Blood Mercenaries Origins

by Ben Wolf

  The shackle opened, and his wrist slipped out.

  Aeron freed his other wrist next, much easier than the first one, and he left the shackles hanging on the post. He rolled his shoulders and tried to stretch out his back, and slowly the feeling returned to his right arm.

  Then he started walking toward Brove.

  One of the soldiers, a man he recognized as Porgus Darleton, reached for his leg, but in slow motion. Aeron hopped over it with ease.

  Porgus looked up at him with eyes full of grogginess and confusion. Then he sprawled out on the launch pad, eyes closed, and started snoring.

  Aeron reached Brove and looked down at him. Brove wasn’t asleep yet, but he wouldn’t last much longer, either.

  “Whaa… how’d you…” Brove’s words slurred out of his mouth.

  “You probably won’t remember what I’m about to tell you,” Aeron began, “but that blue mushroom was grown and imbued to put even the realm’s most dedicated insomniacs asleep. When you stomped on it, you sent thousands of tiny spores shooting out at the other soldiers, and now they’re falling asleep, too.”

  “But… why n… not… you?” Brove managed.

  “Before I let myself in the front door, I took a mushroom that was grown and imbued to keep even the most hopeless narcoleptics awake.” Aeron smiled. “It totally negated the effects of the blue mushroom.”

  Brove blinked long and hard, and drool oozed from the corner of his mouth onto the platform.

  Aeron had to hand it to him—he was really fighting to stay awake, and he’d outlasted most of his soldiers despite directly touching the blue shroom.

  “You gunn… na kill… m… me?” Brove asked.

  Aeron shook his head. “No.”

  “Wh… y?”

  “Because I’m not a heartless piece of trash like you.”

  Brove couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, and he fully succumbed to the shroom’s effects.

  Aeron went back and grabbed his breastplate, found his helmet and shield, and recovered the key to the bronze doors next.

  Then he picked up Brove’s spear. It was on the heavy side, but it was a wicked weapon with a three-pointed steel spearhead. It would do some serious damage in battle.

  Aeron wondered if his father had made it. Whether he had or not, Aeron was taking it.

  Then he turned to Wafer, who perked up immediately. Either Wafer was far enough away that the shroom spores didn’t reach him, or they just plain didn’t work on wyverns.

  “I think I deserve a souvenir, don’t you?”

  Wafer snorted. It was a yes.

  Besides, he couldn’t find the lance he’d brought in with him. This was more than a fair trade for his trouble thus far. Aeron opened the shackle on Wafer’s ankle, and Wafer nuzzled his scaly snout against Aeron’s chest and face.

  Aeron thought back to Cracker, who’d nuzzled Everlee in much the same way after Aeron had freed him from the tree in Dreynoth. Now he’d had his glorious reunion, too.

  “Alright, boy. I know. I missed you, too.” Aeron coaxed Wafer out of his stall and onto the launch pad. “Don’t step on the commander.”

  Wafer growled at Brove’s sleeping form, but he stepped over him, as ordered.

  “I hope you’re ready to fly. We’ve got time for one stop at home, and then we’re off to who knows where, and for gods know how long.”

  Wafer’s head bobbed up and down, and he made the same chomping noises as before.

  “Yes, buddy. We’ll get you fed, too.”

  With his tail, Wafer flung the post aside as if it weighed nothing. It skidded off the edge of the launch pad toward the empty stall left by Nilla and Faylen.

  Then Wafer lowered himself so Aeron could saddle him up. Aeron hooked the breastplate and shield to the saddle, then he mounted Wafer. It hurt his back to do so, but otherwise, he’d never felt better.

  “You ready for a new adventure?” Aeron asked.

  Wafer didn’t have to reply. Aeron could feel that he was.

  They both were.

  Aeron sent Wafer a command through their bond, and Wafer sprung off the launch pad and shot through the opening in the ceiling, carrying Aeron to the clouds high above.

  They landed a few minutes later in front of Pa’s shop.

  Several people on the street eyed Wafer as he set down, careful to back away to give him plenty of space. They stared but didn’t do anything else. Thanks to Commander Brove’s repeated landings at that spot, the folks around the shop had grown accustomed to seeing wyverns around the area.

  Aeron hopped off of Wafer and ran inside. The sun had started to set, and Pa wasn’t there anymore, so Aeron deposited the borrowed armor and the key where he’d found them—more or less. He kept the shackle key, though, just in case he might need it again.

  Satisfied, he hurried back out, locked the shop door behind him, and then he and Wafer flew toward his parents’ house.

  Wafer set down in the street in front of the house, and Aeron beckoned him to roar with three taps on the nape of his neck. Wafer complied, and Aeron watched as the folks in his parents’ neighborhood scattered.

  At least they weren’t being nosy about it. The last thing Aeron needed was neighbors alerting the authorities to his whereabouts.

  His parents and sister scrambled out of the house and stopped when they saw Aeron and Wafer. Kallie squealed.

  “He’s beautiful!” She bounced up and down on her toes and inched closer. “Can I ride him?”

  Mum grabbed her by both arms and hauled her back. “It’s bad enough that one of my children flies around, cheating death on a regular basis. You’ll stay here with your feet stuck firmly to the ground.”

  Aeron laughed. “Come on, Mum. It’s perfectly safe, even for two. Wafer knows what he’s doing.”

  Mum held her ground. “Some other time, perhaps. I can’t abide it today.”

  Aeron looked at Kallie. “It’s up to you.”

  She sighed and nodded. “Yeah. Some other time.”

  As Aeron dismounted, Pa shook his head.

  “What?” Aeron asked.

  “I can’t believe you actually pulled this off.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I’m not worthless and stupid after all.” Aeron meant it as a joke. Mostly.

  “You’re not worthless or stupid,” Pa said.

  Aeron grinned at him.

  Pa continued, “You just pursue worthless ideas and make a lot of stupid decisions.”

  Aeron’s grin dissipated, and his voice flattened. “Thanks.”

  “May I…” Mum raised her hand toward Wafer, tentatively. “…touch him?”

  “Of course.” Aeron smiled. “He only bites when I tell him to.”

  Mum shot Aeron a glare, then she reached forward and stroked the side of Wafer’s scaly neck. Kallie joined her. Wafer leaned into the affection and made the same contented chirps that he’d made when Aeron showed up at his stall in the roost.

  “Pa, you can pet him too, if you like,” Aeron said.

  Pa held his ground. “No, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” Aeron turned to Mum and Kallie. “Watch him for a moment while I go fetch some things from my room?”

  They nodded, and Aeron headed inside the house. In his room, he collected his sack of shrooms and stuffed the remainder of his clothes and personal effects into a pack. He slung it all over his shoulder and headed back outside.

  “You’re leaving?” Mum’s eyes bore the same sadness as they had the day he’d arrived.

  “I’m sorry, Mum, but it’ll be better for all of us if I go. I’m a fugitive from the Govalian Army now, so I can’t stay.” He took her hands in his. “But I’ll write often, and I’ll stop by whenever I’m in the area. And if Pa ever lets you leave the city, maybe you could come and visit me sometime with Kallie.”

  “Where will you go?” Pa asked.

  Aeron knew the type of answer Pa wanted, and he knew Pa had asked more for Mum’s benefit than anyone else’s. “I’ll go wherever Wafe
r and I can find work. But I have to leave Govalia, at least for now.”

  Pa nodded, his face sullen.

  Mum’s eyes teared up. “It was lovely having you back at home, even if only for a few weeks.”

  Aeron wrapped her in a long hug and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mum.”

  Kallie hugged him next, before he could say anything. She let him go after a moment and said, “Don’t get yourself caught or killed out there, yeah? If I do have a wedding someday, I want you to be there, intact. And I want Wafer there, too.”

  Wafer snorted and bobbed his head, then he chomped his jaws open and shut.

  Aeron chuckled. “He said that if there’s food, he’ll be there.”

  Kallie laughed and hugged Aeron again.

  Pa extended his hand, and Aeron shook it.

  “I know we rarely see eye to eye, but I’m proud of the man you’ve become,” Pa said.

  Aeron waited.

  Pa added, “Mostly, anyway.”

  There it is. “Thanks, Pa.”

  “Take care of yourself, boy.”

  Aeron smirked. “I will, old man.”

  Pa’s neutral expression soured, and he released Aeron’s hand. “Call me old again, and I’ll kick your ass.”

  Aeron rolled his eyes. “I’d better go. No telling how or when they’ll figure out what’s happened.”

  He mounted Wafer again, waved goodbye one last time, and then they vaulted into the air.

  As they flew, Aeron called out, “Wafer, how would you feel about becoming a mercenary?”

  Wafer bobbed his head and chomped with his mouth.

  As long as I get to eat.

  Chapter One

  Electric energy tingled in the tips of Kent Etheridge’s fingers. He clenched his fists to subdue the sensation.

  “Father is waiting,” Kent said from his brother Fane’s side. “I do not know why you insist on delaying.”

  “It is not my intention to keep him waiting, nor do I wish to vex you, brother,” Fane countered. “And I would prefer if you didn’t hover over my shoulder. I am perfectly capable of dressing myself.”

  Kent scoffed. With the aid of no fewer than three of our servants. “Fine. I am heading downstairs. At least one of us should be punctual.”

  “Then just wait one more minute, and I will be ready.” Fane shifted his stance so the servants could secure his long, green cape to the triangle- shaped fasteners attached to his jacket.

  Kent frowned. His younger brother’s vanity had irked him for decades, but over the last several weeks, Fane had developed an even more demanding demeanor. It frustrated Kent beyond what words could describe.

  The tingling in Kent’s hands persisted, and he kept his fists clenched. He needed to get out of there and regain control of himself before Fane noticed.

  “No, Fane,” Kent said. “I am leaving now. The succession ceremony is not dependent on your attendance.”

  As Kent turned and headed out the door, Fane spoke again. “Kent, your selfishness is the one thing about you I do not covet.”

  Kent didn’t turn around but said, “And thanks to your recklessness, your carelessness, and your flippancy, there is nothing about you worth coveting.”

  That ought to be enough to silence him. Where his brother was concerned, stern and decisive words proved most effective in reminding him of his place.

  Hearing no reply, Kent continued out of Fane’s chambers.

  Breathe, Kent. Thinking about his brother’s insolence intensified the tingling in his fingertips again, even though his fists remained clenched.

  As he headed for the grand staircase that swooped down to the manse’s lower floors, he noticed his fists giving off a faint blue glow.

  Kent cursed and tucked them under his armpits. He abandoned his trek down the stairs a floor early and receded into the shadows behind a marble support pillar near a wall paneled with dark wood.

  But the blue glow from his fists was even more noticeable there.

  Breathe, Kent. Control yourself.

  But how do I control that which I cannot control? Others have learned to control it.

  And they are our sworn enemies. Cursed and damned. Like you. Just breathe. That is all you can do.

  Kent breathed. His pounding heartbeat slowed, and his stress dwindled again. He checked his hands.

  The blue glow had vanished, and the electric sensation no longer teased his fingertips.

  Why the gods had seen fit to curse him, of all people, with the scourge of magic, he didn’t know, but he marveled at the irony yet again.

  He straightened his red waistcoat and checked his own cape, also red, and then he headed out of the shadows and toward the staircase.

  Fane met him there. “For all your posturing, you are now as tardy as I am.”

  Kent’s jaw tightened, but he refused to let Fane damage his calm. “I elected to wait for you out of my deep sense of magnanimity. You may thank me whenever you are ready.”

  They proceeded down the remainder of the grand staircase together.

  Fane said, “In that case, I will thank you when I have succeeded Father in your place as the lord of house Etheridge.”

  In other words, Fane would never thank him, unless Kent was dead and had failed to remarry and produce an heir. Fane’s words didn’t quite amount to a blatant wish for Kent’s death, but they came treacherously close.

  Now on the first floor, they headed into a large gathering hall adorned with dark wood paneling and bronze candelabras affixed to the walls. A hearth at the far end glowed with vivid orange flames.

  A painting of the late Lady Etheridge, Kent and Fane’s mother, hung from the stones overhead. In recent years, Kent’s dark hair had begun to gray, matching the silver locks depicted in his mother’s portrait, though Fane’s had not yet started to lose its color. They both shared their mother’s bright blue eyes.

  Morning sunlight poured into the room through towering, arched windows paned with glass. It glinted off of gold-colored flecks in the room’s white-and-black marble floors.

  Their father, Lord Oswin Etheridge, sat in an overstuffed leather chair, facing them as they entered the room together. He looked frailer than he had just the night before.

  He was wise to plan the succession early. Kent, now at forty-eight years old, had handled their family’s affairs for the last three years almost exclusively, so it made sense for Father to name him Lord Etheridge once and for all.

  They approached their father at a casual pace, and he grinned and motioned to the two servants standing next to his chair, one on each side. They hooked their arms under his armpits and gently pulled him upright until he could stand, albeit slightly hunched over.

  One of the servants handed him his cane, a twisted, wooden stick polished to a high shine and topped with a bronze gryphon—the very symbol of House Etheridge. He leaned on it for stability while he addressed his sons. “Kent. Fane. Good morning.”

  Kent nodded to Father, and he and Fane echoed Father’s greeting in unison.

  Father’s gaze fixed on Kent. “Are you ready, my son?” Kent nodded.

  “Father, before we proceed…” Fane stepped forward. “…I would like the opportunity to speak.”

  Wonderful. What could it be now?

  “Fane,” Kent began, his voice stern, “you always have something to say.

  There will be ample time to speak after the ceremony concludes.”

  “Your cunning tongue strikes again, dear brother,” Fane quipped. “But what I have to say must be said before the ceremony proceeds.”

  Kent stood his ground. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

  “It cannot. I must be indulged.”

  “I have indulged you your entire life.”

  “Nonsense. You have merely tolerated me.”

  “As one does when dealing with a nuisance,” Kent cut back.

  Fane shook his head. “Such a loving response from my dear brother.”

  “And soon to be your lord,” Ken
t countered. “Know your place.”

  “I know my place, and it is here, in this room, between you and Father.”

  The familiar tingle returned to Kent’s fingertips.

  No… not now. Fight it. Be in control. Kent clenched his hands into fists again.

  “Father?” Fane looked at him, and Kent did as well.

  Father turned to his two servants, the only other people in the room. “Leave us.”

  They obeyed immediately and shut the room’s heavy wooden doors behind them, joining the manse’s other servants and guards in awaiting further orders.

  Father exhaled a long breath through his nose, and then he straightened up as much as he could manage. “Fane, it is most irregular that you would ask to speak before a ceremony so important to me, to your brother, and to our family.”

  “Father, please,” Fane nearly pleaded. “Let him speak, Fane,” Kent growled.

  Father held up a withered hand then quickly returned it to his two- handed grip on the cane to stabilize himself. “If Kent will grant you the opportunity to speak then I, too, will allow it. But know that whatever you might say will not affect my decision to pass on my title preemptively.”

  Kent eyed Fane. Whatever he has to say, it won’t be anything good.

  Fane scowled at Father, then he turned to Kent, still scowling, but expectant.

  The decision was easy. Kent stared daggers at him. “I do not grant you the right to speak prior to the ceremony.”

  “This is outrageous,” Fane muttered.

  “As I said, know your place, little brother,” Kent snapped.

  Fane shook his head. “No. I refuse to remain silent.”

  Father held up his hand again. “Fane, you must yield to—”

  “Father, please forgive my interruption. This must be said. Your oldest son is a traitor to our family name.”

  Kent gawked at Fane, and Father glanced between the two of them.

  “That is utterly absurd.” The tingling in Kent’s fingers intensified. He had to rein it all in. “I have been nothing but totally loyal, diligent, and relentless in protecting and expanding our family’s name and holdings since the day I came of age. Father, you know this to be true.”

  “This is a serious allegation,” Father said. “I know your dedication is beyond reproach, yet I must know why your own brother would make this accusation.”