XXX. THE EXPENDABLES

The pub Eternal Tears of Sorrow, or Etos as it was commonly referred to, had quite an apt name as most of its patrons were sullen and downcast, even at the best of times. Its cheap prices meant that it was a common haunt for the cities drunks who had reached their ends and sought a slow death from the bottle. This had never been truer than the day the army of Xanavene made port and marched south to the elf capitol of Rhode.

Fortunately, they wanted nothing of the inhabitants of Vergas; but the pirates of Duvachellé that rode in after them were a different matter altogether. They demanded a tribute in women, liquor, and food; as well as everything else that they deemed fell in that purview. Since the war began, the shipments from Port Romance were sparse, if they came at all and no word came from Rhode at all anymore leaving the last demand in short supply.

A young monk in a grey cassock stumbled into the dim pub; the few patrons glanced up at him briefly before going back to weeping over their mugs of ale and rum. His eyes were bloodshot; he was unshaven with five days’ patchy growth and a wild mop of dark brown hair. Fortunately, the marauders stuck to the offerings on the main road, leaving such a small pub in the back alleys alone. For now, at least.

“Rassvete, a lil’ early to be pissed now in’it?” a stout man with medium length black hair called to the monk as he made his way to the bar.

“Piss off.” He slurred through a heavy Thiudorican accent. “Vodka.”

The barkeep poured the monk a shot and went back to wiping counters.

“Where’s the broad?” The dark-haired man intoned as he slurped his ale.

He was dressed like a farmhand, simple linen tunic that tightly pressed against his hulking frame, leather boots caked in mud and Dawn knows what else, and wool trousers that had been stitched and patched an innumerable amount. Despite towering over everyone in the room with shoulders as broad as a house and fists like hams, the man had almost comically cherubic face. His smile betrayed his simple nature and kind heart, and his green eyes were far too optimistic for a man in his situation.

“How should I know? Ask Odell.”

A young man of seventeen plopped down between them and slapped both men hardily on the shoulders. “Ask me what?” he chirped with the youthful vigor many find nauseating later in life.

The two men groaned and sunk lower over their drinks. A full blood fey of the hills, his eyes were still annoyingly bright and as wild as his crop of dirt blonde hair. His tunic was slightly too big for him and his trousers full of holes. He had a sprightly look, lean and childlike to the point of androgyny.

“Where’s the wench?” The larger man barked.

“Why do you always insult her so Madden?” The young man asked playfully as he stole a sip of ale.

“Cus she’s a bi—”

“Aislyn! We was just talkin’ bout ya. Where ya been luv?” Odell sang as he turned his attention to the woman that slipped into the establishment.

A young woman narrowed her eyes at Madden and the monk. “I thought I felt my skin crawl.”

She made no attempts to hide her High Elysian accent, adjusting the bow slung over her shoulder with the ease and familiarity of a sport shooter. Her skin was like cream and her hair, jet-black and wavy, fell just past her shoulder blades. She wore a form fitting leather jerkin, short sword at her left hip, quiver on her right. She wore no jewelry, save a silver ring set with ruby and a curious white stone. With her lithe, sensuous form and enchantingly eerie black eyes, one would be hard pressed to think of her as anything other than a fallen goddess that, by fortune’s cruel humor, landed in this slum of a city at such a trying hour.

“Nothin’ but good o’ course.” Madden sneered, shoving Odell away along with his nauseating high spirits.

“Vraiment? Je entendu des mensonges et des rumeurs vicieuses venomnous.” She sang sweetly in Elysian, despite the negative connotation. “How are you Odell?”

“Enough with the frogspeak my dear, my head is killing me.” Rassvete pleaded as he downed another shot.

“Le c’est pas frogspeak vous idiote!” she snapped.

“Go in the light sister.” Rassvete teased drawing a lazy sign of the dawn as he ordered another double.

“Uh… vous êtes plus belle que jamais mon sucree.” Odell’s face lit up like a ripe tomato as he stumbled over the alien words.

“Very good Odell!” Aislyn clapped with a smile of approval. “You learn quickly.”

“Sounds like lamia ta me.” Madden hunched over his beer with an annoyed sneer.

“Must you be so loud so early?” Rassvete raised his hood and sank lower on his stool.

“It is well past noon my fallen brother of the light.” Aislyn chastised. “Have you all forgotten why we are here?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters. I’ll be defrocked or what have you and the world will be reduced to ashes with a Xanavene flag jutting from the ruin.” Rassvete downed his shot and grimaced before continuing. “Leucetius is dead as far as I’m concerned. Let us just pray starvation is a relatively quick death.”

“Well, that is your problem brother drunk, but we came here in search of the résistance leader Taryn the Reaper.” Aislyn took a seat at the bar, her tight leggings showing lust-inspiring thighs, powerful calves and a derrière many a man would die for if to only rest their heads upon it.

“In case you don’t know yet, the whole bloody bay is under siege by seadogs and pirates. You wanna charter passage wit that lot you go ahead, an’ let me know ‘ow long it ‘twas before they spread those purty lil’ legs o’ yours.”

Aislyn blushed in anger and crossed her legs under Maddens lascivious glares. “I could wear a hood and cloak. They’d be none the wiser.” She snapped angrily.

“With that rack? Cloaks can’t hide that kind o’ quality luv.” Madden laughed

Aislyn indignantly crossed her arms across her chest. “Enough with the obscene comments regarding my figure alright!”

“You’re too,” Rassvette rolled his hand as if trying to summon the adequate adjective, “womanly, to adequately achieve such deception. And if it came down to it, you’d be useless in a fight.”

Aislyn bristled at his casual chauvinism. “And you can fight? I’d like to see you draw a longbow.”

“That’s just it, a bow isn’t the ideal weapon for the close quarters of a ship, or when dealing with a horde of rapacious cutthroats barreling down upon you. And yes, I can fight though as a man of the cloth I opt not to.” Rassvete winced as he downed his fifth shot.

“Aye, but ya can’t contend with me axe I’ll tell ya that.” Madden flexed his massive bicep, though no one paid him any attention.

“We’ve been here three weeks already, let’s face it, were gonna have to go back the way we came.” Odell instantly regretted his statement as a barrage of complaints and curses assaulted him.

“If you wanna go back to that light forsaken fen, then be my bloody guest mate!” Madden slammed his massive fist upon the counter, expressing the other sentiments exactly. “I’ll take mah chances with the pirates thank you vury much.”

“Well then we’re stuck here and there’s no sense in bitchin’ about it!” Odell retorted angrily.

“Besides, that’s where the Xanaviene’s went. You see all the smoke in the air, that ways no safer than the pirate route.” Aislyn gently stroked Odell’s shoulder, opting to reject his plan a bit more delicately.

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“Smoke could mean a number of things; the savages built a city upon an active volcano for Dawn’s sake.” Rassvete spat contemptuously.

“We can’t stay here for much longer, mon sucrée. Of that much is certain.” Aislyn furrowed her brow as she ordered a drink. “How are we paying for this?”

Rassvete and Madden exchanged worried looks, as they made sure the bartender did not hear her remark.

“We’re broke; you do—”

“Halt your ignorant tongue wench!” Rassvete hissed as he clamped a ringed and dirty hand over her mouth. “I swear by the very light that so scorns me, if you dry up this one well of respite so help me Dawn I will drain you to make wine of your blood.” His eyes were glazed over and full of an addict’s fear of withdrawal.

Aislyn nodded, eager to be away from the madness that had taken hold of him. Rassvete drew back slowly, nursing his seventh shot as he eyed Aislyn warily. A steady knock came at the door, causing all to look up angrily to the absurdity of the gesture that disturbed their sorrow and dreary drunkenness.

“Someone get the bloody door!” someone called from the rear booth.

One of the patrons rose and stumbled over to the door, but before he could open it, the door was kicked in by a booted foot, knocking the man to the ground in a flurry of splinters.

“Fuuucckkk….” Odell groaned as he unslung his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow.

“Damn it Aislyn!” Rassvete swore as he finished his drink and searched for a route of egress.

A burly pirate about six feet tall and covered in nautically themed tattoos stepped into the smoky air of the pub. Two more men followed him; both heavily scarred and tanned, their long dreadlocks whipping their bare backs and chests as they guffawed in the hilarity of the situation whilst drawing cutlasses and scimitars.

“Moi?” Aislyn shrieked before Madden lifted her and tossed her over the bar, fortunately the new patrons did not seem to notice.

“Shut up will ya!” he hissed.

“Well, well, well. A virgin tap yet untapped. A rare find indeed.” A pirate with a patch over his eye and long salt and pepper dreadlocks bundled behind him sang as his crew filled the tavern.

He wore the tattered coat of an Aes Sidhean Admiral and the baggy trousers of a nobleman. His boots were of patent leather, his sword an ebon scimitar. He was a relatively lean, though by no means weak looking man. Upon his forehead was an inverted symbol of dawn, the black ink hardly visible on his dark skin. It seemed his entire body was covered in nautical themes and markers of his conquests.

“Oi! Brother of the Dawn! Where you goin’ bruv?” The pirate wore a jovial smile as he entered the establishment followed closely by his entourage.

“Got me a couple o’ lumps from the last scuffle o’er yon bar bruv Lux Lucius.” The pirate jeered to the delight of his crew. “Care ta take care o’ that fer me?”

“Terribly sorry my son, but I suffer from terrible headache myself.” Rassvete said feebly as he ducked away, still seeking egress.

Madden lowered Odell’s arm as more pirates spilled into the bar and made themselves comfortable at the expense of the other patrons.

“Why that’s a real shame mate, but tell me, what’s it got ta do with me then?” he looked up at the towering Madden, sizing him up as he spoke to the monk.

“Well, you know… If I were to lay hands in a healing, I’d only…” Rassvete searched for the words to continue and stall his prospective tormentors. “Only… um…”

“Only what mate?” The pirate asked, becoming slightly annoyed as he retrieved a jewel encrusted pocket watch upon a gold rope chain from his coat.

“Well, you know transference.”

“Transference? What’s that?”

“Well, you’d get my headache. My code of ethics prevents me from causing harm to those who come to me seeking healing. Terribly sorry.”

“Yeah? So, am I, know why?” The question was rhetorical. “Cus I think yer bullshittin’ me tryin’ ta hide somethin’ I would very much like to getta hold of.” He smiled, revealing a mouth full of rotten teeth capped with gold, silver and small jewels.

Rassvete stood dumbfounded as a fawn caught in a spotlight. “…Naw. No, that’s not the case at all. Isn’t it Madden?”

Madden shot the monk a dirty glare as the pirates shifted their attention to the broad-shouldered Madden who was even more confounded than Rassvete.

“Well, is it Madden?” The pirate inquired.

“Not exactly…” He responded guiltily.

“What ya got all them muscles fer Madden? Think ye can whoop my ass?” The pirate continued to size Madden up.

“Pardons?” Madden asked in confusion as the subject abruptly changed.

“Is it or in’it?” The pirate barked in consternation.

“Oh, toss all!” Odell knocked his arrow and let it loose.

The arrow whizzed mere centimeters away from his targets head, the pirate did not even bat an eye.

“…Now that wasn’t very hospitable of ya now was it?”

Rassvete took a seat at the bar and signaled for another round. “Think I’ll try some whiskey this time ‘round.”

* * *

After an eight days’ trek through the barren fire plains, Aichlan and the remnants of Rhode reached the city of Vergas upon the shores of Oceana Iraë. For the first time in days, green hills, trees, and lush fields greeted him. Farmlands dotted the gently sloping hills on the outskirts of the city; though they seemed to be farm-to-table operations, certainly they were not large enough to feed a city of this size. More troubling was the great mass of black sails that filled the harbor. With the cool salty breeze off the sea came the rank odors of those who made a living preying off their fellow men from the city streets. Aichlan gathered his unit, leaving the rest on the city outskirts to convalesce and repair arms. Quite a bit of material and ore was squirreled away in magic satchels and nearly all the fleeing merchants saw fit to bring their carts. While it was not enough to mount an army or outfit everyone, they had enough food to last a little while at least and goods to barter with.

The majority of the elven refugees were artisans or farmers, laborers and merchants. Many of the miners had joined the battle or died in their homes when the mountain erupted. The warriors that remained were few and far between. Their collective culture would fortunately go on, but he needed soldiers at the moment, otherwise it could very likely not go on for too much longer.

“Such a relatively small city would not be particularly pleased to find a million elves at their gates so suddenly.” Aichlan stared into the city, his mind heavier than he chose to let on. “It is best if we take a small group in first…”

“Why do ye keep looking to the sea?” Ashe asked challengingly. “Does something concern ya?”

The rift between them had lessened, thanks in part to Eth’s advice, but their relationship was still strained. The more he acted the part of a devotee, the more truthful his actions became. He wondered if it he had been set up, but by now, it was too late.

“Black flags mean one of two things,” Aichlan relented, “either Xanavene still makes port in these waters, or marauders of the sea have swooped in like carrion birds to carcass.”

“Bandits.” Eth echoed to the others.

“Aye, bandits.” Aichlan slowly shook his head, unable to shake his misgivings, “But I have a feeling this will not be as easy a victory as we saw in Nole.”

“Well, this is your army now, what are ye gonna do wit it?” Órfhlaith removed the cloth binding from her double-bladed staff like sword.

“Send two groups, two different lines of inquiry. Do not believe me a sexist, but I must ask all women to remain at the camp.” Aichlan flinched, as the expected outcry was more explosive and avid than expected.

“What the hell is this bollox?” Taryn snarled as she stood and jabbed an arrow she had been fletching into Aichlan’s face.

“I mean no disrespect, I just don’t want to draw any undue attention to ourselves, and if this city is taken by pirates…” Aichlan calmly pushed her hand and arrow tip from his face. “Let us say that they shall have certain appetites that cannot be sated on a galleon of men on the open sea.”

“So, we kill them should one even give us a leery eye.” Taryn retorted.

“Fine by me.” Maleah said with a yawn, stretching as a cat in sunlight upon a windowsill. “Séverin!” She whined. “What’s for lunch brother?”

“Whatever your lazy arse decides to get up and prepare.” Taryn barked, though Maleah seemed unfazed.

Maleah perked up with interest. “Hey, you can cook too…”

“It’s already on, just be patient you greedy sow.” Taryn grumbled.

“Speaking of sow, haven’t had bacon in a while…”

“Eth, Donough—” Aichlan pushed his way past the bickering women as he readied his teams.

“Enyo.” Donough countered.

Aichlan glared at him and debated internally on how to handle this insurrection. “So, are you all goin’ ta actually listen to me? Or are you just gonna keep doing whatever the fuck you want and wind-up dead outside a day? A day and a half if I’m being kind.”

Donough sneered and crossed his arms over his chest. “Enyo is—”

“If I’m not in charge, let me know now,” Aichlan interrupted, “so I can stop wasting my fucking time and go on to other ventures.”

He was not very knowledgeable on Colby-Nau politics, nor was he inclined to learn. They had handed control of their remaining forces to him; he had not asked for it. If he were to make what remained of their armed forces a competent army, this sort of peacocking would need to be ended post-haste.

“Well, I’m going.” Clarissa said, breaking the standoff. “I’ve shopping to do. And don’t give me dzat face, I meant shopping for supplies and material. Séverin?”

“Of course.” Séverin took Clarissa’s outstretched arm in his own.

“I’m not sure any of you comprehend the severity of this situation.” Aichlan growled through clenched teeth. “We have not yet escaped the hunter’s wrath, though his snare may have been thwarted.”

Aichlan examined the faces of his soldiers; it was disheartening to say the least. Though the Xanavien forces Maleah brought with her knew of discipline and were more than likely the most qualified, he spotted them smoking and playing cards upon crates as their mounts roamed freely in the grass. The elves were a rambunctious lot of disorganized miners and warriors who swapped stories and vented sorrow with elaborate plans of revenge. Those of The Order silently went about performing healings and last rites for the dead, not a fighter among them. They looked nothing like the army that Aichlan envisioned them to be.

“Taught you better’n this boy.”

“Garrick, please. Now is not the time.” Aichlan muttered.

“Fine, go into battle with a pack of mangy hounds; see how well that tactic suits your need.”

“Damn it…”

“Ya got too much of me in you boy!” Garrick guffawed.

“Who’re ya talkin too?” Órfhlaith asked as Aichlan glared at his spectral father.

“Get everyone in formation, now.”

“Well then, and what should I be addressing ye as?”

“General, wanker, asshole, I don’t care, just the get the bloody formation. Bring me Eth and an exorcist as well.” Aichlan stormed off to find a suitable meeting place. “That is all.”