The fire was crackling nicely. All of them were sitting around it in a circle except for Reza who deliberately stayed outside the light radius of the fire. He took the first watch of the night and scanned the dusk with his keen eyes for enemies without getting blinded by the light of the fire.
Reza was an experienced guard. He had been member of the guard to a renown lord deep south and could have been named captain of the guard if it had not been for his lust for women. He got intimate with the lord’s daughter which was not received well at all by the lord and his family, especially not the young woman’s fiancée, who had tried to murder Reza in an ambush (and had been felled by the warrior in following battle).
So, Reza had left the guard and flew to his cousin Laban of whom Reza had known that the later had been a successful mercenary leader up north. And thus, he had ended up as a member of the pack and had gained quickly the respect of his comrades for his loyalty, fierceness in battle and generosity. Reza generally talked little and never questioned Laban’s orders. But still he always was aware of everything around him: His eyes and ears where everywhere, and Reza had a memory like an elephant. That, in combination with his sword-fighting skills, made him an enemy no one wished to have.
Brendan was holding a stick into the fire, on which he had put a piece of meat and some bread. He only had his loincloths on. His clothes were spread on sticks which were put into the ground behind him. It was dangerous wearing wet clothes. In his youth he had once seen a local fisherman having a foot amputated from freeze burn. Not a beautiful sight and ever since he had always dried his clothes after they gotten wet. Despite the risk of the fire being spotted by enemies he felt it was better to risk this than getting serious ill or even freezer burn.
While he continued to stare at the dancing flames his mind started to wander. He had had a hard childhood and youth and had become tough by himself. His family was poor and often he and his eight siblings had gone to bed hungry. He had learned in early years to hide and to run, to observe and to steal, to fight and to kill. He had committed his first robbery with eight and his first manslaughter with ten, when three young rascals tried to attack his 13 years-old sister. He had slit the throat of the first with his hunting knife and then had killed the leader with his bare hands by crushing his head on the ground again and again and eventually pushing his eyes into the head with his thumbs. The third one, a trembling boy his age, was stabbed by Brendan and left lying around to bleed to death.
Not long after this event, the great famine had broken out, killing most of the people in the western territory of Kom-Broghi. Brendan had only survived by chance while the famine had left all of his family dead. The boy had run into a group of mercenaries who had been impressed by his cold-bloodedness and insolence. The first soldier that had tried to touch him had two fingers cut off by Brendan, whose deed was answered with a brutal fist blow into the boy’s face. Spitting some teeth and blood, Brendan had grinned, sat down by the fire as if nothing had happened– and had asked if he could join the band as a scout.
That had left the mercenaries astonished and before they could think twice, the leader (who since that night had only eight fingers) had agreed. And thus, Brendan, not even twelve years old, had become part of Ivan Oakenleaf’s gang of nine who had been counted among the best swords-for-hire in the western countries. He snapped out of his thoughts and looked around.
Mabon sat there also, sparsely dressed, with eyes closed yet definitely not asleep. Brendan grinned at him and had to control his urge to poke him with a stick. Even in critical situations, Brendan could not stop badgering his fellows. But Brendan knew from experience that Mabon was probably praying or meditating or whatever a warlock of Arianrhod was supposed to do to get closer to his goddess.
And thus, he let him alone and instead looked poignantly at Laban, who was solemly and silently staring into the fire. After a short moment Laban seemed to perceive Brendan’s gaze and looked back straight into the dark eyes of his point man. Again, Laban had to wonder how this guy managed to shoot enemies even with bad light with his hunting bow and to kill them stealthily with his large knife but was such a bummer in personal combat likewise. Yet Brendan was bold and could definitely take hits, he was a slouch in open battles, never touching a sword, an axe or any other appropriate weapon for a fight between soldier and soldier. In contrast, even in battles between two organized armies Brendan was sneaking, hiding and performing artistic maneuvers to kill as much enemies as possible. Once, Brendan hat cut the hooves of a great war steed bearing the captain of the hostile band from a hole in sand; the steed had fallen, the captain had broken his neck, the battle was won.
Generally, Laban as a famed warrior in single combat and heavy infantry battle despised this sort of fighting, but still he knew Brendan was of great value to his band, especially as a scout, thief and assassin. But from time-to-time Laban had the urge to strangle Brendan with his bare hands for his wicked tongue and scoffing character – and now was such a moment, because Brendan was looking at him in a way Laban hated like a sand snake’s bite.
“Say what you want to say or shut up for the rest of the night!”, Laban grunted, watching Brendan’s waspish smile. Seeing that smile, blood rushed into Laban’s head and he clinched his fists.
“You know what, Brendan? I always read ‘Punch me in the face!’ in your dirty grin, you son of pota…!” Laban did not finish his sentence, because Dil-Shad kicked him in the side.
“Stop it, now!”, she hissed, perceiving that Brendan had already laid his hand on his knife but was obviously glad Dil-Shad had relaxed the situation. Laban threw a dark glance at Brendan and then waved his hand so that the scout could begin to talk.
"Today was close", he started. "Hm", answered Laban vaguely. "You know about these people with the horned helmets and the green flag", Brendan said.
"Yes, I do", the band leader answered.
"Come on!", grunted Brendan. "Stop playing the mysterious Khem-Urian southerner just for once!"
Then he said nothing anymore yet still kept looking firmly at Laban. After some moments had passed, in which Laban seemed to be contemplating something, he started to talk.
"They are called the Sherdans in Khem-Ur or the Sherdana in the language of the Kiffians. It is said they come from a faraway place from which they were expelled. Others say they simply fled drought and famine."
Brendan could sympathize with people suffering and fleeing from famine and wanted to make a remark but could hold his tongue in the last second. He didn’t want to provoke Laban again, who had not finished his explanation yet.
"They joined an alliance of sea tribes with their own kings, princes and chieftains. Once they tried together to invade Khem-Ur. At that time, I was a young nobleman fighting as part of the royal charioteer guard against them. It was really messy. These guys actually have surprisingly well forged swords and armor. And they are tough fighters. I wonder what they are doing here?"
"Probably they are up to no good. It didn’t look as if they were on holiday", said Brendan, who had to think of Laban’s noble past. This great, unforgiving warrior that used torture to get information out of his enemies, that regularly cursed and went whoring and hadn’t any problem with going unwashed for several weeks should have been a nobleman in a royal charioteer guard? Brendan knew that this past was Laban’s weak spot and the Kom-Broghian knew it wasn’t the right time to bring up that point. He would save it for later.
Laban continued: "We will get to know more once we reach our goal Alessina. If the city is still standing. Alessina used to be a big city, a royal city. Well ... at least what you people here in the North would consider to be royal. In the South I have seen lords who have bigger and better cities then the kings here."
Brendan rolled his eyes but still remained silent. It wasn’t the first time he had to hear Laban complaining about the North. His speeches always resulted in: "The south is so much better!" He personally believed that life for people like him sucked no matter how big a city was and whether the leaders called themselves Elders, Chieftains, Lords, Kings or even sons of gods. That didn’t matter in the end and changed nothing. But again, he kept it to himself. It wasn’t the right time for jokes or aggression.
"How long will it be until we arrive in Alessina?", Brendan asked Laban.
"If we don’t meet anymore chariots of the Sherdans or their allies will we be there within two or three days."
At that moment Dil-Shad said something Brendan was afraid of thinking about: "What will we do if we find the city already overrun by the sea tribes?"
Laban put on a hard ass face. "I know exactly what to do in that case!"
Brendan burst of, laughing: “Which means that our great leader has no bloody idea what he will do!”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Laban shot spears with his eyes but ignored Brendan’s cocky remark. He would deal with him later and simply said: "We will cross that bridge when it comes to it."
Dil-Shad seemed to be reassured by Laban’s answer and turned around seeing if her clothes had already dried. Brendan took the chance to gaze at her body. She was by no means the kind of woman that a king would put in his harem. She had a small and slim stature. Her female front parts were also on the slimmer side. All in all, she was as average as a woman could be aside from having a cute southern face. And above all: In the end she was not here to entertain the man. She was here to heal them and was proficient in doing so, although she and Mabon had been linked by a kind of affection for some months now that Brendan didn’t want to harm. He was happy for his friend. At least one man around him that had something like an emotional healthy life.
"Let’s go to sleep", said Laban. "We need to be ready tomorrow to walk a long way." Brendan gave him a questioning look. "Don’t worry about guard duty. I will take over guard duty from Reza. You get some sleep." When Brendan turned around to lay down on the ground, he heard Laban also mumble something like: "And in return you will hopefully shut your filthy trap just for one day..." Brendan grinned. Maybe he would do Laban that favor. Or maybe not.
The next morning Brendan woke up when the sun was already in the sky. Not unusual for this season of the year. While he was still squinting with his eyes and tried getting used to the glaring sunlight, he heard Laban saying: "Get up and have some of the food I have prepared!”
Brendan sat up and rubbed his face with his palm. Laban once more showed himself as a good leader which Brendan really appreciated. But still he had to ask: "Prepared food like in actually good food?!" He expectantly looked at Laban and managed in the last moment to catch something Laban had thrown at him. He squinted again and looked at an ... apple in his hand. Laban laughed roughly.
"Welcome at the Royal Inn by Laban. Were cocky sons of bitches get what they deserve."
Even Brendan could so early in the morning not think of a witty comeback and simply said "I have learned from the best!", looking Laban in his hard-grey eyes.
"Aye", said Laban, "I am the best!"
Brendan started nibbling his apple and walked down to the river, of course equipped with his large knives. He didn’t want to get in any kind of dangerous situation with an apple as a weapon in his hand.
At the river he bumped into Mabon and Dil-Shad washing their faces and drinking from the cold and clean water. They seemed to have great sympathies for each other, and Brendan thought of turning around not to interrupt their private talking.
But Mabon had spotted him and called for him: "Brendan, come hither and take a wash. You would well deserve it or are you going to repel our enemies with your smell?"
Mabon was grinning while Brendan was walking by eating his apple. Suddenly and without a word Brendan casted the apple stalk at Mabon hitting him at the forehead.
"I hope you enjoy my slobber. And my stink isn't as bad as yours. But I don't want to interrupt you in your intimate togetherness."
Dil-Shad rolled her green eyes but smiled. Brendan could never hold his mouth, she thought, but still had a sense for specific moods as he was showing. She had always liked Brendan and felt pity for his great loss, although she by herself had nothing like a guarded childhood and something was pissed about Brendan's inappropriate remarks. She knew Brendan did not want to hurt her personally and that he simply had to talk nonsense with everyone. She often thought that he maybe had a very sensitive character and tried to cover that with a cocky tone. And thus, she did not resent him for his manner.
She thought of his sentence. "But I don't want to interrupt you in your intimate togetherness", he had told Mabon. Were she and Mabon really having an intimate togetherness? Not that she didn't thought of becoming intimate with Mabon. But she didn't knew his feelings for her? Did he feel the same? She would have to find out sensitively. Maybe Brendan could assist her as amends for his stupid jokes on her costs.
"Aye, Brendan, if I ever appreciated a man's slobber it would be yours!", smiled Mabon, wiping off the rest of the apple of his forehead. "Stay with us on this beautiful morning with a delicate breakfast, a good drink - and not a single chariot in sight!"
He closely looked at Brendan and thought of his remark about the situation. He had feelings for Dil'Shad but knew they would never have a future together. He was a warlock and born for war, not for a partnership, and Dil'Shad was a released slave who for sure did not want to bind herself in a relationship with a man without a home – at least he thought so.
"What do you think of this mess?", Mabon asked Brendan.
"I don't know, but it doesn't seem fun at all. Let's see what will happen when we have arrived at Alessina. But I am not happy with the situation. I have the feeling that we will meet battle and death soon. I would rather avoid Alessina, but Laban is our leader and I trust him with my life." And then Brendan did something unexpected: He stopped speaking and turned away to leave the two of them alone.
Mabon and Dil-Shad looked at each other but remained silent, too. They sticked to their thoughts and finished their morning cleanup. They were deeply alarmed by Brendan's talk and followed him back to the camp a couple of minutes later.
After they came back from the river, they ate something and then tried hard to wake up Reza. Being awake the huge and uncommunicative warrior was an excellent guard dog. While asleep there could be a battle around him with chariots and elephants and he just might not notice it. And generally, nobody was eager to wake up Reza, not even Laban, because the cousin was always ill-tempered when somebody disrupted his sleep.
After they had survived Reza’s curses and Brendan had barely avoided a hard blow of Reza’s iron fist for calling him “sleepy sheep from the South”, they packed everything in their bags and started to walk towards Alessina. The city lied south to the river, so usually one would approach it from the south, too. But that had led to the meeting with the sea-tribe chariots yesterday. Laban decided that they would walk on the northern side of the river. There wasn’t a bridge over the river, but they could hire a ferry or a fisherman to get them over or – in the worst case – swim again.
They marched the next two days at a steady pace and were on guard but not overcautious or afraid. Once they spotted clouds of dust on the southern riverbank that could have been a sign for a group of chariots riding by, but they avoided walking directly at the riverbank and thus could not get spotted easily with some bushes and trees always between them and the river.
On the third day they believed that they had come close to Alessina. They walked by more and more villages, huts and houses. At one house Laban stopped and talked for a moment with an elderly fisherman. After a short time, he came back and said to the others: "It is as bad as we thought. Sea tribes had landed a year ago, slain the king of Alessina and taken over the city and the lands surrounding it. They tried to venture to the northern side of the rive into Svearik but two local warlords opposed them where they could so that's why they keep sticking to the southern side of the river to the territories of Aermorik. The fisherman has agreed to get us over the river for small coin. So, let’s get ready and...."
Brendan lifted his hand. "Yes, Brendan?", asked Laban. "Since the moment you said that we would head to Alessina I never asked you why. Because I assumed, we would try and find work there like we always do. Now that the city is overrun with dangerous sea tribes who by your description would rather cook us alive and eat all of us – of course aside from Mabon, he is just skin and bones –…"
"Thank you, potato head!", hissed Mabon while even Reza was smiling for a second. "... I wonder why. Why are we still adamant on going there? I think you owe us an answer", demanded Brendan an explanation. Laban looked annoyed for a moment and then composed himself. He looked down for a moment in deep thoughts and then started talking: "I received a call for help from a friend named Gwyn. He lives in the city and that's why I have intended to go there to help him."
"And that friend is rich and can pay us well?", asked Brendan.
"No, not that I know. He is a blacksmith", said Laban hesitantly. Brendan was upset and alarmed: "I hate to be the guy who says it. But I don't think we have come here to get ourselves killed by sea people for free!"
Laban was directly at attention and now had to be a strong leader. He looked around and while he could not see much from Reza’s facial expression – and he actually didn't need to because he was sure Reza would have his back – he realized the dark faces of his other comrades and felt that to them Brendan’s words held some truth. He had to react now, and he had to react well.
"I admit I should have told you earlier. I truthfully think that if we help my friend Gwyn that something good may be in it for us. But it is true that I can’t promise a certain payment for this job. If you don’t want to help me then I give you a little something from our groups funds and let you leave but to be honest I would rather have all of you on my side in all this and share the possible rewards with you. But even without reward I am compelled by personal honor to help my friend."
For a moment Laban’s words did sink in with everybody. He could see how they were lost in thoughts. Suddenly Mabon had a smug expression on his face. "So, what you mean is that you ask me who is a Warlock..." Laban’s facial expression started to turn sour. "...and a magical priest...", resumed Mabon. The corners of Laban’s mouth pointed even more downwards yet on the contrary the corners of his eyes seemed to turn upwards. "...a wielder of arcane might and..."
"SHUT YOUR TRAP!", yelled Laban half angry, half laughing. "You want me to say it! Fine, I say it! I, Laban, who hate Warlocks and magical priests and all of you sick scheming magical weirdos with my full heart, I am asking you, a warlock of a scantily dressed goddess, for help! Are you happy now, you scraggy bastard?" Laban tried to look mad, but he just couldn't get it right this time. He was amused and happy to have Mabon at his side.
Mabon had a really big smile on his face and Dil-Shad could no longer suppress a laughter. Mabon said: "Well, then, I guess in that case I can tonight make a divination and IF my goddess agrees..."
Laban interrupted him: "Don't come at me with this nonsense! That’s part of the reason why I hate your ilk. You magical priest always pretend it is the gods will you are doing but in the end every divination ends up mysteriously saying what you want it to say. So how about we take a shortcut and you admit that you want to help me anyway!"
Mabon’s facial expression turned from a triumphant into a more solemn look. "I will help you because it is the will of the goddess and despite of your dislike of my profession, I have taken a liking to you. And of course, if there are any rewards..."
Laban rolled his eyes at first but then later simply nodded and then looked at Brendan who also had a smile on his face. Laban hoped Brendan would not pull any bad jokes but was by the looks of his face sure the Kom-Broghian would not hesitate to do so anyhow.
Brendan sighed theatrically: “As I have nothing better to do at the moment AND as I have not come here to turn back and to run into the arms of the chariot-drivers AND as I hope for a warm and comfortable bed AND as I have been dreaming of marrying a lord’s daughter which I intend to find here AND as I…”
“Please, Brendan, I beg you, stop this nonsense. Just quit talking or do you want to talk until time will have done its duty and killed the sea-people in their beds by high age?”, Laban asked, starting to get annoyed. But still he could be sure from this mad trash-talk that Brendan would follow him into any peril that could occur.
Brendan grinned, inhaled deeply – and started talking again: “Of course I will answer your request, my great leader, and follow you. I could not possibly leave you pack of bunglers alone in such a mission. Without me, you would meet death within half an hour.” Brendan folded his arms and looked content with himself. He obviously had enjoyed his speech.
Laban turned to Dil-Shad. The woman simply nodded. She was indebted to Laban and the group, so she would not hesitate to walk into the deepest fires of hell at their side. What evil could wait for them and would they find Laban’s friend alive?, she asked herself. “I will go with you and do what I can! Let’s get the job done!”
Laban put on his hard warrior’s face and looked at his pack. Once more, he was proud to be the leader of these mercenaries and was sure that they together could stand against any foe and peril. “Come on, guys, the city is waiting. We must cross the river and be prepared!”
They went to the riverbank. A scrawny looking fisherman was waiting with a little boat that had seen better days, much better days. Brendan breathed deeply and wanted to say something possibly uncharming, but Laban stopped him with a punch to his shoulder. The boat sunk dangerously deep into the water with all of them aboard. But with some muscle power and probably some luck they crossed the river. Afar on their right side they could see now the walls of Alessina that were built of stone and wood for the same parts. They left the boat and after Laban had put some small coins into the hand of the fisherman they turned around and started to make their way to the city. The fisherman looked at them and shook his head in deep bewilderment.