Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Vilon’s hand jumped to the hilt of his sword the instant the voice came through, his knuckles tightened around the grip as the familiar, grim rattle of steel rang out.

But just as quickly, his hand relaxed, unclenching in the brief heartbeat it took his eyes to register the grey wolf’s pelt draped heavy over the stranger’s iron-clad shoulders.

To Vilon’s relief, a quick glance back showed that Owen had disarmed himself just as fast upon sighting the man’s armor.

In fact, the boy did more than that, and seemed downright thrilled at the encounter. One would have thought him a starry-eyed child by the way he blurted out his next words, his voice squeaking with sudden realization.

”A Crown’s Hound!”

Fortunately, the exclamation seemed to amuse the soldier. He gave no hint of anger at Vilon’s initial, defensive twitch toward his blade.

”The boy’s got the right of it!” The Hound grinned, leaning casually against the barn’s timber frame, a broad hand resting over his pommel. ”Quite a smart lad, your son.”

Owen’s grin stretched from ear to ear at the compliment, likely the first time in his life anyone had ever accused him of being intelligent. Vilon, for his part, was still waiting for his first.

”I am not his son,” Owen protested, though the beaming smile never left his face. ”I am a squire! Bound to Ser Vilon!” He pointed a enthusiastic finger at his master, who promptly stepped in to take control of the conversation.

”My apologies, friend,” Vilon said, offering a curt, respectful nod as he swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted from Chestnut. ”You gave me a bit of a turn. It is an honor to meet one of the Crown’s own men on the road.”

”Ha! It’s been a long moon since I last received a greeting like that,” the soldier chuckled, shifting his weight.

Owen raised an eyebrow, his curiosity getting the better of his manners. ”Do the folk around here not recognize your colors and your wolf, ser?”

”Oh, they recognize us, lad. That they do,” the Hound said, his smile turning thin, hard, and utterly devoid of warmth. ”There isn’t a breathing soul in this whole wretched province who doesn’t know the sight of a wolf skin.”

”I expect they’re more accustomed to spitting into the dirt whenever you ride past,” Vilon observed softly.

”Aye! The ser has the right gist of it!” The soldier let out a booming laugh, not bothered a bit by his words. ”It was our torches that set the fields blazingly bright, after all. Made a magnificent fire, too, though it left a bloody massive pile of ashes, it almost dimmed the sun for days! Still... grand fun while it lasted.”

The man paused, his sharp eyes lingering on both knight and squire, taking in their weathered gear and travel-stained cloaks. ”Mariol’s the name of this one. You two aren’t from these parts, are you? Ground too dry for that to be.” He let out another loud cackle, white teeth gleaming through a scruffy brown beard.

”I am from Yarzat!” Owen blurted out, throwing his shoulders back as if naming the kingdom were the highest badge of honor a boy could wear.

”Aye, is that so?” Mariol grinned down at the squire. ”Look at you, a sharp little bastard! Yarzat breeds the finest stock in the south, you’re smart to shout it loud! You gotta be proud of that! What about you, Ser? Do you hail from there as well?”

”I do not share the honor of being native-born,” Vilon admitted smoothly. He had no intention of lying, but he wasn’t above offering a piece of truth that would buy them favor. Looking around the quiet hamlet, it was clear this Hound was the one holding the leash in these parts; if they needed a safe hearth for the night, Mariol was the man to appease. ”Though I did fight under your King’s banners once. I rode beside the Lord of Epietoli at the Ford.”

”You did?”

The cold, cynical edge in Mariol’s white smile softened, warming into something genuine. He stepped out from the shadow of the barn, giving Vilon a heavy, approving nod.

”I knew my instincts weren’t lying to me when I spotted you coming down the hill. I liked the look of you the second I laid eyes on that horse.” Mariol spat into the grass and gestured with a leather-gloved hand. ”You take good keep of your horse, I can see he is glad to have you. The Ford was a bloody meat-grinder, friend. Tell me... did you see the Mad Bull fight?”

A subtle, involuntary shiver ran down Vilon’s spine at the mere mention of the lord, memories of screaming men and churned mud flashing across his mind. Yet, he straightened his back and gently corrected the soldier.

”The Valorous Bull,” Vilon said, his tone measured and respectful. He paused, a faint, reflective smidge of humor touching his lips. ”And while I saw him there, no... I would not say I saw him fight at the Ford.”

Mariol tilted his head, amused. ”No? What was he doing, then?”

”He was dancing,” Vilon replied simply. ”For I could call the way that man moved through an iron wall of spearmen by no other name. It was a dance of blood and steel, and I have never seen its equal since.”

”Ah! I would have given a year’s pay to see it with my own eyes,the way people desceeribe it” Mariol said, slapping his armored thigh. ”Our own King had a bloody bout down in the mud there, too. We still get ourselves rowdy just talking about it. Some of the men thought him dead, you know? But hell, everyone bled down in that ditch, and we kept our faith in him. Turns out that was the right choice, wasn’t it?”

The Hound shifted his weight, turning his eyes back toward the squire. ”By the bye... what’s a couple of wanderers like you doing out in these parts anyway? You’re a long way from home, lad.”

”We are looking to resupply our food sacks and ask for directions toward the Zauern,” Vilon cut in smoothly before Owen could run his mouth. He hadn’t forgotten that Sharjaan had invaded Yarzat just last year; it was far safer not to advertise that they were heading toward unsettled territory.

”The Zauern?” Mariol stroked his scruffy beard, squinting into the distance. ”Well, you’ll need to keep pushing east for that. Toward Oizen itself. You’re lucky, the eastern road is far safer than the rest of this pit. That’s where our main command is posted, after all. Once you get near the city, you’ll cross a river just before the outer walls. Make sure you remember this: that’s not the Zauern. That’s the Raucus, it’s just a muddy off-shoot. You just keep marching east past it. All in all, I’d say it’s a two or three days’ trek on foot. Maybe a single day’s ride from Oizen.”

”I see,” Vilon said, scratching the back of his neck beneath his half-helm. ”We likely would have turned south if you hadn’t set us straight. You’ve saved our arses today, friend.”

”More than happy to have it saved on my account!” Mariol barked with laughter. ”And a good thing you asked, truly. South is where you do not want to wander. That whole quarter is a bloody den of vultures and gangers.”

”Just the south?” Vilon murmured, unable to entirely keep the dry irony out of his voice.

Luckily, the Hound enjoyed the jab enough to roar with laughter rather than smash Vilon’s teeth in.

”Aye! Point taken, ser!” Mariol grinned, pounding his chest plate. ”We’re the ones patrolling these damn roads, so trust me, we know the state of the muck better than anyone. Whenever you see corpses swinging from the oak branches, that’s our handiwork. Those three poor bastards you passed on the hill? Ours. We’re doing the gods’ work in the King’s name across this forsaken province. But the south... that’s where the real poison festers, you got nothing to do there, or at least nothing worth iron in the guts.”

The soldier spat into the dirt, his tone turning dark and viciously satisfied. ”Still, we’re making progress. The Vulture Lord and his miserable little minions are dying off, either by our steel or by empty bellies. Something happened up in Oizen that cut off their supply lines. I don’t know the high-lord politics of it, but you won’t hear me complaining about starving bandits. Makes ’em desperate. Desperate men get sloppy, sloppy men make noise, and the moment we sniff ’em out, they stop breathing.”

Mariol leaned in slightly, winking at Owen. ”Of course, a starving wolf bites hardest before it dies. Makes it a bit rough on the poor bastards traveling the road... we usually end up arriving in time to avenge a slaughtered merchant rather than save him. But hey, justice is justice, eh?”

Vilon swallowed his disgust and offered a firm, polite nod. ”We are grateful for the warning, Mariol. Truly.”

”Ah, the pleasure’s all mine, brother! It’s rare to meet a man who knows how the Bull dances.” Mariol gestured down the main dirt thoroughfare of the hamlet. ”For your food, keep heading straight through the village. Pass the fourth house with the painted eyes over the lintel, and you’ll find a little tavern at the end of the lane.”

The Hound grinned, exposing his white teeth again. ”You tell that nasty, sour-faced bitch behind the counter that Mariol sent you. Food is scarce as gold around here, and the locals love nothing more than ripping off wide-eyed travelers.’’ he looked him up and down, as if making sure he indeed would get ripped off. ’’ But you drop my name, and she’ll kiss your boots and scrape the bottom of the stew pot for you.”

He let out a short, proud snort, adjusting the wolf pelt over his shoulder. ”These folk know damn well who keeps them and their fat sheep safe from the Vulture’s men.They may not love us, but they bloody well better respect us! Which is only fair, mind you... considering how much ’help’ they gave us during the war.Anyway me and my boy are set for our patrols, maybe we will come back in one or two days, if you are still here, we’ll share a drink eh?”

’’I don’t think we will be here. But I would like for nothing more’’ He said keeping his inner feelings in check.

’’Well, aren’t you a good fella’?’’ he said after a chuckle ’’Well no matter, keep yourself safe on the road, you never know what sprout from the grass, might be a snake to bite you or a big black bird that want to peck at your guts and fuck your arse, if you got those soft feature.In both cases keep your sight sharp and your sword sharper still , eh?!’’