60

After they’d all eaten, they got on the road. Merk was easily annoyed and demanding. He criticized them for moving too fast through the forest or too slowly. To him their Muffle spells made all of them “sloppy,” as did their reliance on magic in general. He moved them through a number of winding hunting trails and small forest paths and occasionally had them cross over pieces of main roads quickly to avoid being seen by anyone. It reminded Michael of moving into enemy territory with the scouts, but more tentative, more jittery. Merk was nervous, and it was obvious to them. He didn’t seem incompetent, but there was always a wide gulf between someone’s perception of their ability and their actual ability. Hiding his fear that he was doing a bad job by being a dick to everyone else wasn’t the best way to handle it, though.

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the small raiding camp. Merk gave a kind of warbling whistle that was returned from the other side of some thick brush. Merk gestured for them to follow, and they pushed through to a small break in the woods that had been cleared by hand. There were around twenty small tents, but no fires. Michael could see around three knights and one other dragoon, with the rest of them being regular soldiers. One of the knights seemed older than the others, and the regular soldiers had the look of veterans, which buoyed the experience he could tell the youthful faces of the other knights lacked. Michael saw two of the knights break away and move toward them. One wore the traditional full-plate, but the other’s full-plate seemed to have some kind of hide lining that peeked out from beneath it. He recognized them immediately.

Merk saluted, which was returned by both of them. “Rein, Tain, I’ve brought the Penitent mage and his guard.”

Tain frowned at them and shook his head. “Of all of those they could’ve given to us, they chose this rabble.”

Merk looked a bit upset. “Sir?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You did good, Merk, getting them here. I just hate Penitents.” He looked directly at Marcus as he spoke. “They tend to hear orders selectively if they don’t have the sting of the brand at their necks.”

Michael frowned. He must have doubled down on his dislike for them after the hunt.

Rein shook his head. “No, this is good.” He pointed at Michael. “We got a healer in the bargain, and say what you will about them obeying orders, everyone came back alive from that hunt.”

Michael was surprised at the defense—the last encounter he’d had with Rein had ended… had it ended poorly? He’d passed out after healing him, so he wasn’t sure. Their fight during the Festival of Blades had certainly been intense, but who knows what had happened to him since then? A lot had certainly happened to Michael.

“Do you have any injured?” asked Michael. The question was beginning to feel like a catchphrase at this point.

Rein nodded. “Some minor injuries, follow me.” He looked at Tain. “You show them to where they can set down their tents and supplies.” Tain sighed but listened, gesturing for the others to follow him. Merk stood around awkwardly for a few moments, having not been formally dismissed, but eventually decided to have a thought of his own and make his way back to his tent to check on his gear.

There was no set “infirmary,” so instead Michael was guided one by one to a number of people that needed some healing. There was nothing serious—a couple of ankles sprained from tripping in the woods, a deep—but not too deep—cut from a sword, and a shallow arrow wound. They weren’t injuries that would fully take someone out of the fight, but they would definitely reduce their effectiveness.

“Set up your tent. We have a scout tracking some enemy movements. Tomorrow we’ll choose a target and hit it. Your mage good with fire?”

“Ollie’s good with everything.”

He nodded. “Good, that’s what we need.”

Michael watched as Ollie proved his statement accurate. He raised his staff at an incoming train of mercenaries. They were much less impressively armed and armored than the regular Tusynian troops they’d run into, wearing rusty patchwork armor that seemed to have been looted rather than made for them individually. Michael held his sword and shield at the ready, leaning down in front of Ollie and ready to stand and act as his protection once he unleashed his spell. On his left and right stood Davi and Pyotr, and Marcus was a ways further down with the other dragoons to add to their firepower.

The attack plan was simple and had been utilized a number of times already before they got there. The mage would fire off a powerful spell into a column of enemies, the Dragoons would try to pick off high-value targets not hit by the blast, then the knights and regulars would run in and try to finish off as many as they could before they caught their breath, then the mage would follow up with another Fireball to cover them as they faded into the woods.

Ollie finished the series of foul curses that made up the full phrase of his Fireball spell, and Michael felt searing heat travel from the back of his neck and over the top of his head as a large ball of flame slammed into the front row of mercenaries. Michael was blind for a few moments from the blast, but he heard three pops that told him that the dragoons had fired, followed by the charge.

Michael’s eyesight was restored just in time to see one of the mercenaries brained by the hilt of Tain’s sword. Another merc swung at him, but his rusted sword actually broke against the hide that covered Tain’s armor. Michael wasn’t sure, but he could swear he heard the young knight actually laughing as he kicked the man to the ground and drove his sword through his chest.

Two of the mercenaries managed to break away from the slaughter and started to charge toward Ollie, his lack of metal armor and staff marking him as the mage. Michael charged forward to meet them, going low to roll the first of them over his shield and throw him onto the ground before slicing at the other mercenary’s chest. His sword got caught in the man’s armor, and he swung a mace at Michael’s head. He let go of his sword and dodged the hit, then two follow-ups.

He saw a man still writhing in flames a few feet away and started to draw out his pain, sending it all toward the man with the mace. He was so focused on it, he mistimed a dodge and took a glancing blow to his shoulder, but he succeeded, and the man crumpled over in pain as all of his senses told him he was burning.

Michael retrieved the man’s mace and slammed it into his head, killing him instantly before retrieving his sword. The other mercenary that he’d flipped over had been taken care of by Pyotr while Davi had stayed close to Ollie. He healed his damaged shoulder as he moved back to the others, and before he even made it to them, Rein gave the signal, and Ollie threw another Fireball toward the enemy before turning around and running back into the forest.

Michael kept up his pace as he hit the forest too, and they began moving to their designated rally point. The rest of the group wouldn’t wait long for them to catch up, though having Ollie with them meant they’d wait longer than anyone else for them.

“I thought there’d be more pitched battles,” said Ollie, panting a bit. “You know, big rows of soldiers slamming into one another Lord of the Rings style.”

“Those are happening too,” said Crick, also panting. Michael wasn’t sure when he’d joined them. “War’s just heating back up, though. Right now, we mostly just fuck with each other. That’s how every year starts.”

“Was it the same when you did your required service?”

He laughed his way into a cough that took a few seconds to clear as they kept moving. “That’s how it’s always been forever. Aside from a few one- or two-year truces. We’ve always been at war or about to be at war with Tusynia.”

Michael decided not to probe further, not wanting to wear out the old Penitent more than he already was. He actually seemed to be in excellent shape for a man of his age, despite looking stick-thin and being physically the oldest of their group of Irregulars.

They reached the meeting spot they’d all marked before any of the others. Michael took a moment to check everyone for injuries, but none of their small group had taken any damage. Tain and his brother were next and were similarly unharmed. After that, a small trickle of soldiers arrived along with Marcus and the other Dragoons. Michael healed everyone who needed it, but it soon became clear that two soldiers were missing.

“Did anyone see Myck and Don go down in the fight?” asked Rein.

There was no answer.

He gritted his teeth and took a breath. “Let’s move.”