Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 829

Chapter 829: A walk

With the shouts of men dying behind him and the wet crunch of boots on blood-slick stone, Cain trudged forward toward the main congregation of the Confederation’s host , or at least the fraction of it not knee-deep in plunder, rutting,fucking, or drunk on stolen vintages. Which was to say, the minority.

At first sight, it brought him a grim sort of relief. Ahead lay at least a semblance of order: ranks of raiders massed before the last bastion of Azania’s grandeur, the imperial palace itself. Once, its walls had gleamed white in the sun, symbols of a dynasty that stretched back centuries. Now, they were blackened by smoke and slick with the gore of the earlier battle which forced the defenders to take repair on the great court. Confederation banners fluttered lazily atop ramparts that yesterday had bristled with defenders.

But any comfort Cain felt drained swiftly as he drew closer.

The pounding of the battering ram against the massive iron gate echoed like the heartbeat of some monstrous beast, each thud reverberating through stone and marrow alike. The rhythm was broken by the sharp hiss of arrows loosed from above , shafts that buried themselves in necks, in bellies, in shoulders. Men stumbled back with gurgling cries, blood seeping between their fingers. Others dropped where they stood, sprawled in the dirt, their lifeblood soaking the dust.

Still the ram did not stop. Slaves, pressed into service, filled the gaps as bodies slumped.

Cain watched one boy, barely bearded, hesitate as a quarrel took his comrade through the eye. A heartbeat later, the boy’s skull split under a raider’s axe when he saw he wasn’t going forward, his corpse shoved aside, and another trembling slave forced to take the handle of the ram.

The sound of it all was grating. The endless hammering of wood against metal, punctuated by the hiss of arrows and the dull thud of bodies falling, gnawed at Cain’s already frayed nerves. He had been standing there for less than five minutes, and already it was unbearable. And this, he realized, had gone on for hours as he watched the long rows of dead bodies.

He turned his gaze away, but what he saw soured him further. Raiders slumped on the walls, half-heartedly watching the slaughter below, skins of wine in hand. Some slept on their posts, others sat slouched in the shadow of the battlements, too drunk to string their bows. A few barked crude encouragements at the dying slaves.

Cain spat on the stones.

He should not have been surprised. These men lived and died by the sea. Their strength lay in their oars, their ships, their sudden strikes. On firm land, once the thrill of the sack had been satisfied, discipline dissolved like salt in water. After days and weeks of rowing, once their feet touched solid earth, they sought only to glut themselves , on wine, on women, on silver.

They might have been lords of the waves, feared on every coast, but here, before an iron gate that mocked them, they were little better than children with axes. And Cain knew it well enough: should a true army march against them now, not even his brother’s fury could save this rabble from being swept aside.

And that thought worried him more than the pounding ram or the arrows raining down.

His time was running thin. Cain could feel it in the marrow of his bones. Every day that passed on this cursed expedition brought him no closer to his brother. No matter what Cain did, Blake kept him at arm’s length. Always the same look when their eyes met: disapproval, or worse, a faint, contemptuous snort.

Cain wasn’t a fool. Barely a month under Blake’s banner was enough to make the problem plain. The rumors that clung to Blake’s name like smoke, the shadow that followed his every deed , it all came back to that. And if Cain was to break through, if he was to matter, he needed proximity to put an axe through that problem.

Hence the reason he was here.

Cain’s eyes swept the drunken chaos around the keep until they landed on a familiar face. Relief loosened his chest.

“Ebri!” he called.

The man turned, bleary-eyed and swaying, a horn of wine in hand. To Cain’s dismay, he looked just as sodden as the rest. “Oi, Cain! What’ve you got there?” he slurred, nodding toward the slave at Cain’s side.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Cain snapped. “I need a favor.”

Ebri laughed and tipped the horn back, spilling wine down his beard. “A favor, is it?Well, no harm in hearing it.”

“I need you to watch her. Make sure no one gets clever ideas. Including you.” He squinted a bit at the smell of wine coming from Ebri’s mouth

Ebri squinted at the slave, then back at Cain, curiosity muddling into amusement. “Why? I thought you’d stay holed up in that fine mansion with your new prize till we sail away. Seems more your pace.”

“I’m going for a walk around the keep,” Cain said flatly. “Which reminds me , if you’ve a shield to spare, I’d thank you.”

The man barked out a laugh and wagged the horn at him. “You know damn well your… circumstances. I don’t want no trouble sticking to me. You’ve five men set to keep you alive, and if something happens to you, it’ll be me they blame next.”

“They weren’t much use in the battle,” Cain muttered.

“That’s because you snuck ashore in a vessel like some wretched stowaway. Nearly got yourself gutted , too, if memory serves.”

Cain clenched his teeth. “Listen. One way or another, I’m going. I can do it with a shield or without. If I die for lack of one, whose fault will that be, hmm?”

Ebri stared at him for a long moment, then snorted through his nose. “Hells take you, Cain. You’re as crooked in the head as you are in the leg.” With a grunt, he swung the battered shield from his back and shoved it at him. “Here. But make it quick. Don’t make me regret keeping your skin whole.”

Cain took the shield with a nod, hefting its weight in his hand. “Quick it will be,” he said before turning to his slave and telling her to stay put, which anxiously she did.

“What are you even going to do there?” Ebri called after him, sloshing his horn of wine. “You’d do better to drag your lame arse back to that mansion and fuck the days away. No one’s going to trouble you there.”

Cain didn’t slow. “There’s something I want to see given we are going at a snail’s place,” he muttered, the words barely louder than his uneven steps. Shield on one arm, cane in the other, he turned his back on Ebri and the comfort of drunken idleness.

The keep loomed ahead, squatting like a beast of iron and stone. Every few breaths the steady thunk of the ram against the gate echoed, followed by the hiss and whistle of arrows from above.

Cain limped along the churned mud at the base of the wall. His gaze fell on a corpse sprawled only a few paces away, an arrow buried clean through the throat. The man’s mouth was frozen in the shape of a scream, his eyes staring glassy at the sky.

Cain’s stomach twisted, and before he realized it, his shield had lifted slightly ,a useless instinct, but one that made him feel less bare as he hobbled forward.

His cane sank into the muck with every step, dragging behind the rhythm of his uneven gait. The sound of the dying, the groan of timbers, the curses of men under fire , all of it pressed down on him like a weight. But his thoughts were elsewhere.

My body’s broken. Always has been. Always will be. The truth gnawed at him with every stagger. But the brain… the brain’s still mine. That’s the only weapon I’ve got left. If I can’t fight, then I’ll think. I’ll scheme. One way or another, I’ll make myself useful.

He looked up at the keep again, the final prize of this blood-soaked carnival, and clenched his jaw.

It was the only path left to him. If Cain could prove himself in front of the captains ,show wit where others relied only on muscle and cruelty , then perhaps Blake would finally see him as more than a burden, more than a lame shadow at his heel. Perhaps then his brother would allow him into the circle that mattered.

Dark forces stirred beneath all this blood and ruin; Cain felt them as surely as he felt the ache in his twisted leg. He had tried to dismiss it at first, to call it paranoia, but after Khairo’s assault he had no doubts left. Blake was no longer his only. Others had marked him. Others pulled at him.

He now understood why the Sea-God showed him what he was to become and what he was to betray.

He was to bring him back into the fray.

Cain could not reach him with love. He doubted Blake bore him any, and truth be told, Cain himself wasn’t sure he bore any either. Blake had not come home in five years. Five years without a word, not even for their mother. That wound was harder to forgive than his own broken body. Harder to understand.

He could understand the dismissal of the cripple, but his own mother?

Still, Blake had saved him that day. When steel closed in and Cain was certain the earth would swallow him, his brother had cut a path and pulled him free. That meant something. Not everything was lost. That spark told Cain there was still something left to fight for though no certainty, no promise. Just a chance. And a chance was enough.

So he tried. He limped through the city that was fast becoming a graveyard, forcing himself to see what his fellow Confederates would not.

Where others saw plunder, Cain studied patterns any road that could take them to victory.

He may have been a cripple, but his mind was unbroken. And if he could not match his brother in strength, then he would surpass him in foresight.

Really he didn’t have much choice on that.