Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 4
Grant nudged Hope into a walk back down the country roads to his house. His mind was clear, and he assessed the time and money it would take to clean up the property. He had ample wealth socked away in accounts in multiple countries. Fighting for fifteen years as a soldier and mercenary left him well off and able to repair the entire facility without making a significant dent in his savings. The church and the empire made it difficult to access those funds, but he could work on that in Liswall.
He could restore his property and make it thrive. It would be a pleasant change from his days living in the saddle, swinging a blade for the highest bidder. He had enough to hire a few hands to help with the work and change his status in Mackay from derelict to profitable landowner.
A smile cracked Grant’s dry lips for the first time since he returned to Megenland. He straightened his back as he rode and guided his small troop through his lands.
He checked the dilapidated fence lines, nudged the soil of the forgotten farmlands, and assessed the damage to the stone house. It would take some work, but it could be fixed. Redemption waited if he worked hard enough at this, and maybe Mairi might find forgiveness in his heart.
The sounds of hooves coming down the trail to his house broke him from his thoughts. Ez nudged her powers and gave him the sign for ten riders, probably two officials or officers with them.
Grant tossed her his sword and checked his dagger. She was good enough with a sword, and Grant could leverage his powers with a dagger to be deadly in a close fight. Soon enough, there would be weapons on the ground for Grant to use.
“Grant Gwydian comes home,” the lead rider said. “I heard you hadn’t changed much.”
Grant held a gloved hand to his eyes to see the riders but didn’t recognize the man. Fifteen years was a long time to be gone, but this rider knew something about Grant. He didn’t like it.
The party continued their approach through the broken gate, and the riders spread out to monitor Grant and his companions. Grant groaned inside when he recognized the symbol on the lead rider’s chest. It was the county sheriff out of Liswall, and the woman beside him wore the queen’s colors.
She was the tax collector.
Grant held his hands up to show that he didn’t have weapons at his sides.
“I’d offer you in for a drink, but it seems like I have a lot to do in the house.” Grant tried his best smile.
“That’s why we’re here, Mr. Gwydian,” the woman said. “Your property has back taxes, interest rates, and penalties. It’s quite a hefty sum.”
Mr. Gwydian? That was a strange formality in a tiny hamlet where everyone used their first names.
“Hefty penalties, Grant,” the sheriff said. “Payable on the spot. Warlord’s rules.”
“As a landowner, I have rights,” Grant said.
“That you sacrificed when you went arrears in taxes, I’m afraid,” the tax collector said. “If you pay your fines for the property, you can then deal with the sheriff and his penalties.”
Grant wouldn’t have enough money to pay either fee. They brought the thugs to exact their revenge on the returning Grant. Erland, Warlord of Megenland, once loved Irwin. He sent his goons to keep Grant out of Megenland forever.
So be it.
“Big fines? That’s not a problem when I get to Liswall and contact the banks. There’s enough for the county, the queen, the earl, and your thugs. More than enough, actually. How about I treat you to a good beverage at Mackay’s?”
The sheriff growled at his thugs.
“Bribing the sheriff and tax collector are crimes, Gwydian. Terrible crimes, and I think there’s a debtor’s prison cell with your name over the door. About time we locked you away and made you stand trial.” He glanced toward the graves behind the house.
And a zealot, Grant thought.
He smiled and let his energy burn. Ez didn’t need prompting when she saw his posture change from a relaxed landowner to a killer with decades of experience on the battlefields of the Mage Wars.
The sheriff scoffed as Grant drew his dagger, but the sheriff’s smirk turned to panic when he couldn’t pull his blade from its sheath. Grant’s dagger slammed home in the man’s gut, tearing him from the saddle and tossing his lifeless body to the ground.
Grant scooped up the sword, now free from the StarTouched power and no longer needed by the sheriff.
Ez was at his side a moment later, her blade a blur of motion as she engaged the closest riders. The sheriff hired the thugs for the muscle in uniforms, perfect for intimidation but worthless when the blood started flowing.
The tax collector was the first to turn and run. She wheeled her horse away before Grant or Ez could grab the reins, and four of the surviving henchmen turned with her before they met the fate of their fallen companions.
Grant glanced over his shoulder to see if he could get to Hope fast enough to ride them down, but the maneuver nearly cost him a sword in the gut. He had to finish the last two opponents before they could chase the others down. They’d be in Mackay and beyond before Grant could ride after them.
Moments later, only he and Ez were breathing heavily. Fresh bodies lay in the dirt on Grant’s farmstead. Grant used the sheriff’s cloak to clean his new blade and wondered what the man’s name was.
“This is what you do?” Mairi said as she choked from behind the mercenaries.
“Yeah, we win wars,” Ez said.
“I think we just started one,” Grant said, staring toward Liswall.
7
LISWALL
Grant reluctantly stepped into his old shed, feeling the weight of dread on his shoulders. He knew the task they had to do, and he needed shovels to carry out their grim duty. When he pushed open the door, it collapsed off its rotted frame in a cloud of dust and debris. Light filled the gaps in the broken roof, casting an eerie glow on Grant’s surroundings as he searched for tools. Pushing aside cobwebs and crusty belongings, he eventually found two rusted shovels that would get the job done.
Mairi was still at the well when Grant returned. She was hunched over with her head bowed, her expression unreadable as she pulled up buckets of water. Ez had already scavenged some weapons from the fallen soldiers and gathered any paperwork from their pockets.
Grant dared a glance at Mairi, but she wouldn’t look in his direction—not now, not when she likely knew what it was for. With every terrible decision he made in Megenland, she despised him more. It tore him apart inside to think that this might be one deed too many for her to forgive him.
He loosened his shoulders, grabbed the sheriff’s body by the arms, and dragged him to a shaded corner by the barn. The building was in sad condition; most of its roof was gone, leaving behind just a tilted wooden frame. It would have to serve as a makeshift grave marker as Grant dug into the earth with his metal blade and clunked against rocks.
Ez joined with another shovel and continued the work. Neither complained as they dug a shallow trench for the five bodies. After tearing through the tangled mess of roots and weeds, the fertile ground underneath gave way quickly to their efforts. Lamhas’ abilities would have taken hours off the work, but it was good to feel the sweat on his brow and the ache in his back.
Grant was alive.
“When do you think the town will come looking for its sheriff?” Ez asked after helping Grant drop the first body into the makeshift grave.
“Soon,” Grant said, wiping his brow and putting his hat back on. “The tax collector won’t be shy.”
Ez chuckled. “We didn’t scare her into silence?”
“Would be nice, but we don’t get that lucky in our line of work. If she doesn’t talk, the cowards that ran will talk about the mad StarTouched mercenaries killing everyone in the countryside.”
“What’s the plan?” Ez grunted as they heaved a thug’s body into the pile at the bottom of the trench. She stared down at the collection before looking into his eyes.
Grant stared back at his farm, longing for the simpler days when he sat on the porch with a book at the end of a long day. He missed seeing his kids play and longed to see Irwin’s wistful smile one last time. Those were his ghosts.
“Go to Liswall,” Grant said and got back to work.
“Is this the part where you tell me you’re still working out a plan, or is this the place where I tell you your idea is crazier than ever?”
Grant smiled and helped her with another body. “Could be either. Or both.”
They both looked up as they heard gagging and vomiting near the barn. Mairi clutched her belly and wiped her mouth as she tried to stand up straight. She wouldn’t look at the pair as they worked.
Grant wiped his hands on his trousers and leaned his shovel against the barn’s outer wall. He approached Mairi with a tentative smile, but she held one hand out to stop him while the other covered her mouth.
“I’m sorry, Mairi. You should have stayed in Torness.”
“You knew something like this would happen?” Mairi asked. She fanned her face and gulped air, not daring to look as Ez lined up the bodies to finish their task.
“No,” Grant said, taking one step toward her. “I didn’t know Erland was the earl, warlord, or whatever he calls himself. How could I know someone rode ahead to tell the tax collector we were going to the farm? The only thing I knew is we weren’t going into a prison, waiting on paperwork to pay debts.”
Grant ignored the thump as Ez pushed another corpse into the pit. He nudged his power to make her work more manageable by lightening the bodies enough for one person to make shorter work of the effort. He’d rather save his abilities for later, but his scratches from the fight had already healed. Mairi needed him more.
“He won’t forgive you,” Mairi said, glancing as Ez deposited the last bodies.
“Did he ever?” Grant asked, taking another three steps to stand next to Mairi.
He opened his arms wide, and she melted into his embrace. Nestling her tear-streaked face against the warmth of his chest, she wept - raw, gut-wrenching sobs escaping her as the pent-up emotions from the battle poured out in a torrent. With unwavering strength, he held her close, bearing the weight of her heartache until she couldn’t cry anymore. As Mairi pulled away, a renewed fire blazed within her eyes, her fighting spirit rekindled.
Ez came over and poured water from the bucket over her hands and forearms to remove the gore and grime. She scrubbed with a scrap of clothing and then joined the pair.
“What’s this with Erland?” Ez asked. “You talk like you know this warlord.”
“I did,” Grant said. “We grew up together in Torness. My father sailed with the Ismorian navy, and his dad worked a fishing boat. Lots of time at sea for them, and we spent our childhood around each other.”
“He loved Irwin as much as Grant,” Mairi said. “Maybe more so because he never had a chance with her. My sister only had eyes for this one.”
Mairi gave them a crooked smile and fought back the tears welling in her eyes again. Grant shared her emotions and took forever to speak again.
“He didn’t come to our wedding and never visited the farm when we had kids. Erland was great with numbers and understood the sea. He always wanted to be a banker or a merchant,” Grant said.
“Erland was a good banker,” Mairi said. “He saved his coin, and he took calculated risks. Those bets on merchant vessels and trade routes brought home even more wealth. He would have been mayor of Torness or granted nobility in Liswall.”
“StarFall,” Grant said.
“The worst day in our lives,” Mairi said.
Grant hung his head. Fragments pounded Megenland that cursed day. The afternoon sky lit up with burning embers, and the ground shook with the impact. Horses screamed and ran, and people hid.
Not Grant. Not Erland. Not many others.
People like Grant were curious and already out in the countryside. They found the craters and impact areas and explored the glowing fragments. StarFall cursed them, and they became StarTouched.
Grant left; Erland stayed.
“What happened afterward?” Grant tried through choked memories. “After I left?”
“The church, the zealots, the fires, the hangings… All of it happened. People died,” Mairi said. “But a few, like you, embraced their powers. Erland organized resistance. He hid in the countryside, but he gathered his strength. The sheriff, constables, and soldiers would go looking for him. They never came back.”
“How is the queen good with him ruling Megenland as a warlord or earl?” Grant asked.
“The civil war,” Mairi said. “The Bastard Prince started winning over the nobles with quick victories and bloodless coups. People viewed the young upstart as the path to the future, and the queen needed loyal leaders to secure the islands. Erland offered his support and overthrew the earl as proof of his loyalty.”
“Was the earl changing sides?” Grant asked.
“I never heard that,” Mairi said. “But Erland wanted everyone to think he saved them from the civil war. He declared himself Warlord of Megenland and waited for the queen to bestow the title of earl on him.”
“Did she?” Ez asked.
Mairi shook her head. “Plenty believe he’s the earl, but he doesn’t sleep in the palace. He doesn’t have the title.”
“How do you know all this, Mairi?” Grant asked. Irwin’s little sister had always been the social gossiper in the family, but these weren’t whispered secrets on the playground.
“I own the best inn in Torness, and I often travel to Liswall to negotiate for prices and products,” Mairi said. “I didn’t sit on the windowsill staring meaningfully into the harbor waiting for Grant Gwydian to return. I’m successful.”
“Then you can help us with Liswall,” Grant said, ignoring her scathing look. She was successful, and he believed her. He only regretted that she was now involved in his hopeless fight against a warlord. “It’s been a while for me.”
“I know that look,” Ez said. “You’ve got the start of a plan forming. Am I going to like this one?”
“Sure. I need to talk to the warlord,” Grant said.
“How do you propose we do that?” Ez asked, picking up a shovel.
“I’m hoping the easy way—he just sees us.”
“And if it’s not the easy way?”
“Then we’ll need more shovels.”
Grant’s blade bit into the soft earth, and he tossed a full spade on the bodies in their trenched grave. He hoped Erland picked the easier option.
8
MISTAKES
Grant steadied his breath as he rolled in his cloak, watching the stars flicker against the velvet sky. He listened to the hoots of the hunting owls and the rustle of nocturnal animals in the wild farmland he once loved. Creatures avoided the former landowner and his campfire.
Mairi peered into the campfire flames, her hands trembling as if haunted. Grant knew she feared ghosts as much as he did, but he had struggled to accept his wife’s death while Mairi had already made peace with her sorrow.
Ez stood guard at the mouth of the road. She could see just as well in the darkness as many others did in daylight and never once released her grip on Grant’s old sword. Grant would relieve her watch towards midnight.
Going to Liswall was just as crazy as his other plans. Mairi wasn’t a soldier, and she’d be a burden on any action Grant could contemplate. She’d distract him, but he’d been away so long that he didn’t know where to start in the island’s capital without her.
Confronting a StarTouched warlord was reckless. If the conflict escalated to an arcane clash, countless bystanders would suffer, and allowing their animosity to fester could result in a rivalry spanning generations. He couldn’t walk away from Mackay again, not with Erland crushing Megenland.
Was that enough reason to start a war against the queen’s appointed ruler?
Maybe.
Daybreak softened the eastern sky with the reddish glow that promised an easy travel day. The farm looked worse with the freshly churned earth covering the mass grave by the barn. The sheriff and his thugs didn’t give Grant other choices.
It was time to get to work.
He remembered the days riding to Liswall all too well. At a comfortable pace, it would take them a half day to reach the city. Farmlands rolled by on either side of the road, but no one emerged from their houses to view the travelers or greet their old neighbor. The road winded on, leading directly to the port city of Liswall, the capital of Megenland.
Grant spied the soaring bell tower of Liswall’s cathedral first. Unlike the cathedrals on the mainland inspired by Nanteene architecture, Megenland’s churches didn’t have soaring spires, flying buttresses, or stories of stained glass. Local stones or bricks were the standard building materials, and the people of Megenland expanded buildings over the centuries to create grand structures in their unique style.
The cathedral stood in the city’s center across from the earl’s palace and Liswall’s castle, both of which hid in the shadows of the mighty church. The red-bricked church was a stark construct to the cold stone heights of the earl’s residence and the defensive castle.
The natural harbor embraced the coastline, its edge interwoven with houses that stretched along its length. Compared to Torness’ modest piers, this harbor boasted expansive docks and dry docks. The Ismorian navy could accommodate a fleet of vessels within the bay, while fishing boats ventured out to deeper waters to cast their nets. Even after all these years, the picturesque scene left Grant in awe.
Life on the far eastern edge of Ismore in Megenland was challenging. Chilly waters dominated the weather, and the people toiled relentlessly to carve out a living along the shore. Yet, these resilient inhabitants flourished in the harsh environment. Their existence centered on the ocean, and they never built a wall around the city.
Their castle was adequate in supplying soldiers and equipment in case of an assault, but their actual adversaries came from the sea. Raiders from Eklund and Lundmarch left their mark on Liswall’s history, and rivals from Ismore frequently displayed their banners in the harbor. Liswall’s loyalty lay with itself and its newfound warlord.
