One Moo'r Plow

B2-Chapter 14: Iron is the Hand II.

B2-Chapter 14: Iron is the Hand II.

You want people dead, and think me to be your blade. I guessed, voice flat. A reasonable enough assumption.

You oppose this. Ironmoor remarked with a grunt, wiping his hands on a rag. Large for a human, wide of shoulder, with a grey beard and features tempered by experience. Poorly healed scars dotted the mans forearms and exposed skin beneath a utilitarian outfit. Expected. Your kind loves bloodshed, but on your own terms.

There was an almost empty apathy to the mans tone as he regarded me. This human was dangerous, I realized.

Not out of pride, if that is your meaning. I folded thick arms over my chest and stared down at the humans unblinking gaze. I have left that life behind me. Given up the sword for peace. That was my intention before all this.

An arm waved around in the general direction showcased meaning to the man.

And now you are pulled back into it. A simple observation. The Gods Above have ensured that.

Of all the ways I had pictured my eventual confrontation with the baron to go, this was far more..civilized that ever expected.

One needs not bloodshed to impress the powers that are. I hope.

I did not receive a reply. Instead, the baron moved past me and beckoned me to follow. With one last look given to the great scaled corpse that hung before me, I turned and followed the man. Under archways we went, out of the sunlight and into the great fortress. Sunlight gave way to cool, still air as I followed the mans brisk footsteps.

Head moving around, I did my best to catch glimpses of the castles layout even as I tailed the man.

I was led into what I assumed was the main hall. A large table sat in the rooms center, surrounded by well-made chairs. Benches were put further back, and pillars added a final layer of decoration. A page darted off at Ironmoors signal, and I was led to sit somewhere.

While I appreciate the hospitality, your chairs are simply to small for me. I informed the man as he gestured towards a gilded seat near the tables head.

Suit yourself. He grunted and lowered himself down.

Now. Business.

As I said before, my intentions are to bury whatever feud lies between us and move on with my life.

Silent eyes regarded me for a few moments as the baron sat and contemplated my words. I had come here for one purpose, and was unwilling to waver in it. If I could achieve peace, wonderful. If not, I would not lose sleep over it. Yet I would prefer at least non-hostility. The Gods Above knew I would soon have enough to worry about.

I am many things, Garek of the redtip. Whatever stories you have heard of me, let me assure you they are true. My subjects fear me. And through that fear, that respect, they are kept in order. Kept safe. Prosperous. Happy, even.

None would call me a fool. Vengeful. Bloody. To be feared. But none would ever slight me as stupid. When I first heard of you, I knew you were an anomaly. A minotaur settling down to farm? Preposterous. Valencia could deal with you, I reckoned. Then you refuse to engage her. Come at her with reason and politeness. You stamp out bandits who masquerade in my name. Expose corruption that simmered in Hullbrecht. Save the fort atop that accursed mountain. Slay a godling.

Now you come to not in vengeance, but to right past wrongs. He mused thoughtfully. Fate once again has a laugh at my expense.

A concept I am not unfamiliar with. I remarked dryly.

Across the hallway, a door opened and a purple-skinned woman swept in. Horns upon her head and human-like frame declared her likely to be a tiefling. The tail behind her sealed that assumption. She was smooth of skin in comparison to Ironmoors scarred features. A jug was carried in one hand and mugs in the other. A maid, perhaps.

A drink, dear? Came the smooth voice. A brisk nod and the woman set a mug before either of us, followed by dark liquid being poured within.

Diminque, our guest is the fabled Farmer Garek. Garek, my wife. Ironmoor mentioned between gulps of liquid. A careful sniff informed me that it was extremely alcoholic in nature.

So many people of import come to visit our humble home today! She beamed. Heavens knows Londor needs some decent company for a change.

See to our other guests, dear. Please. There was an almost pained wince to the humans words as he shooed her off.

He waited in silence until she had swept from the room, then turned to me once more.

Only a fool would come to dig out a man who has given up such a bloody life. As I said, I would have need of your services. There are enemies at the gate. We are a border region to an already bloated kingdom. Barely paid attention to on the best of days. The dungeon has changed this. And soon, those with their eyes on it will come. Powerful nobles vying for more power. Would-be conquerors. More. My plate lies overflowing, and I need not another problem to add upon that pile, minotaur.

You will have your peace. Inconvenient as you were to my plans, there was little actual harm rendered to me and mine through you. I have larger things to deal with than some petty squabble at the edges of my land.

Of all the things I had expected from this man, reason was not among them.

There is just one small matter. Where is Valencia?

I blinked. Surprised. Unable to formulate an answer. The mans voice was hard, now. His gaze was the most serious I had ever seen a human.

I am without an answer, unfortunately. I thought you her master. I managed to rumble after a few moments, my surprise hidden behind sips of strong wine.

She slipped her leash right before that entire debacle in the dungeon. Last I heard, she entered the dungeon not long after your party went down one of my scout-towers. Did she perish down there?

Again, I am unsure. We fought, and the battle was broken before either emerged a victor. A lie, of course. That was the last I saw of her.

Hmm. He grunted, and for the first time, I smelled a tinge of unease enter his scent. Valencia was not under his control anymore, it seemed. Until now, I had regarded her as Ironmoors attack hound. No longer the case, it seemed.

One of your men mentioned a problem with druids? I spoke in attempt to shift the conversation.

The problem I wanted your blade for. There have been covens of them here since before this area was settled, and they have a taste for my mens blood. Control the wildlife, the monsters, all to make trouble and try to root me out. Their numbers have surged again as of recent.

That explained several things. My own troubles had a force behind them, now.

I was about to inquire further when another door opened and yet another human strolled in, cup of wine in hand. My eyes locked with the mustachioed form of the Lord Jamal Ramsey-Pratt, and his cup met the floor a moment later.

You! he bellowed, pawing at his side for some weapon. You besmirch my honor and now intrude upon my visitation?!

I rose to my feet, hand on my own weapon as the human stormed close, spilled goblet of wine forgotten. Anger rolled off him, his chipper attitude gone.

Sit. Down.

The command rolled past me and struck the enraged nobleman like a brick to the face. He promptly folded onto the floor, blinking in confusion as he was forcibly seated.

This is my home. My rules. My guest, Jamal. Londor Ironmoor edged with anger now. Any squabble you have will be settled outside these walls. Am I understood?

A blink of confusion preceded a nod of confirmation.

You may seat yourself at the table with the civilized folk, then.

He talked as if akin to a child. Face flushed red, the man heaved himself up, circled the table and lowered himself into a chair across from me.

Continue. The baron nodded at me.

I cannot offer you my blade, but in order to ensure peace, I would instead offer you trade. I am sure you are aware that I alone can grow rare resources.

With how much land you have bought up, you are either severely over-extending or truly do have the capabilities to utilize it all. Ironmoor spoke dispassionately. But yes, I am aware.

For gold, I would trade with you.

You already sell to the Verdant Dawn. My sworn enemies. His voice carried a hard edge now. I needed to tread lightly here, in order to not undo all the progress made so far.

While I have friends in their one specific camp, I have no ties and no interest in their organization. This was the truth. My loyalties did not expand beyond Raffnyk.

All the same, you have chosen a side in this conflict, minotaur. Shame. I will not traffic with those in league with my enemies.

Very well, baron. You seem to be a man of conviction, and I will not ask you to sway those. If I am still guaranteed peace between us, I will take that.

My word was given, and it will remain.

Unwisely, the Lord Jamal chose this exact moment to bolt to his feet in protest.

You promised to help me put that uppity farmer in his place! What about your word to me, Londor?

The baron considered the noble with an uncaring glare. He locked gazes with the furious human and held that stare even as Jamal shark back into his chair.

I promised to think it over. Nothing more. Consider it ruminated on and duly discarded. You failed to mention who this farmer was. What squabble you two have lies between either of you. Do not make the mistake of involving me and mine.

The outcome will please no one. This much, I swear.

With those words, the baron stood and gestured me up.

We have peace, for now. There lie larger monsters at wait then you. Do not flout my laws or authority, and you will scarce hear of me, farmer Garek. Do we have an understanding?

We do.

Once again, a hand clasped mine and shook it.

You have given me your word as a man, minotaur. Break it even once, and I will consider it well and truly worthless. Safe travels.

With that, I was escorted from the fortress. I left not with conventional wealth or even a paper or contract, but weighed down by knowledge. The gates closed behind me, and I groaned up at the evenings onset. No way I would make it home today. An inn in Hullbretch would have to do.

I really should have asked them to refill my water skin, I considered several miles later. A mistake that kept happening to me. Thirst drove me faster, and I found myself in Hullbretch before the night had truly fallen across the sky.