Knives in the Dark
They preyed on travelers who went about unarmed or looked weak—pilgrims, lone peddlers moving from village to village. There was no sense in courting danger by going after a wagon guarded by nine mercenaries.
"I feel bad about this."
"Think nothing of it, Sir Knight."
Gowan gave a short bow and went off to see to his duties. Now that Johan was traveling with the group as a noble, there was no reason for him to bother with chores or standing watch.
Rank really is a convenient thing.
In this era, status carried absolute authority. Under ordinary circumstances, simply revealing his bloodline would have earned him deference and courtesy wherever he went.
While the mercenaries built the fire and drew lots for the night watch, Johan shed his armor and allowed himself to rest. Not everything, of course—he kept the gear beneath it. He couldn't trust anyone completely. There would always be men in this world with too much spine and too little sense.
Come to think of it, following Eldans into the city might not be a bad idea.
He seemed to have made a good impression on the cat beastfolk, so getting an introduction once they reached the city sounded like a sound plan. Everything was easier with a guide. And he had money enough for it now, too.
I've heard there are dwarven craftsmen in the cities as well, not just in the Dwarf Mountains.
He wanted to have a weapon made first, if possible. His current longsword left him uneasy. He carried it because he'd look strange without one, but still...
"This is far too humble a meal to set before you, Sir Johan..."
"What's a man on the road supposed to turn his nose up at?"
Johan had left the lord's manor in a hurry; there was no way he'd come away properly provisioned. A few loaves of bread with a thin spread of butter, nothing more. Thankfully, they were the soft wheat loaves from the manor's own ovens—a world apart from the hard black bread that serfs and mercenaries chewed through.
Even so, a man would tire of it eventually.
The soup Eldans handed over was closer to a hodgepodge gruel than anything else—a pot of water, a handful of mixed grains, and salt-pork thrown in and boiled—but to travelers it was a feast. When times were lean, a man couldn't even spare the fuel for a fire like this.
As the broth warmed his throat, Johan felt something in his body finally loosen. He glanced around the camp. The sun was sinking, the light failing. Out of habit, he surveyed the site for positions from which it might be attacked.
It sat against a low hill, at a comfortable remove from the forest—a good place to make camp. They'd set sentries on the hilltop, so anyone approaching from the surrounding dark would be spotted well in advance.
For the first time in a while, I might actually sleep soundly.
There was a reason he hadn't traveled alone until now. On his own, there was simply too much to keep track of. Hitching himself to this merchant caravan had been a wise choice.
Kahn yawned. He'd always assumed sleep would come thinner with age. Apparently not.
"So here's the thing, Kahn. Honest to god, it sticks in my craw. I don't get why everyone else is groveling to him like that. Sure, I know nobles are a big deal, all right? Drag a bunch of soldiers around barking orders left and right, and I bet you'd look impressive too. But this one doesn't even have a single squire trailing after him. He's got nothing on a beggar or a pilgrim—"
"Gamson."
"Yes?"
"Shut your trap."
"......"
As the oldest man in the mercenary band, Kahn had drawn the watch alongside Gamson, the greenhorn rookie. If a mistake was going to be made, it was far more likely to come from Gamson.
Is he only like this because nobody's beaten him yet?
Kahn weighed how many blows it would take to knock some sense into the boy, then gave up on the idea. With Gowan, the captain, keeping his peace, it would look absurd for Kahn to step in over him.
Gamson had never actually laid eyes on a noble, and it showed. A lifetime of strutting around some backwater village, then running off with the first mercenary band to pass through—no wonder he had it all wrong.
What made a noble fearsome was not the soldiers he dragged along behind him. It was the weight standing behind him. That was why even the most battle-scarred mercenaries rarely moved against a noble where anyone could see. All the more so if you didn't want to spend the rest of your life running.
And if that noble happened to be a properly trained knight?
Then he was terrifying on his own, full stop. Kahn shot a glance at Johan. Eyes closed in sleep, and yet the man radiated the menace of a beast at rest. A frame half again larger than most, a body honed by hard training. And equipment a cut above anything the mercenaries carried.
"There's nine of us, for crying out loud. Do we really have to cower before one knight?"
"Nine, twenty, it makes no difference—you don't cross a knight. Gamson, everyone here knows you've never seen a real war. Give it a rest already."
"Wh-what's that supposed to mean, Kahn? I fought in two campaigns—"
"Goblin-culling in some village cave, more like. No man who'd been in a proper territorial war would be this green. Have you even seen a knight before? Do you know what mercenaries do when a knight comes charging at them on horseback?"
"......"
"A hundred hired swords, gathered together, run away weeping. From one man. Not because they're cowards. Because they know that if they stand still, the few in front are simply dead. Don't get lippy with a knight. All that posturing does is show everyone how shallow your pockets are."
Gamson's face trembled with fury. Back in the village, he'd been the one the other young men feared. But out here, in a mercenary band, not a soul gave him an ounce of respect. Open his mouth and it was scolding and scorn. He didn't know he should have counted himself lucky the blows hadn't come yet. He took Kahn's advice as an insult, turned his head away, and muttered.
"...Fuck."
"What was that?"
"Nothing at all."
"You little shit, are you out of your mind? I talk to you like a man instead of beating you, and now you think I'm your goblin-bait? Say it again. Go on."
Kahn's face darkened. Age had mellowed him, but he was a mercenary who had spent his whole life crawling through battlefields. He wasn't about to stand by while some green pup with peach fuzz on his chin climbed up his back.
Kahn drew the weapon at his belt. When the pleasant older man suddenly pulled steel, Gamson yelped in fright. But backing down now was unthinkable. He grabbed up his club in turn.
Kahn's expression went cold. An apology would have barely sufficed—and instead the boy had drawn on him.
"You must have lost your mind wanting to die... Gowan picked a man badly. No matter how shorthanded he was, to pick a piece of shit like this."
"F-fuck you... what's so great about you? What have you ever done for me?"
Kahn's equipment was among the finest in the whole band. A one-handed short sword, a shield layered with bronze and leather. Against Gamson clutching a black club in the dark, more than intimidating enough.
"Even if Gowan chews me out for it, a shit like you needs killing."
"You son of a—"
Thwack!
What cut their argument short was an arrow flying between them. It buried itself in the earth at their feet, and both men's eyes went wide.
"!?"
Kahn dropped low in an instant and raised his shield toward the direction the arrow had come from. Then he drew in a great breath and roared.
"We're under attack!"
"You useless bastard! Can't even hit two men?!"
"Then you try shooting in the dark, you dog!"
The enemy had crept closer than anyone thought; the exchange of coarse shouts carried clearly through the night. There was an eastern imperial drawl mixed into the voices. Kahn, mid-rant at the rookie, cursed himself for failing at the one duty that mattered.
How could I be this stupid...!
"Kill them!"
With that killing cry, the men who had crawled all the way up to the base of the hill came rushing. From the look of them, they had shrouded themselves in cloaks to blur their outlines under the moonlight and dragged themselves up on their bellies.
How many?
Even amid the chaos, Kahn struggled to get a count. Enemy numbers? And how many of his own side were on their feet?
"Aaaagh!"
"You filthy son of a—!"
Kahn was dumbstruck when he saw Gamson shriek and flee down the far side of the hill. To run without swinging his blade even once.
The attackers, apparently deciding that concealment no longer mattered, lit torches. Thanks to them, Kahn could at least make out shapes.
More than ten!
Metal rang. An enemy had closed in and hammered Kahn's shield. As two mercenaries lunged at him, Kahn locked his body solid. Shield up, he struck left, then drove the short sword in a stabbing cut at the right man's leg.
"Kgh!"
Blood sprayed, and the man on the right collapsed off his footing. Two attackers had made him careless. Kahn pressed his advantage, jabbing the short sword again and again. In the dark, he had the vague sense that something had been run through.
"You bastard!"
The enemy on the left swung a blunt weapon, slamming the shield so hard it knocked Kahn's balance awry. The blow caught the shield's rim, spun it, and flipped it clean over.
"Kahn!"
With a hiss of parted air, an arrow sank into an attacker's shoulder. The man screamed and tumbled away.
The allied mercenaries, rushing up the hill to help, had shifted the numbers—if only for the moment—and the attackers faltered.
Then the battle froze. The enemy could not push up the slope, and Gowan's men, outnumbered and caught in a surprise attack, dared not charge first.
But the position favored the attackers. They held superior numbers, and they had begun circling the hill. Once they fully gathered, the assault would begin again—that much was certain.
"Who the hell are you people?!"
Gowan bellowed into the dark. The attackers answered with nothing but the gleam of their eyes.
"You know full well this is the territory of Count Zarfen! You are breaking the law of House Zarfen this very moment!"
Still no answer. Men who could be shaken by words like that wouldn't have attacked in the first place. Gowan clenched his teeth.
"If you mean to fight on, then we'll fight to the last. Are you ready for that?"
Brigands, at least, would sometimes withdraw when the other side proved more trouble than the prize was worth.
But the attackers only drew closer still. The hand of the mercenary holding a bow trembled violently.
"What do we do?"
"We're surrounded either way. Shoulder to shoulder, and ready yourselves to fight! Running is—"
At that instant, a scream tore through the night. Not from Gowan's band—from the attackers' side.
The first to react to the ambush was Johan. More precisely, he had opened his eyes moments before the attack even began. The killers' intent had roused his instincts like a hand on his throat.
An ambush?!
Johan wondered if he'd grown complacent. With Karamaf gone, he'd assumed nothing would come hunting him...
He pulled on his helm in one motion. There was no time to don the chain mail as well.
I'll circle around the side of the hill and hit them.
Thankfully, the mercenaries would hold their attention for him.