Wolven Kindred Read online

  And at the last, he asked to be made Packmaster to carry out all he had outlined. Those who had been thinking ahead had caught the direction the speech had to go, but most of the Kindred, brothers and wolven alike, had not seen the request coming. From reading their faces, Nietan could see some were displeased with having a decision like this sprung on them, while others were more than happy to see someone at last trying to direct the leaking ship that was the Kindred.

  At the end of his discourse, Nietan bowed, thanked them for their thoughts, and departed. The vote would only be taken once the candidate was safely away, and the Kindred had had time to discuss the matter. As he walked, Nietan could see those men who had not bothered to attend glancing at him, and more than a few were hurrying towards the depression where the debate would take place. Those who stayed behind were either too drunk and lazy to care, or those whose wolven had been in attendance.

  Another thought appended itself immediately – he would need to remove the drunk and the lazy. Hopefully a return to training would bring them into form, but if not, they would have to be gently let go. Or not so gently, as the case might be. There were always recalcitrants amongst soldiers.

  Nietan chuckled. Here he was, planning what he would do when he was made Packmaster, and the vote hadn’t even started yet. Talk about getting ahead of himself, especially as he thought he had at best an even chance, nothing more. Too much inertia working against him for it to be anything higher than that.

  He had only just settled down to the last remaining morsels of bear flesh when he felt Ær’s presence nose its way into his mind.

  “Well?”

  You’re elected. May the gods help us both.

  “I won? It’s been but five minutes since I left!”

  You owe your position to the Beastmaster. Before the debate began, he asked any Kindred who had a better plan to step forward. None did for five minutes. He took that as a unanimous vote in your favour.

  “Just because I had a decent plan doesn’t mean someone else might not be better suited to leading the Kindred. He should have at least let them vote. This isn’t going to sit well with more than a few people. They’ll think I put him up to it.”

  Lovely, isn’t it? But you’re the Packmaster. So act like it.

  Nietan sighed. He’d gotten what he wished for. But like always, it had come at an unanticipated price.

  ***

  The Wolven Kindred were on the march, in formation and with banners flying. The formation was rough, and the flankers and scouts were hardly as far out as they should be, but it was the first time in some while they could even be said to have marched. Likewise, the banners were ragged and dirty, and Nietan resolved to have new ones made when they arrived. On an older pattern, one of those flown during the height of the Kindred.

  Every mealtime, including in the morning before camp was struck, Nietan ordered all the brothers to engage in training drills. In the mornings it was formations, marching and wheeling. Lunchtime was swordplay, although the word seemed rather out of place with the vast array of personal weapons the brothers carried. Sometimes Nietan wondered if the soldiers had grabbed one weapon from every armoury in the world. Evenings were callisthenics and physical exercise, and all of the training had to be completed before anyone, including Nietan himself, could eat.

  The wolven were by no means exempt from any of these drills, for their talents were critical to the success of the Kindred. Although the exercises they undertook were different in the evenings, at other times of the day, they took part in all the training drills with the brothers. The only caveat was that pair-bonds had to be in the same formation or engagement. Splitting them apart was only done in rare circumstances, usually when a leader wanted to be in two places at once.

  So most of the time, Ær was driving one unit to distraction, while Nietan was howling at another. Although there were now a few training sergeants who helped with those matters. His first act after being made Packmaster had been to have every soldier in the Kindred fight one another. Those who were best with their specific weapons were pulled aside, and forced to train a group of brothers. Those few who could train inexperienced combatants without losing their temper were immediately advanced to the rank of training sergeant. From that day on, they had found themselves imparting everything they knew to their brethren.

  There was, as both Nietan and Ær had known there would be, strong resentment bubbling up from certain areas in the company. Mostly from those who regarded the new training regime as foolish and inappropriate, but also from a few of the old veterans who thought the idea of attaching the Wolven Kindred to another mercenary company, however temporary the arrangement might be, was to spit on all that was left of the company’s legacy. Nietan assuaged those concerns he could, but some he had to leave to fester, for he had no good response. He had promised to attach the Kindred to another company, and if veterans would resent that, there was little he could do.

  As for those who spent the days complaining and grumbling around the camp-fires, Nietan planned to remove them as soon as they arrived in a major city. They’d likely slip off anyway. Almost none of them were pair-bonded, and those that were would probably be pulled into shape by their wolven companions. That was the hope, anyway. Nietan did not want to consider ejecting any of the pair-bonded unless he absolutely had to. They were few enough already.

  ***

  The training regime had managed to make the Kindred somewhat presentable as a fighting force when they arrived in Ceaster, one of the smaller cities in this part of the world. Smaller it might be, but its location on a border between two competing kingdoms and the badlands of the northern wastes meant the nominally free city was home to an outsized population of mercenaries.

  Unfortunately, because of the current state of the Kindred’s attire, they hardly cut impressive figures as they marched through the city gate. Ripped chainmail, scale armour that was badly patched, and helmets showing signs of many battles were all part of the problem. Worst of all were the weapons showing rust damage. Regardless of the quality of their armour, no good mercenary would ever let their weapons carry anything but a sharp, polished edge. The fact that many of those the Kindred bore had gone well beyond that did not say much to the standard of their professionalism. And they had their reputation for being bought off to overcome.

  All in all, neither Nietan nor Ær had any hope they would find a contract in the city. They even had a strong deal of doubt about their ability to hire on with another mercenary company. Nietan was prepared to accept food and training in response for acting as another’s shock troops and scouts, despite the grumbling the lack of pay would engender. And there was the matter of gear. Without pay, they had no way to get it repaired, or to purchase new items. It was a rough situation to be in.

  “Take the Kindred along to the pens at the far end of Ceaster, would you?”

  Ær sent a mental note of acknowledgement, before informing the rest of the wolven. The Kindred marched past Nietan, and he wondered if perhaps marching through the city to get to the pens had been the correct idea. True, it was the direct path, but the Kindred looked shabby enough he worried it hurt their chances of hire.

  After the last of the men had made their way past him, he turned and headed for the guild quarters, where companies looking for hire could place their marks. And where he could see who else was in town, and of the appropriate size for them to pair with. There was no point banding with one of the specialist companies, like the Stonecutters, so Nietan had to hope that some of the larger regular units were in town.

  A quick survey of the listings showed only three with much promise, although there might be a fourth if he was willing to stretch the definition of what he was looking for.

  “Ær, do I approach the Iron Brotherhood, Clan Næss, or the Bonded Easterlings first?”

  That’s our selection?

  “Only ones in town at the moment. There’s also the Nameless, but I’d rather stay away from them.” The Namele
ss were a religious company in thrall to the western war god and his high bishop, called simply the Slaughter Priest. And as their title suggested, those who joined gave up all they were in search of battle and bloodlust.

  Right. Definitely not them. I’d start with Clan Næss. They might be the most sympathetic.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  ***

  It turned out his best wasn’t very good. The Clan had listened thoughtfully, but then rejected the proposal on the grounds that having the Wolven Kindred along would harm any chance they had at getting a job. The Clan was also in a quiet period after a long campaign in the southlands against some petty rebellion or other.

  Next Nietan headed to the Bonded Easterlings. Despite the unusual name, they were drawn from all over, and not bonded slaves in any way. Supposedly the title had something to do with the long history of the company, but it was one that he knew nothing of.

  Unfortunately, they too rejected him, on more or less the same grounds as Clan Næss, and without any of the courtesy they had shown. Insults ringing in his ears, Nietan beat a retreat from their camp and turned to the last, the Iron Brotherhood.

  The Brotherhood had been placed last on the list because they were already shock troops. Clad in extremely heavy plate armour and known for using giant two handed weapons, they were almost always hired to be the battering ram at the centre of a battle. Anything else was an insult to their capabilities, and any campaign of less than kingdom shaking importance tended not to interest them. Thus Nietan was sure they would reject him almost immediately.

  And they did. But not without holding out a small olive branch. Their commander, a man called Isen, offered to let the Kindred train with them until the Brotherhood went on campaign. They were to march in two weeks, but during that time the Kindred could train morning and night with the Brotherhood. Despite knowing his company’s funds might not stretch to that length, Nietan agreed, and thanked Isen profusely.

  Shaking his head, the experienced commander waved the beginner from his tent. He had seen a faint glimmer of promise, and thought it best to nurture it where he could.

  Elated, Nietan communicated the news to Ær, who began to get the Kindred on their feet and moving camp. There were grumbles as they had barely settled in, but if they were going to train with the Iron Brotherhood, it was best they occupied one of the smaller pens near theirs.

  ***

  Two weeks of intense training later, and Nietan began to think the Kindred might manage to turn themselves into a respectable unit once more. But it was only a beginning. The discontent that had started to fester when he first announced his plan had grown more venomous, as the harsh nature of the Iron Brotherhood trainers irritated everyone, including those who had previously been more than willing to go along with Nietan’s ideas.

  It was only the departure of the Brotherhood, and the cessation of their training regime, that saved Nietan from facing what would have effectively been a coup attempt. Although he almost provoked another when he continued their training methods the day after. The only thing that prevented it from happening was Ær’s ability to coerce the wolven into agreeing with the practice. With all of the wolven and the Beastmaster backing Nietan in his role as Packmaster, there was little even the most aggrieved humans could do. There were a few incidents during the first day of training, but concerted efforts by Nietan, Ær, and the training sergeants were able to stamp them out.

  The growing unhappiness was being fomented by another, more difficult, problem. The company had two days of rations left, and they had only managed it this long by stretching what little they had. If Nietan was unable to secure a contract within a day, they’d start to starve. And a starving mercenary company was an unpleasant thing, even with others around to corral them. There’d be desertions, theft, raiding, and quite quickly intervention by Ceastern guardsmen.

  So with helmet in hand, Nietan made the rounds of the guild quarters, not that he had noticed much in the way of new arrivals. Neither the Clan nor the Bonded Easterlings gave him answers any different than he had had the last time, and there were no new arrivals of appropriate size. Well, there’d been one, but they were an engineer corps that only engaged in sieges, and so were entirely uninterested and uninteresting. That left the Nameless.

  It’s this or nothing. And they’ll be a lot better than nothing.

  “Perhaps. But in some ways they worry me as a partner more than any other. They aren’t exactly known for their battlefield stability.”

  Uncertain allies or starvation. Choose quickly.

  “I get your point.”

  And so Nietan and Ær followed the trail to the camp of the Nameless, where they were greeted by guards at the gate. After explaining they had come to see the Slaughter Priest, they was asked to wait, although as it turned out the wait was little more than a couple minutes. Apparently, the companions had come at the time of the Priest’s daily ablutions.

  Water still dripped from the Priest’s shaven scalp when he greeted Nietan and Ær, and he was bare-chested and towelling dry. His voice, when he spoke, was far more cultured and rich than either of the companions had been expecting.

  “So what brings you to my humble tent? I’m presuming it’s some kind of business, as I can hardly imagine the entirety of the Wolven Kindred would join the Nameless. Heremæcg is a welcoming god, but I think you’ve already found yours in the wolven.”

  “We’ve come because we need to partner with another unit. We’re short of funds and gear, and the best way out we can see is to act as a division of another company until we’ve recovered our fitness and finances to such a point we can take solo contracts again. And there is always the matter of our reputation.”

  “Which is rather a shambles after the last set of contracts. Betraying your employer for such a paltry sum. Several times in a row.”

  Nietan shrugged. “We were desperate, and had no Packmaster.”

  “A title to which you have now risen, I am given leave to understand.”

  “I have been elected to it, yes.”

  “And your first act in that position is to rely on the charity of other mercenary companies, those very people with whom the Kindred compete.”

  “I didn’t see much in the way of a choice. Banditry ends unpleasantly for all involved, and attempting to overthrow a lord is hardly looked on in a better light. And as you say, our reputation is in tatters. But we have too much history to change names and icons.”

  “As you say, the Kindred have been around for some length. Centuries, if my memory serves.” The Slaughter Priest paused to look at a small altar in the back of his tent. “Time truly is the great leveller. Even the greatest of warriors cannot outmanoeuvre its advance. So what is it you propose to me?”

  “We would act as scouts, skirmishers, shock troops, or whatever other role is required. In return we ask food, training, and a small proportion of the loot and pay, as appropriate to the situation.”

  “You do not come as cheap as you might hope, you know. Food and training for a company of several hundred is never insignificant, even when put next to the three thousand or so Nameless. I would make an alteration, if I might. That any expenses you incur on our behalf, including food and training, is deducted from your share of the pay and loot. You will pay your own way, but only as the money is earned.”

  Nietan looked across at Ær.

  Accept it. We’ll find nothing else.

  The Packmaster muttered in his mind. They’re the Nameless. Their reputation has its own problems.

  And they have our food, and our training.

  Nietan turned to his host and bowed. “If I might be so forward as to accept the offer you have proposed?”

  The Priest chuckled. “You might, but you haven’t asked for any details of the campaign we are about to engage upon. Which tells me your situation is even more desperate than your presence here might lead one to believe. With that in mind, you might want to send your companion to your pen and begin moving the
m next to ours.”

  Ær did not so much as move. I want to hear about this campaign before I take one step out of this tent. I don’t like the sound of where it’s going.

  “Ah, so both of you will be staying to hear the details. Very well, then. We head east, to the Coastal Kingdoms. We have been hired by a member of the ruling elite looking to defend his claim against a usurper from the south. Unfortunately, the usurper is funded by most of the merchants, and a neighbouring kingdom or two. Thus he has been able to hire both the Traitor Legion and the Heretics. And he has raised his own rabble as well, in order that he can retain the throne he feels confident of winning.”

  “Who else have the rulers hired?”

  “I do not know of any names at this point, although the agent who hired me was most insistent they would find others. In fact, our arrangement with them is contingent on the numbers being somewhat comparable. After all, as they currently stand we are outnumbered some twenty thousand to three. Given or take a few thousand rabble. The Nameless are extremely effective in combat, especially against greater numbers, but those are odds too tall even for us.”

  “And when will this agent return to inform you of the details?”

  “Supposedly, by the next phase of the moon. He will be hurrying, if he has any hope of saving his kingdom’s flesh. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Nietan and Ær bowed and turned to go. As he held the flap over for Ær to trot out, Nietan turned back to the Slaughter Priest.

  “One last matter. Your reputation…?”

  The Priest smiled, feral and full of teeth. “It’s earned, boy. In battle.”

  ***

  As it was, they had only to wait another two days before the agent returned to speak to the Slaughter Priest. Nietan and Ær were invited along to listen to the discussion, but it was made abundantly clear that any time they spoke up, it should be both insightful and relevant. The Slaughter Priest knew he was doing them a favour and wasn’t above reminding them of that fact.