On his way towards the barracks, the young dark elf noticed the lack of wandering mercenaries on the streets. In the past days, he would see small groups of armed men and women walk about on the cobblestone paths. Now, the alleys were eerily empty. The number of refugees also took a dive after the news of the forest road being free of undead spread through Hunor. Regis remembered how he had seen groups of twenty or so heading towards the west gate with all their meagre belongings.
He couldn’t really blame them though. Lord Verner was a prick. The man was the living stereotype of noblemen depicted in fantasy books. He was ambitious, and ruthless and knew how to keep everything in his favour. Regis fell out of his thoughts as he reached the barracks, only to stop at the sight of the crowd in front of it.
There were at least eighty mercenaries gathered there, all of them kitted out in leather and bronze equipment with a few leading figures having the occasional iron armour and weapons. It was obvious why they were gathering here, but the sound of a heated argument proved the dark elf right.
“What do you mean it’s not enough?” A bulky man wearing thin iron-plated armour yelled at the soldier in front of him.
“As I’ve said before; your group’s achievements do not warrant you the right to join.”
“My boys spilt plenty of blood for this shithole,” the man spat on the ground. “They’re amongst the best you could find, all kitted well and ready to fight. What else do you need?”
“Looking at the records of your warband, the highest ranked abomination any of you have managed to kill was of seventh level, but most of your men didn’t even reach beyond the fifth.”
“So what?” the mercenary fumed with indignation. “Those things are hard to find and harder to fight. We’ve more than made up for the lack of ranks with the number of kills we racked up.”
“That might be true,” the well-equipped soldier beside the scribe shook his head. “But the higher-ups clearly stated that we can’t let groups with low-ranked kills join the list. You’re not going up against undead peasants over at East Fork. The scouts reported that most of the enemies they’ve seen were between the sixth and the eighth levels.”
“What?” The question resounded amongst the mercenaries standing about.
“It wasn’t mentioned at the market square because we didn’t want to worry the common folks with such matters when there are plenty of things to worry about here as well. Now that you do know about it though, it’s best if you think it over once again, even if you do qualify to get on those boats.
Regis felt apprehensive after hearing this crucial piece of information. Large numbers of fallen ranked at the sixth level and beyond. That sounded both dangerous and a great opportunity. His musings got cut short as he felt someone tap on his back and as he spun around, he saw a familiar face stare back at him. It was a member of Captain Grego’s team, the guy who held the torch during their night hunts to be precise. The young dark elf felt awkward, not even knowing the name of the soldier whom he fought for days, but the man spoke up quickly enough to ease the situation.
“Regis, what brought you here? I thought I’d seen you get your kills recorded earlier today.”
“I did,” the youth nodded. “I’m here to see Captain Grego.”
“The captain?” the soldier looked at him and then the gathered mercenaries. “Oh, I see. You’re here to volunteer like these fellows. Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s the fourth and seventh guard troops that were assigned to go to East Fork, not the ninth.”
“I’ve figured as much, but you know how it goes. I came to ask him, hoping that the captain could say a few words for us into the right ears. My group should qualify to join, but we need all the help we can get.”
“On that, we can agree on,” the guardsman sighed as he looked at the well-equipped mercenaries. “I’ll go and find the captain. You just stay here.”
“Thank you!” Regis nodded as he sat down near the wall of the barracks, watching the mercenaries either step up or leave the place.
In about ten minutes, two-thirds of the mercenaries present decided to leave, only the really strong-looking ones staying behind. Regis watched as the heavily armed men who were likely all leaders of their own groups went over to the scribe one by one to add their warband to the list of volunteers for the journey to East Fork. A familiar face made him frown as the arrogant mercenary that once called him a burrow rat was amongst the people talking to the scribe.
“I’ve heard you’re looking for me.” The voice of Grego made the dark elf turn towards his left, seeing the robust guard captain a few steps away from him.
“I am,” Regis nodded as he reached out to clasp the hand that was offered for a shake. “And I’m pretty sure you know why I’m here.”
“It’s hard not to. Every damn mercenary and outlander is flocking here to weasel their way on those boats. I’ve figured you lot will come as well, sooner or later. I’m surprised it’s only you though.”
“The others are preparing for the journey and I figured that I’d be the one to talk for our group.”
“I see,” Grego nodded. “Well, you’ve certainly earned my trust, for whatever that’s worth. It won’t be enough though. It’s one thing for you to qualify and another one to actually get a place on those boats.”
“Yeah, we’ve figured it wouldn’t be that easy.” He sighed dejectedly.
“It never is,” the man shook his head. “There will be a meeting at the lord’s manor this evening to decide on who’d be allowed to go.”
“Who will decide it?” Regis questioned the guard captain as the two slowly made their way towards the scribe who was still talking to the mercenaries.
“Lord Verner asked all twelve of the guard captains to be present along with a few of the higher-ranked spell weavers, people from the church and a few of the lord’s advisors. Of course, the final decision will be his.”
“Sounds like quite the gathering.” The young dark elf pushed his long hair behind his ears to get them out of his sight.
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“It is. I will speak up for your group of course, but there will be plenty of people there with many of them likely having their own candidates.”
“We’ve pretty much prepared for that.” Regis said with a semi-confident tone.
“Oh? That almost sounded reassuring.” Grego chuckled as he looked at the youth.
“I have acquaintances at the spell weavers’ guild I can talk to and my friend Quentin seems to be on good terms with Father Steon.”
“That would certainly make things easier for your lot,” the captain agreed as he turned towards the scribe with a stern face. “Are you done with that one yet? I have a spell weaver here to add to the list.”
The scribe looked up at Regis, nodding with a blank face as he put one scroll aside and pulled several others free from the messy table.
“Is it just the one, or…”
“I’m here to represent my warband.” Regis said as he remembered that every mercenary leader referred to their group as such.
The scribe sighed deeply as he shifted some of his scrolls atop the pile.
“Which province your group hails from?”
“Outlanders.” The short answer came, followed by another shuffle of the scroll pile.
“Names?”
“The women are called Amanda, Cruz, Letty, Sophie and Valerie.” The young dark elf stated the names in alphabetical order after seeing that the list was written in such a fashion.
The scribe drew his finger along the scroll, stopping at times to scribble small marks on another parchment.
“All of them have reportedly killed abominations of the sixth level with most having recorded kills of the seventh level and that of the eighth. All of them are qualified.”
“What?” A not-so-veiled murmur spread amongst the still-present mercenaries after hearing the scribe’s verdict.
“The rest of your group?” The scribe looked up at Regis once more, grabbing another list of names.
“The rest are known as Aspen, Fabien, Khan, Osmond, Quentin and Regis.” He named the rest of the band in alphabetical order.
The scribe once again slid his fingers along the list of names, stopping and scribbling at times before nodding with his work seemingly done.
“All of them have reportedly killed abominations of the sixth level with most of them having recorded kills of the seventh level and that of the eighth, and one of the tenth. All of them are qualified.”
“A tenth-level bastard? Bullshit!” The mercenaries spat on the ground with surprise and indignation in their voice as the verdict was made and Regis’ group was scribbled on another parchment, a circle drawn around the names to show that they’re one warband.
“Is there anything else captain? I still have people to sort out.” The scribe looked at Grego with a blank expression once more.
“No,” the captain shook his head. “That will be all. Thanks for your time.”
Grego turned away, walking towards the gate of the barracks.
“Well, there you go lad. Your group has been recorded and I’ll keep my word to you and speak up on your behalf this evening. Just make sure you get that old priest and wizards to do the same,” Grego said as he looked at the youth with a strangely warm expression. “And Regis; try not to get yourself and the rest of the youngsters killed out there. Lithia and Norma would both be heartbroken.”
“I’ll try my best.” Regis nodded in appreciation of the kind words.
“All right, don’t get all sappy on me, lad. Go on and do your worst!” The man laughed as he patted Regis on the shoulder before heading back into the barracks.
The young dark elf headed out towards the spell weavers’ guild, reaching the familiar building after a short walk. He walked over to the neatly carved stone platform beside it, touching its surface for a moment. A warm sensation spread through his chest, starting from the medallion hanging beneath his armour. ‘I guess that’s that for linking up with this one.’ He thought as he walked over to the door to knock on it. A few moments later several clicking sounds came from the other side before it was opened. A familiar man greeted him, a welcoming smile plastered on his face.
“Welcome back,” Theodor, the enchanter that gave him the space-extending rune let him inside. “What brought you here so soon?”
“I’m here to speak with Galen or Salvador; whoever is still here.”
“I’m right over here, lad.” Salvador waved him closer to the counter.
“Hey there,” Regis nodded as he walked over to the man. “Sorry to barge in here like that, but I really need to talk to you.”
“Is it about the boats heading to East Fork?” Salvador asked with a knowing smirk on his face.
“Yeah. I was hoping you could speak up for my group.”
“I could.” the wizard nodded as he sent down another sip of wine. “But you know our kind isn’t fond of charity. If I’m to send one of our own to East Fork, there has to be a good enough reason for it.”
“Is this a good enough reason for you?” Regis asked as he pulled out the portal medallion from beneath his clothes to show it to the man.
“Where did you get that?” Salvador’s relaxed attitude changed the moment he saw the talisman.
“I got it from my last fight and already bound it to myself. I’ve also linked it with the local gateway. Now if I were to get to East Fork…”
“Then you could connect to their gateway and provide us with a direct route. Is that it?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I’ve figured that should count for something, right?” He answered, searching the wizard’s stern face for any sign of approval.
Salvador stared at the talisman, then the youth and then back at the talisman before letting out a hearty laugh.
“It certainly does, lad. I’ve figured you for an ambitious one, but you sure are full of surprises. All right, you have my word. I’ll speak up for you in the evening so that Verner would know whom to surely send along.”
“Thanks,” Regis nodded in appreciation as he hid his amulet once more. “My group takes up a bit of space, but every one of them is worth the trouble.”
“Sure. Do you need anything else? We have little in the way of supplies, but trade is still an option.”
“I do have a spell crystal to exchange if you want it. I remember you guys having a cleaning spell that would be quite needed along the journey.”
“Ah yes, that one does sound necessary when you’re on the road with no inns and baths in sight. Just give me a moment.” Salvador said as he walked into the back room for a minute, only to return with a parchment.
Regis handed over the small fiery crystal and took the parchment to read.
“A fire bolt spell,” the wizard mumbled after grabbing the crystal. “Are you sure you don’t need it?”
“I already know the spell, so it’s useless for me and none of my companions seem to be interested in fire magic in particular. Even if they are, I could just teach them the old-fashioned way.”
“I see,” Salvador nodded. “Well, I won’t decline a trade chance when presented. As for the whole East Fork matter; I can only tell you to be careful out there. From what I’ve heard, there will be a lot of strong enemies over there. I know you outlanders can cheat death and all, but death has a tendency to bark at your heels sooner or later.”
“I know,” Regis sighed as he reached out to the cup of water while casting the new spell. “Last night was a real shit storm that we can’t afford to repeat. We did get some good gear out of it, so we’ll be a bit better equipped for our next fight, but…”
“But it’s best to keep together and avoid anything that’s even slightly beyond your capabilities. The world had plenty of heroes and most of them are dead and gone. Don’t try to walk in their shoes.” The spell weaver said with a sombre tone.
Regis nodded in agreement as the spell finally took effect. The water in the cup rushed up along his fingers, forming a ball in his palm.
“Okay,” he mumbled. “What now?”
“Now you’ll use it like a sponge. Just point your hand close to your body and slowly drag it along. The water will revolve around you, scrubbing you clean along the way while dissolving any dirt. When you’re done, just cancel the spell and it will plop on the ground.”
“This feels weird as hell.” The dark elf admitted as he started to use the cleaning spell on his other arm, slowly moving along his shoulder and upper body.
After a few moments, he couldn’t bear the awkward spell any longer and sent the water out through the window, earning a hearty laugh from Salvador and the other wizards.
“It sure takes some getting used to, but it’s rather useful on long journeys. Now, do you need anything else, lad?”
“No, I think that’s all. I should go and get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”
“I’ve no doubt about that. Take care of yourself, Regis. We’ll be waiting for the good news.” Salvador clasped hands with the young man for a shake before letting him go.
The other spell weaver did the same after letting him out. The young dark elf then headed back to the sewer encampment with hastened steps, noticing the fast approaching darkness.