Year 3043 AGD

Month: Ragnós

Seventhday

Continent of Terroval

Southwest of Stalwart

“Where do you think those two are going?”

“Well, by their grim faces, I’d say that they were going to tell whoever is in charge that the fifth patrol that they sent out this week hasn’t returned, just like the rest of ‘em.”

Shawnrik looked at the two men who had taken on the burden of his ‘real world’ training just two months ago and grinned. “Think they’ll send out another?”

Dunnagan chuckled dryly. “They just might, lad; they haven’t seemed ta get the idea up ta this point.”

“You know, I was thinking about that,” Ashur said as he surveyed the encampment with his spyglass. “The only reason I can think of for them to continue sending patrols is that they are looking for something.”

“Or they’re just stupid,” Shawnrik drawled.

“Well, there’s always that,” Ashur agreed with a chuckle. “But, if you look at the subtle organization of the camp, you might develop a different opinion.” Shawnrik looked at him skeptically, which prompted his instructor to continue. “See how their camps seem to be placed sporadically within the ravine? Things also appear to have been thrown about without care. I don’t know about you two, but in the last week I haven’t seen more than a bone thrown about without care. If you look closely, almost every camp down there has the same layout. The clutter is not really in the way, and there are clear paths all the way through the encampment. You’ll also notice the way the wagons have been placed strategically so that they are able to be pushed over. That makes good fortified positions for them to fall back on should they lose ground to an enemy. The rocks on the side of that cave entrance have been supported by beams that if knocked away would allow those two stone slabs to fall in front to create a very defensible position, and I suspect that a bit further back, there is a setup that will close the cave completely.” Dunnagan whistled softly as Ashur finished his observations and turned to Shawnrik. “So, what does that tell us?”

Shawnrik gave the information a few moments to absorb before answering. “Well, for one thing, they plan on being here for a while; that, or they have already been here for a while. Secondly, that they must have air holes, and probably an escape route out the back of that cave, which also means that they could have sent out other patrols from that entrance.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that last one,” Ashur said, clearly impressed.

“Very good, human, now drop your weapons over the side and stand up slowly.”

The three men turned their heads quickly and reached for their weapons.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that.” The speaker was wearing a pitch-black robe that hid his features, and his gloved hands were holding a rather intricate crossbow. Behind him stood two more cowled figures, also holding crossbows, and half a dozen orcs with longbows.

“Well, we handled that splendidly,” Shawnrik said in disgust as their captors left the cell in which they were now confined.

“If we would have attacked them, street rat, we would have at least a few holes in us. Not to mention that our souls would no longer be inhabiting our bodies, and I’m not ready to let Ol’ Thom take me quite yet,” Ashur said as he surveyed the room in the dim light.

“Don’t call me street rat; I don’t care if you are upset or not.” Shawnrik glared at Ashur until the man’s head fell in defeat.

“I’m sorry Shawn, you know… I mean… well, I’m sorry. I’ll try not to do it again.”

“What our temperamental companion is tryin’ ta tell ya, laddie, is that them three gentlemen in full black were what those of us in the Protectorate call dracair assassins.” Dunnagan moved closer to Shawnrik so that his voice wouldn’t be overheard easily by anyone outside of the room. “I meself wouldn’t want ta be testin’ me mettle against one of ‘em in a one on one fair fight, and the Dracair never play fair. There are only a couple dozen men that can stand up to one of ‘em in pure melee skill, and I can count on my hand with two fingers left ta spare how many men I be knowin’ that could live through fightin’ more than one of ‘em.”

“Surely you have to include Cantel in that list, and Adrian Theromvore and Elyse Theromvore.” Ashur said.

“I included High Commander Cantel in my list, but I suppose you’re right about Adrian and Elyse. Zander was the one I left off the list. He could take one in a close quarters fight, but he doesn’t have the skill ta handle two. Now, if ye wanted me ta include those with magical abilities and other supernatural talents, the number rises quite a bit. I, however, am talking about the situation that we were just faced with.” Dunnagan turned from Ashur and looked straight at Shawnrik. “At least one of us would probably have died in that fight. Not only that, but we didn’t know if there were more of them about. You aren’t ready fer that fight yet lad, an’ if I be havin’ me way, ya aren’t gonna be testin’ yerself against one such as he for a few good years yet.”

Shawnrik sighed, “I figured it was something like that. Well, what do we do now?”

“Well, I’d say that we are going to sit here and see what they want,” Ashur said in defeat as he completed his round of their cell. “But no matter how much better another man—or creature—is than you in a fight, if they try to kill you, you try to kill them right back.”

A few hours later, Shawnrik was awakened from a light sleep by the sound of the outer door to the chamber opening. Raising his head, he saw Ashur and Dunnagan sitting against the wall, looking towards the doorway. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and waited. The first thing he saw was the black cloak, and he knew that it was one of the Dracairei. This time, however, the man’s cowl was down. Shawnrik was struck by the realization that this creature shared many of the same features as Nim. Like Nim, the man’s eyes were reptilian. However, this man had none of the human qualities that Nim possessed within those eyes, like compassion. The Dracair’s hair was long and pulled back. His hair was thicker than any human’s would be, and it formed a more visible scale pattern than Nim’s did. The man’s face was gaunt, and his ears were just holes in the side of his head. All of these features were encased in skin that was leathery and had a light red tinge to it.

“Ah, and how are my guests doing?” the man said in a raspy voice that grated at Shawnrik’s ears.

“Oh just fine, I don’t think I’ve had a more comfortable room in years, and the food you serve is excellent. But I think I’d like to leave now. If you’d just get my bill, I’ll be on my way,” Ashur smiled, and the Dracair’s eyes narrowed before he schooled his features again.

“It’s a good thing you have a sense of humor, human—you’re going to need it when I remove your guts.” Now the Dracair grinned with a sadistic pleasure that almost made Shawnrik shiver.

“Well, friend,” Ashur said, standing up. “Why don’t you come into this cage and try it.”

The assassin looked at Ashur dumbfounded. “I don’t know if you realize what situation you are in, human, and just who I am.”

“Oh, I know who you are; you’re just another snake who has a god complex. You think your draconic blood gives you powers over everyone else and you can take whatever you want whenever you want.” The Dracair’s face was becoming even more incredulous as Ashur went on. “Remember though, all you have to do to make a snake harmless is cut off its head. So, why don’t you come in here and show me who you are?” Ashur grinned as he opened his hands wide.

Shawnrik thought he saw a hint of fear in the eyes of the assassin before he hissed and stomped out the doorway. After the door slammed, Ashur broke down into a laughing fit that Shawnrik had never seen the likes of. His laughter was infectious, and soon all three of them were laughing uproariously.

“Oh lad, that was brilliant!” Dunnagan howled between breaths. “You sure made that man think about the situation!”

Ashur suddenly stopped laughing and looked seriously at Dunnagan. “They aren’t men, Dunn. Maybe once, their great-grandparents had a semblance of humanity left in them, but if there is more than one in ten thousand of those beasts with a conscience, I’ll eat my own foot.”

“Aye, yer probably right about that one, lad,” Dunnagan said solemnly.

Month: Ragnós

Seventhday

Continent of Terroval

Northwest of Asylum

Protectorate Base Camp

Victor had thought that a scouting mission would be an afternoon event. He had been in no way prepared for the five-day trek through the hills and forests north of Asylum. The amount of terrain they had covered was staggering, and every night, Victor had reached the point of collapsing when they had chosen to camp for the night. He had to take two steps for every one that everyone else was taking, but he had kept up. Secretly, he thought they might have been testing him to see if he would give up or if he could handle the task. Victor didn’t mind, though—he loved to be challenged. His whole life thus far had been one challenge after another, and he knew that because of his experiences, he was stronger than anyone else had been at his age. Well, at least he hoped that was true. It made him feel a bit more certain of what he was doing with these veterans.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Now he sat, looking into the fire, rubbing his weary feet and thinking about all he had experienced in the past few days. One of the first things they had taught Victor was the squad’s call sign.

It seemed that the unit had developed a reputation for going out of their way to right something that they thought was wrong, whether it was against army regulations or not. For this reason, the other squads of their company had taken to calling them vigilantes. The unit had liked the new title, and since everyone was already calling them that, they officially adopted the name and became the Vigilantes. It had been a running joke at the time amongst the company, but soon the Vigilantes would earn the respect of their peers as a unit that got the job done no matter what it took, and as a squad that worked so well together it seemed as if they were linked.

He had learned not just how a squad works together as a cohesive unit, but also a bit about the individual members of the unit. Getting to know the members of the Vigilantes was easier than Victor had thought it would be, but at the same time it was harder than he had hoped it would be. Shaylyn had instilled him with that thought process early, to expect the worst of a situation and hope for the best, for hope is a stronger weapon than most. As he looked around the fire at the people that had become his comrades, he knew that he could rely on them, and soon he would prove that they could rely on him. Living near Safeharbor’s Docks District had given him a cynicism beyond his years, and the people that were in his life during that period seemed transient. He found himself wondering more than a few times during the past week if this was what it was like to have a family.

Shaylyn had been the closest thing to family that Victor had ever known, but even then, he’d had the feeling that it wouldn’t last. She had told him at a very early age that she was not his mother. By the time he was three, Shaylyn had already begun teaching him multiple languages and the arts of Shaping, so Victor couldn’t help but think of her as an instructor more than as a mother. However, she had always been there when he had been sick or scared, and he had missed that greatly over the last year and a half. Ol’ Man Walkins had never been a father figure, but he had taught Victor valuable lessons about how to survive on the streets.

Then Nim had come into his life and he had a sense of what it might be like to have a father. When Nim was teaching Victor, it wasn’t in a manner of an instructor to a student, but of one man to another. That was one of the things that Victor admired most about his adopted father: he never treated Victor like a kid. Now, he felt like he was meeting more of the family. He had come to accept the fact that people would probably never be permanent fixtures in his life, but he was glad to have them in it, nonetheless. In this group, he had found kindred spirits, people who knew that they would do what needed to be done because they were the ones that needed to do it.

Thinking about it, Victor realized that the squad was probably everything a real family would be like. They told stories about each other without holding back any details, especially the embarrassing ones, and they talked to each other with such candor that at first Victor was taken aback. Most of all, there was no real privacy. Squad members could never really get away from each other, and if you were having a problem, it was expected that you tell the squad so that it didn’t catch them by surprise. Victor still wasn’t sure how he felt about the way the squad treated him, but they had accepted him in their own way. The squad ranged from talking to him like the eight-year-old he was physically to treating him like a young man. He felt that he could put up with this in light of the fact that their complaints had stopped once they saw he was able to keep up with their pace and was able to be quiet when he needed to be.

Still, as he looked at the laughing faces around the campfire, he wondered how long he would have with them. The patrol had gone very routinely, according to the sergeant, and aside from the constant activity of the unit, the week had been rather dull. The information he had garnered about the unit was sketchy at best, made up of mostly opinions he had formed, but something told Victor that he would have enough time to really get to know each of them.

When they had returned to the base camp, Nim had taken Victor with him to give the report to High Commander Cantel. They left the squad with Sergeant McDowell, who was yelling about checking gear and just about anything else that came to his mind, whether it was relevant or not. The only things that they had to report to the High Commander were some troop movements they had seen while atop one of the hills. They also related the surprising lack of activity in the mountains north of Asylum. Stewart Cantel, however, had more than enough to tell Nim. The reports coming in from the south said that there was quite a bit of activity southeast of Asylum.

The High Commander suggested to Nim that he should take the squad to Asylum first thing in the morning, and to prepare to exit the city into the lower foothills late the following night. Hearing that they would have less than a day’s rest before they deployed again was not a surprise. That’s not to say that there wasn’t grumbling amongst the squad. The grumbling was quickly replaced with the sounds of equipment being readied, and a lot of talk that seemed to have no real point to Victor.

When the sun started setting toward the western horizon, they made a fire and prepared the evening meal. After five days of dry rations, a hot meal of bacon and beans was like a feast. The sun was now touching the horizon, preparing to take the light with it, and Victor found the squad yet again talking about things that seemed unimportant to him. Victor thought that they might be purposely avoiding conversation about their next day’s activities. His feet had stopped aching, and he knew that he should get the circulation going through them, so they were prepared for tomorrow. He decided to take a walk through the encampment.

He knew after about thirty paces that he was being followed, but he also felt that it wasn’t a threat, so he pretended to not take note of it. He didn’t know for sure how he knew he was being followed—he couldn’t hear any footsteps and he couldn’t smell the person in the air—but he knew that they were there. He found that as he walked around the camp, most of the conversations around the fires were about nothing much at all. Every once in a while, he would see someone showing someone else what they were doing wrong with their weapon in battle or teaching one of the newer men how to properly hone a blade, but those were few and far between.

After a while, he realized that a lot of the conversations had been focused around family, or what they would do when they retired. Victor thought that it was a good topic of conversation for soldiers, giving them something to fight for. Again, he came to a realization that maybe they knew that, too. Finally, the person following moved closer and he managed to catch their scent.

“Finally tired of following behind me, Nim?” Victor asked, with his back towards the man.

“Not many people realize that I’m following them before it’s too late; how long have I been following you?” Nim asked, his voice amused.

“Well, I’d have to say that you started watching me after dinner, but you started following me when I got up for my walk.” Victor turned towards his adopted father and saw a smile of approval on the man’s face.

“Very, very good, Victor. Hone those instincts, and they will treat you well. It is part of our heritage. I am the offspring of a Dracairei, or what we call the dracair assassins—they have the ability to mask their presence quite efficiently from our extra sense. That has helped me more than once in my adventures, and it’s good to know you might see it coming.” Nim walked up to Victor and did something that Victor had not been expecting, however.

Nim grabbed Victor and lifted him into an embrace. “I’m very proud of you, you know. If I ever have a son, I hope he is like you. I could hardly hope for better.” He set Victor down and placed his hand on his shoulder. “As you have probably figured out from walking around, there is nothing a soldier lives for more than peaceful times.” Looking like he was in serious thought, he added, “Well, most of ‘em. They talk about the mundane, but their minds are always on the job ahead. That is why they talk about things that really matter. If a man has nothing to fight for, he won’t live long in the midst of battle. These men quite literally defend their homelands from threats on a regular basis.” Nim took a deep breath and looked around at the men proudly.

“The last thousand years have been rather quiet compared to the years before, and the only reason our population has stayed ahead of the wars is because our women tend to have two or three children at a time. That’s another part of our heritage, and someday I’ll explain to you about the links that can come into play amongst these siblings, but not today. Every year, we lose between two to ten thousand men, and every year, six to twelve thousand men replace them from the academy. Most of the men we lose are green, which means that somewhere between one out of six to five out of six of those young men and women will not come home. Those aren’t exactly welcomed odds, but we do it because it needs to be done. Your people,” Nim met Victor’s eyes with his, “our people, are a very hardy folk.”

Victor nodded appreciatively. “I know, I’ve sort of been coming to that realization over the last week more than ever before. The Vigilantes are some of the best, aren’t they?” Victor asked.

Nodding, Nim said, “That they are, Victor. That is a squad I would have loved to lead when I was a sergeant.” He looked around sadly. “Of course, I was only a sergeant for about a week. It was during the last real push that the Dracair sent at us. They never seem to want to come themselves, so they send their minions. I think it happens after they have too many of the things around, so they just send ‘em to keep us busy, but they do it every twenty years or so. A lot of my friends died during that time, and I met some of the people that I would fight with for a long time. War is a funny thing, Victor. It is vicious, merciless at times, and some of the things that happen during times of war should never be seen by rational beings.”

“However, there is the other side of that coin. War promotes progress and change. It strengthens men’s resolves, and makes men think. Women always seem to want to reproduce more during times of war, and Scientists and Wizards think of all kinds of new things. Some of the greatest leaders are forged during wartime, who would have otherwise been wasted on some farm or killed for robbing the wrong purse. Friendships that go deeper than most are forged in times of war. When people are going through the same trials, it strengthens bonds more than anything else. We are brothers and sisters in arms, and we are united in a sense of purpose. We know that what we are doing is right.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Victor saw Zander walking towards the two of them. He looked at Zander, which diverted Nim’s attention momentarily. When the man was almost to them, he called out a greeting, came a few steps forward, and then simply disappeared.

“Rude lad, disappearing like that.” A voice came from behind the two that sounded a bit too smug for Victor’s taste. Nim sighed.

Victor turned quickly and saw Zander standing about three feet from them. He quickly looked back at where the man had just been. “Translocation?” Victor asked, impressed.

Laughing, Zander answered, “Nothing so grand, Victor, simply an illusion. You two are rather easy to sneak up on, you know,” he said, with mirth showing through quite visibly.

“How long have you been here?” Nim asked in chagrin.

“Oh, since I saw you leaving your squad’s camp. I created a bubble around me that blocks out all known forms of detection and allows me to move about invisibly. It takes a large amount of energy and focus to maintain, but it’s a fun trick. When used correctly, Shaping can be a very useful tool for infiltration. When used sloppily, the energy gathering and use can be detected from a long way away; they may not know what you are doing, but they will know someone is there.” Looking like a cat that just caught a mouse, Zander turned his attention fully to Nim. “The squad I’m in command of is moving out tomorrow, also to head to the south. I thought our men could travel together.”

“Well that sounds like a good idea, milord,” Nim said dryly.

“Are you sulking, Nim?”

“No, but I’d be careful with the men comment—I have a very good archer in my squad that might take offense to it,” Nim laughed.

“I’ll have to remember that,” Zander said wistfully before turning and ruffling Victor’s hair. He got on a knee so that he could look Victor in the face. “I think you should stay behind, Victor. There is likely to be a lot of fighting, and I know you’ve spent your whole life training, but even with your five and a half years of training, you are still only a boy.”

“Oh, I know,” Victor said. “I had no intention whatsoever of going tomorrow. I thought I’d stay and run water back and forth between the soldiers, and maybe shine some shoes.” His face was very serious, and his tone displayed no hint of humor. “After that, I thought that I would take some more lessons with the High Commander between his planning a war and all. Followed by tea with the Queen, of course.”

Nim and Zander could only stare at the boy and blink.

“I blame you for this, Nim,” Zander said finally.

Nim shrugged, “Don’t blame me, he was like this when I got him. I might have helped him refine it, but he’s got a natural talent. I think you’d have to lock him up in the brig to keep him here, and I think that would only delay him.”

“Here, let me leave so you can talk about me without my interruption, since I don’t seem to be here anymore, anyway.” Victor turned and started back towards the squad’s campsite as the light slipped quietly from the sky to be replaced by a blanket of glimmering darkness.

“Definitely your fault,” Zander said as Victor moved away from the two men.

“I know. It’s great, isn’t it?”