Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Laedio watched as the newest addition to the King’s army march down the main thoroughfare of the city. Their breastplates, helmets, and greaves caught and threw back the faint, flickering light that the winter sun bothered to offer through the heavy gray clouds.

They were young blood. Newcomers. Fucking green boys whom the King saw fit to throw straight into this southern hell just to get them bloodied and give relief to a terrible situation that had the circumstances to turn even worse.

They were all grinning, exchanging excited whispers in the ranks far away from the ears of their superiors. Laedio could understand the feeling. They had likely spent the last three moons rotting in a capital garrison, enduring the endless drilling of a commander whose only tactical philosophy was that if you wanted to build a proper soldier, first you had to break a boy into pieces.

No doubt these lads were absolutely starving for a piece of the action.

Marching under the King’s high falcon banner was a massive honor, of course. It came with a steady salary and a thoroughly decent retirement plan, assuming you were unlucky enough to get shorted a leg or an arm in the brush. There weren’t many profitable opportunities for cripples in the realm, after all.

For a brief, dark moment, Laedio wondered how many of those smiling boys would actually see a proper battle. The Vulture Lord’s minions were certainly in no great hurry to offer open field engagement; the bastards only came out with steel in hand when they were either cornered like rabid dogs or possessed overwhelmingly superior numbers and even then they would make diversive attacks preferring to use stones from slings and arrows from bows.

Still, as green as the reinforcements were, they would make a fine addition to reinforce the desperately thin lines of men currently patrolling the outskirts and guarding the baggage trains from the capital.

It was a bitter truth to swallow, but for many of the veteran soldiers, this post-war cleanup was proving a far more agonizing business than the actual campaigns they had fought.

They had so many things to protect with just so many resources, you pulled up the blanket to cover your shoulder and the foot was exposed.

"It’s too tight, you son of a whore!"

With a heavy sigh, Laedio pulled his head back into the dim, damp room, turning his back to the window. It had been nice to get a mouthful of crisp winter air, away from the distinct stench of old sweat and fear brewing in the chamber.

He strode across the stone floor and casually delivered a punch straight into the gut of the man bound to the wooden chair. He hit the exact spot he knew hurt the most, leaving the prisoner to wheeze, double over, and spit a glob of saliva onto the floor like a drooling dotard.

Well, Laedio hadn’t personally fought in the frontline vanguards of this specific war, so he couldn’t accurately compare the two. But he knew with absolute certainty that this root-and-branch business was a brutal, thankless task. And most assuredly, a thoroughly unclean one.

It was one thing to put a helmet on, raise a heavy shield, and clear out a nest of rats with a broadsword. It was an entirely different nightmare to actually track the vermin down through a labyrinth of lies.

A man had to get smart in this city long before he got himself bloody.

"Still a bit too tight for you, friend?" Laedio asked, a small, dangerous smile playing on his lips as the man gasped for air.

This prisoner wasn’t the usual breed of rat Laedio was accustomed to dealing with in the slums. Those were typically hard, stringy, rough-edged bastards who smelled of cheap ale and the gutter. This specimen possessed a soft, greasy gut that wobbled like jelly every time he took a step, black hair meticulously brushed back with expensive oils, and a cloying perfume of dried roses that drifted off his silk doublet even now in this hellish cellar.

He had money.

Indeed not the usual type, to be sure, but a rat nonetheless. Laedio could smell the treason on him.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the merchant roared after he resumed his bearing, his voice thick with a desperate, empty bravado.

Laedio had met the type a thousand times. The ones who shouted the loudest at the start were always the ones who broke into the smallest pieces once the iron came out.

The calm nature of Laedio’s smile must have thoroughly enraged the man, completely overwriting whatever wits he had left. "Do you have any earthly idea who I am?!"

"Not really," Laedio replied dryly, leaning his hip against the heavy interrogation table. "We are merely used to dragging nameless curs off the high roads and hoping to squeeze a bit of truth out of them." He snorted, tapping his knuckles against the wood. "Of course we know who you are, dear Lorthio. We’ve been turning this city upside down searching for your fat face for quite some time."

His fale went pale for a second, then he caught himself.

"Then you must know I have gold! Massive amounts of coin! I can pay all of you!" Lorthio stammered, his mind finally drifting down the right track, though unfortunately in the entirely wrong direction.

Standing in the corner, Hypathio crossed his scarred arms tightly over his chest, his face dark. "We have absolutely no interest in ill-gotten rebel silver, merchant."

"You only say that because you haven’t been offered the proper amount," Lorthio pleaded, his chest heaving. He truly was a merchant down to his very marrow, Laedio supposed; the idiot thought everything in life could be bargained for.

He did not yet realise he was done"I can make every single man in this room filthy rich. Just cut these ropes, let me walk, and you will all live like kings!"

"I recall a time when people used to say live like princes," Laedio mused aloud, a mocking glint in his eye. "How quickly the common sayings change in the South, don’t they? Still, you got one thing entirely right, friend. We do need to unbound him. After all, how else is he supposed to sign a full confession? Tell me, Lorthio, you are a right-handed gentleman, aren’t you?’’

The man just stared confusioned ’’Excellent.’’ Laedio muttered as he clapped his hand ’’ We shall start the festivities with the left, then."

Lorthio’s eyes darted instantly to the heavy iron cleaver resting on the corner of the table.Perhaps realising now of its use.

I bet you’d love to take my head off with that steel right now, wouldn’t you? Laedio thought, his smile widening. Though he knew with certainty that the fat merchant lacked the raw stomach to splatter blood with his own hands.

"You’re the rat-catcher, right? Laedio? I know your name!" Lorthio begged, his voice rising a frantic octave. "I can pay you monthly, a steady stream of gold, twice what your king gives you, if you just let me slip out the back door! You have the wrong man, I swear it to the gods! I am merely a simple merchant delivering food to a starving populace. Are you truly going to torture a man for bringing bread into this accursed city?"

"Of course not," Laedio replied smoothly, his tone as warm as a summer breeze. "Merchants are always considered dear friends of the crown in Yarzat. Much less so, however, when they actively funnel gold, heavy weaponry, and lovingly bread straight to our mortal enemies. You had a magnificent run, Lorthio, and it was a most profitable venture while it lasted, wasn’t it?How much coin did you make from that?Did the coin perhaps have two towers on the back of the silver?"

"I don’t have the slightest clue what you are talk—"

"Liar, liar, pants on bloody fire," Laedio interrupted, playfully tapping the pommel of the iron cleaver with his index finger. "Come now, friend, let us not insult each other’s intelligence. We both know there is only one way out of this room, so don’t make the journey any harder on your skin than it needs to be. We don’t hate you. Honestly, we dislike you a fair bit, after all, your coin has been feeding the men killing our boys, but we understand you. You got greedy, and you wanted a bigger slice of the pie.Greed is a human thing."

Laedio stepped forward, placing a heavy, paternal hand upon the merchant’s trembling silk shoulder.

"We realize that. The sole problem, you see, is that you were caught. So, unless your tongue starts wagging within the next three breaths, we are going to systematically pull your nails out by the roots, smash your teeth into powder with a smith’s hammer, castrate you cleanly, and gods alone know what else my boys brought from the barracks that can be cut off or smashed to pieces. There are so many options available to us, Lorthio... you wouldn’t believe the variety.

Let us start with something simple," Laedio said. "How many men does the Vulture Lord have hidden in the western ridges? Give me a number."

Lorthio’s entire frame began to tremble, the silk of his doublet rustling against the wooden chair as a cold sweat broke through his oiled hair. "I... I don’t know!" he stammered, his eyes darting wildly. "I swear by the gods, I am just a merchant"

Laedio let out a short, harsh snort, thoroughly unimpressed by the performance.

"Very well. Let us talk about your end of the ledger then," Laedio continued, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Where do you get the grain? Who are your contacts , and exactly how do you smuggle carts of steel past the sentries? Who is aiding you?

Lorthio’s wobbly gut heaved, a fat tear finally spilling over his cheek and tracking through the powder on his skin. He looked on the verge of sobbing, his voice cracking into a pathetic, high-pitched whine. "I don’t know! I just deliver food inside the city not outside!

Laedio sighed heavily.

"A pity," Laedio murmured, reaching out onto the scarred wood of the table. "I was truly hoping a bit of conversation would suffice. Only bloodied it seems liars finally speak true"

The fat man’s eyes went wide as Laedioo took a firm hold of the heavy iron cleaver. He didn’t offer another word, nor did he grant the merchant a final breath to scream.

He brought the heavy blade down.

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