Death Notice Book 8: Chapter 57: Amnian Guard

The midday breeze, rustling leaves from trees lining the road, left everyone in the caravan feeling drowsy. It had been three days since departing Lake Esmel without any trouble, leaving Qin Lun, accustomed to constant harassment in the wild, rather unaccustomed to the calm.

Yet, this necessary relaxation was what they all needed. Not everyone could stay on high alert indefinitely. The change was most evident in Milleras. The once unshaven, weary-looking Elf Prince had shed his disheveled appearance, regaining his former energetic and confident self.

However, the cost of this transformation wasn’t what Qin Lun wished to see. One morning, Milleras had noticed the sharpness of the Dagger of Sin and borrowed it. When the Elf Prince returned it, Qin Lun spotted stubble caught in the blade’s blood groove.

If Milleras hadn’t fled fast enough, Qin Lun doubted he could’ve held back Joey’s fury. The Dissector nearly gutted the Elf Prince on the spot, demonstrating that even Angels could be made through… modification.

Though the worst outcome was averted, Joey later wanted to discard the Dagger of Sin entirely. The Serial Killer felt the Life-Taking Relic had been defiled by Milleras, rendering it unworthy as a tool of artistry.

Just as the caravan drifted in lazy tranquility, faint tremors suddenly vibrated through the ground. Stirred to alertness, the Apostles straightened in their saddles.

“Cavalry. Moving fast!” Stark swung down from his horse, pressing an ear to the dirt for a moment before his expression tightened. He whipped his head towards Qin Lun at the back and shouted, “Firal! Has Iristin spotted anything?”

Qin Lun shielded his eyes against the sun, gazing up at the giant eagle form of Iristin. After a moment, he shook his head. “Iristin signals us to clear the road. They aren’t targeting us!”

Guided by the Apostles, the caravan drivers and helpers steered the wagons off to the roadside, waiting for the approaching riders to pass.

Clad in chainmail and plate armor, their mounts protected by leather barding, these were elite heavy cavalry. Over their armor, each wore a surcoat bearing an identical emblem: a red sword-and-shield on the chest and pauldrons – the mark of Amn’s official force, the Amnian Guard.

“They look like they’ve seen battle!” Robin murmured, moving beside Stark, eyes keenly observant.

Stark scanned the troop and nodded grimly. Bloodstains marred the cavalry’s armor and horses. Some riders had bandages on faces and limbs, crimson seeping through, their metal plates dented in places.

“Hmph. While the Amnian Guard isn’t top-tier, they’re a significant power within Amn. Wonder what happened ahead,” Stark frowned. “Robin, should we detour?”

“Let’s have Longer scout up front later; we’re nearing mountainous terrain, limiting Iristin’s aerial view,” Robin replied with a slight smile. “These quiet days make even minor trouble refreshing.”

“Hope it’s not major trouble,” Stark sighed wearily.

The small cavalry detachment barely glanced at the roadside caravan. Driving their horses hard, they swept past like a whirlwind, covering most of the caravan’s length in seconds.

“Eh?” An exclamation came from among the riders. Their leader, a heavily armored knight, abruptly raised a fist, signaling the troop to slow. He reined sharply, his massive mount reared, whinnied, turned in place, and halted facing the road.

This knight initially seemed indistinguishable from his men. Only when he shifted upright in his saddle did the caravan realize his imposing stature. Beneath the standard surcoat, heavy black plate armor revealed more dents and gouges than his companions’, marking him as a prime target in the fight.

As he stopped, the rest followed suit, reining in, confusion on their faces. The leader himself hesitated, his horse stamping and snorting restlessly. Remembering his urgent duty, the knight clenched his teeth, dismounting and striding towards the caravan.

“Identify this caravan. Who speaks for you?” The knight’s voice boomed deep and low. He removed his helmet, revealing a strong-jawed, youthful face. Thick black brows framed keen, intense eyes. Sweat-slicked chestnut curls clung to his forehead.

“The Hulan family of Tethyr offers greetings. I am Sif Hulan. How may we assist?” The noble youth quickly approached with the Old Butler, his tone smooth and unhurried.

“Having a noble like him handle this spares us much trouble!” Robin muttered appreciatively to Stark, watching Sif’s graceful bearing. “Zhentarim could never guess our luck, finding such perfect cover so quickly in Amn.”

“True. I’d worried the number of Elves among us might expose us,” Stark smiled.

“Amnian Guard. Bonnie,” the knight declared curtly, gesturing with a gauntleted hand. His expression hardened. “By the Merchant Charter of Amn, I conscript your mercenary company.”

“What?!” Sif and the Old Butler exchanged shocked glances. Sif flushed, indignant. “You cannot do that!”

The Old Butler, cooler-headed from experience, recovered quickly. He restrained Sif and addressed the knight calmly. “Ser Knight Bonnie, we are not a caravan established within Amn. Before entering, I studied Amn’s Merchant Charter. It is not law; it is a guild guideline. And… I recall clearly, such guidelines apply only between merchant companies. You wouldn’t qualify as one, would you?”

“Is that so?” Bonnie’s expression didn’t waver. A muscle flickered in his jaw. “Are you certain you wish to dispute this? This isn’t my personal order. It is a conscription issued by the Amnian Guard!”

Sif and the Old Butler fell into grim silence. The pretense of the Merchant Charter was laid bare – the knight was threatening them under the banner of the Amnian Guard. His troop undoubtedly faced serious trouble.

“Your rank, Ser…?” The Old Butler asked, glancing at Sif, who remained speechless with anger.

“I am the Deputy Leader of the Amnian Guard First Cavalry Regiment. Our mission is classified and cannot be disclosed,” Bonnie stated flatly, then relented slightly. “Assisting won’t be to your disadvantage. Respond to the conscription, and after our task, I will provide you a Special Material Conscription Order from the Amnian Guard. With that document, your caravan shall receive Guard assistance anywhere in Amn for a full year. Even official outposts will accommodate you.”

This promise finally convinced the two. They were Tethyr nobles, secure within their homeland despite their family’s decline. Securing official protection in Amn, even for a year, offered a vital foothold.

Their route to Baldur’s Gate was by sea. Both Amn and Baldur’s Gate strictly suppressed piracy; the Sword Coast waters they’d traverse were safe. For the Hulan Trading Company, this Order easily outweighed any potential loss on this trip.

“We understand, Ser Knight,” the Old Butler spoke cautiously. “But even if we agree, conscription requires the mercenaries’ voluntary participation!”

“No need to worry about that,” Bonnie breathed a sigh of relief, confident in his leverage. “Few mercenaries seeking work in Amn would refuse the Amnian Guard’s goodwill.”

Of course, if the Apostles had truly been common sellswords, the promise of a favor owed by the Guard might have swayed them. But they weren’t…

Bonnie’s face darkened almost instantly after just two words exchanged with Stark, who had come forward. Robin wisely remained out of sight – her beauty might complicate things.

After quickly learning from the Old Butler that the Merchant Charter was irrelevant, Stark merely yawned and half-heartedly humored the Deputy Leader.

“Defy the Amnian Guard’s conscription, and your company will find every door shut in Amn!” Bonnie hissed through clenched teeth, his expression turning dangerous.

Amn ruled by commerce, but its tolerance for merchants didn’t extend to mercenaries. Worse, his unit was in desperate straits, with no other aid nearby – forcing him to gamble on these surprisingly capable-looking fighters.

Stark scoffed inwardly at the threat; they had no intention of lingering in Amn anyway.

“Test them. Maybe agree,” came simultaneous advice from Robin and Qin Lun in Stark’s communication channel.

“Wait. The Amnian Guard… Amn’s official force. That cover’s even better than the Hulan Trading Company!” Stark’s eyes lit up with realization.

“Ser Knight Bonnie,” Stark replied, affecting a haughty air. “We have a bonded contract with the Trading Company until reaching our destination. Accepting other contracts is… difficult. However, if you disclose your predicament, we might persuade Lord Hulan to reconsider.”

Hogwash! The Hulan Company already agreed. You just want more leverage! Bonnie cursed silently. Yet, needing them, he hesitated, then drew Stark aside.

“I can inform you,” Bonnie said gravely, locking eyes with Stark, “but you must swear by the Mercenary Code to guard this secret.” When Stark nodded, Bonnie leaned close. “We hunt undead… spilling from the Twin Towers…”