will you need to let your men know to be ready?"
Daniel looked over at Horace and nodded. "Go and ride as hard as you can."
Before Horace could leave, he raised a hand and looked back at Harrison. "How quickly can you put a force together?"
Harrison cupped his chin in thought. "From the forces that are stationed around here… 3 days. My White Tigers would be ready."
Harrison looked over at Laban. "And it would be an excellent chance to prove the worth of your command to the king."
Daniel nodded, looking back at Horace. "You know the timing. Go."
Horace nodded in turn and walked away without another word.
"I hope that's a satisfactory turnaround for you," Daniel said. "Now, about our pay…"
. . .
1 Year Later
Daniel Theisman surveyed another battle won by their forces, the Midland army that they'd marched with in high spirits now. As he'd expected, their surprise defection and taking of Castle Hegon had been just the shot in the arm that Midland had needed.
And, as he'd expected, the venture had been terribly profitable as well, the men under his command sporting half-plate mostly now, with some instances of full plate and mail. Their swords and other weapons, according to Artur, were a godsend, and the new horses were among the finest in the band, save perhaps Shadowdanse.
And yet, even so far on, he still heard grumblings. Whispers, really. Gambino still had some sway as the former leader of the Thunderbolts, and the men that were loyal to him thought that Daniel's seemingly sudden turn to Midland's side was a mistake.
He'd had Willem keeping an eye on the dissenters. He was a rather diplomatic sort, and the men got along well with him for the most part. He didn't know how long it would last, but for now… it kept things together.
"Daniel!"
Daniel looked over at Guts as he rushed up the hill towards him, a rare expression of excitement on his face. "I got the enemy commander! They gave me a good reward for him!"
Daniel, even as he smiled and clapped Guts' shoulder in congratulation, felt a pang of sorrow as he considered what Guts was excited about. The death of another man by his hand. 'I wish I could give you a life like other kids. Getting excited about the wonderfully mundane.'
"Good job." he managed to say regardless. "I'm sure that money's going to be useful in getting some armor for your horse like you've wanted."
As they began to walk away to get something to eat, Daniel looked up at the sky, billowing clouds beginning to gather, and thunder rumbling in the distance. Then he looked at Gambino, drinking with several of his usual companions.
They would have to be careful tonight. Very careful.
. . .
Guts settled in for the night, the rain drumming against the roof of the tent steadily as lightning crashed and thunder pealed every once in a while.
It had been a decent enough day. After the battle, Daniel seemed… sad about something. He couldn't quite place what, and it felt strange for him to ask right now. If he cracked open his eye, he could see Daniel sitting by the light of their lamp, carving something he'd spent years on now.
It was taken from a branch of white birch, the whitest he could find, and it had taken the shape of a striking lion. He could be seen, when they were both alone and Guts was sure Daniel wasn't noticing, sighing quietly. And ever so rarely, he'd whisper something. A name. "Eleanor…"
But, for now, he simply worked in silence. And so, Guts began to drift off to sleep.
"Gambino? What are you doing?"
Guts' eyes opened, and he saw Gambino standing over him, sword in hand and reeking of alcohol, with a look on his face that reminded him in no small part of Wyald all that time ago.
"'M takin' care of sm' unfinished business," Gambino muttered as he raised his sword high, Guts shouting as he dodged out of the way of a chop that cut through his bedding.
"Gambino…" Guts said as he pressed himself somewhat against the wall of the tent. "Why are you trying to kill me?"
"Because it all went to shit when I let her keep you." Gambino slurred. "Y' shouldn't have lived anyway. You should have died. Like Shisu did. Like I almost did. Now, look at us. She's in the ground 'cause of you, and I'm a cripple from trying to keep you alive. Not even good enough for a joke!"
"Gambino, put the sword down…" Daniel said as Gambino hacked and coughed, walking over and putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "We can talk about this…"
"And you!" Gambino shouted as he shook Daniel's hand off, turning as best he could and pointing his sword at Daniel, who backed away with his hands up. "You swoop in, coddle the damn brat after Shisu dies, and you ruin all the work that went into consistent employment with the Tudors. I spent years on that! All my contacts are probably gone now because of you!"
"But you didn't kill Shisu," he said quietly, turning back to Guts, a wild look flickering to life in his eyes. "You did. What have you got against me? Giving me evil when I treat you right?" he paused for a moment. "What've you got against me?" he shouted.
"Gambino…" Guts said, clutching the tent.
"You should have died. If not a dozen years ago under that tree, then when you wriggled out of that bastard's hands that night Shisu died."
With that, Gambino charged forward again, slicing at the tent where Guts had stood as the boy dodged out of the way, reaching for his sword to block the man's next strike, the force of it sending the boy to the ground.
"That's enough, Gambino!" Daniel shouted as he took up his own sword, cutting the crutch that the man leaned on, sending the man to the ground with a shout.
As Gambino struggled to get back up, Daniel stood above him, pointing the sword down at the man's throat. "Drop the sword," Daniel said levelly. "I won't ask you twice."
Gambino sighed, then chuckled as he looked over to see Guts get to his feet. "You wanna know something?"
The thunder crashed as Gambino paused. "That night, after your first battle…"
"You sold me out. Donovan told me before I killed him."
Gambino's eyes went wide, then he chuckled. "Canny little bastard, I'll give you that."
"Why?" Guts asked, his grip on his sword tightening as his eyes hardened.
Gambino wheezed out a laugh. "Because I was sick of you two! I wanted Daniel to remember who was in charge, and you were just following us around like some stupid puppy!"
With the last word, he made a wild swing out towards Guts. Though Daniel batted the blade out of the way, the hit that would have struck Guts instead landed on a barrel upon which the lantern sat, sending the lantern teetering precariously for a moment, Guts still struck out on instinct. And his aim was true, the tip of the blade piercing into Gambino's heart.
Gambino's eyes went wide, then the light began to go out of them as the sword slipped out of his grasp. "You… killed… Shisu…"
Daniel steadied the lantern from falling as Gambino spoke, but Guts didn't notice as he went to his knees, staring at the man as emotions, all of them clashing with one another for dominance, swirled through his head.
Before he even got the chance to pick one out and process it, he heard others entering the tent.
. . .
Daniel looked as several men, mostly unfamiliar to him, barged in. Where he did recognize them, however, was from seeing them drinking with Gambino. This was bad. Very bad, as he still smelled the alcohol on them.
"What the hell did you do?" one of the men said, a hand on his sword as he stepped forward.
"Look, step out of the tent, and I'd be more than happy to explain," Daniel said.
"You two killed him!" another man said, actually unsheathing his sword and taking a step forward before Daniel raised his guard. "It wasn't enough to tear everything apart when he got crippled and you… swaggered into command?"
"Look…" Daniel began, pausing and breathing a sigh of relief as Horace shoved his way in, pausing as he looked down at the body of Gambino, the man's blood still dripping off the tip of Guts' sword.
"What happened here?" Horace said in a daze.
"They killed him!" one of Gambino's drinking buddies said. "In cold blood, after all he's done for us!"
"That was after he barged into the tent and tried to kill Guts in a drunken rage," Daniel said. "I tried to calm him down, stop him from doing something he might regret. But it didn't work."
He could hear more of the camp stirring to life in the storm as Horace shook his head. "I mean… Gambino… after all this…"
Gerard and Willem walked in, pushing some of Gambino's friends out. Gerard had also been somewhat partial to Gambino's command, Daniel knew, and he could hear the argument outside picking up over the quieter moments of the storm.
Daniel looked back at Guts, who looked back at him with tears of confusion in his eyes, and took a deep breath as he looked back at his command staff.
"It's true. We killed Gambino in self-defense as he tried to kill Guts. But even so, I can't bear the thought of this one act tearing the band apart."
He was silent for a moment as he pondered. "There are enough men out there who will want some sort of justice, that much is sure. But…"
Then, a few moments more of silence seemed to lead him to a conclusion as he nodded, and looked over at Willem. "Guts and I will depart tonight. Willem, I hate to foist this command on you, but in order to calm the more noisy parts of the band down, it's probably the only way."
Willem was clearly uneasy at the prospect of trying to do what Daniel asked of him, and Daniel stepped forward, sheathing his sword as he put a hand on Willem's shoulder. "I trust you can work with the others and make it work. I'd never ask you to try otherwise."
Willem opened his mouth, then shut it as he nodded. "Thank you for your trust."
Daniel smiled slightly. "Go inform them while we get ready."
Willem nodded, returning to the storm as Daniel looked at Horace and Gerard. "Gentlemen, it's become a pleasure serving with you. I'm glad I got to know and depend on you all."
The two men, equally shocked as Willem, nodded their heads and turned to leave the tent.
Daniel sighed quietly and turned to face Guts. "Come on, Guts. We have to pack."
. . .
They were able to pack quickly, even in the middle of the storm, Shadowdanse and another horse prepped for the pair as they exited the now somewhat ruined tent, the men staring at them as best they could in the dark.
After a few more goodbyes to the men that Daniel and Guts had gotten to know, they were off, galloping into the wild night.
Even with their rather calm exit, Daniel still checked behind him every once in a while. He didn't trust that some wouldn't still come after them trying to exact some misguided vengeance. Guts rode ahead of him either way.
He looked back one more time, and in the flash of lightning, saw the riders on their tail. They were armored, wielding crossbows and swords as they did their best to ride them down.
'Willem must not have noticed them sneaking off. I hope.' he thought as he looked back at Guts. "Ride!" Daniel shouted as he felt more than saw the first bolt fly past them.
The two urged their horses on, running into the biting rain as they tried to escape the pursuit. But it was going to be of little use, it seemed, as Daniel saw more riders emerging from the darkness to coral them towards a cliff that he'd hoped to pass by before they rested for tonight.
'We need to punch through. They can't be terribly stacked on each other on the flank…'
His thoughts were swept away as he saw Guts take a bolt through the back through the flagging storm, and his eyes went wide as he teetered and fell, right off the edge of the cliff.
"Guts!" he screamed, riding up to the side and looking down for a moment into the darkness. A part of his mind reminded him that Guts would live, but that part's whisper was lost in the gale of his rage.
His brand shone on his brow as a glittering blade became into his hand, and he turned and charged the men, howling. The bared blades, ephemeral and terribly real, would be the last thing these men saw.
. . .
Guts struggled back to consciousness, forcing his eyes open as he saw the clouds above him clearing.
'I… can't move…'
His eyes opened fully now, and he took in the sweep of the stars, the moon shining down into the shallow water that surrounded him, cold numbing every part of his body save where he was shot and in what must have been some broken ribs, the act of even breathing sending pain stabbing from the wounds.
He didn't know for how long he lay there, taking in the silent, majestic sight of the night sky, but eventually, he clenched his fist, or at least he thought he did through the numbness of his body, and slowly got to his feet, a hand gently feeling at the head of the bolt that had caught him.
It was a nasty wound, no doubt about it. He picked up his sword and began to make his way to the shore.
He was alone. The thought suddenly struck him as he drew close to the shore and nearly drove him to his knees. Daniel was nowhere to be found. It was a feeling that was utterly alien now. Utterly terrifying. The night seemed to press in on him even more now, the trees taking on a sinister bent in the shadows. Where…
Then, out of the dark, Shadowdanse slowly walked, his horse by the other's side, Daniel astride him and bearing no small amount of cuts and bruises himself.
Guts' eyes went wide. "What happened? How did you…"
"Don't worry about that," Daniel said as he dismounted, walking towards him and allowing Guts to see just how narrowly the man had seemed to avoid death. "Right now, we worry about you."
Daniel checked for a moment on the bolt. "Broken. Damn," he muttered as he snapped off the hanging back of the bolt. "Get ready. I'll get some bandages, and we'll get you dressed and ready to go."
"Go where?" Guts asked.
"Wherever you feel is best, Guts."