Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 824

Chapter 824: Forebearers

For one fragile moment, Arkath thought he had misheard.

Surely, he must have. What mother would not run when given the chance to spirit her child away from a burning city? What mother would not leap at safety, at survival? Was it not the oldest duty of womanhood , to nurture, to protect, to keep the line alive?

But then he met her gaze. Those deep, steady brown eyes. The firmness there was like stone, like iron driven into the earth. And in that instant all doubt drained from him. She meant it. She meant every word.

Confusion flooded him first, then fear, then a rush of disillusionment so sharp it felt like a knife. Why? Why would she throw herself into ruin when the path to safety was open before her?

“Why?” The word tore out of him before he could stop it. “Why would you do that? You have the chance to flee, to live, to keep your son alive! Why won’t you take it? Why won’t you take what any other mother would in your place?”

His voice shook, and then hardened with an anger he did not intend , an anger born of helplessness. “I know you, Shuaa. You are not sentimental. All your attachments were to Bayezid, and to the boy. You will not give your life for love of this land not you. You do not give a shit about this city.Which means…” He swallowed hard, trembling. “Which means there is another reason.”

Shuaa’s lips curved faintly. Not in mockery, not in cruelty, but in something gentler , almost pity. Her head tilted, and her gaze softened into that of a woman who looked upon a friend she knew could never truly understand her.

“It is not sentiment,” she murmured. “It is prophecy.”

Arkath’s heart lurched. “Your visions,” he whispered, dread pooling in his gut. “Did they tell you? Did they say you would die if you followed us?Hadn’t you lost your power?”

Her smile deepened, sad and knowing. “The gifts never speak so plainly. They do not hand down commands from heaven. They show… symbols. Shadows. And I, all my life, have labored to decipher them. To make sense of what little I was given.” Her eyes unfocused for a moment, as though staring through the walls and the clash of steel beyond. “It is never easy. Never certain. Only fragments, threads, that must be woven together.”

She laughed once, bitter and soft, a sound almost lost beneath the distant roar of battle. “Decades I spent chasing those fragments. And still, the meanings came to me slowly, piece by piece. Khairo was a great fire. That much I learned. I thought , I swore, when I saw it cease to be that it meant the rebels, that they would extinguish the fire . I spent all I had in power to quench them. And yet…” She shook her head, her veil shifting with the motion. “The true fire came from the sea. Not rebels. Sea-scourge….”

Her gaze darkened with grief, and for a fleeting moment she was simply a widow mourning a husband. “Perhaps Bayezid would still live, had we not erred from the path. Perhaps we both mistook the signs. Perhaps that was always the way it was to go.”

Her eyes turned back to Arkath then, sharp again, cutting through his panic. “But the fire, Arkath… the fire went out. All of it. Extinguished in an instant. And yet, the visions showed me one thing remained. A spark.”

The word lingered on her tongue, heavy as stone.

“Do you know what a spark means?” she asked, though she did not wait for his answer. He already knew it. “The blessed. The chosen. That which survives the ruin of the fire, to give birth to a new one.”

Her lips trembled then, though her voice did not falter. “My child is that spark. He must live, because from him a greater fire will rise. That is my prophecy. That is my gift to Azania. And it is enough.”

Arkath’s hands balled into fists. “No,” he rasped. His breath quickened, panic clawing at him. “No, Shuaa, listen to yourself! You said it yourself , you are no longer blessed. You gave all your power away when you passed it to your son. You are not the spark anymore. Which means you can leave! You are no longer bound. You can come with us, live, survive!”

Her eyes softened then, and he saw in them not a witch, nor a regent, nor even a queen, but a mother.

“And would you have me risk it, Arkath?” Shuaa’s voice was soft, yet it struck him like a hammer. “Would you have me risk the last trace of my beloved in this world , his blood, his heir, his only gift left to me ,for my own survival? If the enemy sees neither mother nor son, they will search everywhere. But if they find a mother and a child…” Her eyes narrowed, heavy with certainty. “They will think they’ve caught the real one.”

The truth coiled around Arkath’s chest and squeezed. His knees threatened to give way.

He wanted to scream, to shake her, to drag her if he must. But his mouth dried, his tongue felt like ash, and all that left him was silence. His heart clamored with protest, but his eyes , gods curse him, betrayed him.

And she saw it at once.

No. He would not fight her.

No. He could not save her.

Not even her.

His sins were already too many to number . How could he risk the only chance of redemption left to him , the boy, the heir, the last spark of Bayezid’s blood , for her life, when she herself refused it?

Her lips trembled, but her words were steady. “In a certain way, Arkath, I will sacrifice all I have for my child. It tears at me that I will not see him grow… but I know he will live. And I know he will rise.” She lifted her eyes and met his gaze, her stare unblinking, unwavering. “You must be the one to deliver him to safety. You must set him upon the path to reclaim what is rightfully his. Be patient. Do not squander his inheritance in haste. Act only when the time is right…”

“I will,” Arkath rasped. His voice cracked under the weight of it. He lowered his head in shame, but her hand rose, warm and graceful, to lift his chin.

The touch burned him. He had desired her once, guiltily, silently , a sin he had buried deep in the years of her marriage to Bayezid and his own biological impossibility. Desire that had curdled into longing when her power had faded, when her eyes grew sadder and her nights lonelier. Desire he could never speak, never touch. And now…

Her lips pressed against his forehead, a kiss not of passion, but of blessing. It seared him all the same.

“I am sure you will do more than that,” she whispered. “The last blood of Bayezid will be with you. Be his teacher. Be the father he will never have.My boy will only have you, be as whole as you can”

Her eyes hardened then, the witch returning in her stead. The mother’s softness receded, replaced by the Regent who had ruled men and spirits alike.

“Enough gold and silver has been hidden away. Buried where only the most trusted know. Do not touch it. Not yet. If you reach for it too soon, you will die , cut down by jackals eager to snatch what they can. Wait. Wait until you hold power in your hands before you claim it.”

Arkath’s breath came heavy.

“After the city falls…” she continued , her voice thinning on the word falls though she forced it through clenched teeth, “…and it will fall, Arkath, trust me in this, the southern army will march north. They will try to reclaim the capital. I do not think they will succeed. But should they triumph, you must present yourself openly, only if they suceed.

Bring the child. Show his power to every town, every village, every city toward Khairo before you set foot in the court. Make sure his blood is seen. Make sure his blessing is undeniable. If the lords of the capital see the spark of fire burning in him with their own eyes, none will dare to touch you. Not even the usurper that would have rule after my boy.”

Her hand tightened around his shoulder, her nails digging into the cloth. Her words became a command. “But if the army fails, then it will fall to you. Nurture him. Shape him. Guide him into manhood until the time comes when the fire within him can blaze. Judge when that time is right.

You will have only a handful of loyal servants, but those few will be enough if you use them wisely. Do not squander them. And take this…” She reached beneath her silks, drawing out the heavy seal of the Sultan, the sigil of Bayezid himself. “This will mark you as true. This will testify to your claim and his. Guard it with your life. From this moment on, Arkath, I cannot help you any longer.”

Her arms encircled him then, and he felt her warmth press against him one final time. Her skin was hot , as hot as it had always been, as though some ember of her lost magic still smoldered in her veins.

“You are Bayezid’s only hope,” she whispered against his ear. “And mine. Do not let us down.I am sorry I cannot be with you.”

Arkath closed his eyes and held her tight, as though he could trap her soul there, keep her tethered to this life a little longer. Bayezid never deserved her…as he never loved who she really was.

He wished to tell her he would not fail. He wished to promise it. But the words stuck in his throat, because promises had always been the one thing he broke.

Still, as he released her, as her warmth slipped from him like sand through his fingers, he clung to the only truth he had left.

The path ahead would be hard. Treacherous. Perhaps impossible.

But at least, he thought, as though whispering it to himself to keep from shattering, at least he carried with him the last light of the gods to guide the way.

At least he carried their son.

And he would not fail this time….