It didn't matter how softly he tried to walk, the dirt crunched under his feet as he went. Jolon stopped for a moment and listened to see if anyone was following him. Nothing sounded out of the ordinary so he resumed his march, finding a strip of grass to tread upon that softened his footfalls.
It was late now, perhaps close to midnight Jolon decided as he glanced at the moon; a while yet before dawn would break. Then the Greejon camp would come to life and begin the trek to Vjeinka Rise. Jolon picked up his pace realizing that he needed to be back at camp before that happened, before anyone noticed his absence and questioned where he was. Getting out of camp had been easy. The perimeter guard that night was his cousin and he didn't question why Jolon wanted to leave camp after dark. To him it didn't matter. Jolon was a respected member of the clan and served on the council so no explanation was needed. He was also sympathetic to Jolon's vision and hoped that a look the other way here and there would be rewarded accordingly.
The confrontation with Braulor earlier was still fresh in Jolon's mind as he stalked through the thick brush. The meeting lit a fire in Jolon and provoked him into action. The time had come for Jolon to take care of Braulor once and for all. There was no way he would be able to assume rule of the camp while Braulor walked among the living. It was time to make Braulor go away.
Jolon smiled, harnessing his resentment. How the camp would be thrown into disarray when they found out that Braulor would never be coming back. How they would come crawling to him, begging that he do something before things got out of hand. The other councillors were old men, beyond their time, only securing places on the council at Braulor’s behest for the breadth and depth of their knowledge and experience. With Braulor out of the picture they wouldn't be far behind; either naturally or with a little help. One way or another they would be leaving the council. Jolon already had their replacements lined up; men who were faithful to him and who would carry out his orders without question. Men who would help Jolon rule the camp and build the lifestyle he envisioned for himself. But first there was Braulor to deal with.
Jolon had a few secrets of his own and he was on his way to visit one of them now. He had hidden while Braulor left camp on his mysterious quest and breathed a sigh of relief when Braulor headed in a northwest direction.
Jolon was heading in the opposite direction at the moment, to meet the small group of mercenaries he had befriended at one of the black markets the clan frequented.
The mercenaries had descended on the market like a storm. They burst from the bush in a blur of muscle and armor, reeking of cheap alcohol, bullying and harassing everyone they encountered. They descended on the Greejon clan’s display, pawing at the goods like children who couldn’t resist a toy. A fight broke out when one of the mercenaries tried to help himself to some of the wares without paying. The hubbub of the market died as if time had frozen when swords were drawn and men from the Greejon clan and the mercenaries squared off. It was then that Braulor showed up. Arriving swiftly on the scene from brokering a deal for seed, he intervened and convinced everyone to sheath their weapons. Braulor and the mercenary leader stepped aside and talked peace. Apparently the mercenaries had encountered Braulor before and while not befriending him, they shared a mutual respect. He convinced them to leave the market, which they did, but not willingly and not before terrorizing a few more vendors on their way out. They set up camp on a field a little ways removed and proceeded to drink more and more, becoming louder and louder, though they left the marketers alone. Most of the sellers had packed up and left after the first encounter. The Greejon clan stayed long enough to sell all their goods but then packed up swiftly and left, wanting to avoid a rematch with a possible deadlier outcome.
Jolon volunteered to stay behind and conduct a few more trades for goods the clan was dangerously low on. As soon as the Greejon clan's vanguard was out of eyesight he marched over to the mercenaries and met with their leader himself. They were a formidable group but Jolon knew how to deal with them. Men of power were always the same. They wanted more power. And Jolon was ready to offer it. Although nothing formal was decided upon, the mercenary leader, Draax, showed interest in Jolon’s plan. That was the great thing about mercenaries; they were loyal to no one but themselves and were a perfect fit for the coup he was planning.
During the last few days Jolon had kept his eyes and ears open when out on clan business. There were a number of subtle signs that had alerted him to Draax’s mercenary group’s presence in the area and now he was making for the sliver of firelight he could see dancing in the forest ahead. As Jolon got closer he heard gregarious laughter, men enjoying the spirits.
Jolon didn't attempt to sneak in. Instead, he headed for the fire, hoping that a sentry would spot him and take him to Draax. It would expedite things and then he could return to the clan before anyone questioned his absence.
It didn't take long. A short distance from the mercenary camp, still shrouded in darkness, Jolon was tackled, the cold edge of a knife pressing into his throat, making him question his decision making process.
"What are you doing?" a rough voice asked.
The strong hands holding him trembled with excitement and adrenaline and Jolon struggled to break free. One hand let go and delivered a punch to the back of his head, then grabbed hold of his hair while the other pressed the knife even harder into his neck.
"I said, what do you think you’re doing way up here?" the rough voice repeated through gritted teeth. The vice-like hands stopped trembling, as if teetering on the edge of choice, waiting for an answer.
Jolon knew if he didn't respond he wouldn't be going any farther or anywhere ever again for that matter. He stopped resisting immediately. "Draax." Jolon groaned, the knee pressing into his back making it difficult to talk. "I need to see Draax."
"What's your name?" The hands shoved Jolon’s face harder into the dirt as their grip grew tighter anew.
"Jolon." It came out like a cough, dirt forcing its way into his open mouth.
"Ask Draax if he knows this Jolon," the voice said in a different direction.
A pair of feet trotted away.
Jolon shifted under the sentry’s weight, trying to get into a position where he could draw more breath.
"Stop yer squirming or it ain’t gonna matter if you know Draax or not.”
Jolon stopped moving and instead tried to concentrate on not blacking out from the punch to the back of the head and his labored breathing. Jolon focussed on the only thing he could think of to keep him going, Braulor’s death and his ascension to leader of the Greejon clan. Even with this image to feed his spirits it seemed like days passed before the pair of feet returned.
"Draax wants to see him," a deep voice said, slow with a hint of drawl.
"You're certain?"
"That's what the man said."
There was a pause and then the hands pushed off Jolon as his assailant stood up. This was followed by a sharp kick to Jolon’s ribs.
"That's for disturbing my watch."
Jolon rolled to one side, sputtering as he tried to breathe and spit out dirt at the same time. With the guards weight removed he was free to inhale deeply but he had to clutch at his ribs with each pain producing gasp.
"Take him to Draax before I cut his stupid head off," the first voice spat.
A new pair of hands yanked Jolon roughly to his feet. He stood coughing and then dropped to his knees and threw up. That made his ribs worse and his head pounded like it was being crushed.
Once more the hands pulled him up. This time they didn't let go and Jolon swayed in their grip. He opened his eyes a crack. He wanted to glimpse his assailant and have a memory for when he could exact some measure of revenge. All he could see was a large man with shoulder length hair, chopping at the brush as he stormed off to resume his watch.
"Move," the deep voiced man said and shoved Jolon painfully in the direction of the fire.
Jolon felt like he was on the verge of blacking out and it took a huge e
ffort to get one foot in front of the other without falling. He walked like he was stuck in fog, moving his head at odd angles, trying to bring the path into focus. Another shove and he picked up the pace.
They walked a short distance along a narrow path then turned left as they entered the main encampment. Jolon used every ounce of mental acuity he could muster to stay focussed on the trail under his feet. How would he find his way back to the Greejon clan camp in this condition?
The fire grew brighter as they passed between a row of tents and Jolon had to squint from its intensity. This didn’t help his already throbbing skull. When his eyes adjusted, he spotted Draax at once. Draax was seated at a makeshift table, one hand gripping a large mug of ale, the other resting on the pommel of his sword. A few others were at the table with him, laughing at a pair of men wrestling on the ground nearby.
Draax didn't acknowledge his presence until Jolon was right beside him. "Enough.” And the men wrestling stopped at once and collected the clothes they had ripped off one another. They slouched off in search of more ale, eyeing each other warily. There were still scores to be settled.
Draax looked Jolon up and down. Whether Draax remembered him or not Jolon couldn't tell. His dark eyes were bleary and bloodshot from drink; eyelids drooping. His mouth closed in a frown made it seem Draax was angry that Jolon had come along and ruined his fun.
"I see you met Lyrell." Draax finally slurred, his eyes resting on the red line across Jolon's neck.
The men at the table with him guffawed at Draax’s quip, banging the table loudly and spilling their ale.
Jolon’s face reddened as he wiped at his neck and then looked at the streak of blood on his hand. "Yes. He seemed quite… capable." Jolon’s jaw ached as he spoke.
Draax laughed a big booming laugh that made everyone else in the immediate area turn and look in their direction. The mirth seemed to clear his head a little and he spoke more clearly. "Did you expect better treatment approaching our camp in the dead of night? You’re lucky Emik was out there with him or Lyrell would have killed you and been done with it."
"Perhaps it was an ill-advised time to seek your council Draax, but one must take advantage of opportunities when they present themselves, even if it means a bit of rough handling." Jolon rubbed the growing knot on the back of his head.
His words grabbed Draax's attention as Jolon had intended and the other man straightened up in his chair. "Leave us," he commanded to nobody in particular.
Emik, Jolon’s escort, let go of his arm and backtracked in the direction they had come without saying a word. He stopped a little ways away and turned, taking up a post out of earshot but still close enough to defend Draax if necessary.
The men at the table grabbed their mugs and wandered off without even a backward glance.
"Have a seat." Draax motioned to a now vacant chair at the table.
Jolon slid into the offered seat, wincing as pain shot through his ribs.
"Care for a drink?" Draax drained his mug in one long gulp and slammed it back on the table. Not waiting for an answer he grabbed a nearby mug and filled it and his own from a small cask he produced from beside his chair. He shoved one mug in Jolon's direction before stoppering the cask and returning it to the ground at his feet. Another long drink from his own mug and then Draax fixed his eyes on Jolon while wiping his stubbly chin with the back of his hand. "What's your business Jolon?"
"Braulor."
Draax bristled at the name but kept his unsteady gaze on Jolon.
"Braulor has left our camp. Gone on another of his lone treks to who knows where."
"And why does this concern me?"
"We are planning to shift camp back to Vjeinka Rise before the cold weather comes in. If he were not to return for some reason then I could assume control of the council."
"Where do I fit in all this?" Draax was following Jolon’s tack easily enough. He was sure Jolon wanted him to make Braulor disappear but Draax wanted to make sure all the terms and expectations were fully disclosed now so there could be no reneging later due to vague details. One of the lessons he had learned the hard way as a mercenary was to make sure everything is clear and agreed upon up front.
"Once I have control of the council, I will bring you on as my personal envoy. After you have been there for a few months it’s an easy transition to full council member."
"Bah. Your council would never allow it." Draax shook his head.
"They are old and indecisive. Without Braulor around to guide them they wouldn't know what to do. If any of them give us problems…well, we will deal with them accordingly," Jolon said as he fingered the welt on his neck once more.
Draax sat back in his chair, his jaw set, staring at Jolon. He was amazed sometimes at his good fortune. Being a mercenary had its finer points. You didn't answer to anybody and generally you were feared enough that you didn't have to flex too much muscle to get what you wanted.
However Draax knew he wasn't getting any younger and found he was growing weary of the constant movement and drifting. Somewhere to settle down and enjoy the fruits of other’s labor without the constant fighting for survival appealed to him. Let the younger men fight for a daily living. Draax wanted out and here was his ticket, falling right in his lap. "What do you have in mind?"
"Braulor headed northeast. Send one of your best trackers to kill him." Jolon didn’t shift his gaze from Draax’s, showing his commitment to the plan.
"I'll send two, just to make sure the job is done properly," Draax said after a moment's thought. His words were still a bit slurred but he was in full command of the situation. He had been doing this for so long now that he wanted to get out; to get away from it. He couldn’t help but be in tune with the process, no matter what his state of sobriety was.
"An excellent idea." Jolon nodded his approval.
"And how will I know when you have taken over the council?"
"I will send a messenger asking you to join me when the time is right."
They looked one another in the eye and then clasped hands, Draax's grip almost crushing Jolon's slender fingers.
"You better not double cross me, Jolon," Draax said over their handshake, his once bleary eyes burning with fierce intention, driving his point home. Then he let go and called to Emik, to escort Jolon out of camp.
Jolon stood, took a sip from his mug, grimacing as he swallowed the harsh, bitter contents, and then followed Emik away from the table, leaving Draax to his drink. He would not double cross Draax. Instead he planned to kill him.
Chapter 5