The Company by J.T. Nicholas

Author:J.T. Nicholas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: battle, spy, novella, mercenary, orc, high fantasy, combat, sorceress, armor, cutthroat
Publisher: Short Fuse Publishing

Chapter 10

Reccia

Reccia disliked blood.

Not in the abstract. Bloodshed didn’t bother her in the slightest. Not even in the sensory way—the sight and smell of it didn’t put her off in the least. No. What Reccia hated about blood was that it stained. Her Company tabard, better tailored and of a finer material than the standard issue, was not immune to the inevitable consequences of battle. While the fight with the brigands had been brief and she had only personally accounted for a single one of the bastards, that and corpse-duty had been enough to ensure at least a few blood splatters had stained her uniform. It was unacceptable.

She could magic them out, she supposed. It wasn’t really proper for a Collegium educated sorcerer to use their powers in such a base way. For that matter, it probably wasn’t terribly proper to think of the nuanced and subtle use of magical power as “magicking” things. Then again, the Collegium didn’t exactly approve of their graduates going off and serving in mercenary companies either. The Collegium, she decided upon careful reflection and not for the first time, could go fuck themselves.

Even now, even after years away from the noble houses, even in the confines of her own head, the use of such language made her blush and glance nervously about. Fortunately, none of the others present seemed to have noticed. They all had far larger things on their minds. Like whether or not they would find the courage to fight for their village or whether they would send the mercenaries away, to leave their sons and daughters to the mercies of the brigands that would, no doubt, seek to exact some vengeance for their losses. It was enough to make her sigh, not in despair, but in frustration. She had little patience for these kinds of deliberations. Contract negotiations, yes. Convincing merchants and those of noble blood that they might need a few extra sword arms, sure. But chivvying up the locals to stand to their own defense?

Fortunately, Miriliand excelled at this type of rabble rousing. Which explained why the Company was gathered in their feastday best—which was to say, they had taken the time to clean the worst of the stains from their uniforms—and crammed into the Church of the Seven that doubled as the village meeting hall. The Captain stood at the front of the church, leaning against the pulpit with a folksy casualness that Reccia, for all her training in the social graces, could never emulate. Those of noble blood within the Coalition did not lean, or slouch, or appear comfortable anywhere outside of carousing. It was too . . . plebian. The rest of the Company, including Reccia, were arrayed on either side of the Captain.

For her part, though she may inwardly writhe, Reccia knew that no outward manifestation of her discomfiture showed. She remained every inch the noble-born—despite the specks of blood that besmirched her tunic. The rest of the Company exuded their own airs. Maps surveyed

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