Mercantile Diplomacy (Solo)

[Tobias Stalt]

"Captain Stalt," the feral voice called from behind him. "The target seems to be moving toward us at two kilometers an hour." Tobias continued to stare down into the expanse that stood to the north of Dehlos, a natural phenomenon that lent to the defensile nature of the city. The only way up onto the seaside plateau was the western highroad, a heavily patrolled seaside march that spanned nearly half the continent. Dehlosian merchants controlled a series of trading posts throughout the southern reaches of Keribas, and their merchant army kept the peace in the interests of unfettered trade.

Ten years had past since Tobias traveled the western road north. Keribas had grown; the fields were tended by near-human farmers, and the setting sun painted the aqueducts a regal gold. The encampment they intended to reach lay two days journey northeast of the city, inhabited by orcs that refused to accept peaceful terms from the Merchant council. Failing bribes or amicable relations, they reached out to the most capable mercenary not already on payroll in defense of the city.

"Tobias," the voice sounded more urgent this time.

"Two kilometers?" he asked. As he turned, the dark skinned man peered down at him with an unreadable expression. "Have your spies continue their work, Brukhaar. Keep me apprised of their movements."

"It will be done." Brukhaar stiffened and saluted. "I have heard whispers of your work on the western continent," he spoke freely as the captain dismissed him. "Is it true?"

Tobias did not immediately respond. He continued to stare out at the darkening horizon, and the torchlight that blinked to life as daylight died. Keribas was violent and dangerous in its own way, but the western continent had an entirely unique set of dangers. If the people did not want to kill you, the enviornment did. Society gorged itself on those not strong enough to weather the storm of life, and Tobias saw the ugly reality of what civilization was.

"That depends heavily," Tobias spoke slowly, turning with a look to match Brukhaar's own. "On where you got your information." He clasped his hands tightly behind his back and matched the burning gaze that measured him. "I would not place much stock in the musings of western sailors."

"Men paid by Raiaeran tradesmen came east a fortnight past. They peddled silver-steel and spoke of magic, and some of them warned of your treachery."

Tobias smirked. "I should think that can be said of all men who stray long in the west," he answered honestly. "I did not leave on the most thrilling of terms from Raiaera, I will admit."

"Tell me of their magic," Brukhaar snapped. "Would it be useful to us?"

Tobias glanced west, toward the sea that separated him from seven years of dark memories. "It leaves a stain on all that it touches," he murmured quietly. "It is a power that corrupts. The little good it could do is far outweighed by the evils it incites in men's hearts."

"Some of the merchants have begun to study their arts," the muscular mercenary folded his arms and closed both eyes in contemplation. "It has been decided that magecraft could ultimately profit the collective."

Tobias ran a dagger over his open palm. Crimson spilled over the ground at his feet. "That is... unfortunate," he stated. "Watch closely in the coming weeks. Decisions will be made that cause turmoil among the council. Decisions that place the state of affairs of the people above the economy."

"The money would stop." Brukhaar was not asking.

"And when the money stops..."

"Dehlos dies." The answer came from a woman to their left, brown haired with a mischievous glint in her green eyes. "You've become such a proponent of the Dehlosian way of life, Stalt. Did you grow up when you were off living the dream?"

"Lyra," Tobias acknowledged. "I would have thought you a merchant, after your father's insistence on your education."

Lyra smirked. "As much good as your father's insistence did you." Tobias grunted. "My father died several years after you left, and the council seized his fortune and placed it back into the market. With that gold, they hired seven hundred new heads in defense of the city, and they reinforced the sea wall.

"You seem less than hurt by this," Tobias said dryly. Obviously, Lyra harbored no ill will. "It sounds like you lost a fortune on that deal."

"What sounded like a bad deal actually turned to profit me far more. My husband, Jonas, is captain of the guard. Together, we collect a King's ransom annually. More than my father could have hoped to collect, even in ten years of toils." Lyra smirked triumphant, as though she had bested him.

"I did learn one thing in the west," Tobias told her in response. Lyra tilted her head, and he gestured toward the city's walls behind them. "All of this may outlast us, but we will all die."

"A man with a legacy lives forever," she countered. Tobias chuckled softly. "My children's children will rule Dehlos with the fortune I leave them."

"You'll never learn." He clapped Brukhaar on the shoulder and walked back toward their caravan. "If you care about your way of life, you'll drive those mages out of Dehlos," Tobias warned them. "I ain't got any interest in what they had to say about me, but I know what happened to their country. Men with money learn to be content; men with magic always want more."

"You think we can't keep the peace if it comes to snuffing out a few fireballs?" Lyra called to him skeptically.

"If you let it get a foothold here, Orc raiding parties will be the least of your worries." Tobias pointed toward a moving line of lanterns far off on the horizon. "They're still far enough north that we have a terrain disadvantage. We should wait for them to cross into the plains from the river basin."

"Why not thwart them now, before they can pose a threat to our merchants and farmers?" Lyra gawked at Tobias as he spoke of letting them further into Dehlosian lands.

"Has your husband ever thrust his cock up your arse without warning you first?" He asked, completely serious.

"Excuse me?" Her face was half blush, half confusion, and every bit disbelief.

"We move into enemy territory without a proper survey, we might as well be asking for an ambush," he spelled it out for her. Lyra seemed embarssed for whatever thought had entered her mind. "And as you probably surmised, it would not be pleasant."

A chorus of laughs broke out among the mercenary company.

"My husband fucks me normally, and I'll thank you to take a more respectful approach to conversation with me. We're not kids anymore." She scowled at him, and Tobias stared intently at her.

"I don't care how your husband fucks you, if he does at all, or if you're dried up like a gods damned raisin, woman." He raised his blade level with his eyes and jabbed it in her direction accusingly. "Don't put my men in danger with bad decisions, and I won't have a damn thing to say to you."

Lyra grunted in abject disdain, but said nothing more.

[Tobias Stalt]

In the shadow of Dehlos, night remained no less bright than the day. The sleepless city burned countless candles from dusk til dawn, and when some men slept, others were merely beginning their day. Mercenaries had the thankless task of sleeping in shifts, watching the gates and walls for the unlikely possibility that someone might attempt to breach them. Tobias' company in particular kept vigilant watch during this night, unconvinced that the singular raiding party intended to act alone. Though it marked their first war effort since the treaty ran out, Tobias doubted they had remained sedentary for the past twenty five years.

By the light of their campfire, the few Black Walkers that had emigrated with Tobias from Raiaera discussed the strange state of affairs with their native captain. "Why let the treaty run out to begin with?" Robert One-eye studied Stalt with his half gaze as he fidgeted with his canteen. "Do they not stand to gain more from good relations with Dehlos than from outright war with the Merchants?"

"The agreement was made out of necessity by leaders now long dead," Tobias explained. "In the time that treaty was drafted, Dehlos maintained contracts with several of the world's strongest powers, not the least of which included Alerar. Having witnessed the ingenuity of Dark Elves and Dwarves, the Orcs did not hesitate to agree to non-hostility terms. Their aggression, however, hardly waned. The agreement merely protected Dehlos from any threats, not any of the other cities of Keribas."

"So Dehlos is a state independent from the others in this land?" Bob questioned, popping a sardine between his lips. The salty scent caused Tobias to wrinkle his nose as the other man smacked gingerly at his food.

"The city-states of Keribas function autonomously. The landmass is far to large for any one ruling body or monarch to effectively lord over, and the cities far too remote to properly coordinate any sort of large scale government. The trade based economy exists solely because Dehlos has the money and influence to keep the sea road alive." He pointed now toward the Raiding party, which appeared only slightly closer than before, but it seemed to have halted its march. "This situation threatens that influence, and trade with the northern regions. Another profound reason the city-states north of Dehlos abide their far-reaching influence and deathgrip on the market is because Dehlos keeps them alive. Without the southern trade route, their coffers would run dry, and they would be forced to subsist on the land."

"That does not seem so bad, really," Jerald Whittaker, a seasoned Coronian veteran commented. "It would decrease their dependency and make them a stronger unit overall, would it not?" He combed a strand of silvery gray hair from his face, eyes weary from lack of sleep.

"The land is not as lush as it once was in the north." Tobias stared into the fire and his brow furrowed. "As you go along the path toward the land's end, it changes from plains to tundra in the blink of an eye. The harsh weather conditions are not favorable for crops, and tending herds becomes a difficult endeavor when you are forced to drive them south at the change of seasons. They could feasibly trade with Corone or Salvar, but the Church is disinclined to have dealings with them due to their xenophobia, and merchants from Radasanth have very little interest in traveling overland to the more remote city-states. Instead, they save time and money dealing directly with Dehlos and allowing them to play the part of middle man."

"It certainly works well in Dehlos' favor," Robert mused with a dry laugh. "More coins to fuel the machine."

"It is a benign system, at the very least," Brukhaar added from behind the group. "The merchants put money back into the economy so that it will grow. No one merchant keeps for himself. There is a great deal of trust at the heart of Dehlosian society."

"They believe inherently in the good in men's hearts," Jerald snorted.

"They have created a system that hinges on it," Tobias corrected. "And they enforce it under pain of death."

The two mercenaries gawked at him. "That would never work in the west," Bob whispered in disbelief. "How did they manage to..."

"Many years," Brukhaar sat cross-legged in the semi circle that surrounded the fire. "Many years of hardship under the caliph taught Dehlos fear. They learned over centuries of toil beneath the whip of a man who fashioned himself a king about the dangers of greed and lusting after power."

"The Caliph," Tobias interjected, "was the sole roler of Dehlos a thousand years ago. The large palace you see facing the sea was his residence. Dehlos itself is a timeless testament to his decadence. He was a man obsessed with his legacy, and so he built a city that would last a hundred lifetimes." Stalt drained a portion of ale from the cask previously hidden beneath his cloak. "The slaves revolted, finally, in a bloody uprising that the merchants of the time secretly funded. The market has always been a driving force in Dehlos, even before the merchants took on the burden of leadership."

"The Caliph was drowned beneath the palace," Brukhaar continued, "in a chamber that they filled with water and sealed in order that he would never again see daylight, a penance for greed that drove his people into poverty."

"Fuckin' brutal," Bob praised. Tobias and Jerald snorted. "So, what do these Orcs seek to gain from an attack on Dehlos?"

"Chaos," Tobias remarked. The quick and serious nature of the response caught even Brukhaar off guard. "The Orcs have never been an entirely well organized bunch. They do one thing, but they do it well. War. They have sought to expand their dominion over all of Keribas since even before the War of the Tap. Because of humanity, they have been slowed, but they ultimately control all of the wilderness and unestablished regions of the continent. You might say we're the invaders, in fact."

"A bold assertion," Brukhaar noted, "but not an incorrect one."

"But what will this one ill-conceived attack on the most powerful city-state achieve?" Jerald seemed genuinely distraught by the inanity of it. "They cannot hope to win, even with a sizeable contingent. Dehlos is too well fortified, and mercenaries are a virtually inexhaustible force. Even without the technological might of Alerar, this city is more than enough to oppose wildlings."

"In order to defend, Dehlos has to temporarily put a cease on all trade to the north." Tobias cradled his ale neatly in the crook of his knee. "I wager the strain those villages and city-states to the north have been made apparent to the orcs during raids in the past, during times when Dehlos cut off trade due to dangers to the merchants. I'm sure that they've wagered a great deal on Dehlos' directive to defend it's economic interests."

"Then you're going entirely off of guesswork?" Jerald asked skeptically.

"Only partially," Tobias admitted. "I am not discounting the possibility that the Orcs have base levels of intelligence or better. It takes very little to deduce the way Dehlos will react under duress. It's even possible that in times before the treaty, they may have employed such tactics before. We will rule out nothing until the enemy rules it out for us."

"Astute of you, Tobias, son of Ebericht," Brukhaar said with a smirk. "You truly have become a dangerous man since going west."

"Just a cautious man," Tobias muttered. A collective "aye" resounded.

[Tobias Stalt]

Brukhaar ladled out bowls of broth as the midnight hour struck, the thick scent of potatoes heavy in the air. The turgid soup looked unappetizing, but Tobias downed a swallow of it without complaint. "Tastes like air," Jerald commented blandly, "the cooking out here has no flavor."

Lyra yawned loudly as she apppeared from one of the tents, then wiped away a smirk as she approached the fire. "They don't send spices with mercenaries," she explained. "They are among the chief investments that we're protecting, in fact. Eastern flavor is coveted as far west as Ettermire. It's not to be wasted on troops."

"We already require payment in gold," Brukhaar elaborated, "so they are loathe to expend anything further on our upkeep. It's not very good business to invest too heavily in one aspect of civilization or another."

"Respectfully," Robert cut in, "I have to disagree. Some of the strongest armies in the west infuse their troops with assets to ensure loyalty and increase their morale."

"And for countries where that matters, that is a fine method," Tobias answered quietly, stoking the flames with a stick. "But Dehlos has no proper standing army. These are hired hands, already bound by their contracts to fight in defense of Dehlos. It is not strictly their profession given by the city-state, as the Alerian military is an individual entity within Alerar. The merchants have no further duties to the mercenaries, nor are the mercenaries devoted solely to Dehlos."

"Would that not present a conflict of interests?" Jerald seemed immensely confused at the prospect of a city with no standing defense force. "The mercenaries could then feasibly turn their coat and fight against Dehlos, if the coin was right."

Lyra flashed the older man a wry smile. "You're assuming that any foreign body could afford to pay better than Dehlos." The possibility was there, of course, Tobias knew. Any large government could possibly match or outbid Dehlos to a single mercenary. "And it is possible. One or two men may be swayed, at great expense to an enemy of Dehlos. The gold flows like an ocean here, friend. What we spend on a man, we get back in a minute of commerce. To sway our merchant army would bankrupt most other nations of the world. We are not an enemy anyone wants."

"Except," Jerald motioned northward, "for these Orcs."

"They have no need of gold," Brukhaar replied. "Their culture is much like ours in its simplicity. We rely on the economy, but they are hunters and gatherers. They kill to eat, and to live. Where coin is our greatest weapon, it is blunted against their hides. We can pay for men and swords, but battle is what they are. It is a war without end."

Tobias glanced quietly toward the moving column and chewed on his lip. "Send your eagle," he told Brukhaar, "have the spies clear out the villages nearest the border. Tell them to move quickly by daylight, and Dehlos will receive them."

"It will be done." Brukhaar stood and held up his arm. The shrill cry of a bird pierced the sky, and an Eagle alighted on the tall man's wrist from above. He stroked the bird's neck lovingly and whispered several words in it's ear. After several motions of his hand, the bird tilted its head in comprehension and went winging away.

"Are you planning countermeasures, Stalt?" Lyra mused. "We have yet to even see their full might. Should we not test them first?"

"The interests of the market are to be protected," Tobias reminded her, "our farmers and those who live on the outskirts of the valley are citizens no less than the merchants themselves. If we can prevent losing them, we should."

"Damn pragmatic of you," she scowled.

Tobias simply shrugged.

"How do you plan to engage them?" Brukhaar asked. Tobias glanced over at the man, draining the last of his soup gingerly. "There may be several hundred of them in this advanced raid, and only about eighty of us. We should petition the council for more numbers."

"Unnecessary," Tobias pointed toward the horizon, visibly counting torches, and gaging the distance from head to tail of the snake. "They are moving in ranks, which tells us they're anticipating a counterattack. It gives them the advantage of a group offensive, and defensive tactics when caught off guard. They would be difficult to attack in column."

"And...?" Lyra seemed impatient. Tobias shot her a baleful glance.

"We have the advantage of higher ground," Tobias reminded her, gesturing toward the narrow slope that the highroad took up onto the plateau. "Even with inferior numbers, we have a crucial choke point that they can not circumvent without great effort."

"I... had not thought of that," Brukhaar muttered. "Truly, western tactics are extraordinary."

"If we lose men, they can still pass us," Lyra spat. "Dehlos needs to be defended, gods be damned. Eighty of us cannot hold the city."

"Two to three orcs at a time can advance up the slope," Tobias estimated. "Bearing that in mind, we only need to plan on defeating that many, and their bodies can be used to slow further advance-" He stopped mid sentence as the sound of a cicada in the distance faltered. "Quiet."

The group glanced toward him in confusion, but heeded the command nonetheless. His golden gaze snapped to the right as a few loose rocks went tumbling down the side of the plateau, and a pair of glowing eyes glanced over to peer about. "Goblins," Tobias grunted. His gun wailed loudly as the creature swayed, stunned, and crumbled back over the edge. "They have advance parties scouting for alternative paths up," Tobias frowned.

"They had no intention of sticking to the highroad," Lyra jeered. Tobias glared at her. "We should fortify the edge of the plateau to prevent them from scaling it." She placed a hand on the smoking barrel of Stalt's weapon and winked at him. "Let us Dehlosians handle Dehlosian defenses, foreigner."

Tobias cocked his gun, but Robert One-eye placed a hand on his and shook his head. "We ain't got time for killing friendlies, Cap'n." Lyra sneered at both men, then strutted pointedly away. "What'd you do to piss that girl off so much? She hates you to hell 'n back, Stalt."

"I walked out on an arranged marriage with her," Tobias answered calmly.

Jerald and Bob stared with mouths agape at him.

[Tobias Stalt]

Dawn still hid behind the horizon and the fires smoldered low, stomped out prematurely by paranoid watchmen. "Keep sharp," Jerald hissed as he walked alongside the perimeter of the plateau with Robert. "Eyes peeled for Gobs. They don't need much light to see at night." The two men appraised Dehlos intermittently as they walked, skeptical of the magnificence of the merchant city.

"It makes no sense," Robert commented aloud. "If they attack a city like Dehlos, they are bound to be repelled. Eighty lives lost is a drop in the bucket if they can just hire more of us. They have men in reserve behind the walls. So, what's the point of choking them at the plateau instead of the gates?"

"Siege," Jerald mused. "It would be bad for the citizenry. Siege tactics weaken the city itself and ultimately put non-combatants at risk. Placing us out here minimizes the damages Dehlos will ultimately need to repair." He shrugged. "Our lives are worth considerably less than it would take to patch a large segment of that wall, and one merchant is worth a hundred mercenaries."

"There," Bob pointed, his voice hushed. "Fifty yards down. Sappers."

Jerald grimaced at the word. Sappers were highly effective demolitions squads sent to weaken defenses or blow open entrances. The figures moving under moonlight appeared to be digging and tossing orb-like objects in a deject heap. "They're trying to tunnel their way up," the silver maned swordsman hissed.

"Inform Stalt," Bob ordered, "and I'll get down there to try and prematurely blow those charges."

"Walk like the black of night, Rob." The seasoned well-wishes of their company lit a firelike courage in Robert's heart, but he dreaded no less what might happen if he got caught in the blast. "Don't get yourself killed," Jerald warned.

"Tob'd kill me if I did that," he joked. They laughed dryly, and they two parted ways. Robert One-eye watched his friend as the night swallowed him, then turned to look down at the sappers working intently at their trap. "Had to be sappers," he muttered discontentedly.

The balding veteran took his kukri in hand and slipped down the hill quietly as he could manage. Rocks and dirt slid beneath his steps as he hurried toward the conglomeration of dim-witted demi-humans and sucked in a breath. "For the Cap'n," he gasped to himself as he threw himself into his work.

A series of loud cries followed, both suprise and rage. The sounds of blades clashing echoed over the side of the plateau and Tobias glanced eastward to see Jerald running toward him at top speed. "Damn it, Jerald, I said not to engage!" Tobias seethed as he stared past the Coronian, toward where flames and smoke rose in the distance. "Where the fuck is Robert?"

Tobias glanced back as Jerald fought for air, wheezing miserably. He motioned for several men to kit themselves out and prepare for further orders. "What in blazes is that?" one man asked disdainfully. "An enemy attack? They're a bit off target, ain't they?"

The crackle of fire rose. Sounds like grease on a fire resounded as the smoke plumed and the pillar rose skyward. A loud blast tore through the camp and deafened Tobias as the explosion roiled toward him, and heat licked his face. "Shit," he cursed as he sprinted toward the edge of the plateau. Jerald twisted around and his mouth fell open. No words came.

"Robert," he hissed, "Rob, where the fuck are you?"

Tobias took off toward the pillar of fire. Despite a score of protests, he bolted toward the blast as a second ripped through the air and anguished his ears. Tears threatened at the corners of his eyes, but the Mercenary captain finally made it to the plateau's edge. "Don't be dead," he whispered.

He slid down the escarpment with almost reckless speed, kicking up a cloud of dust as he raced toward the fire. He snapped his head left, then right in a frantic attempt to catch a glimpse of his friend. A dry groan attracted his attention, and Tobias took a few steps closer to the wreckage. With a few kicks, he dislodged a fair amount of debris, and what he saw chilled him in spite of the inferno.

A blackened hand lifted toward him. The captain turned his gaze downward, and his face drained of color. Tobias stared down into reddened eyes, dried out and incapable of tears. Charred and peeling flesh replaced the kind, single eyed smile that Tobias had grown accustomed to. An ashen ruin remained of his fallen comrade. "Got 'em... Cap..." Robert managed to smile through his dried out lips, and his body shivered as the cold night breeze washed over him. "Beg pardon... would it be... too much trouble... to ask a nap of ye?"

"No fuckin' naps on the job, One-eye," Tobias reminded him. "I told you not to go in alone, damn you."

Robert coughed- or was it a laugh? Tobias stared down at him gravely. The Black Walker closed his eyes. "Don't you fall asleep, Rob," Tobias demanded. "Don't you fuckin' do it. We can get you to a medic. They can save you. If you fall asleep-"

"Stalt," the man rasped, "I'm tired."

"We're all tired," Tobias snapped, "every man here is tired. Don't you die on me, Rob."

"I've never..." Robert coughed, his eyes rolled backward, and his head bobbed slightly. "I've never ignored an order..." his words bled together nonsensically, and Tobias shook him.

"Damn you, man, don't start now." Tobias gripped his friend tightly and gnashed his teeth. Brukhaar crouched beside him and placed a hand on the mercenary captain's shoulder, and Stalt glanced up with a hardened expression. The Dehlosian guardsman shook his head.

"Beg... your pardon... cap. . ." Tobias snapped his gaze toward Robert, who smiled up at him. "I... ca...n...'t..."

The body went limp in his arms. Tobias held Robert for a long moment, then pulled his friend to his chest. Brukhaar stood silently and turned from them, muttering strange words under his breath. The flames burned darkly on the horizon, and from Dehlos the north appeared like a tide of war, rolling ever forward.

Tobias let his friend sink to the dirt and stared toward the column of orcs, ever advancing. Beside him, Lyra took a step forward and placed a hand on his arm. "Tobias." He turned his gaze toward her, and her ruby eyes offered sincere consolation. Though the emptiness in his gaze terrified her, the Dehlosian woman did her best to smile.

"We have to... the mission." Her statement felt like a slap on his face, but Tobias knew she was right. His golden gaze shifted back toward his enemy, now the object of his unyielding ire. "Can you still fight?" Her concern was real, both for her people and for the man before her, visibly wracked with pain.

"They took One-eye." Tobias' flat words chilled her. He trembled visibly for a moment, then his body stilled. In the midst of the chaos, Stalt found perfect harmony.

"Stalt, go. Please. Leave the battle to us."

He turned to face her, and her hand flew to her mouth. The glare was pure venom, and her heart wavered beneath the weight of it. "This is my fight," he told her. "This is personal."

[Tobias Stalt]

First light broke through the firmament and poured over a regiment of mercenaries, armed to the teeth. Militaristic sounds of routine mixed with anticipation as the Dehlosians watched from behind their lines. "Stalt plans on throwing our men against a wall of seasoned orcs," Lyra commented blandly. "What do you think of this, Brukhaar?"

The night had dragged on long after the death of Robert One-eye, a man that the mercenaries of Dehlos barely knew. Tobias kept close vigil over his broken and burned body, but never faltered from the daunting task of command. Every man gathered over the body of their former comerade, whether short lived or long time friend, and every man felt in Tobias' words like they had lost a part of their family. Perhaps to Tobias, that was the truth of it. Lyra wondered how this ragtag lot came to mean more than home to her former fiance, and from where she stood now she watched him fit a lanky youth with an arbalest. "Do you think it a good plan, or a suicidal venture?"

"You doubt the Stalt boy," Brukhaar nodded, his voice soft. "And perhaps you always will. That is the cost of his betrayal of your affections."

"He never loved me," she sighed softly. Lyra sat on one of the logs that circled the dead campfire. "I cannot fault him for the dealings of our fathers. I always felt some spite, the animosity of a dutiful child toward one who spurned her father, but I never expected for Tobias to love me."

"Yet you wish that he had." The large, dark man did not open his eyes. He seemed to watch the horizon from behind his eyelids, facing ever forward. "Ask yourself, Lyra, if your enemy is in him, or in your own heart."

The woman hugged herself as he spoke and squinted her eyes shut when his words struck her. "You are a cruel man, Brukhaar," she rasped, "to lay bare the emotions of a woman who has denied them all her life."

"Does your husband know?" he asked with a gentle laugh.

"Sod off," she muttered. "Answer my question instead of asking your own."

"The Stalt boy has grown much in seven years. Witness him." Brukhaar gestured toward Tobias, who had moved on to check the fit of a plate on one of the brawlers. The more experienced, tougher mercenaries were suited for the front line. Instead of full plate or shields and pikes, these men handled heavier weapons and relied on mobility to sweep through hordes of enemies at a staggering rate. What she saw in their leader gave new life to her hope.

Tobias smiled.

Under the weight of great loss, and even against difficult odds. Tobias cast aside the burden and led his men with an infectious charisma. His laughter sparked theirs; when Tobias smiled, Lyra saw the others smile with him. When he rattled the ground with a warcry, a legion of men screamed their defiance to the world. "This man was never meant to be a merchant," Brukhaar smiled so broadly that his teeth split out from behind his large brown lips. "Some men live insignificant lives. Others change the world."

Lyra found her own smile, at last.

"Do you think that they can win?" Her question rephrased, she glanced toward Brukhaar who now watched her with a careful gaze. She shrank away from his scrutiny, and those dark eyes.

"Give them your faith," the elder Dehlosian implored her. "Doubt muddles the mind and sinks the spirit. We have no need of doubt."

"Faith alone does not win battles," Lyra snapped.

"Talking does nothing at all." The serious face of Tobias Stalt interjected between the two as the mercenary captain made his way over. "The men are all prepared. Our enemy is less than three hours ride. At their current pace, we should be engaged by midmorning." He unsheathed a knife and studied the edge thoughtfully. "Are you both prepared to face them, or should we ride without you?"

Brukhaar smiled. Lyra scowled. "We are with you, Tobias," the woman broke the tension at last and stood. "I would have a word before we leave, however." Tobias glanced toward Brukhaar and gestured for him to join the others ahead. When he turned back to Lyra, she motioned toward the command tent. "Alone?" she suggested.

Tobias shrugged.

[Tobias Stalt]

"You buried him with the dawn?" Tobias let the canvas fall behind him as he followed Lyra inside. She turned to gauge his reaction, and frowned when his face did not flinch. "You lost a dear friend last night. I do not think it wise for you to lead a force into battle."

"It's not like you to be concerned." Tobias watched her carefully and tucked away his blade. "A man fell. Many fall in wartimes." Tobias wore a mask of apathy as he spoke, and he moved past her toward the desk where his books and scrolls were strewn messily. He retrieved one and held it up, appraised it, then held it out for her to see.

"This is a contract," he told her. "Specifically, it is Robert's contract. In the event of his death, payout of the entire final amount will go to his family." Lyra watched him quietly and only glanced over the words once. "He told me once, the price of this job was his life. He was just waiting for the day when he finally had to pay up."

"That's fairly morbid," she muttered. "And it has nothing to do with you. I did not come to discuss your friend, I came to stop you from throwing away your life."

"It's a truth that haunts all of these men, and you, and I," Tobias folded the contract neatly and tucked it into his cloak. "And one day, I will make that payment, too. You need to remember that our lives became negotiable in price the moment we started selling our swords."

She took a step forward. "That's a vicious way to see life," she began, and her finger thrust into his face. "It cheapens this single existence we get. It discounts all the beautiful things we are, and might one day be. Are you telling me that this profession is more to you than the life you live?"

The mercenary pushed her hand away. "This is the life I chose." Tobias watched her carefully as she circled, and he folded his arms intently. "And the one you did, as well. We take all the good with all of the bad. I lost a friend. It comes with the station. Or are you to tell me now that reward comes at no risk? Your father surely taught you better."

"Do not speak to me of merchantry, Tobias Stalt," she scoffed. "And do not presume to call me soft."

"Speak plainly," he commanded. "You are grasping at straws to change my mind about marching to battle. You have never given me a reason why I should, other than "I may die." We all will die. If fear of death stays my blade, my life is already cheap."

His eyes widened as Lyra draped her arms around his neck and folded into him, her lips pressed firmly to his. She kissed him like a wife greeting her husband, his return from war long overdue. He shook for a moment before his arms finally responded.

Lyra gasped as she stumbled and fell to the floor. "Do not," he hissed, "do that again."

Tears threatened at the edges of her eyes as she stared up at him in bewilderment. "I love you, Tobias. We were always supposed to be together. My marriage-"

"Is so meaningess to you?" he asked in a hollow voice. "I can see that, like so many things, your view remains childish. You cannot take a vow and simply throw it away. You have a husband. Do your duty to him, even if you hate it." He held up a hand and placed it over his heart. "If you cannot keep an oath, do not make one. I swore to protect Dehlos. I signed a contract. I will do my duty. Start holding yourself accountable."

He began to leave, but Lyra grabbed at his leg. "Tobias, a marriage can be undone," she pleaded. "Our fathers can make it happen. We can fulfill the old contract; we can be husband and wife, and inherit the wealth of our families."

Tobias sighed. "I earned none of that. I want nothing for which I have not sacrificed."

"You are a cruel, fickle, frivolous man!" she cried. "How could you do this? How could you simply walk away from one who loves you, and the promise of a better life? Lesser men than you would kill for this opportunity!"

"Lesser men can have it." Tobias waved a hand dismissively. "Will that be all?"

She rose and pulled herself to his back. Tobias bit his lip and resisted the urge to turn on her. "Why, Tobias? Why do you spurn this?"

Tobias smiled at last, a fond memory at the forefront of his mind. "Her name is Alyssa," he said as he gently pushed Lyra from his body. He turned and matched her gaze with a stern, though not unkind one. "And I love her."

Lyra burst into tears. Tobias pointed toward his bed. "You are free to sit this conflict out," he told the woman. "I understand that loss can be difficult and you may not be in the frame of mind to do battle." Her eyes burned cold on him through her tears as he turned her own words back at her. "I hereby relieve you of this contract with my Black Walkers. You need not fight this battle."

"Null and void," she recited the words flatly, without any emotion at all. Tobias held out his hand, and she produced her own contract from within her vest. He unfolded the parchment and inspected it, then tore it to pieces in front of her.

"You are free to go," he stated.

"Tobias," his name croaked from her throat, and he glanced up at her. "Don't die."

He smirked as she slipped through the canvas and slipped away toward Dehlos behind them. Tobias stood for a moment after she left, eyes downcast. "Ah damn it, Rob," he growled, "why didja have to go an' die? I would've told you about this, and you'd tell me I was gettin' old."

He sighed. "I really am getting old."