Union: Prologue

Raymond stared out from the tower, double-taking at what he presumed to be movement for the third time that night. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Autumn winds were getting brisk early this year. He drew a deep breath.

“Phil-”

“I swear to the gods, Ray, if you don’t let me sleep tonight I’m gonna’ tan your hide.” Phil didn’t even bother to glance from his position, huddled in the corner of the post with two blue cloaks draped lazily over his frame.

“We’re not supposed to sleep on post as it is,” Raymond replied timidly, his voice barely audible.

“Aye. Well, when you’ve served for more than three months you might change your tune.”

Raymond had been in for nearly a year and Phil knew it, but it was hardly something he would announce now. He looked back out into Triton’s small woods. Nothing. Right? But maybe… No. Was he always this paranoid?

“I think I saw something.”

Phil sat in silence for a time. A long time.

Asleep again, Raymond thought. He rolled his eyes.

“Better go check it out, then,” Phil muttered. “I’ll hold down the fort. Tower. Whatever.”

Raymond waited a moment and ignored Phil’s chuckle. He stared into the trees and saw a shadow shift. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Nothing. 

All the same, Ray thought as he hoisted his rifle. Better go look.

*

Phil sneezed and jerked awake. 

Gods, how long have I been out?

The rickety guard tower was empty save for himself. He gritted his teeth. That fucking boot was going to get them both flogged for abandoning the post. Aldous was never shy with the whip. Phil shoved the extra cloak into the corner and stood with a stretch, a yawn, and a creak. 

“I feel you, ol’ girl,” he said, patting the weathered wood railing. 

Phil stared out into the woods. Dead of all activity, as usual. This was always the most boring post on an isle that was already insanely boring. At least the boys at the other three posts were able to watch the waves or even ships coming and leaving.

“I saw something,” he muttered in his best Ray whimper. Sure enough there was nothing in Triton’s forest, except… Phil chortled. “By the gods, Ray, are those trees down there!? Watch yourself!” No reply. He steeled his voice for some seniority, suddenly aware that any watchmen making their rounds would find issue that their juniors were off searching for goblins in the woods. “Get your arse back up here, boot.” 

The forest’s silence was actually peaceful. That would be somewhat alarming due to the amount of nocturnal beasts prowling the area, but Ray’s dumbass had undoubtedly disturbed the woodland populace. 

Still, it was odd that the boot hadn’t responded. Odd… or disrespectful.

Quite suddenly it hit him. Ray had sat this post with Phil for months, and for months had found agitation with the amount of shuteye his senior got. He had felt Ray’s lingering gaze on him after their last little exchange. So, he must have finally had enough . He probably went down to find one of the watchmen and told on his own squadmate. That little piece of filth-

“Uh.”

Phil barely noticed the sound escaping his own lips, but he did feel the searing pain that caused it and forced him to stumble back. The wind was completely knocked from his lungs. He looked down to find half an arrow shaft jutting from his sternum. An arrow? Gaia? Blood welled up around the iron links of his mail while confusion and tears welled in Phil’s eyes. He slumped against the wadded up cloak in the corner.

* *

“Let’s make it quick. No need to stand on ceremony.” Clyde motioned with his hands suggesting Wendell still moved too slow. Wendell couldn’t care less. The whole of Triton’s force knew that there were only a couple of whores to frequent, and half those men probably knew that Clyde did little else.

“You know, you can’t really be late,” Wendell said as he snatched the guard sheet from the other watchman. “It’s not like you’re paying for time until you’re with the wench.”

“Lucy gets ornery when I’m late,” Clyde said with a smirk.

“Being late to a whore is like being late to a tavern. The ending is still going to be the same.” Wendell looked over the list. “Great. Phil, again. That half-wit should be discharged already.”

“Ah, c’mon, Thalassa needs men.” 

“We do, huh? To fight Gaia or ourselves?”

“Whichever,” Clyde replied. “Still needs men. Doesn’t matter who they are.”

“You know who else needs men regardless of who they are?” Wendell asked. “Lucy.”

Clyde grinned. “Have fun on the night shift.”

“Aye, have fun with the warts on your prick.”

Wendell turned and walked down the closest alley towards the southernmost guard tower. The post stood stark against the backdrop of Triton’s small forest. Phil and Ray first. I hope I find this shithead asleep again.

Triton sat as quiet as it gets. Even the torches lining the dirt road were guttering out as their oil ran low. This town was one of Thalassa’s smallest and as such… it was no Pontos. The nightlife scene here was devoid of life. Except for guard duty, of course. And that was just the way Sir Aldous liked it. He had been the constable of the island for a number of years and prided himself on running it with a small contingent of men who go about their daily routines with the monotony of a one-note symphony. Aldous was forever droning on about what kind of legacy he would leave behind, but as far as Wendell could tell his legacy would extend no further than winning Triton’s pie-eating contest three years in a row.

Well… unless he wins again next year, I guess.

“Phil,” Wendell stated loudly from the tower’s base. “Let’s go, I’m here. What have you two seen tonight?” No answer. Of course. “Well, Ray, is Phil sleeping again?”

Still no answer. Okay, great. They’re both asleep. I knew Phil’s asinine behavior would eventually rub off on that kid. Wendell trudged up the tower steps and sure enough, Phil’s usual corner was occupied.

“Piece of shit.”

Wendell glanced around but Ray was nowhere to be seen in that dark post. The watchman glared back down, kicked Phil square in the ribs, and the lazy turd just slumped over. Only then did the sliver of moonlight catch the feathers proudly flagpoled out of the guardsman’s chest.

“Oh, fu-”

The smell of mud filled Wendell’s nostrils as a hand clamped over his mouth. In the same instant a small blade sawed through his arteries and windpipe. His gaze went wide and he wanted to scream. Blood filled his throat as black filled his sight.

* * *

“Keep them coming,” Sir Aldous announced. “This is your best work yet.”

The serving girl placed the tray on the table and gave a small curtsey before leaving the room. As time had gone on without Thalassa’s tax payments to Gaia, Aldous had felt more and more inclined to take all business in his chambers. He could relax and take some time away from the grind of responsibility in there. And no one was able to see the amount of tarts he went through on a daily basis. He stuffed another fresh pastry into his mouth, absent-mindedly wiping the flakes off the leather armor stretched taut across his chest.

Aldous crossed the room to his desk and shuffled some papers aside. Everyone was caught up on their dues, except for a couple Pontian vessels that had left weeks ago in such a hurry after the last great battle at their homefront. Since the Tethian Federation had split from the Thalassan Kingdom, the amount of troops on Triton’s soil had decreased immensely. He was used to only housing fifty troops, so it was nothing truly new, but the bustle of the town had finally petered out and Aldous was once again in control of the solemnity that Triton was famous for. 

It was meant to be neutral territory, but Aldous held it for his cousins on Varuna in all but name. Varuna had sided with Tethys and Vladimir of House Adliger, and Aldous found no complaints with that choice. With Vladimir dead, it could only spur the fracture of the kingdom further. Once his son Patrick secured the throne then Aldous knew he would be justly rewarded for keeping the island out of Queen Isabelle and her whore daughter’s hands.

A platter crashed in the kitchen downstairs followed by a little shriek. Or had the shriek come first? No matter. Fool girl. If that was one of my family’s pieces I’ll have her whipped for her clumsiness.

The door to his bedchamber flung open so violently it nearly ripped off its hinges. Three men stood in the doorway. Well, two men flanking a ghost. Aldous’s eyes went wide as he stared at the man in the center.

A skull-faced wraith entered. He dressed to match the dark of night with gray chainmail beneath a thick brown leather greatcoat. Black boots pounded the wood as he swaggered to where Triton’s constable attempted to stifle the fear choking the life from his chest. As the apparition approached, Aldous noticed he was no ghost at all but merely a man who had painted his face white and used soot to darken around his left eye and fill in an empty socket where his right used to be. 

“You…” Aldous stumbled backward. Ghost or not, this man was dangerous and it had been a long time since he was in Triton’s employ. “Murchadh?”

“Your eyes don’t fail you, old man,” Murchadh’s gruff voice replied through the wraith’s soot darkened mouth. “Although you’ve certainly let other things go.”

“Guards!” Aldous shouted, his courage found. “Save me!”

“How valiant,” Murchadh said. His two companions chuckled from the doorway. They kept their hands on bloodied weapons. “They’re not comin’.”

“What do you want?” Aldous said. He tripped over the foot of the bed and plopped on his backside at its edge. 

“Oh constable, you've gotten quite fat lately, haven't you? Quite literally as well as figuratively, I imagine. That coin must be comin’ from all sides.” 

Aldous swore. Of course this was about money. It always is with rogues. He made an honest living off his payment from Varuna, and anything he made on the side from ships docking at Triton’s ports was his business and his alone.

 “You dare insult me?”

 Murchadh’s soot darkened lips twisted in an evil smirk. 

“Oh, I’ll do more than that.” He pressed the tip of a bloody blade into Aldous's cuirass, the sharpened iron giving pause only for a heartbeat before beginning a slow journey through the leather. "You’ve been like flotsam in this war, swishin’ this way and that.”

“I can tell you things, you know,” Aldous begged. “Whatever you want to know.”

Murchadh’s sword paused. “Color me intrigued.”

“Your sister, she’s being held hostage by your cousin in Proteus.”

Murchadh’s one eye narrowed in the blackness encompassing it. Aldous sighed relief. I can use this to my advantage. If he hates his cousin more than me I might have a fighting chance here. He stole a glance towards his shortsword ten feet away on the table. May as well have been ten miles.

“Is this true?”

“It is!” Aldous replied eagerly. Perhaps too eager. He cleared his throat. “It’s some sort of retaliation for you not paying your dues. I can help you out there, too.”

“In my experience, treachery is best paid in blood,” Murchadh said. He turned back to the two men at the door. “Secure the town. Triton is ours.”

They nodded and exited quietly. Aldous listened for the sounds of swords and battle downstairs, but the seconds passed by with nothing of the sort.

“Varuna will not look on this lightly,” Aldous warned.

“Noted,” Murchadh said. He pressed the sword tip against his former commander’s chest with renewed purpose. “You're not doin’ anyone any good remainin’ alive, knight or not. Any last words?” 

Aldous swallowed but could not help but feel disbelief towards the entire situation. Any moment now Murchadh’s men would be cut down in the streets and the guards of Triton would rush to his aid. 

“This can’t be the end,” Aldous mewled. “Not for me. Not for my legacy.” 

Murchadh shoved the blade forward. 

“Some stories don’t get a sequel.”

To find out what happens to Murchadh and the rest of the Thalassans, check out Union.