Valor and Violence

“I don’t suppose there’s a way we can resolve this without bloodshed?” Erwell asked. He doubted it, but if he could get Jimmy talking, he might have time to think of a better plan. Although, as he noticed a shadowy figure creeping through the brush behind the scout, he realised he wouldn’t need one.

“I’m afraid not,” Jimmy replied, scrunching his face up a little. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t want it to come to this. Hoped I could just lead you around in circles until you gave up and went home. Oh well, I guess I’ll have to do the dirty work for the higher ups. As per usual,” he said, shaking his head with a sad smile. He abruptly perked up. “Silver lining! I’ll get to put an arrow into that bloody administrator!”

“My heart soars with joy for you.”

Jimmy grunted, his smile growing wider. “Look who has a sense of humour!”

“Why is everyone so surprised when they find out?” Erwell asked, throwing his hands up in feigned exasperation. The scout chuckled and shook his head. He had proven remarkably willing to chat before murdering them, thankfully, but it was time to wrap up the façade.

“Tell me, Jim. The route we were searching; was it close to the bandit camp?”

Jimmy’s smile disappeared in an instant. “Bandits? I wish it was just bandits. Your marine there,” he said, nodding to Olic, “could probably tell you more than me. I’m afraid I don’t know exactly who they are, or where they’re set up. The ambush was just a freelance gig on the side,” he explained.

“So, you know nothing valuable? That’s a shame. For you, I mean,” Erwell said, dropping his hands to his side and glaring at Jimmy.

“Pffft. If you’re trying to intimidate me into surrendering, it won’t work. I hold the power here, Captain.”

“James, you are a traitor to the country. And a worthless one, at that, I have no interest in your surrender.”

“Your words wound me,” the scout replied, drawing the bowstring back.

“Not as much as a sword. Sergeant Major, if you will?”

Jimmy’s eyes went wide as Groth burst out of the forest behind him. He grabbed the scout by the neck and lifted him off the ground; the arrow shooting into the scrub as his legs kicked in a blind panic.

“Wait-” Jimmy cried, before the sergeant major drove the sword through his back. The scout spluttered in a futile attempt to draw breath as his lungs filled with blood, red foam spitting from his lips as his struggles slowed, and then ceased. Groth dumped him unceremoniously to the ground and cleaned his blade on the dead man’s clothes.

“Yer welcome, sir. Again.”

“Yes, yes, thank you very much, Sergeant Major. What on Telrus’ green earth would I do without you?”

“Die, probably,” Groth replied, either ignoring or not noticing the captain’s sarcastic tone.

“Debatable,” Erwell replied, in a slight huff despite himself. “Anyway, let’s get Olic back to the spymaster. Time to find out what the Pit is happening here.”

*

Erwell sat by the campfire, trying to be patient as Lance Corporal Olic demolished every morsel of food Groth put in front of him. It wasn’t particularly delectable fare, but the way the marine crammed it into his gullet, it must have tasted like the finest meal in the world.

“How long since you last ate?” Oliver asked, his eyes following a six-inch strip of jerky as it vanished down Olic’s throat. There wasn’t so much as a token attempt at chewing.

The big man shrugged and reached for a slice of bread. “Dunno, four or five days, I’d guess, unless you count the berries I found yesterday.”

“What berries?” Oliver asked.

“Little purple ones. Bitter as Pit, but I wasn’t in a position to be picky.”

“How many did you eat?”

“A dozen odd? There weren’t many on the bush, unfortunately.”

Oliver shook his head. “By the Pantheon, Corporal, those were Isabell’s Lament. They’re used in poison craft. You ate enough to kill three men.”

“Ha! Is that so? Explains the runs I got afterwards.”

Erwell’s jaw clenched as he resisted the urge to shout at them all. “Yes, this is fascinating,” he said tightly. “But there are other things I’m more interested in than your bowel movements. Like how an entire royal army company was wiped out.”

“Oh, that? That’s easy enough to answer. They ambushed us at night. Half the company was slaughtered before they even got their pants on.”

“And you survived, how?” Oliver asked.

“Marine’s sleep in full battle rattle when ashore,” Groth interjected. “Always ready for a fight.”

“Right,” Oliver replied, obviously resisting the urge to ask why army units didn’t. “So, it was just bad luck? Or lazy sentries?”

“Nothing like that. The boys were actually pretty good by army standards, but we were betrayed. We had hired some local guides-”

“Like Jimmy, I suppose,” Oliver cut in.

“If he’s the bloke the sergeant major ran through back there, then yeah. They murdered the sentries and led the attack. They weren’t mere bandits, either. I mean, some of them were, but there were duelists from Tok Risim too, and I saw at least one Aderathian in full plate. It was all very multicultural.”

“Fuck,” Groth swore under his breath. “This proves Politis is in on it, right?”

“Hold on, Sergeant Major,” Oliver said, raising a hand to shush him. He ignored the pointed glare he received in return as he addressed Olic again. “Did you see any soldiers bearing the livery of House Politis?”

Olic grimaced, his mouth full of bread as he shook his head. “I doubt he’s ignorant about what’s happening in his backyard. But I’ve got nothing you can use as proof. One thing you might find interesting though,” he said, forcing the bread down and following it with a swig of the spymaster’s travel wine. “That attack dog of his? The poncy Ris bastard? He was there. Traded blows with him for a minute before I could escape.”

Erwell’s eyebrows rose slightly. He knew from experience that Dalion was a capable fighter. If this marine had encountered him and survived, it spoke volumes of his abilities. Unfortunately, a surviving witness didn’t change their current predicament the way he had hoped. He sighed and massaged his temples.

“I’m glad to find you alive, Corporal, but I wish you had more useful information for us.”

“Terribly sorry, sir. Next time I’m fighting for my life, I’ll be sure to ask more questions. Like ‘hey mate, having a jolly good time here, while we’re at it, don’t suppose you could let me in on troop numbers? Who’s payrolling the army? That sort of thing’.”

Erwell glared as Groth laughed, pulling another bottle of wine from Oliver’s pack and handing it to the lance corporal. “It’s not all bad, sir,” the sergeant major said. “We’ve got more than we had. We can’t prove Politis’ involvement yet, but we’ve got a foreign army of mercs on Calandorian soil. That’s grounds to bring in a larger royal force to burn them out. We can get out of the province, marry up with the company, and start fucking with the bastards until the cavalry arrives.”

“Wait,” Olic said, choking on the wine. “You don’t have an army ready to go?”

“No? They don’t grow on trees, boy. We needed something to justify marching them up here. We’ve got time, though. It doesn’t sound like they’re going anywhere.”

“That’s the problem, Sergeant Major,” Oliver said, gazing into the fire as the pieces clicked into place in his mind. “Corporal, how long were you searching before the ambush?”

Olic held up a finger as he necked the bottle, then smacked his lips with a contented sigh. “About two weeks, give or take a day or so.”

“And that itself was a fortnight ago. The merchant caravans had been disappearing for close to six months before that. Therefore, the ambush means one of two things. Either the company got too close, forcing their hand, or they’ve almost completed their task and are preparing the playing field. So, now we figure out which one it was. Corporal, where was the company when the attack happened?”

“Heading back downriver to the city. We didn’t find anything near the mining towns, so we were planning to take a quick break before looking elsewhere.”

“Interesting… Very interesting…” Oliver said, leaning back and stroking his chin. Erwell thought he knew where this was going, but he asked the spymaster to elaborate, anyway.

“Of course, my dear Captain. I actually think it might be a mixture of the two proposals. Since you were heading back towards the city, I doubt they were at risk of discovery, but I suspect you may have been close. I think their plans were advanced enough to justify eradicating the company before you got too far from the mercenaries’ base.”

“But we searched every square inch of those woods. There was nothing there,” Olic said.

“Nothing in the woods…”

“You think the mercenaries are holed up in the mountains,” Erwell said.

“Exactly. And I don’t think this is about robbing caravans for profit.”

Erwell arched an eyebrow, and Oliver shot him a smug grin. After being deadweight for the last few days, he was relishing being the font of all wisdom.

“Well, we’ve got Aderathians in full plate, which means nobility. They would never stoop so low as to hire themselves out as mercenaries, so they’re probably present for political reasons. Duelists are expensive as sin, and you certainly don’t need fighters of their calibre to raid caravans, so its unlikely profit is important. But it would be impossible to hide and feed a proper invasion sized force, so I doubt it’s that either. All in all, I’d say we’re looking at an attempt at generating some sort of rebellion or coup.”

“But if that was the case, why attack the caravans at all? Regardless of whether Politis or the Aderathians are funding this escapade, what do they have to gain by warning us of their presence?” Erwell asked.

“I… yeah, that’s true as well. Bugger,” Oliver said, frowning.

“Ah, so the esteemed Spymaster doesn’t know everything after all?” Groth asked.

“Sod off.”

“He’s right though, Oliver,” Erwell said, heading off yet another clash between them. “I’ve felt two steps behind the entire time we’ve been here and I’m bloody sick of it. Here’s what we’re going to do-”

“Excuse me, Captain, but I think you’ll find I’m in charge of this little endeavour.”

“Yeah, that’s what the Chancellor’s Mandate says, but he’s not here right now, is he?”

“You are a soldier. Your job is to follow orders,” Oliver said, his eyes going hard and cold.

“Our job is to serve the King and protect our country, Spymaster,” Groth growled. The intrusion drew Oliver’s gaze towards the sergeant major first, then the lance corporal. He scowled and threw his hands in the air.

“Fine. Have it your way then. What are your orders, sir?”

“Firstly, if you take that tone with me again, I’ll knock your teeth out. Do you understand?”

Oliver nodded, visibly sulking the whole time. “That’s not an order, though,” he muttered.

“Don’t care. Now, to the matter of our missing information. We need to get to the mountains and find whatever the company missed.”

“So, we head towards the mountains? Truly an astounding move, Captain. Never would have thought of that myself.”

Erwell shot forward, his fist jabbing out through the flames and cracking against Oliver’s mouth. The spymaster’s head snapped back, and he cried out as Erwell snatched his hand from the fire, giving it a brisk shake to dissipate the heat. That had been foolish. He’d only just been quick enough to avoid a serious burn. Felt damn satisfying, though.

“I warned you, Oliver.”

The spymaster glared at him, spitting a glob of bloody saliva onto the ground. “True, that you did.”

“No more interruptions. Here’s the plan; you and I head to the mountains, take a tour of the towns. You’ll use your skill set to find us a better lead. Groth, you and Lance Corporal Olic marry up with the company, then send a message to Griffon’s Keep. We don’t have everything we need, but we will by time the army arrives.”

“And what’re we going to do until they get here? I doubt His Highness has a force at leisure outside the city walls. How long will you be alone in this bloody province? A month? Two?”

“We’ll be fine, Sergeant Major. Until we know more about these mercenaries; strength, location, objectives, I won’t risk our men in a cat and mouse through the woods. Besides, if Oliver is right, and we are running out of time until they achieve… whatever, it is that they’re after, we don’t have time to wait. We need to alert the Crown now. Remember the words you just told Oliver. We live to serve, however we can do that best.”

Groth stared at him, his mouth set in a hard line. Erwell knew the sergeant major would never argue, but it still took a few moments for him to figure that out himself. Eventually, however, he did. He nodded and started packing his gear.

“Where’s the rendezvous point?” he asked.

“The provincial capital, Stonegrove. We can’t discretely move a force that size through the province, so we might as well shake Politis’ tree and see what falls out of the branches.”

“You aren’t worried that’ll spook the foreigners?”

“If they run, at least we stopped their plans. But if Oliver is right, I doubt they will. They’ll set their backs to the mountains and race to finish what they started.”

“There’s a lot of risk here, sir.”

“I know, but we have little choice.”

“At least let me bring the company into the mountains as soon as we send the message.”

“I already said no, Sergeant Major,” Erwell said. His tone wasn’t harsh, his pitch didn’t change, but Groth still stiffened like he’d copped a jab to the nose. He hefted his pack and turned from the campsite. Olic looked between the two of them, shrugged, and followed the senior marine. Erwell watched them go, his face impassive.

“You know,” Oliver said when they were out of earshot. “This plan will probably get us killed.”

“It’s possible.”

“So why aren’t we going with them?”

“We need to find the whereabouts of these foreigners.”

“Something we can do easily enough when the army arrives. This is about more than information.”

Erwell glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a wry smile appearing on his face after a few seconds. “You know, it’s easy enough to view you as a bit of an idiot, Oliver, but you’re actually quite sharp sometimes.”

The spymaster shrugged. “Only when it comes to people. What’s this really about?”

“I need your talents to find the foreigners’ whereabouts. That much is true. Then I’m going to do everything in my power to ruin their plans until the army arrives. If you’re right, and they wiped out the Crown’s forces because they are close to achieving their end state, I’ll need to slow them down somehow.”

“I thought officers were supposed to direct armies, not run off on suicidal crusades against them.”

Erwell shrugged. “It’s worked for me before.”