Mercenary War - Book 2

Chapter 8

         Rocks slid behind the mercenary hunters as their horses came to the end of their descent and started across the sandy expanse. Grass still grew, but it was longer, and topped with what looked like wheat or the tail of some animal. It was also more sparse here and there were less animals. At least, there were less animals they were used to seeing. Along the sand skittered large crabs, gulls flew overhead and sand birds that were thought to be myth until now ran across the sand after the crabs. The sand runners, as the birds were called, had long beaks, long legs, and sleek bodies. They were able to swim if necessary, and had brown and gray feathers, helping them blend in with the beach grasses and sand. The horses plodded along, their heads lifted and nostrils flaring; taking in the salt air and the new smells. Ventris yelled to Raffine and threw his arm forward before whispering to his steed and thundering ahead toward the dark objects looming a great distance ahead. Letting out a whoop, Raffine kicked his mount into a gallop and raced after. The others shook their heads and chuckled, hastening to join the two racers leaving them behind.

         Fallon leaned low over his horse, the crisp yet damp air, whipping his shaggy hair around and whooshing by his ears. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the thudding hoofbeats in the sand below and around him. Images of their venture played through his head. The gore, the death, the violence, and the thrill of it all. Then came, unbidden, images of his wife and child. Memories of her on their wedding day, looking so stunning, he was nearly breathless. There were memories of her giving birth, her screams echoing through the halls for hours as he paced the room and hall before returning to her side to hug and kiss her. When their son was born, his chest had tightened and he felt as though his heart would burst. The first time he had reached up to him and smiled and the cries when he left the boys room all filled his mind. And then the thoughts of Calya, his wife, his queen, shaking with hurt and frustration as he continuously acted as though she wasn’t enough. He remembered all the times he handed their son off to a servant so he could yell at her; the times he had locked her in their room and held her hostage while he went berserk. At the end of it all, she loved him and would even heal all of his self imposed injuries. She hadn’t even begged him not to leave. She knew him well enough not to, but now that he was thinking back on it he wished she had. Maybe if she had begged him and cried or wept and blocked his exit he would have found another way. But she did not. Not until the end, when she ran, child in her arms, skirts bunched in her hand, tears on her face to see her husband off. His heart broke as he rode. He scanned the water to the right of him as he rode and cursed himself in his head. Nothing would ever make things right. Nothing he did would fix the wrongs he had committed. He had trained men to fight to the death and match the evils they were fighting. He had broken at least one man, was responsible for the death of multiple others, and for what? To end his nightmares? To kill his demons? Was that all this was? Was this entire venture for his sick satisfaction and revenge? Shutting his eyes tight against his own thoughts again, he tried to breath, but his chest hurt. He slowed his horse, hearing that the others had slowed as well. Opening his eyes again, he saw that they had come near the port town.

         Steeling himself once more, he smirked and raised a hand. “Welcome to Waterhaven. It is the only port city on the map… or off it, too. We will have a ship carry us north and drop us at an unmanned port further up the coast and backtrack. Hopefully, that will throw off any pursuit that may be trying to track us to Harta or any other villages or cities. The mercenaries are despised at the port. We had tried to do business here many years ago and when we were refused, the port was destroyed. Those who survived returned to rebuild and the two groups have ignored each other and avoided each other ever since.”

         “It sounds like there was not enough benefit in destroying the port a second time then,” came Ventris’ response.

         Fallon nodded, without taking his eyes off of the tall buildings and warehouses. “Exactly. The mercenaries may enjoy raiding and plundering, but there is not enough money or overall gain from destroying the town again. There are few women here and fewer children. Most of those are sailors with their parents and do not remain ashore for long stretches. Mercenaries do not like wasting their time where there is no profit to be gained, whether in women or in wealth.”

         Kole rode up to Fallon, his voice low. “Sir, are you alright? You seem off since we arrived on the beach.”

         The king nodded silently and turned to the rest of the small group. “Follow my lead. And none of you are to go off by yourselves or do any carousing or have any relationships with any woman. Nor are any of you to drink any alcohol offered. These may not be bad men, but they are poor and would drop a lot of morals to feed their families better or live better themselves.”

         Opening his eyes, Dane realized that he had not died. In fact, he was healing quite well. Calya was sleeping in a corner chair, her mouth slightly open, and her head resting somehow elegantly against the wall beside her. He shifted painfully and let out a gasp of pain. She shot up out of her chair, her eyes wide with terror. Then she saw him on the bed, frozen in surprise at her reaction, and she hurried over to him. “I apologize, Dane. Your gasp woke me from a dark dream and I hadn't realized it was you at first.”

         “No need to apologize, my queen. But I must ask. How am I alive? I was dying. I know I was.”

         “Yes, you were. It seems that after Kikarii returned with his army to Tant, Habbi and Ven decided that they would make their way, very slowly, north in hopes that they would be of help. In the wake of all of the mercenary raids, they were slowed down considerably in their journey. They arrived the same day as the attack. One of the older men on the wall recognized Habbi from many years ago. He was just a boy when the healer left, but his father was a soldier for the king back then and Habbi had saved his life when he returned from the battle that took his lord. You were lucky. Had Habbi arrived any later, you would have never survived.” She faltered, her breath catching and her hand going to her chest. Without thinking, he reached out and grasped the queen's shoulder gently. “My lady, are you hurt?”

         She grimaced a moment longer and then shook her head wearily. “No. I am fine, Dane. Thank you. I just over exerted myself is all. The battle was a rough one and not one any of us could easily recover from.” She stood and stumbled, before righting herself again. Dane stood, gasped again and dropped back to the bed in pain. Calya turned to him sternly. “Stay there, Dane. That is a command and I expect you to obey it.”

         He opened his mouth to argue, but realized that despite how close they appeared to be in recent days, he was indeed, just a soldier, and she was his queen, his monarch. His objection fell dead before it was even voiced. The queen simply nodded in approval and slowly stood upright and limped out of the room.

         When the door closed behind her, she dropped to the floor, gasping quietly. “Your highness!” Gammir’s voice sounded from down the hall. “Arenn! Take Trayzer and go find Cornelius!”

         The girl took off at a run as the older man helped the woman to her feet. Calya leaned heavily on his arm, refusing to let him carry her. She was a queen all the way through and would walk with as much dignity as possible. Four days had passed and she had still not recovered from the battle. Even he could tell from simply listening to Brax’s account, that she had severely damaged herself internally. This was not something that merely sleep could fix. She had been weak and in immense pain for days and it had not lessened. While she refused to show Dane the extent of the toll she paid for her part in the victory, everyone had noticed. It was not something she could hide from everyone no matter how desperately she tried. She carried on her duties as best as possible, attempting to oversee reconstruction and reinforcing of the walls, and trying to tweak the system they had for safety purposes. But each day, she would doze off on her throne a little earlier and sleep for just a minute longer. It was clear to all who saw her that she was failing and would not be able to continue. Yet she was Calya, queen of Kezna, and she was a warrior of a queen. She refused to be coddled or carried or looked after. All of her attention was given to caring for her child and sustaining, improving, and protecting the kingdom her husband had helped in rebuilding.

         However, Gammir was done with obeying her majesty just because she was the queen. He hollered as Cornelius rounded the corner. “Get Habbi now!” The old man stood there, staring at the woman, her chest heaving, her face beaded with sweat, and her knees shaking under her weight. He knew she was going to lose her life to whatever she had done during the battle. She was in agony and only he knew the true extent of it. Yet she held herself together and stared at him hard. Even knowing what he must do, he hesitated, remembering the life that drained from the old healer when he had brought Kikarii to him. Seeing the sunken features, the thinned hair, and the pained way he moved about afterwards had ripped at his very soul. And here, he was forced to ask it of his friend again. But this time, he could not refuse. This was his queen, the leader of the nation and both he and Habbi had sworn allegiance to her. With a heaviness in his heart, he rushed out, calling out for Gammir to lay her down where Habbi could treat her.

         The dirt streets between the tall, dark buildings made the entirety of Waterhaven look ominous and more than a little uninviting. Whatever Fallon had told them before stayed with them. It’s not that they were afraid since they feared very little at this point. But the feeling of being watched and studied made their skin crawl. A boy ran by their horses and shouted that they better “watch their purses before an old seadog get ‘em.” Fallon glared at him as the boy looked over his shoulder. The kid stopped laughing and decided it was better to disappear than to mess with these strangers any longer.

         The smell of the salty sea became rank with the stench of dead fish, even deader birds, and the sweat and liquor from drunk sailors. Ishain wrinkled his nose in disgust and wished he would lose his sense of smell. No such blessing was granted and they all suffered in silence as they made their slow progress toward the docks. They seemed to wander aimlessly for nearly an hour before the docks came into view. Fallon whistled a short sharp tone, getting a shorter, burly man’s attention before he dismounted and motioned for his companions to remain in their saddles.

         “Sir!” The lord called loudly. “I am looking for a man by the name of Grentior. Or perhaps his next of kin if he is no longer here.”

         The other, somehow much dirtier man, looked him over with seeming disgust. The moments passed as the sounds of birds, men screaming, women screaming, and hammers, saws and other sounds of building echoed. As if finally satisfied that Fallon was a legitimate customer he nodded and pointed to another dock. “Old Grey is down there, four docks down and on the starboard side of his lady. He don’t take kindly to strangers asking for favors, though. If you are here for business, I hope your purse is full o’ gold. He’s a mean seadog to upset, that one. I warned ya.”

         Nodding his thanks, Fallon remounted and trotted away, followed by his men. The shorter man shook his head and muttered something about young folks and their horrible use of time bothering important men at work. The small entourage reached the correct dock and Fallon again dismounted and walked onto the dock. He yelled for Old Grey from the boardwalk and waited. When no one answered he raised his voice. “Grentior! It’s Fallon! I would advise you to come off of your boat and speak with me!” His comrades looked back and forth between them, unease spreading. Then they heard the yelling from in the boat.

         “Ah! You mercen’ries! You all the same! No respect for real men! Why should I come down to you, bastard? You aren’t man enough to kill an old dog like me? Come up and throw me overboard, will ya?” The head of an older man popped up over the side of the large ship. He was about to yell some more when he caught sight of Fallon and his men. “Who are you?”

         “I am Fallon, as I said. If you don’t believe me, you can look at my mark, old dog. Now will you speak with me or not?”

         The sailor looked at the king’s men. “Well… who’re they?”

         The lord glanced back and answered. “These are my men. How clueless are you sailors here? Have you learned nothing?”

         Old Grey clambered down off the ship and squinted at Fallon, his face wrinkled in confusion and his blue eyes skeptical. His graying sandy brown hair was long and pulled back in a ponytail and his beard was a bit overdue for a trim and a wash. His clothing was ripped and soiled in so many places that the original color was unrecognizable. He was round, but not obese, and muscled, but not visibly fit. “Impossible. My eyes be lying to me, I’m sure!” Fallon turned and showed him his mark and then looked him in the eyes again. “So, you here to kill me, eh? Okay, here ya go.” He lowered his head and seemed resigned to die.

         With a wave of his hand, Fallon dismissed his submission. “I am not here to kill you, Grentior. I need a ship from you. I need to hire you to carry us north of the Mordin Mountains and drop us at the dock on the shore. Us and our horses.”

         “Why? I don’t deal with your kind here. You know that. I’m not afraid of dyin’ either.”

         The former mercenary pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance and let out an exasperated sigh. “Listen. I will pay you double what your normal fee would be and I will explain on the way. When can you have your ship ready?”

         “I don’t like this. How do I know you aren’t fixin’ throw me overboard my own lady if I take ya to where ya askin’?”

         Fallon pulled a coin out of the pouch he carried. It was a different bag than he had been using during their journey. And this coin was marked with the royal seal. “I did tell you I would explain everything on the way. Now, would you be so kind as to get a ship ready?”

         Old Grey’s eyes widened and he grabbed the coin in shock. “You… h…how… this. Ya know what this is here? This! Yes! Be back at this dock at dawn!”

         Habbi hobbled in with a cane, his movements slow and pained after his healing of Dane a few days before. Cornelius hated to watch him, but he stayed because he was obligated to. Habbi looked over at his old friend. “Thank you for finding me, old friend. My whole life has been dedicated to the royal family and it has been a privilege.” The prophet looked at the floor and swallowed his sorrow. Habbi came forward another step and stopped at the queen's bedside. He held his hands out on her abdomen and her forehead and a dull light came from his hands. He stiffened and gasped before furrowing his brows and tightening his lips. Calya moved slightly, but had been unconscious for the last twenty minutes or more and remained so now. A low groan exited the healer’s mouth and he coughed. A few drops of blood spattered on the queen’s tunic. Habbi continued to focus and give his life in exchange for that of her majesty's. The minutes dragged on as they stood, watching. Arenn had taken the baby to put him down for a nap, and Gammir had checked on Dane and returned after convincing him to lay back down and that Calya would be taken care of. Cornelius stood, his eyes wet as he watched helplessly. A few servants stood by as well. Habbi muttered unintelligibly and another hurt filled moan escaped his lips. He began to slump forward, but his hands remained firm on his patient. He moved his hands a little as he worked on more places.

         Finally, after nearly thirty minutes, the old healer collapsed on the floor, blood seeping from his mouth, his breathing coming in short rasps. He looked as if he had already passed on, but he managed to speak. “Tell… my queen… that it was my… my… greatest desire to… work for her… family… one last… time.” His eyes closed and his arms went limp. A gasp sounded from a servant, Cornelius rushed forward to take him up in his arms. His breathing was still audible and his heart still beat slowly and unevenly. He exited the room and brought his friend to another, calling for Ven to be brought in to watch over his mentor.

         When he returned, Calya was opening her eyes, her breathing was relaxed and her face smooth and pain free. “Where is Habbi?” When no one answered, she rushed from the room and into the room down the hall, ignoring the remaining discomfort, finding him barely breathing on the bed. Knowing that she could not heal him as he did to her, she wept, her tears wetting his blood speckled face and hands and soaking into his clothing. He had saved her life twice; hers and Kikarii’s and she would be forever grateful.

         Fallon slipped silently onto the dock before sunrise and waited, cloaked and hidden in shadow. Old Grey came walking down the wood loudly, cursing every few steps about something that he was upset about. He stopped a few yards away from the mercenary and looked into the shadows intently. “I knew that bastard would be the death of me. Okay! I see you. Kill me. I know squat and I want to know even less!”
         A humorous laugh echoed from the dark as Fallon stood and pushed his hood back. “Don’t worry old man. If I killed you, who would sail us north?”
         The old man threw a rock into the water beside him. He had really wanted to hit the younger man with it, but he did value at least the thought of living a little longer. “Why you here so early, boy?”
         Fallon ignored the word boy and looked down at the short man. “I was coming to make sure everything was set. I don’t have time to wait, and if I could help in some way to leave sooner, I would prefer that.”
         “She’s all set to sail. I don’t need the help of a land mule like you.”
         The mercenary nodded slowly. “Right. Then I will take my leave.”
         “I didn’t say that. You boys are just awaitin’ for a reason to get out of doin’ stuff. Ya know? If you aren’t here to put me in ma grave, then sit yer hind down again and tell me what’s happenin’.”
         With a resigned sigh, the lord sat on a dirty crate and began to summarize the last few years of his life, beginning with the attack on Barkit. The summary was nowhere near complete, and was incredibly short, but the old sailor stood there with his eyes wide and his face in a state of frozen astonishment. “Well I never. You a king now? And you got yerself a wife and a baby, too? Never woulda guessed it. Not in a million years.” He shook his head and looked around suspiciously. “So, lord, is this an official royal commission?”
         “No, Grey. It is not. No one can know we were here. Do you understand me?” He brows furrowed and his eyes held the old man’s gaze.
         “Yea, yea.” The captain waved his hand. “I got it. You were never here, right? Yea. Yer already payin’ me a month of deliveries and ferries. I got nuthin’ to be complainin’ ‘bout, now do I?”
         “I hope not,” Fallon said. “It would be a shame to refuse the king service when he is trying to assist in keeping your hide still covering your bones.”
         “Like I said, Fallon… I ain’t afraid o’ dyin’.”
         “I get it. Here’s a little extra for your temporary silence.”
         “Temporary?” Old Grey said, completely puzzled.
         The mercenary nodded. “Yes, temporary. Once Harta is destroyed, I couldn’t care less what comes out of that filthy mouth of yours. Don’t even attempt to pretend that you are interested in anything but money.”
         As Fallon finished the last sentence, his men came with the horses and stood nearby on the dock, giving Fallon and Grentior their space in case the conversation was meant to be kept private.
         Grentior motioned to all of them. “Take the horses on and tie ‘em up. I don’t take my chances with land dwellers.”
         Kole let out a snort. “You could have fooled me.” He shook his head and gestured for the others to lead their mounts up the ramp. They loaded the horses and waited patiently. Fallon followed Old Grey up onto the boat and helped him pull up the ramp. The small crew came above deck when they heard the commotion and set to work with the sails, ropes, and all other tasks that needed their attention.

         The sky began to darken and the wind kicked up over the salty water. Clouds rolled in and covered the sun and Grentior yelled for Fallon and his men to go below deck. The boat seemed to buck and rock like an angry horse around the group. Fallon instructed his men to go below deck while he stayed above. The spray from the water against the boat soaked his face and clothing as he moved deftly across the ship to the captain. “Grey!” he hollered. The old man glanced anxiously over his shoulder and looked annoyed that the mercenary was still up with the crew. “Give me the wheel! I can hold it!” the younger man yelled above the howling winds.
         “You don’t know what yer doing!” he screamed back.
         “Then tell me! I’m a half-breed! I can hold the ship in line better than you!”
         Old Grey considered this for a moment before nodding to him to come near and telling him to take the ship’s control and to keep it steady and pointing in a certain direction. A moment later, the old man scurried across the deck to pull some ropes with some of the crew. Fallon spit on the deck, the salty water getting in his mouth and making him grimace. The salt burned his eyes and made him feel sticky. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the storm. Rain had begun to fall, drenching him completely. The little warmth he had left abandoned him and he gripped the control with white knuckled determination.
         Thunder boomed and crackled as lightning split the sky around the sailors. Two hours had passed when another crew member came and took the steering from Fallon. He was surprised at the burning in his arms. It was minimal and already began subsiding when he went below deck, but he was half elven and the fact that normal men held the wheel for hours while sailing gave him a new found respect for Old Grey. When Fallon came to the sleeping quarters for his men, he was met with a very unexpected scene. Kole and Raffine were doubled over at the edge of their beds vomiting violently. Ventris was trying to console the two big men while Ishain sat, covering his ears a few beds away, trying his best to ignore the internal upheaval of his comrades. The mercenary stood, hair and clothing plastered to his face and body, watching the scene unfold in front of him. He put a hand on his forehead and sighed, wiping water droplets away from his eyes. The buckets the men had been using were nearly filled. Shaking his head, he found two more, and replaced the full ones. He took the dirty buckets above deck and carefully made his way to the rail on the desk, cautious not to lose his foot and slip on the wet boards. He dumped the buckets out, tied them with extra ropes to get rinsed out by the rain, and returned to the sleeping quarters. As he approached for the second time, he heard Kole yelling.
         “I didn't even eat anything for the gods sake!” Kole was miserable, trying to stop his stomach from continuing to empty itself.
         Raffine cursed and yelled back. “Shut up, man! No one cares! Just… stop… talking!”
         It was not that Fallon did not feel his stomach lurching with the ship’s movements. He was just not affected by it like the others were. He very carefully scooted by the two sick men, giving Ventris an apologetic look, and made his way over to Ishain. “Hey. You don’t look so good.”
         The man glanced up and loosened his hands over his ears until he heard the sound of vomiting behind him. He gulped loudly and gagged a bit, covering his ears again. “I can’t take the sound of those two.”
         Ventris came over a moment later, throwing up his hands. “I’m done. You can watch those two Fallon. I need some fresh air, whether it is raining or not. The boys back there are making me sick myself.” He tapped Ishain’s shoulder and pulled him up to follow him. “Come above deck with me.”
         Fallon looked offended. “I am not their babysitter.”

         Ventris chuckled. “Neither are we.”

         “I’m coming up with you two,” the king said, raising himself up to his feet. “Those two can kill each other if they want.”

         Kole and Raffine both looked up together, frustrated. “What?” Kole yelled. “Don’t just leave us!”

         Fallon laughed and followed the others up the steps to the deck. Being wet and cold was much better than sitting in a dank sleeping chamber, surrounded by the horrible smell of vomit and the complaining of grown men.

         By the time the storm calmed down and the elf and two men returned below deck, Kole and Raffine were passed out on their beds, covered in their own waste and the full buckets spilled on the floor. Ishain raised his hand. “I volunteer myself for anything other than dealing with that. “Ventris rolled his eyes and without a word between them, Fallon and him cleaned up the mess and dumped the buckets above deck before turning in to sleep themselves.

         The next day was calm and sunny. None of the hunters noticed, however, since they spent most of it sleeping off the previous night’s excitement. They woke to eat and stretch and then would find themselves sleepy again before returning to their beds.

         Kole sat with Fallon at a table just outside the sleeping quarters. “This ship is cursed.”

         His lord laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It is not. Your stomach just cannot handle the stress.”

         The sick friend looked darkly at him. “I would rather go to Harta alone than step foot on another boat. I do not care if it is a sailboat, rowboat, or a blasted canoe. I’m not going anywhere near the water again for as long as I live.”

         Fallon just chuckled and drank some ale from a canteen. “I am happy you are feeling better.” his comment earned him a glare from Kole and he smirked.