A Bastard's Year

The Granary went up like a firecracker, and the men stood to admire it. Clover had been a quiet town before they arrived, sleepy amidst the whispering trees of the Maidwood, far from the blood and brutality of the warring lands in the east. Nothing of record had ever happened there. Maybe it had born an important soldier immortalized somewhere in stone, or an archivist important enough to be given a name in the towers of tomes in the Grand Archives. But to the men of the Company of the Stone, it didn't matter. Clover was just another outlet for their rage.

The town had fallen in less than an hour, the soldiers fleeing in the face of the shrieking illusions produced by the battlemages. Those that didn't run were cut down or blasted away. The citizenry fled shortly afterwards as their homes burned. The Lord hid in his castle, disappointing many in the company, but as the clangor of battle died they found all doors, and wallets, open to them. That was when Vappu and Odius set fire to granary, saying a small spell of kindling among the mounds of millet and watching the fire spread with frightening speed. Vappu uncorked the bottle in her hand with her pointed teeth and took a long, deep gulp.

"That's the good stuff," she said, rivulets of the ichor running down the grey skin of her neck. She slapped the shoulder of her stout companion with the flat of the bottle, drawing his attention from the flame. "Take some. Drink."

He squinted at the bottle, then at her. He probably thought she'd poisoned it. She marveled at the Gnossoi, how that short stature and those scrunched features could harbor such anger. Normally is kind were so peaceful. Such easy targets. Not him, he was a killer. A butcher of men, like the rest of them. He snatched the bottle from her hand and drank deeply.

"I'd kill you for a bottle of Khufeon Red right now," he gasped, setting the bottle down in the dirt at his feet. "These northerners, not a drop of good spirits among them."

Her ears, long and pointed, twitched slightly at the phrase, and Odius grinned maliciously. He did so love threatening her with violence. Her hand came to rest on the blade in her belt and she plucked the bottle from the ground and continued drinking. A scream went up somewhere, cut short by sound of a blade being drawn across the throat that produced it. She sighed. Music to her ears.

"Where I'm from, we'd put you on a slab and take your skin," she said wistfully. "Then we'd start on the rest of you. You wouldn't be a mighty offering for the gods, but you'd make do."

"More of an appetizer than a meal," He chuckled, watching the black smoke curl from the charring thatch roof. They sat in silence for a time, save for the sounds of pillage downhill. Someone, probably Toivan, struck up a war song over the din, bellowing into the thin autumn air. The bottle passed hands between them until the beams of the granary collapsed with a great, shouting thunder and the bottle was empty. It was Odius that spoke first.

"Where are you from, anyway?"

"Hmm?" Vappu turned her head suddenly. What was he doing? She realized she was staring, and cleared her throat.

"Uota," she said. "Along the bight of Venaland."

"Ah," he mused softly. "Cold winters, cold summers. Not ideal for a shiranwa, I assume?"

"Yes," she said. "Something like that. I haven't been back in an age, thank the gods. Miserable place."

The gnossoi flipped the bottle in his hands, studying the brute construction of the thing carefully. He's planning something, she thought, trying to get me comfortable. She rested more fingers on the grip of her blade. It was a short one, she'd snapped her long sword across the shield of a town guard, but just long enough to split his throat open before he could finish a spell. Unless he'd already started the spell...

"I can only imagine," he said calmly. "I grew up in Tufileon, never knew a cold winter until I came up here. Now all I can think of is getting back there."

He sighed and rested on his elbows. Fine, she thought, play along until you get a good angle on him. She felt her teeth click together out of anxiety and began to grind them.

"Why can't you?" She asked, attempting to restrain the icy tinge to her voice that came so naturally to her. "Go back, I mean. What's stopping you?"

"What's stopping any of us from returning home?" He said. "Nothing to go back to besides a price on my head."

He threw the bottle, and they watched it sail into the smoldering ruin of the granary. She tensed, thinking this to be her moment, but Odius threw his head back and belched loudly. She watched the muscles of his throat contort. He wasn't planning anything. But it would be so easy to claim self-defense...

"Well it may have been brewed from goat piss, but it hit the spot," he chuckled, eyeing her sword arm. "I'm guessing it didn't sit well with you?"

They stared at each other for a long time. At least it felt like a long time. Then a voice called out, snapping the tension. A young footman was standing at the mouth of the dirt path, wiping blood from his sword with a ragged cut of floral dress cloth.

"Oy, Odius," the young man said. "Madsen's looking for you. They're starting on the Lord's castle and they need a mage's tongue."

A thin frown spread across the gnossoi's face. Vappu's shoulders slouched, and her hand fell to her side.

"His ain't enough?"

The footman shrugged and gave a sound of not knowing. Odius relaxed his stance and grunted.

"Right away," he said, plodding his way down the hill. He called back to the footman as he went. "Warm yourself by the bonfire while you can, my bones say it's going to be a cold one."

And like that, Odius was gone. Vappu watched him go, her breath returning to a steady pace, and she slouched back against the fence. The footman sheathed his sword and came to rest beside Vappu, sighing as the radiance of the flame washed over him. She regarded the man briefly, and thought that his name was Burkhard.

"What was that all about?" he said, picking his teeth with his thumb. "Seemed you two was at each other's throats again."

"I think we were," Vappu said slowly, studying the dancing cinders at the heart of the fire.

Burkhard chuckled.

"I bet the Grand Mayor is regrettin' not paying us now."

The sun was drawing low, and the bruised sky was smeared with black strains of smoke. In the fading light she saw the men of the company hanging bodies in trees, while bright lights of every color sparked and flitted along the walls of the Lord's Castle on the opposite hill.

"Yeah," she said finally. "I'd imagine he is."