Dying for a Beer

One of the Myths of Ixonia

Peasants Outside an Inn by William Turner of Oxford

Smoke curled upwards from Aedir's pipe, drifting lazily on the breeze, as he rode alongside Moldar. Their horses were fresh, their armour greased and shimmering, their swords and sabres sharp. Save Moldar's who refused to repair the crack in his pauldron or the myriad nicks in his chest plate. Such things mattered for lesser men. Aedir adjusted the cape clipped to his armour, it had been a long time since he'd worn a cape and the weight of wool as it billowed behind him caught him off guard.

'Why did you join me, Aedir?' Moldar growled, his armour rattled as his mottled grey stallion picked its way over the dirt road.

'You're famous in every town south of the Unending Forest of Yirn. Seemed like a good way to earn some coin, seeing as I'm a nobody,' Aedir blew a smoke ring.

Moldar snorted. 'Right.'

Behind the pair rode four men on horseback and behind them marched sixty men-at-arms. It had been two months since the Chainer's Own had been hired. Two months traipsing across the Kreshi Marshes, the Gosa Moors, and along the Valkomere-Dual Cities Road curling along the southern coast. Two months and no work.

Aedir wondered at the name of his, temporary, allies. Chainer's Own was an odd choice, not for the lack of Chainer worshippers, that was practically everybody, but for its unoriginality. The tales of Moldar had always shown him to be creative in battle yet the name of his company was not. Aedir was sure he'd drank at a Chainer's Own once, or maybe it had been Chainer's Arms. He'd certainly heard of a competing mercenary group further to the north with the same name, though a more gruesome depiction of the old Gods being shackled. Aedir had narrowly avoided signing contract with the wrong company. He didn't mind the lack of work, though his coinpurse was light, his wineskin empty, the food had gotten pretty poor too. Oats and little else. Though Aedir felt certain something would turn up, something worthy of Moldar and heavy with coin.

'Is your armour blessed or enchanted in some way?' Aedir asked.

'No.'

'Then why don't you have it repaired?'

'Don't need to.'

Aedir chuckled, 'That's some fine confidence.' He eyed the bronze vambraces peeking out from the height of Moldar's gauntlets. If the steel wasn't enchanted, then the bronze was. 'What sort of work are you wanting to find?'

'Are you always this talkative?' Moldar growled.

'Don't have to be.'

'Then don't,' Moldar whipped the reins and broke ahead of the others.

Aedir chewed the bit of his pipe, 'Suit yourself,' he said with a calm drawl.

The Chainer's Own marched until sunset where they descended on the town of Caefern. The sixty six men filled two of the town's three taverns to bursting but only Moldar, Aedir, and an older mercenary named Trul could afford beds. The rest could afford ale, and lots of it. The half-coppers flowed from purse to bar and the men, for a night, forgot they were down on their luck, much to the chagrin of the Caefernans. The local men lost at cards and dice. The women lost their decency. The innkeepers ran out of ale. War stories and a few rounds only patched up so many insults and wounds.

The mercenaries camped outside the town and slept till midday. Aedir woke to a blinding light in a room he didn't recognise with a woman he struggled to remember. She lay asleep, on her side facing away from him. He leaned over, the taste of stale beer on his tongue, and thought to himself, not bad. He crashed back on to his pillow ready for a second bout of slumber when he heard shouting from downstairs.

'What are they doing here?' the man's voice was sharp.

'They appeared last night, late. Drank us out of ale and camped on the outskirts. Not much we could do about it. It's Moldar and his Chainer's Own,' the innkeeper replied. He didn't sound distressed, more pissed off.

'Are they staying?'

There was no response from the innkeeper.

'Is there more beer?'

Aedir didn't catch the response.

'What do you mean no!' the shout shook the window shutters.

Aedir sat bolt up right, the furs falling to one side. It felt as though a knife had been driven behind his eyes and someone had uppercut his stomach a handful of times.

'The brewer said they'll be more in a few days. Not much, a couple barrels. We'll be pretty dry until a Dual Cities trader rolls through.'

'We needed that beer, Mav. How am I supposed to assuage my men without beer?'

'I'm sure Moldar thought the same thing, only they used their own coin to pay.'

'Then he can buy some fresh kegs. Is he here or down the road?'

There was no response.

Aedir dressed in a hurry and found his scalemail on the other side of the bed, along with his sabre, unsheathed. 'What did we get up to last night?' he muttered as he tightened his belt. He darted from the room, his beautiful companion sound asleep. At the top of the stairs he slowed, brushed his straw-like hair with his hands, and descended with a slight stagger.

'That him?'

'No,' the innkeeper replied.

'That who?' Aedir said.

'Moldar.'

'He'll be down eventually,' Aedir said. He reached the floor, took a deep breath, and found a seat near an open window. He began packing his pipe with fresh leaf.

'You drank all my ale,' the man said. He was in black and brown leathers with an ill-fitting coif over his head. His nose was over wide, probably smashed by a shield or frying pan one too many times, and his chin bore a scar that looked like teeth rather than a blade.

'I didn't do it on my own. Besides, it was his ale,' Aedir pointed to the innkeeper with his pipe.

'Yeah but it was meant for me!'

'Had you paid for it.'

'We had an agreement – '

'I'll take that as a no. Mav, was it?'

The innkeeper nodded.

'What passes for breakfast round here?'

'Eggs. Sausage. Blood pudding.'

'I'll take two of everything, a slice of bread, and, seeing as you're out of beer, a generous glass of whisky.'

'Right you are,' Mav skittered off to the kitchens.

Aedir stretched his legs out onto a stool on the other side of the table and lit his pipe using the candle flickering in the centre of the table. He nestled into the corner of the bench, against the wall, closed his eyes and willed his hangover to pass.

'Oi! I ain't done with you.'

'Oh, I'm done with you though, so I suppose we're at an impasse. Tell me when you find some beer,' Aedir inhaled a hefty lungful of smoke.

Three quick thudding footsteps came towards Aedir and a meaty hand grabbed the collar of his mail. Aedir opened his eyes and breathed out sharply, aiming for the man's eyes. The man dropped Aedir and staggered back, rubbing his eyes. 'What the hell! My eyes!' He glared at Aedir through a squint, his eyes red and watering.

'What's your name?' Aedir sat up and puffed on his pipe.

'We're well passed names.'

'No, if we start with names we can forget this as a misunderstanding.'

The man removed his coif, revealing a patchy head of thinning black hair, and used it to pad his eyes. 'Colm of the Iron Sentinels.'

'Aedir. Recently joined The Chainer's Own. I've heard of you lot, nothing good mind. You the leader?'

'No and pay no mind to what you hear,' Colm spat on the floorboards. Slow, heavy thuds rang on the staircase. Aedir and Colm looked up at the same time. 'Ahh, the Wolf of War appears at last,' Colm mocked. He resettled the coif on his head.

'Don't call me that,' Moldar growled.

Colm smirked and backed off towards the door, 'You drank our beer. You owe us,' and he vanished out the door at a run.

'What was that about?' Moldar pulled the stool out from under Aedir's feet.

Aedir slumped forward into the table suddenly. 'We drank their beer. Only they hadn't paid for it yet so the way I see it is no harm was done.'

'Clearly he didn't see it that way,' Moldar pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes laden with purple bags and his neck covered in love bites. 'Where's he from?'

'The Iron Sentinels.'

Moldar groaned and rolled his head to the ceiling, 'I see. Explains the bite scar on his chin.'

'You seem to be trying to imitate them,' Aedir tapped his own neck.

'Warn me away from redheads next time.'

Aedir chuckled and blew smoke out his nose. Mav returned with his breakfast and a mug of whisky. The sausages sizzled on the plate with an aroma of pepper and leek. The eggs were fried and well salted while the bread was more butter than wheat. Aedir quickly sat up, forgetting all about his hangover.

'I'll have the same, please,' Moldar salivated.'

'And the whisky?'

'I'll have the same,' he repeated in his gravelled growl.

'Coming right up.'

'No beer?'

'Not a drop. There's a third tavern in town, The Red Fox I think. They probably have beer, unless the men found their way there too.'

Moldar chuckled, 'Most likely. Surprised any of them had the coin.'

'Lot of favours were called in I seem to recall, though it's quite hazy.'

'If that's true they'll remember. Bunch of sticklers for favours, the men count them more than they count their coin.' Moldar's breakfast was brought out and the pair ate in subdued silence. Mav returned behind the bar to clean what seemed to be every beer mug, tankard, and cup in the establishment.

Aedir lay with his head resting on the windowsill, the breeze washing away what remained of his hangover as the eggs and sausage did the rest. The whisky was to distract him from the worst of it, and keep him at a nice buzz through the morning. His pipe had burned out and so he tapped it on the table and began refilling it. He leaned towards the candle.

'Allow me,' Moldar leaned over an pressed his forefinger into the pipe bowl. The dried leaves caught alight and Aedir was smoking once more.

'That's not something a Chainer's Own should be able to do.'

'No, it's not. I have other allegiances, not well liked any more.'

Aedir had an inkling to what but he thought it best not to say it aloud in case anyone was in earshot. 'Why you telling me?'

'You're trustworthy. Talkative. Annoying. But I know you ain't gonna rat me out to the men, not when you wear that silver necklace,' Moldar pointed to the silver teardrop hanging out from Aedir's collar.

'Now how did that make it there?' Aedir slowly slipped it back down behind his shirt.

'It seems all over Ixonia the Chainer loses a few followers a day.'

'It has been almost four-thousand years. New Gods have been birthed, created some say, up in the north.'

'And in the Forest.'

'So I've heard.'

The two men eyed each other, sizing the other up in a way they hadn't before. Now the truth was out and that altered the balance.

The door flew open and Pike, one of the lesser skilled men-at-arms, burst in, panting and sweating. His cheeks were crimson. 'Sorry...' he inhaled. 'Moldar.' he exhaled. 'Sir.' he inhaled. 'Iron Sentinels have formed up outside camp.'

'They've what!' Moldar stood, his stool slammed against the floor.

'Something about we owe them for last night's beer?' Pike was bent over, resting his hands on his knees.

'Aedir, with me,' Moldar growled.

Aedir found his last gold coin stamped with the crest of Helwith, 'From a ways away but it's gold,' he tossed it to Mav behind the bar.

The innkeeper frowned at the coin and bit into it, grinning to himself as he pocketed it. 'Thanks for your custom. Hope not to see you again!' He scrambled into the kitchen, 'Dev, Liv, there's gonna be a battle! Close all the shutters and get everyone outside to barricade the road!'

Aedir sprinted towards the haphazard camp of the Chainer's Own. The ground sucked at his boots and the mounds of grassy earth threatened to trip him up. The men-at-arms had formed a line, uneven and full of men ready to puke up the ale the Iron Sentinels wanted so badly. If they waited an hour they'd have half of it. The four horsemen were busy warding off the enemy cavalry, a dull business of riding back and forth over muddy ground to force them to divert. There was no speed to it, the boggy ground forbade it, and there was no threat in the charge anyway given the condition but the sound and sight of an enemy rider close up could still scare a man, and trampling was always a risk.

'Eighty,' Moldar panted. 'We can take eighty.'

Aedir didn't voice his pessimism at that. A twenty man advantage was nothing to sniff at, especially when one side were still half drunk. He watched as the two Chainer horsemen on the left flank warded off three Sentinels. There was no energy to it though. More like a couple of well off farmers inspecting their fields, the spears may as well have been hoes as two clacked together a single time.

Moldar ran ahead, leaping from solid grass lump to solid grass lump like a wary dog; or wolf. He reached the front of his line and the eyes of every Chainer mercenary followed him, but their rectangular shields remained up and interlocked, spears at the ready.

'Ahh the man himself makes an appearance,' a man a full head taller than any of his mercenaries stepped forward, a head of pitch black hair scraped back with grease. 'Colm here tells me you've rejected my offer, Wolf of War.'

'The name's Moldar, and you are?' his voice rumbled up out of him.

'Hatham, captain of the Iron Sentinels.' The eighty men-at-arms bashed their kite shields with the pommels of their swords as one. 'I will extend the offer one last time. Hand over enough gold to repay the beer you drank last night and we can avoid a fight.'

'It wasn't your beer,' Moldar answered plain.

Aedir thought of finding his horse, not that he'd do much good upon it, but he couldn't spot the hitching post and instead slotted himself on the second row of the left flank.

'Think carefully, it's easier to part with gold than it is with blood,' Hatham tilted his head to one side as he spoke.

'It won't be our blood doing the parting,' Moldar unsheathed his arming sword with an almost regretful sigh. He muttered a prayer and a gentle shine coated his weapon.

'This is it,' the man beside Aedir whispered, kissing a ring held on a chain around his neck. The men began muttering their own prayers to the Chainer, though he wasn't a god, only a mortal who'd imprisoned the gods. Aedir said a silent prayer to his own deity, a little more confident in the chance of intervention.

Hatham shook his head and kicked the mud with his spike tipped boot, 'Given the state of your armour I shouldn't be surprised you have a death wish. Come on boys, let's do the world a favour and put the Wolf of War in the ground!'

The cheer from the Iron Sentinels made Aedir's insides quake. These men were mad, not just a little angry but furious like Moldar had slept with all their mothers and sisters and then was eyeing up their eligible daughters. 'Who gets that angry over a couple rounds of beer?' Aedir drew his sabre and rolled his shoulder to limber up. He didn't have his shield, or a spear, but he could protect the flank well enough and given the numbers advantage of the enemy it would be necessary.

The Iron Sentinels advanced in what would be considered a line for a green recruit. Sure the ground was as lumpy and sodden as bad mashed potatoes but that was no excuse for seasoned veterans. Aedir scanned the faces of the Sentinels. He judged their to be twelve new recruits but most bore scars on their heads and faces, had grey in their hair, or walked with a sturdiness that spoke of war.

Moldar stole a shield from Cobble, the man in the centre of the front line. He didn't seem to mind as he joined the second row and placed his spear over Moldar's shoulder and the tip of the shield. 'Advance!' the word rolled over the Chainer's Own and the only response was the clatter of armour as boots struck the earth.

The Chainer's Own advanced in silence, spears pointed out ahead with swordsmen on the flanks. The horsemen had given up their game of cat-and-mouse and now gathered behind the line to rest their mounts. Aedir was thankful there were no archers or crossbowmen. Though slingers were the worst. An arrow you had a chance of seeing but a coin sized rock was practically invisible when launched from a sling. Aedir always hated the build-up to a fight, whether a pub brawl or a pitched battle. Time ceased to move and his mind wandered in an effort to distract him from the inevitable pain and difficulty. Plus, he couldn't smoke.

The Chainer's Own's spears began prodding, the long thin points bashing into wooden shields, chipping the black tar paint and splintering the weaker ones. The Iron Sentinels pressed on attempting to get between the spears, wiggling between the length, but the Chainers wouldn't allow it.

Soon the flanks of the Sentinels began wrapping round and surrounding the Chainers on three sides. The man behind Aedir tapped his shoulder and the two of them turned to cover the flank. The shield-bearer on the front row angled himself at an awkward diagonal so his shoulder wasn't fully exposed. Aedir exhaled a long shaking breath and suddenly felt the keen absence of his shield. The Sentinels began stretching their line to try and attack the rear. Aedir gripped his sabre with both hands and attacked the man ahead of him with a heavy over head swing. The thick curved blade bit down into a shield and a quick twist opened a crack in the wood. A second swing splintered the shield in two. The man behind it gawped and stumbled back but there was no one there and he tripped over a mound and landed in the mud. Aedir and the man beside him attacked into the opening, slashing left and right. Two men fell quickly, deep gashes in their ribs and calves. The Sentinels trying to encircle in a one-man deep line broke rank and attacked but it was too late. Two Chainer's Own horsemen closed in, slowly, and skewered the men between the shoulder blades. Another fell to Aedir's sabre just as another man's short sword caught his arm and split the leather bracer he wore. A thin weal of blood beaded through the wound in the leather. His fellow man-at-arms downed the remaining two at the cost of a knife planted in his thigh.

'Ahh shit, don't expect much o' me now,' he stumbled side ways, blood sluicing down his leg.

'Swap with us, Bones,' a young lad in the third row stammered. His spear hand was eager to do some real fighting. Bones took the spear and the young man drew his sword to join Aedir and others on the flank.

The din of combat echoed behind them and for two long hours the mercenary companies grappled in the mud.

Aedir pulled his leg out of the bog, the mud washing away the blood. He wiped his stubble with his hand, mingling mud with someone else's blood, and stood on a mound. His legs ached. His arms ached. His lungs cried out for his pipe. A headache boomed in a band around his eyes and ears. Moldar charged ahead with Pike and a few others, chasing down a couple of runaways who refused to drop their weapons. They weren't a threat, not any more. Near twenty lay face down in the mud, wrists bound, and a Chainer standing on their back to keep them from squirming. Hatham was trussed up like a hog with Colm laying beside him, though he wasn't tied up on account of the spear tip through his eye. Aedir leaned on his sword and hobbled back to Bones and the others. The bog seemed to be swallowing the dead quicker than the boys could salvage the loot. He took his pipe from his belt and stuck it between his lips unfilled and unlit. It calmed him all the same.

'What a waste,' Aedir muttered.

'Not for us,' Cobble spat a mouthful of blood into the mud. 'We lost fifteen men. Good men, sure, but this idiot,' he kicked Hatham in the ribs, 'lost a lot more. Now if you'd just tell us where you camped you'd save us at least a couple of hours searching.' Cobble crouched beside the Iron Sentinels captain, blood splattered on his chin. 'Not very talkative are you.'

Hatham tried to spit but the drool failed to fly and landed on his chin.

Cobble laughed and planted his fist in Hatham's face, 'We'll find your camp and if you want a quick death, you'll tell us to save us the time.'

'What we doing with this lot?' Aedir asked. He wiped his blade down with a rag and then scratched the blood out from under his fingernails. The cut on his arm stung and more bruises than he could count began to ache all over his body.

'Well we could do with the recruits but old enemies make for untrustworthy allies. Then again letting them go just means we have a target on our backs. Moldar's call though,' Cobble searched the faces of the captive Iron Sentinels and landed on the youngest looking one. 'How long you been a Sentinel?'

'Ten days.'

'They pay you?'

'Only in food, ale, and a tent.'

'Did you like the fighting?' Cobble gave a grin, he was missing two bottom teeth on the left side.

The young man considered the question, sighed, 'Yeah it was alright.'

'Alright? Look I need more enthusiasm than that. You gotta love the fight if you wanna do it for life.'

'Who said anything for life? I just want a pretty penny to buy a little homestead.'

Cobble laughed and laughed until a tear streamed from his eye, 'You really are just a kid aren't you. Listen, Tribs, the one on your back, had the same idea. Now he's a lifer. Ulric, over there, wanted to learn how to fight so he could join the city guard back home. That was ten years ago. He can leave when he wants, done his time, but he's still here. Know why?'

The boy shook his head.

'Love of the fight. A city guard may look all shiny and important but the job's more boring than watching your grandad nap. Just alright, bph'd, go back home kid,' Cobble wandered off towards the tents.

Moldar returned with a man over his shoulder, unconscious. He dropped him like a sack of grain and there was a crunch of bone. 'Bind his wrists.'

'On it,' Ulric said.

Aedir crouched beside the young man Cobble had been berating, 'You don't have to love the fight. Being good at it is enough. Besides, there ain't that much fighting. Most the time is spent marching, complaining, and waiting. You get used to it,' Aedir patted the man, who was maybe five years younger than him, on the shoulder.

'Any of you lot harbouring some hate for me?'

A few of the Sentinels, bellies in the mud, glowered and fought their bindings. Most didn't much care.

'Right. Slit their throats,' Moldar pointed to the four angry men.

'The rest of you have a choice. Join up with the Chainer's Own or, leave your weapons, armour, and coin with me and fuck off. Which will it be?'

As he asked there was shouting from the road. Two of the horsemen waved and hollered for someone to join them and the two wagons they'd acquired. 'Aedir, go see what that's about while I deal with our guests,' Moldar said.

'Will do,' Aedir didn't want to see the men have their throats cut for a wrong look anyway but there was no chance of changing Moldar's mind. Seemed to be the way things were done. Aedir stepped between mud holes and bodies to find a zigzagging path to the road. 'What you found?'

'Iron Sentinels camp is a mile up the road but their baggage was in a little copse of trees. This is half of it, take a look,' the man's eyes lit up and he bit his lip like a giddy girl. 'No, don't tell him. Let him see it first,' he excitedly said to the other rider.

Aedir reached for his pipe to hide his snigger, 'Alright.' He hopped aboard the first wagon and found three chests. He threw open the nearest and was half blinded by the sight. The coin tinkled as he brushed his hand across it. Silver. Thousands of silver coins from all over the south. He opened the other two chests to find the same. 'What were the Iron Sentinels doing with all this coin?' Aedir slipped a few silvers up his sleeve for emergencies and crossed over to the other wagon. There was only one chest and a couple barrels of Dual Cities rum. The chest had a four-winged dragon carved on the top of it and a plethora of merchant seals underneath it. Aedir reached the lock, already broken, and opened it. Inside were gold coins. Stacks upon stacks of fresh gold coins all wrapped in linen. Aedir gently closed the lid and sat atop of it, breathless. His mind swam, even split sixty odd ways, it was more money than a man needed. He said a silent prayer of thanks and wished he had a flame for his pipe to calm the nerves.

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Myths of Ixonia Index

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