They came to Caedia for gold and glory.
But they’ll die for a few pieces of silver and a lord’s sneering contempt. Alejandra kept the bitter thought to herself.
She did not much like the Midlands. She had not liked border skirmishing for petty knights in Kirkworth, and she did not think she would like things any better fighting northern barbarians on behalf of stuck up Caedian pricks.
I guess now I won’t have to, she thought ruefully. It might have made her laugh, if she wasn’t so furious.
“How long have we ridden together?” Alejandra asked. She tried to keep her voice quiet, but knew that she had failed.
“Augustine, keep it down,” Javier said, wincing. “Shouting at me won’t help anything.”
“How long, Javier?”
“Years. I don’t know. Four?” Javier shrugged helplessly. With his dirty armor, unkempt hair and scruffy cheeks he looked particularly useless in that moment.
“Five. Five fucking years, and this is how you end it?” In five years you’d think he could figure out how to properly clean himself up.
“I told you to be careful fraternizing, Augustine.”
Alejandra’s blood boiled. “Are you—you’re joking, right? I’m not the only woman riding with the Falcons. I’ve seen you coming out of Abril’s tent yourself, Javi. She’s practically the company bedroll. Don’t fucking tell me this is about fraternizing because we both know that is bullshit.”
“That’s different,” Javier said, shrugging. He looked uncomfortable, like he desperately wanted out of the conversation. Alejandra felt no pity. “The Middish... we work for them, yes? We must keep them happy. One of the lords saw—”
“I know what he fucking saw!” Alejandra snarled. “And because it made a soft, fat northern goat blush on his pasty white cheeks, you’re throwing away five years of service! No, more than five years. How long has—”
“Yes!” Javier snapped. “Without these pale fat northern lords we have no contract. I told you to be careful, and you didn’t listen.”
“We were careful,” Alejandra said.
“Apparently not careful enough. The Middish already look down on us. They call us Spit and think we’re all a bunch of hot-blooded deviants. But there’s sleeping around and then there’s…” Javier trailed off. He gave Alejandra a pained look. “Couldn’t you have just picked one?”
Alejandra clenched her jaw. “We love each other, Javi. It’s none of your God-damned business what we do. And it’s absolutely not the business of that Middish—”
“Goat. I know,” Javier said, holding up his palms in a placating gesture. “For what it’s worth… I’m sorry, Augustine. You’re a good soldier. Them too. Some of my best. If there was any other way—”
“Shove it up your ass, Javi,” Alejandra said. She turned around and stalked back towards her tent. She didn’t look back, and Javier didn’t follow her.
Martín was waiting for her. His back was to her, but there was no mistaking him. His mop of dark hair, the short stature and stocky build that belied his lithe agility on the battlefield. He wore his armor and gear effortlessly, moving with an easy grace.
Alejandra’s tent was already broken down and packed up in its bags. He was just finishing the last knot as he secured them to Margarita, Alejandra’s horse. She approached, and she saw his body language shift as he heard her, and then identified her, all without looking in her direction.
“How did it go?” he asked. He cinched the knot tight and turned to face her.
“You know how it went,” she said.
“Yes, but it’s polite to ask,” he said with a smile. “We’re out.”
“We’re out,” Alejandra confirmed. She closed the last bit of distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. She pulled him close, dipped her head down to account for the difference in height, and pressed her lips against his. Martín went tense for a moment, then his mouth responded warmly to her.
“I guess we have nothing to hide now,” he said when the kiss ended.
Alejandra held him close. He nuzzled his clean-shaven cheek against her neck. “No,” she said. “I suppose we don’t.”
“It’s such a shame,” Martín said. “I didn’t think Javier really cared.”
“Everyone cares, at least a little,” Alejandra said. “But—you’re right. He didn’t care enough to do anything about it. This isn’t him. It’s the Middish that saw us. They’re making things difficult.”
“Isn’t the company Javier’s Falcons? Shouldn’t it be his call?” Martín asked.
“He needs the Middish contract. If the choice is between us and a payroll, well, that’s no choice at all. It doesn’t matter, let’s just—Carlito!”
Carlito had just stepped around a corner and into view. He led two horses behind him—his and Martín’s, of course—already fitted with tack and saddle. Carlito was taller than Martín, and taller than Alejandra. He wore a thin mustache and a carefully groomed strip of beard on his chin. He was fully armed and armored up, the same as they were. Even decked out in lamellar, his physique was lean and sinewy.
He grinned as he approached. “Let me guess…” he said.
“We’re out,” Martín confirmed.
Carlito shrugged. “I told you,” he said, still smiling. “I think you called me a pessimist.”
Alejandra reached out and grabbed Carlito by the belt. She tugged him close, and he joined their embrace. Alejandra kissed him, tiling her jaw up slightly to account for his height. He kissed her back, passionately.
No point in hiding anything now, she thought.
“You are a pessimist,” Martín said, chuckling. He went for his own kiss when Carlito was finished with Alejandra, then he grimaced. “That mustache is terrible,” he complained. Not for the first time.
“It makes me look dashing,” Carlito said. “Tell him, Alejandra.”
“Tell him what?” She winked at him.
One of the Falcons walked by, giving them a sour look. Alejandra raised the hand she was holding Carlito with and made a rude gesture, and the man hurried his pace. She squeezed both of her lovers one more time to make a point, then let go of them.
“Time to go?” Martín asked.
“Yes, I think so,” she said. She took Margarita’s reins in hand. “It’s a long road back home, and our purses aren’t going to get heavier standing around. I think we’re not welcome in Caedia.”
“Maybe not,” Carlito said. “But we don’t have to go home just yet.”
Alejandra frowned at him. “What do you mean? You have a better idea?”
Carlito gave her a smug smile that she wanted to find annoying but she mostly just found charming. His smile vanished when Martín slugged him in the arm.
“Ow!” he said.
Martín grinned without remorse. “Tell us, donkey,” he said.
“Fine, fine. There is a merc company hiring here in the camp, looking for more people.”
“Where did you hear this?” Alejandra asked. And why do you think we will get a warmer welcome anywhere else?
“When I was gathering the horses. Someone was spreading the word through the camps,” Carlito said. “Tall, skinny fellow. Talked funny, even for a Middish.”
Alejandra’s frown only deepened. Don’t get my hopes up, Carlito. “I’m not sure they’d take us,” she said. “Not sure any Middish will take us.”
Carlito shrugged. “Maybe. He said they wanted riders, though. Looking for light and heavy cavalry in particular.”
“That’s us,” Martín said.
Carlito rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know. I think that’s why he was wandering near the Spatalian corral. We’re better riders than any Middish goat.”
“I suppose there’s no harm in talking to them,” Alejandra said. “But… boys, let’s try to keep a cool head about this, alright? Middish are all stuck up prudes. We can try to hide again, but word will probably—”
“I’m sick of hiding,” Martín said. “I’d rather go home. Shit, I’d rather go brigand in the wilds of the Uskarre.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Carlito said. “But—he’s right. It’s gotten old.”
Alejandra nodded. She pulled both of her men into another embrace. “I agree,” she said. She leaned in to kiss them, and they both leaned in to meet her. Such kisses were always silly, more a joke than a sincere kiss. But they warmed her, helped her forget her anger at Javier.
“So we approach them together? All of us or none of us?” Martín asked.
“Yes,” said Alejandra. “But let’s be prepared for disappointment.”
“I always am,” Carlito said. He smirked when they rolled their eyes at him.
“Who was this guy working for, anyway?” Alejandra said. “What merc company?”
“Not one I’d heard of,” said Carlito. He switched to Middish and said a single word: “Steelshod.”
“You know I hate Middish,” Martín complained. “What is that? Something shoe?”
“Steel,” Carlito switched back to Spatalian. “Steel shod.”
“What the hell kind of name is that?” Alejandra wondered aloud. “Are they some rich elites or something? Was he wearing any steel?”
Carlito shook his head. “Not that I saw.”
Martín wrinkled his nose in distaste. “So they’re liars? Not a good first impression.”
Alejandra shrugged. “Let’s give them a chance. Maybe it’s a joke we don’t understand.”
“I guess,” Martín agreed. “Can’t hurt to talk to them at least.”
“Great,” Carlito said. “He said they’re trying out new folks this afternoon. That way.”
Alejandra sighed. “Alright, why the hell not? Let’s go, lovers,” she nudged them towards the horses. “Let’s see what this Steelshod company is all about.”
They don’t look like much, Alejandra decided.
Steelshod Company, as it turned out, was barely more than a dozen men in total. The leader spoke with a thick Ruskan accent, which made him almost impossible for Martín to understand and did nothing to assuage Alejandra’s fear.
Ruskans aren’t known for being less prudish than the Middish, she thought. Cold weather makes men cold-blooded, it seems.
She wasn’t impressed. She didn’t see a scrap of steel among them. She almost wondered if Carlito was playing some sort of joke on them.
Until she saw the lead man fight. He started putting someone through their paces, some strapping young Middish fellow in threadbare gambeson and sporting fresh bruises on his face. The Middish carried himself like an amateur, all strength and enthusiasm with not a trace of skill or finesse.
But that wasn’t what surprised her. What surprised her was the way the leader moved. He was a stocky man, solidly built and just a bit taller than average. Shorter than his opponent, though. He wore heavy armor, piecemeal plate and mail. But he moved with grace, much more than she expected from a Ruskan knight. And even at a distance she quickly realized his sword was true steel, the rippled metal glimmering in the sunlight.
He fought circles around the Middish man. No, he’s barely a boy, Alejandra decided. After a while, the Ruskan lowered his sword.
“Well done, Miles,” he said. “You have much to learn, but you have good instincts.”
“I do?” asked the Middish. Miles.
“Da,” said the Ruskan.
“What are they saying?” Martín whispered in Spatalian.
“He’s complimenting the farmboy,” Carlito said. “For some reason.”
“How do you know he’s a farmboy?” Alejandra asked.
“Just look at him,” Carlito said.
“He’s right,” added Martín.
Alejandra sighed, but she didn’t argue. Martín had grown up on a farm. If he said it, she believed it.
“You,” said the Ruskan. Alejandra looked up and realized he was pointing in their direction. “One of you next.”
“All of us next,” Alejandra replied. She nudged the boys, and they all stepped forward.
“That’s not how it works,” piped up another man in the crowd. He was short and ugly. Very short and ugly, Alejandra realized. But he stood with an easy confidence, arms crossed over his chest. “We’re the ones holding the tryouts.”
The leader held up a hand. “Yorrin, is fine,” he said. “All of you then. Step forward, please.”
They walked up to him together.
“My name is Aleksandr Kerensky. You are?”
“Alejandra Augustine,” Alejandra said. She held out a hand, and Aleksandr took it.
“Carlito of Astura.” Aleksandr shook Carlito’s hand as well.
Martín’s Middish was poor, but this much he understood. “Martín,” he said, keeping it simple. He shook Aleksandr’s hand vigorously, and grinned.
If it was possible to make up for not speaking the language by smiling and nodding, Martín would never have a problem no matter where he went.
“You are Spatalian cavalry?” Aleksandr asked.
“Jinetes,” Alejandra confirmed. “We used to ride with Halcones de Javier—Javier’s Falcons.”
“I am sorry, I do not know this word. Jinete?” Aleksandr’s brow furrowed.
“Light cavalry,” Alejandra said. “Skirmishers. We fight with javelins, mostly. Good at getting into fights, and then getting out.”
“Da, I understand. We are looking for more horsemen,” Aleksandr said. “I would like to see you ride, but—I am sure this is no problem. And each of you must fight one of us.”
“If we win do we take their place?” Carlito asked, smirking.
Aleksandr didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. After an uncomfortable pause, he answered. “No. Is… tradition, let’s say. We test your mettle in friendly contest. That is all.”
“Sure,” Alejandra said. “We fighting you?”
Aleksandr shrugged. “Would you like to?”
“Uh.” Alejandra hesitated. I didn’t realize I had a choice. “Sure,” she finally answered.
At that, Aleksandr smiled. He stepped out into the open area, gesturing for her to join him. He shifted his grip on his sword to hold it with both hands, readying himself into a low guard.
Alejandra swallowed her nervousness. She wore a sword on her belt, an old Imperial-style spatha, but she was more comfortable with spear or javelin. She whistled for Margarita, and the horse quickly trotted over. Alejandra took her spear and shield off the horse’s harness.
The fight didn’t last long. Up close, Aleksandr was even faster than he looked from the outside. It was uncanny—his general movements were not particularly graceful. But his footwork on the battlefield was impeccable, and his blade darted out in swift, well-timed strikes that would have hurt a great deal if he was not visibly pulling back the blows. Even so, and even when they thumped against her lamellar, the impacts were not pleasant.
She tried to gain an upper hand, going on the offense. He drove her back with a series of strikes that sent up a spray of wood chips as his blade bit into her shield again and again. Just as Alejandra felt she had discerned a pattern to his attacks, and tried to adapt, he suddenly pivoted and slid completely inside her raised shield. He slammed his elbow into her, sending her sprawling on her ass in the dirt.
She coughed as her breath was knocked from her lungs. When she could breathe again, she realized Aleksandr was standing over her. He stared down at her with a grin, and his hand was outstretched. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet.
“Very good!” He said. “You are fast.”
“You too,” she muttered.
Aleksandr gestured for one of the boys to step up. Carlito and Martín exchanged a look, and then Carlito shrugged and walked into the yard.
“Dylan!” Aleksandr said. “Would you like to test him?”
A tall man stepped forward. He was so lean he looked unhealthy, but he walked up and smiled at Carlito. He held a spear, but no shield.
“I remember you,” said the man, Dylan.
“Si,” Carlito said “You told me to come here.”
“Glad you listened,” Dylan said, grinning.
Carlito tossed his shield to the ground and held his spear in both hands, mirroring Dylan’s stance. The fight was short and fierce, and it was obvious Carlito was feeling the lack of his shield. Dylan seemed more used to one on one spearfighting of this nature, whereas Carlito’s experience was mostly from horseback or in formation.
When it became clear who had the upper hand, Aleksandr called out for them to stop. Once again, though, he just seemed pleased.
We’re losing, but he doesn’t seem to mind, Alejandra noted. Strange.
“I’ll take him,” the ugly short man stepped out onto the field, nodding at Martín. “Come on.”
He drew a sword and dagger off his belt, and Alejandra did not miss that his weapons were the only other true steel she had seen of anyone in this supposedly Steelshod company. The sword was a gorgeous piece, slender and tapered. It almost looked like Spatalian work to her, the kind of thing you’d see between the canals of Camarr.
“Que?” Martín answered Yorrin. He glanced at Alejandra and Carlito.
“He just said he’ll fight you,” Carlito explained in Spatalian.
“Speak Middish,” the ugly man said impatiently.
Martín stepped forward, holding spear and shield in hand. “Lo siento,” he said apologetically. “No buen—good, no good Middish. I mucho bad.”
The ugly little man frowned. “Well, we don’t speak Spit,” he said. “What are you doing joining a Middish-speaking company, then?”
Martín just grinned.
He knows enough to have caught Spit, Alejandra thought, frowning. But he still smiles at the little bastard.
“Yorrin, is fine. Just test him, da?” Aleksandr said from the sidelines.
The ugly man—Yorrin, apparently—shrugged. Then he attacked.
God, he’s even quicker than Aleksandr.
Yorrin’s transition from shrug to strike had barely been perceptible. Martín did not bring his shield up in time, and Yorrin whipped the tip of his steel back at the last second. The needle-thin tip of his blade just barely kissed Martín’s forehead, and then the fight was on.
It lasted the shortest of all of them. Even pulling the blow, Yorrin had cut Martín’s forehead. Once the blood was drenching his brow and getting in his eyes, Aleksandr called it off quickly and called one of the others forward.
The fellow’s name was Orson, and he pulled linens and ointment from a leather satchel. He began tending Martín’s cut immediately. He spoke to Martín as he worked, and Martín answered each assurance with a shrug and a grin.
It was obviously not a serious wound. Even so, Alejandra and Carlito sat with him for a moment, each of them holding one of his hands. He squeezed tight when Orson stitched the cut with needle and thread.
When it was done, Aleksandr beckoned them back over. They found themselves all standing in front of the entire Steelshod company.
“You fought well,” Aleksandr said. “I will see you ride, but I have no doubt you will ride as well as you fight.”
“We ride better, honestly,” Alejandra said.
Aleksandr smiled. “Good. You three seem to be close.”
You could say that. “We are,” Alejandra said.
“And you tend to speak for all three of you, I have noticed,” Aleksandr said to Alejandra. “Are you their commander?”
Alejandra smiled. “Something like that,” she said. “I was a lieutenant, in Halcones de—in Javier’s Falcons. Carlito and Martín were under my command in the field, si.”
Aleksandr nodded. “You carry yourself like their commander. Da. Is good, leadership is valuable skill.”
“She can be demanding, señor, but she is a good commander,” Carlito said. He said it with a straight face, but Alejandra felt herself blushing nonetheless.
“And you will help your third man—Martin, da?” At Alejandra’s nod, Aleksandr continued. “You will help translate for him? Delegate orders in the heat of battle?”
“I will,” Alejandra said. “Carlito can help, too. And Martín is learning Middish as fast as he can.”
Yorrin frowned, but Aleksandr didn’t seem worried.
“Good,” the Ruskan said. “I think that we will—”
“Why did you leave your old company?” Yorrin asked suddenly. “The Falcons or whatever they were. You said you were a lieutenant, yeah? Good pay usually. You’ll start here from the bottom, have to work your way up.”
“That’s fine,” Alejandra said stiffly. Of course. Too good to be true.
“Is it?” Yorrin looked skeptical. “Loss of pay, language difficulties. I expect the other Spits don’t call you Spit, either. Seems like you’re leaving a good thing. Which makes me think you didn’t leave, you were shitcanned.”
Alejandra winced. Carlito narrowed his eyes. Martín grinned. Their hands found each other’s again, and they each squeezed one another in reassurance. Alejandra felt as if all twelve of the people behind Aleksandr and Yorrin were staring at them and their hands.
“Si,” Alejandra said finally. “You are correct. Javier had to let us go.”
Yorrin looked smug. Aleksandr just looked curious. “Had to?” he repeated. “Is this Middish expression?”
“No, I mean he had to,” Alejandra said. “We upset one of the Middish lords. He might have lost his contract. Not something he can afford, si? So it was us, or the contract.”
“Curious,” Aleksandr said. “What did you do to upset the Middish?”
“What Aleksandr means is: if we hire you, are we going to lose our contracts too?” Yorrin said.
Alejandra sighed. “We are lovers,” she explained. At Aleksandr’s confused expression, she held up each of the boy’s hands in her own. “All three of us, comprendes? We share a tent.”
She did not miss the looks that passed over their faces. Confusion. Disgust.
“Spits,” Yorrin muttered contemptuously. And then, “Cowards.”
Cowards? She’d heard the three of them called many things. Deviants. Sluts. Cuckolds. But never cowards.
Aleksandr’s look of confusion passed quickly. He scratched his beard. “So you did not disobey an order, or break a law, or conduct yourselves poorly in the field?” he asked.
Alejandra blinked. “No? Uh. I mean, no. Never.” She glanced at Yorrin. “And we are not cowards,” she snapped.
Yorrin gave her a look of disdain. “What are you talking about? I didn’t call you cowards. You’re just sexual deviants, which I assume comes with the territory for Spits. Olivenco certainly acts like he’s fucked his way across Spatalia.”
Olivenco? He doesn’t mean— Alejandra forced herself not to get distracted. “I don’t—”
“Your company are the cowards,” Yorrin clarified. “Dumping you because a lord got his breeches in a twist? No loyalty to their own men?” Yorrin spat in the dirt. “Cowards.”
“I—Javi was put in a hard situation,” Alejandra said. She hesitated. Are you defending Javier to them? Stop!
“Perhaps,” Aleksandr said. “I do not know. What I know is that Steelshod stands behind its people. What you do in your tent is your business. I will worry about our contracts, da?”
He’s serious. Alejandra found herself at a loss for words.
Carlito did not. “That’s easy to say, jefe,” he said. “But if a lord threatens to scrap your contract you might—”
“What I say, I mean,” Aleksandr said. He did not sound angry, really, but his voice sounded stern for the first time. “Our contract is a small one. A test, with Lord Marshal. The pay is little—three shillings per day of active duty, with a bonus for combat.”
Small? Seems fine.
Aleksandr continued: “But after our test is concluded, I am confident Lord Marshall will pay us triple that. We will ask a high price for excellent work. Your personal affairs are not an issue.”
Alejandra blinked. Triple? Are we signed on with a madman, or a genius? Who does this Ruskan think he is? Or think we are? She shook her head in amazement, but all she said was “Understood. Sir.”
“So,” Aleksandr said. “You know your pay. We know your mettle. If you wish to ride with Steelshod, we will welcome you aboard. What is your decision?”
Alejandra, Carlito, and Martín exchanged a look.
“Can someone fill me in?” Martín asked in Spatalian. “I followed some of it… Alejandra confirmed we sleep together, yes? Seems like they’re still offering us the job though.”
Carlito nodded. “You got it exactly. I say we take it.”
“The commander might be a madman,” Alejandra said. “He thinks that he’ll be able to draw nine silvers a day for each man?”
“That’s his problem,” Carlito said. “Might as well take it for now, at least.”
Martín nodded. “I’m with Carlito. They seem like a fun bunch, too. Did you see, they’ve got a small girl in their company!”
Alejandra sighed. “Yes, I saw. He... “ she hesitated. “Honestly, lovers, he seems like a good man. A good leader. Ambitious, not a madman at all.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Carlito asked. “Tell him yes and let’s get on with it.”
“I guess… it just seems too good to be true. He accepts us, he’s saying he’s going to try to get us the highest pay a regular merc could ever hope for… What is he going to ask us to do to warrant that?”
Carlito shrugged. “Only one way to find out,” he said.
Alejandra fell silent for a moment. Finally, she nodded at both of her men. Then she turned back to Aleksandr.
“We accept,” she said.
“Da,” Aleksandr said. “I saw that much. Come, Alejandra. Carlito, Martín. Sit with us. You should meet them.”
He gestured towards the far side of the yard, where a small cluster of strangers had gathered.
“I think we have a few more recruits to get through.”