‘Verity is the utmost arbiter
The last candid appraiser
And it cuts through lies like a razor’*
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Lear ‘Razor’ ‘Hik’ (possibly from surname Icarus)
Also the ‘Butcher of Drek River’
‘Man from Atetalerso’
-Mercenary general (with the ‘300’), Bank of Trust’s re-acquisitions agent, member of the Bounty Hunters Guild, honorable member of the Adventurers Guild, member of the Mercenaries Guild, freelance bounty hunter, headhunter, also rumored murderer, war criminal (lifelong bounty in Sovya), decorated war hero (in Lesia and Regia. Only non-noble honorably mentioned in the Kadrek end-of-war treaties for his vital contributions to the war effort.)
Born in Lesia (unknown, possibly Trieste, High Barony of Parmaport) 144 or 146 NC
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*Words presumably engraved on his tombstone(?) at an undisclosed location.
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Storm Nattas
‘Abominable Cripple’
‘Principal of Secrets’.
Lord of Moon’s Haven,
Ruler of Turtle Isles
Keeper of the Golden Forest
Ye pull yourself up…
Part II
-Settle for good enough-
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image [https://i.postimg.cc/r8qGPFN0/Cartagen-v2.jpg]
“Ah… Lord Nattas?” A startled Sirio managed to ask after letting out a yelp upon seeing Storm come out of the bedroom. “What are you doing in there?”
Nattas puffed out raspingly to buy Sudi some time and then used a hand to wipe some of the sweat forming on his forehead. “Silvio is sleeping,” he finally said avoiding his query, while eyeing Sirio austerely. “Keep your fucking voice down.”
Sirio grimaced a little embarrassed. “Apologies. You heard me? I thought the house was empty.”
“Alas it isn’t. I heard more than a father ever should. This is a house of pious people lad.”
Nothing was further from the truth.
“Can I explain?” An uncomfortable Sirio pleaded.
Nattas stopped him raising a hand, palm open and fingers extended.
“I would rather not have to relive the sordid experience.” The Baron grunted with a smack of his lips. “Maja had an accident. Nothing serious. Don’t overreact,” he warned the paling historian. “Place the oil on the small credenza first,” Storm added calmly. “Then take a deep fucking breath.”
“What happened?” Sirio croaked and tried to move past the Baron who stopped him stabbing the cane on the wall.
“I’m… alright honey,” Maja said with a muffled voice behind Storm’s back. The Baron clenched his jaw and turned his head to see the woman. She had a bloody cloth pressed on her face to staunch the hemorrhage. Maja’s whole face was flushed and a bit bloated.
“Sudi?” Nattas asked a little worried while keeping Sirio at bay with his left arm. The historian had tried to duck under Nattas’ cane to reach Maja.
“I’m alive chief,” Sudi’s voice was heard from inside the room and Sirio blinked unsure on his meaning.
“Hah-hah,” Nattas laughed and he had to force it so much, the sound came out like a grunt. “That guy. Eh… always looking to jest.”
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“Keep your head back,” Sirio advised his wife, who pretended to be weak from blood loss all of a sudden. “You slipped in the bathhouse you say?”
“Uhm, I was sleepy,” Maja explained laying on a divan at the patio to get some air.
“Poor thing,” Sirio murmured brushing her hair back. “Your face is all swollen, eyes bloodshot. You did a number on your head.”
Nattas stared at Sudi and then at his fingers wrapped on the cane’s engraved pommel. “That’s it,” the Baron decided. “Back to fucking business.”
“What business?” Sirio asked from the divan he occupied with Maja. “There is a rumor Abrakas arrived to Cartaport.” Well that’s fucking ominous. No one wants to be that close to a god! Nattas thought sourly. “It moored next to the Divine Trident, Lord Sextus-Brakis’ flagship,” Sirio continued. Ah. “Duke Stan Brakis was staying aboard the latter.” Sirio added.
“What does he need a second ship for?” Nattas asked with a glare at the scholar.
“Brought mementos to the families of those killed aboard or went under with the Seraph, the Talbot and the Malabar.” Sirio explained. “Several sailors had ties with Cartagen.”
“That’s bullshit.” Nattas commented harshly. His reaction took Sirio unawares.
“Actually it’s… quite sensitive a gesture?” A frowning Sirio argued.
“What a bunch of baloney! But hey, I’ll give you sensitive.” Nattas insisted with a grunt and eyed Sudi who shrugged his shoulders.
“Assist with the influx of refugees?” His lackey offered, a little uncertain on Nattas’ strong reaction.
“My Lord, I heard his herald in court clearly,” Sirio tried again and Maja tapped his knee once to stay quiet. “It brought the injured Sir Vel from Illirium.”
“Sir Vel Sextus-Brakis is here to be honored by the King. He just recovered from his injuries,” Nattas murmured thinking out loud to help Sudi understand. “His father Lord Proclus Sextus-Brakis is in Cartaport as well, staying aboard the Divine Trident with Duke Sissena Brakis. The Duke had borrowed the ship since the Abrakas was under much-needed repairs after the sea battle.” He glanced at Maja resting in the arms of Sirio Veturius and grimaced. “The Duke had made an interesting proposition some months back daughter.”
Maja raised a quizzing brow.
“He wanted you to make him a boy.”
“What?” Sirio gasped in shock.
“Mmm.” Maja hummed through the bloody cloth she held on her face. “I wasn’t aware of the Duke’s admiration—”
“There was none. Your small appeal rests on the fact you carry my name,” Nattas cut her off rudely. “The next in line for the duchy is late Theodor’s young son Ethan or… one of the Sextus-Brakis mostly due to the amount of maidens Duke Stan Brakis has produced and the young kraken’s untimely demise.”
“I wasn’t going to agree…” Maja hissed at the interruption with a comforting glance at the hurt Sirio. “Were you… father?”
“Of course not,” Nattas retorted adamantly although he’d considered it. “What else is going on in court Sirio?”
“Everyone is worried about Legatus Merenda,” Sirio replied. “Ah, the king might decide on Novesium soon. He’s displeased with Mayor Reganus and it’s doubtful he’ll allow him to continue to run things unsupervised for much longer or at all.”
“Lucius will grant the duchy to someone else?” Nattas asked perking up.
“Not the title. A governorship like with Aegium,” Sirio explained.
“He’ll give Sula even more power?” Nattas grunted irate.
“Legatus Sula is faithful to Regia and the King,” Sirio argued and Nattas glared at him like a fat bug in need of squashing under a heavy boot.
“Baron,” Maja warned hoarsely sounding much better than what she pretended.
“The king might be gone on the morrow!” Nattas growled and stood up wanting to lash out at something. “Then blood relations or kinship will take presentence. It’s the blasted natural order!”
“Not in the army. Plus Nonus Sula owes his status to the king and the rest of his allegiances weigh more in favor of the Redmond of Sovya than the Sula of Demames,” Sirio argued sounding brain-washed. Ah, the gullible cocksucker has succumbed like an aroused maiden to Lucius’ charms and is now clamoring for a chance to slurp at the tiger’s phallus.
“Lucius needed to give the Sula something big without really increasing their power,” Sirio elucidated on Lucius reasoning and the grimacing Nattas stared at him thoughtfully.
“Who’s the front-runner for Novesium?”
“I don’t know.”
It won’t be the Holt, they have too much already. Nattas thought. Surely not a Sula again. Could a Brakis grab something here? Technically the south coast is split between the two families with Ursus out of the way. Hmm.
Nah.
Sure the king appeared friendly to the Duke of Illirium after all the help Stan Brakis had provided late in the Civil War and with the Khan’s navy…
“Where in Abrakas’ arsehole did Stan find those warships?” Nattas asked Sudi.
“Built them?” Sudi retorted mockingly.
“Hah. Petty humor… I was being serious!” Nattas growled.
“Provided the funds out of the duchy’s coffers to change the initial order I believe,” Sirio suggested.
“There’s no way Alistair would have allowed… actually the matter was pretty contentious back then with all the blasted delays.” Nattas explained to his small audience. “Of course now those delays appear less mysterious… there were no merchant transports or the like being built in the first fucking place! Makes you wonder how Duke Brakis managed to conceal those monstrosities from King Alistair and how he secured funding without a royal seal. The Bank would never…”
Storm thought of Lear Hik and the strange turn his quest had taken. Instead of hunting Laudus now the bounty hunter was the one being hunted. The king’s bounty on the former Master of Silence was still active but everyone else seemed eager to hunt down Lear Hik the Baron included.
Why?
For Eleonora and Faustus? Get out of here!
Other than that relic Federico and an argument could be made against that even, no one actually gives half-a-hemorrhoid about those fools!
Nattas feared the bounty hunter might implicate him in the young king’s murder and given Nattas’ complicated affair with the Queen Regent, likewise to all the other shenanigans happening in Regia around that time. The Bank wanted ‘vengeance’ for Fausto Mclean’s and Eleonora D’Orsi’s murders supposedly. Duke Brakis feared what the Baron feared apparently, which was a huge overreaction, given the Duke’s distance from the events, his good-standing, status and record compared to someone like Nattas. Or Ursus obviously. Even Doris Alden. There was literally nothing connecting the Duke of Illirium to Laudus or any type of legitimate motive…
Nothing but Laudus had been one of the court’s royal inspectors of public works for years. A faceless administrative clerk that had found the ladder free and climbed it.
A stroke of luck if one believed in coincidences.
Oh, my fucking god. Storm gasped stumbling backwards from the shock, as realization hit him squarely in the face. That son of a decrepit port harlot!
“They killed Alistair,” the Baron croaked and searching with a hand backwards found the armrest to guide his arse on it.
“Jeremy you mean,” Sudi corrected him and Nattas gestured at his man to keep quiet.
“My Lord,” Sirio said worried. “What do you mean?”
That lying fat piece of lard almost tossed me under the chariot’s wheels, Storm thought grinding his teeth with hatred. No being is worse than an Abrakas follower. The Kraken is a solitary, callous creature by its very nature.
“You need to get to Tristan,” he ordered the frowned Sudi. “Abort the fucking mission. It’s a setup!”
Sudi blinked not expecting the order and pursed his mouth tightly.
Nattas turned his feverish eyes on the watching in silence Maja. “Message Rhys. There are people waiting for them in the city.”
“I can’t. They left Old-Fort two days ago,” Maja replied and tried to get out of Sirio’s arms. “I could sent a message from the ‘Lonely Termite’ but it won’t reach him.”
“What Termite?” Nattas grunted.
“Who is Rhys darling?” Sirio asked curious.
“The… guild’s place in Cartagen. It’s a tavern in the market just behind the ‘Greasy Lake’.” Maja explained with a discomforted glance at her husband.
“No tavern there but a small warehouse,” Nattas growled. “And a stable.”
“What guild?” Sirio asked her.
“We don’t have many customers,” a flushed Maja explained sounding muffled.
“Go to the North Gates,” Nattas ordered Sudi. “Find what Tristan is up to and put a stop to it.”
“They might strongly disagree. Enough to cut me down,” Sudi argued. “By now they’ll have local hands hired—”
“Pay those idiots in full!” Nattas roared and stood up abruptly, feeling the blood rush to his head. “We’ll get rid of them later.”
“What is going on?” Sirio asked as a heavy silence fell inside the villa’s lavish patio.
Storm stared at the historian and scholar intently. Another deep wrinkle had formed on the Baron’s forehead as the moment dragged.
“Make a contract,” Nattas hissed to Maja solemnly, still looking in Sirio’s pale face.
“Against who?” Maja asked and pushed the historian’s arms away to get up. She tossed the bloody cloth on the divan. Her nose looked remarkably in place but for the strong swelling and the smeared blood.
“Me,” Storm said and cast a side-glance at the ‘former’ assassin that casually produced a small piece of paper from the folds of her tunic. “I swear to Allgods if I get cut down without offered the same ‘consideration’ you claim the guild offers, I shall rise from the dead to fuck you up with fist or cock. Seriously.”
“Lord Nattas!” Sirio exploded and stood up as well, appearing deeply confused but also legitimately angry. “This is improper language.”
“I told you many years ago that entering a pact with my family comes with responsibilities Sirio. To be a Nattas is to struggle each and every day to survive without any respite,” Nattas grunted without looking at him. A pleading Maja shook her head to stop the Baron from continuing. “You’ll enjoy the free coin, have your depravities satisfied and revel in the nice-living of the undeserved. You shall also inherit a ton of dangerous enemies for life, whilst being party to certain shady but necessary deeds, some sensitive folk might consider… unsettling. Guilt by association tightly holds pleasure’s hand in Nattas’ household son.” Nattas pursed his mouth and stared at the crestfallen but still confused historian. “Tell him about the guild,” he ordered the devastated Maja harshly. “Leave nothing out.”
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“Bring the carriage here Jove,” the tensed Baron ordered half an hour later standing in front of east stable’s double doors. Hearing the neigh of a horse approaching from the villa, Nattas turned around to gaze at the mounted Sudi’s approach.
“Are you sure about this chief?” Sudi asked pulling at the reins to stop the animal near the Baron.
“I believe I am,” Nattas replied raspingly. “As you recall, Alistair considered challenging the High King back then, so he needed to move about supplies and the Legion. Sooner or later the matter of the missing transports or these ships that replaced them had to come up.”
“Ah, it’s not a strong enough reason,” Sudi replied with a grimace of disbelief.
“Don’t expect one. No perfect reason exists in such matters. Does it make sense? It does. A small motive sometimes is enough or I may be missing something else,” Nattas grunted and moved out of the arriving carriage’s way. He then glanced at the dark sky sourly. “Perhaps they didn’t want a war with Antoon.”
“The attack must have been random. Every witness has said so. The King opted to depart early from the conference.” Sudi insisted. “Ursus’ cousin wouldn’t have known in advance. Ursus would have talked to save himself by now.”
“You’ll lose yourself in the details and go nowhere,” Nattas retorted and went to climb the steps of his carriage. “This is the chance to turn this whole fucking mess on its head Lotus. Snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. I speak to Lucius first, then Lear Hik confirms my words and Nattas once again stands at the highest peak pissing down on his enemies’ fucking heads!”
“If you’re wrong or fail, we’ll never see the inside of the palace again. We might even have to go in hiding, not to mention avoid the coast altogether. Any coast. The Admiral’s arms are long now and even the darn Turtle Isles aren’t far enough chief. That leaves the North or Eplas and with Doris Alden there this may be tricky. I’m not sure we have friends anywhere else.”
“Plan for tonight, leave the morrow for we don’t know where the chips may fall. Everything could be different.” Nattas retorted and spotted Sirio hurrying towards the stable behind the mounted Sudi.
“Find Tristan,” the Baron ordered Sudi climbing down with a weary sigh. “If I fail to see the King I’ll leave missive with the guards and come to help you out.”
“Eh,” Sudi grunted and turned the horse to depart.
“Lord Nattas,” a flushed Sirio said hoarsely coming to stand a meter away. “I need some clarification—”
The Baron had no time to waste on an intellectual debate with the historian, be it on morals or whatever else Sirio was discomforted with.
“You’ll never find another woman like her. Not with any meaningful standing to support your lifestyle,” he cut Sirio off rudely. “Willing to see past your vices, feminine timidity and accept you for who you are. Don’t look at her sinful past but gaze into your common future. She’ll never need your protection while you’ll need hers to survive. Even so, she desperately needs your emotional support and affection, for Maja won’t find it anywhere else in her circles or mine.”
Sirio gulped down and gave Nattas a comical glare. “Maja is my problem to handle. You had knowledge of the murders since the start—”
This time Nattas used a backhand to stop him from talking. A stunned Sirio stumbled back from the blow to the face, not really a particularly hard one and then raised a hand to touch his cheek.
“I had some useless knowledge for the Realm,” Nattas reminded him with a hiss. “But you don’t go about spilling out everything you fucking know because more harm could birth of it! I still don’t know all the details but I know enough to help myself and the Kingdom!”
“How is sleeping— argh?”
Natta’s heavy slap rattled Sirio, this time delivered with more force. “You fucking little bitch! Running yer mouth and pretending you’re some kind of pillar of honor. Passing judgement? To me? Or even her? You moronic well-spoken weasel!” Storm grunted angry. “Guess what, you are in it to the blasted hilt as well, blooming oiled fist so far up your loose arsehole, your god darn anal sphincter is tightly hugging a blasted elbow!” He closed his fist at first to deliver another blow but decided against it and relaxed his fingers. “We always struggled to help Lucius. There is no other truth available for public consumption. None! Learn to repeat it by heart! We don’t deserve to be bunched up with those jackals! It doesn’t matter the how or the why. All other details are plaguing irrelevant! You gave him the sword and I went to prison for daring to stand up and offer assistance to his cause! You’ll shame me for loving a Queen? Show me a hot-blooded man that could have resisted the fucking temptation!” Nattas took a deep breath afore continuing his tirade. “You’ll be a blind weakling and accomplish nothing in your life or you’ll help anyway you can. Help your wife, help yourself, help your family by blood or otherwise and help Nattas… aye, for without him you’d still be a fucking nameless librarian’s aide and if that, breathing dust, sweeping rat droppings and munching on moldy rotten paper in Alden!”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Sirio seemed just about ready to cry but thankfully managed to get ahold of his faculties. He has to withstand more than a couple of bitch-slaps afore breaking, Nattas thought sourly.
“Why get… involved?” Sirio finally croaked in a low voice.
Nattas let out a weary sigh. “In a few hours a couple of stress-plagued people or at least one of them, shall attempt to silence Lear Hik permanently. If they fail they might strike against the palace. Having said that even with Mede’s legionnaires gone and Gaeta’s guards guarding the road to Elysium Fort to the southwest, the chances of them succeeding are miniscule. But it’s still high enough for me.”
“You… are not doing it for… free,” Sirio whispered accusingly and the Baron blinked in shock.
“Well duh? Do I look like a total halfwit? Why would I do it for free when I can get something of value back? Valuable for me, for Silvio, Maja and of course… You! Is that the type of weak hogwash you write in your god darn scrolls? Fucking hells and cheap heavens. You need to step it up and dive into the dirty details, else nobody will believe a word in it you fucking lamebrain poofter!”
The historian pursed his mouth, but made no attempt to fix his oiled hair that Nattas’ slaps had messed up.
“So there is a bigger picture, just not clean enough,” Sirio finally said sounding defeated.
“Aye,” the Baron agreed hoarsely. “Once you realize life is never just and can’t be perfect, you’ll settle for good enough lad. You can do the right thing time after time, be a paragon of justice and sound governance, but live long enough and you’ll be a villain in someone’s eyes.”
“We need to get moving boss. It’s getting late,” the carriage’s driver, reminded him and a perspiring Nattas puffed out resignedly. He then brushed the sweaty mess of hair from his forehead and climbed the steps to reach the cabin again.
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“Is that you Baron Nattas?” Sergeant Zander Corpus asked at the gates of the Palace and glanced inside the carriage through the open door. “Can’t let you through my lord.”
“I have to see the King,” Nattas insisted patiently. “This is a matter of national security.”
“Yeah, Director Ramirus came through earlier and ordered a total lockdown,” Corpus agreed missing the Baron’s point.
“No, dear sergeant,” Storm argued. “I have news the King must hear.”
“The King retired for the night. The family is pretty worn out with everything that happened my lord,” Corpus sighed. “I can’t help you Baron. My orders are to not allow anyone through after dark. It is after dark.”
“We are aware,” Storm grunted. “I have information the King needs to learn afore morrow’s Council meeting.”
“Aha.” Corpus nodded. “Well, I can’t let you through my lord. I could write you first in the book though for morrow,” he repeated tonelessly. “Please turn the carriage around and leave the premises.”
Nattas sucked at his teeth, grasping at the pommel of his cane tensely.
“Can you ask for a Knight to deliver a message?” He finally asked.
“We can do that,” Corpus assured him. “Deliver the message.”
“No, dear sergeant. I want you to send for a knight to come here. I can wait. Do you have anywhere else to go?”
Sergeant Corpus stood back with a frown. “I don’t. My shift just started sir.”
“I know we have all night ahead of us sergeant and I don’t mind keeping you and your men company, but could you send for someone closer to the King in the meantime?” Nattas repeated in a friendly voice.
“Portis check the big boys’ schedule. Who has drawn the short end of the stick tonight?”
“Sir Valgus?” Portis was heard from the guard’s shed after a moment of scratching about and in the light of an oil lamp.
“Couldn’t happen to a better person,” Corpus retorted and then eyed the guard knowingly.
“Danos has taken the horse to the kitchen sir. With the supplies mule?” Portis protested civilly after a short moment of a silent staring contest.
“Something wrong wit your legs soldier?”
“No sir.”
“Get on it then. Nice short sprint through the garden will get your blood all warmed up!”
“Yes sir.” Portis agreed dejectedly.
It was more than a kilometer to the palace’s entrance. Nattas nodded politely at the glance of assurance the sergeant gave him and pressed his back on the couch to wait for Portis to return in blissful silence.
It didn’t last but a couple of seconds.
“I heard you offer property at good prices in Moon’s Haven milord,” Corpus probed sounding interested and Storm groaned inwardly before answering.
“No taxes for five years sergeant.”
“Folk say the place there is picturesque. A little paradise.”
“Well, we take pride in our location and in the warmth of our small community,” Nattas agreed with a grimace of discomfort.
Of former cutthroats.
“That Typhus business must have put a dent to the whole thing though eh?”
Nattas licked his lips and eyed the sergeant austerely.
“The truth is we are not affected at all and the small epidemic is under control.”
“Don’t know about that sire. Lots of folk are pretty worried and want to look for their people,” Corpus argued with a snort of derision, then caught himself and added in a more respectful tone. “But I’m sure you are in the right, my Lord.”
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> Earlier that evening
>
>
>
> Naossis’ swollen milkers, Tristan Danger thought peeved. Born Tristan Bulbous in Asturia, one of seven children of the rich baker Ulysses Bulbous. Six sons his father had sprouted out and Tristan had come last. By the time they decided to split the family estate and fortune no shares were left for him. Makes a person rather hostile to the world in general.
>
> “Pontus and Axios,” Spider Norton said getting out of the fancy North District tavern. Not as fancy as the taverns in the White District but not by much. “Varus Gryllus will send a patrol out after midnight and make the change sooner, so we’ll have a window there.”
>
> “How long?” Tristan grunted looking about them at the well-dressed Cartagen’s citizens making their early evening strolls.
>
> “Thirty minutes. But if they don’t enter tonight then we’ll have a problem.”
>
> “Who’s shadowing them?”
>
> “Lemos. A… hunter of sorts. I reckon he’s still near them.” Norton replied. “That’s a lot of people to control chief.”
>
> “We’ve handled more.”
>
> “Vendor’s Villa is pretty close,” Barclay said evenly, cleaning his front teeth with an arrow. He used the steel tip.
>
> “We’re not hitting a plaguing villa ‘Bullseye’!” Tristan snapped and casted a warning glare at his colleague.
>
> “Easy coin,” Barclay insisted setting his jaw.
>
> “Fuck’s sake,” Tristan cursed and stared at the small-bodied female standing next to the doors of the tavern they had just exited. She had an exotic bead-net outfit on, the beads a shiny black over a long sleeved, high-waistband and tight plain dress that reached her ankles. It was made out of thin black cotton and it matched the color of her long straight hair, she had parted right down the middle. The woman had a reedy ivory headband on to keep them from hiding her comely Cofol face. “Ugh.” Tristan grunted and blinked a little distracted by the strikingly white face skin.
>
> Anemic slant-eyed bitch, he cursed a little tensed given all the tavern talk about epidemic diseases spreading at the coast and realized the strangely dressed woman was now standing at arm’s length. Pretty as a life-like doll fer sure, but a fucking doll that has glugged down a bottle of laudanum and croaked a fortnight ago, Tristan decided with a shiver as for a moment he thought the woman’s skin turned translucent and showed the bones underneath.
>
> And then it didn’t.
>
> The woman turning into a ‘normal’ far Eplas hailing wench.
>
> “The contract is null,” she said with an exotic accent, the voice coming out melodic but also insensitive.
>
> “What… sheesh,” Barclay recoiled from the startle and then pursed his mouth taking in the female’s nice figure.
>
> “Who the fuck...?” Norton started but Tristan stopped him with a gesture.
>
> “Why hunt the hunter?” The female continued and Tristan could see the street and tavern’s lights reflected on her dark eyes strangely.
>
> “What do you know about that?” Tristan asked in an intimidating manner and took a half-step to tower over her, only to realize she wasn’t that much shorter than him. She smells of vanilla oils though, which is a nice touch amidst all the creepiness.
>
> “You’ve spoken inside,” the woman replied not looking intimidated at all. Tristan looked behind her and then right and left for any other exotic-looking escorts. He spotted a couple of drunkards and a kid buying narcotics from an alley seller but no weirdly-dressed Cofols.
>
> “I talked in a hushed manner at a secure corner,” Tristan finally said with a nasty smirk and reached with his left hand to feel her hair. They were oily to the touch and smelled nice. “Amongst friends and colleagues.”
>
> “If you cease all other sounds,” the woman elucidated and reached to touch his face with a finger. “Then a whisper sounds like a roar,” she added and smiled showing two rows of pearly symmetrical teeth.
>
> “Right,” Norton grunted with a nod. “Hey, do ye suck cock perchance wench? Yer accent sprung me a mean boner.” He explained in a friendly manner. “We can do it over there. I’ve coin.”
>
> “Why hunt the hunter still?” She repeated calmly in that cultured but soulless manner, wholly unflustered by the Northman’s lewd proposal.
>
> “What is it to you?” Tristan grunted now suspicious of the whole affair and the woman raised a thin, long-nailed, finger to her mouth, the tip painted red. She licked it clean looking at Tristan with those large glowing eyes. The former highwayman felt blood trickling down his cheek where she had nicked him.
>
> “Why hunt the hunter?” She asked again in that monotonous voice, small tongue wetting her lower lip.
>
> “The dude tasked with finishing the job,” Tristan found himself replying unwittingly. “Fucked it up. We’re the replacement squad.”
>
> “Without compensation?” The woman asked.
>
> “Someone else picked up the tab.”
>
> What are you doing? Tristan asked himself weirded out.
>
> “Oras hells Tristan,” Barclay cursed and the grimacing in the attempt to break out of the strange hold she had on him bandit leader felt the bones at his jaw hurting. Then slowly cracking open to add against his will.
>
> “The Baron wants him dead.”
>
> “No.” The woman said serenely. “Tell me about the Servant.”
>
> “I know nothing about a servant.”
>
> “Hey. That’s enough talking,” Norton grunted and stepped between them. That is he took two steps forward and then turned to continue walking past them towards the tavern like an automaton.
>
> Tristan saw out of the corner of his ogling eye Barclay reach for his bow.
>
> “Step away from him slowly,” the bandit ranger warned the woman. “Else I’ll shoot an arrow through yer pretty neck.”
>
> “I don’t care about any of you.” The woman retorted without even looking at the ranger. Behind her Norton run himself straight onto the tavern wall and let out a pained groan. “I’m looking for Abatis. He’s either here or in Asturia.”
>
> “Where was he last?” Barclay asked with a glance at the cursing Northman that slowly got up holding his head.
>
> “Storm’s Rest.” She replied.
>
> “Maybe he’s there still, sleeping under the fucking mud,” Barclay grunted and aimed his bow from two meters away. “Take a step back lass. I won’t say it again.”
>
> “If the Servant is with him you’ll need all your arrows and the ‘Others’ help,” she instructed casually. “Gratitude for your cooperation Lorians. For that I shall spare you.”
>
> With that odd -almost comical- pompous announcement the foreign female turned around and sauntered away. She did it a little rigidly, with her head held high and her back kept a bit too straight but her strides were effortless. Moments later Tristan flinched coming about and then let out a groan of pain, feeling his knees weak all of a sudden.
>
> “Where did that crazy bitch come from? Man, I don’t like them loonies in the capital at all,” Barclay grunted and hang his bow over his shoulder again as it wasn’t smart to point a weapon inside the city. “Ah, and the hells is wrong wit you Tristan? What’s the play here? You didn’t have to tell her everything!”
>
> Tristan stared in deep bewilderment at the blood on his fingertips and answered truthfully after a moment of silent consideration. “There was no play darn it. I have no plaguing idea what the all-hells just happened!”
-
Hours later
Early morning
17th of Secundus
Immediately after making the east turn at Mayor’s Vines, Jove stopped the carriage with a sharp holler. Storm cracked the door open and peeked at the City Guard buildings, then at the two towers near the walls. The smaller square tower at the North Gates and across from it at the northeastern-most corner of the City, the twice as large and tall round-shaped North Tower. Cartagen’s famed gates to the Flower Bridge standing between them.
A row of soldiers were blocking the road towards the gates.
“Milord,” Jove warned in a tensed voice from his driver’s seat atop the carriage. “I can’t discern their armour.”
Eh.
Nattas crooked his mouth and pushed the door open. With difficulty he got out of the cabin and out into the cold winter night. This part of the capital much colder than its coast. A blessing in the summer but annoying during winter’s months.
The Baron walked awkwardly putting the good foot forward and dragging the damaged one a bit. The cane hitting the stone tiles in between. He was awake for the second night in a row and had only slept seven or eight times in the last forty days.
An officer of the ten man strong group that was alerted to the Baron’s carriage –now parked in the middle of the street- stepped forward after issuing a brisk order to his men to keep their eyes open. Nattas kept his own eyes on the man’s armoured chest as he approached, the darkness keeping the details away. Some clouds on the sky partially concealed the two moons as well making it a pretty dark evening.
Early morning.
No sign of Sudi since before I went to the palace.
Of all the days that fool could croak on me, this is the night he picked!
Worked leather entwined with thin chainmail, a triangular plate at the chest, engraved with a boat skewered by a trident like a trout. A ship’s crest this or a family’s, pointing to a specific city that loves its fucking three-pronged spears and other types of fishing gear.
“The road is closed,” the officer warned Nattas, a hand resting on the pommel of his saber. Dark-skinned alike an Issir but with long copper hair braided and caught at the nape. Smart eyes and well-trimmed goatee, his face marred by stitches that started at the left side of his mouth and ended at the left ear. The injury almost catastrophic. “By order of rear-admiral Ser De Hond,” he added with a concerned frown seeing Nattas not slowing down at all.
Not that Storm was breaking any speed records right there.
“That is a token rank,” the Baron grunted finally coming to a stop six feet from the frowned marine officer. He could now see the rest of his insignia well enough. The two silver tridents engraved on the young man’s left metal-reinforced shoulder pads showcasing he was a captain. Another oddity given the man is a half-breed… Nattas stared beyond the Illirium Captain’s right shoulder in the grim-faces of the marines. Not grim per se. Dark skinned. With an assortment of hair and beards. Black, red, blond and grey.
Ah. There it is.
You lads are a special kind of half-breed.
Yeah.
“Just go back to your carriage mister—”
“I’m Baron Storm Nattas,” Storm cut him off pursing his mouth and a few of the marines perked up at the mention of his name. Having served nonstop in a public office for two decades, Nattas’ name was well-known in Regia. So the Baron continued in a more reasonable manner. “I have a right to be here Captain…”
“De Hong sire,” the man introduced himself taking the opening. “Gustav De Hong. I’m stationed aboard the Divine Trident.”
Ah, another war hero.
Nattas considered himself one as well given he’d travelled with the Legions briefly. With the supply train, but still it was quite the ordeal and a soul-cleansing experience.
Everything else was soaked in mire.
Abrakas foreskin floats in the whiskey jar.
Well then.
Us patriots, must stick together.
“The rear-admiral’s son,” Nattas said. Well technically his father was an Issir Naval engineer and immigrant. That made Gustav half-Issir and half something else, which Storm guessed it must probably be a Sextus-Brakis relative and not a full-blooded Lorian. “Why are marines posted here Captain De Hong?”
“We were ordered to be stationed in the empty City Guard barracks sire,” Gustav replied. “And later guard the main street.”
Nattas eyed the officer somberly.
“Who gave the order?”
“Lord Proclus via rear-admiral De Hong and it was signed by the Duke himself,” Gustav replied stiffly.
Ah, an official order. Keep the capital safe and so forth, at a time when the local manpower is stretched thin due to recent events, Storm thought, weighing in his mind how spread out could the conspiracy realistically be. You don’t inform everyone down the chain of command, else the leakage might turn into a blasted deluge of epic proportions.
Valgus must have informed Lucius in the meantime. The King would be intrigued by the info but categorize it as gossip, until Duke Brakis had the chance to address the matter personally. Nattas had no proof other than circumstantial evidence and sound logic. So proof was needed and Lear hopefully had a lick of that.
Storm wanted to be the first amongst those concerned enough to speak out and reap the benefits of not having to explain himself down the line. You don’t interrogate the man who stepped forward with the truth.
Even if that truth is a convoluted mess.
“Sir Vel Sextus-Brakis came with the Abrakas yes?” The Baron asked casually trying to figure out what the play was. “I was elated to hear he’s better now.”
“He’s in charge of the operation,” Captain De Hong replied and grimaced as he’d probably said too much. Nattas was an easy man to spill your guts to, either seduced by the Baron’s charms and potent sycophancy or simply terrified by the abominable cripple’s cruelty under torture.
“Can I speak with him?”
“Eh,” Gustav stood back unsure. “The King isn’t informed yet Baron. It is a serious matter given what has happened.”
“I can inform the king right now,” Storm offered, then lied as effortlessly as one roll’s off a log. “Even river toads are aware that I’ve a direct line of communication to the palace.”
Captain De Hong appeared to seriously consider his suggestion. Probably the whole clandestine ‘operation’ had him spooked.
“Let me to talk to Sir Vel,” Nattas insisted in the sensible manner of an elder statesman with small touches of friendliness in his voice. “This is my turf Captain. I can navigate it with ease and without hiccups.”
----------------------------------------
“Stop here.” Nattas ordered Jove and opened the door before the carriage came to a stop a hundred meters from the gates’ round tower and about twice that from the larger tower attached to the walls east corner.
At least two hundred of Illirium’s marines had formed up there facing the North Gates. Due to the late time and the winter season, the usually busy road was relatively empty, but even so small caravans or sole merchants came through the imposing arched gates and the barbican every twenty minutes.
“Chief, we better get out of here,” Jove warned as he secured the horses to a side post.
“Stay with the coach,” Storm ordered, desperately trying to locate Sudi amidst the lined up groups of marines and passing citizens but failing. “Get that axe ready just in case this goes tits up.”
Lord Proclus Sextus-Brakis famed firstborn, stood close to six feet tall and was still imposing to come up against even heavily bandaged or with an arm in a sling. Sir Vel, Illirium’s most talented knight in decades, had carved out considerable fame in his youth following a difficult path before shining as a marine general and naval strategist during the civil war.
Fierce in character and from the lesser part of the Brakis extended family, notably the dark-skinned Lorians of the misty Trident Peninsula with their mysterious origins, Vel had to fight hard to be permitted in the more prestigious games, often overlooked for knights with half his skill. By the time Vel fought in one of the major tourneys he was almost twenty years old but with about fifty duels under his belt in the provinces. He had fought eight intense rounds that year in Riverdor like a first-timer and reached the finals where he lost to the undefeated for three straight years Lucius in a very tense closely-fought epic duel.
A disfigured marine standing next to Sir Vel tapped him once on the shoulder when he spotted the resolute Storm Nattas hobble towards them. Vel turned around to eye the approaching Baron, responding with a nod at another marine officer’s remarks. The third marine of their group, a handsome pure-blooded Lorian with clever eyes and short blond hair.
“I bid warm salutations to the victor at the Gulf of Colle!” Nattas started with a small curtsy.
Vel puckered his brows. “The late Peter Brakis hatched the attack plan. He deserves most of the praise,” the thirty-year old knight noted tautly. “Is that a kraken carved on your carriage’s door?”
“Some also believe it’s a one-eyed squid,” Nattas replied with a crook of his mouth. “Fittingly as it’s my house’s sigil. I’m Baron Nattas, Sir Vel.”
“Which of the two?” Vel queried with a hint of razz. “The squid or the Kraken?”
“I’d like a private word,” Nattas dodged changing the topic.
“Not easy to find privacy at this moment. It’s an open space Baron.” Vel retorted and moved the fingers on his bandaged arm. “This is sergeant Werges and the handsome fellow is Claus Dedum. I trust them with my life.”
“You’re a braver man than me. I don’t trust my shadow,” Nattas jested and swallowed nervously. “Not a common name Dedum for a Lorian.”
“His great-great grandfather was Basten Dedum,” Vel explained. “The Dedum are as old as Illirium.”
“A certain part of the Sextus-Brakis is much older in some obscure histories,” the Baron noted smartly and Vel narrowed his eyes at the abstruse praise.
“Where is the scholarly Baron going at this late hour?” He rustled ambiguously.
“The Baron doesn’t have to answer that but I shall,” Nattas retorted. “I came to see you Sir Vel.”
“Ugh,” Werges snorted and spat down.
“For what reason?” Vel probed sounding unimpressed.
Storm glanced at the armed marines standing before the tower and then at the not so distant gates and the city guards conversing with the night-traveling traders and city visitors. They were lit torches on posts illuminating the space between the two towers, the barbican at the gates and the city’s walls that created a massive fortified corner there. The latter ending near the vertical slopes of the Flower Heights.
But for several merchant stands –now empty, the rest of the buildings had some official capacity or other. The Customs office, warehouses, barracks and stables amongst them.
You have got to take the risk mate, Storm told himself. Trust that the known knight won’t blatantly murder you in close proximity of the guards and civilians. Push comes to shove, I can always make a run for it.
And that’s a fucking funny joke given what’s at stake.
“Lear Hik must reach the palace,” Storm rustled and turned the pommel on his fancy cane slightly to unlock the hidden blade. Stab him in the fucking eye if he moves for that sword. He’ll drop like a bucket of bricks.
Sir Vel raised his thick blondish brows surprised. Werges whistled, this time impressed.
“Well, that’s sort of awkward,” Lieutenant Claus Dedum stated with a grimace.
“I have a standing order implicating a Lear Hik in the plot to assassinate the King and his family.” Vel grunted eyeing the Baron with deep suspicion.
“It’s a lie.”
“Prince Alistair was murdered not a month back!” Vel growled pursing his mouth.
“Irrelevant but convenient. Which of course makes the lie even bigger,” Nattas insisted.
“My father wrote that order Baron!” Vel snapped irate, his face turning a shade darker. “You’ll retract this vile accusation my lord, or pick a good blade to defend yourself.”
I have a blade and I won’t.
A better one would offer me little advantage anyway.
“Lear Hik…” the Baron started and spotted out of the corner of his left eye a mounted newcomer that had just crossed the shaded corridor of the gates, unsheathe a longsword out of the fucking blue and flat-out behead a citizen that had attempted to bar his way. Bucket of sperm in the toothless harlot’s mouth! Nattas blinked in shock, his mouth going dry. Then the newcomer went down abruptly, when his horse’s right eye popped in an explosion of gore after being pierced by an arrow, forcing the animal to collapse on its front legs with a desperate neigh.
All of Abrakas’ thick tentacles up the virgin’s shithole!
“Milord Vel?” A befuddled Werges queried with a hoarse grunt, upon witnessing half of the loitering near the gates of the barbican ‘merchants’ and late-night ‘travelers’, draw blades or weapons of any kind and move against the wildly kicking to get away from his dead horse murderous newcomer.
Then Nattas noticed some familiar faces mixed up in the suddenly extensive bloody brawl that had erupted out of nowhere and everything became clear. Familiar, like the gnarling maniacally Sudi defending himself against the savage slashes of Tristan that had a dagger stuck in his back, the cocky bastard Rhys coming out of the tower’s shadow behind everyone -which was mightily impressive- only to get tackled unceremoniously by a… wench of sorts and finally what looked like a small scarf-wearing chuckling girl –a what? - rolling under a stunned ruffian’s open legs, only to stop right behind him and shoot a small crossbow bolt at the back end of his unprotected scrotum.
For pity’s sake.
Nasty thing came out of his navel!
Shite.