Chapter 1

 

It was not enough; Mercy sighed, looking at their small collection and again thought it was not enough. This little coin would not sustain them for long, it was too small a sum. Mercy had known that staying in Parvery would be difficult, but he had not anticipated all the problems they had faced. Lack of coin had become the chief of those difficulties. They needed to eat, and they needed supplies to keep them on the move. They also often needed shelter as there was not always enough cover for camping out. Although it was risky staying at an inn or other indoor accommodation, where they might attract attention which could lead to questions, it had occasionally been necessary. This was also too expensive to be a regular luxury. Lodging for so many for a night was only part of the cost they paid for. They also must pay for food and drink, hay and oats for the few animals they had; the men often indulged in paid company as well, a luxury Mercy could not deny them or he would lose their loyalty. These nights were costly indeed.

 

Coin was never easy to obtain. Taking work even for a short period would again lead to too many unwanted questions. They were not known in Parvery, so could not find honest work easily. Working would also prevent them from being on the road, moving constantly, which was vital for their mission. Cheap labour was often needed on farms or in mines, but men did not want them on the land. They took what jobs they could risk but more often they stole because it was what they knew.  It was their only choice to continue surviving but to survive, they could not be caught. They were still wanted men. Though their faces were not known, the company had to tread carefully in everything, but treading carefully meant they collected too little coin.

“We have not all yet returned. There will be more,” Wisdom spoke from behind Mercy, reading his thoughts effortlessly. Mercy had not heard him approach, the old man had only grown quieter with age.

 

Wisdom was the only member of the original company, the Five Heads, that was still alive. He and Mercy were not close though they had fought together many times. In truth, Mercy had not given him much thought previously. He knew he ought to take comfort in his presence, but he couldn’t. Wisdom was aptly named; he was clever and learned much from observing others. He was the only one who could possibly know Mercy’s secret and so he couldn’t be comfortable around him. He could trust him though, he supposed, more than the other men, as, if Wisdom knew something, he had never said a word. Wisdom was an old man now. No one knew his exact age, but Mercy guessed he was well into his sixties. His hair had begun turning grey some years back and was now a light charcoal colour. Like most of the company, it hung around his head in short uneven chunks as he cut it himself with a knife, caring only to keep it out of his eyes. These were a flat brown, small like the rest of his features, even his feet and hands. Wisdom certainly looked unremarkable, but he was not to be underestimated.

“Yes, Wisdom, they have not all returned,” Mercy answered. He turned to see that Wisdom was again reading. “How is it you managed to rescue so many books from our camp?”

“I did not. A few I saved, most I have stolen since,” he spoke without looking up from his book.

“I thought I sent you out to find wealth and food, things we can live off,” Mercy’s tone was more questioning than scolding.

“All the wealth of the world is in books,” Wisdom said, still not looking at Mercy. Mercy shook his head and abandoned the conversation. The books would not solve their mission, but he supposed it couldn’t hurt for one of the company to learn more about this land they were endlessly travelling across.

 

He looked at the mountainscape surrounding him. Tonight, the company had set up camp in the Kingdom of Merchden, hidden in the mountain range in the southern corner of the Kingdom. The peak they had settled on was not the highest but afforded them both a good visibility of the mountain paths while keeping them hidden out of sight. The mountain paths and passages were mostly disused as travellers rarely found them; Mercy did not want to have to kill any more. As he gazed across the horizon, Mercy could make out that there were men on one of the paths below. His men, though, he was certain. They were recognisable even at a distance, mostly because of the swords they wore at their sides and the axes at their backs. Most travellers were not so heavily armed. Mercy heard heavy scraping footfalls behind him.

“Three and not four,” Boot commented on the approaching figures as he sat down next to Mercy. Boot then removed his wooden left leg and began to tend it. With overuse, the replacement appendage tended to splinter. He had had the wooden limb for as long as Mercy had known him. Boot was often fond of telling the story of how he lost his leg but since the tale was different with every telling the company had long stopped asking how he had truly lost the limb. Mercy turned away from Boot and his polishing.  

“Yes, Trickster won’t be back yet.” It would be Troll, Bloodlust and Damage. Mercy was sure even though they were not close enough yet to tell.  

“Aye, he won’t,” Boot agreed, but Mercy did not respond only waited silently for the oncoming men to arrive. This did not take long and by the time the three men gained the peak to join the camp, all the men were waiting for them.

“A carriage, boys, we caught a carriage!” Troll yelled to those gathered. Troll was named aptly for his ugly wart-covered appearance, his wide-grinning smile made him look no better.

“That will be some fine pickings then?” Boot hailed back loudly. As an answer, Troll dropped down a very small chest filled with silver and gold coins. Behind him, Damage, whose name came from the brutal way he liked to kill, emptied two small purses. One from each hand. They were full of brightly coloured jewels and other pieces of finery. Then they each retrieved a woven basket from their backs. The baskets were filled with food. Every man in the camp got to their feet apart from Mercy. In seconds they all converged on the stolen spoils. Troll and Damage bent down to take the choice pickings along with everyone else. Bloodlust however stayed standing, grinning at them all.

“Easy boys, there is plenty to go around,” he encouraged. Bloodlust had a taste for killing as most of the men Mercy had inherited did, but he did possess self-control over his brutality. He was intelligent, sneaky and had a liking for pain whether he was the one inflicting or receiving it. This trait is what made him so skilled at torturing others. Mercy did not know much more about the man, and he was beginning to think that was a mistake.  

“You attacked a carriage,” Mercy spoke carefully but his disapproval was clear.

“Of course,” Bloodlust answered shrugging, dismissing his leader easily. Mercy sighed before speaking again, he addressed all the men.

“Tidy this up and start packing.”

“Packing, why?” asked young Archer, on the ground with a fist full of coins.

“Because this attack will draw too much attention. These treasures belong to a lord at least, if not a royal. We cannot be discovered and now there will be soldiers out searching for the culprits.” Mercy turned away and instantly began assessing what needed to be done to pack up the camp.

“Why? We weren’t followed. They won’t find us up here,” Damage replied, unconcernedly.

“Yet our fearless leader says we must move,” Bloodlust’s voice was subtle, but the taunting was clear.

“Attacking nobles means soldiers and guards hunting us. If caught, we will be imprisoned or worse. Our purpose here is too important,” Mercy did not speak in anger. He knew his men were bold and wild, yet still, they had to be more cautious. However, he also knew his authority over them was slim. He still had little desire to lead men at all and the men knew this.  The men had responded to his lack of control in kind. If he would not take the reins, they would not hand them to him.

 

“Trickster is not back yet,” the boy Archer pointed out.

“No, but he will be soon. We will wait for him, but we must be ready to leave. We need to get far ahead of any pursuit.” There was no more argument. Mercy issued his orders quickly and his men acted on them as he spoke. They gathered up the food, coin, supplies such as their camp gear and their few personal possessions, mainly weapons. Meanwhile, he studied the crude maps he had been creating, trying to decide where they could go now. It was early afternoon; they wouldn’t be able to travel far before nightfall and they would need cover as the days and nights were getting colder. Once he knew their direction, he went to help Archer fold up the sleeping wraps. Then suddenly over the noise of the busy men came a new voice.

“You would think, that when a man returns from a difficult and dangerous mission, the least his friends could do is offer him some ale.” The voice belonged to a tall lanky man with sandy hair and a kind face. Trickster had sat himself on a small boulder nearby and was laughing as he watched the shock and surprise register on their faces. Archer gave a happy cry and Mercy sighed with relief. Miner and Green however threw stones in annoyance, Trickster was always sneaking up on them like this. Trickster only laughed harder and dodged easily out of the way. Until Damage chose a larger sharper rock which he threw directly at Trickster’s head. Trickster had to jump up and away to avoid this throw and he stopped laughing.

“Enough,” Mercy called out, putting an end to Trickster’s unfriendly welcome. “We must leave now,” they returned to packing and were soon finished. None of them looked back as they all started down the mountain track in small groups. They did not travel together, large groups stood out.

 

In the early days of their life in hiding the company of thirteen had spent much of their time buying, or stealing, the supplies they would need to sustain them. They bought thick sleeping wraps, blankets, warm clothes and furs. They purchased a supply of easily preserved food, such as dried fruits, nuts, salted rye bread and dried strips of meat. Water could usually be found from rivers and streams as they walked. They sometimes managed to discreetly use village pumps when they were passing through. Finally, they bought bottles of strong liquor, nettle wine, ale and honeyed goat’s milk. However, it had been Wisdom who bought their most useful purchase. He had somehow got hold of two donkeys and an old pack mule. How he had afforded this Mercy wasn’t sure. He was a good haggler, they all were, but still, they had seemed beyond their funds. It didn’t surprise him though; hoarding gold or jewellery was an accepted practice of the mercenary life which even he was guilty of. Mercy suspected Wisdom had bought the creatures so he could always have a seat to travel on, but the men had been highly grateful they did not have to carry all the supplies themselves. Mercy was pleased too and didn’t begrudge Wisdom this luxury. They had to travel through the kingdoms on foot and the old man would have slowed them down. He had not questioned the purchases.

“Where are we headed this time, Mercy?” Bloodlust yelled from the back of the company’s procession. They would not separate until they reached the open road.

“Next kingdom over, to Pidar. The woods will give us cover and it’s not far,” he answered, not raising his voice, not wanting to give away their position though there was likely no one to hear them.

“Why bother using the name of place,” Bloodlust spat and then asked, “and how long will we stay there?” Still yelling.

“Some time, I think,” Mercy lied, not really having any idea. “From there we can travel between Twickerth and Arabat while staying out of danger. I still think this is where the information we need should be.” Those were the kingdoms that the Benefactor had directed them to attack. There must be a reason he deduced, even if they hadn’t found it. “Perhaps if some of you accompanied Trickster in his work, he could take more.” Mercy spoke again, though mostly to himself.

“More paper pilfering?” Bloodlust yelled again, his disdain clear. That was Trickster’s mission separate from the rest of the company’s coin collecting. He had to break into lords’ halls and kings’ castles to steal any accessible papers. Mercy needed information, not only about the kingdoms but also about the noblemen that ruled them. This was how they would discover their ‘benefactor’ and complete their overall mission of revenge.

“Not sure more help would help, Mercy. Might just muddy matters and attract unwanted eyes,” Trickster replied, squashing the half-formed idea straight away.

“Yes, you’re right. When we stop, I will look over the new batch, there may be something important this time.”

“No doubt they will illuminate much,” Bloodlust interjected again. He was sceptical, Mercy knew, and openly so. Mercy only hoped the others didn’t feel the same. They separated not long after this to travel to Pidar. After another hour or two, night fell and the company reunited to make camp. Mercy stayed up late by the firelight reading while the others slept. This had become his habit, resisting rest, pouring over document after document, trying to find something. He was staying up later and later desperately searching. They had been in Parvery for nearly two months, visited all the kingdoms and still, they had nothing. Mercy was feeling pressure from his men and from his own instincts. He was sure it would be harder to find information about the Benefactor as time passed. Mercy couldn’t stop though, he had to find the Benefactor no matter how long it took. Not just for revenge but also for the absolution of his own conscience.

 

Once again that night, after looking through all the papers, he was no closer to finding the Benefactor. However, he did find something interesting. Mercy took it as a sign that he could sleep. He woke one of the others to keep watch and laid back under two blankets as it was a cold night. The next morning, he woke agitated, with the urgent need to share with the others what he had learned.

“There is a prince that is heading to Pidar. He will arrive in a day or two. I think we should move farther afield as he is to travel on the same road we are on.” It was a Hollthen prince, but he didn’t say this. This detail wouldn’t mean anything to anyone but him. It shouldn’t mean anything to him. He had found letters from the Merchden king to his lords discussing the route the prince would take and Mercy didn’t want their paths to cross.

“How much farther?” Troll complained, sitting up in his sleeping wrap. The others also groaned as they began to rise from their beds.

“We have to move to a different kingdom. I think we should try Twickerth again, or Valance maybe,” Mercy responded, getting to his feet, and beginning to pack up, hoping the others wouldn’t argue again.

“Or we could stay on our course and plant traps. A prince would mean a rich take,” Bloodlust argued.

“No, we cannot risk such attention,” Mercy spoke, trying to sound commanding.

“What attention? No one knows we’re still here,” Bloodlust yelled, holding his arms out wide and turning around to emphasise his point. All thirteen of them came to a halt, uncertain.

“We must be on our guard,” Mercy snapped back. Bloodlust’s challenges were beginning to unsettle him and the rest of the company too.

“We cannot always be running,” Green spoke with a bold but calm voice. Mercy knew it came from a place of weariness and he understood. They were all fatigued and tired of the road, even him. It felt like they were running constantly from everything. He couldn’t see any other option though, even if it was the wrong choice. He had never felt built for command and this uncertainty only increased his worries, so he made a different decision even though that also felt wrong.

“We must avoid this royal visit, but we can stay in Pidar. As long as we are careful to stay clear of the capital and the surrounding roads.” He spoke in a calmer voice trying to compromise. It seemed to work. They all nodded and Mercy carried on packing up the camp, he was glad when the others did the same. He was almost certain that they would follow him now, almost.