“Captain Sargasso wants to see you, boy,” a stone-faced knight informed Drake as he wearily stepped into the military tent. It was unusual for him to be met by a soldier after a battle so swiftly won. Drake took it as a bad omen.

Drake nodded. He had learned a long time ago that the knights were not worth wasting words on. It was a pity; Drake had so many things he wanted to share. Little things like the way the sun hits the water or the song of crickets. However, he had learned as a boy that expressing such thoughts would accomplish little but ridicule and perhaps a lashing. Why speak if nobody was listening?

“Clothes?” Drake asked, still nude from the fight.

“Talk to the captain,” the soldier repeated, with somehow less warmth.

Ordinarily, the servant girl was waiting for him with clothes and fresh water. After he cleaned, he would report to the captain. To be denied the simple pleasure of washing and dressing was disappointing, but he knew the worst was yet to come.

As he made his way through the tent, the other knights sworn to protect him averted their gaze. Though denied an education, he was not stupid. Something very bad was about to happen to him. Eventually, he passed through the crude mess hall and out of the tent. The flap opened and he saw a sight that made the pit of his stomach fill with ice. On the bridge before him stood a row of knights in armor at attention. In front of them stood the captain and the servant girl, weeping on her knees next to him.

Sargasso Gryre of the Order of the Swords was as large as he was cruel. A hulking behemoth of a man that stood nearly seven feet in his ancient armor. A seasoned veteran, he was a legend in his own right before ever stepping foot into the armor that gave him the power to lord over Drake. Armor that somehow absorbed and diffused his shadows. Drake had found that out the hard way.

The real problem, Drake estimated, was not the armor. He could potentially figure out a way to crack that nut. However, the shimmering falcon that lazily circled above the scene saw to it that Drake would never get the chance. It looked like a shiny silver bird, a marvel, a tool of the gods to be sure. The Vita Macel was so much more than that though. It was the scourge of Drake’s existence for one thing.

While the Vita Macel had taken the form of a mighty falcon, it was not bound to any shape or form. It could instantly be a boar or serpent, but its most demonic form was that of a simple blade. It was the only material Drake had ever known that could cut him. And it had, again and again.

The girl on her knees sobbed, tears staining the wood below. Drake gave her a sorrowful look. They were not close, he didn’t even know her name, nor was he allowed to. Her dress had been ripped and she was holding it up as best as she was able. Drake knew better than to try and help her. All the same, he itched watching her cry.

“Good of you to join us, Lord Sword,” the captain said from behind his helmet.

He had never seen Sargasso’s face, but he assumed it was as ugly as the man was twisted. If Drake ever saw the captain’s face, he would make sure his own was the last thing Sargasso ever saw. Drake silently turned his hard stare back to the captain, away from the wailing girl. “Care to explain the meaning of this?” demanded the captain as he produced a piece of parchment. Drake’s heart fell into his stomach as he shut his eyes. “Recognize it do you?”

“Ple-e-ease. I did what you asked. P-leas-s-e!”the servant girl cried

The captain clicked his tongue. “Now, Drake, you know that you aren’t supposed to be getting familiar with...well anyone, but especially our lovely servant here. Care to explain why this exists?” The captain shoved the parchment toward Drake. The naked man opened his eyes.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“It’s just a drawing.”

The parchment did indeed contain a charcoal drawing of the girl smiling. She had modeled for him before. Not for long, but long enough for him to get a quick sketch. He had given it to her to say thank you. Drake grimaced. She had apparently given it to Sargasso. That had not been smart.

“It betrays familiarities. Need I remind you that your purpose is not to whore but to be a Sword.” Drake said nothing. “You are lucky that I don’t take out my punishment on you instead.”

“Do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll take it instead. Let her go.” The servant girl lifted her face, streams of tears and snot rolling down it.

“Well, now that just confirms you were sleeping with her doesn’t it? What man would take a lash for anything less?” The captain laughed.

A moment later the Vita Macel swooped down and slashed the girl across the throat faster than she could blink. Drake’s eyes went wide. He gritted his teeth, balling his fists with rage. So much death all for men’s egos, for rules he couldn’t possibly understand. What had he done to deserve this hell?

“She has served her purpose, Drake, now it’s time for you to do the same. There is a report of another legion on the western front...”

Drake sat on the ground, putting his hands on his knees as he stared venomously at the captain. He wasn’t going anywhere. Screw the kingdom. Sargasso’s body became rigid and he clenched his hands into fists. Drake knew the rage would follow shortly thereafter. Let it. Perhaps the brute would do him a favor and end his life on this bridge.

“I order you to stand.” The icy words fell on deaf ears. Drake didn’t move. He could almost hear the captain’s blood boiling in his armor. “Get the bastard on his feet.”

The captain motioned for his men to move. Without hesitation a cadre of soldiers marched behind the sitting man, bringing him to his feet. Drake was dead weight in their grasp.

“Put him against the pillar. This should be an informative lesson.”

The men did as they were told. Drake did not fight them; there was little point. He let the men carry his dead weight as they hauled him to one of the massive columns that supported the bridge. Not looking him in the eye, they held him against the pillar, his bare chest digging into it.

Drake tried to not blame them for their weakness. However, they were the ones choosing to hold him weren’t they? What made these men any different than the men in the field he had just come from? A pulse and little else, Drake imagined.

Hope was draining from him before Sargasso stepped forward and Drake grit his teeth. This was not Drake’s first lesson from the captain.

“Think on your sins, boy.”

A moment later, the Vita Macel rocketed from the sky to the hand of the captain, morphing quickly into the great blade it truly was. Sargasso stepped forward with relish, raising the blade, and held it to savor the moment, the sun glinting off the steel. Then he dropped it down in an arcing slash across Drake’s back.

Drake cried out in agony, but he was not the only one. The captain had been overzealous in his strike, cutting the man to Drake’s right as well. Drake had taken it across the back, but the soldier had been cut across the stomach. He was currently screaming as his insides tumbled out. Drake staggered on his feet as his right arm was released.

“Somebody clean up this mess,” said the emotionless captain.

Drake threw his weight forward, wrenching his arm from the other knight’s grasp, then jumped through the bridge’s bones and into the open air.

“Stop him by the damn old one!!”

But Drake was already in free fall. He tumbled through the air, head over feet. Slamming hard into the raging torrents below, he was quickly swallowed by the current.

“DAMN HIM!”

The captain scanned the river below but saw nothing. Whether Drake was alive or dead, there would be hell to pay for this.