Jason Siegfried glanced over the ramparts of Castle Darkmoor, and frowned. His fortress at the heart of the southern city of Broadmoor was decorated with his personal sigil, a red sword on a blue field. Some idiot had painted the color backwards on one of the standards, however, and that was inexcusable. It wasn't too long ago that Jason had been another wandering knight, seeking to make his fortune. At the age of 35, he was past his prime and the future had been looking increasingly short and bloody. But then, through series of strokes of good fortune, he had found himself Warlord of the largest city in the South of Ashfeld. The Reguard Legion had held Broadmoor at the start of Apollyon's rebellion, and had broken from their Iron Legion rulers. However, internal divisions had started a civil war among the Redguards, and he had readily exploited them to first leverage a position, and eventually seize power. Jason was drawn out of his thoughts by the miss-painted banner. He stared at the offending object for a few seconds longer, before turning to his personal assistant, Bradley.
"Find out who's responsible for that one," Jason ordered, pointing at the banner. He scowled. It offended his sensibilities to see his (admittedly self-created) sigil defiled in such a way.
Bradley gave a low bow, his pointed nose almost touching his knees. He seemed a little nervous today, but then again the small man had always been twitchy.
"It will be done, my lord. What do you want done when we find who is responsible?"
Jason paused. Bradley was the kind of man who would never lead others, but somehow still managed to weasel his way into positions of power. His assistant knew people at all rungs of society in Broadmoor, and information was his specialty. All that to say, if Bradley said he was going to find someone in Broadmoor, that person was going to be found, sooner or later.
With that in mind, Jason finally replied. "Cut off his hand."
He glanced at the offending banner again. "Blue on red," he muttered.
Bradley gave another low bow, and then paused. "My Lord, I have heard rumors from the War Council. They say that we march on the city of Castilan three days hence."
Jason suppressed a wince. That Bradley knew his battle plans was annoying, but not unexpected. Normally it would have been a matter for concern, but Jason trusted Bradley as much as anyone. After all, Bradley owed his position and influence to Jason's rise to power. His loyalty was a strong as any of Jason's men, perhaps more.
"You hear true," Jason responded.
"My Lord, forgive me for my impertinence," began Bradley, who then paused. After a second, Jason waved a hand and his servant continued.
"A march on Castilan can only mean one thing, my Lord. You seek to unify the South."
From any other man, those words would have meant mortal danger. That was a plan only Jason himself was privy to. He had yet to mention it to even his War Council, instead letting them focus on the upcoming battle with the Warlord of Castilan, Cato the Butcher. For a moment, Jason toyed with killing Bradley then and there, but dismissed the idea. The man was too useful and was loyal enough. So long as the Iron Legion did not learn of his plan before the time was right, then everything would be fine.
So instead of slitting Bradley's throat, and watching as his servant bled out onto the ramparts, Jason gave a slow nod.
"Do not speak of this to anyone," he warned. Bradley gave a quick, nervous nod.
"Never, my Lord," he protested vehemently. Jason nodded again.
"See that you don't. It'll mean your death, as well as theirs."
Bradley gave a bow and made a move to leave, but Jason held up a hand. Bradley paused, and looked up at Jason, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his thin face.
"All the preparations have been made for tonight?" Jason asked. Bradley twitched. "What preparations, my Lord?" he responded anxiously.
Jason gestured impatiently. "You know. The girl."
Bradley gave a sigh of relief. "Oh! Of course, my Lord. She awaits in your chambers."
Jason smiled. It was not a pretty sight. "Good. Tell the men I'm not to be disturbed for a few hours."
Bradley bowed. "It will be done, Lord Siegfried."
Jason dismissed Bradley with a wave of his hand, and made his way back inside towards his quarters in the East Tower. One of the many perks of being the Warlord of a major city was a bountiful supply of women to warm his bed. Jason took a new consort every week, used them in every way he desired, and finally tossed them out into the streets once he grew bored. The last had been plain and undesirable; so Jason had let out his frustrations on her more than the other girls. He could only hope that this week's bounty was more pleasing.
He was not disappointed. She was standing when Jason entered his chambers. Her pale blue eyes glittered like gemstones, set into a petite face and crowned by hair of flaxen gold. Her breasts were supple and firm, ending in a pair of dark nipples. Jason let his gaze roam over the curves of her naked form, and felt himself harden.
"Kneel," he ordered, gesturing to his breeches. The youthful (though truth be told, Jason couldn't quite figure out her age. Besides, he had other things on his mind) girl knelt silently. For a moment Jason thought he saw something flicker in those pale sapphire orbs, but then she took him in her mouth, and all such thoughts fled his mind. Jason groaned and tilted his head back. He loved this, loved the power he wielded. He could slake his desires in any way he chose, and that thought was almost better than the pleasure. A few scant minutes later, Jason finished in her mouth with a grunt, and she swallowed, still staring up at him with those sapphire eyes.
Jason wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he took several deep gulps of air.
"Damnation, girl," he said, turning around. "Might have to break my rule for a sweet thing like you."
Jason was in the middle of pouring himself a glass of wine from his bedside table– he had to stay hydrated as the next few hours would prove to be strenuous – when he felt and sudden stabbing pain in his back. The goblet he'd been filling dropped from his nerveless hands onto the floor, spilling dark crimson wine across the flagstones.
Jason opened his mouth to speak, and there was another stabbing pain, this one lower, and he pitched forward, falling onto the table that held the wine. Slender arms gently turned him over, and Jason found himself facing the girl. Her eyes, still pale as ice, now glimmered with something Jason couldn't quite name.
He tried to speak, but instead all that came out was a bloody cough. Jason belatedly realized that his blood was pooling on the floor, mingling with the wine. The knife the girl had used to stab him was still in her hand, as she crouched there, naked. Jason waited for her to finish the job – the whole incident had gone by so fast that it was still surreal. The girl didn't move for a few seconds and Jason suddenly realized that her dark nipples were now rock hard and there was a glistening wetness between her legs. Was she enjoying this?
As the last of his lifeblood slowly drained out of him, the girl's hand darted between her legs and Jason had his answer.
_
Bradley was sweating. His nimble hands shook as he gathered his belongings. He was in his chambers, the place he'd immediately hurried to after his talk with Lord Siegfried. A few months ago he'd been approached by a hooded traveler, who'd offered a stream of coin in exchange for information of Siegfried. The offer had been simple enough, and the coin had been more than welcome, so Bradley had accepted. He'd been a fool.
Everything had changed three nights ago when the traveler had told him that Seigfried was going to die, and that Bradley was going to be showered with coin for helping. Bradley had been too smart to complain. If they were killing a Warlord in his own home, what was one more loose end, after all? He could only pray that whatever he'd got himself mixed up into, it left him alive at the end.
The most terrifying part of it all was that they'd only told Bradley to do one thing: swap out the allotted girl with a new one of their own choosing. Bradley had been happy enough to comply; the girl they offered was a rare beauty, unlike the girl he'd had lined up. Siegfried would be pleased; but then the implications had sunk in and relief had turned to once more to terror.
A knock at the door made Bradley start. He tentatively opened it, and came face to face with the girl he'd switched, She was nude. Somewhat belatedly, he noticed the bloody knife she clutched in one hand.
"It is done," she said, her voice high and cold. "Let me in." Bradley noticed that her face was flushed in contrast to the rest of her pale-white skin.
Bradley nervously pushed his door all the way open. Total co-operation was the only way he was going to live to see another day. The woman walked in and began rummaging through his closet at the end of the room. Bradley stared at her naked body, feeling an unsettling combination of fear and arousal.
The young woman (She had a bizarre timeless quality about her, that made it hard for Bradley to properly guess her age) found what she was looking for: a bag filled with basic leathers and a helm. She'd given the sack to Bradley earlier, but he'd suppressed his natural curiosity in favor of caution and had left it unopened.
It made a lot of sense, in hindsight. Lord Siegfried had always been wary of assassinations and thus had ordered that all girls be brought in naked. This…assassin had clearly managed to sneak a dagger in somehow, but she'd have needed clothes to get out of the castle.
As the woman turned, bag in hand, Bradley noticed a spot of white just to the right of her mouth. He felt his stomach turn in nausea, and before he got stop himself, blurted out, "You let him use you before you killed him?"
The woman met his eyes with two orbs of glacial blue, wiping away the spot with the back of her hand as she did so.
"A man is weakest right after he spills his seed. With a warrior like Siegfried, it is always best to be careful, no?"
The fear returned in force, sweeping away the last of Bradley's arousal. He'd been so god-damned stupid to get involved in the first place. This woman was clearly mad in the lethal sort of way.
Thankfully, she dressed quickly, and soon her features were completely hidden by leather, chainmail and a small helm that covered her face entirely, leaving only slits for the eyes. Somehow, with her glacial beauty hidden, Bradley found he felt more in control of the situation, more grounded. This was hardly the first time someone had had the potential to kill him, but he'd always managed to weasel his way out of trouble. This time should be no different.
"I did everything you asked," Bradley suddenly blurted out. He cursed himself a second later. His outburst made him look weaker than he already was.
The woman paused, and then turned towards Bradley. He took an unconscious step back at her gaze.
When she spoke, her voice was deceptively mild. "Do not fear, Bradley. God has not demanded your death today."
Bradley felt a surge of relief that left him quivering.
"However," she continued, "You will continue to supply us with information. This place will go to Hell once people discover Siegfried's dead. Stay alive. We'll contact you again when the time is right."
Bradley could only nod, numb. He could already feel the chains of servitude creeping ever closer.
The girl let out a light sigh that Bradley knew had to be utterly false. "Cheer up, Bradley," she continued. "There's a lot of coin going to be coming your way."
He didn't respond, so the girl turned to go. Bradley suddenly shouted, "Wait!"
The woman paused.
"At least give me a name," Bradley continued, hoping his voice didn't come off too pleading.
The woman tilted her head so that she was looking directly into Bradley's eyes. He just knew beneath the helm she was smirking coldly.
"You can call me Mercy," she said, and was gone.
After the woman had left, Bradley quickly gathered his possessions, and made for the city proper. He had to get out of here before things imploded. It was unlikely that Siegfried's death could be linked to him, but he was taking no chances. Besides, in the inevitable power struggle that was looming lay a bloodbath, and he wanted no part of it. Bradley had always been marginally competent in combat, but he was far, far better at gathering information and sowing advice.
It was time to leave, but in his heart, Bradley knew that this was far from over, and he despaired.