Varroc

Varroc stretched out, kicking his legs up on his wooden desk. The room used to be some kind of office for members of Sange’s government. But he’d commandeered it a while ago. There wasn’t much of a government now, anyway. Just Varroc and the man in charge. Life was good.

He liked Sange.

The room was pretty boring. White painted walls with potted plants hanging from the ceiling and positioned by the room’s doors and windows. Those plants would be long dead if not for Philomena’s green thumb. Varroc always found it a bit surprising. How someone so good at killing could be so good at preserving life. She had a real green thumb.

You’d think she was a gardener if the other fingers weren’t all covered in blood.

A few old pictures were hanging up, too. One was supposed to be a depiction of the hero from another world, but splattered ink and several deeply etched knife markings and had defaced it.

Varroc thought it was some of his best work.

There was a knock on the door.

Varroc’s attendant stood against the wall in front of his desk. He was quiet. Varroc liked that about him. The man had short cropped blonde hair and looked toward the door. He turned back to look at Varroc and waited for instruction.

Varroc smirked. He waved a hand nonchalantly and leaned back in his chair. It was probably just his lunch or something.

The attendant opened the door, and long-haired, beautiful Philomena walked in.

So, it was lunch, after all, just a different kind.

He pulled his legs off his desk and straightened up in his chair. “There’s my girl! Come have a seat.” He patted his lap.

She stopped a few feet from his desk and then turned to eye the attendant who had taken his position by the wall again. Varroc sighed. “Ah, almost forgot.” He turned to look at the attendant. “Sorry lad, we need some alone time.” He reached for a knife on his belt.

The attendant’s eyes went wide. He turned toward the door and made a break for it. Varroc flicked his wrist, and the knife flew across the room.

The fleeing man crashed into the floor, the knife’s handle protruding from his back.

He looked at Philomena, and then back down at his lap.

Philomena sighed. “We need to talk.”

There was something in her voice. Sure, she was the serious type, but this was different. Varroc could tell when something was bothering her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“A large army is heading toward Sange as we speak. They’re being led by a member of House Callandra.”

Varroc shot to his feet. “An army? What the hell? Why would House Callandra send soldiers here?”

Was it possible they were riding somewhere else? No. Sange was too far out of the way. It wouldn’t make sense to bring an army here. So why?

Philomena bit her lip. “Do you remember the man who showed up here recently?”

“The one with the baby?”

She shook her head. “No. Before that. The noble.”

Varroc wracked his brain trying to remember. He’d been spending a few too many nights in the tavern with Brel lately. Sure, it wasn’t good for the captain of the guard to get drunk on duty all the time, but when absolutely nothing interesting ever happened, it didn’t much matter. Wait, that did ring a bell. “I think so. He went with the mayor, right? I figured he’d returned home by now.”

“Varroc…he didn’t. The guards saw the mayor take him into the dungeon. But when the mayor returned, he was alone…”

Varroc shook his head. That wasn’t good. They had connections with a few of the more powerful noble houses. Hell, without that, Sange couldn’t even exist in its current form. Dungeon or not. But if the mayor had done something to a member of a noble house…things were going to go downhill for this town quickly.

“How many men are they bringing?” he asked, rubbing his temples.

“Our scouts believe there are at least 2,000.”

“Two shitting thousand? House Callandra doesn’t have that many troops. There’s no way in hell.”

“It appears Lord Arroane has sent his own forces as well. They’ve formed a partnership.”

Varroc cursed again. He turned around and kicked his chair as hard as he could. It flew several feet and shattered into pieces. A few of them flew into the window and shattered it. His eyes fell on the now cracked window overlooking the city, and he walked over to it. He punched it, sending several more shards of glass raining down in the streets below.

Civilians and slaves scurried out of the way, trying to avoid the falling pieces.

He looked up at the large pyramids in the center of Sange. Hundreds, no, thousands of pieces of kierstone had already been mined. That haul was large enough to set them all up for life. It was the whole reason Varroc agreed to take on this stupid job.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Well, that, and the safety the city provided.

But Arroane was the man slated to purchase the material. So why was he joining forces with House Callandra now?

“He saw an opportunity to get the kierstone without paying for it. House Callandra comes here in search of a missing nobleman. Arroane plays the hero and responds to their request for aid and then, once they’ve burnt Sange to the ground, he takes it all for the cost of a few men’s lives.” He slammed his hand against the frame of the window. A sharpened piece of glass still clinging in its place cut his palm.

He cursed, flicking his hand and splattering blood on the wall.

A warm hand touched him on the shoulder. He turned back to look at its owner. Sweet Philomena. A blessing that a man like him could never deserve.

“What are we going to do?” she asked him. It wasn’t like her. She was as much a rock as Brel was. But as strong and stubborn-minded as she was. She could admit when a fight was lost. Varroc had to admit it, too. They couldn’t win a battle against those odds.

“We’re leaving. Round up the men. We’ll be out of here by nightfall.”

Philomena’s eyes went wide. “Varroc…we can’t do that. You know we can’t. They’ll find us. We were lucky to find this place. We can’t go on the run again.”

“You know you’ve said that before, after Tantaloo. That there wasn’t anywhere to run. Then I went and found a sweet setup like this. I can do it again. Trust me. You remember what we talked about, in that bar back when we were in the guild?”

She seemed surprised at that. Philomena smiled. “I do.”

“Nothing has changed. Just stick by me. You handle the men, and I’ll go let Brel know.”

Philomena’s head turned to the side. “Brel? He’s still in the dungeon…”

Varroc shook his head. That couldn’t be right. Brel should’ve been back this morning, if not sooner. The trip didn’t take that long. “You’re sure?”

She nodded.

Varroc gritted his teeth. His fist clenched, and a stinging sensation reminded him of the cut on his palm. “Brel.” He sighed.

He closed his eyes and nodded. “That settles it then. We’ve gotta fight.”

Philomena sighed and walked over to sit on top of his desk. “You just said we couldn’t win.”

Varroc grinned. “That was before I knew running away meant leaving Brel behind. I told you before, I’d betray my own mother if I needed to. But never you two. Never you two.” He approached her and pulled her in for an embrace.

A comfort he didn’t deserve in this world, let alone from a person like her. That scared him more than anything.

***

He stood alone now, staring at a series of papers on his desk. Their numbers were limited, but they had some options. They could take advantage of the dungeon’s power, not to mention the surrounding towns.

He’d won impossible battles before. Hell, he’d made a habit of it. That’s probably why Brel was taking his time in the dungeon. The big bastard was always pushing Varroc further. This was just another situation he had to bend over and make his—

“Varroc.”

Varroc wheeled around, drawing the sword on his waist.

Standing on the ledge of the broken window was a snatcher. His robe flowed with the wind and his eyes were a deep shade of red.

It was always weird talking to a corpse.

“What are you doing here?” Varroc asked, unsettled by the creature’s sudden appearance.

“You’re failing. You were brought here to protect this place, and yet danger approaches even now.”

Varroc rolled his eyes. “I’m dealing with it. House Callandra is as good as dead. This wouldn’t be a problem if the mayor hadn’t gone and fed you a member of their house.”

The snatcher took a step forward. Glass shards shattered further under its uncovered feet. “We are not concerned with the soldiers. We are concerned with the children running rampant in the dungeon. They have already engaged with the beast inside. Now, they are heading toward the core itself. You were meant to protect us. And yet here you are worried about mundane things.”

Varroc’s mouth parted. There were children in the dungeon? That didn’t make any sense. This day was getting more and more annoying. “Alright. I’ll round up a few men and take care of it.”

“That will not be necessary. As of today, your services are no longer required. Consider this a courtesy in return for your years of service. We considered slaughtering you and all of your men but decided against it. You have until the end of the day to vacate our territory.”

Varroc stared at the man thing.

Did a dungeon just send a snatcher to break up with him?

“Why?”

The snatcher paused and turned to look out the window. In the direction of the dungeon. After a moment, it nodded, and turned back. “If I sate your curiosity. I’ll be forced to take your life.”

“Do it anyway. I’m curious.” His fist tightened on his sword. There was already one impossible battle ahead. Why not tempt fate further? He was a gambling man.

“House Callandra is not the only force traveling here. The King of Aysela is also on his way, in secret. Only a single squad of Hex Knights will travel with him as guards to ensure his visit is not discovered.”

Varroc burst out into laughter. He keeled over, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. This was interesting indeed.

The snatcher eyed him.

“Oh man. Bringing the king here in secret, now that is interesting. So, you’re taking this operation to the next level?” It made sense. This was the real reason it was sending Varroc away. Once it assimilated the king, they wouldn’t need some washed up gang of mercenaries.

They’d have the entire kingdom at their disposal.

This was exactly the kind of reason Varroc liked to gamble. You can’t win big if you don’t take risk.

“You think you don’t need me because your experiences with humans are limited. But me? I’ve seen it all. If you want to take this little operation and turn it into what I think you want to turn it into…I’m your man. You won’t just have civilians; you’ll have other kingdoms to contend with. Not to mention the guilds. I know all about that life. You need me. So, let’s keep working together.”

The snatcher turned back to face the dungeon again.

Varroc smiled.

The snatcher faced him again. “You will not make any further mistakes. Serve us well.”

With that, it turned and leapt out the window.

Varroc cackled.

“Well, shit!” He turned to look at the map of Aysela on his desk. He looked at Sange, and then his eyes drifted over to the Capital City of Karze.

“Well Philo," he said as if she could hear him.

"We’re taking this gig from town to kingdom.”