The walnut in Merrick’s hand was crushed to dust before he realized what he’d done. He lifted the shattered pieces before his visor for a closer inspection before throwing them angrily to the ground, crunching the remains beneath a heavy boot. He stopped at the edge of a small clearing, squinting at the bright beam of direct sunlight boring down like some enormous laser pointer. His skin boiled beneath his heavy armor. Had it been a cooler day, however, Merrick would be boiling nevertheless.
The man approaching beneath the dazzling light set off alarms in Merrick’s head, moving his arm automatically to a heavy blunt object at his back. “The Weevil’s Head,” he’d named it. Mostly because it was, literally, the head of an enormous weevil. He didn’t wonder much about the science of that. He knew he wanted to hit things, and had been given just the weapon to do that with. Merrick’s fist curled instinctively, the other gripping hard at his weapon’s handle.
“I don’t want to fight you, son,” said the man as he passed from the light back into the forest shade. Cicadas cried out angrily from the trees. “I believe I know why you’re here, and I may be able to help you. But if you swing at me I promise it will not end well for you.”
Merrick did not move. “Berwald.“ He spat the name from his mouth. “Where is my father?”
Berwald eyed him coolly, hands clasped behind his back. “He is alive. Let’s talk somewhere more comfortable.”
“No. We’ll talk here,” Merrick snarled. Movement in the trees behind the defector Captain did little to ease the young man’s nerves. Rope ladders descended from high branches as men and women still wearing their uniforms climbed down to stand at attention behind their leader.
“We may no longer be Eleanor’s soldiers, boy, but that doesn’t make us your friends. You come here alone dressed for a fight and expect to leave with something? You’re at our mercy, not the other way around. You have no faction, you have no power. Come in. Sit down. Let’s talk.” Berwald stood relaxed and unarmed, eyes never leaving the dark space hiding Merrick’s eyes.
The armored boy’s face burned behind his helm. “Fine.”
Berwald motioned him forward, not bothering to step out of the way as Merrick approached and passed him. The defected Privateers parted as the pair passed through them toward a makeshift cabin beneath a towering tree trunk. A squat table had been arranged inside, two plates set with meat, garlic potatoes, and pints of water.
“I had a feeling you’d stop by,” said Berwald as he closed the door behind them. The two sat before the steaming plates. Merrick eyed his food suspiciously. He was starving and his skin crawled beneath pouring sweat. “I’m not going to poison you, son. And for God’s sake at least take your helmet off before you have a heat stroke.” The thought of hot food at this moment nearly made Merrick gag, but he was certainly hungry. He gave in and removed his helm, his hair now a soaking mess.
Berwald seated himself and took a long drink from his water. He considered Merrick for a long while before he spoke again. “Your father is alive,” he repeated. “Several of my people were escorting him to the Dungeon while your friend had me tied to a tree.”
“I don’t want to hear your story. I want to know how to get him back,” Merrick grunted. He shoveled a heap of potatoes into his mouth, holding them there for a moment as if checking for an unfamiliar flavor before swallowing them in a single gulp. “Where, exactly, is he and how, exactly, do I bring him out?”
The Captain clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. He pointed a slow finger at the armored boy. “You don’t get to make demands.”
The cabin door burst open and a middle-aged woman in a crisp grey uniform careened through it. “S-sir there’s trouble!”
Berwald was already on his feet, “Eleanor? The fanatics? Report, private!”
“N-neither, sir!” she stammered. “A mob is approaching through the trees to the East! Scouts said they saw Kestrel and Mako leading them.”
“Phylla?” Berwald puzzled. “I thought Mantis had them under control.”
“It seems you were wrong, sir.”
Berwald’s gaze bored into Merrick’s. “I’m going to trust you not to surprise me out there, son. Truthfully I don’t know what’s going on, but I would assume the boiling pot has finally tipped for Phylla. They never liked Mantis or any of Eleanor’s screwed-up family. I’ll give you a pass until you swing at me. You do that and you’ve made your choice. A stupid choice, but it’s yours to make.”
“Shut up, old man,” Merrick scoffed. “Let’s go hit some people.”
As they emerged from the makeshift cabin, Merrick surveyed the area closely for the first time. Above him, so high into the canopy he had to crane his neck, a network of rope bridges connected dozens of circular tree huts. Long rope ladders were being dropped from them left and right, making way for people in Privateer uniform to join them on the forest floor. Their feet hit the ground in a steady rhythm as the fell into formation behind their Captain. Berwald’s hands were clasped once again behind his back as he pulled his troops to him like a magnet to metal shavings.
In contrast to the synchronized bootfalls of the ex-Privateers came the soft, uneven pounding of running feet. Flashes of light tunics slid between the distant trees. The mob moved like a flood- some charging directly forward while others crept along at the fringes of Merrick’s vision. Two men easily outdistanced the rest of the fighters, one shooting forward so fast and light it seemed his legs weren’t even hitting the ground, the other shoving powerfully toward them in a loose, curving line.
"Darts at the ready!” called Berwald. “Only release on my word!” The two men leading the charge- Merrick assumed they were Mako and Kestrel- stopped abruptly at the edge of the clearing in the same space Merrick had been standing less than an hour before. Berwald’s hands remained firmly at his back as he took three steps toward them.
“I am not thrilled with a mob rushing our base without warning. Speak your business if you want to settle this civilly.” The Phylla fighters began filling the edges of the clearing like oil on water. Berwald’s squad stood in smart formation behind him, arms confidently at their tranquilizers.
One of the men lowered his head and flashed a deep grin, revealing narrow gaps between each tooth. Merrick knew it was Mako before he spoke. “Who wants to be civil?” asked Mako. Beside him his companion sifted through the soldiers, meeting each gaze in turn as if evaluating them for weakness. “You’ll remember it was your people who stabbed Caracal and whisked her body mysteriously away before anyone could actually see it. But please,” he stretched the word out along his tongue, “tell me more about Privateer civility.”
“We are no longer under Eleanor. We defected soon after the events at the King’s Council.” Berwald’s face grew uncharacteristically red.
“I see. So it wasn’t YOU and your people that shot all the Council members during the confusion? And it certainly couldn’t have been you at the front of a Privateer squad shouting 'for the Warden!' that day, could it?"
"Mako," Berwald cut in, "you have to listen to me now. The people you see are not your enemies until you make them so. We have decided to resist the Warden, and that makes us allies."
"You should have thought of that before declaring war on a hornet's nest like Phylla." smiled Mako.
Kestrel spoke for the first time. "And what, exactly, are you, little knight?" he called to Merrick, who had been standing at the head of the defector army just behind the Captain.
Merrick pulled Weevil's Head from its strap and bounced it in a hand. "I'm the man who's going to give you a real headache if you don't let me get back to what I was doing."
Kestrel took a long look at Merrick's weapon and began to laugh. "Is that- are you carrying one of HIS weapons? That disgraceful dropout couldn't do something right if he knew how!"
Merrick raised his eyebrows, remembering all of the items he had broken with Weevil's Head as he trekked through Kingdom. He had to disagree with the mocking Kestrel. It would do the job just fine. He glanced at Berwald and gave him a nod. The man returned a slight, sad smile.
"Captain Berwald," boomed Mako loud enough for both of the gathered crowds to hear, "seeing as there is no acting Council, Phylla stands accusing you of crimes against our leader and our people. We have determined you and all who wear the Privateer colors to be guilty and our enemies. Drop your weapons and come peacefully, or we will use be forced to resort to unpleasant means."
Berwald raised a fist in the air. Tranquilizers raised in unison. "You have no power to judge me and no right to attack my soldiers. Where is your acting Alpha? Where is Mantis?"
Mako and Kestrel exchanged a sly glance. Kestrel spoke. "As of this morning the Six Houses no longer recognize Mantis, defected Privateers, or any of Eleanor's compatriots as our own. They have been found guilty of conspiring against our Alpha and have made themselves our enemies."
"And such is the way of every war," sighed Berwald, "the commoner dies at the whim of the ignorant bastard."
"Lay down your weapons and come peacefully," demanded Kestrel, hands cupped over his mouth like a megaphone. Berwald rolled his eyes, drew his tranquilizer from his back and fired two shots directly into Mako and Kestrel in a single practiced motion.
In the seconds of confusion before the forest exploded Berwald turned to Merrick. "Son?" he called as the men's faces roiled in shock and outrage. "Hit anything without a uniform."
