They moved through the Caedian war camp quickly.
The presence of Vernon Cleaver appeared to be a sort of talisman. A hidden insignia of rank, beyond knighthood. Aleksandr kept pace with Yorrin and Cleaver in silence, and every step of the way Cleaver got them past the Caedian soldiers with a few words, and often not even that.
Marshal was in his pavilion when they arrived, but he was not hosting his lords. At a look from Cleaver, the knights outside did not follow them within. They did not try to take Kholodny, or even relieve Yorrin of any of the assorted weapons he bristled with.
Marshal looked up from a table where he seemed to be looking over maps and sheafs of vellum. The only other man in the room was his aide, the young man that had finalized their contract as well as led them out to get Miles out of his cage. Rainwood, his name was, Aleksandr recalled. Rainwood sat off to the side, at a small table of his own. It was tidy and organized compared to Marshal’s mess of maps and reports.
As ever, the high lord and former regent of Caedia dressed simply, as a soldier might. Gambeson dyed dark, sword sheathed at his side, with only a small silver pin in the shape of a horse to denote his noble house. His brow furrowed when he saw them.
“Vernon,” he said.
“Winston,” Cleaver said.
A yeoman seneschal addressing the most respected lord in the kingdom by his first name? Aleksandr thought. If Yorrin had not already all but confirmed Cleaver as Caedia’s spymaster, this might do it.
“You’ve an interesting choice of companions,” Marshal said. He glanced at Aleksandr. “Kerensky, isn’t it? I trust this means Lord Cox has retaken Northwatch?”
“No,” Aleksandr said. He heard Yorrin stifle a laugh beside him.
Marshal frowned. “No? Unfortunate. How many—”
“Winston,” Cleaver interrupted the lord without apology, and Marshal looked at him expectantly. “He’s playing with you.”
Marshal narrowed his eyes at Aleksandr. “Is that true, boy?”
“I spoke honestly,” Aleksandr said. “But, da, perhaps it is true even so.”
He nodded to Yorrin, who reached under his cloak and withdrew the folded and sealed piece of vellum upon which Cox had written his report. Yorrin offered it, and Marshal took it impatiently.
“Well, that’s Cox’s seal, at least. Care to sum up his message for me?”
“Northwatch was taken by a force of roughly two score warriors,” Aleksandr said. “Mostly Kriegar, some Svards. There were a few survivors of the garrison, holding out within the inner tower. We feared they would not last until Lord Cox and his army arrived, so we moved immediately to retake the keep.”
Marshal’s lip curled in a skeptical grimace. “You’ve barely got a score of men yourself, and you stormed Northwatch and took it from twice that number? Northwatch is no grand keep, but even so I find that hard to believe. How many men did you lose?”
“None,” Aleksandr said. “But we did not storm the keep. We challenged the Svards, and faced their champion in personal combat. Have you heard of the bersarks, Lord Marshal?”
Marshal scratched his gray beard, and he nodded. “Mighty warriors, they say, clad in bearskin.”
“Da, though—a bit more than that,” Aleksandr said.
“Alright, suppose that’s a bit more believable” Marshal said. “If they had a champion warrior with them, I suppose they might’ve been foolhardy enough to take such a challenge. And when you won the others just cleared out?”
“Da,” Aleksandr said. “We stayed on until Lord Cox arrived, and assisted him in securing the keep and scouting the surrounding area.”
“Hm,” Marshal said. He held up the sealed message. “If Cox confirms all of that, then genuine thanks are in order. You went well beyond the mission, to our benefit.”
Aleksandr nodded, giving a shallow bow and a thin smile. Yes, and that’s what we told you we would do, back when we offered you our services. He knew he did not need to remind Marshal.
Though he also noticed that Marshal had not actually thanked them directly. Aleksandr’s Middish was good enough now to note the slight distinction between saying thanks “were in order” and actually thanking someone. It was the sort of thing a prickly man might take exception to, but Aleksandr could not bring himself to bother. He will pay us fairly next time, or we will find some other way to fund the company while we hunt for Hakon. No matter what Marshal or Caedia did, Aleksandr was not leaving this war until he had found Alaina.
Marshal glanced at Cleaver. “None of that explains why you came in together, though.”
“I don’t think Aleksandr is finished with his account,” Cleaver said, smiling.
Aleksandr nodded. “Da, thank you. We received word from some of Lord Cox’s scouts that Torva was under siege. We left to investigate,” Aleksandr said. “We had also scouted movement along the coasts, so Cox did not dare abandon the keep in force.”
That got a stronger reaction. Marshal’s eyes widened, and his gaze snapped to Cleaver. “Siege? An army of Svards slipped through our nets? Did they come up the river?”
“Not Svards,” Aleksandr said. “Opposite end of the river. Ruskans, out of Yerevan.”
And that, in turn, yielded an even more shocked response from Marshal. Cleaver intervened before the general went apoplectic at the prospect of waging a full war with Rusk on land while fending off the Svards on the coast. He skipped to the end, assuring Marshal that things had been settled peacefully—relations with Yerevan were perhaps not yet normalized, but war was not likely in the immediate future unless Caedia and the crown insisted upon it.
Marshal shook his head at that. “Retaliation for a bloodless siege, however ill-advised, is not something we will pursue. Not in the middle of a war. Let this be a footnote, not even rising to King Edric’s notice any time soon. Better for all if he never even hears of it, I think. But even so, you must tell me how it was settled.”
At that, Cleaver looked back to Aleksandr. He sighed. “It was… not without difficulty, Lord Marshal. To understand, perhaps first we should explain what we know of Hakon, the high priest of the Svards.”
Marshal frowned. “You mentioned him. That first meeting, when you interrupted my war council full of brag. To bargain for the life of a deserter, and then demand a ridiculous sum.”
Aleksandr felt his jaw clench, and he relaxed it with an act of will. “That is not how I recall the meeting, Lord Marshal,” he said. “But you are right that we spoke of meeting Hakon in Yerevan even then, da.”
“You and your lords scoffed, as I remember,” Yorrin said. “Awfully convenient, they said, that we faced Svards in Yerevan, with no one to vouch for our claims. What happened at Torva was even more ridiculous than Yerevan, by any standard. You planning to listen this time?”
Aleksandr winced. That was direct, even for Yorrin. In the corner of his eye, he saw the young Rainwood look at Yorrin with wide-eyed horror. But Yorrin’s words were truthful. His lack of tact might cause them trouble, but Aleksandr found it refreshing, and he felt no desire to reprimand him.
Marshal glared at Yorrin in silence for a long, tense moment. Then he smiled. “You’ve got stones, boy, I’ll give you that much. Cleaver says you broke the siege. In a single night?” Cleaver nodded. Marshal looked back at Yorrin. “Well then. Aye, I’ll listen. Tell me what happened in Yerevan, and in Torva. Tell me what you know of this Hakon. All of it. If Cleaver vouches for you, then I’ll listen quietly to your every utterance. I swear it.”
Lord Marshal was as good as his word. He listened to them explain the blood magic of the Vlari priests, and the way it seemed Hakon clouded the minds of the Yerevani nobility. He was obviously surprised to hear that Aleksandr slew the Ruskan commander in their own camp and then rode out without consequence, but he did not interrupt. Then Aleksandr had to detour his own tale to explain what had befallen Kholodny before they left Yerevan, in order to give context to what happened below the walls of Torva.
That took Marshal aback. He stared pointedly at the Kerensky family blade. But still, he did not interrupt. In the telling, Aleksandr felt acutely aware of how long and far-fetched the tale sounded. But he told it nonetheless.
Finally, when he was finished, Marshal looked at Cleaver again. “This is all true, is it?”
Cleaver nodded. “As best I can tell. I’ve independently verified most of the events that happened in Yerevan through my contacts. I imagine Cox’s letter verifies the bit at Northwatch. And every word he said about Torva was God’s own truth, and modest besides.”
“Modest?” Marshal arched an eyebrow at that. “I find that hard to believe.”
“He left out the part where one of his soldiers slipped through the enemy camp unseen, got into Torva to speak with me, and then back out again,” Cleaver said. He gave Yorrin a cool nod. “Among others.”
“I was summarizing,” Aleksandr said.
Marshall fell silent. He ran a hand through his beard again, this time holding the position for a moment as he contemplated Aleksandr’s story. Finally, he nodded—more to himself than them, Aleksandr suspected.
“Very well,” he said. “Good work, Kerensky. That’ll be all, then.” He turned towards Cleaver. “It’s good to have you here, Vernon. I have quite a few reports I’d like you to look at.”
Aleksandr blinked, then exchanged incredulous looks with Yorrin. Did he just dismiss us?
Yorrin cleared his throat loudly. Marshal looked back at them. “Yes?” he said. “Nestor will see your funds disbursed for the finished work.”
“Thank you, but—that is not it. Our contract, Lord Marshal,” Aleksandr said. “We—”
“I remember. Ten a day per man, thirty for a day of active battle,” Marshal said. “That’s what you asked before. You’re clearly worth it. We’ll pay your retainer and the bonus as well for all future assignments, effective immediately. An indefinite contract, we’ll pay for your support until the war ends.” He waved a hand at Rainwood, who was already counting out coins. He nodded at Marshal, and reached with his left hand for an inkwell. “It’s done. I’ll need you to wait here in camp a few days while we get your next assignment in order. I have some ideas already, and I expect Vernon will have thoughts.”
Cleaver smiled thinly, and nodded.
Marshal met Aleksandr’s eyes. “Good enough?”
Oh. Aleksandr nodded, momentarily silent. “Da,” was all he could say.
“Uh, pardon, Lord Kerensky,” said Nestor Rainwood. He had finished counting the money already, and he was writing on a sheet of vellum. “Fifteen men, yes?”
“Twenty five,” Aleksandr said. At Rainwood’s perplexed expression, he added “We hired a few on before we left camp last time. We left wounded here to recuperate, as well, and he should be ready for service by now. And we did some hiring while we were in the field. We are… expanding.”
“It’s fine, Nestor,” Marshal said. “Twenty five. Wait—you plan on hiring more from the camp again?”
“We expect to, da,” Aleksandr said.
“Just ink in the pay,” Marshal told Rainwood. “Like we do for the Sons. Head count can be verified by their commander later.”
“But sir—Marshal—we don’t pay per man for the Sons,” Rainwood objected. “Direct pay sent as thanks to Victoria for them.”
“Figure it out, Nestor,” Marshal said. “We will pay Steelshod their asking price for however many men they have. Understood?”
Rainwood swallowed. “Yes, Marshal. Understood.” He looked back to Aleksandr. “Uh, could you—well, could I come find you in your camp later? I’ll need to rewrite this.”
“Is no problem,” Aleksandr said. “Thank you.”
Rainwood nodded. He held out the purse into which he’d counted the coins, and Yorrin stepped forward to grab it.
Aleksandr had intended his thanks for both Rainwood and Marshal, but Marshal was already ignoring him. He and Cleaver were heads down over his reports, speaking in muttered voices. The only word Aleksandr heard clearly was Wigglesworth.
He and Yorrin took their leave without fanfare. They walked in silence until they had put some distance between them and Marshal’s pavilion. Yorrin was the first to stop, and he grinned at Aleksandr.
“God’s eyes,” Yorrin said. “That went well! He actually listened.”
“Da,” Aleksandr said. “I hoped, but—da. When we asked for that pay, I always expected them to try to bargain it down. But that was a good meeting.”
“It was,” Yorrin agreed. “I never doubt you, Aleksandr. But I wasn’t sure about him. I’d heard Marshal was a good man, and maybe the stories are true. Or true enough, at least.”
“The Company will be pleased,” Aleksandr said.
Yorrin smirked. The purse jingled in his hand as he walked.
“Ah, sirs, it is good to see you!” The first person to greet them when they found Steelshod’s camp was their new steward.
Jaspar Beckenridge had not absconded with the funds they left him—Aleksandr had not expected him to, not after coming recommended by Giancarlo. And being watched over by Anatoly.
Aleksandr saw the Ruskan across the camp. He looked much, much better than he had when they left him. His complexion was good, and he moved steadily without any sign of discomfort. Anatoly had already been absorbed by the rest of the company as they regaled him with all the action he missed out on. Which left Jaspar to approach Aleksandr and Yorrin the instant they arrived.
“Here, Jaspar,” Yorrin said. He pressed the purse of coins to the reedy young man’s chest, and Jaspar awkwardly took hold of it. “Our first pay from Caedia. Divvy it up.”
“Ah, excellent,” Jaspar said, recovering instantly from his momentary surprise. “Though, this does segue into a primary concern, sirs. When you left, I still had some lingering questions as to how you wish me to run your accounts. We shall need to discuss the matter of division sooner rather than later.”
“Division?” Aleksandr asked.
“Oh. Shares, right?” Yorrin said. “I think I remember. We take the pay, then divide it up and portion it out based on each man’s stake in the company.”
“Precisely, Master Yorrin!” Jaspar said. He smiled, as if delighted that someone had both listened and understood his proposal. “But to do that, shares must be assigned. There are some common practices, but no universals. How many shares to the captains? Lieutenants? Specialists? How about seniority? And if yes to any of those, who do you designate as such?”
Aleksandr frowned. “Ah,” he said. “Dylan is our lieutenant. Prudence should also receive an extra share as a specialist.” He paused. “Bear as well, I suppose. He has been with us the longest of anyone.”
“Olivenco should be paid as a specialist,” Yorrin suggested.
Aleksandr nodded. “Of course. And Orson—he is the company healer, I think that is customary, da?”
“Certainly,” Jaspar said. “Anyone else? And there is still the matter of exactly how many shares. Do each of the mentioned receive one additional? What about the captain’s pay, or Master Yorrin?”
These are the sorts of questions we should have already answered, Aleksandr decided.
“Definitely higher pay for the captain,” Yorrin said.
“Yorrin gets the same shares as I,” Aleksandr declared immediately. Yorrin frowned, but Aleksandr ignored it. “Keep it simple, Jaspar. Three for us, two for those we mentioned, one for everyone else. Good enough?”
Jaspar’s eyebrows climbed a fraction of an inch. “Very magnanimous, sir,” he said.
Aleksandr did not know the word. I’ll ask Yorrin later.
“And what of the company itself? Company funds can help to defray the cost of company supplies… food, lodging, animals, arms and armor, and the like.”
“We can take those costs,” Aleksandr said. “With our higher pay.”
Yorrin nodded. “Makes sense.”
Jaspar made a neutral expression that Aleksandr decided was a well controlled grimace of disapproval. “That would likely entirely negate the added pay from your extra shares,” he pointed out.
“Right,” Yorrin agreed.
Jaspar took a breath. “Ah. Very well, sirs. You know best. I will see these funds divided per your instructions, and record everything in a ledger for your perusal.”
“Thank you, Jaspar,” Aleksandr said. It will need to be Yorrin’s perusal, until I learn to read and write in Middish.
“Of course, sir.”
“Aleksandr,” Aleksandr corrected.
Jaspar made that neutral face again. Definitely disapproval.
Aleksandr left Jaspar to execute their decisions. He was still unsure about the young steward, but he couldn’t deny that Jaspar seemed to be highly intelligent and well educated. There was little doubt that they would benefit from his skills.
Steelshod’s camp was well on its way to being re-established. They’d staked out roughly the same place as the last time, but several of their neighbors had changed. The large company with the black fists on a yellow flag, full of tents pitched in orderly rows, was nowhere to be seen.
He was pleased to see that some of the company must have felt they’d had enough leisure on the ship. Perrin was running several men through a series of drills—for Cam, Nathan, and Gunnar it mostly looked to be little more than a chance at practice. But Orson and especially Miles looked to be focusing intently on Perrin’s every instruction.
Miles is still quite rough, Aleksandr had to acknowledge the truth. But he listens and learns. He will be a fine soldier one day.
Others had begun a campfire, though they were many hours yet from nightfall. It sounded as though Robin was bickering with Michel over what the company would have for supper. The older Loranette man endured Robin’s endless banter with long bouts of restrained silence punctuated by an occasional remark. Aleksandr was not close enough to hear what he said, but each time Robin would fall silent, momentarily shocked.
Nearby, Bear, Leon, Carlito had shifted some logs and stools into a circle and begun throwing dice. They waved at anyone walking close enough, trying to get more to join in. Aleksandr and Yorrin moved past with enough distance that they were not asked. Or perhaps they know better. We have work to do. Aleksandr was not much interested in standing on rank or command structure, but he had little interest in gambling with his men. That seemed a singularly bad idea to him.
In the corner of his eye, Aleksandr saw Cara walking towards them. No, he realized, she was walking towards Yorrin specifically. She held a fistful of arrows bound together with a strip of twine.
“Yorrin!” she said. “Here. Thought you could use these.”
“Did you?” Yorrin said. He smiled. “Like the ones you were making on the ship? Loose heads?”
“Aye,” Cara said. She dipped her head slightly, a faint nod.
Yorrin took the bundle from her. “Thanks,” he said. “Handy.”
Yorrin kept walking. Aleksandr noticed Cara watch them go, but he didn’t comment. She’s opening up, at least a little. Best not to call too much attention to it, in case it spooks her.
Up ahead, he saw Anatoly break away from where he had been talking to Dylan and Prudence. He smiled as he grew closer. “Aleksandr! Yorrin! You have been busy!”
“Da,” Aleksandr said. “You have heard, then.”
“I have,” Anatoly agreed.
“You look well,” Aleksandr said.
“He’s right. That hole in the head did wonders,” added Yorrin.
The marks of Orson’s chirurgery were obvious. Much of the hair on the left side of Anatoly’s scalp had been shaved to the skin. It had only grown back a little, in dark patchy stubble around the red scar. But Anatoly moved and looked like a healthy man, and he laughed deeply.
“It is, ah, uzhasnyy, da? Nasty. Very fearsome. But a small price to pay for my life, I think.”
“Well said,” Aleksandr concurred.
“I wanted to speak with you. Both of you,” said Anatoly. “I did not break sieges and slay giants, but I have been busy here as well.”
“Not just healing and keeping an eye on the new man?” Yorrin asked.
“No,” Anatoly said. He grinned. “Jaspar is good man, Yorrin. You will like him. Smart. We have spoke with dozens of men in the camps.”
“Dozens?” Aleksandr said. So many.
“Da!” Anatoly’s said. “Jaspar, he is good at getting word out. But many of them I sent away. War brings all types of men, and some mercenaries…” his grin faltered. “You remember Black Garin,” he said finally. “Some mercenaries are little more than bandits. And not so harmless as Robin.”
Aleksandr nodded. “But some of them seemed like worthy candidates?” he asked.
Anatol’s smile returned. “Da!” he said. “Definitely. Cavalry, sappers, soldiers. Good men, dangerous men. Nine at least, maybe more, worth meeting. I should be able to find them. Should I bring them here?”
Aleksandr and Yorrin exchanged a look. Without a word, Aleksandr felt he knew Yorrin’s mind on the subject. We must grow. If we are to fight this war and slay Hakon, we will need to be more than we are. A few men can make the difference, we’ve proved that already. But a company of twenty five can only do so much on a battlefield. More is better.
“Da,” he said. “Definitely. Bring them as soon as you can. Tomorrow morning.”
Anatoly nodded. “Good! You will like them, Aleksandr. You as well Yorrin.” Anatoly’s smile widened back into a broad grin. “And there are three in particular I think you must meet.”
End Book Four