Interlude 4

Kanor grasslands, Elkis Republic Border.

Outskirts of the City of Liran.

"You've called for me sir?"

Gothram Edingburgh, commander of the Scarlet Swords mercenary company, turned around at the voice of his executive officer.

"Yes, Sia, I called for you. I need you to prepare the company for immediate departure, we are moving out."

"Yes sir!" The woman saluted sharply, before visibly hesitating. "Uh...Where are we going sir?"

Gothram smiled mirthlessly.

"To the wasteland, I'm afraid. Erakis, to be precise. At first, at least."

Sia frowned, which only accentuated her wrinkles. Once again, Gothram wondered how in hell an 80 years old woman, with white hair and looked like his grandmother, was still serving as a mercenary. But a single thought about her combat prowess quelled that. However unpropressing her appearance might look, she was hands down his best fighter, and quite probably one of the finest swordsman on the continent, at least in terms of pure skill. They didn't call her 'the blade dancer' for nothing.

"Sir? But I thought we were rejected for the Republic's contract..."

"We were. But I have received....an offer. From parties best left unnamed both within and without the Republic. They have a common interest in a certain mission, and have made it quite clear that as long as their involvement remains unknown, we will be well compensated for accomplishing said mission. To prove so they have already deposited a considerable sum in our coffers, as a first deposit."

Sia's eyes lit up. She might have some problems with the finer points of politics or strategy -that was why he was the company's commander-, but she understood murky contracts just fine. And was comfortable with them, provided the recompense was large enough.

"I see sir. I'll get the men ready."

She promptly left his office, and Gothram sighed as he looked out the window.

To say that he had been surprised when an Elkis Republican Army colonel had asked for a discreet meeting would have been an understatement. However his surprise had only grown when he'd realized exactly which branch of the ERA said colonel belonged to...and who was with him in that meeting.

He'd never actually met in person with representatives of the Sildaris Consortium before, but he knew their reputation...and how deep their coffers ran.

That, coupled with a special operations colonel, had convinced him that their offer was something worth listening to. And oh boy, it had been. The problem was the fact that with great rewards usually came great peril in the mercenary trade. That was the reason people needed mercenaries to begin with.

And in that case, 'great peril' meant attacking a dungeon town. A young, barely out of the dirt, dungeon town, but a dungeon town nonetheless. That meant people very, very motivated to hold their ground, a virtually limitless supply of mana, as well as some serious firepower. Oh, and assured death if quick victory wasn't achieved.

His employers had assured him they would move in as soon as he secured the town, and would warn the Asarians to back off as they 'persuaded' him to hand over the town to 'protect the population', aided with a specialist team of soldiers that would 'shadow' him to warn their command of his 'reckless, unprovoked attack'. That was all bullshit of course, and chances was everyone with a brain would figure it out, but it had the signature of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs of the Republic alright. Barebone deniability, with barely a coat of respectability, backed by raw strength and aggression. It worked wonders on most nations, except when they were more technologically advanced than you, or had dragons on their side.

Fortunately they weren't facing the Far Reach here, or heavens forbid the Hegemony. The Asarians were comfortably backwards in technology, and while he was sure he would be completely crushed if he didn't finish before reinforcements arrived, he was fairly confident said reinforcements would take a good while to arrive. Enough that he had a comfortable margin to perform his conquest.

Of course, that would mean a new black mark on his company's official record, but honestly their record was already...spotty, to say the least. After all, that was why they weren't hired by the Republic to help hold the borders. And the payout was large enough that they could afford to move to another continent, and go conquer some forgotten barony in the middle of nowhere, and maybe establish their own barony somewhere. That or just lay low for a loooong while. Maybe they'd even have enough to retire...if most of them weren't too greedy for that of course. Not for money of course, but for power. The good thing of killing people for a living was that leveling up was much faster than adventuring. The problem was that it was much more dangerous of course.

He shook his head as he saw Sia move through the courtyard, yelling at sergeants. They were currently in an old farm they had loaned from a Patriarch, to house their equipment, and the officers of course. The peasants they'd displaced hadn't looked especially happy, with good reason given the mess soldiers left behind, but they didn't own the land, and were basically serfs, so they hadn't had much choice in the matter.

Speaking of choice...

Gothram sighed. He had obligations as well. And there was no point in dithering further.

"Aline!" He called out.

A few seconds later, his recently hired aide de camp poked her head through the door. Well, 'aide de camp'. She was closer to her executive officer than Sia was, really, since the old woman acted more like a company sergeant than anything. Aline handled most of the day to day operations, logistics-wise. She was essentially the quartermaster, communication and financial officer rolled into one, except that the rank of the quartermaster was already taken by the armorer and-

Guthram shook his head. He could think about how messed up his company's rank structure was later. Point was, he had badly needed someone of her talent, and she had been available a week ago when he went looking for talented young officers. And she had quite the pedigree as well, although marred with some...unfortunate contracts. Which, of course, made her a perfect fit for his company. They'd gotten along like a house on fire after that.

"I need you to send a message to our investors. Tell them we have a job, and that they can get the hell off of my ass for bringing in some fresh profit."

The lieutenant smiled, and he smiled back. She shared his dislike for their investors, although she would redact his message in the proper form before sending it of course, no matter how tempting it was to send them raw.

"Right away sir. I take it you accepted our...military friend's offer?"

Gothram nodded. She had been the only person, besides a bodyguard, to accompany him to the meeting, mainly because she could type on a tablet faster than anyone he'd ever seen, but also because she could be one of the most vicious negotiators he'd ever seen when she wanted to.

"Indeed. Although I don't think our investors should know that. Just tell them it is a gray situation."

"Right away sir!"

Gothram smiled as she left, before going back to watching the courtyard through the window, his mind starting to draw up plans of attacks and exit strategies.

*****

Aline closed the door behind her, before heading into the hallways towards the house's exit, and the 'communication tent', which was little more than a communication crystal with some tables to write on really. Seemingly absentmindedly she pressed her hand against her throat, which was a tick she had acquired after a throat injury.

A tick that just happened to bring her ring in contact with her throat. A ring that would have made most artificers shit themselves if they'd even been able to see the mechanisms inside.

"Agent Serabor, ID 9-5-6-3-3-Alpha to Order Command. Yellow-Victor. I repeat, Yellow-Victor. They took the bait." She subvocalized, as the ring processed her throat vibrations, converted it into coherent speech, turned it into text, and used her implants to transmit them to a faraway, extremely secure communication relay.

A few minutes later, she received her answer as she composed the message to the company's investors in the communication tent.

"Good work agent." A toneless voice responded in his mind, the result, she knew, of text being given voice by her implants. Unfortunately she hadn't been highly ranked enough to receive the full 'Mind-Machine Interface' senior agents got, which would have made the ring superfluous, as she would have been able to commune with her implants directly with her mind, instead of the link being only one way. "Continue your duties and monitor the situation carefully. Agent Iknor and agent Salter are beginning their own phase of operations. No matter what happens, make sure the Scarlet Swords operations go through. Their attack will be the spark that will light the fires of war between the Republic and the Kingdom, as per the Continental High Commander's plan."

Alina had to suppress an eyeroll. It was Joachim on the other side alright. Ever since he'd gotten his new rank, he had started repeating mission briefings each time an agent checked in. Some said he was just scared shitless of fucking up again like the debacle he almost caused with princess Cassissa, but she'd known him for while, thanks to their mutual friend Gregor Surevoie, and she was pretty sure he just liked to hear himself talk. Particularly when what he was talking about was the mission that would propel him to ever greater heights

Well, fair was fair. She could hardly wait for the operation to succeed to gain credit for it, and thus gain in rank, as well. And at least this time she wouldn't be alone in it. Agent Iknor and Salter might be much, much lower ranked than she was, but they were experienced and competent, and she'd done more with worst. The major trouble with being good at your job in the Order's action arm, particularly field ops, was that they tended to send you in solo mission with a stick, some duct tape, and instructions to topple a government. Well, that was an exageration, but Command generally expected you to perform miracles with relatively few resources, which made things...interesting, to say the least. This time however, there was too much riding on this operation to save resources. The only reason they weren't being more heavy handed was because making sure no one knew the Order was involved was imperative, and with High Commander Lesly in the middle of it all none of them wanted to fuck it up. She had temper issues before she turned herself into a dungeon core. Gods only knew how much of a tantrum she'd pitch if they even so much as slipped on a single phase of her carefully orchestrated plan.

Aline sighed, and went back to writing her letter, after sending a brief aknowledgment back to Command. She had a job to do. Besides, subtly snubbing the investors was one of her guilty pleasures, she really did hate those assholes.

*****

"You don't seem overjoyed by our choice of mercenaries, colonel."

Colonel Orzal Vek hid a frown as he turned towards the two businessmen on the other side of his desk.

"I have...reservations. I still maintain that there were equally, if not more suitable, choices available..."

The businessman on the right brushed away his concerns with a wave of his hand.

"Colonel, colonel, we've been over this." He said admonishingly. "The Scarlet Swords came highly recommended by some of our...friends. And I have complete faith in their judgement. Unless you know something we are not aware of?"

You mean besides the fact that I don't trust any of you as far as I can throw a castle? Thought Orzal.

"No, of course not. Just...a bad feeling, that is all."

The businessman on the left snorted.

"If we based our business decisions on 'bad' or 'good' feelings, we'd have gone bankrupt a long time ago colonel."

Orzal smiled slightly.

"I suppose not indeed." He sighed. "In any case, it is done." He tapped his desk. "My superiors will want a full report, and I assume yours will as well. So I believe we are done for today. Same time tomorrow?"

The businessman on the left rose an eyebrow.

"What for? The mercenaries have been hired."

The colonel laughed.

"You don't have much experience with those kinds of things, do you? I can guarantee you something will go wrong as the mercs get underway, and we'll have to amend our timeline." He smiled at the businessmen's confused expression. "You'll see. Trust me, I've been dealing with military matters for long enough to know that."

Both businessmen looked dubious, but nodded regardless, and the colonel nodded towards the door. After exchanging a few pleasantries, they left, and Orzal sighed, leaning back into his seat. This mission...was going to suck.

The premise itself had been horrible, of course, but now...oh boy. He didn't know how, exactly, the Sildaris Consortium representatives had gotten involved, but when Senator Charles Veumen said he'd have to work with them, it was pretty much that. He didn't know what they had promised the Senator to get in, although he could make a fair guess as to what stakes they had in the success of the operation, which was why he hadn't started immediately making contingency plans to have them quietly assassinated.

And on top of that, the plan had been altered to fit in their new 'allies', with the mercenary company now serving as an unknowing lamb, while their 'shadowing team' rushed to the dungeon to grab the core while everyone else was distracted. It was a brazen move, and quite honestly he was more and more dubious anything short of a damned batallion could do the job now that the core was warned someone wanted their ass, but he had his orders.

He'd also started some digging on his own on the good Senator, despite the risks, and what he was finding was...fascinating. In fact, the more he looked at the situation, the less he was sure the Senator even wanted the mission to succeed. To what end, he didn't know, but the deeper he went, the weirder this whole mess got.

He sighed. He'd have the time to think about it later. Right now he indeed did have a report for the Senator and his committee to make. Which meant another session of standing around speaking to a table of mostly silent senators. Oh joy.