Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

"Isn't it exciting?"

The voice belonged to a young man of fifteen, bright with energy. He leaned sideways in the saddle toward the older one riding beside him, his grin wide and knowing.

His hair was black as smoldering charcoal, combed back to either side in a slightly uneven middle part. A stray lock, rebellious as its owner, had fallen to rest just above his left brow, where a thin scar ran downward in a pale, jagged line before ending two finger-widths above his eye. It caught the sunlight now, like a slash of silver against his otherwise youthful face.

Behind them, a column of soldiers stretched along the well-worn dirt road, their boots drumming out a steady march. Spears and banners swayed rhythmically in the breeze, the metallic clink of armor punctuating the muffled thud of hooves.

The two riders led them toward the lands of their new master.

The boy was Thalien, the black sheep of what had once been the royal house of Herculia. Not so long ago, his name had been a whispered embarrassment at court, as the noble jester; now he was lord of several castles and swaths of fertile land, rewards granted by the very conqueror who had broken Herculia's crown.

His elder brother, Lord Arnold, rode in silence beside him, preferring the sight of the green countryside to the endless chatter of his sibling.

Arnold regretted agreeing to share the road with him. In fact, the regret had settled on him less than a league from their departure.

I should have refused his request and ridden on my own, he thought, though he knew he could not, and as shame overtook him his younger brother jabbed him in the shoulder with a finger.

Arnold turned, schooling his face into neutrality. "What?"

Thalien rested his chin lazily in the palm of his hand, elbows on his saddle horn. "I asked why you agreed to ride with me if you refuse to engage in any meaningful activity."

"I was looking at the countryside," Arnold replied flatly, half truth, half dismissal.

In truth, he had to ask a favor of him, but he was searching for the right moment to do so.

Thalien's smirk deepened. "I would accept that if it were the first time. But were you also 'looking at the countryside' every time I invited you for a drink in my tent?"

"I wasn't," Arnold said, his tone unchanged. "I simply dislike drinking at night.Father left me that as his inheritance"

Thalien gave an exaggerated groan. "Gods, you're dull. Silent as a fish, and when you do open your mouth it's just to grunt. Are you even alive? Is there anything you enjoy in this life the gods gave us?"

Arnold's hands tightened slightly on his reins. "I have things to think about. Matters that weigh heavier on me than I would like." His gaze dropped to the neck of his horse, eyes fixed on the slow sway of its head.

Thalien's tone shifted at once, the teasing edge dulled by familiarity. "Lord Malis still hasn't given his blessing for the marriage?"

Arnold jumped up a bit before giving a small shake of his head.

"You can hardly blame him," Thalien said, though his voice was no longer playful. "His elder sister bearing a child out of wedlock, whether you like it or not, has stained his family's honor."

Arnold's jaw set. "Do not call her a bastard. She is no such thing, she was conceived during my marriage."

"But born outside of it," Thalien countered, undeterred by the flicker of anger in his brother's eyes. "Thus, the world calls her a bastard. A bastard by law though not by meaning'' He watched as Arnold anger warped in fury. "You can fume about it all you want, but truth doesn't change for your convenience. Still, that doesn't explain why Malis hasn't given his blessing. It isn't as though Eloir despises you, though for the life of me, I still can't see what she finds so appealing."

Arnold exhaled slowly fighting the rage down, knowing that it was just the way his brother talked . "He has made it a condition, that my daughter be legitimized before he will even consider giving his sister to me in marriage again."

Thalien shrugged, almost sympathetically. "You can't entirely fault him. Our father heaped insult upon insult on that man's house. First the death of his father, lord Cretio… and now the disgrace of his sister, divorced, her belly swelling, giving birth outside the sanctity of marriage. I'd wager Malis still wakes in the night seething over it.

It is already kind enough of him not to send assassins our way...who know maybe he already did..."

Each word dug deep into Arnold, but he didn't answer. His silence spoke loudly enough. The only sound between them was the march of soldiers' boots on the steady rhythm of the road.

"Don't look so down, by the Gods," Thalien said, leaning comfortably in his saddle, reins dangling loosely in one hand. "It wasn't you who did any of that, it was Father. Still… all this trouble for her? Do you truly like Eloir that much?"

"Lady Eloir," Arnold corrected coldly, not even glancing at him.

Thalien's lips curled in a smirk. "She's not married, last I checked."

Arnold turned sharply, his voice taut with irritation. "Sometimes I feel I ought to stab you in the gut. Do you take pleasure in tormenting me in my worst times?"

"Frequently," Thalien answered without shame, the corner of his mouth twitching at having managed to fish a reaction from his brother.

Arnold's glare lingered, but his brother only straightened in the saddle and changed the subject, his tone turning more practical. "Why not just have the child legitimized? I'm certain that fat swine in Romelia would be more than happy to grant such an act," he said, meaning the High Priest.

Arnold exhaled through his nose. "The only thing matching his gluttony is his greed. Unfortunately, I am short on both silver and gold. Everything Father possessed, what little he hadn't squandered, was taken by His Grace. And what revenue I have gathered this year isn't nearly enough to move the High Priest to lift a quill in my favor."

He looked at Thalien then, a long, heavy look. It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a plea. It was the quiet, weary gaze of a man who had no options left, and hoped his brother might provide one.

Thalien stared back at him, squinting slightly as realization dawned. "I feel like you're about to ask me for something," he said slowly.

Arnold's silence was answer enough.

"You're going to ask me for money, aren't you?" Thalien let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Brother, if Father would have left you a few coins, to me he'd have left only curses. The lands I was granted were trampled to mud in the campaign two years ago. I've only just begun to scrape a living from them, and whatever coin I've made has gone straight into raising troops to answer Alpheo's call. In short… I'm as poor as you."

He gave a small, theatrical shrug to uplift his brother's sadness, his grin returning. "Still… isn't it poetic? The Begging Brothers. I daresay the bards could make something of it. Were we in a fairy tale, we would be the impoverished heir looking to seek back the glory they lost. "

Arnold didn't laugh. He didn't even snort. His face remained carved in stone. But inside, he knew, despite his brother's jesting, this was the best moment he'd have to ask for the real favor.

"Why don't you take a loan, then?" Thalien asked. His voice had lost its playful lilt, the smirk fading like a candle guttering in a breeze.

Arnold exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. "My revenues are few," he said, each word deliberate, measured against the weight of his pride. "If I take a loan from a fellow lord, the interest will drown me. Like a stone thrown into a black lake." His eyes slid away, scanning the road ahead as if it might offer escape. "And there are no merchants with the coin I require. Not here. Not after the war. Our Herculean lords came limping home, their coffers as empty as their boasts and it would do good for a liege to ask his vassals for loans"

He turned his gaze on Thalien then. Held it. "The Yarzat nobles would lend, perhaps… but they'd kill me with their interest before the ink dried."

Arnold's jaw worked once, twice, before the words came, words he had no wish to say for how much they burnt.

"This," he said at last, his voice low, almost swallowed by the road's dust, "is why I need your help."

Thalien straightened in his saddle, as though the weight of those words physically shifted him. His dark eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in curiosity. "I still can't see how I could offer you any meaningful aid," he said, his tone careful now, the earlier mischief locked away. Then a sliver of realization crossed his face, quick as a shadow over water. "Though… I'm beginning to think you know a way I could."

Arnold's answer was a single nod. He didn't trust his voice.

To beg his younger brother was its own humiliation.

But that was just the first, as he had, after all, another man to ask for help.

Probably the last in the world from whom he'd ever wish to seek a favor.

And that, Arnold thought grimly, might taste even worse than begging to his younger.