The Mercenary's Marriage

by Rachel Rossano

  “I have been waiting a long time for this, bastard.” Ogert spat over her shoulder. Unclean smells flooded her senses and suddenly, she was struggling not to wretch.

  “To kill an innocent girl?” Darius’ voice was steady and perfectly pitched, no trace of accent or emotion.

  “No.” Ogert laughed and the blade edge jumped painfully. Instinctively, she sucked in air and tried to move her throat farther from the blade. “She is only here tonight because of you. You were the one foolish enough to marry her.” The smell of decaying food filled Brice’s nostrils. The man’s grip on her arm tightened as he pulled it higher. Her joints cried out in protest. They had not been made to move in that direction. Brice began to pray she would not pass out from the pain.

  “Once you claimed her as yours,” Ogert spat, “you sealed her death warrant. Now watch her die.” Abruptly he threw her to the floor. Landing on the hard tile on her arm, Brice felt something give, but it was a small detail that was registered in the back of her mind. The rest was occupied with the deadly blade coming down upon her.

  Darius did not bother with countering the assassin’s blade with his own. He had carefully calculated what the man would possibly do once Darius had announced his presence. Since every possibility centered on Brice, Darius made sure he was close enough to stop just such a maneuver. Once the man’s attention shifted from himself to Brice, Darius drew his dagger with his left hand. It only took two quick steps. He linked the man’s sword arm with his good right arm thus stopping its descent and jabbed upward with his left, sinking the blade to the hilt.

  It took only a moment for the body to go limp, but Darius felt like it took forever. The wound in his upper arm opened again and he could feel the blood soaking his tunic. It was only a matter of time before it would be soaking his cloak as well. In the hushed silence, the queen’s scream ripped at Darius’ ears. He looked up and managed to bring his sword up just in time to counter another man’s attack. Without thinking, he blocked and lunged, dimly aware of the fact that others were similarly engaged.

  Somewhere behind him he heard the death rattle of another man. As he turned, he realized that the man who had been guarding Brice was now standing over the dead third guard blood coating his sword.

  With great effort, Darius focused on his adversary. Hameal. His surprise almost cost him dearly. He dropped his guard for a moment and Hameal jumped at the chance. At the last moment, Darius knocked the man’s lunge to the side and made one of his own. It was weak. Hameal blocked it easily.

  The pieces began to fall into place. Hameal was the informant who told Ogert about Brice. He also knew where Ewian lived and probably saw Trenar when he was escorting Brice. He was the missing link.

  Anger rose and with it his adrenalin. The small burst was all he needed to unarm the man. The sword fell with a clatter a very small distance from Hameal. Darius began to realize how weak he was when he could not hold his blade steady enough to point the tip at the man. The former cook leered at Darius. Looking significantly at the quivering blade, he started to stoop toward his weapon while watching Darius.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Darius saw someone move to put their hand on the Hameal’s blade and pull it out of Hameal’s reach.

  “I have him,” a voice informed Darius. Ewian’s blade came between Darius’ and Hameal. “March, traitor,” Ewian barked at the cook. “Pray that I am feeling merciful, for I doubt my king would mind if I added one more corpse to the burial heap tonight.” Hameal obeyed. Darius rested his blade tip on the ground and closed his eyes.

  “Careful, you are swaying.” Trenar’s voice came through the haze of pain. A hand supported his back and Darius fought to open his eyes. “You don’t want to fall on Brice.”

  Brice? Where is Brice? Darius opened his eyes and turned his head to focus on Trenar. “Where is Brice?”

  “Here.” A voice came from the floor. “I would stand up, but I cannot even manage to sit.” She lay awkwardly on her left arm. Lying at her side was Hameal’s blade. Pain darkened her eyes and he could see new bruises darkening parts of her face and neck. Dried blood crusted her lip. Her dark hair was messed and hung in limp strands. She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Smiling weakly, she said, “I think it is broken.”

  “Where is Kurt when we need him?” Darius asked and smiled in return. Carefully sheathing his sword, he gingerly touched his own upper arm.

  Trenar grimaced at the blood soaked material. “You both need a healer. I will see what I can do.” He made his way across the hall toward the doors of the main entrance.

  “I guess they managed to get through the gates,” Darius said trying to distract himself from the pain. He felt so weary. I am getting too old for this. It was not the first time that the thought had crossed his mind. But this time I have something to strengthen it. He looked down at Brice. Now was not the time for them to talk, but they were going to have to do it soon.

  ~~~

  Part VI

  “What a lovely couple you make,” Kurt exclaimed sarcastically fifty minutes later in the servant’s room he was using to examine patients. “At least she follows directions,” he informed Darius as he started cutting away his tunic sleeve. “You on the other hand…” The healer frowned at the torn flesh before replacing the blood soaked pad. He started shuffling through his bag one-handedly while continuing to apply pressure to the wound.

  “How bad is she?” Darius asked just as the healer pulled out his scissors and packet of needles.

  “She will be fine. Time will heal the bruises and the arm.” Kurt switched hands and started sterilizing his instruments in the lantern he had lit earlier for the purpose. “She was more worried about you than herself. Your slow responses and unsteadiness on your feet were her two main concerns. Don’t worry; I assured her that it was most likely from loss of blood.” Darius turned his head away as the healer took up the scissors. Minutes later the old stitches removed and the new covered with a snug bandage, Darius rested his head against the wall behind him.

  “Kurt, have you ever heard of a mercenary learning a trade?”

  The old man’s hands stilled. “What are you thinking?”

  “I am not indestructible and I am getting older.” Darius sighed. “I cannot go on forever and for the first time, I find myself wondering what will happen tomorrow.” He slit his eyes open and watched the old man’s face. It was still. Opening his eyes all the way, he asked, “Have you ever heard of a man of my profession doing something else?”

  “I have.” The healer did not look up as he resumed clearing up. Finally, he turned to Darius. “Lean forward,” he commanded. Darius obeyed. Taking a band of strong cloth cut for the purpose, he looped it under the left forearm and tied it behind Darius’ neck. “Don’t use the arm at all, and this time I mean it, and take this every morning and evening with your meals. You know the dosage.” He placed a small packet of powder into Darius’ good hand. With that, the healer left, and Darius leaned his head back again and closed his eyes.

  Brice was waiting outside the door for Kurt to finish. The healer looked tired and grim. “Darius?” she asked.

  Kurt looked up and an amused smile touched his mouth, but his eyes were worried. “He will be fine. In a month, it will be just another scar to add to his collection and bother him in his old age.”

  “May I see him?”

  “He is just inside,” Kurt answered. “So do you two have somewhere to go tonight? His quarters have not been occupied in months.”

  Brice smiled reassuringly. “Karyn told me that she will have it ready when we get there.”

  Kurt nodded and turned to go. Brice had placed her hand on the door handle, when he called her attention back to him. “Brice.” He waited for her to turn. “He is coming around. Give him time.”

  Brice opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but he did not wait. Coming around to what? Shaking her head at the man’s curious behavior, she opened the door and slipped inside.

  The hea
ler had left the lantern lit. A soft glow from the flame made only half the room visible. A single bed and chest were against the left wall and Darius sat on the only chair against the right wall. He did not move at her entrance, so Brice silently closed the door and leaned against it.

  He was pale beneath the olive tones of his skin. Deep circles ringed his eyes and his scars stood out darkly. Beneath his eyelids, his eyes roamed; he must have fallen into sleep during the brief period since Kurt’s departure. Brice was hesitant to wake him, but he needed real restful sleep. He was not going to get that sitting upright in a chair.

  “Darius,” she whispered. His eyelids stilled and his breathing changed. She spoke again, this time slightly louder, “Darius.” His eyes opened and gradually focused. Painstakingly, he turned his head and fastened his gray gaze on her.

  “Hello, little bird,” he murmured. A shadow of his usual smile pulled at his lips.

  “Karyn and Timothy are preparing your house for us.” Brice stepped away from the door toward him. “We should really be heading in that direction.”

  “Not until I speak with the King.” He leaned forward and slowly rose. Staggering slightly, as if not sure the ground would stay beneath his feet, he one-handedly straightened his tunic. Brice crossed to gather his cloak from the bed where it had been tossed. The dark stain made her pause. The material would always carry its mark. Still, he needed the warmth for the trek home. She lifted it and turned to help him put it on. Meekly, he allowed her to fasten it around his neck and lay it carefully over his shoulders. Then turning, he led the way out into the hall.

  The castle corridors were no longer empty. Armed men moved this way and that, some sporting scrapes and bound wounds from their long battle for the city. Scattered among them were servants just returning. No one noticed the unusual pair as they passed among the lot; at least not until they were crossing one of the great halls outside the throne room.

  “Darius.” Trenar’s voice echoed through the room and a majority of the occupants turned to watch Trenar approach them. “I have been looking all over for you.” He glanced at Brice’s sling and nodded. “So, you have seen a healer then. Good.” He took Darius by his right arm. “Come, the king wants to see you.” He guided Darius toward the throne room door. Brice followed reluctantly. He needs to be in bed.

  Inside, the King was waiting with a group of men she did not recognize. Someone had brought in a table and placed it in the center of the room. They had also filled the empty lamps, for now the room was luminous and she could see clearly the blood stained floor and scattered weapons left from skirmish.

  Trenar led Darius straight to the king and Darius managed a shaky bow. Brice hung back, forgotten. “Ah, Darius.” King Jenran acknowledged him. “I have heard everyone’s account of what you have done for me this day. My queen and sons have been rescued from the hand of a madman and my castle delivered into my possession with barely any bloodshed.”

  Darius started to protest, but the king raised his hand to silence him. “I am aware that you are not the only one to do this. Trenar and Jarn will also be rewarded, but you are the one that has faithfully served me. You are the one who has now saved the life of each person in the royal family. This is a debt I cannot ignore.” Taking a piece of parchment from the table, he began to read.

  “In recognition of the outstanding valor and loyalty of our personal guard, Darius Aarin Laris, we do decree that he is released from our service. From henceforth we bestow upon him the title of Lord Wyner and all the lands and privileges therewith, including a permanent place on the advising council to the King. He will have the right to bestow by marriage the title of Lady to the woman he chooses to wed. The title shall pass on to his heirs in whatever manner he deems best. The throne of Braulyn will not interfere with his choice. This decree is binding and legal to the full extent of the law, etc., etc.”

  The king raised his eyebrows and regarded Darius over the edge of the parchment. “Do you accept the commission, Darius?”

  “If my wife wishes,” was the answer.

  Brice thought her heart would stop as a murmur passed through the group of nobles gathered around the table. Darius turned and the king stepped forward so he could meet her eyes.

  “What do you say, Brice?” King Jenran asked. All eyes turned to her. Brice swallowed and concentrated on Darius’ face. What does he think he is doing? His eyes were clear despite the pain pulling at his features. His face impassively gave her no clue as to what was going on behind it. A new title and her old master’s lands were being offered to him and he was laying them in her hands. Suddenly it dawned on her. He was giving her a choice. He trusted her to make the right decision for both of them. Even though she knew the answer, Brice did not answer. Instead, she stepped forward so she was at his side. Taking his hand in hers, she looked up at him expectantly.

  “We say yes, my king,” Darius said. “I accept the commission, granted I can now go home and sleep. My wife is weary and so am I.”

  Jenran laughed, “Yes, Darius, go home. We will work out the details tomorrow.”

  Darius bowed, Brice curtseyed, and they left.

  The cool predawn air greeted them as they stepped beyond the doorsill. Brice filled her lungs in one deep breath. Darkness still cloaked the sky, but the horizon beyond the city to the east glowed with the promise of morning. Above her head, the inky blackness was speckled with points of light and a light breeze brushed her cheek.

  Darius stood farther down the path. He had continued when she paused. Turned back toward her, he extended his hand in much the way he had the night they had been married. “Are you coming?” he asked.

  Unlike their wedding night, Brice looked and found no fear in her heart. Without hesitating, she stepped forward to place her hand in his. Just as it had before, his large warm hand gently enclosed hers. She watched the movement of his fingers for a moment before looking up to meet his dark watchful gaze. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for the choice.”

  He smiled; her heart answered. “Thank you for your answer.” He dropped his eyes. “Are you ready to go home?” Accent tinged his voice.

  She nodded and then stepped closer. Standing on tiptoe and pulling him down by his good arm, she brushed her lips against his cheek. “Yes.”

  Darius turned his head and before she could back away; he kissed her. She must have released his hand for it was suddenly in her hair. His fingers cradled the nape of her neck and his thumb stroked her cheek. Her world centered on this man standing over her; focused on his lips, his touch…him.

  The following week was a whirlwind of activity. Darius had no time to recuperate. There were papers to sign and regulations to learn. He previously had some understanding about the duties of a titled landowner, but he never imagined the magnitude of paperwork he processed in those first two days. The only time he was not reading or signing was the time he spent with his eyes closed for sleeping. He saw Brice moments before his head hit the pillow at night and as he gulped down his breakfast in the morning.

  On the third day, the steward that he hired to keep things organized informed him that he needed to take possession of his lands in person as soon as possible. By noon, Darius’ few essential possessions had been added to the heap of supplies in the new wagon he was surprised to find he owned. The street before Darius’ house filled with well-wishers and the men-at-arms that the king had insisted Darius take to smooth the claiming of his new lands. Timothy and Brice appeared right before they set out. Karyn gave Brice a quick hug and presented her with a small bundle. Darius was not able to catch what she said, but Brice smiled before obeying Timothy’s beckoning and moving toward the waiting caravan. Shortly after settling Brice on the wagon, Timothy mounted and they were off.

  They made slow progress through the city, but once they cleared the gates they picked up the pace considerably. The roads between the capital and Lord Micrey’s old stronghold were dry and in good condition. The steward declared it should only take them
a few days to reach their destination. Darius did not care about how long as much as the fact that he still had not gotten a chance to speak with Brice. Glancing frequently over at the supply wagon and Brice perched next to the driver, he considered exactly what he wanted to say.

  He still was not certain what exactly had inspired him to choose her that last day of the siege, but he wanted her to know that he was thankful he had. He missed her company those few days they were parted. There was a deep desire in his heart to get to know her better. She was complex and intriguing. In fact, he looked forward to spending the rest of his life doing that.

  As much as he was burdened with wanting to tell her, he knew that he was not likely to get a chance. Traveling in a group and at the fastest speed possible meant they were not going to stop until the last possible hour. Then all the time would be consumed with setting up camp and preparing the meal. Falling into bed and instantly asleep would only be followed by an early rising to begin again. There was going to be no time for the long conversation he desired. Looking yet again at the figure on the carts, he decided to wait until there was more time.

  They arrived at their destination in the mid afternoon of the seventh day. The moment the wagon and company halted in the courtyard, mayhem ensued. Their procession through the village attracted a crowd of curious followers and the steward lost no time in putting anyone he could manage to work. Brice watched the dashing to and fro from her perch on the wagon seat. She looked across the heads in search of Darius. She spotted him about to enter the main doors, deep in conversation with the captain of their armed escort.