The mercenary trilogy bo.., p.13
The Mercenary Trilogy Boxed Set, page 13
part #1 of The Mercenary Series
Corin nodded as the frustration and fury colored his face. “You are right,” he said. “And I can wait; if this Oliam’s still alive, I shall find him too.”
They joined the others and returned to the shore where their horses were tied to bushes hidden beneath the cliff edge.
“One last thing,” Yazrana said as they mounted their horses. She slung her bow free of its leather holder in her saddle. Rana selected an arrow, tore a strip from her shirt, then reached inside her trouser pocket and retrieved flint and striker. Flame started, she lit the cloth, and, after waiting to see the blaze spread, nocked arrow to bowstring and pulled back.
That shaft arced high and wide, cutting through morning air and striking the blood-soaked deck of The Red Kraken. An hour later, as they approached the walls of Cappel Cormac, Yazrana glanced back and smiled at the dark trail of smoke cloaking the horizon to their east. Beside her Corin rode in silence.
Chapter 13| A Pause in the Struggle
A week later Corin had walked into the coffeehouse and stopped in amazement upon seeing Darrel seated on a chair and chatting excitedly with Delemar and his friend Rigan. Corin rushed forward and, laughing, embraced his friend.
The big news was half the regiment was back in Permio. There were things happening in the outside world, and as usual Darrel had the details.
“It’s all about to flare up again,” Darrel told them as Corin yelled to Sulina for ale and food. “Caswallon’s the cause—that’s what the commander says. The king’s councilor claims both Belmarius and our Lord Halfdan have been secretly plotting to usurp Halfdan’s brother. Of course that’s ridiculous, but this Caswallon is persuasive, and already many believe him up in Kella City.”
“What’s Halfdan doing?” Corin thanked Sulina, who returned with a shabby tray loaded with ale flask, four mugs, and some loaves of bread. “Thanks, love,” he said. Sulina smiled at him and vanished back into the kitchens.
“Staying put in Point Keep; he’s out of harm’s way there. Belmarius is kicking up a fuss though. Oh, Corin, I almost forgot. The commander has requested that you accompany me back to Port Keep. He wants to ask how things are proceeding down here.”
“Why me?” Corin asked. “What about Del or Rana?” Corin felt a mix of excitement and annoyance. He liked the idea of visiting Point Keep, but that just meant he’d be further from getting any news about Oliam and his sister’s fate. But if the commander had ordered his presence, then there was nothing Corin could do about that now. So he might as well enjoy the trip north. “What’s so special about me?”
“I don’t know—I guess they’re too useful, and you’re not.” Darrel stuffed bread in his mouth and swallowed.
“Thanks,” Corin said wryly.
“No problem.” Darrel, now a sergeant, had done well for himself in Point Keep running stores and supplies and creaming off a nice little bonus. Then Corin asked him about the other recruits. Darrel informed him that Greggan fared well enough, and Tomato and Sleagon stayed alternately cheerful and dour as before. But the soldier’s life had changed Marric—so Darrel said. Gone was the arrogant bully, replaced by a quiet, thoughtful giant of a man whom Darrel said he’d had actually come to like. Corin found that hard to believe.
“Clorte’s dead. Jorl too.” Darrel sipped his ale. “That lass is pretty.” He’d caught Sulina’s eye and winked at her. She’d smiled and walked briskly past. “Clorte died in the forests east of the fortress.”
“Barbarians from Leeth?”
“Nah, boor hunt. Poor fucker fell from his horse and broke his neck.”
“What about Jorl?”
“Caught the flux a few weeks back. Died just before I left. Shame. I liked Jorl.”
***
“I’ll not be gone long; the commander just wants updates—so Darrel says. Once I’ve informed him on the bugger all that’s been happening, I’ll head back down.” Corin lay next to Yazrana in the bed, her naked sweaty body pressed against his own. They’d just made love, and Corin lay on his back staring dreamily up at the ceiling.
“Take your time,” Rana said. “You could use a break from this fucking heat—you’re a northerner after all.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“Don’t get soft on me, Corin an Fol.” Yazrana rolled free of his grasp and stood beside the drapes watching the huge white moon slide out from above a rooftop. Corin watched her nakedness and felt his manhood rising again. “You do not own me—never make that mistake.”
“I’m sorry,” Corin said. “I’ll miss you—that’s all.”
“You mean you’ll miss this.” Rana turned and approached him again, thrusting her hips forward inches from Corin’s face.
Corin grinned. “Funny you should say that.” He pulled her back onto the bed, and laughing, they fumbled and sweated the rest of that night away.
Next morning, Corin rode north with Darrel and a dozen others now under their sergeant’s wing.
***
“You’ve grown strong,” Halfdan had told Corin the afternoon he’d arrived at Point Keep after three long weeks riding north. “It pleases me to see it.” Later he’d explained how the Wolves had abandoned the dreary barracks outside Port Wind, preferring the isolation of Point Keep.
“This old fortress is as good a place as any,” the commander told him as Corin sat in his study. “Far from Caswallon’s scheming and plotting. From here we can watch and wait at a safe distance until the bright day comes when my brother the High King sees sense again and throws his councilor out.”
“Is he as bad as they say—this Caswallon? I’d heard rumors he dabbles in sorcery, My Lord.” Corin had reported all he’d heard while living in Cappel Cormac. There was little the commander didn’t know already, and again Corin wondered why he’d been summoned back here.
“Caswallon wants me dead, and his enemies seem to disappear at frequent intervals,” Halfdan said. “So I’m keeping a safe distance until I know what he’s up to. As to whether Caswallon’s a warlock—who knows? He’s a villain for sure. Ambitious and dangerous, and slowly murdering my brother with drugs. That much I’m convinced of.”
“What will you do, my lord?”
“Watch and wait. Events are taking place all over. Those savages from Leeth are up to something. Every time we fare into the forests nearby, we discover evidence of their being around. Cart tracks, boot scuffs, campfires abandoned in haste. Their king has long had eyes on our country. They’re just waiting for a reason to attack.
“And sergeant Darrel informs me that Imbala’s son is already uniting the tribes again. And he’s good at it too—smarter than his father, so Darrel tells me. Then there is Caswallon and his plotting. But that’s not all. That hornet’s nest Crenna has a new ruler. A cruel, dangerous man who was once known and feared as an assassin in Kelthaine.”
“The dark Prince—I’ve heard talk of him.” Corin said nothing of his own recent involvement with Crenna.
“Rael Hakkenon, yes. No more than a street urchin from Kranek. He became a gang leader while still a boy, then after being hunted down took to the hills. Years later he showed up as a pirate chief in Sturn over on Crenna’s rugged west coast, then an assassin. And now he’s lord of the island. This world makes no sense, Corin an Fol.”
“How long must I stay here, my lord?”
“Gods, man, are you that eager to return to the desert? Most the lads can’t wait to get away. Or is it Yazrana?” Halfdan’s eyes narrowed, and Corin wondered where this was going.
“I just feel that I’m needed down there.”
“I have something for you,” Halfdan said after a moment’s awkward silence between them. He produced a gold broach shaped to resemble a wolf’s head—a beautiful pin three inches in diameter. Corin was amazed by this generosity from the commander, a man he had never thought liked him.
“Delemar sent word of your deeds in Permio. You have earned this, Corin an Fol. Now return to your friends in Cappel Cormac and give my regards to Yazrana. Damn fine woman, that one.”
“Will that be all, my lord?”
“Yes, ye.,” Halfdan waved a hand, and Corin took the hint. He closed the door behind him and ventured back to the hall where sergeant Darrel and his men were dicing at tables.
***
Halfdan stared at the door as it closed. He ran his hands through his thinning hair and sighed. So difficult seeing the boy again, but he’d needed to know how Corin was faring. He looked older than his twenty-one years. Lean, tough, healthy and strong. A man to be proud of, and a man who—both Yazrana and Delemar had written him about Corin—had proven himself as dependable and solid as any while under attack.
Halfdan wished he could ride south with Corin and drown his worries in the Permian chaos. But he had to keep two eyes on Caswallon. Point Keep was out of the councilor’s reach but near enough for Halfdan’s scouts to gather what news they could. You had to keep your enemies close in this world.
And then there was Taskala. Seeing that rough scar on Corin’s face reinforced Halfdan’s belief that he’d been right to recall his swordmaster. Taskala hated Corin and now appeared to hate Yazrana too. Something had happened down there that hadn’t reached Halfdan’s ears.
Taskala had been useful in flushing out the odd barbarian in the woods. He’d found and hanged a dozen or so. That said, he was bored most the time, and Halfdan knew the man well enough to know he couldn’t keep Taskala away from Permio much longer.
***
Corin had only been back two weeks when he received a letter from the commander informing him of a special task. There was a merchant called Silon residing in Cappel Cormac. A wealthy fellow who, when Corin met him, he didn’t much like.
This Silon was some kind of contact in Permio. He conducted most of his business down here and had gotten into some kind of trouble with the sultan. Halfdan’s letter ordered Corin to seek the man out in Cappel Docks and escort him safely back to Port Sarfe—or, more precisely, to the huge marble villa the merchant maintained in the hills close by.
Corin had seen the merchant home and returned inside of a week. They hadn’t spoken much during that voyage. To Corin, Silon seemed arrogant and aloof, and also vain—judging by the large diamond stud in his ear. But, apparently, he was a trusted ally of the commander. Corin didn’t care for the man and had accomplished his task briskly and been glad to return to what he now considered home—the coffeehouse in the seediest corner of Cappel Cormac.
***
And that was where Scolly found him deep in his cups. The older Wolf had returned south with the others a few weeks back. Scolly had been out in the desert scouting and had news of new developments. “We’re back on,” he said, eyeing the shady clientele and sliding onto the bench next to Corin. “The tribes have found a new leader.”
“His son Barakani—this is old news, Scolly.”
“His army of thirty thousand strong isn’t old news,” Scolly said. “The sultan’s panicking. Word is, he’s written the high king begging for aid again.”
“I bet Belmarius is happy about that.”
“Caswallon has promised the loan of the Bears and us Wolves against this new threat.”
“That was nice of him.” Corin waved as Yazrana slid into the room and joined them.
“Caswallon has promised the Tigers too, if needed,” Scolly said, smiling at Rana as she took a seat beside them. “Though I doubt General Perani’s tossers will get their hands dirty.” Scolly hated the Tiger regiment, as did most of the older Wolves. And for good reason, as they were clearly in Caswallon’s pay, and their commander, the dour capable Perani, was now considered his lapdog. “But as usual, we’ll get the dirty work.”
“What’s the plan?” Corin had pulled his hood over this face to hide his fierce expression. Whatever it was, he was more than ready.
Corin liked drinking here. It kept him sharp. There was always tension and usually three or four fights every night. It was an atmosphere that ensured he stayed sober on most occasions. That said, he missed the action of the desert frontier.
“Border country.” Scolly slurped his wine. “That’s the weak link. Ugh, this wine is crap,” he complained. “Word is, Barakani’s a fox who’d run rings around that fat slug in Sedinadola. The warlord’s spies will already be expecting our boys and the Bears on the south road. They’ll have scouts all along the banks of the Liaho, far east as Helbrone Island and the Fallowheld. He’ll plan an ambush, Corin, and we’ll have to be ready for that when it happens. In the meantime, our orders are simply to watch and wait.
Chapter 14 | Betrayal
“He’s back.” said Yazrana
She watched the long line of horsemen file south along the dusty road from Raleen. The Wolves were back. Rana and Corin and the others in Cappel Cormac had been ordered to meet the rest of the regiment south of Helbrone Island, the ancient bridge having been determined too risky to cross as Barakani’s nomads were rumored to be crawling throughout that countryside.
“Who’s back?” Corin grunted thanks as she handed him the spyglass. He set sights on the column, over five hundred strong, dark leather cloaks flapping in the breeze as they rode neatly two abreast. Corin cursed when he recognized the bulky rider at the front. Taskala wore a fur-trimmed cloak despite the heat. “Figures,” Corin said after moment watching. “He’d not want to miss out.”
The riders approached the low-lying hills where Rana, Corin, and the other scouts lay on their bellies scanning the terrain for any sign of movement from the enemy. Word had reached them that this Barakani was on the move and had sent a large force north to challenge any army crossing the Liaho from the Four Kingdoms—though most of his followers were mustering north of the royal city Sedinadola.
The rumors were correct—Barakani was better organized than his father had been. Plus, he had the motivation of vengeance, and that promised a long and bloody war. Something Corin wanted no part of.
“Let’s hope we can clear this up quickly and get back to Cappel,” Corin muttered. He’d been planning to ride to Syrannos to see what he could discover about the merchant Oliam. But now he was caught in all this mess of politics, civil war, egos, and strategies. None of it made much sense to Corin.
“Some hope.” Rana shook her head. “I know what you are thinking—this delays your own affairs. But this is what we are, Corin. It’s our profession. So put up and shut up like everyone else.”
“But it makes no sense,” Corin said. “Defending South Kaelin from invasion—that makes sense. But getting stuck in the middle of a foreign war between some zealous bandit and a sultan, who I’ve heard is just another despot. I mean, why are we here, Yaz? Peacekeepers? That will work.”
His irony fell flat when Rana didn’t respond, and Corin just stared at her, then shrugged. “I know—not our place to question our orders.”
Corin had seen a lot of movement during the last week, and they’d nearly been caught out twice, when nomads spotted and chased them back into the hills. Eventually they’d lost their pursuers after switching back and heading deeper into the desert. A risky tactic that had been touch and go.
But that was two days past, and they’d seen nothing of the enemy since. Doubtless Barakani—or whoever led the rebels up here—was studying the region for the best place to spring his trap. Corin suspected he knew the place the warlord would choose: Craggy Corners—a long, narrow ravine about twenty miles east of Cappel Cormac.
“That’s where they will strike,” Corin insisted that evening as they joined their companions and shared supper and news outside their tents. Taskala had ordered a large camp constructed on a wide, flat hill with sweeping views north to the Liaho and south across the arid brushlands. A good position, hard to attack without being seen, and from where they could scout out enemy movement and then strike the first blow in this latest conflict.
Taskala ordered ditches dug, and stakes were driven into the ground, their tips sharpened, and keen-eyed archers were posted at turns behind them. Guard duty was doubled, and grog was banned. Taskala’s plan was to gather all the information he could and then strike fast and hard.
He didn’t want Belmarius taking the credit as he’d done after Imbala’s revolt. And that general was on his way too. The last report said Belmarius had left Wynais and was leading the entire regiment of Bears along the Great South Road—some two thousand strong. The high king’s orders were to crush the nomads once and for all, doubtless following numerous messages exchanged via pigeon between Caswallon and his new best friend, the sultan.
“So why hasn’t Halfdan come?” Corin was both disappointed and perplexed by the commander’s absence. All but a few of his regiment had returned to Permio, and Corin knew Halfdan would want to be with his men.
“Kelsalion summoned him to Kella City,” Scolly told Corin as he sat on a log and chewed a sausage he’d purloined from the mess tent. “If you ask me, it stinks of Caswallon’s grubby paws. They say the high king can’t take a piss without that conniver knowing which way he’s aiming his cock.”
“Why doesn’t he stay in Point Keep? Fuck this Caswallon and his lies; the commander’s risking his neck returning to Kella. An if the high king is willing to believe his brother a traitor, then fuck him too.”
Scolly clicked his tongue. “That’s dangerous talk, Corin an Fol; I’d keep your lips together were I you.”
“I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking, including you, Scolly.” Corin glared at his friend and then got up and paced around the camp.
***
“What’s the matter with that boy?” Scolly asked Rana, who was watching Corin with calm, thoughtful eyes.
“It’s a long story—ask Del. I’m too weary to discuss it.”
“Have a sausage, sweetheart.” Scolly shoved his fork in the fire and pulled out a sizzler. “You worry too much, Rana.”
“It’s the reason I’m still alive,” she answered, cursing as she burnt her finger on the sausage. Yazrana was worried. Something told her that they were out of their depth here. Corin was right; this wasn’t their fight.
