The horn blew three times to summon the Bannermen together. The clarion call echoed across the camp and reflected from the nearby trees. A flock of blackbirds shot into the sky, disturbed by the sound.
Garold and Logaire were in the main square of the camp, watching the soldiers muster. Garold took his usual spot slightly in front of the company standard. The Azure and White obscured the rays from the setting sun behind it and cast a long shadow across the parade ground. Logaire stood apart. He cut an inspiring figure in his blue steel armor and cape. Under his watchful eye the men formed into squads, troops and regiments. All was neat. All was orderly. Garold watched with pride as the men in his care stood at attention, straight and tall, ready to receive their orders.
As usual the scouts were slightly behind the line soldiers. Garold shot a glance at Caedrynn and the two new recruits, Jodan and Nasser. Nasser looked a little overwhelmed, Jodan looked blasé, and Caed looked like her normal steely self. With his years of experience Garold could tell that those two would be fine. It may take them some time to fit in, however.
Lastly Orynn, Parrin and Harvir came jogging up to the parade ground, having come from the nearby hillock. Unsurprisingly, the halflings wore giant grins. Harvir seemed winded after the run. ‘A couple of weeks on the march will do him good.’ Garold thought to himself. ‘I need to find time to speak with him soon.’
Logaire took a half step forward and raised his hand. The noise of the crowd fell to a murmur, then to expectant silence within moments. Garold was always pleasantly surprised at how quickly the new recruits fell into line. It was as if the soldiers of the company were one giant leviathan. It moved and acted as a single entity, a single creature, that subsumed the individuals within it. The fact that the new recruits hardly ever spoke out during their first mustering was just one of the ways that they were bent to the Bannermen’s collective will. Within a few weeks the recruits would become part of the group, finding their individual places within the collective. After their first engagement, they would be considered full fledged members. They would feel the ties of shared hardships and the bonds of dangers overcome.
Garold looked the soldiers over while Logaire addressed them. Logaire’s voice carried across the parade ground, strong and clear. “Bannermen! We have spent our time training, honing our skills and our weapons. Polishing our maneuvers and our armor!” A slight chuckle of appreciation rippled through the men. “We have recruited new members, whom we welcome into our august company. But our time of rest here has come to an end. We have been given orders to take the town of Esterfield, five days’ march from here.” Another murmur washed over the men, a mixture of excitement and relief. Garold felt their relief as well. He’d been with the Bannermen long enough to know that when the men were idle for too long morale suffered. Having them on the move would only be beneficial.
Logaire briefed the men on the logistics of the march. The scouts would leave within the hour. They would be tasked with searching for dangers, reconnoitering the town when they got close enough, and finding suitable campsites along the way. The rest of the men would move out at mid morning. And the young Baron Rokur would meet them at Esterfield once it was secured.
Garold hadn’t cared for the Baron when they’d met him. He had argued with Logaire about taking the contract. He didn’t trust Rokur, and didn’t relish the idea of using the company to fulfill the petty whims of a petty man. But a rare time of relative peace had descended over the Ardovikian Plains, and the Bannermen had been out of work for a few months. Logaire had reminded Garold that the mercenary company had to have work or they’d be nothing better than bandits. For Barim the Baron’s coin would spend, so what was the problem? After some lengthy discussion Logaire had reassured Garold that he had never asked the men to do anything brutal, rash or stupid, and wouldn’t start now. And he’d reminded Garold that even if Rokur gave them a mission, it was up to Logaire and the company’s leaders to decide how to fulfill it.
On further reflection, Garold felt that the Baron was arrogant, too self assured. He seemed to value guile and craftiness over hard work. Rokur was the kind of man who had never tasted failure. It left Rokur with a lack of empathy that would hurt his people in the long run. Garold decided that the Baron could do with a swift clean punch in the face. Maybe two. It would build character. Garold noticed Barim in the crowd looking at him. Barim mouthed the word “what?” to him, with a smile. It was then that Garold noticed that he’d been giving a wry grin at the thought of Rokur sitting in the dirt, clutching his swollen jaw. Garold’s smile sheepishly disappeared and he gave a lazy hand wave to Barim, which said ‘I’ll tell you later.’ Barim nodded with a smirk. ‘Barim would agree with me. But he’d aim for Rokur’s nuts.’ Despite himself, Garold grinned again….
——————————————————————————
Nasser was nervous but in a good way. Some would have said cautious, but it was more than that. His senses were heightened, and his body was slightly tense and on high alert. He saw the barest outlines of the crypt in the reflected moonlight from the opening up above. The air had the familiar mustiness of underground and slight decay. He could hear Jo’s shuffling footsteps behind him. Jo’s breathing was slightly shallow, and it mirrored his own. Nasser felt so alive in this state. Connected. This was all part of the rush.
This crypt was an unexpected find. From the graveyard above you could barely tell it was there, but Jo had noticed the slight outline of the crypt below in the grass. They had taken turns digging while the other kept watch. Nasser had figured that the crypt would be underneath a more recent burial coffin, but oddly enough there had been nothing underneath the gravestone, only a small pocket of loosely packed stones. Those had been cleared away easily, revealing an opening just big enough for the two men. After dropping a lit match down the hole to check for gas, the two men slithered down into the crypt on their bellies.
Now that they were inside, the crypt was surprisingly large, with enough room to stand inside. Even though Nasser and Jo were on the shorter side, this was rare. Jo lighted a small torch, and the crypt jumped to life. The walls were lined with marble, and had copper inlays, tarnished with age, that showed an imposing warrior with a winged helm and a flowing cloak. A heap of bodies was arrayed at his feet, portrayed in black line work of inlaid jet. A raised dais sat in the middle of the crypt with a stone sarcophagus. The coffin lid was also made of stone, and had a relief of the same warrior lying in repose, his sword held across his chest.
Nasser scanned the walls for traps. He and Jo had been doing this long enough to know the telltale signs; small holes in the walls for darts, or mismatched or slightly ’off’ tiles that held pressure plates. When he first went down this path years ago Nasser had survived mostly due to dumb luck. But he had taken note of every near miss, and had learned his lessons. Oddly, this crypt, as rich as it was, had no traps that he could see. Strange. And the stones above had been packed rather loosely, meaning that maybe someone had been in here before. Even stranger.
Jo ran his fingertips along the edges of the stone lid. He stopped just to the left of the statue’s head. “Here’s the spot,” he whispered. Nasser nodded, businesslike. These heavy stone sarcophagi would be fitted in such a way that the lid could be swiveled into place. During construction, the craftsman would have to use trial and error to ensure that the lid sealed tightly to the base. This would lead the craftsman to repeatedly fit the lid into place, which inevitably left a small mark where he used his prybar. This would be the spot that was the easiest to pry from. Jo was a master at feeling those marks out, and he could find the smallest imperfections given time. Nasser instinctively stationed himself opposite Jo, pulled out a pair of prybars from his satchel, and tossed one to him.
Jo deftly caught the prybar, and within moments they had pried up the lid and gave it a quarter turn, revealing the body within. From where he stood, Nasser could see the feet of the corpse, and a few small pouches were nestled around it’s boots. Nasser palmed one of the pouches and stuffed it in his satchel. ‘This mighty warrior hasn’t needed this stuff since the day he took his last breath.’ Nasser thought to himself. ‘He won’t miss it at all.’ He grabbed a second pouch for good measure, and came around to join Jo by the head.
Over time, Nasser had gained an eye for the circumstances and cultures of the people who he found. It was his natural curiosity at work. Years ago, Nasser had opened the crypt of a noble from Primovantor. Jo had been annoyed at how long Nasser had spent looking everything over. Nasser had even taken rubbings and notes that he had pored over later. This crypt was nothing like anything he had ever seen. It was exciting and disorienting at the same time.
The corpse had a gold mask which portrayed a serene visage, eyes closed, with the mouth raised in a slight sneer. Jodan smiled down at the mask, and his fingertips brushed lightly across the edges. Nasser gave him a look, and imperceptibly shook his head “no”. In all the years he had been grave robbing, Nasser never once had taken the most personal item from a coffin. Whether it was a wedding ring, a holy symbol, a talisman, or a gold mask, he left it with the deceased. It was his own code of honor. The dead didn’t need ay of their possessions once they were in the ground, but those items defined who they were. Those items held the meanings of their lives, their power. Those items were sacrosanct, and he always left them.
Jodan didn’t share the same code, but he understood Nasser and he never violated that one rule. The pair would pore over a coffin’s contents and Jo would look for Nasser to give the sign that meant, ‘That stays with them. We take the rest.’ Jo, in his turn, always gave thanks for three days after they scavenged a grave. He would pray for the deceased in the afterlife and their descendants still here on this plane.
Jo noticed Nasser’s head shake, and he nodded in return, slowly retracting his hand from the sarcophagus. His fingertips brushed one last time along the sneer on the mask’s lips.
Just then the eyes of the mask glowed with an intense yellow-green flame, and the warrior’s hand shot up from inside the coffin, brutally snatching at Jodan’s wrist. There was a crack of bones and Jo screamed in an animalistic mixture of pain and terror. Nasser grabbed at the warrior’s hand, vainly trying to pry the fingers loose. The mask slowly turned to stare at Nasser. Nasser’s heart raced, and almost burst from his chest. The green eyes flared brighter and more intensely until it completely encompassed Nasser’s field of vision. Nasser wailed in despair….
Nasser woke with a start, his entire body spasming and lifting him almost completely off the ground. His eyes shot open in terror, and he saw Jo crouched above him, a look of concern on his face. They were in a tent, just the two of them, thank the gods. A small opening in the top allowed the moonlight and some fresh air into the tent. As Nasser came to his senses he intentionally slowed his breathing and calmed his nerves. Eventually fear was replaced with embarrassment. They had been travelling for two nights since Logaire had addressed the Bannermen, and Nasser knew it was only a matter of time until Caed and the other scouts found out about the night terrors.
“The nightmare again?” Jodan asked in a whisper.
Nasser nodded yes.
“Same as before?”
“Mostly,” Nasser responded. “This time that bastard broke your wrist.”
Jodan involuntarily flexed his hands. “This isn’t good.”
“That’s an understatement.” The pair had been plagued by nightmares almost every night since they had found the crypt more than a week ago. In real life, everything had gone easy-peasy. They had taken the two pouches, left the mask, and Nasser had even taken some notes on the writings they’d found on the sarcophagus. It was in a language that neither of them knew, but Nasser was sure that he’d be able to get it translated eventually. They’d left the crypt all sealed up, and hadn’t gotten noticed until they were on their way out of the graveyard. A stranger with insomnia and a penchant for walking had ruined their stay in Farleaf. Things had only gone wrong from there. Nasser shook his head from side to side. ‘Nothing we can do about it now. The people of Farleaf will lynch us if they see us again. All for jewelry that we can’t sell. Speaking of…’
“Quick thinking with the sleight of hand, Jo. Good work palming the amulet.” Jodan nodded with a little smile. He lifted the pouch that he had turned inside out in front of Barim and Caed a few days before, and extracted the strange chain that he had shown them. This time there was an amulet attached to it that glowed with its own light. It was shaped like a stylized tree that pulsed with a sickly greenish-yellow light. When they’d inspected their loot that first night the amulet hadn’t seemed special. But the following night the gem began to glow dimly. That was when the nightmares began. As the nights went by the dreams became more vivid and terrible. It had gotten to the point where at least one of them, if not both, couldn’t get a full night’s sleep, and it was affecting them during the day. Jo and Nasser were at a loss for what to do. Common sense said that the night terrors and the amulet were probably related. They had tried to ditch the amulet by throwing it into the river near the outskirts of town, but Jo found the amulet back in his pouch the next night. It would appear as if they were stuck.
Nasser had thought that maybe things would get better the further away from the crypt that they got. Two days outside of Farleaf and things weren’t getting any better. Neither man was particularly superstitious when it came to the dead. To be honest, you couldn’t be superstitious and decide to go into robbing graves. It was an extremely pragmatic endeavor, after all. But, with a growing sense of dread and menace, it was slowly dawning on both men that they were in some real trouble.
It had been Jo’s idea to join the Bannermen. It would get them out of Farleaf, and the crowd of warriors may protect them from unexpected retribution. And hopefully they could travel to a place with a sage who could help. The money they made could be used to lift the curse, if necessary. Looking back, Nasser had to admit that it had been a good idea. Since running into Farleaf’s main square, they’d been treated better than he could have imagined. If things had been different Nasser could even see them making a go of the mercenary life. But if the nightmares continued to get worse, soon there’d be no place to run.
Nasser shook his head at the thought.
As if reading his mind, Jodan nodded grimly in return.
