A COMPANY OF RAVENS
Chapter One - Blighter
Draft
by
Stephen Buchheit
"How did we ever get here?" "Sir?" "Mmm," I said turning to face the newcomer on duty with me. I have to look up. He's tall like all these people up here. "Oh, nothing soldier, just thinking out loud again." Good thing I wasn't thinking about breaking our contract with the Prelate I thought. This newcomer is one of Lieutenant Pots' men and hasn't been with us long enough to have been given a brigade name, the nicknames we all use. I don't even know his real name. After so many years in Talon's Brigade you learn not to get close until the new people make it through their first major battle. When they're under your command it's different, you get to know them faster, but other officer's men, you wait for the name they'll be known by for the rest of their life. We're back in Wyrmsford, it means Dragon's Crossing in my native language. Two days march east from Ulmshelm, armpit of the world. Wyrmsford isn't much more than a bridge, a few houses and a tavern. The locals say that a dragon fell here, when such creatures still lived this far south. It probably had died of boredom and fell out of the sky unharmed. It's because of the tavern that we're south of the river in these woods. Close enough to guard the approach to the village, but not close enough to frequent the tavern. General Tabor thinks of everything. This is the last place to ford the Argolm River before you reach the city. This is where the Empire's Legion will cross so they can attack Ulmshelm north of the river, where the government palaces and Senator's homes are. South of the river are the peasants' and merchants' houses. Our garrison building is also south of the river. I poke the newcomer in the arm to get his attention. "Say, do the people here still believe the bones of the dragon reappear in the river every winter's solstice?" "Don't know, sir," he says. He looks down at his gloved hands. "Until I joined the brigade I didn't make it out of Ulmshelm." Dragon's bones, anything from a dragon for that matter, are highly sought after. Crazy, our company's wizard is looking forward to seeing if he can find some. Damn him, he's positively happy we're out here in the middle of winter. Crazy tried explaining to me the difference between wyrms and true dragons when we set up camp two days ago. I didn't get the difference. They seemed the same to me. "They would to you, farmboy," Crazy said as he stormed off looking for someone new to listen to his schemes. The newcomer sat back down on the rock he was warming. Bad idea doing guard duty from a sitting position and I instruct him on that. "Aye, Lieutenant Farmer," he said standing up and bracing himself against the winter breeze. Farmer is my brigade name, all because at my first real battle with Talon's Brigade I made the comment about the field we were in. How the soil would be good for barley. We slew almost a hundred men and wounded twice as many breaking the siege around Wellspoint, about a three month march East and South of here. It was also much warmer there, even in the winter. The newcomer's fur-lined coat is the same as mine. Our metal insignia, a pair of eagle's talons clutching a sword, is pinned over the breast where it should be. About the only advantage being in the service of the Prelate, we have matching equipment for the new recruits. His sword belt is on the inside of his coat, however. An officer's duty is never done. There shouldn't be any activity out here until after he and all the other newcomers go back to camp and are asleep in their tents, so I take this time to give him some words of wisdom on keeping weapons at the ready. While he was adjusting his outfit I paced up and down the low rise we're on trying to work up some warmth. I hate the cold. It's not as bad as the heat of summer, but it still has nothing to say for itself. The rain had stopped. If it had been a bit colder there would be snow all around. I would much rather have the snow. With snow the starlight and moonlight are brighter, it's easier to see while on night guard duty. But rain seems to sop up the light. With the snow it's also easier to keep your boots dry. We're watching over an open field from a slight rise at the edge of the forest we've encamped in. Across the field there are enough small pools to make it look like it had the pox. At least with the cold you can add more clothing if you have it, and it doesn't hamper your sword arm. A good fir lined leather coat, gloves and cap should keep you warm enough. But once you let the cold in, it's hard getting it back out again. The newcomers seem to be taking it the worst. They also took the heat badly. You can tell them apart from a distance. The new recruits fold themselves up against the cold, the old hands stand erect and stay out of the wind. We all seem to have melancholy on the mind. Blighter is out there. A wizard from the First Empire, Blighter is older and more powerful than our Crazy. Although Crazy may not admit to it. Blighter's presence is so great you can almost taste it. And we can feel him getting closer. It's the feeling you get right before going into battle, nervousness, an unease and desire to do something, anything. That deep-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach turning that reminds you of why other people are paying you to be there instead of them. The newcomer doesn't know why he feels the way he does, so he's becoming more nervous and figgity. He was probably with us last summer during the riots in Southern Ulmshelm. But that's different than facing overwhelming odds and knowing the only way home is through the enemy when every part of your body is screaming at you to run away, far away. When the waxing moon sets, Blighter will come across. This will be the last meeting before we break our contract with the Prelate. Our duty tour in Ulmshelm will end. Then maybe we can serve someplace warmer. I look back over the field, about three hours of marching in that direction and I could be in the tavern and the only cold I'd have to worry about is my dinner getting cold. Damn the Prelate. If he weren't such an obnoxious fool we wouldn't be here, I wouldn't be here, waiting in the cold to escort a wizard to the General. If the Prelate had been more prompt in payment and not let his own soldiers attack us we wouldn't be here. Maybe if the Prelate had just had enough backbone to handle his Senators we wouldn't be here. And if wishes were wings we would all fly home. The quarter full moon is bright and I can see it clearly though the bare tree branches. Goddess, I think addressing the moon, why couldn't you make me a better farmer? Why am I not around a good fire eating the fruits of my father's fields, dry and inside? Why did you make me a fighter? And why did you ever let me become an officer? It was one of those nights everybody would be questioning their gods. The reply I imagined the Moon would make was that this was the answer to my mother's prayers. I think she had more sway with you anyway. Being the fourth grown son of a potato farmer meant I wasn't going to get much help going into the world. At best I could hope that my older brothers would hire me to help keep their farms going. My mother prayed for a miracle for her youngest son and the next week the Brigade came marching through my little village looking for recruits. My parents took the two gold coins we call the "blood payment" for my enlistment. Twelve years later here I am, an officer in a troop of killers, standing around in the cold mud, waiting to break our word. I'm sure the Blighter and Bane, the other Empire Wizard, don't feel the cold. I wonder if Crazy does. It's impossible to tell under that mound of rags he wears. I guess they could be thick enough to be a coat. Even with all the loose strips of cloth on the outside I'll bet he's pretty warm under there. He seemed to sweat just as much as the rest of us in the summer. After the newcomer rearranged his uniform I told him I was going to the fires. He's like all the other newcomers we've recruited since we came to Ulmshelm three years ago. They're all tall and lanky like these trees. Not much military discipline, but then the new recruits don't learn the advantage of that until they've been in real combat. But then, they brought us closer to brigade strength. When we came to Ulmshelm guarding a caravan, we had less that two hundred men. Now we're almost at four hundred. Of course, if the Prelate had allowed us to actively recruit, we could have been a lot stronger. But then, that's why he forbade us. "I can handle anything," the newcomer said while straightening his sword. He doesn't look as confident as he tries to sound. "No," I replied, "you'll call for help and we'll all handle it." He looks properly chagrined as I walk away. He'll be spelled before Blighter comes over for his final meeting. Only us veterans will be on duty then. The newcomers never think about things that way, I thought, while I warmed my hands by the fire back in camp. I could see other veterans warming up before the shift change. Those on duty knew what was happening, or would know before the night was over. You could see the edge in their eyes, this was the turning point. There's something about the eyes of someone who has seen combat up close. It's a mix of surprise and alertness, of fear and determination, set lips and whites around the eyes. I saw those looks staring back at me. I didn't like the plan. When stuck between a rock and a hard place, I'd choose the rock anytime. A rock can be warm, a hard place is always cold in my experience. But when the officers voted, I was on the losing end. Only a few of us thought that switching sides was not in the Company's best interests. We wanted to simply leave, find employment at one of the other coastal cities. After the other officers realized that all the newcomers wouldn't roll over, and would have to be put down, they rethought their positions. By that time it was too late. Besides, there's not much room for a group of mercenaries in a land ruled by the Empire. At least with this new contract we'll be in the pay of the Empire. I walked back to my post refastening my outer coat and sword belt, trying to keep the warmth in. I should get a better scabbard for my sword. At least that's what Crazy says. It's about the only good piece of equipment I have, a prize from a battle with the northern tribes a year back. I lost my brigade issued sword by plunging it in the side of a tribesman leader and he wouldn't let go of it, so I took his sword. He wasn't using it anymore. Our rules of share made it my property and it turned out to be a good trade. The chain mail bishop's mantle, our standard issue armor, kept the warmth all the way back to the post and until Stumpy relieved my companion. "Think he'll break when we go over," Stumpy said after the newcomer left, looking in the direction the newcomer went. It was still an hour before we would meet Blighter's guard. "Don't know. He doesn't have any attachments. No family or girlfriend. I don't think he cares for the Prelate," I grumbled. "You wouldn't have brought any warmth with you?" Stumpy was still peering in the direction that the newcomer had gone. "Nope. The General doesn't want us going soft. So no hot rocks for tonight." He turned toward me finally convinced that the newcomer had left. "Besides, I think it's part of showing the Blighter we're tough enough." After that we didn't talk. What was there to say? Stumpy joined the brigade just a little before I did, although we got our brigade names at the same battle. He's shorter than I am, but that's not why we call him that. He used to work as an enforcer for a local gang in his home town, developed a reputation for using an axe. Along the way someone had broken his nose, probably more than once. He also had the intimidation stare down cold, probably came in handy collecting from deadbeats. The effect when he looked directly at you was like facing one of those snub-nosed guard dogs. No matter how we tried to break him of fighting with an axe he usually pulled one from some place in the middle of the fight. So we stopped trying. He's my best Sergeant. I thought he wouldn't take orders from me until he told me he never wanted to be an officer. "Didn't want to be responsible for the stupid orders I have to follow," he told me. Plus I only get one more share then he draws. That's not much of an incentive to be an officer. About a half an hour after the moon set Stumpy tapped my shoulder and pointed about five hundred yards out. I could sense where I was to look before I saw the five or six figures moving in and out of the shadows. Blighter had come. I could feel him from this distance. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, and that turning in my stomach had changed to being a stone. Other parts of me were screaming, Run. As you value your life run. We judged their approach. Stumpy took off to form up a reception party while I waited for the wizard. Before Blighter and his guard had made it half way across the field, Stumpy returned with Tumble and twenty of our guys. I felt a little more confident then. I hadn't noticed that I was gripping my sword hilt so tightly until I tried to unwrap my fingers. Captain Tumble had brought a lantern with him. After he saw where Blighter was he unshuttered the lamp, our pre-arranged signal that all was well. I didn't feel that way. We stood there waiting, watching them approach. They formed up into a loose group and came across the open ground toward our position. There were five of them. As they got closer it was easier to see that they were who we were expecting, at least from the side we were expecting. The brass edging of their uniforms caught what little light there was. From the way they walked it was clear these were all long-time veterans. Crazy shambled up to me and pointed out Blighter. One of the most feared sorcerers in the world, Blighter was shorter than the rest of his company. Crazy also said he could feel Blighter better than the rest of us, that's how Crazy knew which from which. He said something about a glamour reversal, "Blighter could probably cast it in his sleep." Crazy looked at me. He probably saw that combat look in my face. "Lighten up, farmboy," he said. "No matter how powerful the wizard, he still pisses the same as you and me. And a lucky drunkard with a knife could still ruin his day." The tension broke. You could almost hear our reception group relax a little. The others, Crazy said, were all Generals. I didn't believe him until the one in front spoke to Tumble. "I'm General Kir of the Fifth Legion. I come under the flag of parley." He was a stocky guy with a scar running from above his left ear to below his chin. Mostly muscle beneath winter cloaks. He had a broadsword at his side. All of them did except Blighter, who held to the back. Captain Tumble stepped forward. Kir was a full head shorter than he. "I don't see the flag," said Tumble in an even tone. He had his command face on. That was the face that said he didn't want to hear how good the beer was or how pretty the girls were, just answer why the hell we were making such a racket late at night. Tumble had the lean face and body of a guy who does his morning exercises all day. "It's dark, you can't see flags in the dark," Kir said, drawing close to Tumble, staring him directly in the collar bone. The scar on Kir's face seemed to bulge as he worked his jaw. "I've been polite enough to introduce myself, who are you?" "I'm Captain Tumble of Talon's Brigade. You were given words of passing, let's cut to the point," Tumble spoke quickly drawing himself up even taller. Some one in their group laughed out loud. Kir motioned him to silence. He stepped back and looked up into Tumble's face. "A man of business our Captain Tumble. Our words of passage are 'warm weather'." "I wish." That's when Tumble cracked that smile that said he was about to lay down four Kings, finishing an unbelievable run in Swords and taking all our money. "Welcome General. My orders are to escort you and your party to General Tabor's tent. If you'll follow me." Tumble turned his back to Kir and started off to the meeting site outside of camp. "You don't want our swords, Captain," asked Kir walking up to his side. "I would have my guards disarm any party before leading them into camp." Tumble turned his head to look at Kir while he kept walking toward the trees. "With all do respect, sir, I'm not one of your guards. I have no reason to doubt the capabilities of my company." Tumble turned back around to watch where he was going. "In any case, my guess is that armed or unarmed you're just as dangerous." "Good guess," replied Kir, smiling. I found myself walking beside another one of the generals. Blighter insulated himself from us, walking in the center of his company. He was smaller than the rest. A stocky squarish type of guy, my father would have called him, "a good plow puller." He wore a heavier coat than the rest of them and he didn't have any armor that I could see. The others had hardened leather armor under their cloaks that made little creaking and swishing noise as they walked. What little skull I could see under Blighter's cap looked completely bald. Unlike the rest of us, and his own company, Blighter looked like he was freshly shaved. This was the man we were going to break our contract with the Prelate for. He was coming to finish the deal. Until now we had only dealt with Kir. Nobody spoke again until we reached a field tent erected outside of the main camp to hold this meeting. Our General walked out of the tent having been told of our approach by one of the fifty people we had around the area. Tabor was easy to tell against the others. The General's tallness and girth was easy to pick out of a crowd. Tabor was as tall as Tumble and looked slightly over weight, but we all knew that to be muscle. His face had softer edges to it. He could make you feel like you were his favorite son one minute and the next minute he would be handing you your head on a plate. As we walked into the ring of light around the tent our honor guard, as such, was relieved. I saw General Kir walk up to Tabor and clasp his arm in greeting. I couldn't hear what they said together, but they were smiling as they turned to go into the tent. Blighter, the other generals, Tumble and the rest of our Captains followed them in. I could see them turn up the lamps in the tent. There were enough fires around to make the place almost warm. Crazy found me by one of the fires warming my behind, staring out into the forest. "Blighter's got a lot of balls coming here like that." "What do you mean, Crazy?" I saw that Crazy had taken off his cap and was wringing it even more out of shape, his bald head reflecting in the firelight. "He's got four guards who all look like they could handle anything," I said turning around to face the fire with him. I've never really seen Crazy warm his hands, but he seems to get something from the fire. "Four guards? Maybe you missed it Junior but those were Bane's four Generals. The top level of her command. You know, the whole command structure." Crazy smiled at me. "Bane's generals. Why wouldn't he have come with his own?" "The rumor is that this is Bane's campaign," Crazy said a little louder so other people could hear. "Blighter is just here to make sure it goes off well. Can never be too cautious when you're re-building an Empire." He rolled back on his heels and bounced, proud of himself for instructing the clueless officer. "How come you know so much, Crazy?" "Live four hundred years and I'll tell you," he said. "So why didn't Bane come himself," I questioned. "Herself," Crazy corrected. He said a little softer just so I could hear him, "I got a feeling this is something Blighter wanted on his own." He turned to me and leaned in with that twinkle in his eye that said he knew where the tavern keeper kept his good ale. "Still think we're screwed?" "More than ever."
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