“The General requires your presence.”
Yorrin looked up from his breakfast—a sour apple baked over coals, with a piece of crusty day-old bread. It’s about time, he thought, assessing the man intruding upon Steelshod’s camp.
He was young, with a mousy look about him. His well-groomed beard didn’t hide the weak chin given to him by God and his lineage. Yorrin recognized him from their unfortunate meeting in Lord Marshal’s tent. He wore Marshal’s livery, and despite his generally meek look he stared them down coolly and kept his back straight.
Suppose if this General is as good as they say he isn’t likely to choose a weakling for his personal aide, Yorrin decided. What was this fellow’s name? Rainwood?
“Of course,” Aleksandr said. He’d been picking at his meal, and he set it aside promptly.
He’s a great man, but Aleksandr’s still got a few habits that tell of his noble upbringing, Yorrin thought, stuffing the rest of his breakfast into his mouth in one oversized bite. He gnawed it awkwardly, and choked it down as fast as he could. Never know when you’ll have to skip a meal, Aleksandr. Don’t waste food.
Aleksandr had already stood, and moved towards Rainwood. Yorrin was a step behind, and he gave the Whip a nod as he passed.
“Wake the late risers,” Yorrin said quietly. The sky was still the gloomy gray of early dawn, and scarcely half of Steelshod was up.
“A job?” the Whip whispered, unable to hide the eager excitement in his voice. “Finally?”
“Dunno,” Yorrin said. “Be ready, in case. Prep the horses, and have everyone ready to break down camp within the hour.”
Aleksandr and Rainwood had already begun walking out of their camp. Yorrin hurried to catch up.
“Have we got an assignment?” Yorrin asked once he was in earshot.
“His Lordship will explain what he requires of you,” Rainwood said.
Yeah yeah, we’re all very impressed with your fancy tabard, Yorrin rolled his eyes, but he kept silent for the rest of the walk.
The Caedian camp was bustling with more activity than Yorrin had seen since their arrival. Tents were being packed up, horses led out of the corrals, and already hundreds of men were forming up on the edge of the camps.
They’re heading out, Yorrin realized. Or at least a good number of them are.
The General’s pavilion looked different from the last time Yorrin had been inside it. Several of the entry flaps were pinned open to let in light, and other than those there were just a few small lamps on the main table. Two plates of half-eaten bread and cheese were forgotten on one side of the table, and at the other sat just two men.
One of them was Lord Marshal himself, of course. Yorrin would not soon forget the look of the hardened old man that served as General of Caedia’s assembled forces. The second man was younger, probably no more than thirty. His cheeks were clean-shaven, but he had a thick dark mustache framing a small mouth. His eyebrows were thick as well, and drawn tight. Between them and his pursed lips he looked to be scowling at them. He had a solid build, and he was clad in layers of mail and plate.
A proper knight, Yorrin decided. Decked out as well as Aleksandr, looks like.
“Thank you, Nestor,” Marshal said to the Rainwood man. “Kerensky. And—Yorrin?”
“Da,” Aleksandr said. He offered the General a stiff bow.
Yorrin ducked his head in his own loose approximation of a bow. “You’ve got a job for us?” he asked.
Marshal smiled thinly. He doesn’t like my sass, but I think he respects that I don’t want to waste his time, Yorrin decided. Works for me.
“Yes,” he said. “Come, sit.” He gestured to a few of the empty chairs at the table. “This is Lord Mortimer Wigglesworth.”
Aleksandr coughed. “Uh,” he said, hesitating. “I am sorry. Say again?”
What’s got him thrown? Yorrin wondered.
“Lord Mortimer Wigglesworth,” Marshal said. “Duke of the Loheim, a peer of the realm and direct vassal of his majesty King Edric.”
Yorrin ducked a shallow bow to Lord Wigglesworth before he pulled himself a chair.
“Good to meet you,” Aleksandr said. He offered the lord a hand, and they shook. “Will we be working with you, Lord Wigglesworth?”
“No,” Wigglesworth said curtly. “Not with me.”
“Indeed,” Marshal said. “Lord Wigglesworth is needed in the south, and he’ll be setting out within the hour with several thousand men.”
“South?” Aleksandr asked. “This means the Svards have struck in force?”
“Looks like it,” Marshal said. “Or they’re about to.”
“But we aren’t going south,” Yorrin said. “Since you just said we aren’t working with Wigglesworth?”
“Lord Wigglesworth,” corrected Wigglesworth. Yorrin gave him an apologetic shrug.
“You aren’t,” Marshal said. “Wigglesworth’s territory is the Loheim—Caedia’s lands north of the Ironblood. That’s where you’re headed.”
“But you just said the Svards are in the south,” Yorrin said. “I don’t follow.”
Marshal gave Yorrin a hard look.
“What Yorrin means to say is: we are confused,” Aleksandr cut in smoothly.
“We have reports that the Svards are massing in the south, yes,” Marshal said. “But it appears that the Svardic warlord, this Taerbjornsen, has more than just Svardic clans under his banner. He has Kriegar clans as well.”
Kriegar? That sounds familiar. More barbarians I think, not as far north as the Svards.
“The Kriegars have a long enmity with my people,” Wigglesworth interjected. “Even longer than the Svards, who have raided the Loheim’s coastline for decades.”
“We are concerned that the Loheim may be vulnerable to attack by land,” Marshal said. “On the edge of our border with Kriegany is an old keep called Northwatch. We received word yesterday evening that Northwatch may have fallen under attack.”
“Northwatch is held by Lord Houtham,” Wigglesworth said. “A good man, loyal, but old. Usually his garrison is supplemented by my men. Or the men of Lord Volk—one of my vassals.”
“But your men are here,” Aleksandr said, understanding. “And this Lord Volk is here as well?”
“He is tending to another task,” said Marshal. “He should be here in another few days, with luck. But he is not—was not—in the Loheim. Which means, yes, as you’ve guessed, Northwatch was defended by a skeleton garrison.”
“If Northwatch was attacked in force, it is highly likely that Lord Houtham is dead,” Wigglesworth said.
He sounds sad, at least, Yorrin noticed. Might be a stuck up prig of a lord, but he cares about his sworn men.
“Losing Northwatch is potentially very dangerous,” Wigglesworth continued. “It is a small keep, but it is well positioned to strike into the lowland farms. It would give the Svards and Kriegars a significant foothold in my land.”
“So what, exactly, is our task here? Go and retake this Northwatch place?” Yorrin asked.
Marshal frowned. “What, with your fifteen fighting men?” He rolled his eyes. “No. We’re sending you to reconnoiter Northwatch and the surrounds. We’ll be sending out a larger force under the command of another of Wigglesworth’s men presently.”
“Sir Davrien Cox,” Wigglesworth said. “Young, a bit headstrong, but eager to prove himself.”
“It will fall to Sir Cox to retake Northwatch,” Marshal said. “And hold the Loheim against further incursions. But he will be moving with a small army, a couple hundred men at least. It’s my understanding that your Steelshod company is fully mounted, yes?”
“Da,” Aleksandr said.
In theory, Yorrin thought. They’d bought a horse for Longshanks once they hired him, but the longbowman was a miserable rider so far.
“You’ll ride hard and fast for Northwatch,” Marshal said. “Keep to the coast, cross the Ironblood at Salton Cross Ferry, and you’ll make good time. Scout the area, see how bad it is. When Sir Cox arrives, provide him with a full report of what to expect. You will follow his orders and help him to secure Northwatch in whatever way he deems fitting.”
Aleksandr nodded. “I understand,” he said.
“Good,” Marshal replied. “If this goes well—if Cox has good things to say about you—then perhaps we’ll discuss your contract again on your return.”
“Da, thank you,” Aleksandr said.
Marshal nodded. “Alright then. Dismissed.”
Rainwood escorted them both out of the pavilion. He held out a sheet of vellum for Aleksandr to review and sign. “Your contract with the kingdom of Caedia,” he said.
Aleksandr frowned at the text. He glanced at Yorrin. “I am—ah—” he hesitated.
Oh, right, he only reads Ruskan, Yorrin realized. He leaned over and read the contract. It was short and to the point. Marshal’s seal was already imprinted along the bottom.
“Looks good, sir,” he said. “The pay we discussed, everything looks right.”
“Da, good. Thank you,” Aleksandr said. He took a quill Rainwood offered him and signed his name.
“Excellent. When you return, you will come to me,” Rainwood said. “I shall settle the account and provide your pay, and take down your reports. His Lordship will see you if and when he requires you.”
Aleksandr frowned, but he didn’t argue. A few moments later he and Yorrin were walking back towards their camp.
“The Caedians don’t think much of us,” Yorrin said.
“Da. Is fine, Yorrin. We will prove ourselves,” Aleksandr said.
“That Wigglesworth fellow didn’t even want to shake your hand.”
Aleksandr shrugged. Then he snorted a breath of laughter.
“What?” Yorrin asked.
“Is nothing. Just—his name. Wigglesworth?”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“Is a strange name for a lord. Very silly.”
Yorrin frowned, pausing in his tracks. “Is it? I don’t think so. Good Torathi name.”
“Wigglesworth,” Aleksandr said again.
Yorrin nodded. “Yeah. Probably named for God. Snakes wiggle, Aleksandr.”
Aleksandr stared at Yorrin in a moment of silence. “I suppose you are right,” he finally said. “Snakes do wiggle.”
Yorrin nodded, then continued walking back to their camp.
“I can go. I feel better!”
Yorrin snorted.
“I am sure you do,” Aleksandr said. He placed a hand on Anatoly’s shoulder and gently nudged the man until he sat back down. “But Orson says you still have much healing to do.”
Anatoly frowned. “I am sick of healing,” he growled. “Sick of beds and lying down. I can stand, Aleksandr. I can fight!”
Aleksandr didn’t look impressed. “This might be,” he said. “But can you ride? For days at high speed?”
“I’m also calling bullshit on that fighting claim,” Yorrin interjected. “Orson carved a hole in your head, man. Did your brains leak out? You stay on the sick list until he clears you.”
Anatoly clenched his jaw angrily.
“Anatoly,” Aleksandr said. “Orson says you are healing well. He does not think you will even need his continued care. We will leave you here to recover, and I expect you to do so. Do not overexert yourself.”
Anatoly opened his mouth to protest again.
“But also,” Aleksandr continued. “Do not neglect yourself. Walk each day. We will leave Prochnost in the stables for you—practice riding when you can. Your arms and armor are there—practice that as well. Da? When we return, proven, Lord Marshal will give us a new assignment. I expect it to be a difficult one. We will need you riding with us then. Understood?”
Anatoly sighed, and nodded. “Da,” he said finally. “I understand.”
“We’re also leaving a new hire behind with you,” Yorrin added. “He’s staying in the room next to yours now. Aleksandr entrusted him with some of our funds.” Against my better judgement. “Keep an eye on him, will you?”
“The small man I met yesterday, da? Jaspar? You do not trust him?” Anatoly asked.
“We trust him,” Yorrin said. “He came highly regarded by Giancarlo. But we’ve asked him to continue sniffing around for more mercs looking for work, and start vetting possible candidates for us to meet when we return. Mercenaries are a mixed lot, and he’s not exactly a warrior. Hate for him to get knifed and the coin we gave him stolen. Just—like I said, keep an eye on him. Alright?”
“Da,” Anatoly said. “I will do this. I can meet men with him, too. I have served with many sellswords… some would not be good fit for Steelshod.”
“Good man.” Yorrin clapped Anatoly on the shoulder. “Jaspar seems sharp enough, but I’m not sure how good a judge of soldiers he’ll be.”
Aleksandr nodded. “Da, Yorrin is right. Any man that passes both you and Jaspar’s scrutiny will be a man worth hiring, I think.”
Anatoly actually grinned at that. He wasn’t really itching for action. He needed to know we still valued him, Yorrin realized. Aleksandr just knew that somehow.
“Take care, Anatoly. We should be back in a week or two, perhaps less,” Aleksandr said. He offered a hand for Anatoly to shake, and when it was done he and Yorrin left without fanfare.
Jaspar was waiting for them in the hallway. “Sirs,” he said.
“Da?” Aleksandr paused, so Yorrin did the same.
“I had a few final concerns.”
“Did we not give enough money?” Aleksandr asked. “I thought—”
“No no, quite alright. You’ve already paid up for two weeks in quarters for myself and Anatoly—quite generous, sir! And paid them to hold on to the wagons Master Rossi left us, keeping them in the stables. And you’ve only left one horse, yes?”
“Two,” Aleksandr corrected him. “Anatoly’s horse, and Periwinkle—one of the riding horses—for you.”
Jaspar blinked. “Ah, yes. I had forgotten,” he said blandly.
Bullshit he forgot, Yorrin thought. He just doesn’t want to follow Aleksandr’s orders and practice.
“I thought we paid for both of them, though,” Aleksandr said. “Did I—”
“No sir. My question was entirely unrelated. I hoped to have some bookkeeping prepared for your return, is all. And—as regards the payscale we will be offering, you mentioned the rates Lord Marshal has contracted us at. But you did not specify how the shares will be distributed, or what percentage Steelshod intends to take for company funds.”
Aleksandr frowned. “I am not sure I understand.”
“The rate a mercenary company secures for its contract does not necessarily correlate precisely to the rate of pay each mercenary receives,” Jaspar said. “It’s much the same in any contracting industry—quite simple really. So if we assume that the total wages from a contract are X, then deduct Y to fund company expenses and captain’s wages, then we would be left with Z remainder as our net payroll. That could be disbursed evenly between the men, but if some men are officers, healers, or have simple seniority then you may wish to—”
Aleksandr held up a hand. “I am sorry, Jaspar. This did not help. I do not understand. What are these letters?”
“Variables, sir,” Jaspar said. He tried, only half-successfully, to keep an exasperated huff out of his voice. “They denote—”
“I think I get it,” Yorrin said. Sort of. Mostly. “For now, just record what we discussed Jaspar. When we return and get our first payment as a real mercenary company we’ll discuss how to divide it up. If that’s alright with you, sir.”
Aleksandr nodded. “Da, yes, of course,” he said quickly. He was obviously relieved that Yorrin had deflected the questions.
“Very well sirs,” Jaspar said with a curt nod of his head. “As you wish. I shall look forward to your return.”
“Da,” Aleksandr said. He slipped past Jaspar and headed for the exit.
“Yeah. And keep an eye on Anatoly for us, will you?” Yorrin added. “Make sure he’s changing his dressing regularly, Orson left instructions with the inn staff.”
“Of course sir,” Jaspar said. “My pleasure.”
Yorrin caught up with Aleksandr at the door, and they left together. As they led their horses out of the stables, Aleksandr gave Yorrin a perplexed look.
“X? Y? What are these things? This makes sense to you?” Aleksandr asked.
“Eh,” Yorrin shrugged. He pulled himself into the saddle. “I think they were just stand-ins for whatever the actual pay’s going to be. So if you’re taking Y away from X, then that’s what you do no matter what the real numbers are. If X is ten copper pennies and Y is three pennies, then in this case you’re left with seven pence.”
Aleksandr’s brow remained furrowed for a moment, then relaxed. “Oh,” he said. He mounted Dascha, still frowning slightly. “Da, I see this. Why did he not just say it that way?”
Yorrin shrugged again. “He’s a factor, I guess that’s how they talk? I bet it’d have made sense to Giancarlo.”
“Da,” Aleksandr said. “Perhaps. I think we have much to learn, Yorrin. If we are to command a mercenary company.”
“Agreed,” Yorrin said. He clicked his tongue, nudging his horse forward.
Dascha moved in step with Yorrin’s horse, without any visible input from Aleksandr. Either Dascha was smart enough to know what to do, or Aleksandr had commanded him without any visible or audible cues.
Both seem equally likely, Yorrin decided.
The road north out of Arcadia climbed high as they put the city to their backs. To their left the ground dropped down in a steep cliff that grew higher and higher the further they went, granting an increasingly grand view of the King’s Bay—and of Arcadia behind them.
So much bustle, Yorrin thought as he glanced over his shoulder. The docks sprawled across at least a mile of shore within the city, and sprawled along the rivers that swept out into the bay. Scores of ships were visible coming and going from the bay.
From their vantage, the high stone walls around Arcadia seemed sort of small. Even so, Yorrin could tell how hard the city would be to storm. Old Cassaline war engines still perched atop many of the towers, presumably maintained well enough to assault any ship or army foolish enough to attack the heart of Caedia.
“That’s one hell of a city,” Robin commented from where he rode nearby. “Biggest city I’d ever seen before now was—well, it wasn’t that anyway. God damn.”
“Seen bigger. It’s not Nahash, but it’s alright,” Yorrin said. It’s huge, he admitted to himself. Bigger than Nasarat, I think.
“I’m more impressed by the sea,” muttered Conrad from where he rode behind them. “I’d heard it was huge, and when I was down at the docks we couldn’t see the end of it. But seeing it from up here…”
“That’s not the ocean, Conrad,” Yorrin said. “It’s the King’s Bay.”
Conrad fell silent for a moment. “Oh,” he finally said.
Robin snickered. Conrad nudged his horse forward a few paces and he reached out to try to thwack Robin on the arm. Robin dodged, and only laughed louder as he urged his horse a little faster.
“Bastard,” Conrad muttered. He didn’t bother to follow.
“Yeah, I’d assume so,” Yorrin agreed. “More importantly, he’s a lazy Rotten son of a bitch.”
Conrad chuckled. Yorrin left the banter at that. In the silence, he tilted his head for one last look at Arcadia. It really was huge.
I don’t see how these Svards can win, he decided. Hakon was full of brag, but I had no real idea how big Caedia really is. Just a bit shy of Nahash, really. A major power, with armies and keeps to match.
He turned his gaze back towards the road. If they made good time, they’d reach the mouth where the Ironblood met the sea in just a few days.
A barbarian horde can no doubt do a lot of damage, but conquest? Not a chance. We’ll whip them out of their boots.