Tales of the MERC Part Three: My name is Alys

By Mike Eschbach

Three years ago the shades attacked Base-Camp and killed nearly every man, woman and child in the surrounds. It was the worst defeat suffered by the MERC in more than two hundred years. In the intervening time that followed, two magnificent keeps rose from the dust, each more glorious by far than their predecessor. And yet, even with twin keeps, there remained doubt and fear. The shades were always lurking. Despite that, it was a prosperous time for the MERC and for those who served the MERC. The Merchant Lords were happy. Completion of the keeps meant more gold in their pockets. Folk were wealthier than most could ever recall. Even those up in Squatters Town had plenty. But there were some who doubted, doomsayers they called them. For her part Malice hadn't dreamed in longer than she could recall. It was her special talent, but it would not manifest. Content to coddle Hari, still she worried. And Stout, her husband, was eager to see his long time friend, Hugh Drenel, for the first time in more than a year. The not-so-subtle attacks by MERC regulars were getting worse. No one had gotten hurt yet, but it was coming. With the disappearance of a little girl named Alys around Squatters Town, rivalries abated as people tried to help. They never did find the girl though.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Eschbach
• Release date: Aug 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005183912

Mike Eschbach

I would describe myself as unassuming. I'm the 4th of 5 kids, a Penn State grad, a U.S. Navy vet and an entrepreneur. I've been married since 2002.I've been writing fiction informally since I was ten years old. I've outlined and written down ideas for stories in several different genres. It is only as I've gotten older that I've tried to take a stab at actually writing in effort to get published.I've written in a number of different fictional styles including retrospectives, faith based stories and humor. Right now my efforts are focused on world building in a military fantasy setting under the title 'Tales of the MERC.' Parts One and Two are currently priced at $0.00 - feel free to download them. Part Three is forthcoming.

Book preview

Part Three: My Name is Alys

A Novella

By

Mike Eschbach

A Dedication: To all the missing children trying to find their way home

Published by Mike Eschbach at Smashwords

Copyright 2021

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Malice’s Lament

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Epilogue

About the Author

Malice’s Lament

Tilday the 16th of Heltirce, AY 1014

It has been three years since the massacre in the hollow where the old Base-Camp used to sit between two mountains. Some nights I wake to memories of the stench of burning flesh. I recall horror. My breath catches as if I am suffocating. I find I am still afraid and the fear makes me angry.

In my wakefulness, I rage in silent agony at the conceit of former MERC leaders who allowed this to happen. Did they really think the shades blind to our vulnerability? The answer, sadly, is no they did not. Rather, they took a calculated risk for expedience sake in effort to save a few marques. It was a fool’s hope that the shades would overlook what the greenest of our recruits could see for themselves. Perhaps it was arrogance or maybe apathy, but we chose to believe the platitudes the command gave us.

Our foe isn’t foolish, though. A sheer drop from atop the Heights meant nothing to them. The ridge above was a perfect staging area for folk of their abilities. We knew from long experience that they could flit from shadow to shadow until they made their way into our perimeter. By ceding the high ground, no one among us would be the wiser until it was too late.

We gave them free reign and they wrought havoc. Multiple death-squads totaling hundreds of shades descended from the heights into the camp and began a systematic slaughter of our soldiers. We had grown complacent. The camp hadn’t been attacked in force in two hundred years. Most of the guards were in the weather shacks trying to stay warm. They died quickly, a small mercy. Once the guards were accounted for, the enemy encircled the barracks and barricaded our soldiers inside. Then they torched the buildings.

Most died in the conflagration. Those who escaped were torn apart by the enemy. In the end, the camp was burned to the ground. Although some were able to flee down toward the Dimwoud, hundreds were killed or went missing. The losses were staggering.

In retrospect, it was easy to see that those in command were fools, though few enough survived to find regret. We were worse, however. We allowed them their lies. I numbered myself among that lot, thinking that we were impervious to assault in spite of what I saw. Behind 200 years of tradition, even I ignored the flaws in the camp’s design.

With a host of rationalizations at my disposal, I blithely went about my business. Ultimately, I was lucky where they were not. I survived and betimes the guilt weighs heavily upon my soul. Thank Fortune for Stout. During my worst distress, he brings me comfort, holding me and whispering to me until I am myself. Then we steal silently like children, climbing the stairs to check on our son. Often, we stand like sentinels watching over him for long moments as he sleeps. It is during these times that I am certain that I will never know a deeper emotion than the love I have for Hari. Finding peace in his cherubic face, Stout and I retreat to our room. We climb back into bed and draw near one another to find slumber once again.

Chapter One

Almsday the 1st, the Month of Upat’on, AY 1014

Little Alys hummed to herself as she descended the crooked path from Squatters Town to the stream that ran gently from the overlook. This late in summer, the rapids had slowed, most of the snow upon the heights having already melted away. She liked it here, enjoyed watching the fish swimming in the crystalline water, their gills flapping open and closed like a smith's bellows. Her da had told her long ago that fish breathed underwater. She still wasn't sure if he was tellin' her a tale or not, though the thought occurred that she had never seen a fish walking along the shore. The idea made her smile, a little.

He would bring her down here to the stream every Almsday whenever he wasn’t on trek up in the Heights. Her memory of him was a fine one, but she grew sad. Last month he hadn’t come home from his trek. Some of the men he was with did come home. They told Ma he had died bravely, though Ma didn't care none for that. She just knew he was gone.

What am I gonna do? she had asked those men.

No one gave her an answer, but they did leave a pouch filled with silver talons. The widow's pension, they called it, gathered up by the soldiers in his unit. But it was already spent. Now Ma made do as a washer woman.

She had been pretty once, with lustrous green eyes, but washing was a hard chore and the lines on her face grew deeper every day. Sometimes, too, she did other ‘work’ for the soldiers. Alys thought she knew what her Ma was about. The men stayed for as long as a turn of the clock in the shed while Alys waited outside. They were tough men with fierce scowls and rough beards that had no time for a little girl. Most of them carried weapons and wore armor like her Da, although he had always kept his gear clean and well oiled.

Wise now beyond her seven years, Alys wandered by the husks of shelters burned during the terrible slaughter some three years past. Da had told her lots of folks were killed by the shades during the attack, both at Base-Camp and in Squatters Town. Sometimes she stopped in the old buildings to explore, but she never found much of anything but silence.

Today she ignored the ruins and made her way along the bank of the stream. She liked to be alone here, staring down into the cold water. Fish were schooling near the bank. They never seemed afraid of her, unless she threw a rock or something into the stream. Then they would scatter, only to come back some few minutes later if she remained still. Today, though, she did not scare them away.

Forgetting unhappy memories, she watched as some swam in place. Their fins flapped like the wings of the birds above as they nibbled at the green growth that coated the stones beneath the surface. The water was quiet, offering but a sleepy murmur as it rolled along the bed. The current was hypnotic, holding her in stark fascination for a long moment until she broke from its grasp.

Walking further along, she came to the place where the bigger fish schooled, the ones Da called rainbows. These were the pretty ones, though they tended to stay farther out in the stream. The first time she came here by herself, she'd tried to coax them closer, but they were cleverer than her by far. With a sigh, she wished her Da was here now. He would know how to draw them closer.

A sudden noise caught her attention, interrupting her thoughts. She turned and looked around. At first, she saw nothing. Then, as if he stepped out of nowhere, a man appeared. He was staring at her, his eyes intense and assessing. But then he smiled and sat upon a fallen tree, his hand raised in greeting.

Hello, luv, he said.

She thought him very handsome. Her da was handsome too, but in a different way. This man was so handsome as to almost be pretty. His tunic was pale, matching his hair, and his leggings were tucked into calf-high boots. The outfit was pressed too, like the way Ma used to press Da's uniform, although these seemed to be regular clothes, if finely made. Finding her courage, she raised a timid hand in response.

What is your name, child? he asked.

Me ma told me not to talk to strangers, she replied.

The man blinked once. His smile grew even wider. That's lovely! he exclaimed. A wise woman, she is, your mother. Would it help if I told you my name?

Nodding, Alys said, Yes, sir, a little.

You may call me Ithmar. It is my secret name, he said. Then shaking his head as he spoke, he asked, You won’t tell anyone, will you?

Since it seemed very important, she also shook her head and said, No.

He leaped from the log and danced with seeming joy, so much so that she giggled.

You liked my little caper, eh? he asked. Now will you tell me your name?

He inquired in such an earnest manner that she thought it must be terribly important to him.

My name is Alys.

He jumped and clicked his heels so that she laughed even harder this time.

You're silly! she said.

His expression grew thoughtful as he studied her. Do you think so? he asked. When she nodded he said, Then let's go be silly together.

His smile beckoned so that she thought she could not refuse. Only for a little while, she said as she took hold of his hand. Me ma will get worried if I'm too long gone.

As I said, child, your mother is a wise woman, he replied softly. Then he led her up an incline toward the line of trees above.

Chapter Two

Tilday the 2nd, the Month of Upat’on, AY 1014

"My poor feet, Lieutenant Thorn muttered as he entered the familiar confines of the small sitting room just within the side entrance to General Pivot’s quarters. They’re going to fall off if he keeps making me take the long way around."

It was a small room, one he was quite familiar with, lined with pegs for cloaks and heavy construction paper running along the floor as proof against muddy shoes. A small lantern burned fitfully from a sconce, casting an inconstant glow as shadows lengthened and dusk slowly fell. Below the sconce, a mirror hung on the wall. A hallway ran from the room deeper into the stately mansion toward the pantry and kitchen beyond.

Grabbing a stool, he sat and removed his boots. As he kneaded the ache from his arches, he fretted. The general seemed to delight in small torments, all for the sake of comportment. After seven months into his post as Pivot’s aide-de-camp, Thorn had not yet gotten past the chicken-shit. He wondered if he ever would.

In particular,