Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The usual lively chatter and cheers from the crew dwindled into a tense silence as the minutes stretched. A few exchanged whispers, their voices barely audible over the gentle lapping of waves against the ship’s hull was all that could be heard .

Finally, the sound of footsteps echoed up the wooden stairwell, sharp and deliberate. All eyes turned as Darron emerged, guiding a figure behind him.

The woman he brought was striking in her bearing. Her skin was deeply tanned, a sun-kissed bronze that spoke of a life lived in warmer, brighter lands. Long black hair cascaded down her back, though its neat braids were now loosened, disheveled from her captivity. She was clothed in a simple but well-made garment, its elegance dulled by days of rough handling.

This was no ordinary slave. She was the daughter of the very man whose town and palace Blake had stormed—a noblewoman, taken in the chaos of fire and steel. The town had burned, its defenders scattered, and she had been plucked from the wreckage as a prize. Not merely a spoil of conquest but as a wwarming bed, Blake’s newest bed slave.

The woman kept her gaze low, her movements hesitant as she stepped onto the deck. Her hands trembled, clutching the folds of her garment, but she dared not resist. When she finally looked up, it was to meet Blake’s piercing eyes, her own filled with dread.

Blake stepped forward, his boots clicking against the planks as the crew parted instinctively to give him space. He stopped before her, looming like a shadow over her smaller frame. His hand shot out, grabbing her firmly by the arm and pulling her upright. She let out a small gasp but did not struggle, her fear rendering her pliant.

The crew watched, as Blake turned her to face the old woman still sitting on the deck. His finger jabbed toward the woman and her curious, flickering display of fire.

”Translate,” Blake commanded, his voice low but resolute, leaving no room for refusal. His grip on her arm tightened just enough to emphasize his authority.

The woman swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as her gaze darted nervously between the old woman and Blake.

The woman gave the girl a glance and let out a chuckle before she started talking while watching at the sea.

The noblewoman’s voice trembled as she began to translate. ”She says... she says the sun is the strongest of all gods,” the woman said, her tone uncertain as though the claim itself were blasphemous. ”Unlike your gods,cruel to anyone sailing the sea, it bestows blessings only upon those who bear the right blood... and the right attitude to sacrifice what must be offered in its name.”

At this, Blake burst into laughter, a booming sound that echoed over the silent deck. The crew exchanged puzzled glances, their unease melting slightly in the wake of their captain’s amusement. ”The sun, strongest of gods? And we’ve never heard of you lot?” Blake’s voice was rich with mockery. ”What kind of gods are these, hiding in the shadows while the rest of the world sails past them?”

The noblewoman winced at his derision but pressed on, her voice gaining steadiness as she continued. ”She says their numbers are few. Their blood...” she paused, visibly uncomfortable before finding the words, ”...their blood has been tainted by men. Men who tried to mix the blessed blood with that of the common in their bit to touch heavens .”

The old woman spat something, her tone sharp and filled with scorn. The noblewoman translated hesitantly. ”She says those men succeeded only in throwing a spill of blessed blood into a sea of... filth.” Her cheeks flushed slightly at the crude description. ”And by doing so, they drew the ire of the gods themselves that came for both of them alike .”

Blake’s smirk faltered slightly, his amusement shifting to faint curiosity. He leaned forward, motioning for her to continue.

The old woman gestured emphatically, her toothless grin returning as she spoke more rapidly, her eyes gleaming with a fiery conviction. The noblewoman’s voice grew quieter, more serious. ”She says they now stay away from the court of the Arkushka... from all who associate with them. They believe the court’s corruption runs deep, and to be near it is to invite ruin, and only foolish one approach the court looking for luxury that they should have no need of...”

Blake leaned against the ship’s mast, his sharp eyes narrowing as he looked down at the noblewoman. ’’The hell is an Arkushka?” he asked, the foreign word rolling awkwardly off his tongue.

The noblewoman hesitated, her lips twitching as though unsure how to phrase it delicately. ”It... it is an insult, a pig’s son would be the translation” she said finally, her tone carefully neutral.

Blake snorted, crossing his arms. ”Figures,” he muttered, his gaze shifting to the old woman who remained seated on the deck, her gnarled hands resting idly on her knees. He raised his voice, directing it toward her. ”If you’re so strong, old woman, why are you sitting here as our slave?”

The noblewoman translated the question, her voice tight as she echoed Blake’s words in the strange, lilting tongue. At first, there was silence. Then, the old woman’s shoulders began to shake, a raspy cackle escaping her lips. It built and built until it became a wheezing, full-bodied laugh, her missing teeth visible as she tossed her head back.

The noblewoman looked increasingly uneasy as the old woman spoke between fits of laughter. ”She... she wants you to point out the one who captured her,” the noblewoman translated nervously.

Blake straightened, scanning the crew. His expression grew darker as no one stepped forward. The sailors shuffled uncomfortably, some exchanging wary glances, others pretending to focus on the horizon or the ropes in their hands.

”Well?” Blake demanded, his tone sharp. ”Which one of you idiots brought her aboard?”

Still, no one moved.

The noblewoman cleared her throat, drawing his attention back. ”She says...” her voice was softer now, almost uncertain, ”...that she chose to come aboard. She says... the flame told her to.As no man can hold her against her wishes”

Blake stared at her, his brow furrowing deeply. ”The flame told her?” he repeated, incredulity dripping from his words. ”And why in the hell would her god want her to become a slave?”

The old woman’s laughter subsided, and she spoke again, her voice low and crackling, like fire smoldering in a hearth. The noblewoman hesitated before translating. ”She says... to serve the one the flame pointed at.A man crossing the ships while leaving behind everywhere he boarded , only flames , and last nights he saw the man her god pointed at ”

There was a beat of tense silence as Blake processed her words. Slowly, the old woman raised a crooked finger, her movements deliberate. Her bony hand extended outward, pointing directly at Blake.

The deck seemed to grow quieter, the soft creak of the ship and the distant cry of seabirds the only sounds breaking the stillness.

Blake’s lips curled into a smirk

”Well, then,” he drawled, his voice heavy with sardonic amusement, ”looks like your god has a sense of humor after all.The only god I serve is the God of Sea and Storm,” he declared, his voice firm and unwavering. ”If your sun god pointed at me, then your god made a mistake.”

The noblewoman translated his words hesitantly, her voice trembling as she relayed them to the old woman. The crone’s reaction was immediate; she began to speak rapidly, her voice rising and falling like the crackling of a fire.

The noblewoman, looking increasingly uneasy, spoke up. ”She says... the god made no mistake. As she has not. She says the flame knows truth, even if men do not.”

Blake’s smirk faded into a hard line, his irritation evident. ”She’s mistaken,” he said curtly. ” I don’t owe a damn thing to her god. I don’t need her Sun God’s blessings nor her witch”

The old woman’s response came quick and forceful, and the noblewoman swallowed before translating. ”She says... that you could be king of all the seamen. All you have to do is swear loyalty to the Sun God and he will provide the power.”

Blake’s expression darkened, and a growl rumbled low in his throat. ”I’ve had enough of this,” he snapped. ”If her god is so powerful, then let him prove it. Let him help his blessed.”

He turned toward his crew, his tone commanding. ”Bind her in rope. Stop the ship. And toss the hag overboard.”

The crew hesitated for only a moment before springing into action, their faces alight with wicked grins. ”Make sure she doesn’t die,” Blake added with a faint smirk. ”I like her tricks too much to lose her just yet.”

The sailors worked swiftly, binding the old woman’s wrists and ankles tightly with coarse rope. The crone’s confusion turned to rage, her voice rising in sharp, guttural cries as they dragged her toward the side of the ship. The noblewoman tried to speak up, but Blake silenced her with a sharp glare.

With a collective grunt, the sailors threw the old woman overboard. She hit the water with a splash, her bound form struggling as she bobbed to the surface.

For a moment, she floundered, twisting and writhing in the water as the sea threatened to claim her. Her head disappeared beneath the waves, only to reemerge moments later. The crew erupted into laughter, their jeers echoing across the open sea as they tugged on the rope, jerking her above and below the water like a marionette.

Blake leaned against the railing, watching the spectacle with an unreadable expression. Her earlier words echoed in his mind. King of all the freemen...