Valor and Violence

Sergeant Nicholas Olic stumbled down the dusty port road, the lit stub of a cigarette hanging limply from his lips as he returned to The Tide. He had ensconced himself on a bar stool, drinking his pay as usual, since apportioning punishment to his squad the day before. The mid-morning sun beating down on his bare head had him regretting that decision.

I’m getting too old for this shit.

He contemplated, just for a moment, giving up the grog as The Tide came into view, but decided it would be a futile effort. After all, the resolution hadn’t stuck before, so he may as well just make peace with who he is. Preferably in his cool, dark cabin with a pitcher of cold water and a deck of cigarettes.

Happy as he was with his reaffirmation of self-worth despite being an angry drunk, he still grimaced as he passed a stall selling strips of jerky suspended from meat hooks. He felt altogether far too much kinship with the dried out, leathery chunks of meat.

Maybe I’ll start tomorrow.

He grumbled in relief when he reached the ship’s gangplank, anticipating water and a long nap, but he was halted by an overly polite voice behind him.

“Excuse me sir, I am to deliver a message from the Mages’ College of Pyris to the captain of this ship. May I request an escort aboard?”

Olic groaned and turned to find a man in the uniform of a Six Cities courier, a roll of parchment clutched in his hand. Judging from the man’s expression, Olic must have looked every bit as bad as he felt.

“For the Captain? Where did you say you were from again?” Olic asked, squinting against the harsh sunlight and massaging his temples.

“The Mages’ College of Pyris… sir,” the courier replied, clearly uncomfortable using the honorific when referring to the dishevelled marine.

The college? Val’s tits, what have those dickheads done?

“Mind if I have a read?” he asked, snatching the scroll from the startled courier’s hand before he could reply.

“Sir! I was to deliver it to the captain himself!”

“I’ll make sure he gets it, boy,” Olic growled. “Go tell your boss it’s been delivered.”

He turned back up the plank as he unrolled the parchment. But the courier, credit to him, wasn’t willing to let the matter slide.

“Sir, I must protest.”

“Bugger off!” Olic barked, whirling on the man, “or I’ll launch you off the fucking docks!”

He advanced a few paces, and the courier took an involuntary step back, opening his mouth to say something. His jaw hung there for a few seconds as he weighed the degree of personal risk against his paycheck, then decided he wasn’t paid enough to cross the angry veteran before him. Instead, he nodded curtly, spun on his heel, and marched back into the city. Olic watched him until he disappeared before going back to the parchment, the hangover quickly dissipating as his blood began boiling in his veins. He resumed his march with renewed intensity, making a line directly for the captain’s cabin.

“What the bloody Pit is this?” he demanded, hammering his club like fists on the door. “Open up Erwell!”

He was still hammering away when the door swung open, almost copping the captain in the face. If Erwell was concerned by the close call, he gave no sign.

“Can I help you with something, Sergeant?” he asked, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly at the loud, unshaven and half-drunk squad leader banging on his door. Despite the ship being on shore leave that day, the captain still wore his barracks officer’s uniform; a heavy navy-blue jacket buttoned up to the neck with brass buttons, navy blue trousers and polished black leather boots. Loose sheets of paper covered the desk behind him, alongside a pot and quill that suggested he had been working when interrupted.

“Yeah, you could explain what in Cael’s name this is about!” Olic shouted, shoving the message in Erwell’s face. The captain scanned the page before looking back at Olic.

“Apparently your men made it safely to the city and will stay the night, and they have requested my presence tomorrow at midday. I know you can read, Sergeant, so I’m a little confused as to why you are demanding I explain it.”

The captain’s tone carried a clear warning. It gave Olic pause, and he briefly reconsidered his approach before deciding he was justified in yelling at his commanding officer.

He was probably still a little too drunk for this conversation.

“So help me, sir, I am not worried about another demotion for punching an officer.”

“I don’t doubt it Nicholas, but we both know the last one had it coming.”

“And you don’t?”

“No. And you know it,” Erwell said, crossing his arms across his chest.

Olic stared back, defiant.

“It says here Guild assassins ambushed my boys. Not random bloody robbers looking for a quick score, but organised and expensive professionals. You said it would be a routine escort! ‘Nothing to worry about, Sergeant’!” he said, imitating the captain’s voice.

“Calm down, Nicholas,” Erwell sighed, turning back into his cabin and gesturing for Olic to follow. “I’ll admit I knew there was risk, but sending those two was the best course of action.”

The captain settled onto his bunk and gestured for Olic to take the seat by his desk. Olic obliged, feeling his emotions settle in the face of Erwell’s level demeanour. Despite his best efforts to stoke the fires of righteous anger burning in his chest, of course.

“Why just those two?” he said. “You could have sent the entire squad, or the company even.”

“Nick, you’ve been around longer than most. You know the Guild Master’s reach. He runs every lowlife in Salazaar and The Six and has Guildhouses in most of the large cities north of The Rift too. It’s true, his people can’t attack an entire company by themselves, but he has other tools at his disposal. Remember when the city guard tried to capture him five years ago?”

That shut Olic down. He remembered. Gods, how could he forget? It had been a disaster. The city guard had come up with a grand plan to end the Guild by cutting off the head of the snake. They were to cut the routes out of the city and raid known safe houses to flush the Guild Master out of hiding.

They didn’t have the resources to achieve all this themselves, however, and so had requested support from both Aderath and Calandor to finish the thorn in their collective sides once and for all. It had been the first, and to date last, joint military operation between the staunch rivals, which spoke volumes of how much everyone hated the Guild Master.

Olic hadn’t personally seen most of the key events that day, but at the end of it all, a magical explosion had killed or injured a third of the city guard, and the city mayor and guard commander had both been murdered in their homes. The mayor in particular could only be identified by his robes of office after his killer was through with him. A note had been pinned to his chest with an iron nail that simply read ‘Play the Game, or I change the rules – The Guild Master’.

Afterwards, the authorities’ appetite for tackling the Guild disappeared, and he had consolidated his power both at home and abroad. He was more dangerous now than ever.

“The Guild Master wanted what belonged to that mage,” Erwell said, startling Olic from his recollections. “Badly enough to attempt assassinations of several important people. More soldiers would have forced a stronger reaction and the end state would have been utter carnage. As it was, he underestimated Calris and Ban and that misstep allowed them to get through.”

Olic nodded, his mouth set in a hard line. He understood the logic, and the career soldier in him appreciated it was a smart, though risky, call. But it still left a bad taste in his mouth.

“You should have told me, Erskine. I should have been with them. The squad should have been with them. We fight best when we’re together.”

“Those two can handle themselves better than most. Don’t misunderstand - this was not a suicide mission. We couldn’t afford for it to be. You have no idea how important that cargo is.”

“Then enlighten me,” Olic replied. It was past time he was told what was going on. He had been the acting company sergeant major since a Tok Risim duelist permanently hobbled the last one, and it surprised him the captain hadn’t consulted him first.

“We don’t know for sure. Or I don’t, at least, who knows what the mages are keeping to themselves,” Erwell muttered. “But we were ordered by the Crown to protect that cargo. We are seconded to the High Mage until he decides he no longer requires our services. Do you understand?”

As he spoke, Erwell had leant forward, his eyes narrowing and boring into Olic’s own. The sergeant sat back, stunned, as the gravity of the captain’s words hit him.

“The king himself whored out an entire warship to this mage? That’s… that can’t be right.”

“There’s more. I have signed documents from the emissaries of Aderath and the Tok Risim Federation granting safe passage through their territories, so long as that mage is with us. Though, I would rather avoid using them, of course,” he muttered, more to himself than Olic. He paused as he pulled his fancy officer’s pipe from his breast pocket and lit it, taking a few deep puffs as he stared at Olic through the growing haze.

“Whatever is going on has the attention of the rulers of not only our country, but every other major player, including The Six Cities. The attack on Calris and Ban was just the beginning. Things are going to get much, much worse for us before they get better.”

The captain sat silently, waiting for Olic’s response. The sergeant ruminated on everything he had been told, thoughts and theories swirling through his brain in an addled mess. Then he remembered what he was; a career soldier and servant of the Crown. His thoughts didn’t matter. He leaned forward in his chair.

“I just have one question, sir.”

“Which is?”

“Where to next?”