Valkyrie's Shadow

Before the Storm: Act 7, Chapter 5

Before the Storm: Act 7, Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“Hey Liam, you said that thing was a…a Shadow Demon?”

“That’s right,” Liam said. “A Shadow Demon.”

“I-If I may ask,” Olin anxiously licked his lips, “what was it doing inside of me?”

“What else would it be doing there?” The youth looked up at him curiously, “It was feeding on the darkness of your soul.”

The darkness of his soul? But where had it come from? Had it always been there, or had it entered him unnoticed at some point?

No, it was from back then. While I was in that dark place. They didn’t just hang me up to be eaten by those damn things, they planted a seed of evil inside of me!

He had been plunged into an animalistic delirium during their ‘baptism’. They kept healing him, regrowing his flesh as he was continually being eaten alive. Who knew what else they might have done to him at that time?

“Are you alright?” Liam asked.

“I’m fine,” Olin answered with a smile. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave you for the night?”

“I’m still hungry.”

“I’ll have the chef fix up–”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m hungry.”

Liam’s amber eyes seemed to shimmer as he stared at him intently. Olin took a step back.

“The Shadow Demon won’t be back until morning,” Liam’s form seemed to darken and grow opaque. “Why don’t you stay for the night?”

“Wh-What are you talking abou–”

A shadowy claw shot forward and jammed itself into his mouth. Olin gagged and grabbed the dark appendage with both hands, but he couldn’t stop it from slowly forcing its way down his throat. Through his tear-blurred vision, he saw Liam’s mouth widen into a glowing yellow gash as he grinned evilly in the gloom.

Olin’s eyes popped open. He threw back his covers as he sat bolt upright in his bed.

“FUCK!” He screamed, “What in the fuck was that?!”

The darkness offered no answer. He stumbled toward the sliver of light at the foot of his bed, throwing the room’s shutters open.

It was barely morning. He shivered as a cool gust of morning air blew in and drove out the stale air of the inn. Olin took a deep breath, then coughed uncontrollably at the all-too-vivid memory of a claw forcing its way down his throat.

Olin reached for a nearby pitcher of water and rinsed out his mouth with a cup of water. It wasn’t good to start an important day with a nightmare, but the world would hardly care about his complaints. After getting dressed and gathering his things, he went downstairs to see what was happening.

A chorus of snores greeted him as he entered the tavern. Reed and his men were sprawled everywhere, their faces displaying various expressions of drunken contentment. Apparently, he had been the only one suffering from nightmares.

He kicked the row of chairs that Reed had lined up into a makeshift bed. The woodsman jerked, but his snores resumed a few seconds later. Olin kicked him in the arm.

“Reed!”

“Hgn?”

“It’s morning. Who’s watching Liam?”

“Liam? Dunno…”

Olin clicked his tongue in disgust. That was the problem with having important guests. The syndicate usually became more open-handed to accommodate those guests, but everyone attached to them took advantage of it.

He gave up trying to get any information out of Reed’s gang and made his way to the kitchen. There, he found the barmaid from the previous evening, emptying buckets of water into a barrel near the back.

“Olivia,” Olin asked, “have you seen Liam?”

The barmaid didn’t immediately reply. She finished emptying her buckets before moving over to the oven.

“He came down before dawn,” Olivia said as she warmed her pale hands. “I honestly don’t know what a nice boy like him is doing with the likes of you.”

“Don’t start that with me now…”

“And when should I? The only time you show your face around here nowadays is to ruin more people’s lives.”

Olin turned away. He had no time to waste with women who didn’t know what they were talking about.

“My pa’s still looking to split your head with his axe for what you did to Broli.”

He turned to face the woman again.

“Broli made his choice,” Olim grated.

“He said you had his back,” Olivia spat. “We all know what that means now.”

Olin stormed out of the tavern, his mood gone from bad to worse. No matter how many times he saw it, he couldn’t get over how unbelievably provincial these people were. It wasn’t just in the Azerlisian Marches, but everywhere out in the country. They all thought like a bunch of naive children, believing fellow villagers were as good as kin and a man’s word was his bond. In the end, all they could do was cry over imagined injustices when reality paid them a visit.

Out on the high street, most of the town’s businesses were already busy preparing for the day. Smoke rose from a score of chimneys as finery forges were stocked with charcoal and the ring of hammers on metal chimed up and down the road. Olin found Liam watching a Blacksmith work at one of the town’s more prominent workshops. He straightened his coat, eyeing the shadows warily as he walked up to the youth.

“See something you like?” Olin asked.

“I was wondering if they work with Mithril. There are Mithril mines around here, right?”

Olin snorted at the youth’s sense of excitement.

“Mithril Ore is sent straight to the city,” he told Liam. “Only artisans with an exclusive licence from House Blumrush are allowed to refine and forge Mithril. If you want, I could introduce you to a few of them once we get there.”

“I was just curious,” Liam replied. “The town I grew up in didn’t have anything fancy.”

“Which town are you from, if I might ask?”

“Fassett Town, on the western border of E-Rantel.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Olin said. “Never been there, though.”

Liam peered at him for a moment before turning his attention back to the Blacksmith. Olin couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just dodged a quarrel. Was Liam mad about something? Maybe Olin’s plotting had been reported.

Since it was in E-Rantel and sat right on the kingsroad, Fassett Town was in a pretty good situation compared to other towns in Re-Estize. Of course, the Eight Fingers held some influence there, but the level of exposure that the town had limited them to a handful of rural activities.

“How did someone from Fassett Town get a job like yours?” Olin asked.

“I went to school in E-Rantel,” Liam answered. “After I learned how to read and write, I received a recommendation from my guardian.”

“I see…”

He didn’t. Liam’s words didn’t make a lick of sense. School? Guardian? Recommendation? What sort of guardian would send a kid to that den of monsters?

They wandered about for another hour before Olin suggested that they head to the wharf. To his relief, Reed and his gang had dragged themselves from the tavern to the pier. Adorned in brigandine and armed with longbows, they made a show of vigilance as Liam waved in greeting.

“Morning.”

“Hey Liam,” Reed raised a hand in response. “Ya look well-rested.”

“It was a quiet night,” Liam replied.

“Quiet, eh…?” Reed rubbed his chin, then leaned over to elbow the youth in the ribs, “Shoulda taken a girl to bed with ya. We own this town, so no one’d refuse.”

“Is that something you do? Liam asked.

“Me?” Reed laughed as he rubbed the back of his head, “Naw. Only special guests like yourself get that sort of treatment from Hilma’s gang.”

Olin sat on a nearby crate, watching and listening as more men gathered around the Sorcerous Kingdom’s agent to make small talk. Was sending women to please Liam an option? He had to get on his good side to increase his chances of building up favour with Lady Albedo.

It didn’t take long for the men to start getting too chummy with the boy. Olin rose to his feet, dusting off his pants as he went to join the group gathered on the wharf.

“We ready to get out of here?” He asked.

“Ship’s set to sail,” Reed answered. “Does Countess Beaumont know we’re comin’?”

Olin snorted.

“Does it matter?”

“Does for the guy who has to put up with her shrieking.”

He doubted that there would be any ‘shrieking’ considering who she would be meeting with. If there was, he would be very interested to see what Liam did to the woman.

“We’ll deal with that if it happens,” Olin said. “Let’s get moving before it decides to rain on us.”

“Think it will?” Reed said, “Guess those clouds over the pass don’t look too promising.”

Olin’s head turned as he followed Reed’s gaze northward to the low pass dividing the Azerlisian Foothills in the east and the Manticore Mountains to the west. Most clouds emptied themselves north of the pass, but it wasn’t uncommon to catch a bit of it on the other side.

They boarded an old river barge loaded with grain from the harvest. The ship’s crew pointedly avoided speaking with Olin and his men as they cast off and worked the sails to get underway. Liam picked out a spot on the barge’s blunted bow, watching the shore as they sailed northward on the Senne.

“How long will it take to reach Beaumont?” Liam asked.

“Usually takes around a day,” Reed said. “River’s calm in the fall, but it’ll get chilly once we cut into the mountains. You should relax while it’s still nice.”

“It doesn’t seem very busy compared to the Raevenmarch,” Liam said. “I saw a barge come down the valley every few minutes there.”

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“This place ain’t nothing like the Raevenmarch,” Reed told the youth “Like we said yesterday, everything out of sight of the highway is basically a frontier.”

“Could you start explaining that part to me now?”

The woodsman scratched his earlobe, staying silent until he eventually turned to look at Olin.

“How would you put it, Olin?”

“Blumrush is a house of petty men,” Olin replied. “They don’t like challenges to their power, get jealous if others see any success, and love their luxuries. That’s the way they rule their territory and that’s the way it’s always been.”

The barge’s course took them up a large tributary, after which the scenery along the riverbanks drastically changed. As Reed had promised, gone was the patterned landscape of carefully cultivated farmland, replaced by the murk of impenetrable forests. Olin pointed at a wooden pier on the northern shore where a pair of boys were casting their fishing nets into the river.

“There’s a village in the trees somewhere,” he said. “All that haze you see coming out of the woods comes from the colliers who live there.”

“So it’s a lumber village?”

“More like a charcoal village,” Reed said. “That’s all they’re allowed to turn their timber into. The Nobles and Merchants tell us that fuel’s always needed for the finery forges, but that’s just a convenient excuse.”

“The town does have a lot of refineries,” Liam noted.

“Sure does,” Reed agreed. “Thing is that timber and charcoal are all we peasants are allowed to produce. Woodsmen collect wood. Colliers make charcoal. We can’t clear land for farms or anything else. The mining villages have their own version of that.”

“I’ve seen plenty of places that focus on what their land’s good for and they do pretty well for themselves.”

“Sure,” Reed said. “That might be true elsewhere, but it isn’t here. Here, it’s about control. People around here aren’t allowed to grow food for themselves. If a village like this one we’re going by does anything that the Nobles don’t like, then their grain shipments mysteriously stop. Same goes for a mining settlement. That means the lords only need to control the farmlands and the rivers to control the territory’s whole population.”

“But you said it’s basically a frontier out here, right?” Liam asked, “Can’t villages just hunt and forage?”

“That’d be nice if it was the case, but the Nobles know what they’re doing. Each village only gets enough land to survive on by selling charcoal. You need a lot more than that to survive off of what nature provides.”

“What about estovers?”

“There’s a trick to that one,” Reed replied. “Well, a few tricks. Estovers only applies to tenants holding contracts with the local lord. Seasonal help that goes to the farms doesn’t count as part of a tenant household, so those people don’t qualify. The Miners aren’t tenants either: just labourers. As for the lumber villages, it’s like I said just now. They may have a tenant’s rights to estovers, but, because of the way the land’s partitioned, trying to claim that right costs you more than it gains.”

“That’s pretty messed up,” Liam said.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen something like it before.”

“I have,” the youth admitted, “but it’s still messed up.”

“You betcha. Places like this are perfect for us to recruit from.”

“Is that how you guys ended up joining?”

“Yep. Having a slice of land to call your own is nice and all, but, after getting kicked around for a bit, you start to realise that it’s better to be the boot than the ass.”

Liam fell silent at Reed’s response. He appeared to give the man’s words plenty of thought, but those words were long-established common sense in the Azerlisian Marches. The strong did what they wished to the weak; escaping from under their heel meant joining those who could stand up to them. As Reed had mentioned, it was a great way for the Eight Fingers to recruit en masse. Of course, many outlaw groups wouldn’t readily submit to the syndicate’s authority, so a bit of violent restructuring was a natural part of the integration process.

As they closed on their destination, Olin rose from his seat, stretching his sore back as he joined Liam at the bow of the barge. The youth had continued observing the landscape on both sides of the river long after Reed and the others had wandered off to take naps on the deck.

“Liam,” Olin said, “we need to go over some things before we reach Beaumont.”

Liam put his clipboard away before looking up at him.

“Sure,” he said.

He still couldn’t tell if the boy harboured any resentment over what had happened the previous day. Regardless, he would have to be careful with his words.

“Beaumont isn’t like the towns on the highway,” Olin said. “Blumrush’s men don’t bother coming out here unless there’s a reason to. That means the local lords are used to having much more of a free hand around here than you’ve probably seen elsewhere. They’re used to having their way with commoners and they don’t react well when they don’t get what they want.”

“Shouldn’t they be out in their lands? The harvest should be the busiest time of the year for everyone – especially the Nobles.”

“You’re not wrong,” Olin replied, “but these Nobles are just a bunch of useless layabouts. They’d rather be in town drinking themselves further into debt than making sure their territories are running smoothly.”

“…that doesn’t make any sense,” Liam said.

“Happens anyways,” Olin shrugged. “Point is they’re that sort. All pride and no money. No real power. They’ll jump at the chance of earning clout amongst their peers. Strange young men with no allies make for perfect targets.”

It happened all too often. Even starving townsfolk coming through looking for work in the forests or mines were targeted. They were the ideal target, in fact. People like that were too weak to be a threat to a Noble and their goons, plus they always carried a bit of money to cover their travelling expenses. Beating them up provided a boost to a Noble’s useless sense of self-worth and resulted in a free drink or two besides.

The very last thing Olin wanted was for an agent from the Sorcerous Kingdom to be attacked by a drunken Noble and his attendants. Sending Reed and his gang ahead of them would probably prevent that from happening, but the Eight Fingers had been burned so many times by the sheer idiocy of the so-called third faction’s members that he couldn’t be certain.

“So, what do you think I should do?” Liam asked, “Become a girl?”

Olin blinked at the unexpected option.

“…you can do that?”

“Maybe…”

It took less than half a second for Olin to conclude that it was a bad idea. The Eight Fingers had more than a few members who could disguise themselves as women, but it was almost exclusively used as an offensive option for good reason.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Olin said. “They’d probably drag you off somewhere to be raped.”

“…I’ll just avoid notice, then.”

“No, you need to be seen by these guys. They probably won’t give you any trouble once I make it clear who you are. I’m just worried they’ll act on impulse before they recognise who you are.”

“Recognise me…wait–does that mean these are the Nobles who are supposed to be on our side?”

“The very same,” Olin nodded. “We’ve got thousands of those insufferable shit stirrers tucked away in places like this all over the Kingdom. Towns like Beaumont are big enough to keep them distracted, but too far away from anything important for them to cause any real trouble.”

As he considered how things would play out in the town, he wondered whether letting the Nobles attack Liam was the better option. They would probably be killed for attacking an agent of the Sorcerous Kingdom and the Eight Fingers would have that many fewer problems to worry about. Then again, letting that happen might be seen as an extension of the previous day’s plotting, so he couldn’t take that risk.

A set of shallow rapids marked the end of the river’s navigable run. Just before that point, the wooden piers of Beaumont jutted out into the water. A lone man stood at the end of the closest one, the light of his torch dancing over the dark waters as he signalled to them. Reed lit a torch and signalled back. Two dozen men armed with longbows emerged from behind the seasoned timber and sacks of ore piled across the wharf.

“Is that kind of security necessary?” Liam asked.

“There haven’t been river bandits around here since before my pa was born,” Reed answered, “but we do get Merchants trying to do business without our go-ahead once in a while.”

“So if they don’t have your go-ahead,” Liam said, “they end up like yesterday’s caravan?”

“Huh? Whaddya mean?”

“Speckled Mare didn’t like our new terms,” Olin said.

“Ah,” Reed nodded knowingly. “Yeah, probably something like that. Ship and cargo get seized. Crew’s ransomed or sold off. Nobles pretty much do the same thing…you don’t have Nobles where you’re from?”

“We do, but operating without a licence usually only results in a fine. I guess smuggling can earn the death penalty, but only for the really bad stuff.”

“Huh,” Reed grunted. “Well, smuggling something like food makes it harder to control the people. Makes anyone who tries to do it the same as a rebel.”

“I guess you could frame it like that…”

Once again, Liam didn’t look too impressed with what he had gathered from the exchange. His soft behaviour caused Olin to once again consider finding a few women to attend to him. If he could convince Hilma’s people to send someone skilled over, they could probably gain all sorts of useful information.

“Reed,” the man on the pier with the torch called out to them, “who’s that you got with you?”

“Take a guess,” Reed replied with a smirk.

The man squinted in the darkness as the barge closed with the pier.

“Olin?”

“The one and only,” Olin said.

“You son of a Goblin,” the man, an acquaintance by the name of Francis, spat. “I should drown you in the river here and now!”

Along the wharf, low voices from the bowmen rose in agreement. Olin chuckled, ignoring their threats as he stepped past Francis onto the pier.

“I’d love to trade banter about bygone days,” Olin said, “but we’re here on business. This young man is Liam. He works for our new patron – the same patron who’s helping us staff the mines.”

One by one, the men’s faces drained of colour as they realised who they were dealing with. Francis offered an awkward bow as Liam disembarked.

“Welcome to Beaumont, Mister Liam–”

“Just Liam is fine,” Liam said. “Olin said that a few people around here might take offence to a stranger getting special treatment.”

“Y-You’re exactly right,” Francis nodded. “Your understanding’s a real help.”

“Where are those idiots now?” Olin asked.

“They’re in the Manticore, as usual,” Francis answered. “It’s an hour after supper, so they should be halfway to piss drunk.”

Olin sighed and scratched his head. He couldn’t even arrange for a proper introduction without having someone puke on Liam’s boots.

“How about the Countess?”

“She’s in her manor,” Francis replied. “Also as usual. The only time we see her is when she summons someone to scream at.”

“Sounds like we should skip the both of them,” Reed said.

“Will they be any better in the morning?” Liam asked.

“Depends if you like ‘em drunk or cranky.”

“I’ll deal with them in the morning,” Liam said. “How far are the mines from here?”

“They’re all over this side of the mountains,” Francis said. “Travelling at night’s just asking for it, though. We’ve got all kinds of nasties out there.”

“Then I guess I’ll see how things work around town,” Liam said as he stepped out of the path of a dockworker. “Does all this grain go into the town’s granaries? Or is it redistributed somehow?”

Francis sent a confused look at Olin and Reed. It wasn’t exactly a question one expected from an agent of the kingdom of darkness.

“It’s, uh…both, I guess?” Francis said, “Villages trade their exports for grain and everything’s delivered on a schedule. I don’t know much about the particulars – the Merchants and Nobles take care of that.”

“How can the Nobles take care of that if they’re drunk?”

“I don’t know much about the particulars,” Francis shrugged.

“I guess I’ll leave that for tomorrow too,” Liam muttered.

“How about we settle in for the evening?” Reed suggested, “Night gets a lot colder up here. Francis and I can get you up to speed over supper.”

“Fine,” Liam sighed. “Try not to get too drunk this time.”

Francis, Reed, and his gang shared a chuckle. Reed clapped Liam on the back and led him away from the waterfront. Olin fumed silently as he followed behind them. The local syndicate members were clearly trying to monopolise Liam’s attention and Olin didn’t have the resources on hand to do anything about it. He would have to call for reinforcements from the city to deal with the growing problem.

Their group narrowed into a single-file procession as they made their way higher into the town. A familiar expression filled Liam’s face as he stared down at the waterlogged ruts in the road.

“Is this a street or a stream?”

“I know it looks bad,” Francis said, “but it’s surprisingly handy.”

“How so?” Liam asked.

“All the garbage and horse shit gets washed into the river every time it rains,” Francis answered. “Smells way better than most places.”

“It’d be better if you had paved roads and proper drainage,” Liam said.

Francis’ sharp laugh bounced off of nearby buildings.

“Yeah, right. Liam, let me tell you a story. A few years ago, some fancy fellows from the Royal Court came and said the same damn thing. Even managed to convince the old Count to buy in on their ideas. They paved the town’s roads and all of the main routes going up into the mines.”

“Sure doesn’t seem that way,” Liam said.

“It did back then. Smooth cobblestone lanes stretching up into the passes and beyond. Cost Lord Beaumont a pretty penny, but the advisors from the Royal Court told him that it was an investment. That he’d make his money back in a decade or so. As you can see, those advisors were talking out of their asses and the Count was a fool to listen to them.”

“What happened?”

“Nature happened. It rains in these mountains for half the year. There’s snow in the winter. The Royal Court’s fancy roads broke apart in no time and there was no way that the local lords could afford maintenance. Those idiots from the capital came in acting like they knew better than anyone else, but the only thing they managed to do was ruin everyone and everything with their big talk.”

“Are you sure you guys aren’t just cursed?” Liam asked, “The more I hear about this place, the more it feels like someone’s been forcing you people to make the worst decisions whenever possible.”

“It feels that way sometimes,” Francis answered, “but, as you can see, we’ve been able to make the most of it. And it’s not like it’s all bad, yeah? Our mines have been turning a tidy profit since we switched over to the new, erm, labour.”

“That’s good to hear,” Liam said. “I still have to visit them, though.”

“And we will,” Reed said as they walked under the sign of the nearest tavern. “Tomorrow. Tonight, we drink!”