The area was filled with hundreds of tents, and the night was lit by numerous campfires. Arturo was amazed by the vast number of people present, estimating the Crystal Syndicate’s army to be around two thousand. Veldahar had called for a stop as they travelled to the next village near the Unknown Waters, Mildori. The men were drinking, and the night was filled with laughter and ribaldry.
Arturo had nothing to celebrate and no desire to smile, not since Arindall. Tucked under his arm was the chest his father had shown him not long before the attack. The Verian armor was in there. That was the one thing he would carry with him and wear once he grew to fit it.
Kallahan was walking in front of him, showing Arturo to his tent. Joining the Crystal Syndicate had been easy. His brothers wouldn’t have approved. He wondered if John or Marcus would have made the same decision he had or if they would have remained in Arindall.
Probably remained in Arindall, Arturo thought, recalling how neither of them wanted to adventure anymore. He didn’t see them pursuing revenge, not like him.
“Here’s your tent,” Kallahan said, opening one of the flaps. “You’ll be responsible for packing and setting it up when we move. If you lose it, you’ll have to buy your own to replace it. Any questions?”
“No,” Arturo said, and walked into the tent. He didn’t need to turn around to know Kallahan had left. He’d discovered Kallahan was second in command of the Crystal Syndicate. Veldahar was busy planning their next mission, of which he had told Arturo nothing. For some reason he’d expected special treatment, but when he thought about it, why should Veldahar care more about him than any other mercenary?
He placed the chest down and unlocked it to take the dark gray and black armor out. The dark colors suited him, almost like this armor was meant to show off his desire for vengeance. Eventually, he would wear this armor and kill the people who had taken everything from him. Wearing this would be like having his father by his side when he delivered the killing blow to the enemy.
The laughter outside never ceased. Arturo didn’t want to leave the tent, but he had to meet with the commander, who was going to introduce him to his squad. He walked out of the tent and was surprised to see Veldahar already there.
“Commander,” Arturo said, hoping he sounded sincere. It was hard for him to be proper when it wasn’t something he was used to.
“I was about to go in. Follow me,” Veldahar ordered.
Arturo stepped in line with Veldahar and they walked together. The commander pointed out certain people, explaining who they were and how long they had been part of the band. He learned that a few nobles were part of the Crystal Syndicate. What surprised him more was that the group had been around for over a hundred years, starting with Veldahar’s grandfather, Oliver Opisaki. Most members were from Azzellia; it was hard to tell who wasn’t unless you knew what to look for. The ones not from Azzellia often wore patches bearing their nations insignia. Like people from Eshil Domain, who often wore patches with a man riding a lion.
Most of the information flew out of his head. Arturo didn’t much care about the history or who had joined. All of these people were the same to him. They were mercenaries and he couldn’t allow himself to trust them—not yet, anyway. If this had been before Arindall, he would have absorbed every word and asked many questions. Instead, he felt empty inside except for his rage.
From what Veldahar told him, Arturo understood that there was a leader of each squad, which usually consisted of around fifty men. From there, the more senior members of each squad would usually have three or four that would take charge if the squad leader wasn’t present. Finally, they stopped in front of a group of five people.
Veldahar introduced each member, starting with the leader, a man by the name of Gosford, who came up to Arturo’s neck and wielded a sword. He had a scrappy beard and thick eyebrows with blond hair. The other four were Fenrir, Kellan, Rogoth, and Cevelt. Fenrir and Kellan raised their cups full of beer and toasted to Arturo joining them. Rogoth was cooking something in the fire and Cevelt was watching the newcomer carefully.
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Once the introductions were over, Veldahar took his leave. Arturo stood awkwardly for a moment. It was odd not to know anyone and he was surprised at how cautious he was. Were my brothers this timid when leaving on their adventure? he wondered and shook his head to clear the question away. He would never know the answer.
“Come take a seat,” Gosford said, motioning to a nearby stump.
Arturo sat down and watched the group carefully. Rogoth was cooking rabbit and paid little attention to Arturo. Cevelt was still watching him but said nothing.
“The commander didn’t tell us much about you, other than your name,” Gosford said. He was a handsome man. “You look a bit young but you aren’t the first to join at such an age.”
“I came from Arindall,” Arturo said and ignored the comment on his age.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” Fenrir said between gulps. “Maybe this will help.”
Fenrir filled a cup full of beer and handed it over to Arturo. He had little taste for beer, but he steadied himself and took a swig. It wouldn’t do for him to be the outcast of the group. “Just a rough couple of days,” he mumbled and took a bigger swig.
“I heard.” Gosford leaned forward, studying Arturo intently. “I saw the size of your sword. Can you swing that or is it just for looks?”
“It’s not for looks,” Arturo replied.
“That would explain why the commander let you join so quickly,” Kellan said. The man reeked of alcohol. “Have you killed a man yet?”
“Yes,” Arturo said, recalling the men he had killed. Surprisingly, the dead men didn’t haunt his dreams. Failing to save anyone from his family haunted him instead.
“Good,” Kellan said and walked to where the beer was, which was stored in a barrel.
“Why is that good?” Arturo asked.
“Because you’ll be doing a lot of killing here,” Cevelt said, speaking for the first time. “This is a mercenary band, not a group of friends who drink and eat.”
“Cheer up, Cevelt,” Fenrir said, slapping his back. “There’s no reason to be such a downer.”
“The last guy who joined us had never killed anyone and almost got me killed,” Cevelt replied grimly. “Poor fool died trying to prove himself.”
“But you didn’t die,” Fenrir countered.
“Always the optimist,” Cevelt said, rolling his eyes. “I hope you can fight, kid. The last thing I want is to babysit you.”
The fire crackled and Kellan checked the rabbit and nodded. He then took a bite. “Ah, delicious!” he said and took another.
Arturo’s stomach rumbled loudly, causing Kellan to glance at him. “Want some of this?” he asked.
Without waiting for a response, Kellan tossed him part of the rabbit. The meat smelled delicious. Arturo gulped the food in seconds, drawing a laugh from the other man.
“That’s some good meat, eh?” Kellan reached into a nearby bag and tossed him some bread. “Eat it. You’ll want your strength.”
Arturo ate eagerly. How long had it been since his last meal? Two days? He hadn’t thought about food until this moment. The bread didn’t last long; he finished the last bit and downed the rest of his beer. That was when he noticed his vision blurring a little and shook his head.
“First time drinking?” Rogoth asked and let out a loud laugh. “Drink some more and you’ll forget how the rest of this night plays out.”
Arturo had drunk wine many times but never enough to get drunk. The lack of food didn’t help either. He was starting to feel warm and, well, good. He grabbed his cup and got a refill. He drank deeply. Even the taste was fading, making it much easier to drink.
“That’s the spirit!” Kellan bellowed, filling the area with his loud laugh.
The night got fuzzy as Arturo found it increasingly difficult to pay attention to the conversation. Cevelt was the only one who kept to himself, not talking to Arturo and only saying a few words to the others. Kellan was the first to pass out with a cup in his hand. The snoring coming from him was so loud that Arturo wondered if the entire camp could hear it. Gosford, Fenrir, and Rogoth were still awake and talking about things that he wasn’t paying attention to.
Before long, Arturo had his sword out, showing the others that he could wield the weapon. To demonstrate, he split a log in two with a single stroke. Some nearby mercenaries commented on how big the sword was. One didn’t believe his sword was real and tried to swing it himself, only to fall over.
Arturo was going to swing his sword again but Gosford stopped him.
“That’s enough for tonight,” Gosford said.
Reluctantly, Arturo put his sword away and decided it was time to sleep. He needed to find his tent—not just to sleep but he also because he didn’t want anyone to steal his chest.
Gosford and Rogoth helped him to his tent. Arturo stepped inside and felt relief when the chest was still where he’d put it. Thanking the two men for their help, he flopped down and thought to himself that this life might not be so bad.
Those thoughts went away when he woke up the next morning with a headache and felt like vomiting. Still, there was potential here. Nothing would diminish his grief, but he hoped that the Crystal Syndicate ran into the invaders and crushed them.