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Seized by a Mercenary
In a harsh world where strength ruled, Brendan killed those he was paid to kill. He felt some sympathy for them, but in the end, he had problems of his own and his choices were limited. The war had ended, as he made plans to leave the fallen city, a young man caught his eye. The beautiful boy stared from his cage with a ferocity that left Brendan breathless. He had to have him. |
Excerpt
The only reason Brendan had left home was because he needed the kind of money only killing and looting could bring. The road heading East was empty. There were no carts banging against the sandy gravel. No homes with children playing or women cooking; the air wasn’t filled with spice, just sparse patches of grass and rock. It was the first time, in a long time, Brendan had been alone. He relished the quiet.
Then his slave decided to speak. “Your hair. It’s long.”
“Yes. It is.” Easterners didn’t cut their hair, short hair was the style of the South.
“It makes you look like a woman,” the boy said decidedly.
Brendan stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t believe what he just heard. He turned to the boy who stood tall, his eyes daring Brendan to disagree. Brendan’s broad shoulders shook, his muscles rippled under his bronze skin as he roared with laughter. “A woman, huh?”
The boy nodded. “Just a little. From the back.”
Another fit of laughter.
Brendan shook his head and pulled on the leash. “Come on, you. Hey, what are you called anyway?”
The boy ran up beside Brendan. “My name is Lorne, and yours?”
“Brendan, not that you can use it.”
“Oh, yeah.” Lorne glanced at his bound wrists. “What should I call you then?”
Brendan shrugged. “Master. Owner. Just don’t call me a woman from the back, okay?”
Lorne chuckled. “Forgive me, my Lord.”
My Lord? He picked my Lord of all things? Brendan wasn’t the Lord of anything, maybe of the tent he carried rolled up in his bag. But that’s what he got for buying a slave. He’d go home and people would think he was a pompous ass that made his slave pretend he had noble blood. He considered ordering Lorne to call him something else, but he couldn’t think of a title that fit him.
As the sun began to set, they were already a great distance from the fallen capitol. The trees weren’t dense but there were enough of them to provide shelter from the night winds. “Do you know how to build a fire?” Brendan asked.
Lorne eyes went wide. “Uh…no.”
The way Lorne responded worried Brendan. “Do you know how to cook? Clean game? Fish?”
Lorne shook his head.
“What do you know how to do?”
“Haggle. An untrained slave, at the end of a war no less. I could have talked him down to one gold.”
Brendan grinned, well that was good to know.
Brendan gathered kindling, started a fire, pitched the tent and unrolled his fur as his slave sat on a log eating jerky. What had he been thinking? He could imagine his sister now, her wild dark hair covering her face as she laughed at him. Even though she hid her face, she was quick to laugh, and coming home with the most inept slave he could find would cause her to double over. He often brought home random useless things that she would somehow find a job for. He remembered his last gift. A trinket bought when times were simple and life made sense.
“It’s a rock. How much did you pay for it?” Gwynn asked with her arms folded across her chest.
“No. Look!” Brendan held the stone to the light and a rainbow of color projected onto the floor. “See.”
“It’s a rock, Brendan.”
Brendan dropped the strange stone into his sister’s hand. She was right, how long would such light be entertaining? A week later he noticed the stone on her desk. She was using it to keep the wind from blowing her papers away. The sunlight from the window caused it to cast colored light across the farmhouse floor. It warmed his heart to know that even when she thought he was being wasteful and silly, she cherished anything he tried to do for her.
How had she fared in his three year absence? Did she still cover her mouth when she laughed? Did she still laugh at all?
The only reason Brendan had left home was because he needed the kind of money only killing and looting could bring. The road heading East was empty. There were no carts banging against the sandy gravel. No homes with children playing or women cooking; the air wasn’t filled with spice, just sparse patches of grass and rock. It was the first time, in a long time, Brendan had been alone. He relished the quiet.
Then his slave decided to speak. “Your hair. It’s long.”
“Yes. It is.” Easterners didn’t cut their hair, short hair was the style of the South.
“It makes you look like a woman,” the boy said decidedly.
Brendan stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t believe what he just heard. He turned to the boy who stood tall, his eyes daring Brendan to disagree. Brendan’s broad shoulders shook, his muscles rippled under his bronze skin as he roared with laughter. “A woman, huh?”
The boy nodded. “Just a little. From the back.”
Another fit of laughter.
Brendan shook his head and pulled on the leash. “Come on, you. Hey, what are you called anyway?”
The boy ran up beside Brendan. “My name is Lorne, and yours?”
“Brendan, not that you can use it.”
“Oh, yeah.” Lorne glanced at his bound wrists. “What should I call you then?”
Brendan shrugged. “Master. Owner. Just don’t call me a woman from the back, okay?”
Lorne chuckled. “Forgive me, my Lord.”
My Lord? He picked my Lord of all things? Brendan wasn’t the Lord of anything, maybe of the tent he carried rolled up in his bag. But that’s what he got for buying a slave. He’d go home and people would think he was a pompous ass that made his slave pretend he had noble blood. He considered ordering Lorne to call him something else, but he couldn’t think of a title that fit him.
As the sun began to set, they were already a great distance from the fallen capitol. The trees weren’t dense but there were enough of them to provide shelter from the night winds. “Do you know how to build a fire?” Brendan asked.
Lorne eyes went wide. “Uh…no.”
The way Lorne responded worried Brendan. “Do you know how to cook? Clean game? Fish?”
Lorne shook his head.
“What do you know how to do?”
“Haggle. An untrained slave, at the end of a war no less. I could have talked him down to one gold.”
Brendan grinned, well that was good to know.
Brendan gathered kindling, started a fire, pitched the tent and unrolled his fur as his slave sat on a log eating jerky. What had he been thinking? He could imagine his sister now, her wild dark hair covering her face as she laughed at him. Even though she hid her face, she was quick to laugh, and coming home with the most inept slave he could find would cause her to double over. He often brought home random useless things that she would somehow find a job for. He remembered his last gift. A trinket bought when times were simple and life made sense.
“It’s a rock. How much did you pay for it?” Gwynn asked with her arms folded across her chest.
“No. Look!” Brendan held the stone to the light and a rainbow of color projected onto the floor. “See.”
“It’s a rock, Brendan.”
Brendan dropped the strange stone into his sister’s hand. She was right, how long would such light be entertaining? A week later he noticed the stone on her desk. She was using it to keep the wind from blowing her papers away. The sunlight from the window caused it to cast colored light across the farmhouse floor. It warmed his heart to know that even when she thought he was being wasteful and silly, she cherished anything he tried to do for her.
How had she fared in his three year absence? Did she still cover her mouth when she laughed? Did she still laugh at all?