RavensDagger

  Chapter Forty-Two - The Beaten Path

  55th Day of Spring - Year 1758 of the Golden EraShorefarm, Yellowfield, Draya Calyrex

  "Hmm... looks like we can go around, but it'll mean cutting out across unmarked nd. There's no road there," Jorvin said. He was eyeing a map of the region, one that Maldrak had procured before their trip here.

  It wasn't the most accurate, but it was good enough. Draya Calyrex had a long history with cartography, though it wasn't always a history that was filled with accuracy.

  The lords of this nd found that there was a lot of self-importance to be found in dispying and distributing maps of the regions they controlled on behalf of their draconic ancestors. Unfortunately, when accurate cartographic readings came back as rather dull, they also had the impulse to embellish.

  According to some of the maps he'd seen, every hill hid an ancient tomb, every ravine a monster, and every empty pin was a prosperous field. Some of that might even have been true. What interested him more, however, was the yout of the roads.

  "Then we'll have to go off the beaten path," Maldrak said.

  He tilted his head back and squinted at the cloudy sky. The morning fog had long receded, but the clouds above were still thick and oppressively low. It turned the day into something dreary and drab, with a promise of future rain.

  The Yellowfields wouldn't be as prosperous as they were without their predictable weather, unfortunately, and part of that was a propensity for frequent--if light--rainfall.

  "Let's not linger," Jorvin said. "We're looking for the lord's mansion next, are we not?"

  "Indeed. Let's not keep the lord waiting."

  They ate as they walked. Field rations that Jorvin had brought along. Little more than hardtack from the ship's stores and some mixed nuts, but it was food that was easy to eat while walking, and it was filling besides.

  As they approached Shorefarm in the distance, they could make out that the town was occupied, but little else. Smoke rose from chimneys, but not many, as though half the town had decided to simply endure the spring chill. The ck of people out and about in the fields surrounding the town spoke volumes about the condition of the pce.

  Still, they soon left the road and cut across one of those fields, then followed along the outside of the wall, keeping it to their right while heading always towards the west.

  Eventually, the mansion came into view in the distance. It was quite old by the standards of any other continent, and rather young by the standards of Draya Calyrex. The manse was surrounded by a fence, with a guardhouse at the front.

  At the moment, something like thirty corpses were spyed out across the entranceway past the gates. Beyond that, in the main courtyard of the home, were some dozen more.

  Jorvin's sword whispered out of its sheath.

  The mage-knight made a gesture with his off-hand, and a darkened circle of magic appeared over the back of his hand and expanded to the size of a small shield. "Perhaps stay behind me," he said.

  "Agreed," Maldrak said. His grip on his cane tightened.

  They approached, and on doing so, it became clear that the bodies spread out before the mansion were those of the serfs of Shorefarm. Mostly men, with a few women, all in the simple but respectable garb of the peasantry.

  There were pitchforks and modified scythes discarded on the bloodied ground. Some carried butcher's knives or simple spears. A few, mostly those just within the gate, had gambesons and proper helms. The town's guardsmen, from the look of them.

  They were killed by sword and spear and spell.

  The scent of magic lingered in the air. Maldrak lowered his mask and tasted it. "Fire magic," he said. "A wide-ranged confgration spell."

  "The vilgers tried to open the gates, and these soldiers here made them pay for it with spears," Jorvin said. One of the bodies had the end of a spear stuck in them, the haft cracked apart. "And that man there died with a bow in his hand."

  Maldrak nodded. He remained behind Jorvin as the knight squeezed through the gate, but followed him into the mansion's courtyard. Here the number of bodies was lesser, and not all of them were vilgers.

  "Looks like the house guard were heavily outnumbered, but they made up for it," Maldrak said. For every dead guard there were four serfs on the ground, often near each other.

  A maid was pinned to the side of the house, a pitchfork buried deep through her chest and into the wood of the doorframe.

  Jorvin moved to the door, then gestured. A simple spell ripped the door open.

  The knight shifted to the side, raising his shield even as a spear darted out of the dark within. It smmed into his magic shield, noiseless, but not without an impact that made Jorvin move back. He angled the shield to the side, then made a quick, short swipe with his sword that sheered the haft of the spear off at the middle.

  "Whoa there!" he called. "Careful!"

  The dark within the house shifted even as Maldrak hastened to prepare a few spells. Confgration magic was on his mind at the moment.

  "Wait!" someone called from within.

  Maldrak paused, as did Jorvin.

  The spear's haft was withdrawn, and soon they could make out a pair of men just within, both in the garb of the fallen house guard. "You're no peasants," one of them said. An older gentleman, with scaled armour over a bloodstained gambeson of some quality.

  "I appreciate you noticing," Jorvin said. He stood to his full height, sword lowering out of its high defensive stance. "I'm Mage-Knight Jorvin Ashheel, accompanying Magus Maldrak here in reply to a letter sent by the master of this house."

  The guard paused, then gestured to the younger man. "Go ask the Baron to confirm that," he said. "Forgive me, Knight, Magus, but you must understand, things as they are... we are not in the most presentable condition."

  "I can see that," Jorvin said. "What happened here?" He carefully resheathed his sword, which did seem to reassure the man. Not that Maldrak thought that Jorvin was any less dangerous for his sword being put away.

  "The peasants revolted. Never seen the like. A few scuffles, some drunk revelry, certainly, but never something of this magnitude." The man shook his head, he gnced past them, then his attention twitched away. "Happened in the te evening, just before the sun set. They came up the hill, screaming and hollering. Half of them seemed on the verge of madness. I saw grown men frothing at the mouth."

  Clear signs that it wasn't just mob mentality and irate peasants mounting a revolt, then. "Were they being led by anyone?" Maldrak asked.

  "No, sir Magus. Though... no, that may be wrong. A few men of the cloth were with them, near the back. They didn't remain for very long, not once we put the first dozen to the spear."

  "I see," Maldrak said. "So they're still at rge?"

  "I suppose so. Could just be cowering in town. A number of the saner sorts broke early. The lord will have to decide what to do about them."

  "Of course," Maldrak said. "How many live in Shorefarm?"

  "Before all this? Some four hundred serfs, about a tenth as many peasants. Ah, here's my man."

  The younger guard came down, and now that Maldrak was looking, he could see the bags under the man's eyes. "The Lord Baron is willing to see you now," he said.

  Maldrak and Jorvin were let into the house. There was a strange, still sort of normalcy within. The floor was muddy, but the space was otherwise well-tended and perfectly agreeable, except perhaps for the short spears in umbrel racks and the swords on dispy tables.

  They walked up a set of stairs, then into an office.

  The baron was unmistakable. The man had draconic essence wafting off of him like heat off hot iron. Looking past that, he was a rge, wide-shouldered man in the finery of the dragon lords. Clothes with a subtle scale pattern woven into them, a capelet to give the impression of folded wings, and boots with metal-shod sabatons in the shape of talons.

  "Magus Maldrak," the man said. His eyes locked onto Maldrak himself. Slitted eyes, with pale blue irises. "Your automatons told me you were near. I'm happy to see you're in good health."

  "Likewise," Maldrak said.

  "I'd usually ask my maid to bring digestives, but she's currently dead. I believe my kitchen staff were part of the revolt as well. There will be no sweetcakes for us, I'm afraid." He grunted. "What do you want, Magus?"

  Maldrak fell back onto his heels, then moved his cane up between his feet. "Baron Goldfilius," he began with due respect and solemnity. "I want Shorefarm."

  ***