Tooth and Blade Read online

  That was the first of this idea that Keltos had heard, but he liked the sound of it. Turning to his friend, he and Makos exchanged congratulatory grins on having chosen their captains well.

  Oltan shook his head. “You run your company the way you wish, but I’ll stick to tradition. And I have to wonder if you’d sing a different tune had you achieved sufficient rank to warrant greater pay for yourself.”

  Damicos colored slightly, but stayed quiet amid the snickers. It was well known among those assembled that a noble captain of Menier Oltan’s standing had drawn many times what a junior infantry captain like Damicos was allotted in the Kerathi armies.

  Pelekarr shook his head and replied stiffly. “Pay your men how you will, Oltan. But if we have an alliance, it will be on equal terms. The danger is the same despite your level of pride in your company, and the work is just as hard no matter who carries it out. Terms of hire for each company must be the same, too, for we cannot come to an agreement that knowingly puts our men at a disadvantage.”

  Captain Serram threw up his hands. “What do you say to that, boys?” His men broke into loud shouts of derision. He smiled and turned to Pelekarr. “No good, my captains. We’re worth more than all of you. The Copper Men were killing raff here before you un-blooded youngsters ever thought of crossing the sea! If you want us, you’ll have to allow a double share for the Copper Men!”

  A fresh round of bedlam broke out and lasted for almost a minute. When it had subsided Pelekarr still stood firm. “Unequal opportunities for pay would mean we were just be re-forming a pale shadow of the Kerathi legion all over again. We must provide incentive for all good men to join with us, or we’ll be hamstrung by the same seeds of disaffection that have hundreds of former soldiers now playing dice and chasing harlots instead of signing with us.”

  Damicos chimed in again, building on the ideas put forth. “A grand alliance of free companies could rise beyond what the Kerathi legions accomplished, and provide security for a new era of growth in Ostora. But those who choose to fight in it must feel themselves truly a part of the thing or they will turn from the important battles toward the merely lucrative ones.”

  Oltan was shaking his head and pursing his lips. Serram let out an exaggerate sigh.

  “I’m disappointed in you two captains,” he declared, rising to his feet. “I took you for pragmatic types—isn’t that why we all stayed in Ostora? But here you pin your hopes to noble ideals and foolish tactics when there’s money to be made and a fine position to carve out for ourselves.”

  He turned away from the other captains. “Ah, well. Merchants, have you got any work in the next few days for a company with real experience turning away the forest raiders? Just to get us by until one of the barons offers the Copper Men a dependable garrison job.”

  A man in an orange coat rose from among the merchants delegation. “I have a caravan leaving Belsoria tomorrow, Captain Serram.”

  “Ah, Greppus. We rescued one of your operations that ran into a raff party some months ago. What’s the need this time?”

  “They’re headed inland to Wood Sheaf and Tokussa, returning the day after laden with lumber and charcoal. I can pay fifty silver if you can supply at least a score of willing fighters.”

  “And combat pay, if we’re attacked?”

  Greppus considered this. “Ten more in that case, and two apiece for any casualties?”

  “Done! Send a man to me with the details tomorrow. I’m at the Inn of the Silver Feather.” Serram smiled at the silent watchers behind him. “And that’s how real soldiers get work, gentlemen. You tenderfoots will have to settle for whatever’s left. Good luck to all. And if ever we meet on the battlefield, I hope your armor’s in good repair.”

  Serram stumped toward the exit, followed by his Copper Men. At the door, the infantry captain turned. “Ostora has fangs. Come find me when you’re ready to swallow your pride, youngbloods. We’ll be out there somewhere chopping up the beasties, like we’ve always done.”

  Before the Copper Men were all out of the door, Menier had signaled to his own men. “It would seem we have more in common with the infantry outside than with these overly egalitarian revolutionaries in here,” he announced. The Black Manes followed their captain into the night.

  The others watched them go, and at the front of the room Pelekarr and Damicos stood in silence, too proud to call them back for a compromise.

  Captain Treliam, with two companions from his cavalry company the Sun Swords, quickly went after the Black Manes. He paused as he passed Captain Damicos. “Regretfully, I cannot continue in this enterprise without a more robust alliance between companies,” he remarked. “It is a shame; I do not disagree with some of what you said. But I won’t risk my men in campaigns where we don’t have the full backing of experienced troops.”

  Damicos inclined his head. Keltos could only guess at the turmoil his two captains felt at watching everyone walk away from them, leaving them in a foolish position in front of their men and the merchants as well. He also knew that Damicos and Treliam had come to Ostora on the same ship, fought their way up the ranks together over the past year, and had much in common.

  “You would have my Storm Furies, Treliam,” Damicos offered. “And Pelekarr’s horsemen. Is that not enough for now, until we can draw others to this alliance?”

  Treliam sighed. “It is not. I am sorry.” Flanked by his two men, he left the room.

  That left three or four other companies in the warehouse. None of their leaders approached the two captains for any further discussion; instead they milled about the merchants’ table or spoke with roving soldiers who hadn’t yet signed on to a company.

  Pelekarr sighed. “That didn’t go as well as we’d hoped, did it?”

  Damicos shook his head. “Let’s see if there’s a smaller job our current troops are cut out for. Before they’re all taken.”

  They walked toward the merchants’ gathering, and Keltos and Makos followed. A small bidding war appeared to have broken out already between two mercenaries and a man in the livery of a baron Keltos didn’t recognize.

  “What’s this for?” Damicos asked a soldier standing near.

  “Baron Vocke, up north on the coast. Paying for men to stand an army against his rival, Telros, who’s trying to drive him from his port fortress.”

  Pelekarr raised his hand and put in an offer over the noise. “We’ve thirty horse and forty infantry, sir! Ready to fight any day.”

  The man in the baron’s livery shook his head. “Already have our full complement of infantry. We’re just looking to fill out another wing of cavalry.”

  Chiss Felca stepped up next to the captains, oiled locks glowing in the light from a lamp overhead. “I’ve a score of good horse soldiers that each fight with the strength of three men!” he called out.

  Pelekarr’s hand flashed toward his sword hilt, but Chiss put up a warning hand. Four of his henchmen stood at his elbow.

  “Watch yourself, Captain. We are here under the auspices of his lordship, after all. And these merchants will never consider you for a job if you initiate another bloody brawl right in front of them.”

  Damicos laid a hand on Pelekarr’s shoulder, holding him back, and the captain was forced to acknowledge the truth in the traitor’s words.

  “Some day soon, then, Felca,” Pelekarr murmured.

  The baron’s man pointed at Felca. “Can you be ready to ride north on the morrow?”

  Chiss spread his hands wide. “We’re ready now, good sir. If there’s coin ready.”

  “Eight silver per man who sees action,” the offer came back. “A bonus when we win, to be taken from the spoils of the vanquished army. Have your troop waiting outside the north gate at noon.”

  Felca shook the man’s hand, and then sneered at Pelekarr as he turned to leave the warehouse.

  “Get used to losing your bids to me, Pelekarr. With the spoils from this job, I’ll have twice the men and equipment next week while you’re still languishi
ng in the alleyways thinking black thoughts about me.”

  “Nothing could be too black for you, backstabber. I’ll see your head cut free of your shoulders, I swear it.”

  Felca left, flanked by his men, and the captains watched despondently as the last merchant’s offer was taken by a representative from the Deep Shields.

  “Sorry, Captain,” Keltos heard the man say to Damicos as he left with a signed agreement in hand. “Better luck next time. Maybe rethink that combined company you’ve got; seems like most of these small jobs are either for spearmen or horse, not both.”

  The captains traded sighs and walked toward the exit, leaving the merchants and a few warehouse guards to put out the lights and lock up. One of their men, the infantry veteran Cormoran, met them just outside the door.

  “I heard that last part,” he told the captains as the whole group walked along the docks through the night. “Can’t say I’m sorry I left the Copper Men. Serram’s a solid warrior, but he’s nearly as proud as a cocky noble from Narrante.” He tilted his head at Pelekarr. “Begging your pardon, sir. Not all nobles are so insufferable.”

  “What news from the camp, spearman? Is there trouble?”

  “No, all quiet there. Sergeant just sent me to give you this missive. Seemed to think you’d want to read it sooner rather than later.”

  He handed it to Damicos, who unfurled the little scroll and slowed his pace to look it over. Keltos kept an eye on the surroundings, noting several silhouettes outlined by the glittering moonlight on the water beyond. Fishermen, it appeared. Felca and his men were long gone.

  “From the Governor’s office? What’s this?” Damicos muttered some of the words aloud as he read. “Notice to vacate the area… three days to move encampment two leagues beyond the city gate or begin paying a fee of ten silver per day. Signed by order of Vilcos Spatha, Lord Governor of Belsoria and the Ostoran…”

  He let the scroll curl shut and handed it off to Pelekarr. “He wants us out. Seems having organized mercenaries camped all round the city is making him even more nervous than having leaderless soldiers inside of it.”

  “But the merchants’ guild is here in the city,” Pelekarr argued, looking at the words himself. “With all the jobs, not to mention the food and other services. If we have to find a distant place to camp, we’ll be even less likely to get a job if one comes up.”

  “Can you get an extension from your friend the governor?” Damicos asked.

  Pelekarr sighed. “I doubt it. He knew it was our camp when he sent this to be delivered. It would seem that I’m one of the undesirables now, one of the wolves at his gate.”

  Bringing up the rear, Makos tapped a sudden warning on Kel’s shoulder and they both pivoted. A shadowy figure was drawing near from the direction of the warehouse they’d left. The hooded man carried a small stave and was almost in range to use it.

  Keltos tore his bronze saber free of the scabbard, but the man trailing their group quickly stopped and held both arms out to show he was no threat.

  “Stand back apace,” Makos challenged. “What do you want here?”

  The man halted as the whole group turned to face him, and drew back the hood that had covered part of his face. What Keltos had at first taken to be a small staff in the man’s hand, he now saw was in fact an unstrung longbow.

  “Just to talk,” he replied. He sounded meek enough, and had the broader lilt of the second-generation Ostorans who’d not grown up with Kerathi influence on their tongue. He was short and stocky, with knotted old muscles. His beard was a speckled gray but cropped short like his hair, and he wore a sleeveless tunic over which was wrapped a wool cloak of good make.

  Keltos noticed, even in the moonlight, that his skin was tanned and his teeth were still white and strong. He had the look of a healthy farmer, with some weary wisdom in his dark eyes, but plenty of energy and a quiet competence in the way he bore himself that made Keltos think he must be a retired hoplite.

  “You wish to speak with us?” Pelekarr asked the man.

  “I listened in at the meeting back there. Hard luck for you soldiers.”

  Damicos shrugged. “Fortunes of war.”

  “Misfortunes. My people and I know something of that. But we may yet be able to work together in turning the situation to both our favor.”

  “How so?”

  “My village needs help,” the man said. “The nearest baron sent me to the governor, and the governor sent me to that meeting. I couldn’t pay what the merchants were offering, but if your fledgling company is hungry enough for work… I’ve a twisted tale to tell you.”

  CHAPTER 10: OPPORTUNITY ARISES

  Damicos and Pelekarr exchanged glances.

  “We’ll listen,” said Damicos. “We’re headed to the Smoking Goat. Come along if you like.”

  The man nodded and fell in with the soldiers as they proceeded away from the docks and up a wide street into the heart of Belsoria.

  “My name is Meldus, son of Melcad,” he said after a moment of awkward silence. “Truth be told, I was glad enough to see you walk away without a job. You spoke well in there.”

  “Where do you come from, Meldus?” Damicos asked. “How long have you been in Ostora?”

  “Oh, I came here as a child. Joined the legion at a time when they were recruiting skirmishers from among the local folk. Mustered out when I hit my twenty and settled down again in a village not far from where I grew up, inland a ways from here. You’ll not have heard of it; Dura is a bit off the beaten track and we like it that way. The land is rich, thanks be to Suva, and if the people aren’t as well, at least we’re happy.”

  Farmers were always pious, and Suva, god of the harvest, had many small shrines scattered across Ostora, more than any of the other Kerathi gods. But Pelekarr, already tired of the peasant’s idle talk, prompted him to continue.

  “But you aren’t happy anymore,” Pelekarr said.

  “No. Not now. Ever heard of Black Tur?”

  “No. Some form of blight affecting your cabbages, is it?”

  “He’s a scofflaw and a murderer,” Meldus quickly replied, catching on that the cavalry captain wasn’t in the mood for a slow buildup. “One of the worst we’ve seen in decades. Stays out of the way just enough to avoid people like you from getting word of his depredations and making an end of him.”

  “Now he’s gone too far, though. Is that it? Raided your alehouse, has he?”

  “Pelekarr,” Damicos cautioned. “Don’t make sport, let the man speak.”

  “He’s taken some of our womenfolk, dragged them away right out of their fields,” Meldus explained with somber emphasis on his words.

  Pelekarr looked at the man. “I am sorry for that. Truly. Were any of the captured women dear to you?”

  “No, my wife died ten years ago and we had no issue. And though the brazen kidnapping has enraged the kin of those taken deeply, yet it’s the larger escalation of hostilities this represents that has us worried.”

  He quickened his step to keep abreast of the two captains as they neared the tavern. The darkened shops and offices of this quarter rose on either side, with the only lighted buildings being the inns and bars.

  “Normally we’d do for our own, band together and fight back. But this is on a different scale. The villain has been growing his band, set up a sizable camp in the forest, and never has he dared snatch several people. A few barrels of pork or a lone traveler unlucky enough to be caught out at night, yes. But now he’s taken six of our women, for what purpose we can only guess. It’s as if he’s declaring war on our village, daring us to respond.”

  “And do you dare, Meldus?” Damicos asked.

  “No, to be honest. Some of the lads would have gone, but wiser heads prevailed on them—mine, among them—so that I could come to Belsoria and seek aid. Armed men to fight with us. To our knowledge the blackheart has upwards of fifty men now, having recently killed the leader of another small outlaw band and absorbed most of their number into his. And as I sa
id, their camp is hard to approach. We need help.”

  “The missing women, do you count them as slain, or will he enslave them?”

  “They yet live, we’re certain,” Meldus replied. “A boy of ours got close enough to the bandits’ camp to hear that much.”

  “I pity you,” Pelekarr replied, chastened a bit at his earlier snide questions. “As if the raff weren’t enough of a threat to you settlers, now there’s a bandit army on your doorstep.”

  “Aye, and targeting us for maximum harm. The barons won’t do anything for those that don’t dwell within their walls and pledge their all to the baron’s coffers. And Spatha’s marshals are too far and two few to help, especially now. So I was interested to hear that free companies were being formed amid the breakup of the legions, as you can imagine.”

  “But why such a blow to a village of farmers?” Damicos persisted. “They can’t hold out much hope of ransom, unless they wish to be paid in raw barley. Is there something you aren’t telling us, a long-standing feud or revenge motive?”

  Meldus frowned. “No. We’ve had our run-ins with his ilk in the past, and come off pretty well. Black Tur’s got no love for Dura, sure. But all I can chalk it up to is ambition.”

  “For what? He can’t think to challenge the governor directly, can he?”

  “No, he’s nowhere near that big. But… well, more than one baron here in the colonies started as little more than a brigand. A few victories against the raff, an oath of fealty, and a man could find himself with a royal pardon and a land grant, if the governor can be swayed that direction.”

  Pelekarr frowned. “Is that true? I haven’t heard such a suggestion before.”

  “Gods’ truth, Captain. That’s how Baron Massy and Baron Tavra hold titles; their great-grandfathers were once wolfsheads. They’ll deny it, of course, but all old Ostorans know it.” Meldus chuckled. “Massy and Tavra haven’t a drop of noble blood in ‘em, for all their airs.”