Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Blake dragged his brother through the bloodied streets and up the broad steps of the Sun Palace. Cain’s two new slaves and the girl trailed close behind, their chains whispering against the marble. The palace itself still stank of death. Though a full day had passed since Khair’s fall, the stench of slaughter clung to its gilded halls like rot beneath perfume.

The corpses had been stripped bare long ago, men and women alike taken for spoils, especially the imperial guard who have been treated as diamonds admist a sea of iron.

Those that killed one of them had earned their right for their mask which they eagerly showed by either putting them on their face or on their cloth, for all to see.

Blake had 9 of them hanging around his hips.

The bodies may have been burnt outside but the blood was still there.

It streaked the tiles in long drag-marks where bodies had been hauled away, crusted in corners where the servants had died huddled, and splattered high across the golden walls . Blake’s men were killers, raiders born and bred, but none of them had the patience for scrubbing floors.

He would have Cain’s new slaves do it later, he had paid for them and they had to earn the silver spent.

Still, surprisingly the Sun Palace glimmered even through the gore. Veins of silver twisted through columns of red marble, and gilded doors rose higher than the masts of a longship. When Blake had first claimed it, he had thought himself dreaming, drunk on the thought of sleeping in a chamber worth more than half their ports combined. And Cain…well he had the same look now, his one good eye wide, lips parted, awe and greed warring on his face.

He truly was of his blood…

Blake remembered that same expression when they had opened the treasury vaults below, when the torches first revealed mountains of coin, heaps of jewels, and idols of his new god, older than their homelands. He had trembled then, shuddering with the sheer animal pleasure of beholding wealth beyond comprehension.

Now, seeing him look upon these halls in the same way, Blake felt a sour twist in his gut.

He shoved the thought down.

“HardGut!”

The shout broke through his thoughts. Two of his captains, sworn to him but a week ago, stood by the broken doors of the great audience chamber, their faces alight with eagerness, spattered still with yesterday’s blood.

Blake gave them a curt nod. That was all it took. A simple gesture, and their grins split wider, pride swelling in their chests. To men like them, his nod was worth more than silver, worth more than wine or women.

He walked past without a word, but their joy clung to him like burrs.

The admiration of thousands of hard-blooded killers, Blake thought bitterly, and yet I cannot contain one cripple.

His hand tightened on Cain’s collar as they passed deeper into the palace, blood squelching faintly beneath their boots.

At last they reached the chamber Blake had claimed as his own. He shoved the door open, let the slaves scurry inside, then flung Cain through with a violent heave. His brother hit the floor hard, the sound of bone on marble echoing in the gilded room

The cane clattered several paces away, far out of reach. Cain floundered, limbs twitching, trying to drag himself upright. He looked like a fish gasping on dry stone.

Blake’s stomach twisted with disgust, at the sight, at himself for feeling pity, at the bile rising in his throat. He swallowed it back the only way he knew how: violence.

He lashed out with a boot, catching Cain square in the gut. The blow drove the air from him, bent him double, forced a wet gag of spittle onto the shining tiles.

Before Cain could even fold properly, the girl rushed forward. Blake caught her by the hair without turning, yanking her head back so she yelped. With one heave he hurled her against the wall. Still, the sight of her hurt wrenched a whimper from Cain, a sound the kick itself had failed to pull from his chest.

Blake didn’t touch her again. No, this was not her fault. The rot sat in her master.

He grabbed Cain by the hair, hauling his face up from the marble. The cripple’s eye, bloodshot and wet, looked at him with something that was not fear but relief. That look sickened him worse than any scream.

With a snarl he slapped him once.

“I am not doing this to hurt you, big brother,” Blake hissed, striking him again, harder, until Cain’s lip split. “I am here to teach you, to wring from you the silver you cost me. Do you know the trouble you’ve brewed?” Another slap. “Do you?”

The final strike cracked loud enough to echo. Cain’s head snapped to the side, blood streaking his chin. Still, when Blake pulled his face back upright, the ruined eye rolled sluggishly, unfocused. Blake’s rage spiked. He switched from open palm to fist, driving it into Cain’s face, then his stomach. The second blow forced bile and saliva out in a spray that flecked Blake’s cheek. He wiped it away with eerie calm.

“Why do you make me do this?” His voice rose, raw. Another punch drove into Cain’s ribs. “Do you think I enjoy it? How many headaches have you given me in these weeks alone? Every order I give, you twist or disobey,what am I, your jester?”

Cain wheezed, chest heaving, blood and spit pooling at his lips. Then, through ragged breaths, came a voice hoarse but defiant:

“Didn’t I gain you a palace?”

The words froze Blake for a heartbeat. He drew his fist back, ready to silence him, but Cain’s glare caught him, hot with fury and wet with tears. His arm faltered at the sight.

“Yes!” Cain bellowed, “I did it! I! Not your captains, not your pretty killers me! This body you spit on, this broken leg, this wandering eye, this madness that makes even beggars pity me, I did what dozens of strong men could not!Those outside, do you hear me?Cain the Mad did that!He is the one that gave you the glory and gold”

His chest heaved; tears streaked through grime and blood down his ruined face. He screamed again, voice thick and breaking.

“Me, the cripple! Me, the cursed! Me, the unwanted! I did it!” He struck his chest with his fist, once, twice, as if to brand the words there. “I gave you this prize, I gave you this palace, and you stand there beating me like a disobedient hound for asking one simple thing! Is that fair?”

“Was life at any point fair to any of us?” Blake muttered, spitting the words like old wine as he left Cain writhing on the floor. He wished he could leave him there to rot , wished the silence would swallow him whole. He was tired, tired of carrying him, tired of being forced to weigh every foolish act of his crippled brother against the needs of a fleet.

But before Blake could even turn, the slave was already at Cain’s side, darting to him with a desperation that made the air thrum. Blake didn’t stop her this time. He sat instead, lowering himself onto a carved chair, letting his heavy frame sink into the golden wood. If he had wanted to wound his brother truly, he would have aimed for the girl, because Cain could bear pain, but he probably could not bear the sight of her enduring it for him.

Still bloodied, still trembling, Cain’s eyes softened the moment her hands touched him. They were small, unsure, shaking as they brushed at his cheek and shoulder, yet he allowed it.

That alone startled Blake. Cain never let anyone close. The servants sent to tend him after his madness fits always ended up walking away with bruises, broken lips, or swollen eyes. Yet here he was, clutching to the slave like she was the last rope left dangling over the abyss.

The broken loving the slave. Fitting, he thought.

Perhaps that was the lever he had been missing all this time. Threats hadn’t worked. Neither had coaxing. Violence left Cain snarling but not pliant. But this… this bond was different. If the cripple loved the girl, then hurting her, or even the threat of it, might bind him tighter than chains ever could.

He half-turned toward the doors, mind already playing with the words he’d use to summon the guards. He could have the girl and the new slaves dragged out, placed under his hand.

But then, for once, Cain moved faster.

The cripple dragged himself up off the floor, fumbling like a man forcing his body through water. He stood, swaying, chest heaving, but his gaze was steady. He met Blake’s eyes with a stubborn fire that had caused him to disobey him countless time.

He finally rasped the words he would never have expected him to utter.

“Let me stay with you,”