Squad Games [Squad Building LitRPG] [Book One Complete]

Mercs:

Mila | The Explorer | Twerk | Sharptooth | The Bludgeoner | Randall Heavy-Handed | Lurin Veinfinder | Rilie Rumblewind

Mercs:

Mila | The Explorer | Twerk | Sharptooth | The Bludgeoner | Randall Heavy-Handed | Lurin Veinfinder | Rilie Rumblewind

"A word before we go?" Seregin asked Jaelin.

"Of course."

They walked away from the rest of the Apples until they had some privacy.

"I persuaded Stiff to leave the gnome and warg with you." Seregin grimaced. "I don't think we will be able to spare Rosalind. More likely, you'll be on your own. If you need to send a message, perhaps you can use them."

Jaelin nodded. "From what I heard, that doesn't surprise me. As for Twerk and Sharptooth, maybe they're our fastest assets. I'll bear that in mind."

"I wish you all the luck. Especially considering your heritage."

Jaelin frowned. "My heritage?"

"Ah. I did wonder. You're a half-elf, Jaelin. I could tell the moment I saw you."

Jaelin's mind reeled at his words, unable to assess the truth of them.

Seregin put a hand to Jaelin's arm, as if to hold him up. "It's obvious to an elf. If you've spent your life with humans, the idea may never have entered your mind."

"I don't…no, it hasn't." He studied Seregin. Does he look like me? The same build, sure. Similar facial structure. Different ears. But then, if I'm only half-elven… "Mother never spoke of my father. She was a slave, in Livania."

Seregin gave him a sympathetic look. "Who can say how that came to be? Unfortunately, we don't have the time to say more now. But know you will always have allies in myself and Valnor. I thought about not mentioning it. But if Valnor and I don't make it, you would never have been told. That seems wrong."

"I understand. Of course, it's better that I know. Thank you."

Jaelin had to put Seregin's revelation to one side. There was an army coming, and he was the only scout Stiff had left in Mer Khazer.

Finding the army turned out to be the easiest task in the world. Five hundred warriors were marching south from the Deepwood, exactly where Valnor had said they would be. His crew's first task was to warn the people whose farms and villages were in the path of the enemy.

For most, Eisenberg was the only reasonable haven. They took their families, animals, and as many possessions as they could carry. But they couldn't take everything, and what they left would fall into the hands of the invaders.

Once this was done, Jaelin took his squad to observe the enemy. From the vantage point of a nearby hillock, they watched the army make evening camp at a deserted farmstead.

"They're Sargassians," Twerk said.

"Sargassians?" Jaelin asked.

"Aye. Same as those people we helped in the northern mountains. Dark of skin, light of eye. Quite distinctive."

"What else did you find out about them?"

"Nothing, really. The villagers said they were descendants of some empire that had existed here a long time ago. Greenblade reckoned that meant the same people who built the barrows. Maybe it's true, but it don't help us none."

Randall crossed his arms. "So our ancestors, who came here and fought with Splitter, were these people's allies?"

"Maybe," said Twerk. "But we're talking so long ago that it has no bearing on our situation."

"No bearing? Dwarves honour their ancestors, gnome."

"So do gnomes," Twerk scowled. "Don't forget I wear the helmet of a gnome who fought here in Gal'azu all those years ago. Would they support this invasion? I'd like to think not, but there's no way to know, is there?"

"He's right, Randall," Lurin muttered. "You can have pride in our ancestors and still oppose this army. Remember what that elf said about the sorcerer behind all this."

"That elf? Huh. As if I'd trust his kind. Always manipulate the truth to get what they want."

Jaelin felt strangely offended by Randall's slur.

"Wish we could have just stayed in Mer Khazer," Larik muttered. "How are we meant to stop sorcerers and their armies?"

Jaelin looked at Mila with incredulity. Their squad's task was hard enough without a mutiny amongst its members.

"We'd all have preferred to stay in Mer Khazer," she said. "But let's not lose sight that these Sargassians, or whoever they are, intend to conquer Gal'azu. They've already captured and enslaved members of our own Order. There'll be no Mer Khazer and no dungeon raids if we let them win. I think it's also only fair to remind people that it was Stiff who gave out the weapons; who's paying our wages; and who established Mer Khazer in the first place."

"I'm grateful, Mila," Rilie said in a worried voice, as if she was the one getting a telling off.

"I know you are."

"Alright," Randall grumped in acknowledgement. "What in Gehenna are we supposed to do with that." He gestured down to the enemy camp.

"I've a thought," Twerk said. "Why choose that location to make camp? No strategic benefit. They could easily have marched for another hour or so."

Jaelin studied the Sargassian position. There was no attempt to fortify. The warriors had no tents or other shelter. Instead, they were in the process of making a score of fires where they would spend the night. Then he saw what Wilson had seen.

"The farmhouse," he said. "Someone, presumably the commander, likes a bit of comfort."

"I see," said Larik. "So we take out the commander, and the army disintegrates. Like we did with the goblins."

"I think it's worth a try," Twerk said. "We can't say for sure that the commander will be there. We don't know what will happen if we do get him."

"There are no certainties in war," said Lurin. "But it's a good plan, I reckon."

They waited until midnight to make their move. In a hiding spot to the west of the camp, Twerk was playing games with Sharptooth. The warg barked with excitement, a noise they hoped might sound ferocious to the enemy; at the very least, distracting.

Jaelin and the rest approached from the north. There were only a few fires here, but they still had to be careful as they wove their way towards the farmhouse. A fire inside provided enough light to make the building out in the darkness.

Jaelin glimpsed a score of warriors to his left. They sat around their fire, not moving at all—certainly not interested in Sharptooth's growls. It was an eerie scene, reminding him of Seregin's talk of enslaved followers. Is that what Clamor does now? Sits and stares at the flames, his thoughts no longer his own? He shuddered at the horror of it.

Mila signalled for them to stop and went on alone.

***

Mila approached the rear of the farmhouse. The back door was set in the middle of the long wall, with a double window on her left. It gave her plenty of cover to approach from the right unseen.

She took Jaelin's Rod of Light, shielding it with her cloak, and producing enough light for her to inspect the door. It was no surprise to find no lock in a remote steading like this. Her problem wasn't going to be getting inside; it was going to be making a noise as she did so.

Carrying thieves' tools and a medical kit meant she had plenty of grease. Better to use it than risk a squeak as she opened the door. The hinges, exposed to the elements, could soon get rusty. She covered them in tallow fat, then gently swung the door open. She was equally careful about stepping on the wooden floorboards inside and closing the door. Finally, she greased the hinges on the inside, aware that her squad mates wouldn't take as much care as she did.

Mila was no farm girl, but she had been inside enough steadings in Gal'azu to get a feel for the layout. To her right was the pungent byre, where animals and grain were kept dry. To her left was the dwelling rooms of the human occupants.

She snuck in that direction, allowing her senses to feed her the information she needed. The fire was roaring—unnecessarily warm for a night like this. It made it harder to detect the more subtle sounds in the building. Eventually, her hearing detected the breathing of the occupants, giving her the confidence to peer into the main room of the house.

There were five of them. Two were awake, which would make their task more difficult. Both men stood gazing into the flames of the fire, apparently mesmerised. Their hands clutched spears and they wore hide armour.

Two of the three sleepers were young, about Mila's age. They were in blankets, but Mila could see enough of their faces to see a resemblance—a brother and sister, she was pretty sure. Two breastplates had been left on chairs, along with scabbarded swords. The siblings had favoured comfort over protection. The third sleeper sat in a comfy chair by the fireplace. She was equally handsome, but older. No sign of any armour or weapon for mother, Mila noted.

Mila knew she couldn't deal with them alone. A sneak attack might account for one, but she'd then have the others to deal with. They could overwhelm her; call for aid. Any attack had to be fast. She made a mental note of another exit on the other side of the room, then retraced her steps to the back door.

Mila opened the door and gave three quick flashes with the Rod of Light.

***

Mila signalled them.

"Rilie," Jaelin said, "we need someone to stay here and cover us."

"I can do that," said the halfling.

"Great. Keep your eyes on the house but look out for their soldiers as well."

"Will do."

Pleased that Rilie had accepted the assignment without fuss, Jaelin led the others towards the house. A sling would be little use in its tight confines.

Mila waited at the door. She held up five fingers, then put one to her lips. She indicated where they should go, then went in the opposite direction, through the byre.

Realising her intentions, he held up a hand for the others to wait. Randall, Lurin, and Larik each gave him a confused look. Jaelin quite liked the idea that only he understood Mila's hand gestures. But he did worry whether his three companions were cut out for covert work such as this. At least Randall had his new hammer in hand instead of Splitter, which would have been awkward to wield effectively.

Judging that enough time had passed, Jaelin led them into the house, his knife drawn. They entered the main room. Someone behind him put too much weight on a creaky floorboard.

Two armed warriors turned to face them.