Blood Mercenaries Origins

by Ben Wolf

  As Kent marveled, the soldiers shoved him farther into the grand room.

  Ahead of them, a wide platform, black like the marble walls and raised two feet above the floor, lay on the far end of the room. Two rows of white, marble pillars framed a central walkway across the floor tiles. Golden lamps alight with fire stood near the pillars.

  Dozens of sets of Inothian eyes watched Kent as he walked down the center aisle.

  He passed a rainbow of nobles dressed in fine robes and cloaks, officials and heads of state clad in tailored Inothian garments, and merchants wearing exotic fabrics from all over the continent.

  Among them, Kent saw commoners as well, albeit only a few.

  Elite Inothian soldiers clad in white leather armor, gauntlets, and greaves stood at each pillar, their keen eyes searching everyone in the room except for Kent and Ronin. A line of five elite soldiers also stood between the edge of the platform and the court.

  Behind the elite soldiers and atop the platform loomed an imposing white chair, tall, regal, and stark against the platform and the walls. As Kent drew nearer, he realized it had been carved out of translucent white crystals—or perhaps just one very large crystal.

  Crystal jutted out from the top and the sides of the chair, giving it a raw feel, especially poignant against the otherwise immaculate room. The chair’s arms were smooth on the top, and a plush, red cushion adorned the seat.

  Kent’s mind sparked with understanding at the sight. They weren’t being brought before a magistrate. They were being brought before Inothian royalty, perhaps even the queen herself.

  And that chair was the country’s seat of power—the Inothian throne.

  Two smaller chairs sat one on each side of the crystal throne, both white but not made of crystal. They looked to be made of marble instead, but Kent couldn’t be sure.

  The soldiers ushered Kent and Ronin forward, and the pattern on the floor changed. A straight line of five individual red hexagonal tiles, spaced equally, punctuated the sea of black and white tiles.

  The soldiers positioned Kent and Ronin on two of the red tiles, one on each side of the centermost red tile.

  Something hit the back of Kent’s left knee, and it buckled. He dropped to one knee, ready to whirl around and bash the soldier in his face. Instead, he quelled his instincts, regained his calm, and only shot a glare back at the soldier.

  Kent faced forward in time to see the black wall behind the throne open, revealing a passageway beyond.

  Several figures emerged from the passageway, led by a dark-skinned bald man of impressive size. He looked to be near in age to Kent, and he wore black metal armor, polished to a high shine. It was some of the finest armor Kent had ever seen.

  The man glowered at Kent as he stepped around the throne and stood next to it, between it and the chair next to the throne.

  He looked formidable, and his perpetual scowl and the hulking sword hanging from his hip helped with the effect. Probably from Caclos, by the look of him.

  Kent found himself hoping to stay alive if only for the chance to test his mettle against the man.

  Four other soldiers, also clad in comparable black armor, came out next, and they stood on the outsides of the smaller chairs, two on each side. Likely the queen’s royal guards.

  Then a pale young man, probably in his early twenties, stepped forth.

  He had blond hair and wore a fine white coat, embroidered with a white-on-white pattern that Kent couldn’t discern from that distance, and white trousers. No sword hung from his side, but he wore a small, crystal crown atop his head.

  Kent stifled a grin. It looked like the kid was wearing a tiara.

  The kid sat down in the chair to the left of the throne, his posture upright and rigid.

  But Kent’s musings jolted to a stop at the sight of the next person to emerge, and the throne room descended into silent reverence.

  She wore a white gown adorned with sparkling crystals—or perhaps diamonds—complementing her fair skin and blonde hair. Her full, red lips invited suggestion almost as much as the look in her light blue eyes. Her high cheekbones, the touches of age around her eyes and mouth, the neutral expression on her face—it all enraptured Kent.

  He’d never seen anyone like her, not anywhere in his travels, and certainly not anywhere in Muroth. She exuded a maturity and an unparalleled grace to any woman he’d ever met, yet she looked younger than him, perhaps by five or ten years.

  A crystalline crown sat atop her head, larger than the pale kid’s tiara, but only slightly. It, too, sparkled, and it suited her perfectly. She wore both the crown and the heavy, invisible robes of power well.

  She rounded the crystal throne and sat on it, and two female servants scurried to the front to straighten and adjust the drape of her dress. Then they scurried away just as quickly and took up posts near the passageway which remained open.

  It made sense now why the soldiers had made Ronin and Kent kneel— though they could’ve just asked instead.

  The queen reclined in the crystal throne and studied Kent and Ronin.

  Because they were kneeling, and because of the height of the platform and the throne, she loomed over them, even from such a distance and from behind the line of elite soldiers separating her from everyone else.

  The large Caclosian man bellowed, “All hail Queen Aveyna of House Armanix.”

  “All hail,” came the crowd’s unison reply.

  Queen Aveyna’s stern gaze fixed on Kent in the subsequent silence.

  “You are Lord Kent Etheridge, of the noble Murothian house by the same name?” Her alto voice cut through the quietness.

  Kent stared back at her. “I am.”

  No one said a word. Then the big bald guy nodded slightly.

  Thwack. Sharp, quick pain hit the back of Kent’s head, but it faded as quickly as it came. He glanced back to see one of the soldiers retreating into position.

  “You will address Queen Aveyna as ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Majesty,’” the bald guy grunted, his words heavily accented.

  Kent cleared his throat and added, “I am, Your Highness.”

  Queen Aveyna glanced at the bald guy. “Perhaps we ought to conclude the trial there. He has already admitted to being an enemy of the state.”

  The bald guy turned and bowed slightly, his gaze set on her. “If it so pleases Your Majesty, I will make it so.”

  She lifted her hand and waved it, a small dismissive action reinforced by a nation’s-worth of power. “No, Grak. Not yet.”

  Grak, gave a slight nod and then faced forward again. “Rise, Lord Etheridge,” Queen Aveyna said.

  Kent rose to his feet.

  “You are doubtless aware of our ongoing conflict with your country. So why are you, of all people, in Inoth?” Queen Aveyna asked.

  “It is a long story, Your Highness,” Kent replied.

  “Abbreviate it.”

  Kent nodded. “My magic awakened nearly nine years ago, far later than is normal, as I have learned. Given my pedigree and standing within my country, I could not reveal this element about myself to anyone.”

  “But it came to light nonetheless,” Kent continued, “and I was forced to flee my homeland. So I came here, the one place where I knew Muroth could not follow me.”

  Queen Aveyna studied him again, silent like the rest of the room. Kent quickly added, “Your Highness.”

  She blinked and then said, “I see the wisdom in your rationale. Your presumption that your anonymity in our nation would remain intact is what failed you in the end.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “That is, if your story is true.”

  Kent glanced at Ronin. “I am happy to demonstrate my abilities, if you will allow me to do so, Your Highness. Or my partner can vouch for them, if he is willing.”

  Queen Aveyna looked to Ronin, then she looked back at Kent. “That will not be necessary. You have already confessed to your identity, so whether or not your story about awakening to your magic is t
rue, it is irrelevant given that you hail from the most scorned house in all of Muroth—by Inothian standards.”

  “I did not choose my birthright, nor did I choose to have my awakening.”

  “Yet here we are nonetheless. The fact remains that House Etheridge is notorious for having slain thousands of Inothians over the last century.”

  Kent bristled. “Many of whom attempted to violate Muroth’s borders to inflict harm upon our citizenry. Do you not also wish to protect Inoth’s borders, Your Highness?”

  “And what of the countless raids Murothians have committed upon our northern lands? How might those be excused in light of your arguments against our incursions?”

  “Sometimes it is necessary to—” Kent stopped.

  He could continue arguing, or he could refocus the conversation in such a way that he might stand a chance of saving his life. His only hope now was talking his way out of this.

  “Your Highness,” he began again, “I have been stripped of my titles, lands, wealth, and privileges, and I have been banished from my homeland. I am no threat to you or your people.”

  Grak scoffed and shook his head.

  “Except, perhaps, for him.” Kent nodded toward Grak. “I would relish the chance to test my might against his.”

  Grak’s expression soured, and he started forward.

  “Grakios Petrakis,” Queen Aveyna snapped. “Remember your place.” Grak stopped, turned back, and bowed to her. “Yes, Your Majesty.

  Forgive me.”

  Then he returned to his place at her side.

  But Kent had learned something about him—he was a touch reckless and perhaps a touch overconfident.

  He’d seen it before with other men in similar positions of authority, in Muroth and elsewhere. Complacency bred by a wealth of power could warp a man’s impressions of himself.

  As such, he’d feel an even stronger need to prove himself worthy of his position—often to his detriment if his skills had atrophied as a result of that same complacency.

  Kent had never allowed that to happen. He’d always prioritized his training to forestall atrophy and complacency.

  “Even if I were to believe your claims of losing your… everything,” Queen Aveyna began, “it would not erase your past transgressions.”

  Kent’s jaw tightened. “If you seek an apology, I cannot proffer one. Nor would I expect one from any of your soldiers who violated Murothian borders. All I can say in my defense is that I am not that person any longer.

  “I am no longer a citizen of Muroth, and I no longer subscribe to their beliefs regarding Inoth, Inothians, or magic. Most importantly, I mean you no harm.” He added, “Your Highness.”

  “In that case, I believe I have no more questions for you, Lord—excuse me. Mister Etheridge.” Queen Aveyna set her focus on Ronin. “What is your name?”

  Kent exhaled a silent, frustrated sigh and turned toward Ronin. Ronin, still kneeling, replied, “Ronin Shroud, Your Highness.”

  “And your vocation?”

  Ronin stammered, “I’m a—a bounty hunter, Your Highness.”

  “And what is wrong with your face?” she asked.

  “I—I beg your pard—” Ronin stopped. “Oh. The soldiers—they—”

  “If I may, my queen,” a voice from behind them said.

  Kent recognized the voice and glanced back. General Deoward stood in the center of the walkway between the pillars, still clad in his tan uniform.

  “He resisted arrest and sustained his injuries in that action. Three of our soldiers are infirmed with comparable injuries,” General Deoward said.

  “Thank you, General,” Queen Aveyna said.

  “My queen.” He bowed and then receded into the crowd of people gathered in the throne room.

  Queen Aveyna looked at Ronin but said nothing.

  “Am I allowed to explain? Your Highness?” Ronin looked around, glancing between the soldiers behind him, Grak, the prince, and the queen. “Please?”

  Queen Aveyna nodded. “Speak.”

  Ronin explained how he had received the parchment regarding who Kent was, how he immediately complied with the order to bring Kent in, and how General Deoward had decided to arrest him anyway.

  “It’s completely unfair. Unjust, Your Highness,” Ronin said. “I am a native Inothian. I’ve never even thought of committing treason or betraying my country, much less committed any significant crimes. I just want to scrape out a living, pay my taxes, and be left alone.”

  Queen Aveyna tilted her head at him. “How old are you, Mr. Shroud?”

  “I turned twenty-seven last month, Your Highness.”

  “You’re very near in age to my son.” Queen Aveyna turned to her right, and Grak stepped back in response as the prince leaned forward. “Prince Kymil, you are twenty-five, correct?”

  Prince Kymil nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

  “And in your twenty-five years of life, have you learned much about Inothian law?”

  He nodded again. “I have, yes.”

  “So you are aware that every Inothian is entitled to a hearing or a trial, regardless of the offense or accusation?”

  Kent could see where this was going. He looked at Ronin again, but Ronin kept his attention on the queen and her son.

  “Of course, Mother,” Prince Kymil replied.

  “Is it fair to suggest that an Inothian two years older than you, one whose vocation requires a better-than-average knowledge of our laws, ought to know that aspect of our law?”

  Prince Kymil fixed his harsh stare on Ronin. “Unquestionably.”

  Ronin started, “Your Highness—”

  “Mr. Shroud, you may speak when I have addressed you, but not before,” Queen Aveyna said.

  Ronin’s mouth clamped shut.

  “In my estimation, it is clear that you immediately complied with the order you received,” Queen Aveyna said. “Yet you failed to take into account the very laws with which you intersect on a daily basis, given your vocation. What I must now determine is whether or not you knew of Mr. Etheridge’s true identity before you received the order.”

  Ronin didn’t say anything. “You may speak, Mr. Shroud.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.” Ronin pointed at Kent. “I met him six months ago, and he did not tell me what he just admitted to you.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That he was from Northern Urthia but that he had spent some time in Muroth before his awakening.” Ronin added, “By the way, I believe his story about his awakening to be true, Your Highness. When we first met, he didn’t know anything about how to use his magic. He asked me the types of questions a small child would ask about magic.”

  “Our focus is on you, now, Mr. Shroud. Let us keep it there.” Queen Aveyna leaned forward. “So you claim he lied to you about his identity?”

  “Yes. Completely.”

  “For what it is worth, Your Highness,” Kent interjected, “Ronin is telling the truth. He knew nothing about me, and I told him a mixture of truth and lies to try to preserve my anonymity. It would be unjust of me to remain silent or say anything to the contrary because it is the truth.”

  “Ah, truth from the enemy of the state,” Queen Aveyna mused. “What a marvel to behold. Miraculous, in fact. So much so that I hesitate to believe you.”

  “I have been nothing but thoroughly honest in my responses, Your Highness.”

  “But since not even a fragment of trust exists between us, I cannot take you at your word,” Queen Aveyna countered. “You are an enemy of the state, after all.”

  Kent said nothing else. At that point, he couldn’t be sure of helping Ronin’s case, and he might very well harm it if he continued.

  “Mother, may I speak?” Prince Kymil asked.

  Queen Aveyna gave him a calm smile. “Of course, darling.”

  Prince Kymil’s cheeks reddened, the first sign of color Kent had seen anywhere on his pale skin.

  “The nature of our laws is such that a violation stands reg
ardless of intent,” Prince Kymil said. “While he claims innocence regarding the identity of this Murothian bastard, Mr. Shroud has nonetheless aided him over the last six months.

  “Furthermore,” Prince Kymil continued, “he resisted General Deoward’s attempt to arrest him, and in doing so, he injured three Inothian soldiers— his own countrymen. Therefore, I believe the law is clear: he is guilty multiple times over.”

  Kent looked at Ronin, and Ronin gawked at Prince Kymil in silence.

  Queen Aveyna watched her son with rapt attention, a slight smile on her face. Then she turned to Ronin. “Do you have anything to say in response?”

  Ronin stuttered, “Y-Your Highness, As I made clear, I had no idea he was Murothian, let alone a lord. How can I be held accountable for that? I did everything within my power to comply! I turned him in right away!”

  Ronin’s words stung Kent, but he realized why Ronin had to say them.

  “And what of your attack on our soldiers?” Queen Aveyna asked.

  “I only did that because I felt I was being positioned to suffer for crimes I didn’t knowingly commit,” Ronin said. “Wouldn’t you have fought back if someone was unjustly trying to do you harm, Your Highness?”

  “I am not the subject of this debate, Mr. Shroud.”

  “But isn’t it a fair question?”

  “I would have followed the laws of our land.”

  Of course the queen would err on the side of the law. She wasn’t being scrutinized. The argument carried no weight, but Ronin’s lack of education was showing.

  Ronin got down to his knees. “Please, Your Highness. I am a patriot. I am loyal to Inoth. I don’t want to die for this.”

  Kent hated to see him begging, but Ronin had to stay alive somehow, and the trial wasn’t looking good.

  Queen Aveyna watched him for a long moment. She finally said, “As with Mr. Etheridge’s claims of truth, which I cannot trust, I find myself wondering if I ought to trust your sincerity or not. You have broken the law, regardless of such, but I believe there is room for grace in our application of it.”

  Prince Kymil scowled at her, then he turned his scowl toward Kent and Ronin.