Myra saw the smoke hours before they reached the outskirts of the town. Several horseman, armed with loaded crossbows, had challenged Talon’s band on the road. Talon had a few brief words with the strangers’ captain, and the horsemen allowed the band to pass, following closely behind. Myra could practically feel the crossbow bolts aimed at their backs, though Talon and the others showed no sign of discomfort. In fact they were practically giddy to hit up the town.
“How long’s it been since we’ve tasted civilisation,” said Fang, grinning like a fox outside a henhouse. “This job better be worth having to trek all the way out here into the sticks.”
“Pah!” Sting, the youngest and edgiest of the company, spat contemptuously on the ground. “You’ve gone soft from all that time in those rich cities. Get those freebooter fops too far from their taverns and crack-dens and they get all weak in the knees. A warrior must keep strong.”
“What are you, a monk?” Fang cackled. “If a man has to fight, he needs fire in his belly. And nothing does that like looking forward to your next taste of some sweet honey…”
“Then you better get in the waiting line,” said Thorn, the sombre giant of the band. “Looks like we’re not the first to show up…”
The company had emerged from a thicket of trees. Before them, a sea of tents had been raised outside the town walls. It looked, sounded, and smelled like a camp of lots of different mercenary companies, with the banners, cooking fires and bundles of spears for some reason. You can fill in the blanks.
“Looks like a bloody siege,” said Fang, raising an eyebrow.
“Not yet it doesn’t,” Talon looked back at them and grinned. “Seems like these will be our partners for this expedition.”
“There’s so many of them…” Myra gasped.
“That’s an understatement,” said Thorn. “More than I expected if we’re going up against some hill savages.”
“Our enemies have a fierce reputation,” said Talon. “And our employer has clearly taking that reputation seriously. The Lord of Hargrave is wise to risk the necks of us professionals instead of his own people.”
“Well this sucks,” Fang pouted. “There’s no way there’ll be enough booze and loot to go around this pack. What a waste of time.”
“Cheer up old boy,” said Talon. “We’re getting paid triple the usual rates for this one. We’ll get a nice long holiday after all this.”
“I don’t understand,” said Myra, not understanding, as usual. “These people are all getting paid to be here?”
Talon gave her a sidelong glance. “That’s usually the way it goes with mercenaries, yes. Is that so strange?”
“Well no, but… I just didn’t think a town in the Wild Wood could have enough money for something like this. I’ve never been in these parts, but…”
“So long as we get paid, that’s all that matters. It’s not our problem if they go broke,” Talon laughed and slapped Myra on the back.
Fang chuckled. “Shady as ever Talon. What our captain is trying to say, Myra my dear, is that men who have questionable amounts of money don’t like to be asked about where it comes from.”
“Damnit Fang, you make me sound like a criminal.”
“You said it yourself boss, there’s no such thing as clean money.”
“Alright enough of that. Lads! Banners! Let’s show these dogs how real soldiers strut!” A couple of warriors produced two large rolls of cloth and assembled the banners. When the staffs were lifted and the cloth unfurled, Myra saw an image of a bare hand, grasping a coiled serpent which bared its fangs.
Myra stayed close to Talon’s side as the band marched through the camp. Hundreds of dudes were doing the things that soldiers do in camps. Men from far and wide. Some had obviously come from the west and the islands of the Cold Sea, while others wore the garb of Alliance kingdoms to the east. All of them were hardened killers, but when Talon and his company passed by, the warriors became quiet and tense at the grim aura of Talon’s green cloaked fighters.
After they passed the city gates, Talon dismissed most of the crew. “Thorn, take a couple of lads and stake out a place for our camp. The rest of you can take it easy. I have to make my introductions to the paymaster. And try and behaves yourselves this time.” He turned to Myra. “Care to join me? I wouldn’t trust any of the brutes in this town.” He laughed. “Especially not my own.”
“Oh… thank you. I must warn you that I don’t know the first thing about how to act proper in a lord’s hall. What do they call it in the east? Etiquette or something?”
“Neither do I. But none of these brigands are here for their charming ways. At the very least it should be interesting.”
Together, the two of them made their way to the town-hall. The guards at the door did not seem like experienced warriors, moved to stop them. But Talon only glanced their way and they halted in place. They could only watch as Talon strode past them and push the doors open.
“Where is this Gram bastard!” he shouted. “Tell him Talon is here, and now the party can begin!”
“What the hell? Tell someone that before you barge through the door!” At the end of the hall, a broad man with a beard and a cigar was leaning on the table in front of him. Around him were other men who looked like important characters. But more on them in a second.
“Blame the crappy service around here. I had to show himself.” Talon waltzed on in the hall, Myra following after him like a frightened deer, expecting to be surrounded by guards at any second. “So then, you must be the chief in this town, right?”
“Aye. I am Gram, son of Goren. And I am the master of Hargrave. You must be Talon then. You’re late.”
“Rough country.” Talon pulled himself up a chair and rested his feet on the large circular table. “Had a few scraps along the way. But those won’t be included on the bill.”
“Good to know,” said Gram. “But before you start haggling over wages, know that we’re having a strategy meeting right now.”
“So I see…” said Talon, lazily scanning the others at the table, lounging in chairs and smoking pipes. He fixed his gaze on a short, skeletal looking man in a dark cloak, his hood hiding most of his angular features. “And who are you? You don’t look like a freebooter.”
The hooded man turned his sallow eyes on Talon and smiled, showing abnormally large canines beneath his wispy beard. “You are correct,” he said in a raspy voice. “I am merely an ambassador.”
“Oh? For who?”
“There is no need for us to dance around the subject, friend. You already encountered my orc friends on the road.”
“That I did. Hard not to notice this whole land is swarming with the bastards.”
Myra couldn’t help but notice that Gram and other men who were clearly local seemed a bit uncomfortable at that fact.
“They have been dispersed to scout, and to intercept any potential spies or messengers of the enemies,” continued the hooded man.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“You didn’t mention this before,” said a man wearing a bearskin hat. “They better not go anywhere near my folk. How can I trust that such… creatures won’t cause mischief in my people’s land while our warriors are away.”
“Mister Croft, you need worry about no such thing. My associates are not mindless animals. They know what it means to be… professional.”
“Professional or not…” said Talon. “I don’t like orcs…”
“Why?” asked a large man, wearing a heavy fur cloak over a gaudy silk tunic, obviously a viking. “You scared of a few bogey-men?”
Talon stared at him coldly. “Call it professional standards. I don’t appreciate don’t being told about such a detail before taking on this contract.”
“Well now you know,” said Gram. “And since you are the last to arrive, perhaps we shall all make a formal introduction and take stock of our forces.”
“Good idea, my lord,” said the hooded, rat-faced man, bowing his head. “Shall I begin? You may all call me Skinner. As you all know, I am the ambassador for the Under-king, who has pledged a host of one thousand orc soldiers to your cause, Lord Gram.”
“I am Croft, chieftain of the Corim Clan” said the bear-hat man. “I have brought two hundred warriors, to honour our old alliance with Hargrave.”
“Snaga,” said the piratey viking man. “With a hundred sea-wolves out of the West.”
“Norn,” grumbled a barbariany viking man. “And I come with four hundred Variags and northmen.”
“Call me Calico Flagg,” said the guy wearing a cloak of feathers. “My free-company, the Patch-cloaks, consist of two hundred men, all trained to the crossbow and the sword. Not to mention whatever muskets we can get our hands on. Show us the enemy, and we’ll rain hellfire down upon them!”
“Name’s Talon. Of the Talon warriors. Twelve guys.”
“Ha! Are you for real?” laughed Snaga. “You swagger in here like you own the place after we’ve waited on you, and all you bring is twelve men?”
“Well including me, that’s thirteen, so it’s fine.”
“And what makes you think you can sit at a table with proper captains, let alone get paid?”
“In civilised lands, we believe in quality over quantity. Though I suppose we could use some arrow fodder.”
“What did you say, punk?” Snaga began to rise from his seat.
“Gentlemen, if you please,” interjected Gram. “I thank you all for coming. Now, with my own warriors, and assorted volunteers, I will personally command five hundred men. That brings our total forces to over two thousand heads.”
“A considerable force to go against some woodland monks,” said Calico Flagg, puffing on his pipe. “This is surely one expensive grudge you hold Sir Gram.”
The man scowled. “These are not simple monks, Mister Flagg. But a cult of thieves and liars, with spies and agents everywhere in the Wild Wood.”
“A conspiracy, eh?” said Flagg. “And here I thought they lived simple lives out here in the sticks.”
Myra tried to her best to hide her keen interest. She had lived all her life in the Wild Wood. Though she had not travelled extensively, she had never heard that such things were going on. Perhaps Erda would have known something about this.
“Aye,” continued Gram. “They are always roaming the land, looking for anyone desperate enough to fall prey to the promise of their false miracles.” His face grew very dark for a moment. “My own daughter fell under their sway, joined their ranks and became one of their priestesses. I was happy for her, but then the news reached me that an illness had struck her down. These brigands claim to even be able to raise the dead, yet they refused to save my daughter, even though she was one of them.”
A small bead of sweat appeared on Myra’s brow. She thought she was coming to a terrible realisation. It couldn’t be…
“I swore then that I would have my vengeance upon them, for all those that were deceived by the lies. No price is too great, if it means ridding my beloved country of these devils… these Rangers.”
Myra’s blood went suddenly cold.
“A most selfless endeavour,” hissed Skinner. “And a dangerous one. The orcs have always been foes of the Rangers. They are elusive, and terribly fierce when cornered. Many a good man has fallen by their arrows.”
“Pah! My boys won’t be afraid of a few arrows,” laughed Snaga. “Let’s see what they can do to a wall of shields!”
“I suppose that brings us to the battle plan,” said Talon. “I thought these Rangers were, you know, always a-ranging. How are we meant to bring them to battle? Do we have a target?”
“I was just getting to that,” said Gram. “It has always been thought that the Rangers were but gypsies, never settling in one place. But when my daughter was dragged into their ranks, I learnt of the Ranger’s secret base, where their leaders hoard their stolen wealth and keep their harem of priestesses. Gentlemen, we have now located that base. It is no fortress, but a great hill carved out like a rabbit’s warren. Once our preparations are complete, we will march to this place and force the Rangers to battle. Their numbers and defences are light, as they have always trusted to their secrecy. We will fall upon their wretched nest, loot it, destroy it, slay any of the vermin we find. Without their base and their leaders, any Rangers that survive will be nothing but wandering beggars.”
Myra felt nauseous. She couldn’t believe it. All those warriors outside the city that she had seen was only half the army which would soon be unleashed on the Rangers. She thought of Erda, who seemed so kind and wise. She could hardly believe that she was some kind of trickster. As far as Myra knew, Erda was still on her way back to her people with a handful of Thanes, all of them no doubt marching to certain death, and waiting fruitlessly for the return of Erasmus, and even Pike. The two men who probably had a chance of making a difference, the two men she had abandoned to the darkness beneath the world.
Myra felt like crying. She had not known any of them for very long, but it still hurt to once more lose everyone that she had been close to. She had no reason to truly care about Erda’s plight, it simply wasn’t her problem. But still, the thought of the terrible things that might happen to a lovely woman like Erda chilled Myra’s blood.
“Well spoken, my lord,” said Skinner. “The Wild Wood has ever been a lawless country, caught between the Pirate lords of the West and the petty lords of the Alliance to the east. Better for the wolves that the herd stays divided, so they say.”
Croft of the Corim clans scowled darkly. “Not all wolves come from outside…”
“If you are referring to the… unfortunate reputation of the orcs, it is fair to say that they too are but victims of circumstance, as are all the free peoples fo the Wild Wood. The Rangers have always persecuted the orcs, and turned all other free peoples against them. It is they who are the true enemies of peace. They spread their lies, keep the peoples of the Wood quarrelling, spy on us for the sake of outside forces, all to keep themselves in power without anyone even knowing. They are the true enemy of all. That is why the Under King has chosen to forget all such petty grudges, and swear undying friendship to Lord Gram. It is the hope of the orcs that this union is but the beginning of the great, united realm that was began by the Bandit King so long ago, before he fell in the great war against the Alliance.”
“You weave some pretty words, Mister Skinner,” said Talon. “I would too if I was so ugly.”
The rat-faced man chuckled and held a hand to his mouth. “Ho ho! Such brutal honesty, Mister Talon.”
“Considered being a comedian?” said Snaga.
“Nah,” said Talon, not looking at the man. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about jokes.”
“You came in here after only bringing twelve men, didn’t you?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean…” Snaga stood up, towering over Talon, his bare chest criss-crossed with scars and tattoos n shit. “That you are the biggest joke here.”
Talon smiled.
Outside the hall, people and warriors were walking around doing unimportant things. The guards outside were looking nervous.
“I hope we won’t get in trouble for letting that one guy in…” said one of them.
“Doesn’t sound like anything’s going on in there,” said his fellow.
“Maybe we should go in and check?”
“They’re in a meeting right now. You know what mercenaries are like. They are all businessmen at heart. Not the kind of guys to go around acting like common thu…”
The door fucking exploded, the Snaga guy bursting the wood to splinters as he flew through the air, slid on the ground and crashed into some trash-cans. A stray cat meowed and ran away.
Talon strode through the wreckage, rolling up his sleeves with a big, shit-eating grin on his face. “Well? How’d you like that? I thought it was pretty hilarious.”
“Hey! What did you do to our boss!” yelled a bunch of corsairs who happened to be standing there. They reached for their weapons.
“Stand back boys!” Snaga raised himself to his feet, pulling a fish-skeleton out of his hair. “This little bitch is mine…” he drew his dagger and licked its edge like a sick fuck.
“For crying out loud people!” Lord Gram came rushing out of the hall. “Save it for after the war!”
The men stared each other down, then conveniently, the sound of a trumpet call echoed oniminously.
“Eh? What is it now?” said Gram.
Skinner came limping out of the hall, leaning on his staff. He grinned. “The scouts have returned…”
A commotion was heard in the camp outside the town. A lone horseman came riding through the main gate and reined in his mount as he saw Gram. “Chief! A party of orcs appeared by the perimeter. They have a prisoner!”
Myra (who was there the whole time, trust me guys I’m not a hack), watched as the grotesque procession of orcs came shuffling into the main square, howling and cackling in their monstrous babble. Myra opened her mouth in horror as she saw their ragged and bloody captive, bound by ropes and dragged along, even as the orcs kicked and jeered at the poor man.
“Aha! A gift for you, Lord Gram!” cried Skinner.
Gram’s eyes narrowed. “A ranger…”
“A good omen, my lord. What shall we do with him?”
“He must be a spy. We shall question him, but not too harshly. At dawn, we shall break our fast and watch him die, offer his blood to the gods of victory. First blood to us! Death to the rangers!”
Myra could barely recognise him through the dried blood and tangled hair. She could only stare in silent horror, as Ruadh stared back at her.