A Soldier's Life - 320 - Prologue (final edit 10-26-25 +100 words)

Chapter 320: Prologue

Firth sipped his dark, bitter, warm lager in The Magic Mouth brothel. He was waiting for his old contact to approach him to get information on the latest runner. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and sex dominated the common room as women in loose-fitting dresses mingled with the seedy crowd. Hunting deserters was a high priority for the new emperor. This was not only to show that deserters would not be tolerated but also to eliminate any men who might know what truly befell the last emperor.

Tilley finally sauntered out of a side room, fixing her dress, a frown on her face on seeing him. She had burnt auburn hair, and her makeup failed to hide her age. She settled in across from Firth, tightening her bodice defensively. Firth didn’t understand why women didn’t like him; he always paid well. He smirked at her but was not here for pleasure today—at least not at this moment.

“Whaddya need Firth?” She asked unhappily, in a commoner’s accent.

“Got any new staff for my boy here? He is very particular,” He grinned while he patted Wylie’s shoulder lightly and placed a large silver on the table. Wylie winced at the attention being drawn to him. Tilley reached out, and the coin disappeared under her hand and into her bodice.

Wylie shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Not that Wylie showed objection, but this place was much filthier than most. This was the fourth time Firth had introduced him to one of his “contacts,” and he needed to learn how to handle these lesser informants. Firth’s philosophy was a firm hand and quick to reward with coin for good information.

“There are a few refugees we recently hired,” she offered, looking over at Wylie. “They are still acclimating.” Tilley assessed the boy, who wasn’t half bad looking, and although his eyes showed experience, his face was still youthful. He seemed almost shy at her attention. “Maybe Rusonia or Maecilia would be good for him,” she voiced slowly. She returned her attention to Firth. “I don’t have any news for you. At least nothing but trivial gossip,” she added, but not returning the large silver or any change, he noted.

Firth downed his mug, “Don’t need news. Looking for a local boy who fled his duties. Used to live on the Tantalos farm outside of town. He would have been the oldest boy, Julian. Conscripted into the legion four years ago.”

The woman was easy to read as her eyes looked away before realizing and recovering. Firth smirked, knowing he had found a lead. This was the seventh legionnaire his Pack had tracked down after he became a Hound. The Hounds were much weaker now, with half of them not even possessing a spell form these days. Their mystique was starting to erode, which was part of the reason he was tasked with publicly hunting a nobody legionnaire conscript.

At least Firth was this Pack’s Alpha and decided how they hunted. He had convinced Wylie to join him in the Hounds, even though the boy didn’t have a spell form. The Empire was desperate, and he persuaded Wylie to take advantage of the opportunity. Hounds were better paid and had much more freedom.

They had encountered only minor trouble getting past the Truthseekers due to their association with the traitor Mage Castile. But the Empire desperately needed Hounds, and Firth had always been loyal in his own way, and now here they were. Firth waited on Tilley, looking eyes with her, until she cracked. It didn’t take long.

“His sister works in the candle shop down the street. He may have passed through here a week ago, but I don’t know where he went after,” the woman said reluctantly. Firth smiled and slid another large silver piece to the woman, who took it guiltily.

“They always come back to where they feel safest,” Firth muttered to himself, loud enough for Wylie to overhear.

“Are we going to question the sister?” Wylie asked. He probably wanted to avoid spending time here, but the boy needed to learn. He thought himself a good teacher, if a bit heavy-handed at times; he at least gave his Hounds time in the brothels to alleviate their stress.

“No need. We will go to his parents’ farm right after we finish here. We paid for service after all,” Firth said while standing with a lusty grin. Tilley stood, frowning. It wasn’t that Firth was abusive; it was just that he smelled and tasted foul. She could at least spare her coworkers his attentions.

An hour later, his Pack arrived at the farm, and Firth sent his men to search the surrounding woods. Firth leaned against a tree, keeping an eye on the fields while his men did all the work. The farmer and two of his younger sons walked the field, pulling weeds.

He noted it was a good sign that this wheat field was growing strong. After the last winter, famine had killed too many children and babes in the Eastern Empire where he was. There was already a shortage of young men for the army and the Legion—but then again, there was always a shortage.

Garner, one of his Hounds, emerged cautiously from the woods and headed toward Firth. “We found a lightly worn trail leading into the hills. Wylie and Saben are watching it.”

“Good,” Firth grunted contentedly. He knew the boy wouldn’t be far from where he grew up. He guessed his family delivered him food and supplies when needed. “Get the others, and we will catch up.”

It wasn’t long before the six Hounds stealthily encircled a small camp five miles away, deep in the hills. It was dusk, and they had approached unseen. Only a single man was on watch, and he seemed sleepy as he stirred coals on a fire to heat some water. A bird call signal was given, and arrows hummed through the air, surprising the unsuspecting men. Firth nodded happily as only two of the targets cried out before all were silenced.

The six Hounds moved in cautiously but found no one else in the camp. Assessing the dead bodies and equipment, Firth guessed there were two legionnaires and three from the army. By his estimation, they were all well under twenty. At least one matched his target, Julian, so he would not have to continue looking and could write the Centurian about a successful hunt. He might even get some praise for the extra four men, not that he needed it.

Confirmation made, Firth wrote in his message book and awaited new orders from Centurion Kaius. Firth thought that man was in over his head, but his loyalty to Emperor Octavius was unquestioned, so he was given the job of administering the new Hounds. Loyalty over competence was the new doctrine for the leadership of the Telhian Empire.

Firth stopped Wylie from digging a grave. “Let the farmers bury them,” Firth barked. “See if they have anything we can sell; we’ll be leaving in an hour.” Firth allowed his men to loot and sell whatever they could from deserters for extra coin. The order had not even been necessary as his men had already stripped the bodies and ransacked the hidden camp.

They returned to the small town late that night, and Firth checked his message book after exhausting himself on Tilley. He cursed, “Bloody harpy tits! He is a moron!” Tilley woke and took it as her cue to leave the room.

He waited till morning to tell his men the bad news, “We have been ordered back to the capital.” The men groaned as it would take three weeks on foot, and two weeks on horseback if they could find them. The portals in the Western Empire were dormant due to the number of Displacement Mages available. They would stop at a Legion Hall in Forgabua and get some horses.

He growled at his men, “Stop groaning, you got to spend the night in a bed with a woman, and you should be able to get thirty silver each for the gear you salvaged.” This reminder cheered up his band a little.

Two weeks later, Firth was reporting to the Centurion in person. Centurion Kaius was behind a desk with mounds of paperwork surrounding him. He looked exhausted and slightly flustered. Definitely not the right man for this job. Kais had been a Count of a small city before being called to oversee all the Hounds in the Empire.

Count Kaius still governed his city, and Firth had heard that a group of swordsmiths had been relocated to Kaius’s city, bringing a surge of gold into his treasury. The Count of the city from which those swordsmiths came opposed the Emperor but had too much influence to be replaced. Firth thought it was idiotic, as in the three months it took for the swordsmiths to pack and move, all their work was lost for those three months, but he was just a soldier; what did he know?

He waited while Kaius finished whatever he thought was more important than the Hound he had summoned back. Firth growled internally, if Kaius sent him on a hunt back in the direction he had just come from, the Emperor might need to find a new Centurion to lead the Hounds.

Firth knew Centurion Sergius had been killed in this very palace. He also heard the rumors that Konstantin had committed the act and how furious Octavian had been when the diviners revealed it. Konstantin certainly had that effect on people. Firth could easily envision a cocky Konstantin sauntering into the Imperial Palace, liberating a hundred men, and killing Centurion Sergius. It probably threw Octavian’s plans into disarray.

He always admired the veteran, but the two never mixed well together. Konstantin served a Praetorian master, while Firth served as Castile’s watcher. He stood ready to kill the mage commander if she betrayed the Empire, and she had come close on a few occasions. Firth wasn’t with the company when they attacked the Emperor, but Wylie told him about the fight. He just thought Castile would have been smarter than that—but then again they had succeeded and the Emperor was dead.

Kaius finally looked up. “There is a blood compass over there,” he pointed. Firth went over and picked it up, curious at being given the artifact. The Archives had been destroyed, and most of the blood compasses had been lost in the coup. This was a valuable artifact and one that he could barely use from his brief Hound training. His spell form only briefly enhanced his speed and strength. He also had horse shit for aether reserves.

“Who am I tracking? Did you find a sample of Konstantin’s?” Firth asked while inspecting the blood compass. It was banged up but looked serviceable, and the pull on it, when he channeled his aether, was very faint.

A dark expression came over the Centurion, “I have sent others after Konstantin already. I have lost communication with that Pack.” That was a surprise to Firth; he hadn’t known a Pack had been sent to hunt Konstantin. He was glad it wasn’t him. “No, the diviners think they know where Castile is.”

Firth hid his shock. “And you want her killed,” he said flatly.

“The Emperor has placed her death as a priority. She knows too much and has been a thorn in his side long enough.” The Centurion reclined, studying Firth’s reaction. “She is most likely in the Duchy of Manch, but the distance is too great to get an exact location.”

Firth rolled the brass blood compass in his hands. “How did you get her sample?” He asked neutrally.

The Centurion’s jaw tightened. “It is not hers. The blood sample belongs to Mage Salvator. He has recently sought asylum in Bartiradia. The Emperor wants him dead. Publicly. Take care of it on your way to Manch. Your performance has been exemplary so far. You understand how Castile thinks, and I know you won’t disappoint. Manch isn’t a large kingdom, so someone as skilled as you shouldn’t take long to find a rogue mage.” Firth didn’t like Kaius trying to play on his vanity. Firth was not a vain man.

“Why me?” Firth asked absently, sliding the compass inside his armor.

“She knows you. You should be able to get close to her, and like I said, you know how she thinks,” he replied simply. “Is there a problem? This was your duty before, was it not? To kill Castile if she betrayed the Empire?” The First Citizen locked eyes with Firth, trying to read him.

Firth quickly shook his head, “It is not a problem.” Firth didn’t like the assignment for several reasons. It was his first target outside of the Empire, and he didn’t have any contacts to help him. He also knew this was just as much of a test of his loyalty as it was a request by the new Emperor.

And most importantly, Castile was dangerous, and she had some of her legionnaires—his former companions and friends with her. He cursed Castile for not staying out of Octavian’s reach. His job was to kill her if she betrayed the Empire, but he had to admit she had grown on him over the years. Now, he didn’t have any choice.

“How will I enter Bartiradia?” Firth asked after a long pause.

Centurion Kaius studied him before nodding to himself. Had the bastard just used magic on him? Kaius seemed to be content with whatever he discerned, though. “A ship is waiting for you and your men at the Imperial docks. It will drop you off on the north coast of Bartiradia during the night. The rest is up to you.” Kaius handed Firth a paper and returned to his paperwork, ignoring Firth. That meant he was dismissed. Firth glanced at the paper; it was a profile and image of Mage Salvator. Firth hated this assignment—two mages in enemy lands. He would still carry it out and maybe one day his loyalty would allow him to replace Kaius.

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