Red lifted the bandage from my arm and huffed, the hairs on his face moving with every fresh huff of air. He touched two fingers lightly against the raw, crusted, skin and began to mutter. His magic was different to mine, and I watched and listened hoping to learn more of the healing arts as my arm went numb, the pain fading along with that from my back.

With each healing session, the open cuts from the lash closed just a little more and after just two days of lying on a woven reed mat on the edge of the city, I was ready to be up and about again. Nimble, felt the same way, or so I judged.

She pulled on a clean, linen, shirt with barely a wince as the cloth touched the raw flesh of her back. A green coat, the colour of moss, followed it and she sat for a moment, breathing shallowly as she accustomed herself to the pain as the heavy wool coat pressed against her skin.

Her weapons lay beside her and she forced herself into motion, standing and securing the wide leather belt around her waist. She ran a hand through the tangled mat of dark, brown hair and grimaced at the greasy feel.

“First thing I do when we get back to the city is bathe,” she said and then looked at me. “You too.”

I grinned in response as Red finished his incantation. I flexed the fingers of my left hand feeling only a little tightness and very little pain. He was a talented healer, and I gave thanks for his skill with a curt nod.

Our Company had made their camp on the edge of the city amidst the rubble of a warehouse. Woven mats to sleep on and a canopy of tree fronds over a wooden frame to keep away the weather.

We’d secured the routes that led to the warehouse and barricaded each and every one of them, posting guards to keep watch. Unlike the colonial troops, we’d kept away from the pillaging of the city, and we’d have no business with the gathering of the slaves.

That left us with little to do but rest and recover. Which, for most of our brethren, meant sitting around playing games of chance with dice or cards, while drinking spirits from clay jugs. All the while complaining about not being allowed to loot and pillage to their evil little hearts’ content.

Gentle remained close to me, or at least to the satchel that I carried and its precious contents. A man of few words, he spent his day sitting with the heavy hammer balanced on his lap as he glared at any who might come near.

I rose and patted him on the shoulder. Big dark eyes looked up into mine and I jerked my head towards the centre of camp. “Going to see, Mercy.”

The big man seemed to unfold as he rose beside me, his six-and-a-half foot-high frame head and shoulders above me. His bald head seemed small on the huge shoulders and torso that was more muscle than man.

He swung his hammer up onto his shoulder and held it there without any indication of its weight. I’d tried to lift it once, goaded to the act by Mercy who had laughed uproariously as I had barely managed to raise it an inch off the ground.

“You coming?”

Nimble shifted the belt she wore, adjusting how the sword hung on her hip and grimaced as the weight pulled at her back. Her grimace turned to a scowl as she looked out over the camp, but she nodded anyway.

We walked together, she with her hand resting on the flintlock sheathed on her belt, and me with the satchel hanging at my hip and the ever-present Gentle close behind me. A lifetime of wariness was evident in how she moved, though she had nothing to fear from those soldiers of the Company.

No, once you were part of that, you were family. Those men and women would kill any who attempted to assault her, for she was one of them. While Nimble knew this, it was built into her to be wary and I couldn’t fault her for that.

A fine-featured woman, her delicate features and dimples that appeared when she smiled were at odds with the stone-cold killer that I knew her to be. Before joining the Company she had made her living on the streets with quick hands that could dip into a pocket after a wallet or watch.

She had been caught, so she told me, by a rival gang who objected to her working their patch. She wouldn’t say what their punishment was, but shortly after she fled the city and found herself at the port while the Company were loading onto a boat ready for the campaign at Marin, one of the bloodiest of the war with Ferrule.

They had taken her in and the rest, as the scholars would say, was history. Two years later, I had joined and found in her a friend of sorts. A kindred spirit and one for whom I was grateful.

“Something’s up,” Nimble said, breaking me from my reverie and I looked up to see our brethren gathering long rifles, or swords and shields. The sergeants chivvying them up from their bunks.

“Wonder what?”

“One way to find out.” She set her mouth in a grim line and marched on towards the tent where the Captain had set up his command post.

There were no guards on the tent, why should there be? For anyone to reach it they would have to go through the rest of the Company and while some may find fault with his leadership, none would allow an attacker to reach him.

“Mercy,” I said by way of greeting as the squad leader turned at our entrance.

“Not now, Grim.”

“What’s going on?” the Captain’s staff were hurrying about carrying sheaves of paper from storage chests to the wide table before spreading them out. “You need us?”

He scowled, he huffed, but he couldn’t deny that he might. He waved us over and we joined him at his end of the table. The maps that were spread across it were of the city and the surrounding lands.

North of the city was the river, a good fifteen miles march with only a narrow dirt road through thick jungle. To the east were the Grey Top Mountains that stretched almost two thousand miles, unpassable and home to creatures both fearsome and aggressive.

West, there were several settlements all the way to the border of the city’s dominion, some seventy miles distant. Beyond that was another city-state, one that was trade partner only, and not allied, so I wouldn’t have expected them to send an attacking force.

It was south then, that was the danger. Our maps were limited and while the Captain’s staff had seemed to find some locals to fill in details, they were limited. Some crudely marked towns and cities had been drawn on the maps filling a space of a good hundred miles.

Beyond that was simply a large shaded area with the name ‘Kiswahili’ inked in.

“Isn’t that the name of the place those men the Colonel had killed said they came from?” I asked, and Mercy grunted.

“Aye. Can’t get much from the captives here other than the name. Anytime you press for more they either piss themselves in fear or clam up.”

North-west, right up against the very edge of the map was the city-state of Gokar. The local ruler had long been at war with pretty much everyone around him and part of the treaty the kingdom had made to protect shipping, had been to provide a force to help the ruler maintain, and even grow, his power.

Which is why five hundred colonial regulars had arrived, along with the Company, and immediately set to work fulfilling our side of the treaty. Those five hundred soldiers, along with the hundred and twenty, of us, had travelled down the river with six hundred of the native soldiers and brought ruin to the city in which we camped.

Those natives had promptly split up and set out to raid the towns and villages immediately surrounding the city, while the Colonel had been left the task of enslaving the population and preparing them for the journey back to Gokar and the slave markets there.

“Gokar soldiers returning?” I asked. “Or something else?”

“Armed force moving north, rapidly.” Mercy jabbed his finger down on the map, approximately thirty miles from the city. “Bastards are moving fast, the scouts just barely kept ahead of them.”

“How many?”

“Three hundred by rough estimate.”

We could handle that many easily enough. The city walls were largely intact and high enough for us to line up the rifle companies and fire volley after volley into the ranks of the approaching enemy. I couldn’t understand the concern.

“What aren’t you telling us, Mercy?” Nimble asked. Smart woman, she had seen the same as I had. “Why the fuss for a few hundred spear-wielding savages?”

“If these are from ‘Kiswahili’ then they either had some way to know when we attacked here and set off marching immediately, or they crossed over a hundred miles of jungle terrain in a day.”

One day for word to reach them, one day to send an immediate response. I understood his concern then. The Company was classed as light infantry, skirmishers really. We each carried our weapons and a pack with our gear and had mules following along with our supplies.

On flat terrain, if we pushed, we could make twenty-two miles in a day. The warriors headed towards us looked to have made a hundred miles in that same time. Any force that could move so fast and still be ready to fight at the end of it wasn’t human.

“If you have any magics to suggest, now is the time,” Mercy said.

Nothing came to mind. In truth, I was talented when it came to untangling webs of magic but I was a middling student back at the university and had gained my employment through family contacts rather than through any particular skill.

In fact, I was convinced that if the Company hadn’t been in dire need of a few mages, I wouldn’t have been taken on at all, since I had no combat experience nor skill with arms.

Mercy was still awaiting a response and I shrugged weakly. He cursed and spat fire at the aides near to him which sent them scurrying from the tent to attend to his orders. He was not a pleasant man at the best of times but when the mood was upon him, none were willing to stand before his fury.

“Get your arses to the wall!” he snapped, turning that anger on us. “We expect contact within the next two hours.”

I made a hasty salute and left the tent, Nimble and Gentle following behind. None of us spoke as we joined our brethren at the quartermaster’s tent. Nimble gathered fresh powder and shot, while Gentle merely watched.

Since I carried no flintlock and had only a knife, the only thing I needed replenishing was my power stone. I pulled it out from beneath my shirt and squinted at the pebble-sized flat stone. It had a deep blue hue with splotches of a malevolent green discolouring its surface.

The more magic I drew through the stone, the larger those splotches grew and the stone that hung from the leather thong around my neck was more than two-thirds green. It was an ill-fated colour and my fingers felt tainted where they touched it.

Quarters, a rotund man with a belly that bulged over his belt and jowls that shook and jiggled when he talked, raised an eyebrow as I approached. My brethren were not always the best and brightest and their bestowing of nicknames was often on the nose, as it had been with the Quartermaster.

Still, he didn’t seem to mind and he certainly enjoyed his position as gatekeeper to the Company’s supplies. Such that he often treated them as his own personal belongings and tight-fisted old fart that he was, getting what you needed was often a chore.

“I need a new stone.”

He eyed the one hanging from my neck and his other eyebrow rose as his eyes widened in mock surprise at my request. My hand curled into a fist as I rolled my shoulders and prepared for battle.

“’tis still plenty blue.”

“Not enough that I can rely on it in battle.”

“Battle coming is it?”

My brow furrowed as I raised hands in gesture towards the mass of men and women replenishing their stocks of powder, shot, sharpening stones and bandages.

“It would seem likely.”

“Forty pounds.” I sighed, ready for the lecture. “That’s the same as a year’s wages for you, lad. Twice that of your brothers and sisters.”

“I know what my wages are.”

“Then you also know that the stone around your neck is the second we have provided you since you joined the Company.”

“I cast a lot of spells.” His face didn’t change so I hastily added, “On behalf of the Company.”

“You’ll have to make do with what you have.” He reached down and lifted a sheathed short sword. The hilt was nicked and gouged, the leather wrapping stained with sweat and what I hoped was only blood, while the scabbard looked to have been used as a shield judging by the number of nicks and cuts to its surface. “Use this, and cast fewer spells.”

He tossed the sword onto the table before me and I stared down at it, aghast. I was not a warrior and I was just as likely to stab myself as an enemy if I tried to use the bloody thing. Nimble, grinned evilly as she picked it up.

“I’ll make sure he puts it to use,” she said, laughter in her voice.

“You jest!” I cried, slamming my open hand against the table. “I’ll turn you into a toad, you fat buffoon!”

Quarter’s face darkened and there was laughter from the soldiers around us. Nimble gripped my arm and pulled me back, waving an apology at the quartermaster.

“I’ll curse you!” I yelled, spittle flying from my lips. “You’ll never-“

Gentle’s hand covered my mouth entirely and he pulled me away from the tent with the ease an adult would a small child. I pulled at his arm but I had more chance of moving rock than I had of moving his hand from my mouth.

“Not a good idea to anger the quartermaster,” Nimble said, that laughter still in her voice. “You’ll be getting paid in copper half-pennies for the rest of the year.”

That gave me pause and I stopped struggling. Gentle removed his hand and I straightened my jacket as I tried to regain some of my dignity. That would be a lot of copper to carry around.

“He’s a tight bastard.”

“That he is, but he’s also got the power to make your life more miserable than it already is,” Nimble said, quietly. “He outranks you.”

I lifted the stone and eyed it critically. There was still power in it, likely plenty for a battle, but I disliked the idea of having to conserve my magic. Battles were chaotic and dangerous places and I had found that casting spells fast and moving faster, kept me alive.

Conserving my energies would mean being at greater risk of injury or death. Something that I very much wanted to avoid.

Nimble thrust the scabbarded sword at me, pushing it against my chest until I grabbed it from her. She laughed and shook her head as I held it.

“Strap it on and I’ll show you how to draw it without stabbing yourself in the foot.”

I grumbled and bitched and moaned, but ultimately did as I was told. My squad mates were the only real friends I had in the Company, and while any other would call me brother, they were colleagues, not friends.

Best then to stay on good terms with the few friends I had, so I fastened the belt around my waist and felt the unfamiliar weight of the sword against my hip. Nimble reached down, adjusting the belt so that it sat properly and grunted once satisfied.

“Right then, off to the wall and while we wait, I’ll give you a few pointers.”

I sighed and nodded glumly. “Great.”