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Baron Storm Nattas
What does victory feel like?
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Islandport
Eighteen Months Offensive
19th of Primus 194,
Code named -18 plus 14-
Campaign Day 409
The III Legio Decanus raised his left arm in a fist, loosened it and then brought it down. With the signal given the riders appeared four abreast and behind them the covered in sheets closed carriage. Ramirus and Rio were riding at the front with Gavros, the Croton mercenary or whatever the fuck arrangement Holt’s kin had with them, Nattas thought and glared at the legionnaire barring his approach to the cleared out street.
Four Centuries of troops had been mobilized to cordon part of Islandport (the edge of the city) and the approach from Tenor while more cavalry patrolled the nearby roads to block civilians from coming out of the city. The army had put a lid ‘literally’ on all information, with armed groups of rangers or soldiers breaking up any gatherings larger than three persons even at the market to avoid the spread of gossip.
Which had fueled gossip even more.
Nattas had twice attempted to ‘penetrate’ the communications center the army had set up outside Islandport turning the old Celsus artillery camp into a large legion headquarters. The problem with the military running things was that they put sentinels everywhere, raise walls and sentry towers, whilst being generally unwilling to allow civilians entry without permit or signed orders.
Fucking bullshit.
With Lucius moved at the center of this hub, it was impossible to reach him.
The Baron was equally unwilling to allow himself to be kept out of the loop. So he kept trying to find a way to learn more through Sirio and the post birds.
After the procession passed by heading for the guarded gates of the large camp Storm walked to his horse and rode with Grin towards the repaired tavern at the edge of the city. The farmhouse that Lucius had used initially had been emptied allowing civilians to return, but the army kept the main coastal road (from Asturia) under tight surveillance and control.
Dados, the local tavern keeper, showed him the canvas covering the destroyed part of the roof proudly as they climbed down from their horses.
“Many earnest welcomes milord Nattas,” he greeted the familiar figure of the Baron loud enough for some of the patrons present to hear him. “I had an architect here just now,” Dados continued with a smile. “We could raise a half-wall, reinforce the ceiling and create an enlarged shaded porch here that will be lovely in the summer.”
“You expect tourists to flock here soon?” Nattas asked taking his place at the corner table away from the collapsed part.
“Why not?” Dados wiped the table for them with a cloth. “Lord Mercator be arriving soon. The King is here. Priestesses are roaming the streets, ideas to rebuild the destroyed neighborhoods are thrown about. We are a rather famous city now I’d say. Why, I’d risk the thought we are almost as famed as Asturia.”
“Asturia is four times the size at least,” Nattas noted sourly. “And has a big ole fucking statue smack at the center of it.”
“Bah,” Dados dismissed his argument brazenly. These provincial folk have a tendency to forgo decorum after a while and turn ‘very friendly’. “We can build a statue as well. We have room to spare ha-ha.”
“The Flooded Bogs?” Nattas mocked him. “I wager folk are tripping over themselves to get a piece of that.”
“The East Coast Woods milord. Ole Scrawny cleared a good portion out. People are eyeing the properties across the bay with increased interest. So this road leading there will see a lot of traffic soon is my prediction.”
“Don’t put all your eggs in the same basket,” Nattas cautioned him but never one to shy away from a good deal he added. “But sure you can keep an open eye for any opportunities. Are the lands across the bay leased to the Baron?”
Dados stooped to whisper near his face. Nattas grimaced at the foul breath.
“The Duke has bequeathed them to the Baron is the word milord.”
“Why so? Has Holt turned senile with age?”
“The King’s wife. Mercator’s son was to wed her but the King forced the Duke to break the engagement.”
Nattas could bet his left nut that wasn’t the case. That noble cunt would have had the Mercator brat drown in the lake to get rid of him if it came to that.
“You don’t say,” he retorted faking surprise. Dados brought a carafe of the mediocre local wine to their table. He tried to push it on his customers and it worked with some but not with Nattas.
“Well, there are all manners of blather about that, but I’m not one to spread rumors,” Dados replied in a collusive manner. “But Lady Monica is a pretty maiden he-he.”
“To this we can all universally attest,” Nattas derided with a smirk. As for the rest, he’ll give Monica the pretty part but the ‘maiden’ Storm wouldn’t yield even with a blade pressed at his throat for any woman. “But do tell.”
“I better not,” Dados pursed his mouth. “The walls have ears.”
Ah.
“How auspicious that you are missing a couple of walls then,” Nattas retorted and breathed out. “What’s eatable?” He asked changing the subject.
“Everything of course milord. Wheat soup with chicken broth.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s it milord.”
Hence the ‘everything’ part, Storm mused blankly.
“Any chicken in it?” Nattas queried with a glance at the interested Grin.
Dados shrugged his shoulders. “I could look in the pot. It’s a game of chance really. The more you order, the more you increase the chance to find a piece.”
“Get some for my men.”
“Should I clear another table for them?”
Not on my coin.
“They’ll remain outside. Outdoorsmen the both of them.”
“As you wish Baron,” Dados bobbed his head and left them.
“Would be nice to find a good piece of meat chief,” Grin said hopefully. “I like wings or soft chicken chests with the skin still on?”
“There’s no meat whatsoever inside the broth,” Nattas crushed his hopes sternly. He grimaced in frustration next and extended his hurt leg some to alleviate some of the pain. The humidity of the massive lake wasn’t helping him especially in the northern winter.
“I need to find a way to get near Lucius,” he murmured under his breath.
“Weren’t you close chief?” Grin asked.
“Sure. When I was in the Council and he was younger,” Nattas replied and eyed the patrons for anyone listening in. He spotted two Sovya men-at-arms and frowned. He lowered his voice some more. “But with no council it’s difficult to get near. Then there are the wives.”
“Mmm,” Grin agreed. Storm glimpsed his way curious before continuing.
“Anyhow,” he was mostly talking to himself as it was doubtful Grin could contribute anything to the exchange. Nattas missed Sudi at times. “We need something to make us rise above the rest,” he concluded.
“What about the…?” Grin asked trying to remember what they had talked about. The lackey’s mind was on the food.
“That’s a rumor,” Storm cut him off impatiently just to be certain he didn’t blurt out anything stupid. Stupider. Indeed there was some chatter that Queen Faye had popped another boy out. That would make it three in total, which was just about what Alistair had gotten but it had taken him a while. Lucius needed to slow down at some point.
Or pull out sooner.
The Baron grimaced very frustrated with the lack of meaningful progress. Hearing voices coming from the open tavern door Nattas glanced that way and saw a young man dressed in a Legion rear personnel uniform enter. He paused and went to talk with Dados who in turn pointed him at their table. Nattas moved on his seat nervously.
The man approached and reached in a satchel he carried over the shoulder.
Got a small scroll out.
“Baron Nattas?” He asked looking at Storm. Nattas pointed a finger at the forlorn Grin.
“That’s him.”
The man furrowed his brows not expecting it given the Baron’s expensive attire.
“My Lord,” he started looking at the shocked Grin. “This came for you. I’d like your signature here,” he produced a bigger scroll and placed it on the table. Working fast the man got a quill out and an inkpot. He offered it to Grin.
“Make a mark on the paper,” Storm explained and Grin blinked.
“Am...”
“Just do it.” Storm grunted and the post messenger looked his way troubled.
The uncomfortable Grin made a scratching of sorts on the parchment grabbing at the quill as if it was a dagger. The point pierced right through and some of the ink spilt on the table.
“Have a good day Baron,” the young man murmured stiffly at the mess and left them shaking his head.
Nattas smirked at the looks of confusion on the patrons’ faces and caught sight of Grin squinting his eyes trying to read the missive.
“What does it say?”
“Ehm, I can only make out a couple of words chief,” Grin admitted.
It was shocking he could glean as much.
“Well?”
“Ford? The…” Grin started slowly and Nattas stooped over the table to grab the scroll from him with a snarl.
“That’s Lord. Fuck’s sake,” he grunted and then breathed out to calm himself down. He quickly read the missive. It was written in a naval code (but for his name) he could easily decipher.
Nattas was smiling when he lowered the scroll.
“Good news Chief?” Grin asked seeing his expression.
“Brakis agreed to stand down,” Nattas said so quietly Grin blinked unable to understand.
“Who?”
“Never mind. We’re leaving,” Nattas snapped and got up with a groan rubbing at his stiff left leg.
“What about the chicken broth Chief?” Grin protested and Storm glared at him.
“There is no fucking chicken in the bloody broth,” he growled and several patrons furrowed their brows alarmed at the news.
“The good Baron is jesting!” Dados cried out to nip it in the bud, his voice turning to a high-pitched shriek at the end and rushed in panic outside the kitchen. “Ha-ha. What a tease! Matter of fact I just added potatoes in it! How about that? Heh?”
The absence of chicken meat conveniently left vague.
Nattas sighed then stabbed his cane down, the metal tip clanging on the floor tiles and limped out of the tavern with a dejected Grin shuffling his feet, following right behind him.
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The leading legionnaire, a gate’s sergeant, looked at the Baron under the bronze rim of his helm, shaved rectangular chin half-hidden under the tight leather straps keeping the cheek guards together.
“Kindly,” he repeated in his warning voice. “Remove yourself from the gates.”
“Listen up you son of a dog,” Nattas grunted setting his feet. “I’m a prominent Lord of the fucking realm and I have urgent business with the king!”
“Douglas,” the minor officer rustled. “Present pilum.”
“Aye sir!” Douglas a sturdy legionnaire standing not two meters from him replied and reached for the javelin-type weapon.
“Have you lost your mind?” Nattas protested, spittle flying out of his mouth. “I served in the King’s Council!”
“Use the butt of the weapon to guide the Baron away from the road,” the sergeant instructed Douglas without minding Nattas’ vocal protests. “Double check to be sure,” he added to prevent the soldier from poking Storm’s eye out.
“I’m not going anywhere!” Storm snapped irate.
“Baron, we expect three wagons anytime now,” the sergeant explained. “You will clear the road and try again later after securing a ‘letter of entrance’.”
“Chief,” Grin said worried while Douglas approached and gave Nattas a poke with the butt of the spear-like weapon to get him going. Hit him right in the spleen.
With a groan Storm stepped back and used his cane to parry the returning for another ‘poke’ pilum away.
“Oras Hells,” he growled while Douglas flipped the pilum to use the sharp end the next time, another guard approaching from the camp’s gates. “I’m leaving!”
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“I’m gonna kill Sirio,” Nattas griped watching with hateful eyes the guarded gates from twenty meters away, standing by the side of the road. “If that idiot thinks he’ll get to fuck my daughter for free, he’s in for an unpleasant surprise!”
“Will she get married again?” Grin asked after blowing his nose loudly in a cloth. A lot of material coming out. Storm blinked trying to understand what that had to do with anything. “After the scribe is deceased that is,” Grin elucidated and a nervous tick appeared on Nattas’ left eye. The eyelid dropping as if he just had an aneurysm.
A small caravan appeared on the road a moment later. The wagons dragged behind pairs of mules and covered with dirty white sheets. A gloomy Centurion sitting next to the driver of the leading wagon.
“Sad spectacle,” a local standing next to them commented, there was a small crowd of onlookers watching the comings and goings inside the camp hoping to get a glimpse of the King. The man was chewing on a roasted chicken leg of all plaguing things!–though it could have been a small dog’s- yellow teeth scratching at the exposed bone.
“Why is that?” Storm asked unsure where the munching stranger was going with this.
“They still find dead in the fields,” the local explained and tossed the cleared bone away. A salivating dog quickly heading for it. Do dogs eat their own? Nattas mused.
He’d no fucking idea.
“These are the king’s rangers,” the local continued.
Storm glanced at the wagons passing in front of them. “They don’t look like rangers to me.” The driver carried a heavy military sling, secured on his belt and wore a light leather armour. “These are slingers.”
“In the wagons,” the local elucidated and made the sign of Uher over his head respectfully.
Ah.
Wait… aren’t slingers…?
Huh! Abrakas presents much needed opportunity!
“Good man!” Nattas gasped and limped after the slowly moving towards the gates wagon. “Centurion!”
The unshaved gloomy officer turned his head to watch a hobbling Nattas trying to catch up with the wagon. He had a classic legion armour on, many-times mended with some parts completely new, others full of small dents.
“Stop the wagons,” Nattas grunted breathing heavy and the officer tapped the driver’s leg who pulled at the reins hard, less than ten meters from the gates. “Gratitude,” Storm gasped and grabbed at the large wheel to catch his breath.
“What do you want?” The Centurion (of slingers) rustled.
“I’m Lord Nattas,” Storm explained praying he’d remembered the Legion’s roster correctly. While he had travelled with them for months, Storm didn’t mingle with the soldiers, staying with the supply train instead. The Centurion raised his brows recognizing the name. “I’m looking for Centurion Sorex.”
“You found him,” Sorex rustled. Not Secundus, his brother. They looked a bit alike but the younger Sorex was better-looking of sorts.
“I’m in need of your help. I wanted to pay my respects to those that fell in the line of duty,” Nattas explained quickly and remembered half-way through to assume a sorrowful expression.
“Eh, we are fixing to burn what’s left,” Sorex replied dejectedly. “But it’s a good thought Baron.”
“Any friends among the diseased?”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Sorex scrunched his jaw. “Aye milord. They almost got to the end,” he added gloomily. “Yeah, did him no good.”
Nattas nodded respectfully, Grin caught in the feels, ugly sniffling next to him whilst using the cloth he’d wiped his nose with earlier to clean his eyes.
“Wanted to ask milord,” Sorex continued, his tone changing which made Nattas immediately focus on the words. “Have you had word of me brother?”
Motherfucker run away.
“He had to save his life,” Storm replied readily. “When I got arrested in Aegium, all my people kind of scattered.”
“Any word from him since?”
Nattas furrowed his brows not expecting a follow up question. Why would Secundus not contact his brother? Was that stupid fuck still in hiding?
Well, it was good that he was, since Nattas was of the mind to have him killed. Then again what did Secundus really know? Some things but not everything.
His name was on his ‘repair’ list though just in case. Just not high up there.
“Milord?” Sorex queried seeing Storm phase out.
“I haven’t… no nothing,” Nattas replied truthfully. “These have been difficult years for me mister Sorex.”
“Call me Mamercus milord.”
“Anyways, I haven’t heard from him but I wouldn’t worry. He probably run as far away as he could from the turncoats.”
Mamercus nodded a bit relieved. “Gratitude milord. I’ve met your son in law, the Tribune’s nephew. Good lad.”
“Yes, he is… a patriot. Not easy to leave… a young bride behind to serve the kingdom but he did it without a second thought.”
Mamercus frowned not sold on Sirio’s bravery.
“Hey, I was as surprised as you but his inner spirit is far stronger than his sickly flesh I suppose,” Nattas added. “Now that I have to respect.”
The Centurion nodded. “I have to get moving milord. The army will honor its dead with a great funeral pyre. A long day ahead of us. What can I do for you?”
“I’d love to be present Centurion for the liturgy,” Nattas said, although he’d no intention of doing it.
“It’s an unpleasant sight to witness,” Mamercus warned.
I’ve seen fucking worse.
Storm shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the least I could do.”
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“There’s the King’s place. Headquarters, who the fuck cares?” Storm noted sourly the moment they got away from the slingers. “Eh, lots of austere-looking guards about. Hmm.”
“Hey, that dude looks like Sirio!” Grin guffawed and pointed a dirty finger at a smaller wooden building next to the bulky command center.
Looks he says. That’s him gods darn it!
“Follow me,” Nattas hissed and limbed towards the historian using his cane to secure his footing. Sirio was called inside before they could reach him and a frustrated Storm cursed his lineage stooped over the cane, eyes glaring at the open door of the office.
Legion Intelligence Department the wooden sign read with black bold letters. An officer stepped outside, square head with short-cut hair, wearing the typical leather armour of the lighter legion units but with a distinct blue tunic underneath and a same-colored long cloak.
The armed with a sword, two daggers and an iron rod LID agent eyed the heavy-breathing Baron curious.
Storm licked his lips then cleared his throat. “If I can use some of your time, I would be greatly indebted,” he told the Lorian. A man of about thirty.
“Lord Nattas?”
Ah. Well, then.
“It is pleasant to be recognized in these chaotic times—”
He never got the chance to finish.
“You’re on the roster,” the man explained evenly. That’s an Alden accent. “Traveling with the supply train, which is currently in Islandport.”
He pointed an arm north towards the city.
Right.
“My son in law is with the Legion,” Storm grunted. “Mister I’d like—”
“I know Baron. My name is Severus,” the LID officer explained. “He’s here.”
No fucking shit! I just saw that snake!
“Can I talk with him?”
“He’s busy. Come again on the morrow.”
Storm breathed out slowly. “I have information of great importance to the war effort. Can I ask for an audience with the King?”
“The Praetor is indisposed,” Severus retorted. “Speak with Trupo at the general’s staff office.”
“I’d like to present the information myself.”
“Why?”
What? Get a leech up your pee-hole!
“It’s of a technical nature, sensitive. I’m an experienced diplomat Severus.”
It was humiliating having to explain himself to this thug in a uniform.
“Trupo is an experienced officer. You said it’s a campaign matter. He’ll do fine with your information Baron.”
Storm gulped down at the end of his tether. “Trupo?” He finally yielded and Severus pointed at the large headquarters building.
“Ask the guard. It’s the first door to your left. Stay away from the knights at the end of the corridor. They are… nervous these days.”
A frustrated Nattas nodded and with a last glare at the peeking from the door Sirio he marched of sorts towards the Legion HQ.
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Trupo, of the known Flauegran family, was busy writing on a heavy book, a prominent flaxen mustache hanging down both sides of his mouth, seemingly having a life of its own and getting on the anxious Baron’s nerves.
Storm cleared his throat, Grin asking the guard outside the door of the small army-architecture square office if they were getting regular meals in the legion.
“A moment Baron,” Trupo said casually finishing up writing his notes. He wiped the tip of the bronze stylus (a military issued quill) carefully with a cloth and placed it next to the square metal inkpot. He then addressed the Baron in the same tone. “Much to do after large engagements, some sad in nature others more boring but equally useful. Like roster restructuring.”
Nattas couldn’t care less about the Prefect’s work. He was sitting on pins and needles, not to mention his arse crack had flooded with sweat from running about like a marathon runner.
He opted not to say anything in the hopes they’ll get to the point.
But they didn't.
“You hail from our neck of the woods yes?” Trupo commented sitting back on his wooden chair.
Woods? It’s a fucking valley!
“Prefect I’d like…” Trupo grimaced austerely stopping him. Storm pursed his mouth for getting scolded on manners. “My family had land near Faro,” he yielded civilly. A person must learn to suck cock wit gusto in this market, Storm sourly.
“At the border with Sartor. Riveras bought the land. Over two thousand quality vine trees. My father had an eye out for it but you chose not to accept my family’s above the market offer.”
Nattas hadn’t chosen shit.
Fuck Baron Trupo and fuck you.
“My late father owed money to Baron Riveras,” Nattas grunted through his teeth. “He was forced to sell for half the price.”
Trupo shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t really have a dog in the fight dear Nattas. But I was curious. Now I know.”
“You don’t speak with Baron Trupo? I’m sure he cracks a joke on occasion reminiscing my plight.”
“Not really. He cut me off,” Trupo explained a little embarrassed of the fact. “So we are in a similar boat you and I.”
Nattas doubted they had anything in common.
“You should allow the moustache to grow some more,” the Prefect offered with a smile, apparently not of the same opinion. “It would really make your goatee pop out in a lovely manner, ha-ha.”
Storm grabbed his left knee that had kicked out as all the pent up nerves had traveled down to his hurt leg, blinking a couple of times.
“I’d like an audience with Lucius,” he grunted after making the tremors to his leg stop pressing his fist on it.
“The Praetor needs his rest. Just tell me what you learned.”
This isn’t going to work, Nattas thought furious.
“Dear Trupo…”
“I prefer the use of Prefect,” Trupo corrected him evenly. “It was a difficult to earn rank.”
“Dear Prefect, I have information to present to our King that is very valuable and could dictate the future of the campaign.” Storm breathed in and out to calm himself down then continued. “I won’t disclose it even under torture, but I shall reveal it to the King, your Praetor, which I happen to know for fucking decades!”
Trupo stared him for a long moment, thick mustache dancing above his upper lip. There was a knock on the door and an aide stepped inside. He saluted briskly.
“Yes Thomas?” Trupo asked still looking in Nattas sweating face.
“He’ll see him. Ramirus is in there.”
“Hmm,” Trupo murmured and reached for his quill. “See the Baron doesn’t get lost walking down the corridor Thomas,” he ordered and returned to scribbling on his heavy book. “Baron, you can go. The King shall see you.” He added without looking at him.
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Lucius was dressed in his Praetor armour, boots and everything and was sitting on a sturdy military armchair with a red woolen blanket tossed over it, his blue eyes on a large map of Jelin. Behind the King of Regia and deeper into the much larger room/office, a small army cot could be seen next to an armoire and a weapon stand. The king’s personal quarters were basic.
At the large desk in the middle of the room, to the right of the sitting King, the man known as Ramirus was poring over several written notes with another LID officer named Rio. A Lorian from Lesia. The raven-haired, keen-eyed Ramirus was rumored to be from Lesia as well, the distant desert city of Levacum.
A tall Royal Knight from Cartagen stopped Nattas from moving further inside the room. The two knights standing guard outside had done the same looking for concealed weapons until Thomas talked with them.
“This is Baron Nattas,” Ramirus said raising his head from the reports. “It’s alright Sir Valgus.”
“I have a blade hidden in my cane,” Storm revealed with a leering smile and Lucius turned his head to stare at him. The king looked lost for a moment but quickly recovered. His handsome face strained and eyes sunk with black circles under them.
“The Baron’s sharp wit is legendary Sir Valgus,” Lucius said tiredly. “I’m sure it is naught but a jest.”
It wasn’t really. No jest. Nattas was armed.
Storm pursed his mouth, Lucius’ earlier unguarded moment familiar but he couldn’t remember when he’d last seen it on the King’s face.
He almost had the memory but it slipped away from him.
“My Lord,” Nattas started opting to go the safe way and not start a guessing game of doom and gloom for no fucking reason. “Word of your stunning victory has doubtless spread to the edges of Jelin,” he declared with a smart curtsy despite his back protesting furiously. “Mayhap even to the shores of Eplas, assuming real people actually live there now.”
“What does victory feel like?” Lucius asked him with a tired smile.
A strange query.
“Victory smells of the throne of Regia finally occupied and sings the hopes of a unified kingdom,” Storm replied dressing it up and setting the stage to reveal later Illirium’s proposal.
“You’ve been busy these past days,” Lucius stopped him. Nattas furrowed his brows and glared at Ramirus. The LID officer raised the left side of his mouth tauntingly. “Trying to get your man in the post office without having any skill or character for the job, offering monetary compensation for access to the camp.”
Learned help was impossible to find whilst on campaign, but ruffians one could locate aplenty.
“Bribes,” Ramirus expounded accusingly.
Ah, you’re starting to get on my nerves.
“Where is this world really heading,” Storm intervened wearing an affronted face. “If attempts at charity to men that have spilt their blood for Regia’s soil are thus portrayed?”
Rio gave Ramirus a scroll and the latter read it quickly.
Storm immediately disliked the second LID officer.
“Two nights of free ‘entertainment’ at…” Ramirus started with Rio stooping to whisper in his ear. “…Joe Tubful’s venue?”
“It’s a brothel near the docks,” Storm explained. “The man tries to restart his business. I just pointed the men that way. Blowing steam for free is therapeutic after the horrors of battle.”
“You have shares in his business, are you not?” Ramirus argued.
You look into my stuff? You stupid nosy son of a bitch.
“The man asked for a loan. He was desperate for investors,” a blank faced –despite seething inside- Nattas replied with a shrug. “Threw a couple of girls in to lower the price. Hey, I didn’t touch the bloody merchandise! I was thinking of the troops! Why, come to think of it that was pretty stupid of me!”
“Storm damn it,” Lucius stopped him. “Why not ask me?”
“I couldn’t reach or contact your grace,” Nattas said. “Despite my persistent efforts. Some people in your circle are shutting me out. I’m not going to point fingers but most of them are in the room.”
“Praetor,” a flushed Ramirus protested but Lucius silenced him with a wave of his hand.
“That’s alright,” he said and got up from the armchair. “Faye had a son,” Lucius said after a moment of silent contemplation.
This didn’t make any sense. Why are you so gloomy then?
“Auspicious news your grace.”
“We have an Alistair and now a little Ralph,” Lucius said his face mellowing up. “A Vacia and a Roderick.”
Well, that’s a spare for the whole family almost, Storm thought but decided to reply with the much safer, “A fantastic couple of days my Lord indeed.”
Lucius grimaced as if he wasn’t of the same opinion. Again Storm got that feeling that something was amiss. He needed access to his network, a city and office to work out of. Lackeys to run around ‘solving’ problems. Ah, good ole Sudi. I hope you haven’t kicked the bucket yet.
If you’re still living you better not fucking Miranda or I’ll skin your cock with a blunted knife and make you swallow the skin.
“Your Grace I have promising news,” Storm said quickly taking the opportunity. “Duke Brakis wrote me that he’ll accept my offer of standing down. Illirium is out of the fight if you give me the go ahead.”
“What was the deal?” Lucius asked tiredly.
Nattas expected a bit more enthusiasm there truth be told, to the point he felt cheated.
“Brakis reacted to Sula’s aggression, he states that his argument wasn’t with your grace.”
“Didn’t he cast a vote?” Lucius queried wearily.
“We were all ambushed by Lord Doris and Lord Ursus,” Storm explained. “It’s probable Brakis was also a victim but without the spine to stand up to them.”
“Sula was and Lord Holt,” Ramirus noted.
“Brakis was sandwiched between Alden and Aegium,” Storm countered. “Your Grace, it is a great opportunity to finish this. Jeremy will have to negotiate.”
That forlorn expression had returned to Lucius’ face again.
And Nattas now remembered when he had seen it last.
Almost six years back in Riverdor.
The summer of 188.
>
>
> ‘Is that it?’ A much younger Lucius had asked him then. ‘Who won?’
>
>
Eh.
Rotten tentacle down the throat.
“Jeremy is dead,” Lucius said his voice cracking. “They tossed his body in the woods.”
Storm gulped down, his head spinning and the taste deleterious.
How did they move so fast with Lord Ursus in prison? Doris was notoriously slow in his reactions unless the problem was staring him in the face.
Throw out the rot, for once again you have to build anew.
Or fight for it.
“Who did it?” Nattas asked and watched Lucius sitting down without a word.
“All points to Lord Marc Laudus,” Ramirus replied and Nattas furrowed his brows stunned.
“Marc?”
“Davos Scylla and Theodor Brakis were assassinated near Jeremy. Twenty palace personnel, seven guards and six local civilians,” Ramirus elucidated. “Sir Turner, Ursus man in the Council, had been killed earlier that day or the previous. He was marching towards Islandport with a portion of the Royal Guard. It was unrelated to the plot we believe but opened a window of opportunity.”
Laudus had been hired by King Alistair, Nattas thought. Worked as the king’s inspector of public works for years and had been brought to the Ministry of the Interior, or under the Master of Silence of Regia (as it was known in the Lorian kingdoms) in early 190?
A fucking shady bureaucrat? Sure he had the ambition to climb up the ladder and then Jeremy picked him as his replacement. Did Jeremy know Laudus? Who suggested him? Doris? Ursus?
“So your deal or Brakis’ offer is null and void,” Lucius said hoarsely watching him thinking about it.
“It isn’t,” Nattas objected before he could help himself. He was shaken hearing of Jeremy’s fate but in his line of business you kept the ball rolling for the next play. To stop or freeze in panic was to condemn yourself. “Lord Doris is in Alden. Brakis standing down his troops would force him to surrender unconditionally.”
“Queen Janneke is regent,” Lucius reminded him.
“Was she with Jeremy?”
“Jeremy was in Opossum,” Ramirus said.
What? The fuck was that idiot… wait.
“Where is the Queen? She’s not in Alden?” Nattas asked almost dropping his cane.
“She’s in Tenor or Aldenfort,” Ramirus replied. “I have men heading there.”
“What are you thinking Storm?” Lucius asked and Nattas wanted to tell him that everything was going to be alright but he just couldn’t lie to him. I mean he could, but not on these matters.
Nattas needed another moment to shed his sentimentality like a new bride her undergarments but he didn’t have it.
“Would Janneke ask her father to intervene?” Storm asked and Lucius snapped out of his gloomy state at last.
“Sir Rik is heading there as well,” the king said thoughtfully. “I don’t believe Lord Ruud would intervene.”
Would the old Crow care about his daughter? His grandchildren?
“Why would Laudus act against Jeremy Storm?” Lucius asked. “You were near them. What is going on?”
I have missed this part, Storm thought. Looking for other conspiracies I missed the most obvious one or the main players weren’t in Alden.
“I don’t know your Grace,” Nattas replied. “I find it hard to believe Ursus could pull this off by himself.”
“I want him found,” Lucius said hoarsely and then his tone turned serious. “Everyone responsible for this atrocity shall be brought to justice.”
Storm gulped down nervously.
“I could perhaps get on it your grace,” he croaked. “If I was reinstated and given the tools to work at the matter.”
“Ramirus will handle it,” Lucius replied sternly and ended the conversation.
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Fuck, a livid Nattas thought on his way out. Scalding hot iron rod up the shit-tube!
Abrakas snap out of it ye fucking tentacled moron! Crap has flooded the blasted drains and I stand here cucked, blindfold tight over the blasted head!
“Chief?” Grin asked and seeing his murderous expression shrunk away. “Ehm, it didn’t go well?”
Storm swung his cane and nailed him right at the knee with a satisfying crunch. Grin went down with a pained groan and Nattas tried to kick him in the face but missed and went down himself. Bryce and Moore rushed to helm him up and the growling Baron made it to his feet again breathing heavy.
“Can we send a message to Moon’s Haven?” He asked coming to his senses.
“A merchant bird?” Bryce asked whilst helping the moaning Grin up.
Storm glanced at the soldiers approaching and cursed. “I stumbled,” he explained showing them his cane. “We’re fine thank the Allgods!”
They waited for the soldiers to go away and then walked to the gates. The Baron stopped at their horses and looked at his lackeys. “Fuck it. We’ll go through Cartaport. We’ll use a merchant bird to reach the friendly smugglers there.”
“Grogan?” Grin asked.
“What do you mean Grogan? Didn’t you arrange…?” Storm stalled meaningfully.
“Aye I did.”
“So?”
“Eh,” Grin murmured in total confusion.
“Is it done?”
“Of course. Ye ordered it milord.”
Nattas stood back.
“No, I didn’t,” Storm retorted with a glare. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Getting rid—”
Grin was hurled back as the Baron’s backhand had caught him right at the mouth loosening that badly made silver tooth.
Storm did him a favor.
“Why?” Grin croaked miserably.
“Help him,” Storm ordered an alarmed Bryce. “Wipe the blood from his mouth, good grief he’s a fucking bleeder.”
“The missive milord?” Moore asked not too fazed for his coworker’s mistreatment. Truth be told, Moore didn’t know Grin that long.
“We’ll use the smugglers to send a missive to Turtle Isles. We need to bring Sudi here,” Storm replied. “Another to notify Parkor to have our men in Alden learn more about what the fuck went wrong.”
“What went wrong?” Moore asked but seeing Nattas’ glare decided the answer wasn’t worth the pain.
In Storm’s eyes Moore had just elevated himself.
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