“Well, I let a few live—the ones that was loyal to me. Then, I challenged the merc commanders. They was confused and didn’t wanna accept. I killed ’em anyway, along with a lot more of their men. Eventually, the others accepted that I’d won the challenge, and I took command of what was left. That’s when we went to face the drauglics—a horde of the beasts. The rest of the men died.”
“But you lived,” said a deep voice from the grass. Orin stepped into the firelight and kicked dirt over Rezkin. “Yer full of it. That’s a bloody fish tale if I ever heard one. Takin’ out army units and merc companies like they was children.”
“I wouldn’t kill a bunch of children,” Rezkin protested. “No challenge in it. Senseless killing, that.”
Orin spat. “Weren’t no battles. Weren’t no missin’ army units or merc companies. I’da heard about it. Men like you is what gives mercs a bad name. Makin’ people think we’re all soulless bastards.”
Rezkin grinned. “You wouldn’t be the first to call me that.”
“You brag like yer some kinda god of war. When the real fightin’ starts, we’ll see who holds the torch and who runs crying into the dark.”
As Orin stomped back to his side of the road grumbling about fish tales, Farson emerged from the grass near where the mercenary had been hiding. He nodded at Rezkin’s questioning glance.
“You knew he was there,” said Brandt.
Malcius exhaled in a whoosh. “You had me going. I thought you were serious.”
Rezkin got up to unroll his blanket and sleeping pad, ignoring Kai’s stare. Eventually, the striker turned his gaze to Farson who had bent over the fire to collect his dinner.
Farson sighed and looked up at his comrade. “What?”
“I’m tryin’ to figure out which parts are true.”
“You mean some of it was?” said Brandt.
Kai looked at Rezkin and said, “The best stories always got a bit of truth.”
Farson looked to Rezkin who merely shrugged as he laid back to rest his head on his pack.
“It was all true,” Farson said. “Except he left out a few parts—like the reinforcements.”
Millins turned to Rezkin. “So, you had reinforcements against the mercenaries?”
Farson said, “The mercs had the reinforcements—a cavalry unit from Jerea. It was probably the horses that attracted the drauglics. They said they’d been harried for more than a week as they rode and were already down by a third when they joined up with the mercs. By the time the battle between the Scavengers and mercs was over, the ground had become a bloody soup with body parts floating in the muck.” Nodding toward Rezkin, he said, “He killed the rest of the Scavengers and took over the mercs, like he said. Then, drawn by the scent of blood, the drauglics came down from the mountain. They fought off the ones that attacked and then chased the rest into the mountains. Only he returned.”
The others silently pondered the revelation. Finally, Millins said, “He really killed his own men?”
Farson scoffed. “They were never his men. We put him there for the experience, but they were always meant to die. He might not have cared about the circumstances, but we did. You know who we are. We’re men of honor. We wouldn’t send him to kill a unit of our own men without good cause. What he didn’t mention was that the Scavengers had gone rogue. What would you expect to happen if you put the worst of men together with weapons and a semblance of order? There used to be a mining village at the base of the Zigharans near the Tremadel. The Scavengers raided the village—killed all the men and children. They saved the women until they were spent and then killed them, too. The soldiers he didn’t kill were the new recruits that had arrived in the unit with him afterward.” He narrowed his eyes at Rezkin and rubbed his chin. “We didn’t tell him to do that—to spare them. I suppose those few died honorably in service to the kingdom.”
“It sounds like he did care about the circumstances,” said Brandt, eyeing Rezkin sideways. “I mean, he left the good ones alive.”
Farson glanced at Rezkin as well. While he appeared to be ignoring them, he could obviously hear the entire exchange. “They all died in the end.”
“You can’t blame him for that,” said Yserria. “It was the drauglics.” She fisted her hands on her hips and leaned over the striker. “You made him live with those horrible people for a year. He was what—sixteen?”
Farson scowled at the woman. “Yet he’s the one who lived.”
Wesson turned to Rezkin. Of everyone present, he had seemed the least fazed by the story. He said, “How do you do that? How do you deal with all the death?”
Satisfied that everyone had been fed, Rezkin snagged the remainder of the roasted meat. Settling back down beside the mage, he said, “You have to remember, besides Farson, everyone I ever met before leaving the fortress is dead. Everyone. Ever.”
Chapter 2
“He should have been taking us with him,” said Chieftain Yuold.
Frisha sighed. “Chieftain Yuold—”
“Gurrell,” he said.
With a placating smile, Frisha clasped her hands and said, “Gurrell, I know you’re concerned, but he had his reasons.”
“Reasons that I am not understanding.”
Tieran stepped forward. “Chieftain Yuold—”
“Gurrell,” he said again.
“Chieftain Yuold,” repeated Tieran. “King Rezkin explained to you that he did not want his connection with the Eastern Mountains men to be apparent until he knew which way King Privoth was leaning. It is in your best interest, and ours, to keep our cooperative agreement to ourselves for now.”
Gurrell pulled the green strip of fabric from his bicep and held it before Tieran’s gaze. “It is not being a cooperative agreement. He is our chieftain. Until he does become defeated in challenge, he is being our leader. We are the knives at his side. We are the axes at his back.”
Tieran said, “Ah, I am not sure that phrase translates well. In any case, he ordered you all to stay here and help us make this city livable.”
Gurrell lifted his chin as a trickle of pride burned in his chest. “We are great builders.” Then, with frustration, he added, “But nothing is needing to be built here.”
Tieran said, “Then you may join the patrols exploring the bowl.”
“Gah! There is nothing to be fighting in the bowl. We have been traveling to the far mountains and back, and we have been mapping the caverns.”
Frisha said, “Gurrell, perhaps you would help us with something of great importance.”
Gurrell looked down at the small doe-eyed beauty and grinned. Finally, they were getting somewhere. “What is this great task we are to be doing for you, Lady Frisha?”
She said, “You and your men are great warriors.” Gurrell grunted in agreement, and she continued. “Rezkin …um …King Rezkin wants Cael to be a warrior kingdom.”
Gurrell smacked his armor with a meaty fist. “As should all great kingdoms be.”
“Yes, well, perhaps you could assist in training our fighters to be warriors.”
From beneath thick, harsh brows, Gurrell stared at her. His steely grey eyes were intense and unblinking. Frisha was suddenly concerned that she might have offended the very large foreigner.
He said, “You are wanting the Farwarriors of the Viergnacht Tribe of the Eastern Mountains to be teachers?”
Frisha tilted her head to look up at the beastly man. “Um, it was an idea—”
Gurrell grinned broadly, his teeth bright in contrast to his bushy dark beard. “This is being a great honor!” He turned to his men who filled the remaining space in the room behind him and raised a fist in triumph. “You are hearing? We are to be the bringers of strength and courage to the lost people, the people of our chieftain. The farwarriors will be teaching the ways of our ancestors, the greatness of the way of the Viergnacht! The strongest chieftain in history will be leading the Viergnacht Tribe and the Kingdom of Cael, two supreme warrior nations!”
The rumble that followed blasted through Frisha’s head, an explosion of mountain man enthusiasm. She peered up at Tieran who stood at her side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“No, that was nicely done,” he said, his words nearly lost in the revelry. “It will keep them busy, anyhow.”
Gurrell turned back to them and pointed at Tieran with the butt of a hand axe. “We are to be starting with him.”