Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 5
As they neared the outskirts of Megenland’s capital, Grant observed the soldiers wearing yellow uniforms as they patrolled the streets. These troops gathered in groups of four or five, forcefully demanding entrance to every household. Emerging moments later with smiles and laughter, they moved on to the neighboring houses. Few citizens dared to walk the streets.
Grant, Ez, and Mairi checked that their armbands were visible as they road closer to the city streets. The soldiers eyed them on their horses but returned to their door-to-door search.
Grant pulled Hope to a halt as he heard a scream further down the street. Shouted voices and curses followed soon after, and Grant nudged Hope forward.
A pair of soldiers emerged from the shop, one carrying a bundle of clothes and the other shaking a small pouch of coins. They joked with each other until Grant’s shadow cast over them.
“Eh, move along, you big oaf,” the older of the two guards said. He was in his early thirties and missing a few front teeth. The whistle in his speech would be more amusing if the man hadn’t just robbed a store of its merchandise.
Grant kept his hands away from his weapons and leaned lower in the saddle. “Just coming in from Torness. Been a long ride, friend. Know any good places to stay?”
The man’s scowl dropped as he eyed Ez and Mairi. The young soldier nudged his friend in the ribs. “Don’t sound like he’s from out of town.”
“Haven’t been back since I was a child,” Grant said. “Only place worth anything anymore is Liswall. Rest of Megenland is sheep and manure.”
The guards got a good chuckle from Grant’s colloquial accent and relaxed around the mounted mercenaries.
“Plenty of good places to spend your coin. Dock district is cheaper, but you get what you pay for down there. You know what I mean?” The guard winked at Grant with a conspirator’s grin.
“What’s with the goods, though?” Grant asked. “Never seen the likes of that.”
“Ah, it’s protection day,” the younger soldier said. This one was in his early twenties and far less comfortable around the mounted mercenaries. His eyes danced between Ez and Grant to their weapons secured at their sides.
Grant looked toward the harbor, invisible through the winding streets and far past the city square ringed with official buildings.
“Someone attacking from the harbor? Landing troops?” Grant asked.
Ez twisted in her saddle and held her palm up to her forehead to look back in the direction they just traveled. “Didn’t see anyone as we rode in. No army for miles coming from Torness.”
“Nah, it’s for the people. Keep them in line, you know,” the older guard said. “Warlord’s orders. The queen doesn’t pay him to keep order in these parts, so he gets the money from the people to support the army.”
Grant nodded his head and adjusted his hat. “Tax collector comes by as well?”
“Of course. The warlord has to pay his boss,” the elder grinned. “Just a reminder for the people.”
“Thanks, friend,” Grant said.
Every part of his being wanted to draw his sword and run the man through the chest. He’d send a message to those attacking the citizens and stealing their livelihood. It wasn’t an army. It was a racket for thugs to terrorize those who couldn’t afford to leave the city.
It wasn’t his fight. It couldn’t be.
Grant moved Hope along with Ez and Mairi not wanting to stay behind. He followed his memories through the streets and found the side street he needed. Ez raised an eyebrow as he turned away from the city center and the harbor.
Hope clomped down the narrow path through the older houses in the district. These two-story stone structures had slabs of masonry covering the centuries-old stone. Shutters stayed closed against the damp weather, and the tiny wooden doors were sealed tight.
The road winded and curved through the quaint district, and Grant advanced in silence. His old school was ahead, and he wasn’t sure if he could face it after all these years.
School Square opened into a broad park, which should have been filled with playing children and screaming voices. The energy of youth used to course through this part of the city, and the families who could afford to send their children to an elementary education would come by to watch the future of Liswall in this space.
Grant rounded the corner and saw students lined up with heads down. People shouted orders for the children to stare at their feet, and the young souls complied. Soldiers in yellow and green walked the line and pushed the children with clubs and staves. Non-compliant children earned a hearty rap on the arms by the thugs.
Rage boiled in Grant’s heart, and he was ready to reach for his sword. There were a dozen soldiers, and not one questioned the tactics of terrorizing children. Erland allowed his commanders to use children as hostages to extort payments from their parents.
It was time to talk to Erland. He was ready to overthrow the man and restore order to Liswall and the rest of Megenland. Ez would be right by his side.
Before he could clear the steel blade from the sheath, a pair of priests hurried into the square. They hustled toward the children and stood between the soldiers and the students.
Grant held his arm and watched.
One priest comforted the scared children, too frightened to move with the threat of a wooden reprisal. The other used years of training in oratory to cajole the soldiers into better behavior.
The thugs in yellow and green became uncomfortable with the priest’s words and shifted their feet. Weapons disappeared, and guilty looks replaced the greedy eyes. Moments later, the soldiers left the square, leaving the lone teacher and the two priests with the sobbing children.
Grant stared in disbelief. He remembered this church and its compassion. It was nothing like the one ruled by Cardinal Wallner.
9
BISHOP
Grant surveyed the battered walls of Liswall’s castle, the grim monument a testament to the relentless march of time. The ancient stronghold hadn’t been well-maintained for a decade and would be defenseless against his arcane power. The earl’s palace, another relic, seemed to beckon him, the promise of crushing the warlord’s iron grip within his grasp. A swift, brutal attack could end the warlord’s rule and change the course of Liswall’s fate.
But doubt took root in the shadows of his resolve to make things right. No attack went as planned.
Launching an assault on the official buildings would inevitably plunge the city into chaos, the warlord’s henchmen lashing out against anyone daring to pick up arms against the existing regime. The StarTouched mercenaries threatened to topple the uneasy peace between the people and their maniacal ruler.
His plan lacked any strategy or goal beyond revenge. The citizens cowering away from their windows and doors would pay the price of his wrath.
Grant stole a glance at Mairi. Given her frequent visits to Liswall, she would have known about Protection Day. He wasn’t angry with her for not protecting his old schoolhouse, but he knew the other merchants discussed their sufferings and the terrible things Erland did to them.
As she rode past the streets, she scrutinized each alleyway and looked out for the yellow and green livery. Grant wondered if she would aid them in overthrowing Erland. After all, she lived in Megenland and endured his rule. But still, she hadn’t warned him.
But could he blame her? Grant had vanished just as the church’s sinister rhetoric intensified. People cowered, suffering at the hands of mobs fueled by twisted teachings. He had left his wife and children behind, and Mairi had witnessed his parents’ anguish due to his actions.
Still, she hadn’t abandoned them, and Grant needed her to understand the darkness engulfing every life in Liswall. Grant and Ez had fought StarTouched across the Mage Wars and could help rid the city of its despot.
The trio arrived at the heart of the city, steering their horses down the imposing Palace Road. It was here that the Ismorian administration established its headquarters and support structures. Tax collectors dominated the block closest to the palace, and a modest military detachment guarded the queen’s treasury and tax house. Those guards posted themselves at crucial intersections as a bastion against Protection Day.
Blue and white flags billowed from every windowsill along this thoroughfare, yet the shutters were tightly drawn, and the doors sealed against the brutalities of Protection Day. Perhaps the officials residing here clung to the hope that a few loyal soldiers would turn away the henchmen terrorizing the streets.
The palace stood at the end of the street, a large structure dominated by the great hall perched on the top two floors, and a small living area adjoined the massive hall as a square house with simple decorations. Yellow and green flags flew from the top of the palace, and Grant steered his friends clear of this building until they knew more.
They turned on Queen Street, which would take them away from the palace and the castle but would guide them by the Liswall Cathedral. The warlord’s thugs left this area alone as well. White and gold markings of the church hung from each doorframe, and the markings must work. No roaming patrols bothered anyone in these city blocks.
Grant led them directly to the cathedral square, and families huddled together in the shadows of the towering walls. The people here were poor and tired, and they pressed as close as they could to the red brick walls of the mighty building. Some brought cots, and others raised canvas shelters. They shared what little food and drink they had.
A handful of priests walked the square, handed out fresh loaves of bread to cowering children, and offered water from the church’s well. They shared prayers and gave blessings to the frightened gathering.
No one offered fiery sermons or extolled the dangers of the StarTouched. This was the church Grant remembered from his youth, and it pained him to see the people afraid for their lives. At least the church offered physical comfort on this terrible day.
If the church offered refuge to these citizens, there was tension between the bishop and the warlord. He could exploit that crack and keep the city divided against itself while he plotted to take down Erland.
A strong, male voice called out across the square.
“Grant? Grant Gwydian?”
He stopped and turned in his saddle toward the greeting. It wasn’t a challenge or a curse, and it sounded like someone he knew from his youth recognized him. A priest made his way through the crowded refugees and approached the riders.
The man appeared to be in his late fifties, his head cleanly shaven, lending a sense of sharpness to his features. A flowing white beard cascaded down to the top of his chest, creating a striking contrast with his smooth scalp. His lean and athletic frame belied his age, and he moved with the grace and agility of a man twenty years his junior. His discerning eyes seemed to absorb the suffering around him, reflecting a deep understanding and compassion for those struggling.
“Father Milne?” Grant asked. The man had aged well, and no one else would know Grant on sight like this man would.
“It’s Bishop Milne now,” the man opened his arms and gave Grant a wide smile.
Grant Gwydian, hardened mercenary captain and exile from Megenland, vaulted out of his saddle and hugged the bishop.
“I never expected our lost son to come home to Megenland,” Bishop Milne said as Grant withdrew from the embrace.
“I had no plans to return, but I came back to understand StarFall,” Grant said.
“From a religious perspective?“
“Wasn’t on my mind,” Grant said. “I’m looking for more information about StarFall. Things happening on the mainland and in the Mage Wars could change everything we know about life and power. I came back to where it all started for me.”
“Mairi, it’s good to see you. Thank you for bringing the wayward one home,” Bishop Milne said.
“He came here all on his own. I haven’t said a word all day, bishop.”
“This isn’t the right place for us to have a reunion. Could I interest you in a snack or a beverage? My residence is right here.”
Grant glanced toward the bishop’s palace. It was smaller than the earl’s palace, but it was nonetheless magnificent quarters for a man dedicated to the people of Liswall and all of Megenland.
“I’m sure you have duties to the people with protection day,” Grant moved back toward Hope.
“That’s why I want to talk, Grant. This isn’t the place for that.” The smiling, jovial man disappeared. His eyes shifted toward the people lined up for food and drink, and creases formed in his brows.
Grant followed the man toward the palace.
“I’ve never seen you act this way around clergy,” Ez said from behind his shoulder.
“Father Milne used to work at the edge of Torness. He’s been a friend of my family since I was a child. He officiated my wedding.”
Ez was silent as she followed them inside the dwelling.
Grooms moved to secure their horses, and servants surrounded them to care for their travel gear. Bishop Milne never left their side and escorted them to a sitting room off the main foyer.
Bishop Milne waited until the servant left them alone before he addressed the small group. “Protection Day gets worse every month. It started as a once-a-year event to gather enough funds because Erland couldn’t access the earl’s accounts. Over time, it’s gotten worse. Once a year became once a quarter, and now they come around every month. Erland does nothing to stop it, so the soldiers think he condones it.”
“They should leave,” Grant said. “Get out of Liswall.”
“Most don’t have the means, Grant. Look at the people huddled near the cathedral. The soldiers take everything. The citizens look for food and water to get through another week. How would they go anywhere to start again?”
“They should fight,” Ez said.
Bishop Milne smiled and nodded. “But who would stand up against the StarTouched warlord? The man has the queen’s blessing to rule as he sees fit. As long as he doesn’t join Dominick, she won’t interfere in Megenland.”
“Maybe a couple of StarTouched mercenaries could shift the balance,” Grant said.
“We’ve prayed for deliverance for years,” Bishop Milne said.
“Ez and I can help, but I don’t know about deliverance,” Grant said. He thought about overthrowing a ruler and the chaos that would follow. Someone had to step in and guide the people to a new beginning. He wasn’t that man.
Bishop Milne leaned back in his cushioned seat, contemplating his following words. He raised the steaming cup of coffee to his lips and took a meaningful sip.
“This is your chance at redemption. It’s why you came back to Megenland. To face your past and make amends for those you left behind.”
The bishop whispered his words like a morning prayer not meant to be heard by anyone else. But Grant heard them like a shouted challenge across a battlefield. He couldn’t argue with the man.
“Show the world the StarTouched deserve a place alongside their fellow people. Citizens don’t need to be divided by class, age, or any other characteristic. Show people how to live, even if that means by fighting.”
Grant smiled. “You hired a new ally, bishop. What’s the plan?”
10
RESISTANCE
“I can’t know the plan, and I can’t be involved,” Bishop Milne said.
Grant’s gaze locked onto the man before him, a storm of emotions raging. The adrenaline that once coursed through his veins, ignited by the prospect of a noble cause, dissipated into a haunting void. It was just another suicide mission; this time, no one would reward the Arcane Mercenaries for their efforts.
He ran his fingers through his beard, his mind reeling. They had just witnessed the savage methods and ruthless exploitation perpetrated by the officials from Liswall. The queen remained indifferent, and Prince Dominick, despite his best intentions, lacked the resources to support the beleaguered easternmost islands of Ismore.
This was the land he once called home. Here, his wife, children, and parents had been laid to rest, victims of his cursed existence. Yet, amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of purpose emerged. This was his opportunity to stand against the darkness, to be the catalyst for change. They could fight here, where it mattered most.
“It’s tough for people like us to operate on faith,” Ez said. “Call me a skeptic, but we need a plan.”
“Our faith will guide our hands, but it will be the people that clutch the swords,” Bishop Milne said. “When my predecessor spoke out against Erland’s brutality, the warlord ordered his arrest. The trial was quick, and all priests had to witness his beheading in front of the cathedral.”
“He approved you as the replacement?” Grant asked.
“I never spoke out with the same vehemence about the StarTouched as my predecessor or the senior priests. That’s never been our message.” He gave Grant and Ez a wan smile of respect.
“So you survive by preaching peace and endurance,” Ez said.
“It has long been our tradition to endure when the unbelievers strike us down. The church has seen far worse than Erland.”
“So has Megenland, but this is the fight we have today,” Grant said. “How long would you have waited for a StarTouched person to arrive and help overthrow him?”
“As long as it took,” Bishop Milne said. “We pray for deliverance every night. Our prayers may be answered.”
Grant scoffed at the notion he was a tool for divine intervention. Sometimes, even the church needed a butcher to do the dirty work. Grant was a dangerous butcher.
He had to figure out how to overthrow a warlord without his mercenaries.
“I need to know what we have so we can start a plan for what we’re up against,” Grant said.
“You have the gratitude and eternal thanks of the church,” Bishop Milne said.
