Accidental War Mage

In western Lithuania, just on the other side of the dark forest, there is a city called Krukov – literally, the city of crows. Knowing crows as I do, I have no intention of visiting, but in the earth near Krukov, there is buried salt that can be mined like rock out of the earth. Most salt is boiled down from brine; so large is the deposit of earthen salt there that Krukov salt is cut in great blocks. Farther west, it can fetch a good price, as it is thought better quality.

The baron had a full ton of it sitting in one of his storehouses. According to Felix, salt regularly fetched ten times the price of wheat, bushel for bushel; and he had gotten the lot for a credited value of a thousand silver pfennigs. It was one of the most stable trade goods that could be salvaged out of the baron’s account; Felix and the baron’s accountant haggled over everything from spices to cloth to heavily decorated small bronze cannons belonging to an order canceled in the ruckus.

It was not clear to me that we needed more guns; but Felix seemed to think that they would help in cashing in the letter of credit that the baron had drawn up for the heavily-negotiated remainder of the balance of payment. They bore his mark, and we needed every bit of credibility we could afford if we wanted to try to cash in the letter with someone who knew of the baron.

I was overseeing the loading of the blocks of salt into a wagon when Fyodor’s search party returned. The first to ride into camp was Banneret Teushpa. He was perched on his favorite horse – a horse I thought had run away with a young weather-witch sitting on top of it.

“Well met, Banneret. Your horse came back?” I asked.

Banneret Teushpa’s face fell into what I could only describe as a pout. He sighed as he made a broad gesture with his hand. The two soldiers next to me gasped with surprise, apparently startled by the gesture, dropping the block of salt they were carrying between them as they looked over at the banneret. I lunged to try to catch the block, but the sides were smooth and my hands were damp with sweat. The block squelched into the mud.

“Yes, sir,” the banneret said. “Brought a woman along, as well. Fyodor’s missus. He’ll be along soon, sir. He’s riding slow on account of her condition.”

I sighed as I bent over the block, trying to help lift it back up. “Any word of Katya?”

“We found a couple spots where we think she camped. Left signs in case she came back to them. She’s out there somewhere.” The Cimmerian shrugged. “She knows where we are, and we’re not going anywhere anytime soon. Just be patient, sir, I’m sure she’ll get over her mood, even if it takes a week or two. It’s not as if we’re going anywhere anytime soon.”

I grunted, then stepped back as the original pair of block-bearers took possession of the mud-spattered salt block. “About that,” I said. “There’s been a change of plans.”

By the time I had finished explaining the situation, Fyodor and the others were riding up, the acolyte riding astride in front of Fyodor on the placid draft horse that the artillery lieutenant had selected as his mount for the expedition. I found myself obligated to repeat myself. After an awkward silence, Fyodor refrained from asking me questions about Carmen and instead gave his version of the report on the campsites that likely had been made by Katya, adding that he’d spotted a few foxes out and about.

I had many questions about the acolyte’s decision to return to Fyodor, if that had been her intention, but I stayed them out of prudence. The ground was muddy enough, and I didn’t want to risk setting off the temper of a pregnant weather-witch while we were loading wagons. If having six older brothers had taught me anything, it was that a pregnant sister-in-law coming from a long ride on a horse would likely not want to spend long chatting before excusing herself to find a privy.

I was sure I would learn more details than I wanted to in due time, if my sisters-in-law were any guide.

Once I was back inside in the dry and warm area, my first priority was checking in on Felix’s progress in negotiations. He had settled terms that he felt satisfied with, even though they involved the baron writing up a letter of credit to cover a significant fraction of the payment. However, a new wrinkle had emerged in their discussions.

Though the baron could not possibly employ the Raven’s Battalion due to the dishonorable conduct of its eponymous Colonel Corvus, he still had some security needs he wanted filled. Could we perhaps detach part of our force to provide continued security under a different banner? And wouldn’t that reasonably discount the pay owed, if he wasn’t dismissing all of his hired soldiers?

I told the baron that I would allow some of my soldiers to stay behind if they wished to quit the battalion, but that he would have to pay for any equipment owned by the battalion. The details of that arrangement would need to be worked out with Felix. Privately, I told Felix I trusted him to work out the details, but I would send him a messenger as soon as I could with my assessment of which equipment and how many soldiers we could spare. It was obvious that any additional payment Felix got from the baron would be in the form of some additional letter of credit.

Leaving the baron, the baron’s accountant, and Felix behind, I went looking for Vitold.

Vitold and Ragnar had already been going through our inventory of heavy machinery, assessing their size, weight, condition, usefulness, and potential value. They had many questions for me about exactly what we were bringing with us on our trip. The most difficult part of traveling with a mercenary battalion is accounting for heavy cargo and the provision of fuel.

Would we bring our self-propelled charcoal kiln? It had been immensely useful in getting us through the sparsely populated border region between Avaria and Lithuania. It would be immensely useful if we tried to go back the way that we came. If we were staying within the Gothic Empire, it might be less useful, as fuel was rarely in short supply.

The answer to this question – and many others – depended on where we were going next, and I simply did not know. A few thoughts had crossed my mind, but nothing detailed. I sat down with Vitold and Ragnar for a wide-ranging discussion of our possible next steps. The decision would ultimately be mine, but I wanted to make a good decision, and that meant exposing my reasoning to criticism as I explored the possibilities.

We had rented a warehouse in Dab; however, Carmen’s relatives were numerous among the local nobility. Even if those relatives didn’t exert themselves on behalf of Carmen’s honor, the simple fact of our sudden dismissal from the baron’s service would raise many questions among potential local employers.

There was one potential local employer who was both desperate for troops and high enough in status that he might hire us anyway and quash the critics: The margrave himself. The accountant had said Carmen was the margrave’s wife’s favorite niece, but the margrave had the responsibility for the security of the whole border region and might be inclined towards pragmatism.

If we were to transform the baron’s extended credit into cash, we needed to cash them in with someone who could realistically expect to extract eventual payment from the baron. The margrave, perhaps, but if not the margrave, then it would likely have to be someone well-connected within the Gothic Empire. We talked about what we knew of the geography of the empire and the kingdoms within it.

Midway through this conversation, Yuri arrived and began to persistently lick my knees and shins, slobbering all over my trouser legs. When I reached down to turn his head away, he redirected his attention to my hands. Evidently, enough Krukov salt had dried on me to make me irresistable. I scolded Yuri for his poor manners and resolved to take a bath to wash off the dried mud and salt.

After a hot bath and some time alone to think, I had a plan of action and a set of priorities. The only patron worth considering locally was the margrave, and that seemed too risky. Not only was Carmen reportedly his wife’s favorite niece, but he employed Captain Helen Winslow. I did not trust the Loegrian mercenaries; indeed, I suspected that Helen or one of her officers had tried to have me killed one night in Dab.

My grasp of the geography of the Gothic Empire was hazy, but I knew one place where the wealthy and powerful could be found in great number: Sigimund II’s winter court in Oenipons. It was a great distance away, but there was a rail line that headed south from Dab to the Istros, meeting the great river of Europe at a city named Vindobona, not far from the western edge of Avaria.

From there, we could travel up or at least alongside the Istros to the Oen, which was navigable to the imperial capital. Logistically, the main difficulty would be our heaviest equipment. Not the self-propelled charcoal kiln, though – with little modification it was a perfectly good self-propelled wagon. At worst, with the engine disengaged, it was a pile of serviceable spare parts bolted together on top of a wagon.

The purpose-built imperial mechs – that is, the mechs built in the Golden Empire – were extraordinarily difficult to stop on the battlefield, but they were also slow, heavy, and awkward. We would leave them behind, selling them to the baron or breaking them up and taking the most valuable parts with us.

The elemental spirits directing their motions were not nearly as seamlessly obedient to my orders as the ones animating the steam suits I had transformed into light mechs. Nor did I want to give up the other steam suits, though I would let the steam knights muster out if they wanted to. The heart of the Gothic Empire might be a trip too far for many of my soldiers; and the fewer soldiers I brought with me, the easier the trip would be.

My captain of armor – the old man – was the seniormost volunteer to stay. Having designed the baron’s new fortifications, he was the best suited to command their defense, and he was concerned with leaving the baron in the lurch. This would leave Captain Rimehammer in direct command of the main heavy armor company in combat as well as outside of it; but both Rimehammer cousins had fully earned my trust in the blood of the battlefield, and the Rimehammer family was financially invested in the success of Colonel Raven’s Battalion.

I tried to push the infantry captain into staying with him, as I was concerned about her reliability. Talked about her history of drinking too much; emphasized that we would be going farther and farther from the emperor who she had sworn an officer’s oath to initially; and then went as far as to say that loyalty to Colonel Corvus in Oenipons might make one a traitor in the eyes of others. Subtlety, I will admit, is not my strength.

She took this talk in with a series of shamefaced nods, not meeting my eyes. I thought that would be the end of it, but the next morning she showed up with a dozen fresh volunteers taken from among from the baron’s employees – each and every one of them eager for adventure with Colonel Marcus Corvus, slayer of bandits and seducer of noble Silesian women. The infantry captain met my eyes with defiance, her rumpled clothes and the faint scent of beer testifying to a long sleepless night.

The baron’s second letter of credit, the one that would pay for the Ruthenian heavy mechs and the other equipment left behind, came with a caveat – it could not be collected on until two years had passed. When I asked if this made it less valuable, Felix shrugged and told me yes – but it wasn’t as if we wanted to drag the equipment with us, was it?

As we assembled in front of the compound before our final departure, I saw a flash of hair the color of aged cheese out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned around, there were only a few pairs of boots visible underneath a wagon. Someone with hair the same color as the baron’s daughter, I thought to myself; and then, thinking of women, thought about Katya.

“We are going to Oenipons,” I said quietly, facing in the direction of the woods, wishing that Katya could hear my words. “South to the Istros, and then up the Oen tributary. Please forgive me. I … I still think I love you.”