The staggered snaps of the warm, merrily crackling fireplace juxtaposed the somber mood that occupied the stone and shingles cottage in the secluded woods. The odd dry cough and the creaking of old, dusty wooden floorboards punctuated the silence in the room. Ben sat cross-legged on the floor next to his sleeping Keeper, who he had placed on a bedroll next to the hearth, in the corner furthest from the door. Ainsle and June sat on chairs at a small, simple wooden table in front of the radiant warmth of the fire, opposite the pair of Bounty Hunters who had remained mostly quiet for the hour after the slaughter in the clearing. Kieran had left to tend to the corpses outside in the dark clearing, brimming with energy. In passing, he excitedly muttered something about not letting their ‘life essence’ go to waste, which had elicited a grimace from June.
The young man chewed his lip and breathed deeply to distract himself from his throbbing, freshly mended fingers. The Honey Badger’s son, who was the spitting image of his father —albeit with a head full of curly brown hair, had offered Ben a vial similar to that which had fallen to the forest floor during the duel. The blatant attempt at buying goodwill wasn’t lost on Ben, and he reluctantly accepted the potent healing potion after Kieran had confirmed the contents of the small glass container.
The Apprentice Necromancer had taken the time to examine his mangled digits and set the splintered bones in place before Ben drank the bitter liquid. He was startled as he watched the concoction do its work; his fingers had slowly reformed, yet the potion seemed to have limits as his swollen flesh began to throb excruciatingly with each pulse of his heart.
Ben had sustained worse wounds than broken fingers, yet the pain of the two small appendages seemed to rival all but the direst of injuries he had suffered. He tried to search his fragmented memories for anything mundane that would help him alleviate the pain, yet he found nothing. Not ‘nothing of use,’ but rather the nothingness of being unable to recall anything at all. The fragmented memories —that had surfaced intermittently since waking up on the beach— had begun to appear less frequently, and he strained to determine when and why they were being lost. He shook his head and dispelled the thought, as there were more pertinent matters to deal with.
He cleared his throat to speak. “Jerry,” he addressed the seasoned Bounty Hunter. He had heard the name from the renegade of their company, the one who had attempted to incite his colleagues to violence. “I want names,” Ben said tersely, the physical discomfort leaking into his voice.
“Yes,” replied the old man in a deep rumble. “I can give you the facts or the theories me and the lads had.”
“How about both?” Ainsle interjected before adding. “Or do you want us to take your Oath now?” Her voice was devoid of the usual mocking tone.
The man sniffed and schooled his expression into an impassive one, and Ben wondered at the implications of the Blood Oath the Berserker had mentioned. The usually lively June remained quiet, apparently shaken by the casual carnage earlier that evening.
“It was a guild contract sent to me directly. With that much coin for the taking, I’d be a fool not to consider coming out of retirement for one more job.” He paused to glance at the sleeping Keeper. “There was no name besides the initials L M on the docket.”
Ainsle sneered. “Don’t give me that shit, Jerry. What did you dig up?”
The old man held up his hands in an appeasing gesture before continuing. “Now, the girls at the guild usually do a good enough job of vetting clients and their ability to pay… and the advance did come through, true enough. But that amount of coin could only mean one of two things.” He held up one finger as he spoke. “One, the client is a young noble with too much money and too little sense. Probably wanted to have a problem solved discretely, without their family knowing. Having lived in the capital yourself, you know how those types are,” he nodded to the Berserker.
Ben met his mentor’s gaze and tilted his head questioningly.
Ainsle grunted, and her shoulders slumped. “I only spent a year there as a girl. Left before Keagan was born… Then, when Willy and I were at the academy.” She turned from Ben to the Bounty Hunter once more; her gaze paused on his son, who remained silent throughout the exchange before scowling at the old man.
“Go on,” Ben told the man.
“Two,” he continued as he raised a second finger. “The Council issued the bounty.”
Ben frowned and recalled what he knew of the formidable organization. They knew of his existence and had labeled him an ‘unaffiliated Champion’ if the summons were anything to go by. Yet, he couldn’t wrap his head around why they’d want him dead if, as far as he knew, he posed no threat to them or the Empire. Unless Eric Vasylius had more of an influence on their actions than he had assumed, which contradicted the manner in which Kieran had described the group. Ben thought he was the most likely culprit.
“Did you have any clue as to who L M is? And if you’re leaning toward the Council, who would you suspect to be the client?” Ben asked after a pause.
“No idea about the Council, lad. But the word is that L M is one of those fanatics,” he hesitated as he glanced at Ann’s sleeping form before dipping his head slightly toward Ben. “I mean, a Priestess. According to my contacts, there wasn’t much to go by besides a pendant identifying her as one. No description or anything.”
Ben froze and regarded the old man. “What kind of pendant?”
“The open palm. Same as all those cultists —Priestesses wear,” he hurriedly corrected.
Ainsle, who was contemplatively staring at the table, tilted her head to meet Ben’s gaze. “I think that’s about it?” she said deliberately, her eye fixed on his.
“Yeah,” was all Ben said.
“Right,” Ainsle said, almost cheerfully, as she stood. The screech of the chair against the wooden floor seemed to rouse June from her morbid introspection as she recoiled at the sound. The Berserker’s grin had returned. “Ready to learn a bit about the old ways, Benny Boy?”
The old Bounty Hunter grew still, and his son appeared distressed at Ainsle’s words as his stoic expression shifted slightly. Jaw clenched; brows drawn in a line. Ben regarded the woman and nodded slowly, trying to discern what she intended to convey.
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She flicked her chin. “Come on, then. It’s not called a Blood Oath for nothing.”
“What does this oath entail, exactly?” he asked while carefully standing so as not to disturb his peacefully, and surprisingly not-snoring, Keeper. He approached the woman and stood beside her, regarding the two men at the opposite end of the table.
“Aunty,” June interjected in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. “I’ll go out and give Kieran a hand.”
“Sure thing, sugar,” Ainsle said, not unkindly. “Some fresh air will do you good.”
Ben watched as the albino woman nodded and left the cottage via the front door.
Ainsle turned to Ben. “Seeing as Ol’ Ain was witness to the terms and the little scrap,” she wiggled her brow and leaned closer before adding in a low rasp: “Good work, by the way. Not perfect, but that can be fixed later,” she stepped back into the open area of the cottage and continued. “And as the arbiter of said terms, thoroughly shat on by the challenging party, I’m obligated to see that reparations are made.”
He raised his brows and regarded the woman. “Yeah?”
The Berserker faced the Honey Badger and gestured with an open palm, inviting him to join them where they stood. The man complied, his expression stoic, almost resigned.
“You see, Benny Boy,” the short, old woman said in her usual mocking tone. “Ol’ Jerry here owes you a life. Now, deciding when and how you collect it is up to you. Usually means some poor bugger becomes a servant, or they become ash if you have a hard-on for that sort of thing. Some real smart people have asked for these pact-breakers,” Ainsle emphasized the latter as she shot a glare at the stocky old man who stood beside her, “to pay with the life of the aggrieved’s enemy.”
“To be clear, you mean, any life? So, I could have him die or send him to go and kill someone for me?” Ben said. His casual tone caused the Bounty Hunter’s son to bristle.
His mentor’s grin widened. “Spot on, lover boy,” she paused and winked. “You could also… let him live.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed at the implication. “What? Like slavery?”
“Call it what you want, but fuckface over here offered terms he couldn’t see through.” She eyed the old man once more. “I bet you regret asking Ol’ Ain to bear witness, now don’t you? I’m thinking you expected to flatten him, and then I’d be forced to make sure he held up his end.” She chuckled with genuine amusement in her eyes. The man said nothing, which only affirmed the Berserker’s words in Ben’s eyes. “Anyways, it is what it is.”
“Paia,” called the Bounty Hunter’s son. “Don’t do this.” His tone was even, yet Ben saw the desperate plea in his dark brown eyes.
“That’s not how we do things, lad,” the Honey Badger said as he folded his arms. “I don’t plan on walking Yeulidias’s halls branded as a pact-breaker.”
The young Bounty Hunter sighed in resignation, and Ben glimpsed his mentor’s grin falter for less than a heartbeat. She caught his gaze and winked as if her composure hadn’t wavered.
“So, what’s it gonna be, lover boy?” she said mockingly.
The young man knew her well enough that she sometimes used her characteristically callous demeanor as a mask. He saw the tell-tale signs of complex emotions behind her steel blue eye as he regarded his mentor intently. He considered the situation objectively and, after a beat, nodded as he came to a conclusion. He would need to forge contacts and alliances of his own, be they subjects or not, if he intended to tackle the obstacles he’d inevitably face. Or to avoid them entirely. Knowing people and being owed favors seemed to be the most prudent course of action, wherever his path may lead him.
“Before we go through with it,” he glanced at the Bounty Hunter’s son. “Do I have to accept the oath a certain way?” he asked Ainsle.
The old woman’s grin faded to a line. “Well, there’s a bit of a process… It’s old magic, you see? None of that fancy shit our handsome boy does with his little puppets,” she shrugged. “It’s different. Natural power from our ancestors that even a Null like me can do. It’s the strongest bloody binding you can get.”
“I see,” Ben said, nodding as he digested her words. “If it’s about binding, I’d like to try it my way. Would that work?”
Ainsle’s brow furrowed in confusion before the light of understanding bloomed in her eye. “My Benny man is growing up so fast!” she teased, her grin returned as if it hadn’t left. “Go on, then.”
Ben turned to face the man, who regarded him apprehensively. “I don’t have anything against you,” he paused. “No, that’s a lie. I’m not quite past the fact that you hunted me down and put my companions in danger,” the Bounty Hunter's son drew a quick breath as if to voice an objection yet was stalled by Ben’s swollen, raised hand. “But. I can understand that your motives were… for money and not a personal vendetta or anything.” He paused and addressed Ainsle. “They know what we are, right?”
The old woman shrugged and tilted her head to the Honey Badger with a raised brow. The old man cleared his throat. “We didn’t know before, if that’s what you’re asking, lad. But yes, the Red Maiden is a living legend, and it's common knowledge that she’s a Champion of the god of conflict. And you, I assume, are her apprentice?” the old man asked Ben.
The young man nodded, and Ainsle spoke up. “The boy’s not gonna be my apprentice for long, as you probably figured.”
“True, he moves well. It was almost…” the seasoned fighter trailed off, eyes unfocused as if reliving an old memory. “Almost as if I stood in front of the Bandit Queen herself.” He paused once more and regarded the Berserker with longing in his eyes. “You never did make good on that promise of a spar.”
Ainsle’s mocking glare grew sympathetic for a heartbeat. “Jerry, you knew me and Willy were-”
The scarred man raised his palms and dipped his head, interrupting the old woman. “I know. Another life, perhaps,” he said softly before clearing his throat and addressing Ben. “What divine power do you wield?”
Ben was roused from his musings of an old love triangle. He regarded the man and considered that he’d soon be bound to him in servitude, and hiding the fact would be pointless. “I am the Champion of Domination.”
Ben felt an imperceptible weight shift within his being. After he had spoken the words, he realized that he hadn’t referred to himself by the name before. His acknowledgment seemed to have opened what he could only describe as a gate within himself. A warm, burning sensation slowly coursed through his veins, and he felt heat radiate off his slight frame. He heard his mentor chuckle, yet the sound echoed as if it had come from a great distance. The smack of smooched lips tore him from the intoxicating promise of power that flooded his being, and he snapped his gaze to his mentor with wide eyes.
“Getting a bit steamy there, hey, Benny boy?” she teased.
A rhythmic pattern of deep breaths drew his attention to the man and his son. Their expressions mirrored each other; their jaws were clenched, and their nostrils flared.
“I would’ve called you a liar,” the old man said with a nod, voice strained. “And I sure as hells wouldn’t have taken the contract if I’d had known.”
The cottage was quiet for a few heartbeats as Ben felt the searing essence recede to a place too abstract to pinpoint, deep within his being. He exhaled and rolled his shoulders, facing the seasoned Bounty Hunter.
“As I was saying...” Ben began.
“Wait,” interrupted the Honey Badger’s son. “He’s ill.” The old man’s brows furrowed as he turned to reprimand the young Bounty Hunter, yet he didn’t give him the opening to speak. “Please, let him rest during what little time he has left. I’ll pay the debt.”
“Son…” the old man said softly.
Ben tilted his head to his mentor, who stood with arms folded and a furrowed brow. She absently nodded to the young man.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Ben said.
“Derek. Derek Badger,” replied the stocky young man, voice steeled with resolve.
“All right, Derek. Are you sure you want to do this? You owe me nothing.”
The curly-haired man nodded. Ben gestured that he come closer and lightly gripped the back of his neck with his uninjured hand —an uninformed observer could have mistaken the touch as that of a friend embracing another, yet the intent was clear.
Thick black flames erupted from his hands and forearms to lick the air unnaturally slowly. The Bounty Hunter’s son recoiled, yet Ben tightened his grip and instinctually forced the man to his knees. He was met with resistance, yet his will and, subsequently, physical strength were far more substantial.
Ben reached for his newest concept and unshackled its power.
“Subjugate,” he spoke without sound.