Otherworld Squad

“Is it just me, or does Oliver have a bit of the ‘ole bloodlust in him?” Whim asked quietly as he sidled over to Alter and Boozehound.

“It’s understandable, the lad’s got a lot of anger and frustration brewing. Combine that with the pressure and expectation he must be feeling and, well, he’s going to need to let off a hell of a lot of steam. Or sparks, in his case.” Alter murmured in response, tilting his head gently to the side as he watched the scene playing out before him.

The post combat clean-up had been minimal, Alter had stationed half the unit around the perimeter to make sure no bothersome stragglers fancied getting a shot off in revenge. The two soldiers turned bandits had been separated, now sitting ten metres apart with lengths of bandage covering their eyes. Oliver paced between them like a hungry wolf, eyes blazing as he leant down, hissing questions through gritted teeth. This tactic of bouncing between the pair, asking each the same question and allowing answers to only be spoken in whispers seemed to be working nicely. Their body language was becoming increasingly tense as Oliver stoked their paranoia, playing them against each other as they strived to hear the hushed answers. However, as the questions continued Alter could see that Oliver was becoming increasingly frustrated. He had already suspected that their prisoners would know little of the rhyme and reason of their actions. It appeared that there would be no need to update this hypothesis.

“What do you think the end of this is going to be?” Boozehound asked, his brow furrowed.

“Depends on the severity of local law, I guess. Looking at him I don’t think Oliver’s in the mood for leniency.” Alter’s voice darkened.

“Putting a heavily wounded enemy out of their misery in the middle of a fight I can do. But I’m not becoming anyone’s executioner today or any other day.” Boozehound retorted with a snort.

“You think he’d give us that order?” Whim asked, voice pitching up in surprise.

“Nobody’s going to force you to perform such a gruesome task.” Alter reassured him.

Finally, Oliver relented and stomped his way over to the three men, his expression expertly fusing disgust with careful consideration. His mouth opened to speak but some internal process caused him to hold his tongue. Instead, he turned to glare at the bandits, hands balled into fists which he pressed into his hips as if crushing his frustration against his pelvis. An awkward silence settled over the scene, and for the first time since leaving the carriage Alter was able to hear the distant twittering of birds.

“Well?” He asked the back of Oliver’s head.

The young man kept his silence for a moment longer before slowly turning to face them. The anger had been smothered for now, he looked tired.

“We let them go. I’m not willing to waste time dragging them to the next guard post, nor am I going to slaughter unarmed men for no good reason. They’ve more than learned their lesson after what they’ve just been through.”

Alter nodded, pleased that no further blood would be spilled. “Do we allow them to recover their weapons?”

Oliver clenched the muscles in his left cheek as he pondered the idea. “Ideally not, but there won’t be any stopping them from returning to collect their equipment later. Even if we confiscate everything here, they’ve doubtless got a camp somewhere nearby with plenty of supplies. We give them the gift of life and send them on their way, in the opposite direction to us. They’ll know better than to try anything like this again.” He concluded. “Of course, there’s more. I’ll tell you about it later.” Decision made he made his way back to the prisoners and began giving them their marching orders.

Alter, Boozehound and Whim shrugged at each other as Riptide came crashing out of the bushes on the opposite side of the road with a small bundle clutched triumphantly in one hand. His excitement faded to puzzlement as he saw Oliver levering one of the men up and allowing him to begin the slow trudge eastward back down the road. Alter held up a hand to forestall any questions before giving the order to collapse the perimeter and remount the carriages. Once it had become apparent that the bandits were complying and had passed a set distance then the horses were nudged into motion and the travel resumed. Riptide was keen to deliver his findings, showing off a stack of torn cloth patches each marked with a coat of arms Alter wasn’t familiar with. He’d also recovered a small pouch of glittering golden coinage and a scrap of paper dotted with the indecipherable squiggles of a doctor’s paralysis demon. Oliver took each of the articles in turn, carefully considering their implications before setting them down and fixing the rest of the carriage occupants with an even gaze.

“The men that we encountered were indeed deserters, which should come as no surprise. From what they told me, and from the patches their sergeant was holding on to, they were originally from …” He paused as he remembered no one in his present company would know what the name he was about to utter meant. “One of the dukedoms on the western edge of Rillestia. Such groups are not unheard of, the duke in question maintains a large standing army and is known for his cruel and ruthless attitude towards the soldier in his employ.” He explained, embarrassed to be bad-mouthing a fellow noble.

“Surely if they were escaping then they would flee the country? Why would they risk crossing territory which might capture them and send them back?” Riptide asked.

“That’s where the second part comes in.” Oliver acknowledged the question with a nod “According to those we captured, they were offered a deal which their leader accepted on their behalf. They were to travel to Cereloss, to these very woods, in order to attack and harass travellers and cause panic under the guise of an ‘anti-smuggling operation’. They were paid in advance.” Olver paused, jingling the coin pouch “and had been promised pardons and a choice of futures once six months of banditry had passed. From what they told me, they were halfway through week two. The paper you found is a military cypher, I don’t know it off the top of my head but there are log books at my house, we’ll crack it. Though I severely doubt it’ll contain anything overly incriminating.”

“Someone is sponsoring and commanding highwaymen?” Boozehound queried. “Would I be correct in assuming?” He led and Oliver nodded once more.

“This move is squarely within my uncle’s playbook. Nor is it the first time such bands have been ‘employed’. There could well be a dozen of these groups spread through my territory, carving paths of merry chaos as they go.” Oliver growled.

“You’ve not managed to gain proof?” Alter asked.

“Not yet. He’s been too clever so far, but he’ll slip up eventually.”

“Why not depose you directly? It sounds like he has more than enough manpower.”

“Because then he’d bring the rest of the nation down on top of himself.” Oliver sighed and turned to look out of the window with a hint of melancholy. “The crown would not stand for such a thing.”

“Then why don’t you take your case to this king of yours?” Boozehound pressed.

“Allow me to explain. We have a monarch, yes, but as I’ve mentioned before the provinces are largely autonomous. So long as the controlling noble upholds the three key pillars, his highness is happy to leave well enough alone.” Oliver began. “The first pillar is Loyalty. Nobles swear fealty to the crown and vow to never take up arms against or attempt to harm, undermine or debase their monarch. Second, Unity. Nobles shall not attempt to usurp another noble, nor shall they sabotage their leadership in such a way as to render the nation weak to an invader. Thirdly, Excellence. A noble shall do their utmost to maintain their territory, to defend and nurture it, and to ensure its people are healthy and protected.” He stopped to breathe, taking a moment to admire the treetops gliding by.

“My uncle cannot attack me with soldiers, as that would break the second pillar and cause the king to attack him in turn. So, he must use more insidious tactics. He is targeting my third pillar, my ‘Excellence’. By promoting turmoil, sowing discontent and compromising my productivity, he will be able to call my ability to govern into question. Once the situation has gone on long enough, and he has gathered enough support, the case will be presented to the crown that I am unfit for purpose. If the case is successful, and it will be, should it make it that far, I will be relieved of my duties and more than likely declared exile.”

“But he’s still breaking this ‘second pillar’ with his actions. It's a huge risk.” Alter exclaimed.

“One that he believes is worth taking. One that he has worked more than half his life in order to rig in his favour.” Oliver sighed. “It’ll take more than one piece of evidence to cut through the proverbial fog he has cast over his actions. But with your help, we’ll find what we need.” There was a steeliness to his voice that inspired confidence in the hearts of the men who sat with him, even if for a moment.

The hostile proximity pulse would send the squad back into the treeline twice more before the forest gave out. Both times no solid contact was established, with Oliver suggesting wild animals powerful enough to be dangerous but smart enough to know to avoid humans. After the multiple nerve-jangling nature walks Alter was more than happy to return to the monotony. Midway through the next day they crossed the border from Cereloss to Grenveine and the mood improved. So did their means of transportation as the barebones carriages were exchanged for ones that were much more comfortable. Time flew as it often does as they wound their way through hills and fields. The air became noticeably more frigid as they made steady progress northward, the patches of woodland that cluster on hilltops skewing further and further towards the evergreen species. The sky which had shown picturesque views of deep blue and pure white clouds was steadily replaced with a thick, smothering, lead grey blanket that promised rain but never seemed to deliver.

Alter was taking a turn sitting alongside the driver when they surmounted the final hill of their journey. Before them stood the stone walls and slate roofs of Jestriff, capital of Grenveine and seat of the Masserlind family. Alter had seen many an artistic depiction of a fantasy mediaeval city; he had wondered, even hoped, that Jestriff would prove suitably ridiculous in terms of architecture. However, his dreams of physics-breaking high fantasy buildings were immediately dashed. This place was well grounded in reality, the rectangle was once again proven master of shapes. A gatehouse stood proud in the centre of the nearest wall, with two towers flanking it and large flapping banners with the Masserlind coat of arms draped across them. In front of the gatehouse a flat, wide area had been converted to some sort of marketplace that bustled with activity.

“Stop here for a moment!” Oliver called from inside the carriage.

The party pulled over to the side of the road and the group emerged, moving to stand and gaze down to the city in the distance.

“Welcome to Jestriff, gentlemen.” Oliver began. “The jewel of the north. Last bastion of civilization before the frozen wilds and vicious peaks and so on and so forth. Get used to this view, you’ll be seeing it a lot.”

“It’s pretty.” Pavejack said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Yes, a pretty big headache.” Oliver laughed dryly. “You’ll see what I mean once we get a little closer, come on.” He turned back and remounted the carriage.

Alter pondered his closing remark as the horses resumed their canter, trying to suss out what the headache he was referring to could be. He didn’t have to wait long to get his answer, the swarm of activity that had been akin to an ant’s nest from the hill turned to a hodgepodge of rickety tents and milling people. People in rags. People that would stare glumly, hopelessly at the passing carriages.

This was no gatefront market.

This was a refugee camp.