Blood Mercenaries Origins

by Ben Wolf

  “Yes, we have.” Ronin grinned. “I’ll go book us passage.”

  Kent raised his eyebrows. “Right now?”

  “We’re only a few hundred yards from the docks. I’m sure we can charter a vessel to leave within a few days. Maybe even tomorrow.”

  Kent smiled again. “If you say so.”

  As Ronin hurried off, Kent picked a stone up from the street. He held it in his left hand and summoned his magic.

  It pulsed through his body like a flow of cool water and pooled in his fingertips. Several other stones from the street rose into the air and began to orbit him, just as Ronin had shown him.

  But what Ronin hadn’t shown him interested him far more. He’d invested in some rare texts and tomes about magical techniques since he’d started earning coin, and he’d realized that he knew only a fraction of what could be known about anima magic.

  Kent carefully pulled the old parchment from his trouser pocket, unfolded it, and began to read it. It instructed him to focus on the technique of making the element in question—in this case, rocks— form a barrier around his hand.

  He concentrated hard on the technique, and the stones stopped orbiting. Instead, they formed into a shell that covered his right fist and part of his wrist, just as the parchment had described.

  Incredible. It was working.

  Six months ago, he’d lacked any semblance of control over his magical abilities. He could barely manage to keep them hidden, let alone use them to achieve his own ends. Despite all he’d lost, Kent regretted not having studied magic sooner, even though such practices were strictly forbidden in his world.

  He read the parchment some more. The language was ancient Aletian, named for the long-extinct culture that had discovered and colonized the continent of Aletia. He’d only begun to learn the language over the last several months, but he’d managed to fill in the gaps with critical thought and cross-referencing with other tomes and texts.

  The writing was faded, too, and the parchment was worn, but he’d pretty well determined what he needed to do next—he needed to test the magic.

  Tacitly maintaining his concentration on the technique, Kent glanced around for a target to test the effect on. Across the street stood a stone building in disrepair. A signpost extended from the front of the building above the door, but no sign hung from it. Its windows were dark, vacant, and devoid of glass.

  Perfect. Kent headed over to the alley adjacent to it. He positioned himself in front of one of its side walls, also made of stone, glanced up and down the alley, and checked the parchment again.

  He hesitated. If it didn’t work, he’d break his hand.

  But there is only one way to know for sure if it works. Kent folded and tucked the parchment back into one of his trouser pockets.

  He concentrated his magic into his knuckles, pulled his rock-covered hand back for a punch, and then slammed it into the wall.

  Kent’s fist broke through the stone with a burst of blue light and punctured into the building itself. His shoulder caught in the hole, stopping his momentum.

  Kent couldn’t believe it. He had literally just punched through a stone wall.

  He pulled his arm out of the hole. The rocks covering his hand and wrist were mostly gone, and what few remained fell off to the alley floor. The rock he’d been holding dropped from his open hand, now a small, smooth pebble.

  Unbelievable. Yet he’d just seen it with his own eyes. The technique had worked.

  Was there anything magic couldn’t do? With enough study and practice, perhaps it had no limits.

  No wonder the Murothians feared Inoth’s power. If it was possible to break through stone walls with the aid of magic, what good were the walls and fortresses Muroth had constructed over the years?

  Kent imagined what he might be able to do to Fane with power like this.

  The possibilities were endless.

  He brushed the dust off of his sleeve and turned back toward the street.

  Ronin stood there, glancing around, looking for him.

  Kent started to wave and opened his mouth to call out, but another man approached Ronin instead. Kent stopped, wary.

  The man wore a dark blue cloak, accented with diamond-shaped patches of gold fabric on the back. The cloak’s hood was down. He handed Ronin a piece of parchment and then left.

  As Ronin studied the parchment, his face scrunched into a scowl. Then he lowered the parchment to his side and shook his head.

  Kent exited the alley and approached him.

  “There you are,” Ronin said.

  “Bad news?” Kent nodded toward the parchment.

  “I’m afraid so.” Ronin sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve been summoned to appear before the head of the Inothian Army, General Deoward, over the incident with Eusephus. Apparently the captain who signed for the bounty all those months ago really did lodge that complaint.”

  “And they are just now broaching the subject?” Kent squinted at him.

  Ronin nodded. “They want to question me regarding what happened.”

  “When?”

  “Now, it seems. I am to report to the palace immediately.”

  “Hunera Palace? They mean to question you in the queen’s palace itself?”

  “Yes. The barracks are adjacent to the palace.” Ronin crumpled the parchment and threw it into the gutter that ran along the street. Soiled, stinking water soaked into it, and it began to unfold again as the water saturated it. “So our trip to Caclos is on hold for the time being.”

  “I should accompany you,” Kent offered. “I was there, after all. I can provide testimony to your benefit.”

  “You told me I had indeed endangered everyone there because of how I handled the situation.” Ronin eyed him. “And now you want to help me?”

  “You have upheld your side of our bargain honorably. The least I can do is stand by your side at such an inquiry and try to cast you in a favorable light,” Kent said.

  Ronin grinned. “I’d wanted to ask you, but I didn’t want to assume anything.”

  Kent waved his hand. “Please. We are partners. Of course I will stand by you.”

  “Thank you.” Ronin’s grin widened, and they started walking north, leaving the parchment behind them in the gutter. “Never been to Hunera Palace, have you?”

  Kent smirked. “I have never had occasion to visit.”

  “Well, let me tell you—you’re in for quite the experience.” Ronin patted Kent’s shoulder. “Maybe we’ll even catch a glimpse of the queen. She’s supposed to be very pretty, though I’ve never seen her up close.”

  Forty-five minutes later, they reached the palace gates. Despite his growth in using magic, Kent had made a habit of carrying a sword with him, and he had to turn it in to the guards waiting at the palace gates. They catalogued it and stored it for him in a small shed nearby.

  Then Ronin led them past the dozens of guards and through the robust, gold-plated doors that led to the palace’s courtyard.

  Kent could hardly believe any of it. He’d just walked onto the palace grounds of Muroth’s sworn adversary, and he’d done so uninhibited, without an army, without a single weapon, all because someone he knew had been summoned.

  If only Father could have seen me now. The memory of his father stanched his excitement, but he pushed it aside.

  Flowers, trees, and bushes, all expertly groomed, embellished the white- and-light-gry marble that made up the courtyard’s pathways, planting beds, and the palace’s exterior. Crystalline water flowed from a fountain topped with a statue that resembled the goddess Laeri that stood in her temple.

  Kent took in the palace’s beauty and recalled his many trips to Lowmir Keep, the emperor’s home, in Muroth. The keep had conveyed a rugged, darker feel, especially compared to the brightness of the Inothian queen’s palace. The countries really did contrast sharply with each other.

  Another contingent of guards protected the grand entrance to the palace itself, and they directed Ronin to a bui
lding on the far right side of the courtyard.

  It, too, was constructed of comparable white-and-light-gray marble, but at three stories tall, it stood only about a fifth as high as the towering palace. Windows only marked the top two stories.

  A matching building sat across it from the courtyard, and together they formed two of the courtyard’s three perimeter walls, with the palace itself being the third. Kent guessed they were military barracks used for housing soldiers, and when they entered the building, his suspicions were confirmed.

  As he took in the nuances of the barracks, Kent couldn’t help but marvel at what value this experience would have held for him less than a year prior. To be able to enter the heart of his worst enemies’ military operations and report back could have totally altered Muroth’s approach to dealing with Inoth.

  A man with the double-diamonds’ rank of major on the shoulders of his tan uniform met them just inside the door. He led them through the barracks, past soldiers’ dormitories, past a large library full of worn tomes and papers, and past a modest armory with several racks of weapons crammed inside.

  Kent smirked. Perhaps the library was their armory instead.

  The major brought them into a huge, high-ceilinged room paneled with maple wood. Modest windows adorned the upper half of the room’s back wall, spaced several feet apart. Their height, and the iron bars that reinforced them, made for effective security measures, should the palace ever be attacked.

  A long table stretched before Kent and Ronin, and five silver-haired men sat in a row on the other side of it. Each of them wore tan military coats and scribbled on sheets of parchment spread out on the table before them.

  Three diamonds accented the shoulders of the two on each side, but the one in the middle wore four diamonds. Kent had seen high-ranking Inothian officers’ uniforms only twice before, both times on the battlefield near the Murothian wall.

  The major bowed and introduced Ronin and Kent to the five men, but he addressed the bearded man in the center as General Deoward.

  “Thank you, Major,” General Deoward said. “Proceed with your other duties.”

  “Yes, General.” The major bowed again, then he turned and left the room.

  Kent glanced back. Aside from the five men in the room with Ronin and him, only two guards stood near the doors, and they followed the major out and shut the grand doors behind them.

  “Which of you is Ronin Shroud, the bounty hunter?” General Deoward asked.

  Ronin stepped forward, but twenty feet still separated him from the edge of the table. “I am, General.”

  Deoward turned toward the man seated directly to his left and muttered instructions to him. The man began writing anew on his parchment.

  Deoward faced Ronin again. “You’re aware of why you’ve been summoned?”

  “I am, sir.” Ronin swallowed. “I hope my immediate response to your summons will be credited to me in light of this matter.”

  “Noted.” Deoward studied him for a long moment, and then turned to Kent.

  At first, Kent thought nothing of it. But when Deoward’s bulldog face shifted with a subtle smile, a ripple of concern hit Kent’s gut.

  General Deoward stood and said, “Welcome to Inoth, Lord Etheridge.”

  Chapter Seven

  Kent froze at first, then he glanced at Ronin.

  Ronin refused to make eye contact with him and continued staring straight ahead.

  Kent quickly scanned the room for potential exits. With the windows high up and covered in bars, the doors through which he’d entered appeared to be the only way out—short of trying to summon enough magic to blow through one of the walls. He’d already done it once today, but he couldn’t pull enough rocks from anywhere nearby to do it.

  As Kent considered his options, the doors behind him swung open. He looked back.

  The major had returned with a half-dozen other soldiers, and the two guards who’d been posted at the doors entered as well.

  Kent wished he hadn’t given up his sword. He reached into one of the pouches on his belt for a match to ignite some fire magic.

  “Halt!” the major shouted. “Or we will strike you down where you stand.”

  Kent released the match in his fingers and slowly pulled his hand out of the pouch. He’d never get it lit in time.

  Despite how quickly his skills had developed and the size of the room affording plenty of space to maneuver, he stood no chance against fifteen skilled mages, possibly including Ronin.

  “I’m sorry, Kent,” Ronin said.

  Kent turned toward him with his hands at his sides and glowered at him.

  “Had you told me the truth when we met, I never would’ve had to do this,” Ronin continued. “But I had no choice. Once I learned who you were, I had to comply.”

  The parchment. Ronin had crumpled it up and thrown it into the gutter—not because he’d been upset about what it said, but because he’d wanted to hide it from Kent without seeming obvious about it.

  Worse still, he’d managed to get Kent to walk right into his own demise without even a hint of hesitation.

  Kent smirked. Ronin had been clever ever since the day Kent had met him. It was part of why they were so effective in bringing in bounties together.

  “Lord Etheridge,” Deoward said. “I hereby place you under arrest as a foreign combatant, agent of espionage, and enemy of the state.”

  Kent shook his head and chuckled. “If only you knew how grossly inaccurate all three of those claims were, General.”

  Two of the soldiers grabbed Kent by his arms while another stripped the pouches from his belt. Then the major clamped a pair of vivid blue shackles around his wrists, just like the ones the soldiers had put on Eusephus six months earlier.

  Kent had since learned that the enchanted blue metal would block him or any other mage from doing any magic.

  Deoward motioned with his head, and two of the guards ushered Kent toward the doors. But the rest remained in the room.

  As Kent watched, the major produced another set of shackles and started toward Ronin.

  “What?” Ronin recoiled several steps deeper into the room, away from the soldiers. “General, I complied with your summons! I turned in a known enemy of Inoth. I should be rewarded, not arrested!”

  “You aided him in his efforts to spy on our lands and country,” Deoward said. “Therefore, you are guilty of those crimes as well.”

  “Unknowingly!” Ronin yelled. “I didn’t know who he was!”

  “Major, arrest him and get him out of here. I don’t have time for this,” Deoward grunted.

  “Yes, General.” The major moved toward Ronin with his shackles held high.

  Ronin kept his distance from the soldiers and reached into one of his pouches, and then the soldiers hauled Kent out of the room.

  Kent had seen worse cells than the one the soldiers threw him in, but he’d never actually ventured inside any of them.

  Long ago, Inothians had carved and dug into the ground beneath where the barracks now sat and shaped out several long rows of dozens of six-by- eight-foot cells in the caverns beneath. Sporadic torches provided the only lighting down there, and it stank of feces, urine, and rotting flesh—typical dungeon smells.

  They’d taken the blue shackles off of Kent’s wrists, probably because bars made of the same vivid blue metal framed his cell on three sides. Over the last six months, he’d often mused how much easier the fight against Inoth would’ve been if Muroth had learned about that metal long ago.

  A jagged, uneven rock wall formed the back of the cell. They’d locked him inside, leaving him to little more than his own thoughts and a bucket in the corner.

  Kent’s nose wrinkled. Come what may, he didn’t want to be in that cell for any longer than necessary.

  He assessed the cell and considered what it would take to make a way out. Manipulating the bars wasn’t an option. The enchanted metal would repel any magic-based attempts to create an escape.

  The ro
ck wall at the back of the cell didn’t appear much better. Even if he replicated his rock-punching feat from earlier that day, he’d be punching into a wall of solid rock that never ended. Likewise, he couldn’t hope to escape through the straw-covered floor, either.

  Perhaps if he did it enough times on the ceiling, he’d eventually break through to the upper level, but what then? He’d be back in the barracks, surrounded by Inothian soldiers and guards, and they’d either kill him or just put him in another cell.

  Kent was stuck there, at least until they decided what to do with him. No question.

  Part of the back wall curved down and protruded out, shaped almost like a long seating area. With no bed in the cell, he’d either need to sleep on the floor, or he could try to make do with the rock protrusion.

  Perhaps some thoughtful mage had reshaped the wall specifically for that purpose.

  Kent headed over to it and sat, then he lay down. The flattest part of its surface was too short for him, even if he curled his legs close to his chest.

  But he was a tall guy—a solid three inches north of six feet. Maybe he could make it work if he let his legs dangle over the end.

  As he sat upright again, something crinkled in his trouser pocket.

  He cursed and bolted to his feet, then he gingerly pulled out the archaic parchment he’d stuffed into his trousers earlier that day. It had ripped, and some of its edges had flaked off, but it hadn’t crumbled.

  Kent cursed under his breath all the same. He’d been careless, and he’d damaged it. Now, on top of translating ancient Aletian, he’d have to take extra care to preserve what remained of the parchment.

  Fortunately, he’d absorbed the technique of the first side of the parchment. He’d reserved the back side for learning some other time, though, because of its increased complexity.

  No time like the present. If Kent had anything, he had time. He sat down again, flipped the parchment over, and started mentally translating where he could.

  Five minutes later, he’d only scratched the surface of the translation when the familiar sound of the cellblock door opened down the corridor.