Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 1071: Fair bill(1)

The ravens circled overhead, their dark wings cutting through the heavy August air.

They cackled and croaked, a dissonant choir for the column of steel moving below. A thousand footmen marched with the rhythmic thud of hobnailed boots, flanked by thirty knights whose colorful surcoats were the only bright spots in the gray afternoon.

"A bit too many men to catch a few shivering peasants, wouldn’t you say, Ser?" Ser Marvy Marlon called out, adjusting his seat in his saddle.

He was a cousin to the Prince of Ezvania, a third son so not entitled to any lordship, and he bore just like his blood, the same peacock-like vanity, though with significantly less grace.

He looked back at the sprawling line of spears with a scoff. "Does my cousin, and his grim Grace of Habadia, make us so fragile? Do they believe us grain to be harvested by a few scythes?"

Left-Hand Mers did not look at him. He sat rigid in his saddle, his lone hand gripping the reins while his stump rested against his thigh, a constant, dull ache in the damp weather.

"They fear the Fox, Ser. And you would do well to recall why," Mers muttered, his voice like grinding stones. He was suffering the younger man’s presence with every ounce of dignity he had left. "The Fox is known to prey on chickens, after all." He turned a hard, bloodshot eye toward the boy. "And on roasters."

Marvy let out a snort that was meant to be a laugh. "Ah! If the Fox has the courage to appear before me, I shall sing for him and peck his eyes out. It is the cock’s duty to defend the hen-house, is it not? I ought to thank him when I see him. As soon as I am granted my lordship in these lands, I shall send a chest of flowers to Her Grace of Yarzat for her husband’s funeral.

Since she was willing to take a dog into her bed, perhaps she will welcome a cock next."

"As you say, Ser. As you say..."

He held nothing but contempt for the boy. The host was crawling with them, third sons and distant cousins with more arrogance than wit, lured to the campaign by the promise of stolen land.

The Prince of Habadia had been forced to promise enfeoffments to half the minor nobility of the South to swell his ranks. Every lord was eager to see a cousin-house sprout on Oizenian soil to broaden their influence, and the Crownless Prince Sorza was happy to pay the bill in land he didn’t currently own if it meant winning back the land he had lost.

There were many reasons he disliked the Cock-night, as he made himself to be called.Half like a jest probably.

One of those reasons became most clear when he grunted as he caught the younger man stealing another glance at his missing limb. The boy had been staring at it since they left camp, his eyes darting toward the stump with a mix of misplaced curiosity.

"It won’t eat you, boy. Don’t worry. Nor will it sing in the morning, that’s your specialty, ain’t it?" he growled, thrusting the leather-capped stump toward the knight’s face.

Marvy’s cheeks flushed a deep, embarrassed crimson. "Ser... I hope I do not displease you, but I am curious about your condition. How does it feel? To lack a hand?"

He had half a mind to smash the stump into the boy’s teeth just to see if they’d rattle. Instead, he looked at the horizon. "When it was fresh, I still felt the fingers. I tried to clench them every hour of the day. Now? Now I feel nothing. It is just a silence at the end of my arm."

"May I ask how it happened?"

"Butchering an animal," Mers replied shortly. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

The blue-blooded knight laughed at these words, the sound high,brittle and vain. "I hope, for my sake, it wasn’t a chicken!"

"No," Mers said, his voice dropping to flat, "It was an animal that raped my beloved. I lost the hand killing him. I’d lose the other one to do it again."

Long craved silence at last was gifted to Mers, finally shutting the young knight’s mouth before a stump was trusted down his throat. It lasted just long enough for a scout to emerge from the way ahead. The rider’s horse was lathered in sweat despite the cool rain, and he pulled up sharply, offering a respectful bow to the two knights.

"Report," Mers commanded.

"The village lies just ahead, my lords," the scout panted. "But it is empty. Not a soul in the streets."

Marvy let out a frustrated sigh. "Empty? Damnation. What’s this the third of today?We have been marching for a day already!’’

’’And we’ll have to march further inland, it seems. ’’Mers replied ’’The Fox is leading us on a dance through a graveyard of them I fear."

"But Sir," the scout added, his eyes wide and unsettled. "It hasn’t been deserted for long. I could still see thin trails of smoke rising from the hearths. They were there yesterday. They left in a hurry, and not by choice, I’d wager."

’’Lead the way...’’

That at last was something new.

------------------

"Anything to it, Sir? Some sign of where the wretches crawled off to?" Marvy asked, shivering as he pulled his damp silk cloak tighter around his throat.

The wind howled through the eaves of the house, a mournful, hungry sound that seemed to mock their intrusion. They had taken refuge in the largest structure in the village, a sturdy, timber-framed building that undoubtedly belonged to the village headman. Outside, a thousand men stood in the wind , their boots churning the village square into a black soup of shit.

Just as the scout had reported, the village was a tomb. It was an eerie, unsettling vacuum of life. Mers paced the main room, his eyes scanning the domestic stillness. It was as if a giant hand had reached down and plucked every living soul from the earth mid-breath.

He stopped at a heavy oak table in the center of the room. A meal had been laid out, bowls of pottage, and wooden spoons. Mers leaned over, picking up a bowl and bringing it to his nose.

"Hungry, Sir?" Marvy asked, oblivious to the silence he had broken twice now. He fumbled with his belt, offering a piece of his own travel-worn jerky. "I’ve got plenty to share if the sight of a set table turns your stomach."

"There is no mold in these,"

"You favor some soup, then? We could have the cooks fire up the hearth, find some fresh water—"

"That is not what I meant!" Mers roared, spinning around. He strode to the fireplace, his heavy boots thumping against the floorboards. He thrust his lone hand into the mound of gray cinders. He didn’t flinch as the heat bit into his palm. "It’s warm. It’s still bloody warm! They were sitting here this morning. They were eating their breakfast while we were still saddling our horses in the camp."

He pulled his hand back, his face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. "Fuck! We had them! We were right on their heels!"

In a sudden spasm of frustration, he kicked the iron grate. The dying embers and hot ash exploded into the air, creating a swirling ghost of white smoke that danced in the dim light of the room.

The younger knight jolted back,surprised by the fury of the commander, something that made the "cock-knight" feel very small and very young.

Mers took a ragged breath, the smoke stinging his lungs. He straightened his surcoat with his stump, his chest heaving. "Apologies, Ser," he muttered, though the words tasted like bile. "That was... undignified. A commander should not lose his temper over a cold trail."

He turned back to the hearth, his mind churning. "But not all is lost. No. If they left this morning, they are burdened. You cannot move a whole village, elders, children, and hopefully cripples, and be fast. They are close. They are within our grasp.They must be"

Mers turned his gaze toward the scout, who was standing by the doorway, dripping water onto the floorboards.

Rain had cursed the ground as soon as they entered the village, but it had been a bit since it had stopped.

"You! Did you find the livestock? Did they take the herds with them?"

"I found some, Sir," the scout replied, his voice shaky. "Back behind the granary. A few dozen sheep were left penned up, and I found three cows in the mud.All dead, Sir. Throats slit and left to bleed out. They didn’t want us having the meat back in the camp..."

Mers narrowed his eyes.’’Weaver cut their thread short! Would have been better if they took them alive. At least that would have slowed them down.Still they must be close. Less a day of distance I reckon.’’

Mers stepped out of the headman’s house. He tilted his head back, squinting at the orizon.The sky was a bruised, bleeding orange, the sun was dipping low, surrendering the day to a premature and suffocating twilight.

"The light is dying," Mers rumbled, his voice thick with a growing unease. "We’ve got an hour of grey, and then we’re blind."

He turned his gaze toward his other companion, who was fastidiously wiping a spot of mud from his polished scabbard. The boy looked tired, his initial bravado dampened by the reality of wet wool and cold steel.

"Ser Marvy," Mers called out "How would you like to take twenty of the swiftest scouts and push ahead? If the villagers left this morning with their elders and their wounded, they can’t have gone far. You find the tail of that serpent, and you bring me someone who can talk."

Marvy paused, his face scrunching in a look of profound boredom. "With all due respect, Ser, I am a knight of Ezvania. I came here to win glory in a clash of steel, not to spend my evening chasing mud-stained pig-farmers through a thicket. I’m not exactly itching to find a few peasants hiding in a bush."

Mers stared at him, his lone hand clenching into a fist. You arrogant, milk-fed fool, he thought. You think this is a tournament?

’’Ser.’’ he called ’’Are you of mind that we’re hunting peasants for sport?" he stepped closer until the boy had to look up. "Where there are fleeing peasants, there are the Fox’s soldiers guarding them. Or, at the very least, there are people who know exactly which cave or hollow the prince of Yarzat is using to sharpen his knives. I would kill for some informations in this gods-forsaken land."

He saw the hesitation in the boy’s eyes and decided to change his approach. He reached out with his lone hand and clapped Marvy firmly on the shoulder, a gesture of feigned camaraderie that felt oily even to him.

"Think of the camp, Marvy," Mers said "Think of the looks on the Princes’ faces when you ride back not with empty hands, but with the key to the Fox’s throat. To deliver the first real prisoner, the first real lead... that would be quite the accomplishment to lay before the whole army. Your cousin would have no choice but to sing your praises above all others.The moment you discover where the Fox you may lead the army to squash them like cockroaches and deliver the first victory of this campaign.

The Roaster who cut the Fox, wouldn’t that be a nice epithet?"

The bait was taken. Marvy’s chest swelled, his vanity winning out over his discomfort. The prospect of being the hero of the hour was too sweet to pass up.

"When you put it that way," Marvy said, a smug grin returning to his lips, "it would be a shame to leave the task to lesser men. Very well. I’ll find your peasants, and I’ll find your Fox."

"I knew I could count on a man of your lineage," Mers lied, patting the boy’s shoulder once more’’Tomorrow morning you’ll lead the scouts.’’

’’Tomorrow?Shouldn’t we hit the road now?’’

’’It is night ser...I doubt the knights would be eager to ride in the dark , morehover the horse is still a beast of flesh, they must rest too.

Wouldn’t you like to sleep under a roof?’’

’’Well if you say so... I think it wouldn’t hurt to push the riding to the morrow.’’

’’Perfect in the meatime we could open up the cow, and see ourself eating some proper hot meat.I don’t know you but I am dying for a proper meal...’’