Chapter 9: Chapter eight

It used to be said that a wise man knows there will always be someone smarter than they. That expression has fallen out of favour of late to be replaced by a new one with the same meaning: “A wise man has heard of Darrian Rane”.

• Page one of An Unauthorized Biography of Darrian Rane.

 

Darrian stood away from camp, watching the horizon through a spyglass. His men grumbled at not having a fire and grumbled further that they were in the middle of nowhere and seemingly watching for portents.

Darrian didn’t care. He was back in the field again. Leading men on a campaign to find the man who murdered his king. This was what he lived for.

From what he knew of Ferrous, the skard had a habit of getting involved in things he was probably better off avoiding. This, combined with the murder of the Good King, painted the picture of a bold man. Such a man would likely be dissatisfied with lying low, much as Darrian had been. He knew that urge to act, like an itch in one’s mind. If his assessment of Ferrous was right, the skard would feel the need to get involved in the goings-on of wherever he called home. Darrian also thought Ferrous was still in Salitos. Branton thought it was unlikely. But Darrian didn’t think the skard saw himself as a red-handed assassin. Rather, he saw himself as giving the king his due. Paying him back for some perceived slight. A king’s job requires many hard decisions after all, and a man who saw the world in only black and white might well think one of them was worthy of death.

Not a madman then. A misguided man, but a committed one, and one that would likely remain in his home country.

So, Darrian stood in the darkness with his spyglass and watched for the lights of the Shadows. Most people hadn’t bothered to notice the complicated messaging system the Shadows of Inveritus had set up in neighboring countries, let alone learn what the flashing lights meant. Darrian, of course, was not most people, and he had learned the code from a Shadow with loose lips some years earlier.

He had been using this knowledge to keep informed about what the Shadows were doing around Salitos. It was a much easier way of gathering intelligence than actually going out and investigating. It seemed a group of Shadows were searching for a group of Yarrls. They had last been spotted in Fairwater, but since there had been another message asking for Yarrl sightings since then, they had presumably already left by the time the Shadows got there. A band of Yarrls roaming Salitos and being following by Shadows seemed like the kind of suspicious event that might attract the attention of Ferrous if he was nearby, so Darrian was waiting for the next sighting so he could go check it out for himself.

Of course, following his policy of not telling anyone how he got his results, he wasn’t telling his men any of this. A group of mercenaries hired by Branton, Darrian doubted any of them knew about the light network. As far as they knew, Darrian had them camped a few miles outside of Fairwater for no discernible reason and had a habit of leaving camp to go stand in the darkness to look at the sky. He figured they probably didn’t care, as they were being paid regardless, but he found the idea vaguely funny nonetheless.

The imp dangled its head in front of Darrian’s spyglass and his view was suddenly blocked by knobbly, orange skin.

“You’re so boring!” the imp whined, hanging off the end of Darrian’s spyglass. “We’ve been out here for ages.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” the bear said, sitting on Darrian’s shoulder. “It just seems longer because you’re always complaining.”

Darrian could feel the slight weight of the imp, requiring a little more effort to keep the spyglass held straight, as well as the comforting weight of the tiny bear. He was often amazed by what the mind could do, and his more than most.

“Sir,” a man named Angus said, approaching him from camp. “We are running a little low on supplies. With your leave I’ll send a man into town to stock up.”

The imp leapt from Darrian’s spyglass and scurried up Angus to perch upon his head and leer at Darrian. Angus couldn’t tell of course, but Darrian found it mildly annoying. Still, he had been dealing with the denizens of his mind for his whole adult life. He didn’t miss a beat in responding.

“Of course.” He took a few coins from a pouch and handed them to the man. “Make sure none of the men cause trouble in town. We don’t want to draw that kind of attention.”

Angus nodded and hurried off. That one didn’t have much initiative, but he was sensible enough. Plus, he was one of the few of Branton’s men who didn’t look at Darrian like he was some noble’s son out for a lark. The mercenaries had no idea who Darrian was and he hadn’t yet told them. Because of this, all they saw was his lack of years, his small frame and his rich clothing. It had been almost ten years since Darrian had first led men, but he was still one of the youngest men in their camp.

Still, better not to tell them who he was too soon, else they would be endlessly bothering him for stories about his heroic exploits. He would prefer to avoid that for as long as possible. And, if he was honest with himself, he was rather looking forward to revealing his identity with some dramatic flair. Darrian rather enjoyed a touch of the dramatic when the situation allowed.

Darrian turned back to surveying the night in time to see the middle of a message coming from the east. The sky went dark shortly afterwards and Darrian waited for it to repeat. Messages on the light network always repeated, often twice, to make sure they were seen in their entirety. The message came again after a few minutes.

Long, short, short, short. Yarrls.

Short, short. Sighted.

Long, long, short. Location.

Short, long, long, long, short, short, short. Twenty-three.

Darrian retrieved an oil lamp he had brought and checked a small book of notes he kept with him. There, he discovered that location twenty-three was the city of Cadersville. Third largest city in Salitos in terms of population, originally built on the back of a mine but its orchards were now responsible for almost a quarter of all Salitian fruit growth. Reasonably high crime, particularly after the death of the Good King. Not one of the worst areas of Salitos—it had nothing on the cesspit of Merrywood to the south—but there was plenty of corruption to be had.

Overall, it was a good place to hide if you were dodging the law, and apparently the Shadows were tracking a group of Yarrls who had just shown up there.

A good place to look for Ferrous. Which meant it was time to make some introductions.

 

 

Darrian returned to the camp just as the men were finishing breakfast. He had made a habit of going for a walk in the morning so there was nothing unusual about this as far as any of the mercenaries were concerned. He strode up to the largest of the mercenaries, a man with a scarred head, bulging muscles and more than a few missing teeth.

“Ahvos right?” Darrian asked.

“Yessir,” Ahvos said between bites of a hard traveller’s loaf. “What can I do for ya?”

“We’re going to be marching today, but I’d like to get in some sparring before we get on the road. Would you care to join me?”

“Sparring?” Ahvos asked.

“Practice fighting,” Darrian clarified. He could see the exchange was starting to draw looks from the other men now. “You against me. What do you say?”

Ahvos worked a piece of food out of his teeth and gave a shrug. “You’re the boss.”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Darrian said. “Would you care to make a wager on the outcome?”

“You want to bet on a fight with me?”

“I do. How about if you win, I’ll give you twenty brightmarks and you can spend the rest of this job whoring and drinking to your heart’s content at full pay.”

Ahvos grinned like he couldn’t believe his luck. Then, slowly, scepticism started to seep in. “What if you win?”

“Then you work the rest of this job at half-pay. And you stop sneaking drinks while you’re on watch.”

Ahvos looked abashed. But, to his credit, he didn’t try to deny it. “It’s a deal.”

The other mercenaries were nudging each other and whispering by now.

“Excellent,” Darrian said. “There’s a field west of camp we can use. Unarmed combat alright with you? First to knock the other guy down?”

“Sure,” Ahvos said, getting up and following Darrian out of camp.

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Much of the camp followed after them, presumably out of morbid curiosity. Ahvos was enormous and looked like he could snap Darrian in half without much effort. Surely for Darrian to make such a bet, he must be either an incredible fighter or incredibly stupid.

Darrian was neither. He had his basic training and was passable with a spear or his fists, but he had no doubt that Ahvos would take him apart in anything resembling a fair fight. Then again, Darrian had never been one for fair fights.

Darrian walked confidently through the field and turned to face Ahvos when he was about halfway across. “Looks like we have a bit of an audience.”

Ahvos turned to see most of the other mercenaries fanning out behind them, vying for a good spot to watch the boss get his arse kicked. He just shrugged.

“Are you ready?” Darrian asked, projecting confidence. He had planned this out well enough, but he still felt a little intimidated by Ahvos’s sheer size. And the little orange imp sitting on his shoulder jeering at him wasn’t helping either. Then a tiny bear materialized on top of Ahvos’s head, sat down, and let out a massive yawn. Darrian smiled at that.

Thanks.

The bear smiled a sleepy-bear smile in recognition and vanished again.

“Yeah,” Ahvos said, dropping into a low stance.

“Then let’s begin,” Darrian said.

The words had barely left Darrian’s lips when Ahvos came at him. For a big guy, the man could move, and Darrian was forced backwards lest he be grabbed and simply thrown to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Darrian danced backwards, careful of his footing, but Ahvos wouldn’t let up. He kept coming, confident he only needed to close the gap to win the fight.

Darrian almost felt bad for him.

Darrian moved another few steps back and then stopped. Ahvos came after him, but while Darrian had been placing his feet precisely to avoid the small holes he had dug earlier, then covered up, Ahvos had no idea that there were any holes at all until he put a foot in one and began to slip.

Then Darrian just reached out and pulled him forward, using his momentum and sudden insecure footing against him. Ahvos hit the ground.

Darrian stepped over him and walked back towards the assembled group. “Well that was fun. Anyone else care to have a go? I’ll offer the same twenty bright to anyone else who thinks they can beat me.”

“I’ll take that bet,” a tall man wearing a wool hat said. Darrian thought his name was Smethers.

“Okay. But if you lose you go to half pay just like Ahvos there. Deal?”

Ahvos was picking himself up off the ground and looking angry. Darrian would need to be quick about this if he was going to keep control of the situation.

“That’s okay with me,” Smethers said. “But only if we fight with swords, to first blood.”

“No problem,” Darrian said, though he fancied sword-fighting this long-limbed man about as little as he had wanted to wrestle Ahvos. Next time he would make sure to opt for dramatic displays that didn’t involve any actual fighting. He may have gotten carried away on this one.

Someone brought Darrian and Smethers a pair of swords and the two of them faced off against one another in the middle of the field. They both bowed and then the duel began.

Smethers immediately tried to end the duel with a lunge. Darrian deflected it, but barely. Then Smethers was pressing the attack and it was all he could do to avoid getting cut. He backed up quickly, but Smethers wasn’t nearly as aggressive as Ahvos had been. Darrian led him over to a tree growing in the field and used it as cover to make the other man’s attacks more awkward. Smethers had seen what happened to Ahvos, and he was watching his footing carefully.

So, when Darrian cut free a net that he had rigged up in the tree and it fell on Smethers’, he never saw it coming. Darrian poked him lightly with the sword and the duel was over.

“I can do this all day,” Darrian announced, returning to his men. “I’ve set up enough traps in this field over the past few days to take out the lot of you.” He actually only had a couple left, but they didn’t need to know that. “But I’m a reasonable man. I’ll let both these men continue to work at full-pay if anyone can tell me my name.”

Wide-eyed stares all around.

“It’s Darrian,” someone called out from the assembled throng. He had told them as much after all.

“My full name,” Darrian said. After all, Darrian wasn’t that uncommon a name in certain parts of Salitos.

Nobody proffered a guess. These mercenaries were too lowborn to have family names, and none of them had much of an interest in what Darrian’s was.

“I’ll give you a clue,” Darrian said, taking the medal from his pocket and pinning it to his doublet.

A grizzled old ex-soldier stepped out of the crowd and dropped to one knee. He’d figured it out. He said something too quietly for Darrian to hear.

“What was that?” he asked.

“You’re Darrian Rane sir,” the man said, his eyes tearing up. “The greatest general ever to fight for the Good King.”

“That I am. And who might you be soldier?”

“I’m called Arnos sir, and it’s a great honour to serve under you.”

Darrian turned to Ahvos and Smethers in turn, who were both among the crowd now. “Well you two can thank Arnos here for saving you half your pay. And you have my thanks for demonstrating something to the men here. Can anyone guess what that might be?”

“That you’re the best?” somebody guessed.

“No,” Darrian said, affecting modesty. “Either of these men here were more than my equal in a fair fight and they know it. The lesson here is that we can beat superior foes if we are clever and pick our battlegrounds carefully.” Darrian checked that his praise had the intended effect and, sure enough, Ahvos and Smethers no longer looked like they wanted to rip his arms off, which was good.

“This is important,” he continued, “because the mission we have been given is to track down the rogue Justice Ferrous Pax and bring him to account for the murder of our king.”

Murmurs went through the mercenaries. Darrian had just told them they were hunting a living legend. More, that that legend had killed their king.

“It’s a difficult task we’ve been handed, but if you’re willing to put your faith in me, I have a plan to find Pax and bring him in. If you don’t want to continue with me, I will understand, and you’ll receive your pay for the work you’ve done so far. But I don’t think that’s what you want. I don’t think you want to just get by, protecting one nobleman against another. I think you want to do something worthwhile. Something that will bring you glory. Something that will bring you riches. And, most of all, something that will bring justice for the Good King! So, am I right? Who’s with me?”

A roar went up from the assembled mercenaries, many of which had been in the king’s army at one point or another and none of which appreciated the state of the country since his death.

It wasn’t Darrian’s best speech, frankly he was out of practice, but the men cheered at the idea of hunting one of the most personally dangerous men who had ever lived.

He had them.

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