Grand Game 422: Bane Wolves (Patreon)

One hour later, I was standing in the fortress’ courtyard, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

I sighed heavily.

“Thinking you should have cut and run?” Elron asked with a grin.

I nodded.

The four councilors were on a raised dais with me, attending as witnesses. Ghost sat at my side. She and Nyra had been roped in, too. Regus and the possessed under him had not been invited and were waiting in the underground tunnel to begin the journey back to the court.

“Take heart,” Gamil murmured. “Algar looks ready to begin.”

Seeing the same, I strode forward to stand beside the new High Captain. It was a new title that I had fostered on Algar in order to cement his position as the warband’s commander.

Every army needed a leader—the four company captains could not lead by consensus—and as evinced by today, the warband would quite often need to operate independently. And truly, I didn’t want to be saddled with the headache of commanding two thousand men. That was a task Algar was better suited to.

“Companies, attention!” the high captain bellowed.

The two thousand soldiers arrayed in formations before the dais braced to attention. I ran my gaze over them. Hands on their weapons, they held themselves stiff under my scrutiny.

The four companies were distinct and easily identifiable. The dwarves occupied the far left of the courtyard. Each was wrapped in a mountain of steel and bore either an axe or hammer. Standing shoulder to shoulder, their lines were neatly dressed and compact.

Beside them were the slender orcs. Green-skinned giants in comparison to their more diminutive companions, their formation was noticeably less precise. But for all, they looked no less menacing with their sharpened teeth and deadly javelins.

The human cavalry occupied the right. Both horses and men were nearly as heavily armed as the dwarves, but instead of plate armor, they favored chainmail. Their weapons of choice were steel-tipped lances, shields, and longswords.

Finally, there was the dark elf company. White-haired, dark-skinned, and slouched in line as they were, the archers still somehow managed to convey the same feeling of lethal readiness as the orcs to their left and the humans to the right.

New Haven’s army units were not usually so stratified by race, but since the soldiers had been drawn from the councilors’ personal guards—which were so divided—Algar and the other captains had decided against further disrupting the norms the men were used to. But despite the companies’ differences, every soldier bore a black patch over their left breast.

A patch, still conspicuously blank.

When I’d inquired about it, I had been told by an irritable Algar that there hadn’t been time to stitch the warband’s insignia onto it yet and had been left wondering what that insignia could be.

“Today, we witness a historic day in New Haven’s history,” the high captain shouted. “Today, we create something unique, a warband of New Haven’s making and yet not. Today, we pledge allegiance to Lord Michael!”

The soldiers roared even as I winced at the title. I was no lord, I’d told Algar, but he had refused to listen, and besides, ‘lord’ was much better than what he’d first proposed.

“Today,” Algar continued, “we will become the first New Haveners in over a hundred years to escape this gorge, entering the underground tunnel built by our forefathers for just that purpose. Not only that but in a few short days, we will leave Draven’s Reach entirely, something no New Havener has done since our ancestors first set foot in this dungeon over a millennia ago!”

The soldiers roared their approval again—this time in a much louder voice. From their shining gazes, I could tell departing Draven’s Reach was a prospect that excited many, if not all, of them. It, I suspected, was the true reason most had volunteered to serve me, but I couldn’t fault them for that. I, too, was eager to be done with the dungeon.

“You will be the forerunners of our people,” Algar proclaimed. “While the lords and ladies of our great city remain behind in fear, living half-lives, we will go and see the new world for ourselves. We will venture out and discover what bounty the Kingdom has to offer. We will be the ones to show the families that New Haven can prosper in the Kingdom, that our people need not huddle in this dungeon!”

“Aye, we will!” the soldiers shouted back.

My eyebrows flew up, and unable to help myself, I glanced behind me to see what the councilors were making of Algar’s speech.

None looked happy.

The high captain’s words had caught them as much by surprise as they had me. It was not that I disagreed with the high captain’s sentiments. In fact, I believed there was merit to them. Still, I had had no idea Algar felt this way or so strongly on the subject, and from the four councilors’ glum looks, neither had they.

I hid a smile, belatedly realizing some of Algar’s intent with his ceremony. Algar might have been Elron’s right-hand man once, but it was clear the former aide had a mind of his own.

He was telling not just me, but the councilors too, that as much as the warband was comprised of New Haveners, they were not New Haven’s to command any longer. He was proclaiming his loyalty—and those of the soldiers—in the clearest way possible by breaking with the position of the city’s councilors and founding families.

“Lord Michael has done more for this city than any of us had any right to expect,” the high captain went on, oblivious of the disgruntled men behind him. “He rid us of the possessed. He freed our leaders. He killed the archlich. He defeated the harbinger. He even banished the nether. Tell me, soldiers, will you follow him? Will you trust him to keep you safe?”

“YES, WE WILL,” they roared back, setting the walls of the courtyard itself reverberating with the force of their response.

Algar held up his arms, and after a moment, silence descended. Glancing to his left, where the three company captains stood in silent attendance, he instructed, “Raise the banner.”

My eyes narrowed. Banner? What banner?

Everard withdrew a long wooden pole from behind him and, with the help of the other two captains, unfurled the black cloth wrapped around its top half. Lifting it up, he raised the banner high for all to see.

The banner was plain, black, and unadorned except for the single image stitched in threads of red-gold across its center.

I sighed when I saw it.

It was a wolf’s face. A laughing wolf that bore a striking resemblance to the smug-looking familiar padding up to me. “They did a good job, don’t you think?” Ghost asked brightly.

“That’s a bad idea,” I muttered.

“Why?” she asked quizzically.

“I’d rather not have my association with Wolf proclaimed so boldly.”

“Then you shouldn’t have asked Adriel to craft me a wolf’s body,” she retorted primly.

That was true enough and left me little room to argue. I knew now what insignia was meant to go on the soldiers’ black patches—no doubt it was to be the same one decorating the left breast of my own Cloak of the Reach. That’s where Algar must have gotten the idea from, I thought morosely.

But it was not too late to get him to change it.

The high captain, though, had resumed speaking. “Soldiers, from this day forward, we are no longer citizens of New Haven.” He paused for effect. “We are Bane Wolves! And our allegiance belongs to Lord Michael only!”

The soldiers’ cheers were just as deafening this time as the last—which I took to mean they approved of Algar’s name. I groaned softly. Right, so he’s given the warband a name.

Bane Wolves.

The name had a nice ring to it, but for obvious reasons, it would not have been my first choice.

Still, there would be no changing banner, insignia, or name now.

✵ ✵ ✵

It took a minute before the warband settled down again.

When they did, Algar spun to me. It was time for the oath-taking, the only bit of the ceremony that I had been in the know about, it seemed.

The high captain stepped forward, and Ghost went down on all fours, just like we agreed prior to this. If she’d stayed upright, some of the shorter soldiers would have trouble reaching the top of her head. The familiar’s role in the ceremony was more crucial than my own. Ghost, and not me, would be the final arbitrator of each soldier’s oaths. If they gave their word falsely, she would know it.

Placing his hand on the pyre wolf, Algar looked at me, and I nodded curtly, motioning for him to get on with it. The oath itself was a simple one—I’d insisted on that—and would not take long to enact.

The captain inhaled deeply, then recited loudly for the watching soldiers’ benefit, “I, High Captain Algar, commander of the Bane Wolves, pledge myself in service to Lord Michael. From this day on, he alone holds my loyalty.”

Bowing his head, Algar fell silent and waited.

“He speaks truthfully,” Ghost confirmed.

“I, Michael,” I began, refusing to refer to myself as Lord Michael, “accept your…”

My words ran aground as a message from the Adjudicator unfurled in my mind.

Algar raised his head, his face a mix of curiosity and worry.

“One second,” I murmured, “the Game is intruding.”

High Captain Algar has offered you his allegiance.

Note, though, that individual players cannot directly accept a non-player’s pledge. You may, however, acknowledge his oath on behalf of your faction. You currently do not belong to any faction, but as an ascendant player, you have the ability to create one.

Do you wish to create a faction now?

“Urgh,” I muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Algar whispered, looking more alarmed.

“The Game won’t allow me to personally accept your allegiance. I have to do so on behalf of my faction.”

“Your faction…” he repeated. “Is that going to be a problem?”

I shook my head slowly. “It won’t be,” I replied firmly and willed my intentions to the Game.

Surprisingly, my response was rejected.

You cannot create a faction without allocating a name to it.

I sighed. “Right, a name…” I muttered. I hadn’t included one in my instructions to the Adjudicator, nor did I have one in mind yet.

I certainly wasn’t going to go with Bane Wolves. An army of non-players calling themselves that was one thing. A Game faction named the same was something else entirely. What about…

The Guardians’ Blades? No, too revealing.

Soldiers of Yore? Hmm, too wordy.

Void Warriors? More apt but also too easily associated with me.

Reachers? Short, sweet. I liked it, but again, I considered it to be a little revealing, especially considering the name of my cloak.

Finding myself unexpectedly stumped, I ground my teeth in frustration. I was glaringly aware of the confused expressions on the faces of the onlookers. The soldiers had to be wondering what the hold-up was, and whatever reasons they were coming up with, I was sure it wasn’t anything good.

How hard can it be to come up with a name? I wondered.

My gaze fell on Algar. Maybe I should ask him. The captain had done well enough with the warband’s name, and his speech had been—

I paused, recalling something Algar had said earlier. He’d called the Bane Wolves forerunners…

Forerunners, I mused.

The name rolled off the tongue and was meaningful, too, if in a way not immediately obvious to most. The Bane Wolves and the others who I expected to join my faction would be forerunners—forerunners of change. Not just for New Haven but for the Game at large.

I like it, I decided. Closing my eyes, I willed my intention to the Game.

Creating faction…

…

…

Faction creation complete.

The Forerunners have entered the Game!

Congratulations, Michael, you have formed a faction!

Factions are the primary means of controlling territory and forming alliances in the Game. Joining a faction is not like binding oneself to a Power. A faction member can join, leave, or change factions without suffering any repercussions from the Game.

A player’s spirit signature is also not marked with their faction affiliation, and it is only the faction’s leaders who can usually identify its members.

As the sole ascendant player in the Forerunners faction, you have been designated as its leader.

I inhaled sharply, digesting the Adjudicator’s words as quickly as possible. Then, opening my eyes, I focused on Algar again. “I, Michael,” I said, making sure my words reached the farthest ends of the courtyard, “accept your oath on behalf of the Forerunners faction.”

Algar’s eyes widened only fractionally at this deviation from the wording we’d agreed upon, and a soft murmur ran through the courtyard. Come morning, I expected the name Forerunners would be on every New Haveners’ lips.

Another Game message dropped in my mind.

You have accepted High Captain Algar, a non-player, into the Forerunners faction. Algar is free to break his pledge of loyalty at any time and without consequences. As are you. However, until such time as the Forerunners avow the captain—or vice versa—he will be considered the faction’s sworn man, and his actions will reflect on it.

I smiled. “It is done,” I said, shaking Algar’s hand.

Returning my smile, he bowed deeply before stepping back and allowing Megtir to take his place.

One down.

And only one thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.