Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Vilon always tried to be a man of sunny temper and of kind disposition, but he found himself deeply misliking almost everything about Rosh.

He misliked the sardonic twist of the man’s mouth, along with the black gap where his front tooth should have been, the only white peering from a great and matted red beard. He thoroughly detested the casual, grubby way the mercenary’s hand had wandered back inside Martha’s woolen skirt, especially when he could see it . And he misliked the muffled, performative moans she was now breathing directly into the soldier’s ear.

The sights, the sounds, the smell of cheap ale and desperate skin, they reminded him entirely too much of the shit where he had spent his boyhood.

But still, Vilon believed the dark and what it hid, to be a much worse companion on the road than a common whoremonger with the habit of low-talking to others. He kept his face like stone. ”We are guests at your master’s fire, Rosh. I do not see what possible interest a simple hedge knight could provoke in you.”

”Every man on the road has a story, that’s what I always say,” Rosh replied. The bowl of rabbit stew Vilon had painstakingly hunted sat on the damp grass between his boots, completely unattended. So did Martha’s. The mercenary raised his reddish, bushy brows,the same color of his fire-kissed hair, his eyes glinting with a sharp, ugly curiosity. ”But a knight in these specific hills? At this specific time? You must have a hell of a reason to be out here.”

Vilon did not like the tone it was delivered with.

It felt like an accusation.

”Are these roads special, perhaps?” Vilon asked, his voice dropping an octave as he met the man’s gaze while rising to his pure height. He was towering above him be it from seated or standing. ”Are knights legally prohibited from riding through the Principalities?”

Rosh spluttered with a sudden, wet burst of laughter. ”On the contrary, friend! They’ve been trodden by thousand a thousand times by men in iron. But as of close? Lately? Not a single one.”

”Were you in the war?” Vilon asked bluntly.

Rosh raised an eyebrow. There had been many wars in the South of late, but he understood perfectly well which one the knight meant. He shook his head. ”Were you the one to catch the famous bloody penny perhaps?”

Vilon shook his head too, deliberately ignoring the sharp, pointed stare Owen threw at him from across the flames and the chuckle that rumbled out of Rosh’s lips. The man in question did not need to know they had fought in the war, especially one with such a specific accent.

He was an Oizenian.He could feel it from his long e.

”So, if you don’t mind me asking, friend,” Rosh pressed, leaning closer, ”what’s your real reason for being out here in the brush? You don’t look to be in the service of any high lord,no offense meant to your fine person, but I don’t think you’ll find much in Oizen right now that isn’t thick mud or a shallow grave. These are unfortunate times we live in.”

”That is a hell of an interest you have in two simple travelers,” Vilon noted, his hand resting casually near his lap. ”Are there so few of us on the road?”

Rosh smiled, as if he found something deeply amusing in the knight’s innocence. ”In these parts? Nah. If you’re riding these hills alone right now, you’re either a fool, a brave man, or a bandit. Usually, two of those things are true at the same time.”

”And which one are you?” Vilon asked.

The mercenary shrugged his heavy shoulders. ”The one starved for coin. I’m here to make a living. The dear, money-pinching merchant who was smart enough to hire our steel wished to make a quick buck delivering grain where more cautious traders didn’t dare put their hands, and for bloody good reasons, too. Double the coin, triple the risk. I would have preferred the company of some other men, these ones....well you can see it for yourself.

But it is not mine the silverii spent for this hire, so I’ve got no control over it.

Now, I’ve come into these hills with half a dozen stout friends, and I can still barely sleep a wink at night.” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he scanned Vilon’s chain armor. ”But coming through these passes with just the two of you? Well, I’ll just give you wisdom enough to link up with a proper caravan. The five must have blessed you two, if you haven’t fallen to the local bandits already it means they have something in plan for you.”

”Lucky for the bandits,” Owen rumbled before Vilon could reach out to stop him. ”Or they’d get exactly what they deserve from our steel.”

Rosh’s smile widened, flashing that dark gap in his teeth. ”The bravest words always come from the youngest men, don’t they?They all think like they have something to prove, even if the price to pay is their lives. I have met a long of lads like you, all of them eager for ,who know what.’’ He sighed ’’ In the end they all get the lesson indeed, there is none to judge them in the afterlife but the Father.They all died bravely.”

The squire didn’t catch the heavy sarcasm in the jab. Owen simply nodded with a solemn, simple earnestness, taking the insult as a fine piece of praise.

”Still, you didn’t answer the core of the question, friend,” Rosh continued, his gaze drifting over to where Vilon’s warhorse was tethered near the trees. ”Why are you here? I can’t think of a single reason why a man would take his fine horses and his bright armor, and risk losing it all to a common blade in the dark. No one is going to sing grand songs about a knight who got his guts spilled while sleeping in the dirt and it’s not like there is coin for you to make.”

”They still sing about Aracina,” Vilon said pointedly.

He must have misliked the joke for Rosh’s eyes instantly hardened, the easy mockery draining from his face. The sudden tension in his frame must have been sharp, because he abruptly shoved Martha off his lap. The girl gave a small whelp of surprise, stumbling onto the grass before throwing a thoroughly accusatory, venomous glare at the knight for ruining her comfortable seat.

”Why are you here?” Rosh asked a third time, his voice losing its playful edge entirely. The two of his mercenary friends sitting on a nearby log suddenly stopped chewing and looked over, the way they did that made Vilon blurt out an answer.

”We are just passing through,” Vilon said.

”Indeed? Travelers?” Rosh countered, his fingers tapping against the wood of his spear-shaft. ”To where, exactly?”

”Mmh. Sharjaan,” he replied taking a mouthful of the nearly forgotten stew. ”There are words drifting through the taverns about a grand tourney being held by its prince, for the birth of a son. It was my wish to try my luck in the lists. As I said... we are just passing through.”

”Nasty road to take to get to Sharjaan,” Rosh murmured, his brow furrowing into a bridge.

Vilon chose entirely not to mention the embarrassing fact that they had gotten themselves lost three days ago, accidentally marching east into the rugged hills of Oizen instead of following the proper southern highway. Still, he was genuinely surprised the mercenary even knew the layout of the place.

He must have travelled them many times...

”The roads are nasty everywhere these days,” Vilon replied, taking a slow sip of his cooling broth to appear at ease.

”Aye,” Rosh grunted, straightening his thick back against the bark, though his eyes never truly left Vilon’s. ”But some are a sight nastier than others. In one you mind the mud getting in your boots. In another, you have to mind a dagger getting through your guts.It’s hard to sleep with strangers when that is a possibility.”

”Is that so?” Vilon said, carefully setting his wooden bowl down onto the damp grass. His hand rested an inch from his belt.

Rosh must have realized exactly how his threatening tone had come across, for he was remarkably quick to shift. ”Peace, friend. Peace,” he muttered, raising his scarred palms in a placating gesture. ”Meant very little by it. You are far smarter than the other fools I’ve encountered in these hills. You just wish to get through this shit place to get to a better one. I can respect that.”

”If you think your patron so foolish for taking this road, what does that make you for accepting his coin?” Vilon asked, keeping his voice steady.

”Oh, you misunderstand. I was not speaking of our dear boss, nor of me and my boys,” Rosh chuckled. ”We praise ourself to be smarter than most lots. There have been all sorts of desperate fools making their way into Oizen lately, hoping to hit it big. Don’t you know?”

Vilon shook his head.

”What do you mean by that? Hitting it big?” It was Owen who asked, his voice cutting through the tension as his spoon went diving into the cauldron for a double portion of the stew.

None of the mercenaries begrudged the squire the extra meat; the pure, massive size of the boy was enough to show he required double the fuel of a normal man.And he was still growing...

”What else? Finding the big yellow one. The water in the desert,” Rosh said, tilting his head at the squire with a pitying grin. ”You two haven’t been spending much time in the taverns along the roads have you?”

Both Vilon and Owen shook their heads. ”Did something happen?” Vilon pressed.

”Nothing much. Probably better for your health that you didn’t know, but if you must...” Rosh leaned in, dropping his voice to a gravelly whisper. ”A massive royal bounty has been put up by the crown. A heavy chest of silver for any man able to bring back real information regarding the Vulture Lord that leads to his capture or death.”

The mercenary sitting at Rosh’s side began to cackle, a wet, unpleasant sound. If Rosh was missing his front tooth, this older bastard had even less to boast of, and the few stumps that remained in his gums were completely turned to yellow rot. The worst however was his nose.

Vilon never thought a nose could be so broken, and yet...here was the proof in front of him.It did not even resemble a nose anymore , it was more like a curved stick one could found if he bore his eyes on the ground. He did his best to stop looking at that, but it was hard.

”It seems the great and mighty falcon of Yarzat has been getting unfeathered by a cleverer bird,” the old mercenary jeered, wiping a smear of brown stew-gravy away from his scraggly white beard. He turned his rheumy eyes to flash a grotesque smile at Martha, who was quietly eating her broth on her own log. ”Perhaps some other pretty bird could get unfeathered tonight? By some soft, willing hands?”

Martha completely ignored him, her eyes fixed entirely on her bowl. When she swallowed a potato she muttered ’’Not bloody likely’’

The old man’s face turned instantly sourer than it already was, a bitter muscle twitching on top of his bald, scarred head. He opened his mouth to spit some further venom, but the cold, sharp look Rosh threw him made him think better of it. He choked back his words and clamped his jaw shut.

Though he did hiss and name her a bitch.

”Apologies for that,” Rosh said, his eyes never leaving his bald companion until the old man looked away. ”Our dear Logen is a bit of a mindless blabber.He meant no nothing by that, I swear.Ain’t that right?”

He nodded.

Vilon’s hand slowly relaxed, moving a fraction away from the hilt of his sword. Rosh didn’t miss the movement.

”He did not mean anything by it,” Rosh continued, turning his heavy gaze back to Vilon. ”But you hail from Yarzat, no? You and your big squire.”

”No,” Vilon lied smoothly, his face made of indifference. ”We are just passing through the realm. We have no ill will, nor any good wishes, for its king.”

Vilon deeply misliked the direction this conversation was heading. Rosh’s mouth twitched into a small, knowing smile that made Vilon highly suspect the mercenary didn’t buy a single word of the denial. Still, the soldier merely shrugged his broad shoulders.

”That is good for you, I suppose. The King of Yarzat is not exactly hailed well in these parts, I fear,” Rosh noted, offering a piece of parting wisdom. ”Make sure to spit good things about the man with certain company, and be prepared to spit the worst blasphemies against him with another. That is my advice to you, friend, if you’re wise enough to take it.”

”I thank you for the counsel,” Vilon replied courtly, rising slowly from the log. He looked up at the grey sky. Perhaps it would stop raining in an hour or two. ”The hour grows short I fear, and we would like to retire to our mount to prepare her for the night.”

He caught Owen staring longingly at the remaining dregs in the iron pot. Vilon hid a smile and added, ”...perhaps after my squire secures one final serving, of course.”

Rosh nodded, his sardonic grin returning. ”Aye. A big beast needs his grain. We’ll be putting out the fires and loading the wagons soon enough ourselves.”

The mercenary’s head tilted back, his eyes wandering greedily over Martha’s bare shoulder. With a sharp nudge of his knees against hers, he gave a silent command. Martha let out a pleased smile setting her bowl aside.

In the end she had managed to get herself a client for the night.