A new land

The smug voice of his employer ended his reminiscence. “Staring a hole into that fire won’t light up your non-existent sense of humor.”

... Employer…

A crossbowman mercenary from the Arlon frontier region, the man sitting on the other side of their campfire was one among many. A beard fitting a rugged frontiersman covered his face, his dull dark eyes filled with cynical humor. The cheap green gambeson meant to blend in with their forest surroundings betrayed his empty coffers with its tears and wears.

…Employer… The idea of calling this man by that title didn't sit right with him in the slightest, yet the facts of the world cared little for his feelings. He was being paid to escort the mercenary and his wagon through the edges of the Altena Forest, that was the undeniable truth.

“Hmph, won’t even bother speaking huh? I swear, if I had to spend more than 3 days travelling with you, I’d be permanently crippled by the boredom”.

“Yeah” was all Harold had to say.

“Well, if you’re going to be like that then I might as well hit the hay. You take the first watch, wake me up in four hours and we’ll rotate. We’re moving at the first sign of light. If the weather holds, we’ll reach our destination by the afternoon, you’ll get your pay then” he said.

“Sure”

The crossbowman looked at him for a moment before scoffing and going to his tent.

Harold sighed as he ruffled his hair, now a dirty blonde rather than the brilliant gold it once was. Once called the most charming knight of the academy, can’t even keep a smuggler entertained. What a sorry sight he was, small bags having formed under his eyes from a lack of sleep.

Rust had begun to edge into his armor, even his helmet wasn’t spared. It truly took a monumental amount of neglect to make enchanted steel rust like this, the blacksmith who made it would likely have bawled his eyes out if he saw the crude collection of orange plates that his masterpiece of craftsmanship had turned into.

The only part to remain free of rot was the brilliant trimmings of gold and silver that decorated it, depicting the coat-of-arms of his house, The Lyon. It forever served as a reminder of his origin, of who he was just a month ago.

However, in spite of the crest that haunted him daily, his harness was also the one possession that could allow him overcome the predicament he was trapped in. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, knowing that his one lifeline was a direct gift from father.

It’s been over a month by now, yet he still remembers the argument as though it happened yesterday. It wasn’t the first one they’ve had about his violent tendencies by any stretch, but it was the first time he dared to yell back.

Now here he was, camping in the wilderness like an animal, calling a low life of society his employer while feeling sorry for himself despite knowing he was in the wrong. Even now he felt a tugging sensation pulling him back home, to simply apologize to father and leave this senseless rebellion behind. Father was in the right, he always was. Even if Harold never really understood why.

No, neglecting his harness was unacceptable. He suddenly felt like a fool for allowing it to rust. Next week, he promises himself. Next week he’ll scrub all the rust off and oil it properly (he ignores the fact that he made the same promise a week before).

With him mulling over his depressive mood, his shift seemed to end in a flash. The mercenary took up watch and Harold went to sleep while dreaming of days that somehow felt distant and seemed so near at the same time. Mornings spent with teachers of poetry, history and mathematics. Afternoons learning etiquette and swordsmanship, long evenings riding across his family’s estate.

An unbroken streak of victories in jousting tournaments, uncontested dominance over the training grounds.

Whispers behind his back, nicknames meant to anger him, insults of his lineage.

With the unpleasant dreams filling his night, Harold was glad to see dawn finally break over the horizon. A very short breakfast later, the pair of them were moving once again.

The mercenary tried to make some small talk, apparently his name is Vannol, before giving up after realizing that Harold is determined to ignore him as much as possible. After that it’s silent, with only the sound of tapping hooves and rolling wheels to accompany them.

In his troubled mind Harold never realized the unnatural nature of such silence, despite having been trained to do so. The only time critters of the forest became this silent was to avoid the thunderous march of a swarm.

Vannol noticed them before Harold did. “Army ants!” he yelled out as he hurried to load his crossbow, Harold heard them a moment later, the scuttling of small feet.

Realizing they’ve been detected; a dozen giant army ants rushed out of the forest foliage. Harold dismounted his horse to meet them head on. He couldn't reach them with his sword while on a mount. He suddenly regretted not grabbing his lance when he left home.

*THWACK* a crossbow bolt hit one of the ants square in the head, killing it instantly. “Don’t let them reach the horses!” his employer yelled. Harold nodded before charging forward. The army ants were quite large, long enough that if they were to stand on their rear end, they’d reach his shoulders. It was his first time seeing one in person.

Nonetheless, swinging a sword at an ant and a person isn’t so different. His first swing takes one of their heads clean off. He chains his swing into a thrust and kills a second foe. Their exoskeletons are tough, but no match for enchanted steel befitting a knight of a duke. The ants attempt to bite his arms with their sharp mandibles, but Harold’s been training with a sword since he could run. His stance is formidable, and he keeps just enough distance to not get swarmed while still being close enough to attack his foes.

Harold has to admit, the crossbowman was certainly a sharp shooter. In a short period of time two more bolts find their targets, killing one and disabling the other. Harold seizes the opportunity; three quick thrusts claim three more foes. It was only a moment later that he realized his mistake. He had overcommitted in the heat of battle while there were still four more enemies remaining, he’s surrounded.

One of the ants took hold of his right arm from behind. It couldn't pierce plate, but the unoiled rusted surface of his armor served to make it near impossible to break free from its grip. He only had a moment to curse his foolishness before one of the other ants locked his leg in its jaws and pulled him into the ground. A third ant takes hold of his helmet and tries to bite through it. Harold thought he could hear yelling, but everything was lost in a haze of noise as mandibles met steel.

With strength fueled by desperation Harold drew the knife on his waist and stabbed, the ringing suddenly stopped. He gets up to see Vannol engaging two of the remaining ants while the other lied on the ground with a bolt stuck in its head. The man was by no means a rookie with the blade but with only a gambeson and a buckler to protect him he won’t last long. Uncontrolled rage welling up from within Harold completely forgets his sword and tackles one of the ants.

The moment he took hold of his enemy; it felt like a dam that's been building up his entire life burst. One, two, three, four… Again and again, he hit it in the head, again and again steel gauntlets met exoskeleton. It almost felt cathartic in a way, to unleash his anger in such an unrestrained manner with no worry for honor or glory. There was room only for the struggle of survival. With a yell, the seventh strike caves in its skull. He almost laughed out loud before finally regaining control of his emotions and reminding himself of how improper that would be.

Harold took his helmet off and laid on the ground there, panting, once again wondering how he ended up here, feeling satisfied for having caved in a creature's skull when he should’ve been training and learning at the academy.

Vannol let out a boisterous laugh as he approached. “Here I was thinking I was travelling with some disgraced snob, turns out he’s more savage than any bandit I’ve ever met!” he held out his hand, offering to help Harold up.

“I’ll have you know I’m the son of duke! And I’m not disgraced, I…I chose to leave” Harold says.

“Ha! If the sons of dukes were so willing to cave in an ant’s skull with their bare hands, then these bastards would’ve run from the frontier long before I was born!” Despite himself, Harold couldn’t help but chuckle at those words. He took Vannol’s hand. “I suppose Harold the exterminator does have a nice ring to it.”

“Heh, so you can speak after all, here I was thinking I hired the first autonomous golem as a bodyguard. But the 'exterminator' sounds far too impressive, I like Harold the 'brute' much better”.

Vannol’s face suddenly turned serious as he took a look around at the fallen corpses. “But to see army ants so close to the frontier, things have truly gone to shit in Altena ever since that goatfucker Joachim slaughtered the elves.”

“That was 6 years ago, was it? I believe it was at Arlon gate. Isn’t Joachim’s involvement in the incident still under investigation by the frontier council?” Harold asked.

Vannol scoffs “Complete farce is what it is, ever since the elven clans were shattered Altena has become a no-man’s land. The fact that army ants are so close to the walls is proof enough of that. The council is delaying his execution because they can’t find anyone capable enough to deal with the situation, and as much as it pains me to say it, Joachim is about as competent as one can get when it comes to holding the frontier walls against the hordes.” Vannol sighs.

“Enough about politics and atrocities. More of the little bastards might swarm if they realize their scouting party got slaughtered. Less likely if they were to just disappear. I’ll give you half your pay now, you stay here and burn the corpses. I’ll deliver these goods to their buyer and hopefully we can put some distance between ourselves and the swarm before nightfall” Vannol said as he got into the wagon.

Harold eyes him with suspicion. “You sure you won’t bolt?”. The mercenary laughs “Why do you think I hired you in the first place? Unfortunately, I like living and I’d be as helpless as a dwarf in water if I encountered a scouting party like that by myself. What would I do without Sir Harold the ‘brute’ to protect my maidenly self”. He doesn’t miss the emphasis on his supposed new title. “Trust in my self preservation and wait here, I’ll be back within an hour. You’re not allowed to know our meeting place anyway.”

Harold reluctantly nods before getting to work on dealing with the corpses. It’s certainly not an enviable job. The smell is worse than any peasant latrine and he struggled to get a big enough fire going without any oil. After an hour of gagging and more questioning of his life choices he finally had all the ants burning in a big pile. Ant flesh looked terrible and smelled ten times worse, he had to wonder how the wall garrison dealt with incursions. He refused to believe that any guard would be willing to put up with this on the regular

“Still alive Harold?” Vannol smirked as he approached, now with a much emptier wagon.

“Barely” replied Harold with a green face. Vannol chuckles “Don’t worry, you never get used to the smell, nor do you forget it. It’s a lifelong companion for anyone living on the frontier, more loyal than any spouse. Know that you're now forever bound to the fine aroma of the devils' balls, truly exquisite stuff I tell ya.” Harold could feel himself dying a little inside with each passing word. But he finds it in himself to smile nonetheless, he had just won his first serious battle and proven he had what it took to survive and maybe even thrive.

He’d grimace, looking back upon these thoughts, thriving on the frontier had a very different connotation than that of his homeland.