The life of a mercenary is far from glamorous. Sure, the stories that tell of a brave band of heroes who were hired by a poor and downtrodden village to defeat the evil lord who oppressed them and made their lives miserable make it sound like mercenaries go on grand adventures every day. But that is far from the truth. What they don’t tell in the stories is that the odds of finding jobs that take people on a great journey to deliver justice to the wicked are one in a million. What they also don’t explain is what happens in between those grand adventures. Mercenaries don’t just have jobs flopped on them on the fly, we have to either search for someone who is willing to hire us to do something they either can’t do or need help with or wait around in specific areas for someone to approach you with a job offer.
Waiting. There is a lot of waiting involved in finding mercenary work. And that is what I am on my way to do. Wait. As I make my way past Freeport proper, I start to take note of how the scenery changes from nice, clean presentable buildings on the mainland to poorly maintained buildings with faded paint and cracks in the walls that look hastily patched on one of the other nearby islands. The main island of Freeport was mainly for show for all the tourists who came to visit, with a few museums that tell of Freeport’s less than stellar history and the Grand Market with people from all over the world trying to peddle their wares from wherever they came from. It’s still early in the morning so there isn’t all that much going on right now, with some shops still closed for the time being.
But as you drift away from the main island to one of the nearby smaller islands, things take a drastic turn for the worse. The smaller islands are the home to gangs, crime lords, corrupt business deals, and the poorer districts. This is the part of the island nation where someone like me can somewhat reliably find a job. I walk down the unkempt road toward one of the bars where I do most of my business, careful not to make eye contact with anyone or bump into someone. You have to be aware of your surroundings at all times while walking around in the poorer districts. Just because I was wearing heavy armor and had a sword sheathed at my side didn’t mean that people wouldn’t try anything.
After a little while I make it to my destination and walk through the front door. This particular bar was on the small side, with a few tables and booths in the dining area and a bar that could seat about ten people. As I enter the gryphon hostess looks up and greets me.
“Hello, welcome to- oh! Hey Valiant. You’re here early,” she says with a bit of surprise in her voice.
“Yeah,” I respond. “I figured I’d get here early so I can get a good seat.”
“Okay, do you want a table or booth?” the gryphon asked.
“A booth would be preferred,” I said looking over the dining area.
“Alright then, follow me please.” She grabs a menu from her stand and I follow her to one of the booths in the back of the room. I take my seat, making sure to face the door so I can see who comes in and the gryphon takes my order. One of the reasons I came in early was to get something to eat. Negotiating a contract on an empty stomach was not a good idea. Thinking about food has a funny way of making someone try to talk the employer into raising the pay, which could end up breaking the entire deal.
People start coming into the bar around the time I finish eating. Some sailors looking to get something quick before heading out to sea, a couple of common folks, some dock workers, and some others that I recognize as other mercs. As the hours passed by, I kept my eye on the entrance, hoping for someone with the look that says I’m looking for business to enter but no one yet.
Such was the life of a freelancer. Even with my training back when I was with the Royal Guard, finding freelance work was challenging. Sure, telling your would-be employers that you had six years of military experience helped, but that usually came with the question of why I left the Royal Guard. That was a tricky question for me to give a straight answer to. Telling them that I was honorably discharged set some people at ease, but it wasn’t the whole truth. The part that I felt was necessary to leave out was the fact that the injury that left me blind in my right eye as well as a few other serious injuries I sustained made the top brass worried if I could perform my duties. No matter how much I protested, they thought that the best course of action was to give me an honorable discharge. I was able to keep my rank as Sergeant, but I would never be deployed in active duty.
There are mercenary groups that I could have signed up with but I think it would be too much of a hassle. For starters, mercenary groups like the Blood Stripes and the True heirs exclusively hired zebras, so that eliminates them as a possibility. I could try to sign on with one of the clans, but I would have to prove that I was related to a family member from that clan. Considering that my father is a pegasus I could probably look back into my family tree and find someone with the name Doo or Striker, but that would take a lot of time and there would be no guarantee that I would get the kind of work that I wanted just because I was someone’s great, great, great grandnephew twice removed. Also, there was the fact that I could be related to someone in the Kicker clan considering that my family has lived in Equestria for a few generations and that could spark a whole clan rivalry thing that I have no interest in getting involved in.
My best option would have been to sign up with the Free Companions. They had a good reputation in Freeport, being one of the mercenary companies that helped the Council a few hundred years ago defeat the Necrocrats and abolish slavery in Freeport. And from what I could tell they were well organized too. But the one thing that stopped me from signing up with them was their uniform. I could deal with wearing a helmet all day, but I didn’t like their hats. They were too big and fancy looking. Even though I’m pretty sure the mercs in the Free Companions were trained properly and well disciplined, I just couldn’t take myself seriously wearing that big ridiculous feathered hat.
While I was lost in thought I almost missed the next person who entered. He was a young-looking earth pony with a light blue coat, but the fact that he had his mane groomed told me that he wasn’t a sailor or some random schmuck off the street. So, the only logical conclusion is that he’s looking to hire someone. The fact that he sat down at a table and declined the menu only confirmed my suspicion. After about two minutes of watching the stallion and the other mercs I got up from my seat and sat down across from him. He looked up and gave me a small half-smile.
“Are you looking for work?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“Depends, what are you offering?” I answer in a similar tone. Honestly, I have no idea why he was trying to be quiet while talking to someone who was clearly wearing splint mail. Whatever made him comfortable, I guess.
“Before we talk about the job, I’m going to need you to cast a privacy spell,” he replied back. Great. He is not going to like the answer I’m about to give him, but it’s important to be upfront with him on what I can and can’t do.
“Sorry, but I’m not able to do that,” I start with, knowing where this conversation is going.
His expression went from neutral to annoyed confusion at that statement. “And why is that?” he asked, clearly confused as to why a unicorn isn’t able to cast magic.
“It’s something I was born with,” I begin to explain. “It’s called Stunted Magical Growth. It makes it very hard for me to cast any magic stronger than basic telekinesis. If you want, I have a booth near the back if you want to have a mostly private conversation.”
The stallion stares at me through slightly squinted eyes for a moment before nodding. We get up from the table and move over to the booth. I can tell he isn’t happy but at least he was willing to work with me. Lately I’ve been turned away because people expected me to be able to cast spells like a normal unicorn.
“I’m sure you don’t need to hear all of the details about who I am, but let me start by telling you that I work for one of the trading companies,” he started to say, careful not to speak too loudly but just loud enough for me to hear him. “I was supposed to be next in line for a promotion, but the bastards went with someone else. Someone who doesn't deserve to be promoted. Someone who I’m sure either bribed or blackmailed someone in the company."
Oh boy. I do not like where this is heading.
"So, what I would like for you to do-"
Please tell me you want me to either threaten him into resigning or hurt him badly enough to put him in the hospital.
"- is find and kill a zebra by the name of Malik."
Damnit. He has to have the one type of job that I'm unwilling to do. Killing someone in cold blood goes against the code of honor I swore on many years ago when I joined the Royal Guard. Well, let's see if I can salvage this with a bit of negotiation. Most of the time, people can be talked out of having someone murdered. And I really need to get a job today because I just spent the last of my ducats on breakfast. Rent was due last week and it pretty much wiped out the last of my savings.
"Does this zebra have to die?" I ask. "If you want, I could be very persuasive and convince him that it would be within his best interest to step down or even quit. And if he doesn’t, I can put him in the emergency room for long enough that he will need to be replaced."
"No! Malik has to go," the earth pony almost shouted. "He's been a pain in my rear for far too long. I am willing to pay you five thousand ducats to get rid of him for me."
Well that settles that then. "I'm sorry for wasting your time, but I can't accept this job," I tell him with an exasperated sigh. "However, did you see a pegasus sitting at another booth wearing a cloak with his hood up?"
"Yeah?"
"I believe he can help you with your problem," I tell him, careful not to sound disappointed.
Instead of getting up and going over to the pegasus I mentioned the earth pony gives me a confused look and says “Wait, you’re a mercenary right? I thought mercenaries do any job as long as they get paid.”
Alright, I’m starting to get annoyed now. But I shouldn’t be too hard on the guy. I guess it is my fault for not recognizing that this might be a new experience for him. I should have recognized his inexperience with making a deal with a mercenary when the other mercs didn’t approach him when he first came in. So, let’s turn this into an opportunity for him to learn something.
“Let me ask you something,” I begin. “Is this your first time doing something like this?”
“Umm...it is, yeah,” he says in response, his ears folding back in embarrassment.
“Okay. I’m going to explain a few things for you so you,” I say. “Let me start by saying that not all mercenaries are the same. There are some mercs that can be hired to kill people. They like to be called assassins, though if you want to be technical about it, they are mercenaries due to the fact that they get privately contracted to perform a specific task in exchange for money. They tend to be small, slim, and lightly armed and armored and they’re really good at staying out of sight.”
“Then there are mercs like me,” I continue to say. “The mercenaries who wear a lot of armor and either wield two weapons, one weapon and a shield, or a large weapon are more suited to jobs that require protection, like being someone’s bodyguard, guarding a certain place, or escorting something or someone from one place to another. While a mercenary like me could take an assassination job, it wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“And why is that?”
“Because the gear I have equipped makes me too loud and noticeable,” I answer. “Jobs like the one you want done require someone to go unnoticed. If I go out and kill someone wearing all of this heavy armor, I risk someone being able to recognize me and the next thing I know I’m sitting in a cell for a few years.”
He was quiet for a moment, probably processing everything that I told him. After a few seconds of thinking he finally spoke. “Oh, I see then. Thank you for telling me all of this. I’ll try to remember everything for the next time.” Then he did something I really did not expect. He reached into his bags and pulled out a small sack of coins, placed it on the table and pushed it towards me. “Here, there’s fifty ducats in that bag.” After he gave me the money he stood up and walked over to the lone pegasus.
Huh. Looks like it still pays to be nice every once in a while. This should buy me dinner for tonight so I can worry about starving tomorrow.
I left the bar around noon. Business for them was just as slow for them as it was for me. The only person who came in to offer a job was that earth pony who ended up striking an agreement with the pegasus I told him to talk to, and the other freelancers that I could recognize left an hour before I did. I didn’t know the pegasus personally but I have seen him from time to time. We talked to each other once and while I know he told me his name, I couldn’t remember it to save my life. Maybe it was Nimbus something? Or something Nimbus? No matter. I just hope he’s grateful for me sending him the guy I couldn’t help. Not that I’m looking for any favors, but I do hope he does something like this for me in the future.
The next item on my agenda for the day didn’t pan out so well either. I went to the industrial and warehouse districts to see if anyone needed some extra security for the night shift. Everyone I spoke to that had “Help Wanted” signs told me that extra security wasn’t necessary for one reason or another or that the sign meant they were looking for other kinds of help that I wasn’t too interested in. If only someone had broken into or vandalized any of the businesses recently. It would have made them much more receptive to my offer. No, don’t think like that. Wishing misfortune on someone else just so I can take advantage of their situation isn’t the way I think about things. I’d like to believe that these corrupt islands haven’t affected my moral standing. Still, the other work they had to offer is something for me to remember for tomorrow. If I can’t find anything solid by the end of the day I would have to come back here and hope they were still looking for manual laborers. I did tell them that I would think about it.
I started to head home after buying some things from the market to make for dinner as the sun was starting to get low. I live in a small apartment complex in one of the poor districts of Freeport, so naturally the sun was already down by the time I got there. Before heading to my home, I stopped by the community mailbox and grabbed whatever was in my slot. I didn’t really look at what I got, I just shoved it in my bag before anyone noticed. Not that I believed that anyone would be interested in what kind of mail I received, but I have heard from some of my neighbors that they had someone break into their mail slot before.
When I stepped inside my apartment, I immediately took my armor off and put it on the mannequin in my room, hung my longsword on the wall with the rest of my weapons, and took a long hot shower. Nothing beats a good shower after walking around in splint mail all day. It really helps relax my back muscles. As much as I enjoy my time in the shower, I have to cut it short in order to prepare what I believe to be my last square meal for the foreseeable future, so I get out of the bathroom and dry myself off before taking my bag and heading to the kitchen area. I get out a medium sized pot, filled it with water and the vegetables and spices I bought from the market, and place it on the small two-burner stove to boil. Vegetable stew is one of the best things to make when you’re short on cash because I can store what I don’t eat tonight in the fridge for later.
Now with nothing else to do but wait for my stew to make, I grab the mail I put in my bag earlier and start to sort through it. The first item I looked at was the daily paper. Before I could skim through the help wanted section, the thing that caught my attention was the headline “Terror of the Seas Defeated! Metal Mome Hospitalized!”
“Huh, someone finally took that bastard out,” I say to myself. I’ve thought about going after him myself but decided it would have been too much for me to handle. First, I would need to convince a ship captain to purposely take their ship out and hunt down a dangerous pirate. Then, I would have to recruit a lot of other mercenaries to come with me so it would be an even fight, and then divide up the bounty in a way that made everyone happy. Taking on an entire pirate ship on my own was simply out of the question. I can handle myself in a fight better than most, but even I had my limits.
“As much as I want to read this, I need to check the rest of my mail first,” I continue to say to no one in particular as I move from the newspaper to the small pile of letters. “Let's see here, bill, advertisement, another advertisement, and…” I start to trail off as I come to the last letter in the pile. On the part of the letter that designates who the message is for, it had my name as Sgt. Valiant. “Wow, I haven’t been called Sergeant in quite some time. Wait, who in Freeport would know that I was a Sergeant?” I turned over the letter to open it and on the backside was a wax seal bearing a symbol resembling the sun. “What could Equestria want with me?” I ask myself as I tear open the letter. I take out the message, unfold it, and start to read.
Sgt. Valiant,
We are reaching out to you because Equestria requires your assistance. We have a job that we hope you will accept. If you accept, take this letter to the Equestrian Embassy in Freeport tomorrow and present it to the clerk at the front desk.
Huh. Looks like today might not have been a waste after all.
Author's Note
Alright, here we go. Not only is this my debut story on FIM Fiction, but it is my first story that I have written. I want to thank Chengar Qordath for giving me this opportunity to write in his Winningverse. I hope everyone enjoys the story. If you have any concerns please make yourself heard in the comments. Your feedback will help me grow as a writer.
Note: The Changelings tag will be more relevant in the later chapters of this story.
