The Last Red Shoulder

Chapter 3: Squad Seven

20th Sage, 703

Entry #3

I know this must sound funny for a Red Shoulder—the most feared dark magician on the face of Elibe—to admit, but I can't get over this damn seasickness. I can tear apart any foe with Fenrir, I can use any staff I can get my hand on, but there's nothing I can do to quiet my stomach! If there's some magic out there that can help me, Trunicht never taught it. My friends would all laugh at me if they knew, but since this is my personal journal, none of them will ever know. I

"Oy! Kain!"

The brown-haired Black Knight hastily put down his quill, closed the book he was scribbling in, and turned to look at his caller. It was very early in the morning, the sun had not yet risen, and his cabin was lit only by the flickering candle on his table, but he saw almost as well in the dark as in the light. In any case, he would have recognized the voice of his best friend anywhere.

A Black Knight with a Northern hayseed accent sounded no less amusing than a Black Knight with seasickness, but only a fool would doubt Leitner's skill with elder magic or his loyalty to his comrades. His brown hair—the same color as Kain's—appeared as an unruly, tangled mass and his brown eyes were half-hidden by their lids as he stood in the doorway, giving the impression he'd just been woken up, but then again, he looked like that all the time. It very well matched his personality. He took almost nothing seriously and in all the time they'd known each other, Kain had seen him get angry or even perturbed only twice. Granted, perhaps the many kills he'd scored and his almost symbiotic relationship with his horse were enough proof that he never had much to worry about, but it wasn't immediately obvious to anyone who'd just met him. Fighting alongside him for just one battle, though, was more than enough to convince anyone to look past his happy-go-lucky manner and appearance, and Kain had fought beside him in many battles.

"What's the problem, Leitner?" Kain laughed. "Lost another game of bones? I don't have enough money to pay your debts again, you know!"

"Nah, not this time. We're 'bout t' make Landfall on th' Isles! Our squad's up on deck. Leave that damn journal b'hind and join us!"

"First good news I've had in weeks," Kain sighed, and though the cheer didn't leave Leitner's face, he nodded, for he understood and felt the same way.

Neither of them thought things would turn out like this when they'd joined up with Trunicht and his Red Shoulders.

They'd been recruited before the war—the Civil War, as they knew it to be called now. Kain was a city boy unhappy with life in Thagaste as the son of an unsuccessful merchant when someone he knew—a childhood friend named Kassa, whose family had a falling out with his own over the direction they thought Etruria was going—offered him a way out. After performing an odd test on the twenty-two year old, his friend told him he had great potential, but only in a forbidden form of magic hated by the Church. That was enough to pique his interest, and he happily accepted his friend's offer. Together, they eloped out of Thagaste to Nerinheit, where Trunicht happily accepted him into the Red Shoulder battalion, where he learned, alongside his friend, to master the dark arts and the art of riding a horse. He'd met Leitner in training—about the same age as he was, but from a town called Sorveno in the north, he loved risks and new experiences, and while he was neither happy nor unhappy with the way Etruria was governed, the Red Shoulders offered him a chance to do things very few people ever had, and his affinity for weird, distrusted, and even outcast ways of life made him a good fit for the Red Shoulders…and a natural companion for Kain.

The two of them together seemed as if they could take on the world—at least at first. Their first battle at the Fortress of Spears had been one of the high points of their lives. Dispensing shadowy death from horseback, watching the arrogant nobles twist and squirm under the power of their magic…it seemed like they were invulnerable, and that Trunicht and Paptimus were the best employers in the world. When they took control of Thagaste, it seemed like they truly were untouchable, members of an elite which would soon conquer not only Etruria but all of Elibe.

Then came the Battle of Aquleia, and things went downhill after that.

Kain and Leitner had barely made it out of there alive. Only the quick thinking of Kassa, who Warped all of them away to safety, kept them from meeting the same fate as much of the rest of the Red Shoulders—burned to death on their boats, their sneak attack on Aquleia turned into a hideous trap when the Royalists set fire to their own oil-filled harbor. Losses for the Red Shoulders had been so crippling that the entire battalion had to be reorganized; no longer was it limited to only Dark magic users. Thanks to his performance at the Fortress of Spears, Kain had been given command of a squad consisting of his Black Knight and Druid friends along with a General, Sniper, Hero, and even a Bishop. It didn't do them much good, though. The 7th Squad of the 1st Platoon fought viciously at Thagaste, winning renown for slaying a hundred Royalist troops by themselves, but it still wasn't enough to save the city, and barely escaped with their lives. Following the retreat, they were prepared to give their lives in the defense of the Fortress of Spears, but Kain could see where the war was going, and he had grown too attached to his squadmates to let them die. In the chaos following the release of that strange metal monster wielding the giant blue blade, Kain ordered his squad to retreat back to Nerinheit (and saved his Sniper's life in the process).

That battle had taken place on the Fourth Sage—more than two weeks ago. They'd reached their capitol of Nerinheit just a few days later, and almost the moment they'd dragged themselves through the city gate, bedraggled, demoralized, and miserable, they were put on one of the large caravels mouldering in the harbor and shipped off to the Western Isles. Trunicht knew the war was lost, but he told them they could continue their struggle on those islands, which the Royalists had long been trying to seize for themselves.

Kain was not a foolish man—he knew the Rebels no longer had any chance of defeating their foes on the mainland. But he'd fought too hard to just abandon the Revolutionary cause, and his squad—his friends—felt the same. He hated the King and the way his country had been governed, and despite the blood on his hands—some of it children's blood—he had thoroughly convinced himself that the Royalists were worse. And thus, despite their defeat on the mainland, and even despite the rumors they'd heard that their leader Paptimus himself had been killed, they were journeying to the Western Isles, so that at least one spot on Elibe could be free from the grasping fingers of "King and Church."

And through it all, the members of Squad Seven had resolutely stood by him, offering their lives beside his own. The least he could do to repay them would be to see how they were doing on the eve of their arrival.

There was already a small crowd on deck when he and Leitner popped their heads out of the caravel's stairwell. A small one, though. The ship only carried one hundred people, and it was part of a dozen which had left the port of Nerinheit a few days ago—the last batch of those carrying Red Shoulders which would be leaving for the Isles. Most of its crew was still sleeping, their troubles rendering them too tired to do anything but sleep until the ship actually made landfall. A few, however—about a dozen or so—were eager to see what lay ahead of them, and were clustered in front of the deck to get a good look at where they were going. Not that the view was particularly breathtaking—these weren't called the Misty Isles for nothing. At this distance, Kain could only make out a vague black shape nestled within a seemingly endless cloud of grey fog over seas the same color. It lightened his heart, though, to know that he was at least nearing his destination. And at least a few of the people on the deck seemed to feel the same way. Five of them were the other members of his squad.

"Jann! Deckham!" Kain called, waving happily and running up to the two men sitting the starboard side, Leitner jogging behind him. They had been playing a small game of dice together, though Kain knew they were probably just keeping score of their wins rather than actually betting any money—they reserved that for Leitner, who they knew they could usually bilk. They both looked up from their game and grinned.

"Nice to see you, commander," Jann said. He was a large, muscular Armor Knight—well, General, actually. A crop of short blond hair crowned a masculine face that looked as if it had been carved from rock. His blue eyes gave the impression of a man you could trust, and he'd lived up to those expectations, even though he was the newest member of their squad. He was originally one of Garl Vinland's men and sincerely believed in the Rebel cause. He fought in the battle of Caerleon, but didn't witness his master's death, having retreated under the orders of his commanding officer before Vinland died. Unlike most of Vinland's forces, who surrendered to help maintain control over their devastated countship, Jann wanted to keep fighting, and Trunicht was quite happy to have him. Squad Seven was just as happy, since he'd acquitted himself excellently during the Second Battle of the Fortress of Spears, killing twenty royalist soldiers by himself before the arrival of that twisted, greatsword-wielding monster. He was also friendly and easy to get along with—like Leitner, he was calm and almost never lost control of himself, and he was rarely seen without a gentle smile and a kind word. He also liked sports, being forever willing to engage in a friendly arm-wrestling match or other feat of strength, which he usually won. Unfortunately, he wasn't a very creative or quick thinking man; it was obvious why Vinland had not promoted him to command. The other members of the squad could often beat him in games of strategy, but fortunately, he was as gracious in defeat as he was in victory, always willing to accept advice or give it gently whenever he won.

No-one appreciated these characteristics more than his best friend, Deckham. "Wanted some fresh air, eh, Commander?" the red-haired Hero asked. Deckham was one of the first members of Squad Seven and one of the most devoted veterans of the Revolutionary cause. He was one of the mercenaries who'd originally answered Paptimus' call, but unlike most of the others, he'd not abandoned the Rebel cause when things started to go badly for it. His background made it easy to see why. Deckham was originally from the Lycian canton of Araphen, and grew up in an orphanage up to the age of 16. That was when he applied for and succeeded in entering the Araphen militia, in order to raise money for the other children there. However, he was soon thrown into the Lycian Civil War, and the orphanage in Araphen was burned down by marauding Ostian soldiers. This made him fiercely loyal to the cause of the Araphen rebels, but when the count betrayed the rebels and sided with Ostia, Deckham found himself unable to let go of his grudge. He fled Lycia, carrying with him a burning hatred of nobles in general…along with a great deal of cynicism, melancholy, and no real skills besides his impressive swordsmanship. When Jann joined the squad, he found a kindred spirit and a fast friend—Kain noted he only really started smiling after he'd started playing his games with the big, affable General. They were well-suited for each other; Jann won their tests of strength, but Deckham won contests of speed, and both laughed at their own foibles whether they faced victory or defeat.

There was one soldier who didn't seem happy to see him, though. A Sniper stood near the railing of the deck, watching the waves with an inscrutable expression on his face. He had green hair tied back in a modest ponytail, and when he heard Kain's arrival, he turned his blue eyes to his commander in a look that was somewhere between angry and dismissive, and went back to seawatching.

Kain didn't give it much thought—Zalf was always like that. The small Sniper—shortest man in their squad—did not much like his commander at all. He had always been one of the most fanatical devotees of the Rebel cause, ever since he'd been recruited. Kain didn't know why, and Zalf did not like being asked. So devoted was he to Paptimus that he wanted to die defending the Fortress of Spears, and ever since Kain made his squad retreat, he'd carried a grudge against the Black Knight for what he considered an abandonment of the Revolution. At the same time, though, he also bore an unshakeable loyalty towards Kain—for he knew very well that Kain was not a coward. The Black Knight had suffered a grievous wound protecting him from enemy archers during the siege, and would have died if Leitner hadn't had a Heal staff handy nearby. For that alone, no matter how much he resented "fleeing" to the Western Isles, Zalf would never abandon his commander. And that was really all Kain cared about.

Loud splashing in the water near the railing caught Kain's attention, and he and Leitner turned to see what the commotion was. A priest was standing near Zalf—at least, you'd think he was a priest at first glance, were it not for the fact that his clerical vestments were black rather than white. His short lavender hair was tousled by the sea breeze, and he stared down at the water below with a peaceful expression on his soft, boyish face, watching a school of fish leap out of the water to catch the bread crumbs he was throwing at them.

"Kessler," said Kain, "I'm sure the fish appreciate it, but that's our food. Don't waste it."

"Aw, no need t' worry 'bout that," laughed Leitner. "He's just fattenin' em up so we get more eatin' when we catch em'. Ain't that right?"

Kain had to laugh, and even the usually-angry Zalf, standing nearby, couldn't suppress a chuckle when he heard that. Kessler, for his part, bowed to Leitner sincerely. "Yes, thank you, Leitner. You seem to have read my mind! Though, er, I seem to have forgot a net…"

Kain just smiled. "Don't worry about it." While they really didn't have much food, a few crumbs of bread was a luxury he was willing to spare for Kessler. The man was, in many ways, the main source of Squad Seven's emotional strength. He was perpetually gentle, understanding, and patient, always willing to provide a kind and sympathetic ear to any of his friends, no matter what their problems were. He also liked animals as much as he liked people—whether it was fish, birds, or squirrels, nothing made him happier than offering them a few treats here and there. He would have made a good Bishop, and indeed, he was training to be one…before a scandal involving his priest and mentor stealing from his parishioners demolished his faith in the Eliminean church. He thought Paptimus and the Revolutionary belief in reason was a better alternative, and had offered his skill with staves and Light magic to the Red Shoulder Battalion. Those staves—Sleep and Berserk in particular—had been very useful to Squad Seven over the course of the war.

"Some commander you are," came a young woman's pleasant, spritely voice—the last member of their squad. "Discipline's gonna go straight to pot if you don't put your foot down every now and then, Kain."

"If I did, we just wouldn't be having as much fun, would we, Kassa," Kain smirked as he watched her saunter up to them. Kassa was a Druid, and (not only to Kain) an exceptionally beautiful one as well. Though she kept her body concealed under a Druid's robes most of the time, her face alone was lovely enough to catch the attention of every male Red Shoulder. Her most striking feature, however, was her long white hair. Not grey—pure white, the same color as undriven snow. It fell long and straight to her back, and Kain had never seen anything like it—though he was more used to it than most.

He and Kassa had known each other ever since they were small children, but when they were teenagers their lives had begun to take different paths. His parents had always disapproved of their friendship—she belonged to a strange family, hermits living in the poor quarters, really, around whom strange rumors always swirled. They supposedly had dark magic in their blood. She disappeared when they were about fourteen, and Kain always wondered where she'd went, until she came back to him when they were sixteen, full of tales about a farsighted man named Trunicht and the sorts of changes he planned to make to Etruria. Those tales were enough to convince Kain to leave his boring life in Thagaste behind and join the Red Shoulders. Considering her talent for Elder magic, perhaps those rumors were true, but if they were, Kain probably had some "Dark" blood in him as well, considering that he was a Black Knight.

From that point on, they'd been nearly inseperable, fighting at each other's side through each battle of the Etrurian Civil War. Along with Leitner, who'd warmed up to Kassa as easily as he had Kain, they were the three strongest members of their squad. Though Kain trusted her implicitly and considered her his closest friend aside from Leitner, they were not lovers. Kain hated that state of affairs, as evident from the way he looked at her when (he thought) she wouldn't be looking.

Since she was definitely looking at him right now, he did his best, and succeeded, as usual, at keeping himself casual around her.

"Since when did a commander's duties include having fun?" she asked him, and he replied with what he thought was a witty retort: "Well, somebody has to keep morale up. Leitner can't last forever!"

"M' good cheer can," he said, then looked at Jann and Deckham. "M' wallet, though, that's another matter!"

That drew a laugh from all of them, and even the perpetually sour Zalf couldn't keep from chuckling. Kain hadn't been entirely joking, though—it was very much imperative to keep morale high, at least as much as he could. Aside from the crushing defeats they'd suffered already, all of them knew what a harsh place the Western Isles were. Though the vicious residents were supposed to be on their side, that was not guaranteed. Their Royalist enemies would probably be just as tough. Though they had been cut off from the mainland ever since the start of the war, the Etrurian colonial overlords had not been entirely rooted out by the native insurgence—they still maintained firm control over their capital of Jutes. If they'd managed to survive this long under these circumstances, they would not be easy opponents. Finally, no-one had heard anything from the supreme commander of the Revolutionary cause, Brother Paptimus of Scirocco. Though he was supposed to be keeping up with their leaders through his crystal ball, none of them had heard any reports on him for several days. Rumors were swirling about that he had been found and killed. Under so much bad news, the onset of despair could prove to be just as devastating for the Red Shoulders as anything they'd face on the islands. Kain, for his part, was determined to keep that from happening.

And it was for this reason he kept his smiling face as he continued to banter with his squadmates, his friends, up till the very moment their ship moored upon the gloomy, uninviting coast of Fibernia.

-X-

"Brother Kain! Commander Oldnar wants to see you and your squad!"

Kain gave a surprised look to the messenger who had come running up to him. It hadn't been even an hour after his ship had made landfall and his platoon had started the tedious business of setting up a beachhead base. Kain hadn't even had enough time to see much of the island aside from the section of beach they'd landed on. The beach was cold, foggy, and rocky, but otherwise not at all different from the coastlines of the mainland—it was therefore not a good introduction to the Western Isles as a whole. Still, if the Supreme Commander himself wanted to review them, the Red Shoulders must have had some pressing concern which overshadowed getting used to their new home.

Without wasting any time, Kain called over his squad. When they'd assembled, the messenger told them to make their way to the commander's tent, set up a short distance away. Leaving aside their duties of unpacking supplies and setting up tents for the moment, Squad Seven hastened over to attend the closest thing the Red Shoulders currently had to a leader.

Oldnar was seated alone at the table within the tent, peering intently at what seemed to be a letter along with a map of the Western Isles. Upon hearing Kain and his squad enter the tent, he folded it up and put it into a pocket of his robe. Kain furrowed his brow ever so slightly upon seeing this display—it was almost as if Oldnar didn't want them looking at what he'd been reading.

Of course, that was understandable for any kind of "supreme commander;" despite the Revolution's stated belief in egalitarianism, hierarchy was a practical necessity in wartime, and as Kain knew very well, a leader of men couldn't tell his troops absolutely everything. Still, Oldnar had always elicited a visceral sense of dislike and distrust from Kain. He tried to suppress those emotions as much as he could, following Revolutionary precepts of reliance on reason rather than passions, but was never entirely successful. What made it worse was that Kain couldn't be certain of why.

Oldnar looked respectable enough. Slightly taller than Kain and about twice as old (meaning he was in his late 40s), he had short, slicked-back teal hair and a goatee of the same color adorning his gaunt, tanned face. His eyes, the same color as his hair and covered by a monocle on his right, were cold and typically evinced little passion, but were also clear and perceptive. He was bigger than Kain, and more muscular, which made sense, as he was an armored warrior. Like Paptimus, he had mastered several forms of magic along with armored combat, but unlike Paptimus he had mastered Dark and Light magic rather than Dark and Anima.

Perhaps Kain distrusted Light mages generally, but that didn't make sense—he got along fine with Kessler. No, he looked at an individual's loyalty to the Rebel cause, and on that front, Oldnar was unimpeachable. One of Trunicht's men, he'd served as an able commander throughout the war—when things were going well, he had efficiently rooted out anti-Rebel sentiment in occupied territories; when things had started to go sour, his leadership had saved his troops from complete chaos at the Second Battle of Thagaste. With Paptimus and Trunicht both gone, he was the most rational choice for supreme commander.

Yes, Kain could not come up with any rational reason to distrust the man. Yet his doubts remained.

If Kain let slip any indication of his feelings towards Oldnar, the older man did not notice them. He simply nodded at his subordinates, though he didn't smile. "Ah, very punctual. Just as I'd expect from Squad Seven."

"We give everything we have for the good of the Revolution and Elibe," replied Kain, a boilerplate Revolutionary greeting. "We're too devoted to our cause to risk failure through tardiness!"

"Indeed." Now Oldnar allowed himself a slight smile, though his tone remained dry and clinical—Kain hadn't ever seen him express much emotion, which, he supposed, was an admirable trait in a Revolutionary soldier. "In any case, Kain, I'm sure you're wondering why I called you here. Let me get straight to business."

He pointed to his map of the Western Isles. "You know that we're allied with the native clans here, yes? They hate the Royalists as much as we do, and are more than happy to receive our help."

"Of course we understand that, brother."

"Good. Then, do you know how the natives have progressed with their uprising since the war began?"

This was something Kain hadn't thought about much. He and his men shook their heads.

"The answer is, "not as well as we'd hoped." The clans have united under a leader, whom I have allied with, but are still largely disorganized. Despite being entirely cut off from the mainland, the Etrurian troops here have still managed to hold on to the north and western portions of the Fibernian Isle, though they've lost control of the south and east—this is why we were able to land unmolested. Caledonia is being subjugated by Bern, so we'd hoped they could make more progress on Fibernia, but it seems like we'll be the ones responsible for this fight."

He pointed to the map. "Our ultimate objective is Jutes, which is here. We won't be able to besiege it until we have a better base, though. We want to take the Ebrakhm Valley, guarded by this castle here, and we'll use it as our primary staging area. We'll be able to push towards Jutes from there, hopefully before the Royalists can field an expeditionary force."

"I can understand all that, Brother Oldnar, but…may I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"I'm not a strategist, and neither are my men. We're just soldiers. Why are you telling us all this?"

"Because you are a vital component in my upcoming plans," he said. "Tell me, have you heard of a group called the Autonomous Company?"

Kain blanched. Of course he had. Everyone had. The Autonomous Company, or Mage General Khyron's personal unit, were the most feared and hated enemies of the Revolution. With less than a dozen men and women they had stopped Garl Vinland's otherwise unbeatable assault on Caerleon. While they hadn't single-handedly won the war for the Royalists, they had caused problems for the Rebels far disproportionate to their numbers.

"That Company was one of the most painful thorns in our side all throughout the war. However, it also taught us how useful a small, elite team of operatives specifically assigned to dangerous, clandestine missions could be. Such a team would be very useful on the Isles, particularly in the taking of Ebrakhm Castle."

"And you believe Squad Seven s ideally suited for such a purpose." Kain could see where he was going. "I will accept, Brother Oldnar. But I can't speak for my men. They will make the decision for themselves."

"I trust Oldnar," said Kassa. "He hasn't led us wrong yet."

"I'll go with ya n'matter what, Kain," laughed Leitner.

"If my skills can be of use, I'll gladly offer them, Brother Oldnar," said Kessler.

Deckham and Jann looked at each other, then grinned. "Sounds like fun."

Finally, Zalf stared at Oldnar, then at Kain, then back to Oldnar—and just nodded.

"Good. Very good." The Supreme Commander offered his new team a wry smile. "For today, continue to help our troops get situated here, but be sure to get lots of rest. I'll summon you early tomorrow morning to give you your orders."

Kain accepted those orders with no more than a bow. He turned to leave, and his teammates did the same. He didn't know whether they distrusted Oldnar as much as he did. But he did know one thing:

Whatever rest they had today would likely be the last in a long time.

::Linear Notes::

This chapter takes place after the big battle between Braddock and Paptimus in Ch. 38 of WS, but they haven't received news of Paptimus' fate yet.