Blood Mercenaries Origins

by Ben Wolf

  “Submit,” Ghazal’s voice filled the silence.

  Mehta stood there, still. The other Xyonates hadn’t advanced, and Ghazal hadn’t moved his knife.

  Ferne shifted on the altar. Her arms and legs weren’t bound, so she could move as freely as she dared with Ghazal’s knife hovering overhead.

  She continued to move and shift as any restless child might, but it looked like she was reaching for something—something along the golden trim on the other side of the altar near Ghazal.

  Mehta hoped it would work. He backed against the wall adjacent to the nearest set of curtains. As Mehta expected, Ghazal’s keen eyes traced his every movement.

  “You helped guide me in the ways of Xyon and his followers since I was a small child,” Mehta said to Ghazal. “Through your tutelage and training, I have learned many things. I’ve become a skilled sifter thanks to the Xyonates’ ways.”

  Mehta pulled a flint from the folds of his clothes.

  “But one thing you taught me from the very beginning was to never submit.”

  He turned toward the nearest curtain, struck the flint on his knife, and ignited the fabric with white-hot sparks. The curtain blossomed into a pillar of fire that spread to the other curtain hanging at that window, and then fire traced a line across the floor toward the next set of curtains in both directions.

  In preparation for a moment like this, Mehta had doused all of the curtains with lamp oil from the storeroom and poured lines of oil between them. He’d rightly assumed that his other traps wouldn’t take out all of the remaining Xyonates, so he’d arranged one last complication as they tried to commit him to Xyon.

  Mehta stepped toward the center of the altar room, away from the inferno he’d kindled, as the flames spread to all of the curtains.

  “Sift him,” Ghazal commanded over the crackling flames.

  As Ghazal gave the order, Ferne twitched. Then Ghazal dropped partway behind the altar with a grunt, and Ferne rolled off the front side to relative safety.

  She’d pulled the lever concealed in the altar’s golden trim and opened the hatch, and Ghazal had fallen partway in.

  Mehta would’ve preferred that she had gone down and escaped instead, but it was better than nothing. He grinned, readied his knives, and shouted, “Run, Ferne!”

  She did, and the six Xyonates approached Mehta amid the flames.

  Mehta’s thirst threatened to consume him, but if there were ever a time to let it rule him, it was now. He loosed the thirst from its chain-bound crate in his mind, and it rampaged through every vein in his body. He would never be more ready than in that exact moment.

  Mehta moved toward the Xyonates.

  “I told you back at the Sanctum,” Elegy said, his voice low, “that as long as I serve Xyon, I will pursue you to the death. Tonight, one of us will meet him in the Underworld.”

  Before Mehta could respond, the remaining female Xyonate, Idyl, lashed a bullwhip at him. But Mehta darted forward and skidded across the floor, and it cracked through the air above his head.

  Another Xyonate, Dictum, jabbed at him with a spear, but Mehta batted it away with his knives as he recovered his footing. Then he dove to the side to avoid a trio of knives careening at him from Elegy’s hands.

  Mehta rolled to his feet and traded blows with Proverb, an older, bulkier Xyonate in his thirties, who swung hand-axes at him in a flurry of vicious attacks. Mehta pushed him back with a well-timed kick to his chest then turned to face Whisper and Hush, a rare pair of Xyonate twin brothers.

  Whisper launched arrows from afar while Hush, his larger, thicker brother, swung a long sword. Mehta dodged and maneuvered away from all of the attacks at a safe distance.

  Proverb returned for more as Hush swung his sword at Mehta’s head. Mehta ducked under it, and Hush’s sword hit Proverb’s axes with a loud clang.

  Mehta exploded at Hush with a flurry of knife slashes, but Hush defended them all. As Mehta finished his combo, he noticed Whisper taking aim at him from over Hush’s shoulder. The arrow loosed, and Mehta shifted Hush into its path.

  A whip cracked, and the arrow snapped out of the air. Idyl had saved Hush from his own brother’s arrow.

  Mehta admired her timing and skill—he certainly couldn’t have done that.

  Even in spite of his thirst, this battle was proving even harder than he’d expected. But they hadn’t succeeded in landing any significant blows on him yet, either.

  Dictum’s spear stabbed toward Mehta’s face. Mehta moved his head to the left and hurled the knife in his right hand in a backhanded toss at Dictum. As the spearhead grazed Mehta’s right cheek, his knife struck Dictum’s shoulder.

  Mehta grabbed the spear’s shaft with his right hand and threw his other knife at Dictum as well. The second knife hit Dictum’s gut, and Mehta wrenched the spear from his hands, taking it as his own.

  Dictum didn’t go down, though. Thought bleeding, he pulled the knives from his body, held one in each hand, and he stalked toward Mehta.

  Xyonate resolve. Or fanaticism. Or both.

  But Mehta had achieved his goal—he’d acquired a longer-range weapon at the cost of two short-range knives. He’d leveled the contest a bit more.

  He spun the spear over his head with one hand at Hush, who’d closed in on him once more, and Hush ducked under it. As Mehta completed the spear’s arc, he grabbed the spear shaft with both hands and multiplied its force with a hard strike to Hush’s ankles.

  He’d expected Hush to jump over, but the spear shaft struck Hush’s legs and took him down. Mehta moved to jab the spear into Hush’s chest to finish him off, but another arrow from Whisper launched toward him.

  Mehta spun the spear in his hands and deflected the arrow down and away, then he blocked a second one as Hush recovered his footing.

  Mehta cursed. He’d landed a solid blow and given Hush a slight limp, but there were too many Xyonates for him to make any real progress.

  Then Idyl’s whip cracked again. It latched onto Mehta’s spear near its head and started to pull it away from him.

  It was a good tactic. She’d pull the spearhead away, and he’d pull it back. But it would be enough of a distraction for Whisper to hit him with an arrow or for Elegy to throw another knife, or Proverb could close in with his axes.

  Mehta didn’t play along.

  Idyl yanked, and Mehta dove forward with his spear, toward her. He planted the spearhead into the marble floor and vaulted through the air, over a throwing knife and an arrow, right past a bloody Dictum and Proverb.

  He slammed his foot into the side of her head, and she went down hard. Her head smacked the floor, and she dropped the whip, unconscious. Mehta landed beside her, snatched up the whip, and gave her head a quick, brutal stomp, crushing her skull.

  His thirst multiplied at her death, simultaneously satisfied and desperate for more. He’d killed one of them. Now five remained, plus Ghazal.

  Mehta glanced at the altar. He no longer saw Ghazal behind it, and Ferne had long since run off and taken cover yet again. He hoped she could stay safe until he could search for her. And he hoped Ghazal would leave her alone.

  The remaining five Xyonates closed in on him.

  The bullwhip still clung to Mehta’s spear, so he tossed the spear into the air with one hand and swung the whip hard with his other. The spear jerked to the right and leveled out, and Mehta arched his back to continue the swing. Doing so made the spear into a long mace.

  The butt of the spear whooshed over the Xyonates’ heads and then back behind Mehta, who pulled hard on the whip with both hands to keep it swinging. Meanwhile, Whisper nocked another arrow and drew the string back on his bow.

  Mehta gave the whip a sharp yank, and the spear arced toward Whisper, but he saw it coming and dodged it. Instead, the spear smacked into Proverb’s face, knocking him to the floor.

  But it also stopped Mehta’s momentum, and it didn’t prevent Whisper from firing.

  The arrow soared toward Mehta, and he barely elude
d it. He jerked on the whip, pulling the spear back to him across the marble floor, and he picked it up and separated the whip from it.

  He easily deflected one of Elegy’s throwing knives and another arrow from Whisper, then he hurried through the pool of Verse’s blood and took cover behind the fallen chandelier to catch his breath.

  Thirst or otherwise, his body still had limits.

  The blow he’d delivered to Proverb had undoubtedly hurt, but it hadn’t killed him or even knocked him out. The whip had proven fun and useful thus far, as had the spear, but Mehta couldn’t hope to wield both effectively. He had to choose between them. He chose the spear, shifted it to his right hand, and moved the whip to his left.

  The curtains still blazed with hot fire, staining the white marble ceiling and walls black and boiling the altar room air. Mehta doubted the whole building would catch fire, but the crossbeams that framed the lofted ceiling might burn if the flames reached high enough. Right now, a collapsing ceiling was the least of his concerns.

  He stood up again as the Xyonates approached the chandelier and immediately avoided another arrow and another knife. He lashed the bullwhip at Whisper, hoping to get ahold of his bow, but Hush stepped in front of the strike. The whip coiled around Hush’s blade instead.

  Mehta hauled the whip back, and Hush’s sword lowered. As it did, Mehta hurled the spear at Hush. From such a close distance, Hush couldn’t move in time. The spear plunged into Hush’s chest, and he fell.

  Four Xyonates left to kill.

  So much for keeping the spear. Mehta yanked it back and pulled Hush’s sword over to him. It clattered across the pool of Verse’s blood, and Mehta grabbed it. He tossed the whip aside and tested the sword’s weight. It would function best as a two-handed sword.

  Mehta didn’t prefer such weapons.

  The whip would give him more reach and speed but far less lethality, and the only way out of all of this was by killing the last four Xyonates. Mehta could switch weapons again when the next opportunity arose, but in the meantime, he shook Verse’s blood off of Hush’s sword and waited for the next attack to come.

  Upon his brother’s death, Whisper’s face crinkled into a snarl, and he loosed another arrow. Mehta batted it down then smacked Whisper’s next arrow away as well. As Whisper reached for a third, he found his quiver empty.

  With another snarl, Whisper slung the bow over his shoulder and drew a pair of daggers from his hips. Then he advanced with Proverb on Mehta’s right while Dictum, still bleeding and still clutching Mehta’s knives, approached from Mehta’s left with Elegy.

  Mehta didn’t want them surrounding him, and he could make use of the downed chandelier as an obstacle in the fight, so he pressed his advantage.

  Of the two pairs of Xyonates coming toward him, Mehta decided that taking on Dictum and Elegy made the most sense. Even though Dictum’s wounds would hinder him, Elegy’s skill made them a more formidable pair than Proverb and Whisper. Mehta wanted to eliminate the greatest threat first.

  Furthermore, they both carried knives—shorter-range weapons, which meant Mehta had the advantage of reach. If Mehta wielded it properly, Hush’s sword could strike long before they could even get close to him.

  And even if Mehta couldn’t defeat Elegy, he’d almost certainly sift Dictum in the process. That would level the odds even more. So he advanced toward Dictum and Elegy with Hush’s sword, ready.

  As Whisper and Proverb rounded the chandelier after him, Mehta swung the sword at Dictum, who hopped back and out of the way. Elegy sprang forward and drove his knives down at Mehta.

  Mehta brought the sword up hard and fast, and metal clanged. He whipped his foot at Elegy’s side, catching him in the ribs. The blow sent Elegy toppling onto the downed chandelier, delaying him. Mehta would’ve finished him right there, but Dictum was closing in.

  So Mehta slid under Dictum’s slashes and swung his sword again. The blade dug into Dictum’s right thigh, just above his knee, and embedded in the bone. Dictum went down, and Mehta let the sword fall with him.

  When he recovered his footing, Mehta ran to Hush, who lay on the marble floor with the spear protruding from his chest. To Mehta’s surprise, Hush was still alive, though only barely. Blood tainted his teeth red, and his breaths came in sharp, shallow huffs.

  Mehta crouched next to him, pulled out one of the spare knives tucked within his clothes, and drew it across Hush’s throat to finish him off. As he did, he watched Elegy do the same thing to Dictum, who would’ve died from blood loss soon enough. Then Elegy pulled the sword from Dictum’s leg.

  Then Mehta tucked the blade back within the folds of his clothes, planted his foot on Hush’s body, and yanked the spear from his chest. He caught sight of Whisper glowering at him from near the chandelier.

  Three Xyonates remained. Three Xyonates and Ghazal stood between him and his journey home to the crater-topped mountain. Three more Xyonates to either satisfy his raging thirst or sift him.

  Mehta backed away from the ever-expanding pool of blood from Verse, Hush, and now Dictum. He stood just beyond its edge and forced Elegy, Whisper, and Proverb to walk into it—it was either that, or they’d have to venture closer to the roaring flames scouring the ceiling rafters.

  He took a long look over his shoulder to scan for Ghazal and Ferne, but he saw neither of them. It concerned him, but he couldn’t do anything about it until he dealt with the Xyonates.

  The three Xyonates spread wide across the altar room and approached him. Elegy stood in the center with Whisper on the left and Proverb on the right.

  Mehta held out his spear, ready.

  Whisper charged first, followed closely by Proverb. Mehta parried Whisper’s daggers with three solid blocks, then he threw an attack of his own.

  As Whisper defended, Proverb closed in and delivered a series of vicious hacks with his axes. Rather than trying to parry heavy axe blows with a wooden spear shaft, Mehta dodged and worked to gain a more favorable position.

  He’d sparred enough times with Proverb in the past to know his tendencies, and he waited for an opening while fending off Whisper and Elegy. The opening came and went once, but the second time it appeared, Mehta slammed the butt end of his spear into the side of Proverb’s face hard enough to shatter his jaw.

  Crack.

  Proverb spun as he fell, and his body smacked against the bloody floor. He wasn’t moving. The blow to his head might’ve killed him, but he could just be unconscious. Either way, Mehta needed to make sure.

  Whisper rushed closer, as if trying to separate Mehta from Proverb to keep him from finishing off Proverb, and it would’ve worked had his foot not slipped on the slick floor. The slip itself wasn’t fatal, but Mehta seized the momentary advantage.

  Whisper still held up his daggers in defense of his torso, but his legs were spread too far apart. Mehta jammed the spear’s head into Whisper’s knee.

  Whisper yelped and his leg buckled, but as Mehta pulled his spear back, Whisper lashed out with his daggers again before Mehta could react.

  Clang.

  A long sword batted Whisper’s daggers away. As Mehta raised the spear in defense, the sword cleaved down into Whisper’s torso from above his shoulder. It lodged in his chest, and Whisper stared at the sword’s wielder in shock as he slumped to the floor.

  Elegy.

  Chapter Nine

  Elegy stood there, facing Mehta with his hands empty. Whisper’s blood dotted the side of his face.

  Why had he killed Whisper? More importantly, why hadn’t he killed Mehta when he’d had the chance? He could’ve just as easily swung the sword at Mehta.

  “I have waited long enough, Requiem.” Elegy removed a twin set of knives from the folds of his clothes. “Throw down your spear, and let us determine the truth between us once and for all.”

  Inside, Mehta hesitated, but he immediately threw down the spear to convey confidence and certainty. He extracted a single knife from inside his clothes and gripped it in his right hand. Fire cra
ckled and blazed around them, and perspiration from the oppressive heat mingled with the Xyonates’ blood on Mehta’s face.

  In order to triumph, Mehta couldn’t rely on his thirst alone. He’d need to martial every ounce of skill, energy, drive, speed, strength, and precision to win.

  But could he really defeat Elegy? They’d always matched up well in training and sparring sessions, and the Xyonate clerics had barely distinguished between them when it came to the most difficult commissions.

  Their Xyonate brethren had held them both in high regard, but the reverence they’d shown Mehta had, in his opinion, surpassed what they’d shown Elegy. Mehta had always known Elegy was a threat and a masterful sifter, but he’d never felt the need to prove anything against him.

  Elegy, on the other hand, had wished to assert his dominance. Thus, in Mehta’s mind, Mehta had always been the better Xyonate.

  But that could all change today.

  “I accept your challenge.” Mehta took a balanced fighting stance.

  “Mehta?” a small voice called from behind him.

  Mehta didn’t dare look, not with Elegy standing so close. So he backed several steps away and then turned his head.

  Ferne stood before the altar. Blood spattered her face, arms, and clothes. She held the knife Mehta had given her in her right hand. It perfectly matched the one he now held, except that blood dripped from its tip.

  Mehta opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but Ghazal staggered into the altar room behind her. His face had paled, and he clutched at his right thigh. Crimson blood pulsed through his fingers.

  Right where Mehta had shown Ferne to aim.

  Ferne backed away from him, toward the nearest set of flaming curtains, glancing frantically between Mehta and Ghazal. She held the knife in front of her, like Mehta had shown her, but her face showed the same expression of terror she’d worn when Ghazal had her on the altar.

  Mehta moved to her side, and Elegy went to Ghazal.

  “It’s alright, Ferne,” Mehta said over the roar of the flames. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. She didn’t lower the knife, nor did she take her gaze off of Ghazal. “It’s alright.”