Valor and Violence

Erwell strolled along, the weight of his pack comforting on his back, the butt of his spear beating a steady percussion in time with his steps as he enjoyed the relatively sedate pace and the scenery. This was the part of the country that, in Erwell’s humble opinion, represented the best of what Calandor had to offer. Cool in the summer, cold but tolerably so in winter, the region was characterised by expansive forests of towering pine trees watered by bubbling rivers and creeks washing down from the mountains.

The walking trail they were on followed one such stream, a pebbly beach on one side, and verdant shrubs loaded with berries crowding in on the other. Some were edible, others were highly toxic, but they were all equally quaint. He let a small smile cross his face as he enjoyed the moment.

Beside him, Groth strolled along with an even bigger smile, the giant not put out in the slightest by his load. Oliver, on the other hand, was not having fun.

Hence Groth’s smile.

The two marines had tried to provide some guidance on what to bring, but an irritable and hungover spymaster had waved off their suggestions to leave a full-sized swag, a couple of bottles of wine and a stool behind. He was paying for it now. From his gait, it was obvious a stool leg was digging into his lower back, and his legs were struggling to bear the uneven and heavy load.

And if Oliver seemed miserable, then Jimmy was the happiest of the bunch. The spymaster, or from his perspective, the useless bureaucrat, was struggling, and the scout was taking remarkable joy in that fact.

“Come on, old chap. Keep up! We’ve still got another couple of days’ travel before we finish searching this river!”

Oliver swore and redoubled his shuffling efforts to catch up.

“Surely, we are due a rest soon, right?”

“What’s the matter, District Commissioner’s Assistant Woodlocke?” Groth asked, snickering at his fake title. “Not cut out for some actual work?”

“Some of us are built for manual labour,” Oliver wheezed, stopping and planting his hands on his hips while he sucked in air. “Like yourself there, Sergeant Major. Others, like me, have been blessed with a functioning brain.”

Groth snarled and Erwell held out a hand in front of him, shooting a warning glare at Oliver before telling Jimmy to stop. Oliver’s lack of physical robustness was frustrating the captain, but it was a limitation that couldn’t be circumvented, and taking an early lunch break wouldn’t hurt much in the long run.

Oliver dropped where he stood, a grateful groan escaping his lips as he disentangled himself from his pack straps. Groth casually dropped his own next to the spymaster and set about collecting wood for a fire while Jimmy perched himself on a nearby rock and strung his bow.

“I’ll go see if I can’t get us something to eat,” he said brightly.

“Good, it will be nice to have something fresh,” Erwell replied. “I’ll come along as well.”

“Oh, that’s unnecessary, milord. I can handle it,” Jimmy said with an easy smile.

“It’s no bother.”

“No offense, but I don’t see how you’ll be much help without a bow of your own.”

Erwell hefted his spear. “I think you will find I’m quite capable.”

Jimmy’s smile faltered slightly, but he forced it back into place and nodded. “Suit yourself, then. But let me lead, wouldn’t want you spooking our meal before I can slot it.”

Erwell followed the scout away from the makeshift camp and into the forest. Truth was, he probably wouldn’t be much help as a hunter, but despite the man’s charming demeanour, the captain didn’t trust him out of his sight.

They travelled in silence through the trees, Jimmy halting them every so often to check the ground and vegetation for signs of life. A slight depression in the dirt here, a snapped twig there. Erwell was no expert, but he thought they might be stalking a deer. Sure enough, within a few minutes, they spotted a decent sized specimen moving through the scrub ahead of them. Jimmy took a knee when the deer glanced in their direction, alerted to their presence somehow despite them being silent, or so Erwell thought. He froze beside the scout, waiting for the animal to lose interest and continue on. When it finally resumed its wandering, Erwell turned to the scout.

“Seems excessive for the four of us. Shouldn’t we find a rabbit or something less… wasteful?”

“Na, this is good. Fresh venison is far nicer than stringy rabbit.”

“And the meat we can’t carry?”

The scout shrugged, his eyes still tracking the deer. “Forest scavenger gets a good feed tonight, I guess?”

He stalked forward, pulling an arrow from his quiver and nocking it. He drew the string back to his cheek, the tip steady as it tracked the deer. Just as he was about to release, Erwell’s hand shot out and snatched the arrow. Jimmy shot him a look that was half glare, half confusion.

“What the Pit are you doing, sir?”

Erwell nodded in the deer’s direction as a fawn stepped into view between the shrubs, glancing nervously up at its mother.

“Seriously? Squeamish about a baby animal losing its mum? I thought you marines were all supposed to be tough cunts?”

“The people I’ve killed deserved it,” Erwell said. “Probably, anyway. Regardless, they were before me and my blade due to the choices they made. They could defend themselves, and their deaths were necessary for the completion of my mission. The death of two animals who will rot and waste in the forest is not. Leave them be.”

Jimmy looked like he was ready to argue, but the doe and her fawn’s ears suddenly pricked up, and they bounded off through the brush.

“Well, guess it’s jerky for lunch after all,” he grumbled, straightening up and making to stow the arrow. He stopped when they heard a noise. It sounded like something moving through the undergrowth, but it was no animal.

Every step was heralded by the cracking of a twig or the swish of a tree branch as something forced its way towards them. Jimmy returned his arrow to the string and held the bow ready, shooting a look at Erwell. The captain nodded. From the scout’s posture, he wasn’t expecting company, and the enemy of your enemy was not always your friend. Erwell crept behind a bush beside the mystery person’s path. If they were hostile, turning to deal with either Erwell or Jimmy would leave their flank exposed to the other.

Once in position, he hefted his spear and waited, Erwell’s heart thundering in his chest. If this newcomer was part of an armed force, they were unlikely to be alone. More likely they were a lead scout, pathfinding and sniffing out danger for the main body of troops to deal with. Even a squad sized bandit force would be trouble; the terrain offered no advantages for Erwell to exploit, and though he was confident he and Groth could handle themselves, protecting Oliver at the same time would be extremely difficult.

His grip tightened as the brush in front of him swayed, and a dishevelled man in a marine’s uniform burst through. He was tall, almost as tall as Groth, and just as solidly built. He stiffened, spotting Erwell immediately, and dropped into a defensive stance, brandishing a sword in front of him. Instead of attacking, though, his head swivelled, scanning for other threats. After a second, his eyes narrowed at the tree Jimmy was crouched behind. How he knew the scout was there, Erwell had no idea.

“Halt,” Erwell said. “Identify yourself.”

The newcomer looked back to him, his expression hard but unimpressed.

“Lance Corporal Nicholas Olic. Fourth Marine Company, Third Fleet. You?”

Erwell’s eyes narrowed. Lance corporal was a common enough rank in army units, but in the smaller marine corps, enlisted went straight from Private to full track. Lance Corporal indicated the rank holder had been demoted.

“Captain Erskine Erwell, Second of the First. What are you doing out here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

Erwell bristled at the disrespect. He was starting to see why this man had been demoted.

“You first, Lance Corporal.”

Olic scowled, but after a moment, he sucked his teeth and shrugged. “Alright then. I was a corporal in the first of the first, now detached to an army unit to do penance. Said unit’s gone, though. We were here to burn out a bandit camp, but got ambushed in the middle of the night. Wasn’t even a contest.”

Shit. Guess that confirms the company is gone.

“How did you survive?”

“I’m not so easy to kill as your average soldier.”

Erwell nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m here with a small team investigating the company’s disappearance. Come with me, our investigator will have questions. We’ll pay those bastards back, Corporal.”

Olic nodded, a wry smile on his face, but it quickly disappeared, a snarl taking its place as he stared over Erwell’s shoulder. “I think your friend might have something to say about that, sir.”

Erwell spun around to see Jimmy had slipped behind him, an arrow nocked and pointed directly at Erwell.

“I suppose I should have seen this coming,” Erwell said.

Jimmy chuckled. “Yeah, you really should have.”