‘Abominable Cripple’
‘Principal of Secrets’.
Governor of Novesium,
Lord of Moon’s Haven,
Ruler of Turtle Isles
Keeper of the Golden Forest
The King’s Missive
Part II
-Matters of more pressing nature-
low-res city map of Novesium and Moon's Haven circa 198 NC, spoilers warning applied
“Mussel?” Nattas retorted with a grunt and heard Sudi shifting nervously on his feet behind him. “Why not Last Port or Sovya? Huh?”
“I go where I’m needed, boss,” Grogan replied and the motherfucker had healed pretty well after almost dying, sent to the dungeons for a good while, only to return to the realm of the living after escaping a killer’s knife somehow.
The latter interesting enough to fucking warrant a second lick.
“How did you get out of the hole?” Nattas hissed and Sudi’s sword-cane cliqued as the half-breed slowly twisted the handle a certain way.
“I walked out,” Grogan said. “Left his man in my place.”
The Governor glanced at the tensed Sudi.
“Seku, a prison guard,” Sudi expounded. “Haven’t spoken to him since and they said he quit his job due a death in the family.”
“That is true,” Grogan agreed. “For the most part.”
So a man had indeed die inside that dungeon, but it wasn’t Grogan.
“Hah,” Storm let out a short laugh and then stooped near the former convict’s face, to whisper in a friendly manner so no eavesdropping lackey out of the loop could hear them. “Grogan, whatever made you think it was safe coming back here? I do respect you had the balls to keep yer mouth shut, but you are useless to me alive and a big liability, since the king has noticed you. So what’s the plan? I spare your life so you can enjoy vacations on my coin and forget that you put me again in fucking danger by coming here of all blasted places?”
“I’ll travel to Mussel. You’ll make it happen, boss,” Grogan insisted, not even remotely fearful of Storm’s blatant threat.
“The probability you caught a virus in the prison hole and now have brainrot from all the plaguing damage,” Storm retorted in his patented sardonic manner. “Is ninety-percent,” he added and Sudi unsheathed the straight-blade sword cane right behind Storm’s shoulder, then took a forward step; stopped by Storm’s extended arm that blocked his path. “However,” the Governor continued staring in the unperturbed Grogan’s light-brown and green eyes. “In the unlikely event yer not and something else is afoot, I’ll allow you to give one reason not to close the book on you today. You find me absent time to further dwell on the matter. Alright? Good. Why Mussel?”
“I know not the reason,” Grogan replied, staring in Sudi’s tensed face curious. “But I can give a name.”
“Speak afore I grow a fucking cunt out of severe dullness,” Storm growled. “And then fist myself to death in order to get out of from under it!”
“Robart Barlow requested my assistance,” Grogan replied.
Eh, you son of an arse-licking bitch!
A rental contract, the man with the wishy-washy Lorian face had said, pale brown eyes looking at a younger Storm behind a pair of thin wire-fashioned round glasses, and clad in an austere civil-servant’s dark-grey redingote.
There’s a ship currently moored in Caspo O’ Bor.
Fleur De Luce. A Barque.
Robart Barlow, the Assassins Guild Mediator —the Jelin branch of it, also known as the Silent Servants Guild— had rented it from Storm for one thousand gold Eagles, the latter the exact amount Storm had paid to buy the ship that worth ten times the amount back then. A ship belonging to the late Duke of Raoz, Gideon.
“Where’s the fucking ship?” Storm growled and reached to grab Grogan by the collar. “Do you know that Barlow was a plaguing imposter?”
“Yes,” Grogan said, when Storm loosened the grip on his tunic’s collar. “The ship’s whereabouts, I do not know.”
Nattas let go of the ex-convict among many other things and stood back.
“Rhys is at Villa Silentium,” Sudi reminded Nattas, who grimaced whilst keeping his eyes on Grogan’s pale face.
“Why should I help you,” the Governor finally said. “If you are working for Barlow?”
“We all work for someone,” Grogan replied and raised his hand to wipe a bead of sweat with his index finger from a wrinkled forehead. “Mister Grey, Barlow, fights for the same cause as you, chief, and against the same enemy. We are all on the same side or pretty close to it.”
“Which side is that?”
“Mister Grey knows the details.”
Fuck you.
“What’s with the plaguing moniker?” Storm growled.
“It’s Barlow’s real name. The one he had when I first met him as a kid,” Grogan explained. “That’s another man though, another face and a different name.”
A tick had appeared on Storm’s face. “Why Mussel?”
“Not all keys open all doors, but Grogan can enter through Mussel because I work for you,” the ex-convict replied with an unsettling grin. “Libanius needs an assistant, the previous man got blown up to pieces, I believe.”
Storm turned to the listening Sudi. “Get Grogan a horse. He’s coming with us to Moon’s Haven. At least there we’ll have less eyes and ears spying on us. Novesium is about to be overrun with the King’s people.”
Storm waited outside the damaged palace’s stables, some of the burned or ruined room floors still stained with the blood of Ursus family members and loyalists murdered in there. Some by Sula’s soldiers, but the majority by the current governor’s people. Ursus last son was still alive somewhere in Lesia, but this wasn’t the biggest problem that bothered Nattas at this moment.
Or the only one.
“Goddess walks with you, Lord Nattas,” Priestess Erato greeted him, her heeled sandals fighting with the cobblestone they had used to re-pave the front of the large stables entrance. “Gratitude for helping Lady Virginia. Your good deeds shall be remembered.” Yeah, I doubt that. “A night inspection? Of the market perhaps?”
I could do with a visit to the brothels.
I wish… damn it.
“I have business in Moon’s Haven,” Storm replied rigidly, resting both hands on his cane’s handle. His expensive cane had a similar blade sheathed inside the polished ‘scabbard’ like the one Sudi had, but Storm rarely used it as a weapon. Rarely used the blade as a weapon and not never. “Where are you heading at this late time, Priestess? Is it back to Cartagen?”
Erato hummed her version of a melodic chuckle and reached to briefly touch the Governor’s hands in a pleasant gesture. “You guessed I was leaving your city. I favor perceptive men, dear Governor. I’m heading to Aegium. I need to reestablish the temple’s lost momentum there.”
Storm nodded. “Good luck speaking with Nonus Sula, or his barbarian of a wife. Working on regaining the King’s favor is the better approach.”
“We do that as well,” she replied. “The Goddess always stands determined and Kings change their minds in time.”
“Or change in general,” Storm noted watching her expression for any signs of something more sinister but Erato shrugged her exposed shoulders, this time smiling behind the thin red veil covering her comely aristocratic face. The stable has roomy stalls, Storm thought weighting on the cons and pros, still peeved he had lost the chance to meet with Miranda after months of celibacy. I can post Sudi here for half an hour to guard the doors. Erato had once again touched his hands with hers in the meantime. Is she going for the phallus, but keeps missing the target due to the semi-darkness? He wondered, but asked politely instead. “I didn’t hear your musings, priestess.”
“You seem troubled, dear Governor,” Erato said soothingly. “Perhaps the Goddess, can offer her assistance?”
Storm licked his drying lips and pressed his groin on the cane, using his tied on the pommel hands as cover. “Do you know of the Aken?” He asked and Erato blinked with genuine surprise. “You guys have a pretty big library over there.”
“We do,” Erato replied with a small pause. “Records focused on temple-centric matters and events. Not everything withstood the test of time and some things are difficult to understand, but yes, I know of the Aken.”
“You read a lot about them?” Storm asked pursing his mouth.
“Not really. I remember a story… perhaps a myth. A female named Mantis, one of Underworld’s Sea of Sand gondoliers, fell in love with a deceased human sometime in the past and went about to seduce him. She went as far as to give him a real body back so they can copulate, but in the throes of their passion Mantis succumbed to her instincts and consumed her lover. When she prayed to the Painted God for help, the god ripped the child growing in her womb out and cast it outside of its domain, somewhere in the old realms of Mistland. There to live its days, deformed, neither a human, nor an insect. Skilled and fluent in all matters of the underworld, but trapped in the realms of the living.” Storm grimaced and Erato paused unsure whether to continue or not. “Anyways, until this day, the Aken are terrified of their females seemingly for no particular reason, unless they have heard of the same tale. Then it makes sense,” the priestess said finishing her answer. “This is what I know of them. The matter was too-disturbing to further delve into.”
“I stand bewildered and with a shriveled cock,” Storm grunted with his usual panache. “And I’m the one that asked the darn query!”
“Well, I expected you’ll inquire about something else, dear Governor,” Erato noted in a much lighter tone. “So color me equally flushed.”
“You’ve a dirty mind, priestess,” Storm retorted, his arousal doused after listening to the disturbing tale and Erato raised her thin brows unsure.
“I merely thought your grace was worried about Cediorum?” the priestess revealed and Nattas smacked his lips annoyed.
You thought wrong.
Then again, I am. So you weren’t that far off.
Eh.
“What do you know?” Storm hissed.
“The Aken weren’t behind the attack for certain.”
Hah.
Right.
“The Temple has people there?” Storm grunted.
“It’s not as easy as it is in Andatelia for us,” Erato replied. “But we have to make the effort.”
Her extended family was from Andatelia of course.
“I didn’t know Naossis had such a following in the arse end of nowhere,” Storm noted before he could control himself. “Though it is a lovely place, I’m sure,” he added with a lecherous smile trying not to hurt her feelings too-much.
“When we say the Goddess,” Erato replied seemingly unbothered and made a half-step forward, either to touch the governor yet again or punch him in the gut because pretty cunts have a bit of nasty in them, before stopping dead in her tracks and adding. “We speak of the old Pantheon in general. All the Goddess’ vestal sisters stand divine to us.”
Sure.
“The thing is dear, there is no other Goddess, pure or not, neither a virgin nor an ace in the cock-sucking business, in the plaguing Five!” Storm grunted, thinking this was perhaps some cult birthed out of the mystical isle and spread to the provinces.
Not that he gave a shit about the Five.
Unless… she means the other deities.
Erato smiled seeing his expression slowly change. This cult Storm was onboard with, if they had the three older gods shoved in their pantheon as well. Nesande, Abrakas and Eodrass.
‘He was onboard’ didn’t of course mean Storm cared about those gods that much either.
Well then. Abrakas let’s just leave matters as they are right now, huh? I don’t fuck with you, ye don’t fuck with me and no one is the wiser.
“All gods,” Erato whispered just as Sudi brought the horses out of the stables, but again her words stood vague and full of hidden meanings.
Storm Nattas, Grin and Sudi Lotus crossed the Bridge of Silence at midnight and reached the gates of Moon’s Haven just as the guards at the ‘Reformed’ camp sounded the change of the sentries.
The Governor moved past the soldiers, way better equipped than the Novesium’s city guard, and waited for someone to wake up Moore. The Captain wasn’t in the camp, nor his town house —a small villa under construction, right next to the Mayor’s— but ‘inspecting’ the Black Market. Probably internal code word by the mercenaries to cover their commander’s visit to some ill-repute brothel, Nattas thought sourly.
“No sir,” the ‘Reformed’ sergeant replied to Sudi who had expressed the same concerns as the skeptical Governor. “Captain Moore is working leads in the Black Market.”
“You expect them scumbags to talk to him?” Grin blasted the sergeant.
“Sure. We get a cut of the profits?” The sergeant argued. “It’s not an organic Black Market, Grin. We even rent them the stands?”
“Hah.” Grin grimaced, then murmured. “It is how it starts and then they move in.”
Who?
“Sergeant,” Storm ordered, after everyone took a brief moment, in the hopes Grin would perhaps further expound on his inner thoughts, which Grin didn’t. “Ride to the market and notify Moore. Tell him the Governor wants a report in person.”
“You’ll wait in the camp, milord?” The sergeant queried.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Storm cautioned. “I have a blasted manor built next to the port. Tell Moore to hurry up though, I ain’t pulling an all-nighter!”
It took them two hours to locate Moore and by the time they did the governor had searched the small port at ‘Nattas Cove’ himself. He used a horse to move about, since the carriage, his cousin ‘Vinnie’ and Lady Virginia Lina, where nowhere to be found.
So Storm ended up sitting on a bench by the quiet docks after midnight, staring in the moonlight at the fishing boats and a couple of smaller ships moored there. The well-dressed in fine leather armour, adorned with medals and reinforced with pieces of plate Moore arrived with a large group of the ‘Reformed’ and found the tired from the long day Governor in a foul mood.
“Milord Nattas,” Moore started after saluting Storm, a gesture his mounted men mimicked using variations of the Lorian salute, the Issir, with some just bowing their helmed heads. “I searched the matter thoroughly.”
The sitting Storm watched Moore dismount and walk near him, stooped with both arms over his planted on the ground between his legs cane.
“Sergeant Vascos has the mail,” Moore continued with a tensed glance at the silent Sudi, who held an ominous sober expression, the half-breed’s face more wrinkled on its left side than the right adding to the effect.
Although good ole Sudi is plenty dangerous without any further adornment of sorts.
“I’ve read the mail, then did the fucking count myself,” Storm grunted. “Yet, the query remains unanswered. Where did the blasted Zilan warships come from?”
“We haven’t seen warships,” Moore explained. “Other than two big transports that were here the previous month… with the product.”
“Who works the docks?” Sudi asked and Moore licked his lips.
“The men with me. Each one vetted and tasked with unloading them from the ships. After that regular workers take the crates to the warehouse and the shop for processing. They have no idea about what’s going on and believe the bottles come from the Queen Regent’s vines in Aegium,” Moore expounded. “We account for every bottle.”
“What about the trinkets?” Storm asked, as several of the expensive villas had ‘Zilan’ lightstone torches installed. The ‘Sandbay Manor’ included.
“Everything is counted upon arrival and again before shipped out of the warehouse,” Moore replied. “Any thefts dealt with decisively. We had no incidents this month. But half-a-dozen during the summer, mostly jewelry and potions.”
“What plaguing potions?” Storm growled.
“Virility tonics, cockrot balms, cough syrups and chlamydia ointments,” Moore blurted out. “The harlots pay well to get them before they hit the market in Novesium, because the prizes go through the ceiling once there.”
“How many prostitutes work at Lena Kristen’s?”
An Issir whore that had found success in Novesium before moving her girls to the safer Moon’s Haven during the epidemic.
“Over sixty.”
“Good fucking grief!” Nattas cursed not expecting their ranks to have swollen so much.
“Too-many working crews, Milord. And soldiers, I reckon,” Moore agreed.
“Influx of whores aside, am I going to find corpses popping out of the fucking water at my beach?” Storm hissed and the Captain, a half-Nord half-Lorian, grimaced. “Stepping on decaying stiffs half-buried in the sand ain’t why I bought the blasted property, Moore!”
“Nay, Milord. We feed them to the pigs. We enlarged the pigsty behind the camp, since the animals took well to the fodder.”
Fucking all-hells. Who would’ve thought?
“Good,” Nattas grunted. “Now, can someone explain to me in plain language, how the fuck did the Zilan slipped enough ships inside the gulf undetected?”
“Three days ago, there was a lot of mist come early morning, today it shapes to be better,” Moore explained. “A good enough navigator can make it.”
“The cargo ships leave our port laden with goods, plus whatever the Zilan buy from the Black Market,” Storm hissed. “Not much room in there to sardine about a hundred soldiers, two hundred?” He asked Sudi, who nodded.
“The bigger number appears to be correct,” Sudi told him, having read the reports himself.
“Captain Gareth is at sea?” Storm queried.
“Aye,” Sudi replied. “The Lesia fleet left the port at noon and they’ll gather at the mouth of the Gulf.”
“Any Zilan still here?” Nattas asked with a grimace, feeling his stomach tied up and his tired leg bothering him.
“Eh, well Shamil left with a fast SETC Schooner yesterday on an errant,” Moore informed them. “Probably to their base and then he’ll come back to pick up the gardener.”
“The gardener? Does he work your villa?”
“Nay, Milord. It’s a moniker the Zilan Taranir has used. He bought that parcel of land inside the wild woods in the summer?” Moore reminded him and Nattas nodded.
“And then he just stayed in Moon’s Haven to savor Kristen’s charms?” Storm chanced. “Unless he loves the wilderness and corral snakes that is. I’m not judging the man’s preferences, he paid us good coin for worthless land.”
“Actually the Zilan reacted violently to the Issir whore, when she approached him inside the market,” Moore said. “But the situation was resolved.”
“How violently?” Storm queried crooking his mouth.
“He tried to choke her out, Milord,” Moore replied.
Kristen can handle a good ole choking in public, more so in private.
“I’ll guess here he probably used his bare hands with such forceful intent to cause worry?” Storm retorted mockingly. “And didn’t whip out his blue plaguing cock to do it! Gods damn it!” He cursed and pushed himself up, knees crackling and the left leg screaming in agony. “Aedile Yanus swears to his dead mother and the all-gods, and the bastard sort of caught me by surprise with that as I’ve thought him a godless man… eh, anyways… Yanus swears that no Zilan ships have moored in Turtle Isles, or sighted anywhere on the isle. They can’t use the south side, this we know, but they must have a base of operations somewhere near, since Shamil can’t reach Wetull in a plaguing Schooner!”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“Somewhere remote?” Sudi offered and Storm grimaced, clenching his teeth to combat several spasms induced from the pain in his left leg.
“Argh. I read the agreement,” Storm continued. “They stayed within six kilometers at Cediorum, but there’s a lot of stuff one can break within such a radius, the banks hadn’t thought about, or worse, they have. Now the problem is, Davenport and Lennox are enraged, the Barons apoplectic because it sends a message they are vulnerable and not too-far away from SETC’s reach.” Nattas paused to perceive the Schooner moored at the docks about fifty meters away from them. It was one of their own. The ‘Vestal’, belonging to ship Captain Socrates Casola’s flotilla, operating out of Turtle Isles.
“Where’s is Socrates?” Storm asked Sudi, who stopped glaring at Moore and turned to look at the Governor.
“Visited his wife at Head. I asked him to be here tomorrow,” Sudi replied and then returned his eyes on the nervous Moore, who pursed his mouth and breathed out.
“Can he make it?” Nattas asked.
“Socrates has the ‘Juno’ ready to sail at a moment’s notice,” Sudi replied referring to Casola’s flagship named after a pagan goddess, a refurbished Issir brig Sudi had bought at Castalor in bad condition initially and then incorporated into their flotilla.
Storm gave a nod with his head, Erato’s words whispering to his ears earlier words now half-hidden under the sound of waves breaking on the docks.
All other vestal sisters of the Goddess, the Lorian priestess from distant Andatelia had assured him, stand divine to us. It wasn’t a literal expression but more a lyrical one, as anything divine is pure by definition even if a particular god isn’t. Since the divine was shared by more than one god, then Erato had attempted to subtly inform Storm there that even the ancient pagan variations of their ancestors gods were respected by Naossis’ Temple.
Naossis had a doppelganger in the pagan deities of course, so it was very easy to be accepting, when you are worshipped from the get go.
“Hah,” Storm sneered and shook his head. No wonder, they made a statue of Vespasian inside the library and the Legion remained close to Canlita Sea. Had the Northmen behaved better eons ago, Anorum –a military camp initially- would have been built next to the lake’s shores and the familiar to their ancestors’ local goddess’ temple. ‘You could draw a line on a map,’ Lucius had told him once and Storm thought the King talked about his own exploits, ‘trace it from village to city and you’ll see how the army moved. Where it stopped for longer, and where it changed direction due to danger or physical obstacles. Always looking for better terrain, livestock and clean water, because the supply lines had been severed. The questions paint a picture themselves, but these questions have no answer, Storm, and the painting itself remains still a tantalizing mystery.’
Eh, when Lucius starts talking because he’s in a certain philosophical mood, you tend to listen enthralled, whatever the subject matter may be, until he finishes.
Uhm.
Now, having just ruminated on ancient history and the great Lorian King, Lord Nattas had other problems to deal with.
Matters of a more pressing nature that tend in their turn, to get lost in the avalanche of events and details the gods –any gods- habitually throw at you.
“Can you find Taranir?” He asked the grimacing Moore and the mercenary stood back with a frown.
“I had Saul follow him,” Moore told him and pointed at the thinly built Northern scout, standing amidst the soldiers. “We might need to cut a path through the Palms, because they’re difficult to traverse.”
“You have twenty men here, half-sleeping and farting on their motherfucking saddles,” an enraged Storm roared, snapping everyone to attention and startling the horses. His voice echoing inside the mostly empty docks. “They’ll do more than just cut a path,” he added hoarsely. “They’ll open a fucking road for me, afore the blasted sun comes up, else I’ll have them buried alive in them plaguing woods!”
-
Night of 22nd to 23rd of Tertius 196 NC
Petty Barony of Moon’s Haven,
Queen Regents Palms,
Palms road junction
(The road coming from the unfinished 3rd bridge was under construction)
“Be careful!” Sudi warned Storm and used a forked spear to pin the hissing snake to the twigs-covered ground. With swift movements, Sudi grabbed a hatchet, flipped it once and used it to chop off the serpent's head, before crashing it beneath his boot. “Some folk actually eat this shite,” Sudi remarked and lifted the headless but still writhing copper-red and black creature’s body from the ground, in order to toss it into the bushes lining the path cleared by Moore's men.
The ‘Reformed’, who had been tirelessly hacking away at the underbrush and occasionally felling palm trees for the past four hours, had already created a new route heading directly south, which intersected with the larger dirt road coming from Queen's Regent Bridge over the Emerald River. They had followed a previous animal path —seemingly— which was much narrower and cut through the dense woods —mainly old palm trees— but as they moved deeper and after about two hundred meters the vegetation changed, with other types of trees appearing now. Soon after this change in scenery started, Saul found a much wider path opened inside the woods and heading to the southwest.
This one clearly maintained by human or Zilan hands.
Assuming the random monkeys living in the woods aren’t plotting to take over, Nattas thought dryly.
“That’s the way towards the Gardener’s land,” Saul informed the standing stiffly next to his horse Nattas, the Governor slowly absorbing the night’s heavy moisture out of the dense palms forest. Not exactly a pleasurable activity for one to seek during a night, Nattas reasoned sourly, but you can’t exactly dose off and skip the whole blasted procedure, what with venomous snakes roaming about in the fucking dark!
“The Zilan’s name is Taranir,” Storm grunted through his teeth.
“He offered the name himself, Milord,” Moore retorted, slapping a large bug down afore it could dive inside his mouth. “Pregnant bees!” He cursed and Storm shook his head, then went to step away from the torches afore halting mid-move and pivoting back.
Better to get fucked up by a lights-aroused bug or many members of his immediate family, the Governor thought crooking his mouth, than get fisted with a spiked rod by a corral snake soloing the plaguing evening away!
Vile Abrakas, what gives? For instead of working bloody less, fuck way more and be less stressed the higher up I elevate myself socially, my blasted life stands quite the fucking opposite!
The new path led them to a wooden gate they had to force open to continue. Beyond the tall fence the forest had been flattened out, and then the ground seeded with several different species of trees and plants, not native to Jelin. At least Nattas hadn’t seen them before. He recognized a clutch of eucalyptus by their weird aroma, several other types of taller, more exotic fruit trees that had spread amidst the palms outside the fenced perimeter of about three stadia in width per side —around six hectare in total size of useless woodland in the middle of nowhere— according to the contract.
That aside most of the now nicely-flattened fields were dominated by a less than three meters tall, strange-looking plant with sheathed tubular still non-fully blossomed round yellow flowers, but for the occasional lonesome plant sporting pointy stamen-like flowers that were of a darker yellow color.
At the end of the path, a large mud-brick cabin –more a cottage in reality- could be seen, hugged by a shaded porch and behind it a series of barn-like structures made out of cheap wood and palm-leaves roofs. The nicely-constructed cabin had big floor-to-ceiling windows facing the east and was raised from the ground on a stone platform-like foundations at least three feet in height, but of unknown depth. It was painted blue and green. The whole structure covered by a loose hemp netting. Everything, windows, doors and walls were under the meshwork. Unless you knew where to look for it and absent the fence and half-concealed dirt road, finding the property would be an ordeal for certain.
Nattas halted his horse ten meters from the entrance at a signal from Saul the leading scout, who had already stepped his foot on the porch and pulled the mesh back. Everyone dismounted and Storm followed them with the help of Sudi, his eyes watching Saul carefully navigating the camouflaged entrance, the strange squeaking —and repeating— noise that had alerted the scout now heard by Nattas as well. Saul dragged more of the netting aside letting the moonlight inside the structure’s large verandah hugging it. Against the now opened entrance and the backside windows gloomy backdrop, a figure could now be seen just inside the door, resting on a rocking bamboo chair. The hat-wearing figure raised his head, always rocking back and forth, alien eyes glowing in the semi-darkness and at that time sergeant Vascos —standing to the left side of the Governor— reached with a curious hand intend on cutting one of the pointy flowers from its stem, the whole action caught in Nattas’ peripheral vision.
A short stick whipped past the recoiling Saul’s head the next moment. It flew too-fast for Nattas’ eyes to follow for over ten meters and then stricken Vascos’ outstretched arm right at the wrist so hard, everyone close by heard the thin bones cracking.
“ARGH! SHITE!” Vascos squealed, as if he had just gotten stabbed in the gonads with an iron floor-nail, and twisted around holding his flaccid hand. His groans drowned by the sound of the other soldiers’ curses and the animals scared neighing.
“Nobody moves!” Nattas barked to calm down the rising tempers, and hearing the rocking chair stop moving, he snapped his head towards the entrance again, where the sitting figure now stood, tall as death and towering over the retreating to the outer stairs Saul.
“HE BROKE MY HAND! GAAH! FUCK!” Vascos groaned irate and in horrible pain. Sudi nervously cracked his neck right and left, his drawn sword in hand, Saul tripped backing away on the stairs and almost went down with a yelp of panic, just as the hat-wearing Zilan named Taranir came out of the cabin’s door to stand in the moonlight.
The Zilan’s glowing eyes perceived the men that had crowded the path leading to his shaded verandah, halted briefly on the scowling Nattas, before settling on the howling in pain as he hopped about Vascos.
“The wrong touch could trigger the male plant to shed its seed prematurely,” Taranir told them in accented Common austerely. “Kill a whole row of females and ruin the crop. If the plant dies, your man perishes as well, Governor.”
“He got the plaguing message,” Nattas assured the sober, long-faced Zilan SETC official. “While the nosy fool is offered medical assistance,” the Governor continued, clearing his throat and waving for Sudi to stop the recovering from their startle soldiers attacking the Zilan. “Care to explain what this plant is?”
“It’s a tobacco tree,” Taranir replied and stilled his eyes on the half-Nord Saul, who had gotten a small axe out. Saul was standing not even two meters from him, but at the bottom of the cabin’s stairs.
“Saul, back away you blasted idiot!” Nattas ordered the twitchy scout.
“Come now Governor, allow the man to at least try,” Taranir offered sounding generous.
“Saul, go help Vascos!” Sudi rustled and the scout backed away slowly from the watching Taranir.
“You are trespassing on my property,” the Zilan said, now addressing the grimacing Nattas.
“I’m the Governor of Novesium,” Storm grunted. “It’s my fucking forest!”
“This part isn’t,” Taranir argued. “And if the forest is indeed yours, Governor, why give it the Queen Regent’s name?”
“The Queen bequeathed me the Barony,” Nattas replied through his teeth and Taranir pursed his mouth. “I strive to be polite.”
“Ah.” He said simply, once again examining the large group of men gathered in front of his cabin in silence. “These are too-many guests for an unannounced social visit. What do you want, Governor?”
“You know.”
“Do you trust all your people equally?” Taranir probed and Storm grimaced.
“I trust him,” he said and pointed at the frowned Sudi.
“He can stay at the door,” Taranir said and turned around to walk back inside his cabin.
“Keep everyone here,” Nattas grunted stepping forward to follow after the retreating Zilan. “Nobody touches anything,” he ordered angrily. “Plants, bugs or your uncle’s lost monkey,” Storm added through his teeth. “Something or other attempts to finger your backside, you spread arse-cheeks wide to receive a proper rimming and only move if I order it!”
“That ghoulish freak broke the sergeant’s wrist, Milord,” a soldier protested and Nattas paused to glare his way.
“Vascos got another wrist to use,” the Governor spat warningly. “And broken bones mend with time, but you need to keep on breathing for that!”
Taranir’s quarters were very frugal in their decorations. Which is to say they had none, other than a wooden cot, a table and chair. Everything handcrafted. There was a workbench with tool racks in an adjoining room that had a door leading to the back of the cabin and a kitchen of sorts to his left as he entered the room. Nothing else.
Other than the rocking armchair that is.
Sudi stopped at the entrance with Storm walking inside the wooden floor towards the Zilan who had sat at the edge of the cot to light a thin short cigar, black as a piece of coal. The aromatic smoke filling the room as Nattas reached the table, dragged the simple chair back, turned it and then seated himself facing Taranir.
Storm sucked at his teeth, the ornate cane resting between his legs and glanced at the table. The bottle of wine placed next to an empty wooden plate was opened and half-full, the label marking it as Haven’s Vineyards, the Governor’s own wine.
“How is it, the wine?” Storm asked to break the awkward silence, interrupted by Vascos’ groans of pain and the startled jungle birds loud chirping.
“A decent vintage,” Taranir replied puffing smoke out, before he removed his hat to place it on the bed next to him. The Zilan’s long ears protruding from his pale shorn cranium and moving independently towards the sounds reaching the interior of the cabin. “Slightly watered down and mixed poorly, but the taste is palatable.”
“We do what we can,” Storm retorted mockingly. “To keep the price down.”
“I’m not a wine expert,” Taranir cautioned. “But it’ll make you good profit.”
“It does. The deal was mutually beneficial,” Nattas noted. “Based on discretion to protect all parties. How is you attacking Cediorum helping me?”
“I’m on owed vacation,” Taranir replied indifferently. “I attacked no one in Cediorum.”
“SETC did,” Storm grunted and stooped forward. “You knew.”
Taranir finished the cigarillo and extinguished it on the floor bending forward to reach it. Then sat back straighter on the bed to perceive the glowering Governor.
“It is not surprising,” the Zilan finally said.
“It was to me,” Storm hissed. “For what? Burning a couple of cargo sheds, scaring the locals?”
“Is this what happened?” Taranir taunted.
“Fuck you, Mister Taranir,” Storm retorted. “Instead of pursuing a measured lull in the hostilities you stirred things up again. For what? Revenge? I understand D’Orsi caused a bit of damage back home, but provoking the Bank would get you another response and it might drag Lesia into it.”
“Ah,” Taranir shook his head.
“It might drag Regia into it as well,” Nattas continued trying not to get too-frustrated. “The gulf is shared by Regia’s cities and Regia’s ships use it also! A raid makes people jumpy as all hells! Have you any idea what shitstorm might befall your people if the whole of Jelin turns against you?”
“I didn’t propose the plan,” Taranir said. “These plans are in the company’s drawers long before Regia or Lesia were kingdoms,” the Zilan continued. “I don’t believe anyone in the company’s hierarchy is worried about your kings, Governor.”
“Listen,” Storm grunted, grasping at his cane’s pommel with both hands. “Even with the Issirs out of the picture, the Lorians could drown you in numbers. In soldiers and ships. War materiel. You think they’ll honor the agreement? Do you trust the Bank not to escalate the matter? Damn it, if Lucius put his mind to it, your little fleet would be doomed in less than two years, especially if Lesia joins in. They’ll hit you back, mark my words.”
“The Zilan don’t understand why the Lorians have two kings,” Taranir said not even remotely bothered by Nattas’ words. “Then again, before that they had twenty dukes and forty barons. Go back to the past a bit more and you’ll find two hundred warlords. Captains, chiefs, lords and two Caesars at least. Even more than the Northmen… um, so it isn’t really that big of a mystery, just weird. It is a pattern though, no?”
“You want to talk history? How about staying in the plaguing present?” Storm grunted with a grimace of anger.
“I can’t call my past, history. You cheapen the word, Governor.”
“Bah, just drop this vanity fa?ade. Nobody in here gives a shit about your longevity! Dwarves live long also, but they can’t even get out of their blasted caves!” Storm snapped. “If you really believed on the mission, then you wouldn’t have excused yourself!”
Taranir breathed out, a half-sneer on his alien mouth and the hint of beastly teeth revealed underneath. Storm stood back in alarm.
“You touched on many subjects,” Taranir said and stood up with a wave towards Sudi to stay at the door. “There’s some truth in all that you said, but very little. D’Orsi’s foray would have stopped at Taras, his men surrounded from all sides, with no possibility of escape. Or salvation. Wetull is very big, Governor.”
“Half of Jelin is much bigger, and many times –to the hundreds- more populated, Mister Taranir,” Storm retorted with a hiss. “The empire is dead and its remnants, which trust me to an extend we have counted, dwarf us in comparison.”
Taranir narrowed his eyes as if trying to figure out whether Nattas was truthful or not. Then reached inside a pocket of his leather overcoat and retrieved one of his thin cigars. He used a firestone pendant —hanged from a chain— to light it, the head burning hot for a moment and illuminating the Zilan’s face.
“A human visits a stranger’s garden unannounced,” Taranir rustled. “He’s in grave danger, but doesn’t know it. Lulled into a false sense of security, because the garden’s owner is otherwise preoccupied with matters dear to his heart, this human attempts to ruin the stranger’s property. Steal from the garden, burn it. His attempt brings him pain, when the disturbed owner reacts. What will happen if the human returns… his lesson not learned?”
Storm grimaced. “You are trying to use Vascos’ earlier stupidity, to what end?”
“I was speaking of D’Orsi,” Taranir replied. “But it is similar, true.”
“You can’t intimidate Lesia or the Bank for the reasons I mentioned,” Storm grunted. “They don’t think like that. Get your people to stop, they are going to get us in trouble.”
“It wasn’t intimidation,” Taranir argued calmly. “It was a second warning and an attempt by knowledgeable Zilan to prevent this conflict from escalating further, Governor.”
“You are insane if you can’t see what’s going to happen,” Storm hissed and pushed himself upright with the help of the cane. “You will bring them all in!”
Taranir grimaced and stared at the extinguished cigar in his fingers. “By the gods. Humans are truly blind. What SETC fears isn’t the humans, Nattas. We fought bigger enemies than you. This you should know though, for there is enough Mori-blood in you to remember.”
“Remember what?” An anxious Storm grunted, his mouth drying up and still very uneasy by his close proximity to the Zilan cannibal.
Potential cannibal, but with such a strong second word, you tend to forget the first!
“D’Orsi’s foray was doomed even if he had somehow won at Taras. Even if he managed to scale the walls of Tenebrous Castle and burn Sinya Goras to the ground. The more damage he caused, the more the Aniculo Rokae would have hunted him down. Ah, now the worry creeps in, all the nightmarish stories from the past returning to mind,” Taranir paused to stare in Storm’s face and then at the unseen Sudi who was still standing at the door. “SETC doesn’t want the conflict to reach Hardir’s doorstep, doesn’t want to interrupt the wyvern’s games, or provoke its wrath. So they made a deal, to keep the fight contained. They will fight you fairly, for the profit and the trade routes, if that is your wish, but your people must stand down, else they could create another D’Orsi. It’s a pity you can’t comprehend how close your city, any city, came to total destruction.”
Storm pursed his mouth and glanced at the grim-faced Sudi.
“Have you ever visited Eikenport?” Taranir asked them and Nattas shook his head.
“I haven’t,” he murmured.
“A lot of Zilan lived in the city, mostly Zilan,” Taranir said and stared at the extinguished cigar again appearing troubled. “Not all wyverns listen to their riders, or are led by a forgiving Aniculo Rokae, who decides to follow the rules and be reasonable. Not easy to find one sane, truth be told, as taking the huge risk to approach god’s kin, reveals their true character. Do you see where I am going with this? Of course, not all wyverns have a rider. So there is that to consider also.”
“Garth, this Hardir,” Storm rustled hoarsely. “Only has one wyvern.”
“Um,” Taranir hummed seemingly in agreement and pursed his thin lips in a tight grimace. “One is enough, Governor.”
“The Bank’s ships are following your transports,” Nattas warned. “Whatever you sent in Cediorum is about to be sunk. You won’t make it back and even if you escape somehow, Regia’s coast might turn dangerous. Your kin are too far from Wetull’s shores Zilan.”
“Are a couple of warehouses a strong enough warning?” Taranir wondered aloud and then breathed out. “The sun is up, perhaps it is time to return home, Mister Nattas. Have you ever thought about it?”
I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!
“This is my home,” Nattas retorted with a warning. “I made it. I’ll defend it. Don’t force my hand.”
“I do believe you’ll find a better solution than anyone else. Your king should put you in charge,” Taranir smiled. “What stops him?”
“Eh, I made a lot enemies climbing the ladder, since I started from the fucking bottom,” Storm grunted bitterly, then clenched his jaw. “Not easy to get rid of them all, but I haven’t stopped trying. I never will.”
“Yeah, I should have guessed this part,” Taranir admitted.
Nattas returned to the port with a brief stop at the junction to inspect the crews working on the real road heading towards the river, another matter Ursus should have taken care off but hadn’t. Anyways, upon reaching the docks, the tired Governor started working on a reply to Lucius, while Sudi interrogated the returning night fishermen for information.
Bryce was the first man to interrupt the Governor, escorted by his nephew Parkor.
Petty Baron Parkor. The young man, still thinly built, had nevertheless proven to be good at his duties, which of course had shown Storm, Parkor’s earlier decent job at running the business in Alden wasn’t a fluke.
“Milord, there’s been a sighting of Secundus Sorex in Storm’s Rest. You had me tasked with keeping an eye out for—” Bryce started, but Nattas stopped him, not wanting to discuss the matter in public.
“How certain are you?”
“A local hunter’s words,” Bryce replied with a shrug.
“Did he know the man from before?”
“He knew of Mamercus, I guess? Could be a false positive,” Bryce acknowledged.
“Eh,” Storm murmured too worn out to deal with gossip and having now lost his train of thought he stopped writing on the velum. Nattas returned the quill on the cloth and closed the inkpot. “Parkor, you seem well-rested,” he told his nephew.
“Moon’s Haven has a fantastic climate, uncle,” Parkor agreed. “I slept like a baby. Yourself?”
“Didn’t sleep at all,” Storm grunted rigidly.
“I had men watching the gulf,” Parkor noted. “You should have rested uncle.”
“Well, I had to explore the woods to the south. Something came up,” Storm retorted and his nephew nodded a little confused. “Any news?”
“Lesia’s fleet was spotted outside the gulf’s mouth,” Parkor replied. “Sudi will confirm it with the fish boats crews.”
“Gareth’s Flotilla,” Storm corrected him.
“No, uncle. The whole navy is out,” Parkor insisted. “There was a scrap at the mouth, ships sunk. An ambush.”
Of course, Storm thought remembering Taranir’s words. Fucking all-hells.
Abrakas curse them all!
“Lennox senior would be worried, I wager pretty livid also,” a grimacing Storm murmured and watched Sudi return. “What did they say?”
“The navy is in pursuit. They must have sailed from Armium,” Sudi replied. “They were tipped off probably, but the tip arrived too-late.”
There’s no such thing as a timely tip when you have to mobilize a fleet.
“Can they catch them?” Storm queried. “Surely their ships are damaged a little.”
“For certain they are, but I don’t know, chief. The Zilan were headed south by the way and not to the west,” Sudi crooked his mouth, seeing the Governor’s perturbed expression. “Casola might learn whether they turned west or not as he’s coming this way and might spot their sails, but I have this sneaky suspicion both the Lesia admiral and the Bank of Trust have an idea where the Zilan are heading, and it ain’t the blasted Turtle Isles. That’s not the place.”
They still need a nearby base of operations, a safe harbor. A midway point at the very least. A Zilan ship, is a fucking ship still!
“Bring me a plaguing map of all the sea routes, tides and the coast from the manor,” Storm grunted and stared at Bryce unsure, not remembering what the lackey was doing there. “Move,” he ordered him and with a small hesitation Bryce nodded, then headed for his horse.
Nattas watched the half-breed galloping away towards the Manor, a sense of unease creeping up his spine, but Storm couldn’t isolate the feeling as he had too-many things on his mind.
“What’s going on?” A worried Sudi asked him. “Is it Grogan? I can have him disappear.”
“No. Socrates shall take him to Mussel, but remind me to speak to that murdering bastard Rhys regarding his old friend Barlow. That creepy motherfucker might have screwed us in that deal and we’re completely unaware of it,” Storm said, his face twisting in anger. “Also inform that crook Libanius to look for that damn ship. I don’t care if he has to whore himself to the Zilan freaks. Knowing the ship’s location might be vital down the line,” he hissed and reached for the quill in order to finish his reply to Lucius.
Rhys
A day later
Half a kilometer from the bridge at Rhys’ Creek
The under construction Villa Silentium
Rhys, the ghost of late Bekare whispered. Where is the altar to the Others?
“Shut up,” Rhys grunted and the man working the corner pillar of the unfinished villa turned his head to look at him confused.
“Milord Vardran, I said nothing,” the man protested.
“Apologies, just make sure you fix the tilt, Varius. From downstairs it looked pretty bad and there’s a whole other floor we need to add,” Rhys rustled and walked with a slight limp towards the stairs where the heavily pregnant Selussa watched him.
“What was that?” Selussa asked curious.
“Nothing ye need to concern your pretty head with,” Rhys retorted crooking his mouth. “They are just not doing a good job.”
“Hmm. They are miners, Rhys,” Selussa noted. “Why use them?”
“They are cheap? It was the Governor’s suggestion,” Rhys replied.
“He didn’t want to pay for proper builders?” She asked with a hiss, her face flushed red. “What?”
Rhys smiled. “Heavy is pretty on you.”
“Is it the bigger tits?” A flushed Selussa queried, tensing up when he touched her swollen belly. “Next time you carry the darn baby, and I’ll look for builders!”
“Hah, I can do that,” Rhys replied although he couldn’t and tried to kiss her but got interrupted by the unseen Flix’s annoying chuckle. The wearing heavy makeup Gish appeared at the bottom of the stairs, nicely tanned, with toes painted red and clad in a yellow sheer sundress.
The old assassin had retired after the Alafern job.
“The governor’s man came,” Flix informed them in his rough Common. “The tall pretty one,” he added with a wink.
“Moore?” Rhys growled furrowing his brows and Selussa gave him a light slap for yelling so close to her face. “Ha! Gave you that one dear because I could. Right. I’ll talk to him Flix.”
Moore is tall and handsome. Fierce and violent, Bekare gushed in his ear, images, pieces of broken memories and dreams filling Rhys’ tired head. Some scenes steamy in nature, others plenty gruesome.
Cut it out Becky!
“I can keep him busy,” Flix offered still grinning, his eyes on Rhy’s sweating face, now ravaged by violent spasms. “More vacations you need, yes?”
“Nah, I’m fine. It’s all the salt. I just need someone to keep an eye on the workers. For every brick they place, they steal two!” Rhys grunted exaggerating a little and then puffed out looking at the troubled Selussa. “God damn it, you’re enticing as fuck even swollen, why?” He barked in a teasing manner and she burst out laughing after the initial startle. Rhys nodded pleased, since he loved making the younger woman laugh and then he added in his usual half-angry manner. “I’ll see what this tall donkey-lover wants.”