Army Camp, on the Aijin Fields north of the City of Erlenberg…

Erlenberg didn’t have much arable land, what it did have in the form of the Aijin Fields. These fields were quite close to the Erlenberg-Alavaria border and comprised of rich, dark soil on both banks of the Silverstream River.

On these fields, on both sides of the river, was the Grand Army of the Republic of Erlenberg, a force of fourteen thousand soldiers, divided into two equally-sized divisions. Each division occupied a side of the river.

Frances Windwhistler was bothered by this split between the two armies, even as she watched the bobbing motion of the pontoon bridge constructed by Erlenberg’s engineers in the Silverstream. It was made of small rowboats lashed together to form floating columns. Ropes and planks secured these boats and formed a gently rolling road across the great river. It looked rather paradoxically both a strong, and fragile structure.

“Maybe we’ll be fine, Elizabeth? I mean, the bridge is quite sturdy,” said Frances from where she sat on the river bank.

Sitting beside her, Elizabeth shook her head. “Igraine had me reading some past battles between the Human Kingdoms and the Kingdom of Alavaria dating back to the 1st and 2nd Great Hero Wars. No good ever came from splitting an army with a bridge in between.”

Martin, studying a map of the area, looked up, “Nothing from the 3rd?”

“I don’t think there wouldn’t be. Records are really spotty about that period for some bloody reason. Unless you humans have found anything?” Ayax asked, eyes looking up at the sky, spreadeagle on a patch of grass.

The knight shook his head. “Unfortunately we don’t have much better. I wonder why.”

It was a mystery that Frances pondered for a second, before shaking her head. It was an interesting intellectual exercise, but she had more important things to think about.

“If only Grandma Eleanor can lean on House Antoine a bit more,” said Frances.

“At least we’re not stationed at the border itself,” said Elizabeth. She turned towards the ocean. “We do at least have the fleet on standby.”

Frances nodded. There were a few squadrons of Erlenberg warships, many of which they’d helped saved, floating at anchor off the coast. Their cannons were ready to provide artillery support. The only problem was that they couldn’t shoot over the Silverstream river.

“By the way, what exactly do you three… do in war?” Ayax asked.

Frances, Martin and Elizabeth exchanged glances. “Can you clarify, Ayax?” Martin asked.

The troll sat up. “Well, before I left to follow you to war, Alexander-Dad told me that you’d likely be part of a regiment or some kind of military formation, but we’re just on our own.”

“It’s usually been like that,” Elizabeth explained. “We three have only taken part in two missions together, but usually the Displaced, um, Otherworlders, like Frances and I get missions that we take part in with a small group, or by ourselves.”

“Edana and Earl Forowena, one of the War Council’s chief strategists, told me a long time ago that there’d be too many risks if Otherworlders are deployed in a chaotic battle and better off being used as an elite squad. The only time we ever took part in a large group was when we were retaking Freeburg,” said Frances.

Martin pursed his lips. “Perhaps it might be more effective if each Otherworlder, or pair of Otherworlders worked with say a company of soldiers?”

Both Elizabeth and Frances stared at Martin uncomprehendingly. “Sorry, Martin, I’m not sure how that would help? I mean we’ve done pretty well by ourselves,” Frances asked.

“Well, you’d be very well protected against anything but a mage, and Elizabeth could lead us very effectively and be very hard to kill in combat. We’d get to carry out harder missions, and more safely too.” Chuckling, Martin adjusted his helmet. “I mean, think about it. Wouldn’t it be nice if we had some people we could order to help us with things?”

Frances frowned. It did seem nice when her friend presented it that way, but something didn’t seem entirely right about that.

The shaking of the ground, the sound of hooves approaching, raised Frances from her thoughts. A courier on horseback had pulled his ride short of the group.

“Message for Frances Windwhistler and company?”

Frances rose to her feet and snapped a salute, “Present.”

“From General Yuan S. Antoine. The Alavari have attacked our border forts. War has been declared. You’re to take command of a company of recently arrived Erisdalian reinforcements at the south of the camp.”

Thanking the messenger, who rode off, Frances turned to her friends.

“Reinforcements have arrived? That’s amazing! I thought they wouldn’t be able to send anything for weeks,” said Elizabeth.

“And we have a company too! It’s going to be nice to have some people to command,” said Martin.

Frances nodded, but didn’t smile. Her mom was rarely wrong and she knew the Erisdalians were thinly stretched. They probably could spare a hundred soldiers, though…

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When the four arrived at the southern border of the camp, Elizabeth and Martin were struck silent. Frances, having tempered her expectations, examined their reinforcements with narrowed eyes. Ayax watched it all with a frown of disgust.

The squad of Erisdalian lancer cavalry leading the soldiers were fully armed and armored. The hundred mud-spattered… people behind them, were not. Frances saw some of them didn’t even have proper shoes. They did have pikes, but none of them had armor. From the way they shivered, some of them didn’t even have a proper jacket.

“Are you Frances Windwhistler?” asked the lancer.

Frances saluted. “Yes. Assuming this is the company I’m to take command of, where’s their equipment? Supply wagon?”

“Supply—Oh, yeah no. They’re convicts. Thieves, murderers, cutthroats. They don’t need any of that,” said the lancer.

Frances’s gaze flicked back to the convicts, some of whom seemed older than her by quite a few years. “Without that, they’re not going to be anything other than human sacrifices.”

To their credit, the lancers seemed to squirm slightly at Frances’s words. The leader of the cavalry coughed and said, “Look, ma’am, we’re just here to escort them to you, hand off the controlling contract to you, and explain how you can… keep them in line. If you have an issue, you’re going to have to take it up with General Darius.”

Frances crossed her arms and took a deep breath to calm herself as her anger against her former superior raged. “I will.” Breathing out, she carefully listened to the lancer explain the contract and how it worked.

Each convict had a mark placed by a mage. It didn’t prevent them from harming Erisdalian, or Human army officers, or compel them to obey the officers. The marks did however, cause excruciating pain to the bearer if they lied to an army officer, disobeyed a “command” from said officer phrased as “I order you convict, to…” or if they tried to hurt their officer. It was also possible for officers to cause the marks to emit pain by pointing at the convict and commanding, “Punish.”

It was a straightforward, and in Frances’s opinion, a completely barbaric contract. She didn’t say this to the lancers, though, she probably communicated her opinion of the situation with her cold dismissal of the lancers.

She breathed out, breathed in, and turned to Martin. “How… common is this?”

Martin swallowed. “We’ve put mage marks on dangerous convicts to prevent them from escaping or doing harm to others. But as for throwing them into battle… I didn’t realize we’ve become that desperate. I mean they are cutthroats and murderers, but—”

“Actually a quarter of us just owe money that we failed to pay. The others are petty thieves. You do have a couple of bandits, but they haven’t killed anybody. I have, but I’m kinda the exception.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Martin spluttered, shoulders sagging as Frances searched the crowd for the speaker. She didn’t have to look far, a wide-hipped, broad-chested woman with cropped brownish-red hair shouldered her way through the group. Frances couldn’t quite tell her age. On one hand, she had lines on her face that suggested maturity, but her brown eyes and smirk suggested someone younger.

“Ginger’s the name. I speak for this band. Oh and I’m a former captain of the Erisdalian Army so I actually know what I’m doing.”

Ginger put a distinct emphasis on the last part of her sentence, but Frances decided to give the woman the benefit of the doubt. She wasn’t entirely wrong after all.

“I’m Frances Windwhistler, Otherworlder, adoptive daughter of Edana Firehand and a mage. These are my friends and co-commanders.”

Elizabeth managed a weak smile. “Elizabeth Kim, a Displaced—Otherworlder, warrior.”

“Sir Martin of Conthwaite, son of the Countess of Conthwaite and the Magistrate of Conthwaite. Just a normal human,” said Martin, sighing as he got a few whistles and grumbles from the convicts. Frances suspected they heard of the reputation of his mom.

“Ayax Windwhistler of Erlenberg. She’s my cuz. Yes, I am a troll. It’s complicated,” said Ayax, thumbing at Frances and prompting a few chuckles from the convicts.

“We’ll talk about how to make your… stay with us more comfortable, and safer, but we are at war and we need your help as much as you need us to keep you alive,” said Frances. “First, I think we should get you all kitted out. Elizabeth, what should we prioritise?”

“Armor, and some actual bedrolls and camp equipment,” said Elizabeth, looking over the group.

“We can requisition some from the supplies. You look like you all need it,” said Martin.

Ginger’s smirk softened slightly. “Much appreciated—”

“Punish Ginger.”

Ginger’s brown eyes widened, and she remained standing for a precarious moment, before she howled like a wounded animal. She doubled over, collapsing, hands clawing at her neck. The convicts near Ginger caught her before she hit the mud and helped her down, holding onto her as Ginger curled into a fetal position.

“I’m sorry for the interruption, but we forgot to mention that you cannot trust Ginger. She tried to kill her superior officer. Planned it too. It was pure luck that we caught her,” said a lancer, riding up to the group.

Frances stared at the shivering Ginger, at the convicts—the humans that surrounded her, trying to share in her pain.

Her memories rose to the surface and she could hear the screams of the woman that gave birth to her. She could feel the ghostly hits of the belt and the cane against her back again.

“Get out.”

Another of the lancers sighed, “Ma’am we’re telling you this for your own good. She’s already killed one of her handlers, despite the pain it caused her.”

“Get out.”

The lancers left, but Frances’s attention was on Ginger’s shivering form. “Out of the way.” Raising Ivy’s Sting, she cast a healing spell, and Ginger immediately relaxed.

“This is royally messed up,” Ayax whispered from behind Frances.

Frances nodded and stood up. “Can you… can you get them equipped, please? I’ll be back to examine them, I just… I need a moment.” With that, she staggered away, holding herself tightly.

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“So if you’re Martin of Conthwaite, you’re the Hammer of Justice’s son?” Ginger asked.

“If you’re referring to my mother Rachel, Chief Judge and Magistrate of Conthwaite, yes,” said Martin hesitantly.

He expected the convict, who was trying out one of the mass-produced cuirasses issued to Erlenberg footsoldiers, to have some kind of quip about his mom. She hadn’t stopped talking actually since she’d gotten up from the ground after all. The war and the atrocities it brought (which Martin agreed), the terrible march from Erisdale to Erlenberg (which Martin heard about) and about how weird it was for their commander to be someone who was never born in Durannon. Martin had pointed out in response that that sixteen-year-old could literally fire lightning, and that had actually quieted Ginger for two seconds, before she started talking again.

Except, Ginger merely shrugged. “It is so weird how she has a kid. Then again, a nice lady like that probably has a nice family.”

“Nice?” Martin asked.

“Your mom wanted me to just have a spell in the mines, which is hard, but hey you don’t have the looming spectre of death over you, but the army was like noooooo. I tried to kill a knight, they wanted to make me an example.”

Martin narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t mention you tried to kill a knight.”

Ginger seemed to brace herself. “Alright first off, I was only trying to get him wounded enough so he’d fuck off. And two, I had a fucking good reason. He was a coward, a cunt, and was getting good people killed with suicide assaults.”

“And you couldn’t have gone to his superior?” Martin asked.

Martin was met with a glare from the taller convict. “I did. Earl Darius didn’t trust a low-born peasant. Said I was besmirching a noble. He already got half my regiment killed. He would have gotten the rest if I didn’t put him down.” Ginger blinked as Martin groaned and placed one hand against his forehead. “Huh, you don’t like Earl Darius.”

“He nearly unleashed his army on the Alavari civilians of Kwent. If we hadn’t thought of a way to capture the bridge gatehouse and burn it down, he would have,” Martin muttered.

The convict’s eyebrows rose. “Wait, that was you? Weren’t you responsible for smashing open Freeburg with Baroness Igraine?”

“Um, well we helped. Frances, Elizabeth and I that is. Ayax just joined us.” Martin grabbed a helmet that he thought was the right size and tossed it to Ginger. “What about the handler?”

Ginger scowled. “Was coercing another of the convicts for services by abusing the ‘punish’ command. She definitely deserved to die. I would have made it cleaner but it’s kind of hard when every friggin part of your body is screaming ‘kill me now.’”

“And you couldn’t—right, convict, nobody cares about you.” Martin rubbed his temples and handed Ginger a sword. It was one of the cheap, hacking things with a cast-iron hilt, but the convict accepted it with a raised eyebrow.

“You are taking this far too reasonably. How old are you again?” Ginger asked.

“Seventeen this year. You?”

“Eighteen.” At Martin’s disbelieving expression, Ginger rolled her yes. “Yes I look like an old woman because knights like you zap me every time I say they deserved it. What, you think pain makes someone younger?”

Martin winced. “I’m not like other knights.”

“And would you not use those commands in the heat of battle? When you’re about to die and you need someone to die for you?” Ginger asked, sneering at him.

Martin breathed out and looked up at the tent ceiling. “I’m beginning to figure out why you keep getting zapped. Anyway, I hope to the Gods that I won’t, and as interesting as this conversation is, I’ll leave you to finish up. I need to get your camp equipment.”

“Aw, the stiff noble knight just doesn't like the company of the convict.”

“You’re not making it pleasant but damn if I don’t get it. Now excuse me, miss.” Martin trudged for the tent’s exit. Ginger’s sneer faded as the knight passed her.

“Sorry, but can I ask one more question?”

“Aren’t you going to ask anyway no matter what I say?” Martin asked, hands on his hips. He did take note that Ginger had apologized, though. When she wasn’t so angry, she looked kind of nice—Martin shook his head and refocused.

“You’re getting to know me very well sir knight. But yeah, why the heck did Firehand’s brat look like she wanted to vomit when the lancer zapped me? I mean you and your weird friends all reacted like… like normal people do, but she looked like she wanted to be sick.”

Martin was aware his features fell into a neutral mask, and that Ginger could see that, but so be it.

“First off, it’s Frances, which I hope you’ll remember because she healed you and your lot. Second, it’s not my business to say. You get that story when you earn her trust.”

Ginger frowned. “What cause we’re convicts?”

“Because it’s an intensely personal story that is her business to tell and hers alone.” With that, Martin turned on his heel and stormed from the tent, rubbing his temples.

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“Are you sure you want to equip convicts with muskets, cuz?” Ayax asked Frances as they got their soldiers encamped for the night.

After getting the soldiers equipped, they’d, or at least Ginger, had run their company through a quick assessment. Most didn’t know how to shoot a musket, and so Martin and Elizabeth took over training them as pikemen and footsoldiers. They let Ginger train those that had experience with the muskets, on account of them having been hunters and poachers. All in all they had about seventy footsoldiers and thirty musketeers.

“We need muskets if we’re planning to fight in the forest. Pikes alone aren’t going to be enough,” muttered Elizabeth.

Frances nodded as she peered at her map in the dim dusk light. “I agree. Besides, the mark means they can’t actually shoot me.”

“Well we can, we just hurt a lot, but you seem to be less of a bitch than most of our previous commanders so we’re giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

Frances, Elizabeth and Ayax spun around. Both Elizabeth and Ayax had their weapons ready, but Frances merely regarded the now armored, and far cleaner convict.

“Hello, Ginger. Thank you for the notice. Are your accommodations to your liking?” Frances asked.

“Well, yes. But I got to ask.” Ginger frowned. “Are you arming us because you give a damn, or because you need us to do something?”

Frances glanced around and sighed. “Both. Make sure your fellows are ready to move at a moment’s notice and post a watch.”

“What do you mean both—you want what?” Ginger squawked.

Frances showed Ginger the map and pointed at it. “ We’re here. Those border forts were attacked this morning by General Antipades and the Black Banner Army. The Erlenberg army generals want to fight the Alavari here.”

“Are they brain dead?” Ginger asked.

“Would be a great explanation,” said Ayax.

Frances agreed, but had to ignore her cousin and continue, “So you see, we can’t change our commander’s minds, but we can do our best to protect ourselves and you.” She turned to Elizabeth, “What’s the plan if we have to withdraw?”

“Hold up in the Pinewoods and do our best to delay them until we regroup. If they reach the city, we’re in trouble,” Elizabeth explained.

“Aye.” Ginger looked up from the map. “So that’s the “why do you need us” what about the “why do you give a damn for convicts?” Martin—Sir Martin, was very tight-lipped.”

Frances recalled Martin telling her about his interaction with Ginger and tried to wrangle her words and feelings into something that would be coherent. Instead, she ended up pinching the bridge of her nose, before she met Ginger’s eyes. “We’ve had things happen to us, and seen things that have made us rather angry that you were given that mark on your neck, even if you’re not innocent.”

Ginger blinked and nodded slowly. “Right. Well, a good night to you then, miss.”

As she left, Elizabeth glanced at her friends. “Is it me or did we just get through to her?”

“I don’t think so, but I think we made a good first impression.” Frances smiled slightly. “I do hope we can continue to improve on it, though. We’re going to be in for a hard fight.”

Ayax grimaced. “Makes me wonder if we should just get ready to run for it.”

“You know what, that’s not a bad idea… Elizabeth, we can ask for a wagon right? We can pack our supplies there, you know, just in case,” Frances mused.

“We’ll need two or three. I’ll go request it using your name.” She turned to leave, but was interrupted when Martin stomped up tothem.

“Frances! Elizabeth! Ayax! We need to tal—Oh, thank the Gods.”

“Martin? What’s wrong?” Ayax asked.

The knight leaned on his knees, slightly out of breath. “The forts have been breached. General Antipades and his army are on the march.”