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Baron Storm Nattas
No rest for the wicked
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Fall of 193NC
The Admiralty’s resort villas of Rochstab.
A town built on the east branch of the junction where the Dry Road coming from the southernmost city of the Lesia Kingdom the distant Levacum, split. One branch continuing north towards the massive first bridge (of three, the other being a hundred kilometers upriver at Jackal Fort near Ballard and the smaller third at its sources near Atetalerso four hundred kilometers away) over the River Rochestab (or Rochstab), another branch turning west towards the Grand Port City of Cediorum, with the town of Rochstab occupying the space between the river and the forest which served as the border to the Lesia Desert.
[https://i.postimg.cc/zBw87jWv/Lesia-v5.jpg]
Mornings suck.
The chill locks up the muscles and your body turns numb and clumsy.
Your eyes are blurry and crusty.
Things hurt in the mornings and all that you’ve set aside in your sleep make a painful return.
You seek rest but it’s elusive and easily wears off.
“Abrakas fucks your harlot mother!” Storm cursed waking up with a groan of pain. His leg had turned in his sleep and he could feel the bones touching at the abused joints under all the swelling.
“I beg your pardon?” Captain Tenuta asked setting down the tray. The Lesia officer was about thirty, born in Cediorum to a navy officer’s family and one of Sir Patrick Lennox’s aides. A friend of his son Gareth no less. Sir Patrick was Lesia’s Lord of Sea.
“Not your mother dear Tenuta. I’ve the fondest memories of her,” Storm replied after taking a moment for his eyes to clear.
“You’ve a drunken sailor’s tongue Baron.”
“I’ll take your word for it, you seem like you know yer way around port tongues,” Storm retorted grumpily.
“Rough night?” Tenuta asked with a shake of the head.
“The night was fine,” Storm retorted. “It’s the humid morning.”
“The leg bothering you Baron?”
No, I’m just grimacing and twisting like a fish out of water because I’m weird.
What’s this, fucking elementary class?
“You learn to live with it,” Storm grunted and eyed the pedestrian contents of the tray. “The kitchen is on strike?”
“The villa runs on standard Navy rations and menu Baron,” Tenuta replied patiently and poured some milk into the ceramic bowl filled with grain biscuits.
“You over poured,” Storm taunted. “I’ll have you reported Captain.”
“I had the same breakfast,” Tenuta replied patiently.
“Yeah, I don’t believe you. Is it the same when Sir Patrick visits?” Storm commented sourly and stood at the edge of the bed after pushing his leg down.
“Lord Patrick has a personal villa in Cediorum.”
“You could’ve have said no. Truth will cleanse yer soul dear Tenuta.”
“Lords have estates Baron.”
No shit. You fucking blew my mind you rapscallion.
“I do to,” Storm retorted with a groan. “Not in Cediorum but in a few choice spots. How about we relocate there? I’ll pay for the trip. Don’t want to burden the Admiralty’s coffers.”
Tenuta stood back. “That’s out of my hands Baron. I’ll leave you to it.”
“You sure? Have some milk with biscuits,” Storm offered in a taunting manner. “Look they dissolve and turn into a grey sludge. Why, it looks like cement! I could smoothen the outer walls of the veranda with it! Better get to work!”
“Get dressed Baron,” Tenuta said frostily. “I could send the maid in to help.”
“Keep her out of it,” Storm grunted. “She’s a vicious groper.”
“Baron Nattas!” Tenuta snapped spittle flying out of his mouth. “The woman is married.”
Storm shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t dispute that,” he said and reached for his cane. “And one doesn’t exclude the other.”
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Mist came down from the north and the river’s unseen banks. So much humidity in the air, more coming from the Lorian Gulf and the large port city. The dry desert to the south. A dry, stony ground. The bedrock exposed. Not as large as the sand deserts of Eplas but a hell to travel through so people avoided it. Until they found the diamond veins of Diamant at the rock outcrop of Maze Quarry and the Naphtha fields of Levacum. Then people found a way to cross the desert. Built a road through it.
Lesia was a narrow elongated kingdom, sandwiched between the endless Stonemaze Peaks that run from Old Fort to the Turn over a thousand kilometers away. A barren land that boomed with life around its rivers. The kingdom of the six rivers since everyone had tried to build near them. The huge Rochestab that emptied itself in the Lorian Gulf and Dave’s River from king Divinus Colenus that had lost his wife in its waters and would not go any further. The man suffered from a severe case of gout so the story could be bogus. Ostrich River where Di Cresta built the dam that formed the lake that bears his name and made a rich valley out of the once arid terrain. Haggart River with its slow-moving foul waters teeming with stingrays but near enough the empty Lesia Plains where stallions run wild to make it interesting. Andalus with its gold dust covered floor and little but cold Hope River that touches the North.
Lesia Lorians were stubborn like those of Regia but not as easy to provoke, prideful but frugal since they never had enough of everything. Their righteousness had resisted the gods of the Zilan and only mellowed to Uher from the Five. They respected wealth and well-thought out plans. Some of it a show to hide a melancholic character but real enough to spill out of them as true decency. You could indubitably find people covering all the spectrum and some cruel bastards that could pretend with the best of the realm’s scum, their bigotry legendary. You’ll carry a part of Lesia in you as far as you travel was the saying, but Storm thought most of it was a bunch of sentimental bullshit to boost a dying tourism industry that favored Regia’s Salt Coast and wished he was back at his cove with Miranda and Silvio.
Good grief, I sort of miss Sudi as well and that horrid semi-paralyzed Issir bastard is probably spending my coin in whores and dog-racing right now, he thought.
Then again he might be fucking Miranda for all I know not to waste coin, which is helpful but also infuriating. Why, they could just bury me out the yard here and move on like I never existed. The girl has done it once already. Didn’t even blink an eyelash.
Storm grinded his teeth maniacally, fingers clasping at the rails of the first floor veranda so hard the knuckles turned white. The villa had only two floors, a large stone fence around it which left a square yard for a person to walk about if he could walk that is.
Is this funny to you vile god of the Depths?
Suck my cock!
The thick mist had spilled over the three meter fence, not that any height was important given that Storm couldn’t climb on a leg and then slowly dissipated as it approached the building. A breeze would come and go once in a while, push some of the misty soup away. It had coincided with the gates opening and Storm had caught a glimpse of the crest at the side of the carriage. Enough to remember where he’d seen afore. Hence all the historic memories and lessons about the blasted country.
Good to look at from afar but less so when one visited to be kept under lock and key.
Lord Cornelius Mortymer paused as if he couldn’t see the doors of the villa, in order to gaze at Storm that was glaring at him sourly from the veranda.
“Is that who I think it is?” Lesia’s Master of Silence queried with a smirk, born in the distant Stingray in the Duchy of Dokamna and Haggart River.
“I’ve no idea,” Storm retorted through his teeth and put a hand on a large arrangement of flowers to heave it down on his visitor. “I only hear a strange voice. Ye got to come nearer. Stand under the balcony.”
It would be an accident.
“Ha-ha, yep. There Robert. That’s our good petty Baron. Always sharp,” Mortymer told his aide, an austere-looking lackey probably of a good family but looking as thick as a well charred brick without the holes.
Petty is what your mother wished her reputation be, you piece of scurvy-infested shit!
I’ve three times the land you have and I’ve bought it with my own fucking coin!
“Mmm,” Storm murmured seeing the two men skirting the edges to enter the villa. Captain Tenuta paused and looked up at Nattas without entering himself. “I want more flowers,” Storm told him since he could see well inside the yard. “Yeah. Just fully cover the corners. Spread the range.”
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“Ah, our good friend Lord Nattas,” Mortymer said.
Drink a bottle of old laudanum and die.
“Is that you Cornelius?” Storm asked from the chair he’d returned to sit on. It was the only armchair inside his room but he left the stool the maid used to fix the curtains for his visitors. They could share. “Good gods’ man, you’ve aged badly. Things not going well?”
“Hah,” Mortymer scoffed. “You are not looking that well yourself. I overheard you’re here a couple of months. Is it three? Maybe more?”
“I’m forty one,” Storm told him looking at the enlarged forehead where baldness had robbed Cornelius from hair but had given room for his eyebrows to move aplenty. “Thankfully I’ve all my hair still. You’re about forty now eh? It’s all downhill after that.”
Mortymer smacked his lips and looked to sit on the stool. “Always with the sharp tongue I see.”
“I do too now. See that is,” Storm countered. “Must be the light in the room.”
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“This is Roberto Tar,” Mortymer said with a sour expression on his round face after a couple of more tries to one up Storm and getting thoroughly thrashed. He’d small eyes under those roomy eyebrows and prominent forehead, sickly skin color with dark spots. A shaven face. “Get us those doughnuts we’ve bought in Cediorum.”
Storm grimaced and stared at the pommel of his cane. He had it secured between his legs, kept both his hands on it. Made out of dark polished walnut, it had a concealed thin straight blade attached to it and the pommel itself had a bosomy Ticu carved on it in all its naked glory. The female figure’s long hair made into cascading braids that resembled a Kraken’s tentacles too much. Because that’s what they were.
Robert got a flat wooden box out of a large satchel he carried and placed it carefully on the table afore taking a couple of steps back. ‘Sugarcane Lantern’ was carved on the thin wood with black bold letters. ‘Since 55 NC’. Mortymer opened it and a smell of creamy sweetness filled the room. He fished a star-shaped doughnut out with index and thumb, took a huge bite out of it.
“Genie still around?” Storm asked unable to resist. The famed bakery and tea shop out of Cediorum made the King’s favorite doughnuts. King Davenport had tasted them as a young man in the academy and always placed large orders of the stuff for the palace in Armium. Storm had tasted them when his late father worked in the King’s stables and the King visited to talk about future hunts or his horses.
You could learn the kingdom’s secrets while cleaning a horse’s arse back in those days.
Mortymer was trying to rattle him with a glimpse of freedom and old memories.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Motherfucker wants something.
“Dino Herb took over. It’s a company now. They have one in Armium, in Atetalerso, another in Dokamna,” Mortymer explained and placed one round one on a hankie for him. “Get it to the Baron, Robert. Help the man out.”
Storm took a bite out of the oily soft doughnut. The inside filled with lemon jelly.
“Any other flavor?” He asked chewing slowly.
“Raspberry, vanilla,” Mortymer said. “I got two boxes for the road.”
“How is the Admiralty these days?” Storm asked casually taking another bite out of the doughnut. He used the tip of his tongue to gather some of the injected fruit jam that had spilled out of the side of his mouth while Lord Mortymer finished up his and licked his fingers.
“Ah, nice. Want another one?” He asked Storm.
“I’m good,” Storm replied. “What brings you here Cornelius?”
Mortymer wiped his hands with another hankie, then returned everything to Robert, who stooped and closed the box, retrieving it as well.
Cheap bastard.
“Mantel and Fiorin had a plan, dragged the King in it,” Mortymer started with a grimace of discomfort. “Mantel got what was coming to him and Fiorin, well he’s not looking good but he’s a fighter, we’ll see how that turns out.”
Storm smacked his lips, wiped his hands with the hankie and tossed it on the table that was a meter from him afore returning them on the cane. He said nothing, since Mortymer had said very little and nothing that had anything to do with him.
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“There are several ways of looking at a campaign,” Mortymer finally continued under Storm’s tolerant expression. He wanted to have some water but didn’t want to spook Lord Mortymer by bringing the maid in, since he hadn’t many visitors these past months and was starved for news. Captain Tenuta was a thoroughly un-talkative person. Storm had tried desperately to provoke him but the man’s nerves were either made of steel or he knew nothing of substance. “Militarily we are at an impasse. Lennox, the young Duke that is and not the Admiral, holds on to Cartaport like it’s his mother’s tit.”
“I just can’t imagine her breastfeeding him sorry,” Storm blurted out. “But go ahead, it was a nice turn of phrase dear Cornelius. I knew you had it in you.”
Mortymer shook his head and stood back on the stool, probably already discomforted and numb at the buttocks. Robert stooped near him from behind and said in a disinterested voice.
“Several ways of looking at a campaign milord.”
“Yes,” Mortymer agreed remembering what he was saying.
“After the tit sucking part,” Storm helped with a toothy leer.
“As I said, militarily there’s meat left in this. Now with the damage done to Regia’s navy we have relative control of the Lorian Gulf and the south coast up to Eplas.”
“That’s a lot of miles.”
“Allow me to finish Nattas.”
“You seem stressed out,” Storm noticed. “I advise to drink a lot of clean water and air yourself. Stay in the sun Cornelius. Take a ship for a journey down the coast, see the sights.”
Mortymer cleared his throat and glared at Robert Tar. He got a bottle of black whiskey out of his large satchel and a small glass shot. Storm glared at him and the aide produced another one. Served them both and retreated a couple of steps leaving the small bottle on the table.
Mortymer gulped down his drink and blinked, then coughed once.
“Curses. It burned all the way down,” he said. “We can keep Lucius in Cartagen for months,” Mortymer said finally moving to the ‘meat’ of the talk. Storm sipped at the whiskey, worked it in his mouth and then swallowed. “Drag it out. We’ll reinforce and supply the troops and Pintor’s Legion can’t be dislodged unless Lucius comes out of the walls.”
Storm stooped silently to place the small glass at the edge of the table.
“As I said earlier though, a campaign has several ways of looking at it. Lucius has army near Sava and it might be the other Legion.”
“That’s two to Pintor’s one,” Storm summed up the numbers. “How are Lennox’s regulars performing? Nasty thing with contracted or drafted troops is they need training, are on a timer, their mind on getting out still breathing and return home. Use the coin to buy a field or fix the roof.”
“Lucius presence is blocking the road and disrupting trade,” Mortymer hissed through his teeth. “So shipments are rerouted from sea lanes up north and down the coast. It creates a bottleneck in the ports with the army having priority.”
“War is a costly endeavor,” Storm agreed. “Who would have thought? You put a quota down, tidy up the numbers and then it all turns tits up. You forget one thing, misjudge another, the weather turns nasty and crops are less because bugs plague the ground.”
“There are two schools of thought in the court,” Mortymer soldiered on. “One is to test Lucius with an attack at Sava. See if we can push his force aside and open the road to flank him, trap him inside the capital.”
“That’s a lot of road to retreat for his force. Easy to defend down the line again and again. He can reinforce them and drag it out. Wait, you said this was your plan I believe? So that’s a good thing right? Unless it started hurting a bit with winter coming.”
“There’s fear that a setback in Sava could force us to retreat and even threaten Flauegran.”
“Isn’t Flauegran an open city? Atetalerso as well. Why, he grabs the bridge there and he could bypass Ballard and head straight for Dave’s River. Now that, would be awkward to explain,” Storm taunted.
“He doesn’t have the army to do that.”
“What’s the other school’s plan? You guys have thought this through obviously.”
“Fiorin believes Lucius is one defeat away from completely collapsing,” Mortymer replied. “Jeremy could attack in Asturia or come down the Tunnel Pass and cut him off from Lord Holt.”
“He’ll work with Lesia? After you attacked Cartagen? That’s political suicide,” Storm replied.
“He’s a king Nattas.”
“Kings get overthrown if they fuck it up too much.”
“Name one instance. Don’t give me historical catastrophes, something current,” Mortymer snapped. “If Lucius loses, Jeremy will rule for fifty years.”
Storm pressed his mouth tight and stared at the half-empty glass of whiskey on the table.
“Maybe I have it wrong but old Holt must have drafted over five thousand men by now. Trained them up and down the roads, the whole nine yards. Wait he has probably more than that right? Why, with Ligur parked in front of Asturia, I bet he’s foaming at the mouth. Could he squeeze more out of them Asturians? He probably has. Cavalry too, good horses. That’s a nasty thing to face on the plains. Emptied Anorum’s arsenal as well. Wait, there are a couple of legions worth of retired troops there right? You don’t think he’d went down there and roused his old soldiers to come and help the Duchy?”
Mortymer puffed out.
“Ligur is an unbreakable force by now. Holt would have attacked if he had a way to smack him away. He opted to abandon Islandport instead, leave the plains to the First Legion,” he pointed out.
“I don’t see him coming south though to help you out. So while you may be right, this still doesn’t help you.”
“He doesn’t have to attack for real. Lucius will have to react,” Mortymer countered.
“Mortymer you are not a military man,” Storm argued. “Now Fiorin wants to threaten Lucius’ rear I get it. What’s the bottom line for Lesia?”
Mortymer stood back.
“We don’t care about Jeremy,” he finally said and Storm nodded.
Yeah, it was coming kid.
“You’ll talk with Lucius,” Storm said. “The window of opportunity you had closed.”
“Until the next one.”
“He won’t agree with anything you propose,” Storm argued.
“Time Nattas and priorities,” Mortymer retorted. “I don’t want an all-out war with Regia without the guarantee I’ll win. But Lesia must be allowed breathing room also. If Lucius triumphs in reclaiming the kingdom then he’ll have to change his thinking and be more accommodating.”
“You don’t know him,” Storm countered.
“But you do,” Mortymer replied and stood back.
Ah, always the easy stuff for old Storm.
“What’s in it for me?” Storm asked after a small thought.
“You’re one of us. What’s better than being welcomed in your homeland?” Mortymer asked. “You can get your father’s land back.”
That was a dream a younger Storm had weaned out of his system decades back. He killed it and built another life after that. Brick by brick. The ground sown with corpses. Two secret deals for every known one. Coin, land and titles. A son and the Alden Queen warming his bed.
A vineyard just wouldn’t cut it.
Fuck Lesia. It’s just a place and the old house was a dump.
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“I want to return to my Barony,” Storm said.
“In exchange for what?” Mortymer asked.
“A way to end the conflict,” Storm replied.
“I’m listening,” Mortymer said and poured another glass of whiskey.
“You have Duke Ursus living near the river.”
“I can’t confirm or deny this,” Mortymer replied with a grimace.
“Maids and cooks talk betwixt themselves when visiting each other’s kitchens,” Storm said. “You let your cock groped a couple of times, slip a coin here and there, you learn things.”
Mortymer rubbed his eyes and set the glass down. “Ursus and you in exchange for the Lords Lucius has imprisoned. Alright I can see this but will Lucius agree? He has way more prisoners than we do. Will he do it for you?”
“He’ll do it for Ursus,” Storm replied. “He had his father killed.”
“Ah, we can’t condone this. The man asked for asylum—”
“You’ll retreat from Cartaport,” Storm continued.
“What?”
“And tell Jeremy you’ll have his back.”
“First there’s no way the King agrees to have a noble man send to his death,” Mortymer started. “It will reflect badly on him and anger the conservatives in court. We have a lot of those.”
“Lucius will be fair and Davenport just needs to put the blame on Fiorin.”
“Fiorin won’t ever agree to such a proposal!”
“The man’s half dead already Cornelius, just finish the job,” Storm suggested and Mortymer puffed out exasperated.
“Cartaport is valuable.”
“Flauegran is more valuable and you’ll get free reign until repairs are finished in the port. You need to get the produce out. Markets have a tendency to fill the voids with new trade routes and products. You lose another summer or winter lots can happen.”
“The army might revolt and it will weaken the King to lose Cartaport.”
“If Lucius gets rid of Ligur and you’re still debating this, he’ll turn around and attack with everything at his disposal.”
“No army is invincible Nattas.”
“Do you want to risk it? Give Lucius an honest offer and he’ll back down,” Storm said.
Mortymer got up and stretched his hurting back with a scowl of distress. “Fucking army stools.”
Storm rubbed a hand on his forehead, listened to a distant thunder of a storm coming from the coast and sighed.
“Lucius might hold a grudge,” Mortymer told him thoughtfully. “Will he show restraint? A lot of Lords backed Jeremy. You are not exactly in the clear.”
“Lucius will be fair,” Storm replied tiredly.
“He wasn’t in the North. The man came back changed. Two wives, lords beheaded, befriending warlords,” Mortymer insisted. “If he goes on a murderous rampage the whole realm might turn against him. It’s not that he has many friends now. The King will want assurances.”
“Ursus and Cartaport gives Lesia the break it needs,” Storm said and pushed himself up as well using both hands. “Regroup, plan again, write a fucking essay on how to beat him in the field and see where it goes from there.”
“Thank you,” Mortymer said and searched his pockets for a moment. “Ah, there it is.”
Storm frowned and stared at the crumpled parchment.
“It’s good you are not required for the proposal to work. The King won’t give up on you Lord Nattas,” Mortymer announced perusing his notes.
“Why?” Storm asked unable to understand.
“He doesn’t care if Ursus gets what’s coming to him, but you… you have a Queen’s favor,” Mortymer said and Storm almost collapsed on the floor not expecting his words. His face turning pale. “Goodness me Nattas,” Mortymer said seeing him faltering. “You seem like you’ve swallowed a bull’s phallus, take a breather.”
“What Queen?” Storm croaked his hands shaking.
“The King’s late sister,” Mortymer replied with a frown. “Who else? She loved your orphaned arse. Don’t know why. Poor Vacia was sentimental like that. She made him promise to keep an eye on you.”
“Eh,” Storm murmured, his eyes blinking involuntarily.
“The King can’t risk having your demise burdening his conscience,” Mortymer explained. “So you explaining it to me, freed my hands. I don’t have to threaten Riveras now to give up the land also. Personally I don’t much care what happens to you either way after this.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, Storm thought frustrated. Lucius would never harm me.
“Good luck getting the proposal through,” Storm croaked. “Break a leg. Two.”
“Heh. Nice talk. Enjoy your stay Nattas,” Mortymer replied. “Winter rations are great here. I would have left you the doughnuts, but you were a prick so I won’t.”
“You don’t have to pretend so hard,” Storm retorted sourly. “I know you’re a frugal cretin dear Cornelius.”
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“Myrtle!” Nattas barked the moment Mortymer and Robert had departed. The heavy maid was heard approaching moments later.
“Lord Nattas? You’ve called?” She asked syrupy and Storm grimaced seeing her coming through the door.
“I’ll need favor,” Storm said quickly and reached for the chair, his legs not holding him.
“I’ll need favor as well,” Myrtle retorted and winked at him all naughty.
Storm gulped down, his stomach turning. “You’ve that cousin in the guards’ kitchen?”
“Sure,” Myrtle said and approached like a cow in heat.
It was a knee-weakening moment and sight.
“Can he sent a message to Cartaport?” He asked clenching his jaw.
“Hmm. The army birds are monitored milord.”
Storm removed a ring he had on his finger. The same design as the pommel on his cane on it, but made out of silver.
“I just want this send to a man named Grogan with some words. It’s a gift. He works at the port.”
“What kind of work? The army has stopped all civilian businesses.”
“His work is vital for the morale of the troops,” Storm explained. “They never get shut down.”
“That sounds like a big ask milord,” Myrtle said and reached between his legs. Storm thought of getting the blade out and slashing her throat but managed to control himself.
“Write down a number and a name. It’s a password. For an account in Mclean & Merck. Any office.”
“I can’t write milord,” Myrtle replied rubbing his cock over his pants and Storm hissed through his teeth frustrated.
“Bring me a quill and a blasted paper!”
No rest for the wicked, the missive read.
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