Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 1
ARCANE MERCENARIES: INSURRECTION
BOOK 5 OF THE ARCANE MERCENARIES
MARK AUGUST
Copyright © 2023 by Mark August
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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To those who start out on a journey and realize the destination is not as important as the person who stands with you every step of the way.
Thank you, Cris
CONTENTS
1. Welcome
2. Musket
3. Constable
4. Mairi
5. Mackay
6. Taxes
7. Liswall
8. Mistakes
9. Bishop
10. Resistance
11. Leadership
12. Storm
13. Warlord
14. Earl
15. Ships
16. Lessons
17. Dominick
18. Convincing
19. Rosestrand
20. Response
21. Downfall
22. Catrin
23. Freyham
24. Arsenal
25. Scientist
26. Surrender
27. Alliances
28. Gathering
29. Divide
30. Offensive
31. Escape
32. Chase
33. Ambush
34. Fallen
35. Discovery
36. Reconstitution
37. Blockade
38. Knights
39. Challenge
40. Dueling
41. Single Combat
42. Subterfuge
43. Politics
44. Vanguard
45. Battle of Waetling Crossing
46. Crossing
47. Assessment
48. Deal
49. Capitulate
50. Offer
51. Sina
52. Inner Council
53. Source
54. Mercenaries
55. StarTouched
56. Nanteene
57. Tegan
58. Preaching
59. Country Ride
60. Shipment
61. Order
62. Pursuit
63. Score
64. Powers
65. Denial
66. Surprise
67. Blades
68. Queen
69. StarFall
70. Llynmond
71. Coronation
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Mark August
1
WELCOME
Grant dreaded this moment. Emotions churned in his belly, worse than the strongest hurricane-whipped wind and waves. He knew it was fear. It was a fear that seemed to permeate every feature of his being — an emotion so consuming it could overpower even the strongest soldier’s courage and replace it with an overwhelming desire to flee.
He’d seen hundreds of battles against thousands of enemies whose sole aim was to shoot or cut him to pieces. He never ran from the challenge.
Today Grant would face all the specters from his past, and he was afraid.
The seaside town of Torness clung defiantly to the jagged cliffs as blue-gray waves lapped against resilient piers. The relentless winter and salty sea air had dulled the brilliant hues that once adorned its structures, replacing them with pale grays.
Torness, the town clustered around this natural harbor tucked into an otherwise rocky coastline, was the closest port on the far eastern island of Megenland, the farthest reach of the Kingdom of Ismore. It was also Grant’s hometown.
The smell of the sewers running into the bay and the refuse from docked ships jarred his dormant memories. He was once a boy who watched these waters, staring at the arriving ships with flags fluttering from their upper masts. The young Grant longed to see his father arrive after every voyage, but today it was his turn to come home.
No one would be waiting for him as his ship arrived in port.
The ship’s crew worked swiftly, their movements precise and practiced as they neared the harbor. The flags snapped in the wind, beckoning a harbor boat to guide them in. Their arrival began a time-tested game; the crew was ready for shore leave while customs officials sharpened their parchment blades.
Ez stood tall; her cloak pressed its heavy fabric against a wound that had now healed. The days onboard allowed her to recover from the terrifying injury, her StarTouched powers finishing their work just that morning. The crossbow wound was now a jagged scar, Grant’s crude surgery leaving its gruesome mark.
“They’ll ask us questions we don’t want to answer,” Ez said as the harbormaster’s longboat pushed out from the pier.
“What could possibly go wrong for a couple of mercenaries landing on Megenland?” Grant said. He rubbed the salt caked in his beard from days of staring into the spray and wind. He spent too much time thinking while they were underway and Ez was healing.
“I’m serious, Grant. No one will take us seriously, and we’re under-equipped.”
“We’re not invading Torness. Just looking around.”
Ez’s eyebrow rose ever-so-slightly, a challenge Grant found himself unable to match. She was right—he had a sword and dagger in his belt while she had nothing. It wasn’t a promising beginning, not with their bag of Alenann gold as their only fortune.
“The docks should be busier,” Grant mused, trying to change the subject.
“It’s winter, not the best time to hit the seas. Throw in the civil war with privateers seizing cargo on both sides, and I’m surprised there’s anyone here.”
It could be the civil war. Prince Dominick continued his campaign against Queen Fraunces, the Icy Queen. The campaigns centered on Llynmond, the Ismorian capital.
He’d been out of touch with everything on Megenland since StarFall. Since he fled from his home and family.
The Torness customs officials conducted their routine sweep, cataloging tonnage and appraising travelers. The captain handed them the vessel’s logs, manifests, and a handsome bribe to speed up the process. No one said a word as money changed hands, just like in any other port. Afterward, the captain received his official tax stamp. In a few hours, the harbor pilot would arrive to guide the ocean-going vessel to the docks.
Grant went below decks into the cargo hold to check on his and Ez’s horses. It was a convenient excuse to get away from the crew pumped with the energy at the end of a journey and the promise of a rousing night off the ship. He felt none of their excitement at coming to Torness.
He found the energy to return topside and found the passengers lining up as the crew prepared the pair of longboats to take them ashore. Those able to climb down the ship’s side wouldn’t wait extra hours to dock, secure the vessel, and fasten the gangplanks. Grant wasn’t in a rush to step foot in Torness.
Ez tugged his sleeve and dragged him to the shuffling line. Grant and Ez had a single seabag apiece with only a few clothes they purchased on the way to the ship were their only possessions. Even as Ez recovered from her wound, she wasn’t willing to spend money on anything but essentials for their journey. Traveling light had its advantages.
They made it on the second trip to the docks, and Grant didn’t say a word as he sat in the middle of the boat. Sailors grunted as they pulled the oars. The longboat slipped past the paddling seagulls and nudged aside the chunks of floating refuse. They bumped up alongside the pier and climbed to the waiting solid ground.
The dock didn’t have the expected energy for an arriving merchant ship. Members of the Longshore Guild, Porter Guild, and harbormaster team stood listlessly as they waited for the ship to dock. Healthy people once clamored for jobs from the guild to help offload and move goods to warehouses and further inland, but today it was a dozen middle-aged guild members waiting to do their work.
Ez didn’t notice the change and pulled Grant away from the wooden pilings and strode across the dock’s surface, smoothed by years of booted feet walking its length. Officials waited at the end, evaluating each passenger.
Six people watched the offloading passengers, two with clipboards and papers. The other four were enforcement with clubs and long spears and watched the passengers line up along the pier. Everyone wore yellow and green armbands.
“You two look fit enough to carry arms,” the lead official said from underneath a peppered gray beard. Eyes as dark as the filthy waves danced between them. The hired muscle loomed closer.
Grant smiled and held open his hands. “Just a sword and dagger. My friend isn’t carrying weapons.”
“Don’t care what you have, friend,” the man said. “The warlord taxes the healthy population.”
“We’re not citizens of Ismore,” Ez said. She tried her biggest smile.
“Did he say anything about citizens?” The lead thug stood by the bureaucrat’s side. He was a foot taller than Grant and carried an extra thirty pounds that his belt struggled to control. The man was there to frighten people but would be clumsy in a fight on the docks.
“So there’s a tax for military-age people in Megenland?” Grant asked, ignoring the thug.
“The armband tax.”
“Is this common in Ismore?” Ez asked. “Ismor
The retinue of soldiers pressed closer, blocking the end of the pier. People chittered behind them, edging away from the impending violence. Grant and Ez didn’t need this attention this early in their trip, and a fight on the docks would get them nowhere.
“It’s the warlord’s tax, friend,” the tax collector tried again. “I recommend you pay it or head back into the harbor.”
Ez and Grant traded glances as they heard the muttering behind them and examined the threat in front of them. Even without weapons, the pair could dispatch this patrol with little effort, but their stay in Megenland would be short with the gathered witnesses. With a nod, Ez agreed to Grant’s silent question.
“How much?” he asked.
“A half gulden each,” the man said flatly.
That was a month’s wage for a working person in Torness. This had to be a negotiation; it couldn’t be a dockside shakedown.
“Four marks for the two of us,” Grant countered.
The guards rattled their spears. This wasn’t the first time they encountered resistance at the exorbitant prices they demanded. Maybe it was time to push them into the water to see if they could reach the ladders.
“A half gulden each, and we don’t charge you for the weapons you are carrying.” The official didn’t bat an eye at the exchange.
The soldiers eyed Grant as he reached for his pouch, and they weighed its contents in their minds. He pulled out the equivalent coin in Alenann currency and cursed at how little they had left.
“What’s this?” The second tax collector asked as he peered at the offering.
“Half gulden for each of us,” Grant said, pointing at the pile of wealth.
“That’s not gulden. There’s an exchange fee for foreign currency,” he said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s gold. It has a different face on it than your queen, but it’s still good money.”
“Not in Megenland,” the lead tax collector said.
Grant settled the rest of the bill with a heavy heart, and the tax collector handed over a piece of yellow ribbon to tie around his right biceps. It was always to remain visible, or they would be subject to another tax and a penalty fee.
The crushing taxes explained the lethargy at the docks. Prince Dominick, the Bastard Prince vying for the throne, wouldn’t support this oppressive behavior. Grant would have to meet this Megenland warlord who didn’t wear the queen’s colors.
That was far better than facing his past.
2
MUSKET
“Nice town,” Ez said without a hint of irony, although Grant snorted and shrugged his shoulders beneath his cloak. Neither looked back as the extortionists negotiated with the other passengers.
“Not what I remember,” Grant muttered, tying his yellow armband. “I had to leave in a hurry the last time I was here.”
“When was that?” Ez adjusted her cloak, preparing for the damp weather rolling off the bay. She struggled to cover up while keeping her armband visible.
“StarFall,” Grant said, avoiding further eye contact.
The people of Torness, daring the city streets, moved about their daily chores, quickening their pace when they glimpsed the armbands. Military-aged people from their late teens into their fifties wore matching yellow designations. Everyone veered away from the officials and avoided the newcomers.
What was going on?
“We need to think about rearming,” Ez said, looking up at the wall of houses lining the piers.
Grant grunted.
The air was thick with the smells of sea salt, tar, and fish guts. Music blared from the rows of bars and taverns, enticing the workers and sailors to spend their hard-earned coin. By nightfall, the dock district would transform into a dangerous underworld. The town enforcers never had a dull night.
They needed to get off these streets.
Grant led them away from the people waiting to service the arriving ship and onto the hilly streets away from the harbor. The atmosphere changed as they moved away from the official presence, and the oppressive tension dissipated. Now they were back in a busy seaside town whose lifeblood flowed through its harbor.
“I’m serious about getting some weapons, Grant,” Ez said as they huffed through the streets.
Grant opened his cloak and unclipped his sword from his belt. Ez’s abilities allowed her to fire weapons with unerring ability, but she was no stranger to a good blade. In a town like Torness, she would have very few equals with a sword.
He handed her the sheathed length of his blade, and she stared at the leather-enclosed length. She didn’t move to take the weapon and stared at him.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Something that goes bang.”
“We can’t afford that,” Grant said, holding the weapon at arm’s length. He used the finest tug of power to lighten the weapon to hold it out to her.
“That’s my line,” Ez said. She relented and grabbed Grant’s offering. “But we still need better weapons. We won’t get far with a sword and dagger.”
“I’m not planning on fighting anyone in Megenland,” Grant said.
“Ok, you can believe that. I’ll do the planning. Where’s the blacksmith or foundry where I can get a pistol or musket?”
“Where do you think we are?” Grant asked. Torness wasn’t an industrial hub or thriving city stocked with the latest weaponry. Metalworkers consumed their days repairing items for seagoing vessels or nearby farmers.
“In a harbor town where privateers, pirates, and sailors arm themselves. Plenty of people are ready to spend money to get the best weapons. Don’t tell me we can’t find a pistol in Torness.”
Grant said nothing but changed his direction toward a side street. The clangs of metal workers echoed in the damp afternoon air, and the smoke from forges smudged in the afternoon overcast. Megenland had none of the frigid air of Alenann, but Grant’s hands were icy cold—he knew where to go.
His father had taken Grant to this shop decades ago.
A bell tinkled as Grant and Ez entered the store, crammed from floor to ceiling with bags, crates, boxes, and sacks. Aisles of colorful merchandise forced customers to wedge themselves sideways to pass between the rows. Scents of spices and the smell of canvas merged to form an odd perfume.
The store’s lone proprietor waited behind a display counter crammed into the shop’s back corner. Anyone who navigated through the piles of goods and stacks of merchandise would meet the five-foot-tall woman with steel-gray hair and a pair of spectacles perched on her nose.
Ez offered her best smile and approached the counter, looking ready to negotiate. Grant stayed away from the impending duel and watched as he leaned against bags of flour. When spring finally arrived, this store would be empty.
“You don’t look the sailing or farming type. What are you looking for, love?” the owner asked from her fortress behind the wooden counter.
“Seems you have everything a person could need,” Ez said, smiling. She was laying it on thick.
The owner peered at her over the glasses. “Depends on the person and the price.”
Ez’s charm offensive wouldn’t work here, so she changed tactics.
