Rastod had no interest in being an interesting man, nor a powerful one. He merely wanted a place to call home, nestled in a forest ripe with deer. In time he could attempt to convince Anna to join him, and they would have peace, and fun.

  This was not fun. Not peaceful, either.

  His reverie broke abruptly as the man he and Ezlos were carrying — an arm draped around each of their shoulders — died with a shrill screech. It was not a graceful death, but then, his guts were hanging a little out, so Rastod could hardly blame the man.

  "We tried," Ezlos said, shrugging the man off.

  "Lots of trying, these last days," Rastod replied, shifting to the side of the road and laying the dead man gently down on the grass. Rastod met Ezlos eyes for a moment, seemed one of them was going to say something.

  "Best keep moving," Ezlos said, turning and rejoining the unorganised column of mercenaries belonging to House Uzin. It was an uneven, panicked river of brutes and brigands and Rastod himself. He strode to catch up to Ezlos.

  During his first campaign abroad in this illustrious army, all preconceived notions of honour and duty were shattered.

  A few moons ago, the five major mercenary houses in Kalnen pledged to fight as one to overthrow their corrupt Baron, united by the young leader of House Alzabin, Bieskul. This healed some of those cracks, a little.

  Two weeks ago, both House Uzin and House Tarcin betrayed the other three, and those cracks were back in earnest, the splinters ground into dust.

  That very morning, watching his fellows stampede over one another, claw and push and scrabble like rats caught in a trap, that was when the dust of honour and duty was finally cast into the wind, dispersed across the land as if it never existed.

  Rastod elbowed past the fellow on his right whose shield kept jabbing into his side. He was not made for this.

  "How far?" Rastod growled.

  "That last bridge we crossed marked our entry into Olern's lands, we will reach the city in three hours," Ezlos said.

  Rastod grunted.

  Ezlos was a nice enough fellow. A bit intense about some things, most things, really. Rastod glanced at the grizzled soldiers around him, saw one woman carried a gilded sconce, stolen from some manor on the outskirts of Etez Tolica no doubt. Another man was picking through the pockets of a comrade that was face down in the ditch next to the road. Rastod could not be picky about his friends amongst the house.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  It was a damn shame that being a mercenary paid thrice that of a trapper in the southern provinces where Rastod was from. Even worse that the mercenary houses had decided to march against Baron Arol. Killing his fellow Kalnas on their own lands had not been part of the job description when he joined up. That was life, he supposed.

  But a small home, built by his own hand, in a deep and sprawling forest, teeming with critters and game…soon.

  They trudged on in silence, thousands of Uzin mercenaries in their red livery, many nursing fresh wounds of the same colour.

  Their sudden defeat the night before had been unexpected, apparently. Though the plan and subsequent surprise had to pass down an immense chain of halfwits before reaching Rastod's own ears. Regardless, once Houses Uzin and Tarcin betrayed the other three, the war was supposed to have ended. Crush House Sierin against the black walls of Etez Tolica, wait for their surrender. Win. Go home for the spring. Go hunting. Hold Anna.

  Instead, Houses Alzabin and Lokin marched double time and all through the nights, reached the capital far quicker than they should've. Sierin held out longer than they were supposed to, too.

  Lots of bucking of expectations, and none of it good.

  With those freshly arrived reinforcements, it was Uzin and Tarcin's turn to get routed from behind. The Baron holed up in Etez Tolica, a layer of trapped Sierin at the walls, then Uzin and Tarcin, and finally Alzabin and Lokin. A mighty layered clusterfuck sandwich.

  Was a damn miracle most of Uzin managed to retreat north. Rumour was Tarcin did not fare so well, though there were plenty wearing their yellow tabards spotted amongst the column.

  Being a mercenary had been bad enough when they were winning and over a border.

  Losing within your own nation was enough to make Rastod question the entirety of his life choices that led him to this point.

  Ezlos did not seem as glum about the events of the last day, more…confused? He had worn this strange expression since the retreat, as if thinking of the secrets of the world, pondering the meaning of life.

  "What?" Rastod snapped, strangely irritated by the way Ezlos rubbed at the wisp he stoically maintained was a beard.

  "It doesn't make sense," Ezlos replied, gaze unfocused.

  Rastod grunted his agreement. "I certainly didn't enjoy Alzabin and Lokin showing up like that."

  "No, not that."

  Rastod clenched his jaw, raised an eyebrow, resisted growling. "What, then?"

  "They pursue us all through the night, and still. Not recklessly, not simply being opportunistic and cutting at the heels of a retreating enemy." Ezlos had this way of speaking that made Rastod irrationally angry. If he spent many more months alongside the man, he'd have no teeth left for all his grinding. "No, they are steady, will reach Olern a good day or two behind us, but having enjoyed respite on the way, and with time to gather their forces."

  "No use in rushing, our vanguard already control the walls."

  Ezlos shook his head, a smirk on his thin lips. "Ah, that is the obvious answer, but not the right one. Why were we in Etez Tolica?"

  "To crush Sierin against its black walls."

  "And why were they there in the first place?"

  "Sieging the city."

  "Why?"

  "To get at the bleeding Baron!" Rastod sucked a breath through his nose, let it out slowly. "To get at the Baron."

  Ezlos said nothing, his mouth a flat line, a cheeky sparkle in the eye that Rastod could see.

  "Ah," Rastod muttered, realising what he was getting at, "they had Etez Tolica for the taking, so why muster your forces in pursuit of us. Seems our friend the Baron may be ahead of us on this very road."

  "Aye. It is our turn to defend a siege."