Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The Kakunian leader sat atop a stallion as black as a funeral shroud, its chestnut mane braided as it fell on the sides of its long neck. He rode out ahead of his guard, his face hidden behind a visor of polished gold, but there was no mistaking the man. In all of Kakunia, only two men would dare sport such armor, and at the moment, they were busy trying to open each other’s veins.

One his father had freed, the other he had betrayed in alliance.

He sat tall and graceful, his long blond hair pulled into a single braid like that of his steed that fell down his back. A cloak of red silk fluttered from his shoulders, the crimson fabric clashing violently with the blinding gold of his helm. He was the sort of man who could be one in a thousand, yet you’d spot him as easily as a giraffe in a sea of common ponies.

No herald stepped forward to announce him; the man was his own introduction. The bull emblazoned across his chest, and the very curves of the armor that mimicked the beast, lent him an air of ferocity that seemed to grow more potent the more soldiers he put behind him.

Basil inclined his head, eyes tracking the queer heraldry on the man’s breastplate.He did not recall the beast having a crown last he checked ”Well met, my Lords. We were honored to receive word of your arrival. His Grace of Yarzat has tasked me with bidding you welcome. So, indeed, well met.”

”I heard tales of your father’s tidings while I was tending to my own... family business,” replied the Lord of Epirietoli. He pulled the golden bull’s head from his brow, revealing a face that was undeniably comely, yet entirely unwelcomed to the prince’s son. ”I am glad to see my efforts for our alliance have met with such success by your father’s hand.”

”And we cheered as well, when we heard of yours, my Lord,” Basil replied, keeping his voice smooth. ”My father is most pleased that, for the first time in our history, the Bull of Kakunia shall march alongside the Falcon of Yarzat. Tales of your valor at Ricorum have spread all the way to our camp. We are honored to host you, to toast with you... and to bleed with you.”

Basil’s eyes flickered toward the silk banners fluttering behind Merelao. Whether the blood shed would be theirs or the Oizenians’ remained to be seen. ”...And the noble company that attends you today.”

”Permit me to acquaint you, then,” Merelao said with a flourish. ”Ser Sandor, heir to Ponstelbium, and Lord Harmen of Itaurera, both saw the justice in my cause and lent me their steel.Enemy we were , now we shall bleed under common banner.

Then, my own leal lords: Lord Dagons of Floria, with his brother Myles and nephew Dickon. There is Ser Arron, heir to Laccenilia, whose father’s health, unfortunately, keeps him bedridden. And, of course, the twins of Polleson, Mishon and Mivion. Mishon is the elder by a few minutes, though I suspect Mivion fights twice as hard to make up for the delay.

They were heartbroken to miss the glory of Ricorum, but they are eager to wash away that shame against the Oizenians.”

The knights nodded dutifully to their commander, and Merelao flashed an angelic smile after he opened his visors before turning to the final figure in his retinue.

”And how could I forget the lady? My own paramour, Ellania, sister to the Lord of Iutegovium. Her brother expressed great sadness at his inability to raise a levy in time for the march, so his sister was more than eager to accompany our glorious campaign in his stead.”

Basil offered a polite nod to the lady, though the term ’paramour’ rang in his ears.He was essentially slapping the Lord of Iutegovium in the face by flaunting his sister as a mistress in open camp.Was it to be meant as an insult?Was it a crime of passion?Or was the lord simply looking to link the two houses together no matter the shame he was incurring?

She was pleasing enough to the eye, certainly, but Basil doubted she was beautiful enough to justify the insult to her brother’s house.If that was what all of that was.

”Your presence is as radiant as the sun, my Lady,” Basil said, inclining his head. ”I hope you will not take the rusticity of our camp as a sign of poor stewardship. Had we known a flower was to arrive, we would have made a much greater effort to prepare the garden.”

Lady Ellania turned to her companion with a playful glint in her eye. ”It seems we have finally found someone with a tongue more dutiful than yours, my Lord.”

”You would be surprised how quickly the boy’s tongue turns to thorns when there are no flowers to be found,” Merelao replied, flashing Basil a sardonic, knowing smile. Both of them remembered the sharp words they had traded when they first met; there was a history there that hadn’t quite been smoothed over by silk and ceremony. ”If it is not too much of a burden, we would welcome the hospitality of your father’s camp. It has been a long, dusty road, especially through that ashy stretch.”

”Gifts of the League’s arrival, I’m afraid,” Basil replied smoothly. ”My father was kind enough to exchange a few ’gifts’ of his own in return. If you would allow it, I would be honored to accompany you the rest of the way.”

”Well, I am sure my Lady would appreciate a fresh mind for company,” Merelao said, his eyes drifting toward the horizon where the Yarzat banners flew. ”Mine, I fear, is too labored with certain questions I am eager to put to your father.”

Basil could only guess what those questions were, and none of them boded well for the peace of the camp.

”If my Lord would not complain about his Lady holding my arm, metaphorically speaking, of course, I would be most honored to lead the way,” Basil said, gesturing toward the road.

Both adults laughed.

As they began to move, Ellania guided her horse closer to his. Her dark hair flowed down her back in loose waves, smelling faintly of jasmine and horse sweat. ”My Lord spoke much of you on the march,” she said amiably.

”I hope the words were kind?” Basil asked, keeping his tone light.

”Many words were said,” she replied, her smile noncommittal. ”A great many indeed.”

”I understand,” Basil murmured. He didn’t push further.

He set his horse between them, and the odd procession began its final leg toward the Yarzat camp. They made a strange sight: the golden bull of Kakunia, the dark-haired paramour, and the Prince of Yarzat’s heir in his red silk cloak, all riding through a landscape of blackened, skeletal trees. The mud of the road clung to the fine hooves of their chargers, and the silence of the woods was broken only by the rhythmic clink of mail and the distant, haunting cry of a scavenger bird.

It appeared there many of those following them wherever they went.

”Last I checked, there was a boy all too eager to speak his mind,” Merelao said, his voice cutting through the steady rhythm of the horses. ”Might I ask where he went?”

”Deep inside, my Lord,” Basil replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the path. ”I have a healthy fear of giving you insult. My father was quite thorough in explaining my duties, with a special emphasis on how still my tongue should remain.”

”That is indeed regrettable,” Merelao said, turning to the Lady Ellania with a smirk. ”I fear you won’t have the chance to hear the boy blabber, my Lady.”

Basil noticed they had put a bit of distance between themselves and the rest of the vanguard, just enough to speak without a dozen ears catching every word.

”I was surprised to see you here at all,” Merelao continued, his tone dropping into something more conversational. ”I would have expected your mother to keep you on a much shorter leash.”

”I have a tendency to bite whenever it gets pulled, my Lord.’’ Basil replied’’ When a dog is finally free, he usually bolts for the horizon. But I am a man of reason, so instead of running, I hid. I’m small, so I made it a fair distance before my father’s knights caught up with me. By the time they found me, I smelled of salt-meat and turnips, I’m afraid.”

Both the Lord and the Lady laughed at that. Basil noticed Ellania’s hand was absentmindedly drifting toward Merelao’s thigh, the pair certainly didn’t seem to care much for the scandal of their arrangement.

”I would have expected your father to send you back to court immediately,just as I expected a many great deal of other things.” Merelao said, his eyes meeting Basil’s with an intensity that felt like a probe.

”He meant to,” Basil said, averting his gaze to the road ahead. ”But I am young, and I have very persuasive eyes. You’d be surprised how far a few well-timed tears can get you.”

Merelao chuckled. ”You’ve grown more amusing since we last met.”

”I would have hoped to become taller, but I’ll take amusing for now.”

”Speaking of amusement,” Merelao said, his voice shifting gears, ”how have you found this war?”

Basil’s horse snorted, and he reached down to pat the beast’s neck. ”Eye-opening. May I ask the same of you?”

”Dutiful,” Merelao replied.

And probably delightful, Basil thought, though he kept the jab behind his teeth.

”My young Lord,” Ellania chimed in, her dark hair catching the light, ”I was told your father houses cannibal heretics who paint themselves in the blood of men before they charge into battle.So many words came of them, so many fallacies I wager too. But so many are there of them that a woman known not what to believe.Might you shine any light?”

”I was hoping to see the monsters for myself,” Merelao added, his grin returning.

”They are not monsters,” Basil said quickly, then caught his tone. ”They are Voghondai, my Lady. They aren’t cannibals, and while they do paint themselves before a fight, I assure you it isn’t with blood, unless it is afterward.Then in that case they are as red as an apple.

They are valorous warriors, ferocious against their enemies to a point of cruelty, perhaps, but I imagine the Ezvanians and Habadians will have much to tell their children about the mistake of marching against my father to worry about the nightmares to come from those dutiful servants of ours..”

He met the Lady’s eyes. ”The Voghondai are the civilized ones, rather. My father saw fit to call upon others from the lands that have shunned the Azanians for centuries. I’d advise you not to interact with them too much; they are crude to the bone, and quite bloody besides.”

”We shall take that into consideration,” Merelao said, his tone turning suddenly sharp. ”We wouldn’t want any ’accidents’ to sour our friendship with the Falcon of Yarzat, would we? It is best if all secrets are out in the open before an accident can occur.”

The subtext hit Basil well enough.

Is he trying to get me to falter, he wondered.

”That is a wise way to think my lord,” Basil replied, his heart hammering against his ribs. ”We cherish our friendship too. Truth is the bread we should all break. Speaking of truth... how do your lords feel about this excursion to aid us?”

”They are eager to wield steel,” Merelao said. ”To wash away the dishonor of not joining my banner sooner.”

”A noble intent. One my father understands well, just as he understands the greed of those who claimed what wasn’t theirs. The Oizenians begged at the feet of others to do what they could not. The Habadians came only to be kings of all they touched. And then, of course, your dear uncle... who clasped hands with the Habadians to give his son a crown that isn’t his by right. Our enemy are all united be treacher and greed.

Though, in the case of your uncle I suppose a letter from the High Priest in Romelia is all it takes to make the law muddy.”

Basil saw the smile on Merelao’s face falter. Ellania’s hand stopped its fidgeting to the middle of the lord’s inner thigh.

”Thankfully,” Basil continued, leaning in just a fraction, ”His Holiness is a fast friend with certain shared acquaintances of my father. And those acquaintances have let us know just how eager your uncle is to please the High Priest, all for a moment of his holy attention.”

Merelao’s expression went cold. The playfulness was gone.

”I hope His Holiness finds no reason to make such a friendship official,” Merelao muttered softly.

Basil shrugged, the red silk of his cloak rippling. ”Who can say what goes on in the mind of the High Priest? What bread he chooses to break, and with whom, is his decision alone. Just as it is the same choosing who we make as friend.

We can only hope he prefers our bakery to your uncle’s.”