49

Savantian Dining

‘Today we have the liver skin of a Bordhilian bufflehore, seasoned with Avantic skyflowers, tarpella truffle dust, smoked in the fire of an elderwood tree and aged lightly for three and a half years.’

She lifted the covering, and the smoke flooded out.

The final product ended up being a grey square splashed with white sauce no bigger than the width of two of his fingers.

The waitress smiled and left, leaving Ludgar to wonder what he was actually looking at.

‘What the fuck is this?’ He poked at it with his fork, and worried that it might poke back. It quivered somewhat, but otherwise remained placid.

‘It’s cultured.’ Toulmonde sorted her napkins and adjusted the cutlery into the right position. Ludgar wondered why different forks were required for salads and fish.

‘So is a rotting corpse, doesn’t mean I want to eat it. And this is barely even a snack. Fucking Savantian food.’

‘It’s about quality. Not quantity.’

A single bite later and Ludgar had finished his main. It was okay. ‘To idle posturing artists, maybe. I can’t fight hungry.’ He wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue with the sides.

‘You can. We spent most of our time together hungry.’

‘Alright, I can, but I prefer not to.’

Toulmonde took a dignified bite of her meal, then dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, as though even the most minor of wipes would ruin the delicately applied face paint she spent the good part of an hour applying. A far cry from the rain soaked, mud splattered soldier he was used to.

She watched him push the vegetables around the sauce and wondered if it was a mistake bringing him here. Then again, it always felt like a mistake coming to places like this. She felt out of place, but couldn’t let anyone know it. ‘You ever been to a meat waggon?’

‘Is that a euphemism for something?’

‘Look at you with the big words.’

‘Sethel taught me some stuff.’

‘Well, It’s a street vendor that sells a shitload of meat. They cook it over the fire, and give it to you still on the bone.’

‘Sounds like all places should do that.’

‘Yeah, but it’s not considered “refined.” so some only go there in secret once they’ve been somewhere like here.’

‘Makes sense. I’ve never seen such differences in weight here. It’s like everyone’s either huge or stick thin.’ He picked up a morsel of one of his side dishes with his fork. He sniffed it, which smelt like nothing. Then he popped the tiny thing into his mouth. It tasted tangy and salty and not nearly worth the price on the menu. ‘Because here, it fills you up as much as the air does.’

‘Wanna go there?’

‘More than anything.’

His teeth sank into the roasted flesh, grease and blood and fat dribbling from his mouth and onto his chin. Fatty, gristly, tender meat that fell from the bone. It was ambrosia compared to the varieties of plants, fruits, strange cuts of offal garnished with stranger herbs and spices, and shit alcohol that had consisted of his diet since coming here.

He had never tasted ambrosia before. This may be as close as he could get.

Didn’t even know what the meat was. Could have been another wolf, as far as he was aware.

Right now, he did not give a shit.

Toulmonde helped herself to a leg of something, eating it in the ways they did back in the field, when they could. Back when they had to scavenge for rations, because the Kingdom’s militaries never gave the mercs enough.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

‘Reminds me of the old days. Hunting what we could and eating it over a campfire. Sometimes wish we could go back to them.’

‘Careful what you wish for. Could happen sooner than you think.’ She produced a letter from inside her coat and handed it to Ludgar. He folded it open and read the contents.

MERCENARIES REQUIRED

To the current commander,

We would like to offer the Mercenaries Guild an opportunity to provide pivotal training for the prestigious Granther College to aid in the teaching of military combat, techniques, and tactics to the next generation of Artellan nobility.

The Granther School of Studies in Governance and Warfare shall be simulating the Battle of Stormbreak Pass in the surrounding countryside of Giltani.

Our terms shall be fair and we shall offer a negotiable rate for your service, along with our gratitude.

In the gracious hand of the King,

The Granther Office of Major-General Whitlock

‘Looks like you got a pretty comfy job there. Babysit a bunch of overgrown children and show them how to swing a sword or two.’

‘Looks that way. Think I’ll let ‘em win a few skirmishes, kiss the arse of some lords, and make a whole load of coin on the side.’

‘And get a few royal friends on your side; Versian and Evandian.’ He folded the note back up and tossed it back. ’Funny how they let them play their little games on their own soil.’

‘That’s the price you pay for losing. The Evandian Charter has been nothing but a massive concession.’

‘The current head of the League can’t be happy about that.’

‘Lord Davik? The elk? Yeah. First thing he did when he got into power was gut the hundred down to three: himself, Isanthol, and Trister oddly enough. Then brought in two more of his own. Makes sense, really. Isanthol’s the only one who’s actually competent, and Trister is simple enough to manage.’ They finished their meals and took off down the alleys into the bustling streets towards central Savanti.

‘So the elk gets full run while pretending it’s still a coalition, including full control of the unified military.'

‘RIght. And to top it off, they’ve been building up their forces for quite a while now. I always bet that they were going to strike at Evandis-’

‘Let me guess, till Phaos came?’ He dug at a spot behind his cheek, freeing an extra morsel of meat trapped between his teeth.

‘Right. Plus, they can’t keep their back turned to the Republic. They turned their backs on them before and it cost them everything.’

‘Because of their faultless military strategy of: Posture, fight, lose, switch sides.’

‘Now all three are too scared to make the first move and be seen as the aggressor, leaving the whole continent in a kind of militaristic deadlock. Good time to be an independent soldier with no affiliation to pin the blame on.’

‘Funny how you know so much about politics.’

‘Comes with the job,’ she said with a knowing shrug.

‘For some. Always felt like it got in the way. I’d rather just be told who to hit and go hit them. Makes things much simpler.’

Toulmonde always was the most politically savvy of the old group. It’s an important part of being a merc, even if Ludgar never cared a shit for it. You have to know which side is the strongest and the most sensible. Otherwise, you’d lose, and that defeats the entire point of it all.

You can’t get attached to land, either. You never know who you’ll end up fighting the next day. Never bothered Ludgar; it was all just dirt to him. Doesn’t matter which his parents fucked and squeezed him out on.

Toulmonde exemplified this well, being an Evandian-born girl herself.

The League of the Hundred offered a good price, but she knew Evandis had the edge over them. And mercs never side with the losers, if they can help it.

Some would say that she chose Evandis out of national pride. The League had the technological advantage with more advanced siege weapons and generally better construction, but few realise what a political nightmare the League of the Hundred really was. A hundred voices all calling out at once, all with their own ideas on how to win a war, and none of them any good.

So Lord Davik culled their voices, leaving only three. Then he brought two more into his fold.

One hundred became five.

‘The League had a strong start, but once the knight chapters got involved, they lost. I mean, how do you fight against that? Magic can make one man worth a hundred. If you don’t have access to it, you’re basically fucked. And your mage Sethel tells me it’s all to do with Vesterwys' control over magical teachings.’

‘Where is he, anyway?’

‘I showed him where the libraries are. I think he’s off making trouble there.’

‘We really shouldn’t leave him alone.’ Ludgar cast a glance to some of the more flammable looking buildings. ‘Might set the library on fire.’

‘He does that?’

‘He’s done it before.’

‘If so, we’d lose nothing of value. It’s mostly poetry, manuscripts and philosophy. I don’t think a mage would get much out of it.’

‘Sethel likes philosophy.’

‘I doubt he’d like the Savantian type. It’s all “nothing matters” and “no matter what you do, you’re going to die, anyway.” Nothing unique or interesting, just the same shit regurgitated a hundred times over.’

‘Never cared for it either. Life can have as much meaning as people want it to. Doesn’t make a difference to me.’

A crowd had gathered at the distant end of the street, when the central part of Savanti began. Ahead of the crowd, a large, dark plume of smoke rose high into the air.

‘What the shit?’ Toulmomde said.

The two barged their way ahead of the crowd, to where guild mercs had set up a blockade of some kind.

Familiar eagle swooped down from on high and gave an impeccable salute to his commander.

‘Commander, you’re going to want to see this.’