A Sparring Match Leads To Action
"While I respect your wish to keep the company small," Selesst spoke as he nimbly dodged away from Flikk's questing sword, "You must realize that the use of a small company is limited here."
Flikk grunted, lashing his tail to balance himself as the old mercenary dodged him for the hundredth time that evening. He'd always prided himself on his speed -- there was a reason they called him Blue Lightning! -- but he couldn't seem to match this swarthy, silver-eyed man.
"Koshi Keidai is gathering in strength." Selesst continued, batting Flikk's sword away with his own as easily as he'd bat away an annoying fly. "Eight trained mercenaries against that?"
"There are other fighters here!" Flikk snapped, feeling his control on his temper rapidly fading. "We don't need to do everything!"
Selesst smiled enigmatically. "Revent, for all he's a wonderful Sorcerer, is not a battle leader. I am better suited to Armsmaster than battle leader these days." Flikk wondered at the flicker of sadness that darkened Selesst's silver eyes for a moment. "There are a few mercenaries and roving warriors in residence, of course, but none of them are leader material. We have no leader, Flikk. We have no leader, and Koshi Keidai will unite eventually."
"And what in blazes am I supposed to do about that?!" He whirled out of Selesst's reach, wings spreading awkwardly to counterbalance, tail lashing. He wasn't used to this form, wasn't sure he'd ever be used to it. As soon as he thought he had himself straightened out, he'd remember about some fact, like his digitigrade legs, or his tail, or his wings, and be thrown off balance again.
"Be a leader. You and Vikktor. I know you can."
Flikk grunted, lunging for Selesst as soon as he saw an opening...
Only to realize the man had outfoxed him again. His sword went spinning across the salle, clattering to a halt not ten feet from Vikktor, who stood watching the bout.
"Be a leader?" Flikk sighed, running a hand through his hair, only to wince when his hand brushed against his horns. It was a reminder he wished he could ignore. "Be a leader, when I can't even fight anymore?"
Selesst's eyes flashed. "Child, I have many upon many advantages over you, no matter what your heritage may be. Even my own countrymen often lose against me. You are in a body foreign to you. No!" Selesst stalked over and grabbed Flikk's chin, forcing the man to look at him. "You will look at me, Flikk, and you will accept what you cannot change. You are a fine swordsman, but you over- and under-compensate for your new form. Time and training will take care of that, and I am determined you will have the second, if not the first."
"What about Zeren and his lot?" Flikk muttered rebelliously, reminded of the silent mercenary and his five followers by Selesst's mention of countrymen. "Why don't you push them to do this?"
"Because," Selesst frowned, "Zeren and 'his lot' are busy elsewhere. Zeren is highly trained in the small group tactics, and a Master Mercenary of our order, but he is too quiet and reclusive. He has the courage to take command, sure, but it would kill him."
Flikk rolled his eyes. The concept of a 'Master Mercenary' boggled his mind, as did the rest of what little he could pry from Selesst's mind about his homeland. An entire culture based around thievery, assassination, and the mercenary profession?
Vikktor's hand thumped down on his shoulder, making him jump. Even changed as he was, Vikktor was still cat-quiet on his feet.
"Arguing about leadership again?" Came Vikktor's deep rumble of a question.
"Indeed." Selesst sheathed his sword, releasing Flikk's chin in the same movement. "And trying to convince your pairling there that he has nothing to be ashamed about. Especially not by losing to the likes of me."
Flikk glared at the old Armsmaster -- well, he assumed the man was old, based on his comments, but the man looked nearly as young as he was in this new body... - and tried to accept his sword back from Vikktor with a hint of graciousness.
From the smirk on Vikktor's face, he'd failed horribly.
"Well, you don't," Vikktor tone was soft, reassuring.
He didn't want reassurances. He wanted vengeance. But the plight here tugged at his heart, and he remembered the haunted, weary eyes of a lad... no, two lads, so young, so young to be so cursed...
Flikk snorted to himself. He couldn't leave the people here to fall to Koshi Keidai. It was why he and Vikktor had decided to accept the contract...
Shadowed eyes haunted his memory, reminding him of what it took to win those other wars.
"We need a strategist," he heard himself saying. "And a real leader. Someone the rest can look up to."
Vikktor nodded at his side, "There are a few strategist here, I think." He paused in thought, "Flikk and I, we can handle mercenaries, troops in general, but we're not the sort to put in command."
Selesst eyed the two of them, one eyebrow arched.
Would it take more shadowed eyes, more youths too young to be leaders, too young to be so cursed? How many lives, how much innocence, would this war rob them of?
Flikk clenched his jaw. There would be no more haunted-eyed lads to save them. They were not in the realm where Runes ruled anymore. There would be no Runemistress Jeane, no Wind Master Luc, no Stars of Destiny to save them.
They would have to make their own victory out of this mess.
He wasn't sure if he was gladdened or saddened by that thought.
Vikktor's hand on his shoulder gave a squeeze, and his hand came up to rest atop it, returning the silent reassurance. They'd been through so much together...
"And we'll be through much more," Vikktor remarked softly, for only him to hear. Then, speaking louder, he continued, "Selesst is right. Our first step should be to gather more to our banner. We'll find our leader with time -- as you yourself have mentioned, Selesst, Koshi Keidai itself is not yet consolidated. We have a few moments to collect ourselves, I believe."
Vikktor rubbed his free hand across his face, "Any help will be appreciated. But where to look..."
Selesst smirked at that, "The answer is simple. Go out and get yourselves bonds. All of your group. Then sponsor. Look to those who are already here, ask them to do similar. Bring this place up to a fighting force."
Vikktor snorted, "And step on Revent's toes? No thanks. I don't have a glib enough tongue to get away with that sort of fancy footwork."
"Then rely on your pairling." Selesst fixed Flikk with a look. "He's confident enough when not being reminded of himself."
He couldn't help it, he had to look away from that silver gaze. It was so intense, shadowed in its own way... but by mortal loss, loss like his own, he thought. Not shadowed the same as those lads he'd come to trust.
"In any case," Selesst continued after a moment, "I need to resume my own work. I expect you back here regularly, both of you. You both need practice with those forms of yours, and to get yourselves back into fighting trim."
Before Flikk could say anything, Selesst had turned and strode off, through the door and out of the salle with no more than that as a farewell.
"Thinks highly of himself, don't he?" Vikktor muttered.
"With good reason." Flikk sighed. He knew Selesst was right, but yet...
Vikktor's hand dropped from Flikk's shoulder. "Alright, come on Blue boy. Lets go have a chat with Revent. None of this will get finished on its own."
Reluctantly, he followed Vikktor from the salle, back into the warren of tunnels that made up the Clan. He couldn't help comparing it to the castles he'd been based in before, and wasn't sure if it compared favorably or not.
He nodded greetings to those they passed on their way, and received casual nods in return... or sometimes nothing. It shocked him sometimes, after the respect he was used to being accorded, but...
"We're mercenaries, and haven't shown our mettle yet," Vikktor reminded him softly, tossing a proprietary arm around his shoulders and giving a glare at a young man who eyed Flikk appraisingly. "In the other cases, we'd both already proven ourselves, you know. We had contacts. Here... here we have nothing."
"No glorious young leader to save us this time, is there?" Flikk finally voiced the thought sadly. "No Stars of Destiny, no strength...."
Vikktor snorted, "Then we find our own charismatic leader, and create our own Stars! We'll manage, Flikk. We'll manage. As we always have."
It was decided, not too much later, after a long "discussion" between Flikk and Revent, that the two of them were to go to the Abstract Destiny in order to try their hand at either bonding or sponsoring, though both were adamant that they would force no one into the mercenary profession unless they wished it. It was hard enough to become a mercenary willingly... to become one unwillingly was tantamount to suicide.