Within his personal tent, Markus spent a moment relaxing as he cleaned his weapon and unpacked his armor. Checking each piece for any sign of damage, he laid them out one by one, followed by his shield.
About the time he finished, Quinn and Julia both entered the large tent, the former with a wide red mark on the side of his face from where Julia had whacked him with the flat end of her scabbard. His shoulder slumped and his arms fell low as if wanting to sleep, but Markus didn't let him.
"Help me with my armor, then go get some food. You sleep when the others do, until then you need to be ready."
The boy nodded along, having known as much, and started helping Markus with his armor. It was a set of full plate over chain, something he'd bought after Liane became pregnant.
A suit like this was expensive, rivaling a sword of pure skysteel in cost, but he believed it worth every Crown spent.
"Have you seen your men yet?" Julia asked as she watched Quinn's actions.
"No, I was planning on checking them now. How many are out there?"
"The company's 2700 in total, you've got 900, all heavy cavalry."
She said it casually, but that was a huge number for them. An ordinary campaign would involve about a thousand men, sometimes they would recruit up to 1500, but almost never more.
"Well, if it's less than a thousand I can handle it smoothly, what have you got lined up for the rest?" There were still 1800 soldiers after he took his Cavalry unit.
"I'll have Orson step up as Lieutenant again, he has the experience. He can handle the 800 infantry and I'll lead a thousand light cavalry and archers."
Markus responded with a long, flat gaze, and Julia seemed to grow uncomfortable. "What? Do you have a better idea?"
"Of course I do, you already know it. Promote Don to lead the infantry, leave the mounted archers to Orson and take only the light cavalry with you. You need to trust Don, he is a good man."
She gave a loud, frustrated sigh before speaking. "Of course I know that. But I just don't see him working as a leader of so many men. The way he leads is unsuitable for a lieutenant."
The reason such a warm and cheerful guy like Don Cox was titled 'Brutal' had a lot to do with his performance on the battlefield. He was a Knight of Five Gates, and with his large wavy blade, he tended to lose himself in the battle, plowing through enemy soldiers. He was the type of warrior that inspired heroism and courage in his men through action, and helped them pull through even the worst of situations through overwhelming bravery and crazed resolve.
As a sergeant leading a hundred men, he was among the best, but Julia refused to believe he could handle a high station of leadership, one that needed a clearer head.
"This is the perfect time to give him that chance Julia. Most of the infantry are from other companies, they don't have experience with us or our tactics, so there is a limit to how well they can function already. Let him have them, and I'm sure you'll be surprised."
Julia sat on a bench, elbows on knees as she looked him in the eye, considering his advice. Vivid red hair fell over her face, but blowing it away, she sat straight and crossed one leg over the other.
"Fine. But I won't give him the third mark if he screws up. I like Don, but there's nothing for it."
Markus smiled as he took in her sudden upright manner. He knew she was going to consider this a favor done for him, and that she'd find some way to cash that in when the time came. That was fine though if it gave his friend a chance. He really was sure Don could pull off the roll.
"I'm done," Quinn said with a sigh.
"Thanks lad, go get some food in you and I'll find you later."
They both watched in silence as Quinn left, Markus speaking only a few seconds after he had gone.
"So? What do you think?"
"He's adapted way faster than I did. After finding the Gallery I couldn't channel it until I'd seen another long battle. He's already getting a smooth grip on it."
Markus nodded with a smile. "My only worry is that he'll get too caught up in trying to channel and neglect a coming blade."
She shook her head at his words, disagreeing. "No, I think you worry too much. His swordsmanship is improving rapidly, he's a damn genius if I've ever seen one. I don't think he'll fall for something like that."
That fed a little flame of pride in Markus, but a second later his expression became grave.
"You didn't tell him any of that praise did you?"
"Of course not." She replied with a cheeky smile, and Markus laughed.
Quinn truly was a genius with the sword, but neither of them would ever let him know that. He advanced quickly, but he was still young and could be done in by a stray arrow or a fool with some luck. In their eyes, filling his head with further notions of talent now was nothing but a waste.
"Well, I better get to it."
Standing with a start and stretching on her toes, Julia turned to leave while Markus finished equipping himself.
He had 900 heavy cavalries under his charge. That meant he would need to assign nine sergeants.
Normally he would have Orson and Don both under him, but since they were each assigned lieutenants for this campaign, neither were options. Strolling around the camps, Markus took his time greeting new faces and reuniting with old ones, asking how the men have been and sharing laughs.
Making himself known to men who would risk lives at his order was important, and he could usually get a good grasp of someone's character this way, something imperative for his job. Among those who had not only fought with them before, but had earned at least their first mark of leadership, he started building a list in his mind. This time, he prioritized experience the most.
'Two more…'
He had seven confirmed in mind but needed to decide on his final two by the end of the day. Yet before he had a chance to finish, there was already a commotion within one part of the camp, a crowd gathering amidst cheers and roars.
'Took them long enough.' With a small shake of his head, he started towards the crowd and what he suspected to be a few men of new and old ranks fighting. His large, broad-shouldered frame stood out and those nearby made way naturally as he caught sight of the exchange.
Originally, he'd intended to stop it immediately, but he'd just seen the involved parties.
Quinn's face was a mask of arrogant indignation as he stared down an older man in his forties.
"You see? That's all you got, yet you made it here? That hair must do wonders huh?"
The older man spoke with a choppy voice and by the messy stubble and whistling gap in his teeth, it would be easy to take him for a fool. The way he stood and held his sword though, Markus knew him an experienced warrior regardless of anything else.
Both men bore steel and there was a fresh scratch down Quinn's breastplate. Markus narrowed his eyes at that, but even as the image of a beautiful plain of bloodied grass surfaced in his mind, he did not act.
He suspected the older man had not been the instigator here.
"My hair? Discipline, Rigor, Effort, Loyalty, Skill, Modesty, what of these am I lacking in comparison to you, a dead-end nobody with more teeth than wits."
Markus could think of a few…
The man adjusted his grip on the sword, ready to come to blows once more, and Markus was of a mind to leave him be. If Quinn had let things develop this far despite his lack of training and experience, then let him have a scar to remember how easy death comes. He would deal with the other fool afterward.
However, it seemed not everyone was willing to wait and leave it be.
"Hold yer sword Whistle, ya fae-touched bastard!" A gruff, angry voice shouted over the clamor as a short, well-built man shoved others aside to approach, face hidden by a full beard separated only by a nasty scar.
"Bryant, I ain't the one that started this–"
"I don't wanna hear it, this ain't Saltmarch, calm yourself."
The fervent cheers of some other newcomers in the crowd seemed to die down as the bearded man spoke, and the older man—Whistle—seemed to calm too.
"And you too brat, I don't care if it's ya hair, your blood, yer talent, or yer liege that got ya here, shut up until you can put up."
Quinn looked increasingly indignant, but seeing Whistle back off, he sheathed his longsword with a huff.
'Not bad… not bad at all.'
The bearded man whom Whistle had called Bryant turned to meet Markus' gaze, evidently aware of him from the first, and with that the two fools who'd almost drawn each other's blood both noticed too.
Markus ignored the two of them, content to let them stew in worry for a moment as he signaled with his head for the bearded man to walk with him.
"Bryant, was it?"
"Aye, Sir Markus. I be serving under ya in the cavalry according to the Captain."
"Heavy Cavalry?" The man nodded. "Where are you from Bryant? It seemed Whistle and no few others in the crowd recognized you. Are you also of Saltmarch?"
Saltmarch was another mercenary company, well known for putting every common man that joined through hellish training until they could be called warriors. If weighing endurance alone, the Crimson Company was not their match.
"Aye, that's it. The boys all came skipping over here for the mark. Stupid, but It didn't sit right with me stayin' behind so I followed 'em over. I'll keep them in line, no need to worry."
"You led a lance?"
"A Sergeant, Sir."
"Oh?"
Bryant seemed to anticipate something and Markus knew he was putting his best foot forward for the same position here. "How many men came with you from Saltmarch?"
"Thirty-eight, in all, but I served many companies in my career, I know a good third of the returnin' Crimsons from before they joined, and even more of the new guys."
'Best foot indeed.' He smiled as he met Bryant's gaze.
"Alright Sergeant Bryant, you'll have a hundred men in the battle to come." The bearded man smiled widely and gave a coarse chuckle.
"However what happened earlier is unacceptable. Whistle and Quinn will both be punished and made an example of. I cannot have my men drawing blades on each other."
"Of course."
With a nod, Markus patted his shoulder, "Go deliver your sentence.", before walking off. That would be a good test for Bryant, whether Whistle, a man he knew from Saltmarch, would receive the same punishment as Quinn, the squire of his superior.
Regardless of the instigator, unless it was an entirely one-sided offense, both parties should always be punished equally.
'With that, just one more and I'll have my sergeants.'
****
For the next few days, Quinn and Whistle could be seen shoveling horse dung and performing all manner of undesirable labors shirtless, the marks of a switch showing clearly on their backs.
Markus had chosen his Sergeants who had each been assigned 100 men, and those hundreds had been divided into lances of five that each chose their own leader. With that, the ranks had finished being reorganized and they were ready for battle, but there were no signs of skirmish, no reports of riders.
With a wood plate of beans and meat in one hand, Markus sat with a groan by the side of a large bonfire, making a place for himself between Don Cox, the merry fellow with the prominent mustache, and Orsen Brooks, a calm and stoic man who had once given up teaching Markus the bow.
"Evening, 'Lieutenants'," He said, emphasizing the last.
"Markus! I knew ya had my back" Don shouted with a laugh. "A lieutenant! Who'd have thought it huh?" Don's food went unattended as he stroked his mustache with one hand, his eyes practically beaming.
"I had nothing to do with it, the choice was Julia's."
"Don't let the Captain down, Don. A thousand men are not a simple charge, you need to keep your wits." Orson's dry voice spoke from his right and Markus nodded after a moment.
Don stopped playing with his mustache at that and spooned some beans with a serious face. "I know. I've waited too long for this not to know."
"You'll do fine," Markus said after a moment. "You've been on the field longer than any of us. Just get to know your sergeants well and everything else will click into place."
The spoonful of beans fell back onto the plate as Don's back straightened. "Aye, I was winning battles before you'd even left ya comfy home, Ghoul. Who knows, Captain might just make me her second in command, aye?" With a slap on Markus' shoulder, he rose and shouted. "Oi Ray, did we ever settle that bet?"
And with that, he was gone.
"How about you Orson, any quality ones in your lot?"
"None with real talent, but they'll do."
Markus smiled wryly. He'd never met anyone the man would admit to having "talent". He himself was a more than decent archer, but Orson had labeled him a lost cause and refused to continue teaching him the art. Something about lacking the 'mind'… whatever that meant.
"Too many though, too many men in every division." Olson's low voice continued a moment later.
"I know. She knows too, but we need to be lenient. The contract is paid and the Duke's Seer has his nerves frayed."
"We could abandon the contract. We've done it before when employers push us too far." Orson's eyes, still and deep like the ocean turned to regard him seriously as he spoke.
"That… won't happen this time." Markus shook his head. "Hadrial can't lose the Dragon Gate, it would put the southern territories at risk, all of them."
"It would put 'Loril' in danger." Orson corrected. Loril was a city north-east of the Dragon Gate. It was also Julia's hometown… and his. Orson's eyes seemed to see truth as they stared and it was the larger Markus that turned away first.
"There's nothing wrong with protecting our home. Besides, we limit our activities to the kingdom of Hadrial anyway, we have a stake in ensuring its safety."
"We have a stake in ensuring a prolonged war." He corrected once more. "But you are right, there is nothing wrong with it. Just don't delude your reasons."
Markus tisked, not meeting the man's ocean-deep gaze and instead watching the sergeants as they acquainted themselves with their men. Orson was a confusing man to know. He was sure that even after so many years, he did not truly understand the man. At times, he seemed like a loner without much understanding of others, but then when you least expect it he reveals a worryingly accurate level of insight.
And he hated falsities. This much Markus was sure of.
In the silence that followed, Markus' eyes tracked Bryant Ryda, one of his more interesting subordinates this time around. The man was making rounds from one group to another, ensuring everyone knew his name and face.
Everywhere he stopped he seemed to take over a conversation, becoming the center of attention as he caught up with the old and met the new.
When finally he stopped by another sergeant, a head of vivid crimson hair caught Markus' attention. Julia Faucon rose from her seat to greet an armed group of men just outside the rings of mercenaries surrounding the huge bonfire.
'That is… Duke Terrath?' Markus guessed not by the man's worn and weathered armor, nor even his few personal guards, but the unarmored man and woman following in strange robes.
Rising, Markus passed his food to Orson without a word and made his way to them.