Dragonworld: The Drive For Power

Prequel 2: The World From Above

Mercenaries

The fire crackled in the stillness of the camp, its flickering glow casting long shadows. With the night setting in, darkness had descended upon this outpost nestled deep inside the rolling hills. 

A cold wind had begun to blow from the east, forcing everyone to huddle around the fires. 

Faikel sat motionless beside the flames, his eyes fixed on the horizon. 

"Who in their right mind would travel through Highdamp country?" Makelius asked, his voice tight. He turned to Faikel, lines  etched deep into his brow. "Nobody does that. It's a death-wish."

Faikel didn't look away. His face was calm, unreadable in the orange glow.

"Then it's a good thing I gave up on being sane a long time ago," he said, quietly.

Makelius cursed and rubbed his hand across his jaw, the stubble rasping like sandpaper. He cast a glance into the blackness beyond the firelight.

"You know what they say about those lands," he muttered. "They're cursed. Forgotten by the gods. Forsaken by men. The only people living out there are outlaws, cutthroats, and worse, doomsday cultists, the Cross-Crescent zealots. The ones who think Judgment Day is coming, and that they're meant to bring it."

He fell silent for a moment. Then he spoke again, softer this time, as though wary of being overheard.

"And there are things in the swamps. Things not meant to be seen. Things not born of man," Makelius said, keeping his voice low. 

"Strange creatures," he almost whispered. 

Faikel's eyes began to glow. 

"Yes, lots of strange creatures," said Faikel matter-of-factly. "Not so friendly for the most part."

"You always did have a curious habit of marching straight toward trouble," Makelius muttered, giving off a smirk. "Not sure whether it is bravery or just plain old stupidity." 

"Bit of both," Faikel said. "Besides, someone has to do the stupid thing."

Makelius grunted. "And of course it had to be you."

Faikel chuckled. He usually didn't smile much, nor was he a talkative type, but somehow Makelius had a way of drawing it out of him.

"You know what I liked about the place?" Faikel looked at his old friend. 

"The smell?"

"No," said Faikel, brushing away the jest, "it's the feel. It's only you, and your wits, in a land far away from civilization. It's you versus nature."

Faikel smiled, a spark in his eye. 

"Feel or no feel, I am glad you made it through," said Makelius. "And I am even more glad, you decided to pay your old buddy a visit. I don't get too many visitors in this place."

"Wouldn't miss it," said Faikel, his thoughts trailing back to the long road that brought him there.

In the twilight hours, Faikel had reached the mercenary camp, just a day's journey out from Hill Town. 

Makelius commanded here now, a hardened commander among a hardened company, mercenaries hired by the kingdom of Mistelon. For Faikel, this wasn't his company, nor the country that paid him. His contract lay elsewhere, in a different court, under a different banner. But bonds forged in fire had a way of outlasting flags.

Some ties are stronger than others. This man, he had once trusted with his life. He had to come.

"We had fought in many battles together," reminisced Makelius, his eyes having that far away look when men dream of better times, long past.