Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Nattas
Not all words, make it into history
-The Long Knives aftermath-
Two hours before noon, Lord Nattas returned to his home in Alden. Zizel’s inn was now housing Dalbert’s remaining brigands, making it too crowed.
They are hopefully laying low until the heat dies down, he thought.
Storm told Sudi as much. The long-serving lackey greeted him at the door.
“Dalbert’s is no fool,” Sudi argued.
“Perhaps, but he’s a darn criminal for sure. Law breakin’ and undisciplined at the fuckin’ least, seem like prerequisites to qualify as one. This makes him unreliable,” Storm countered, grimacing in pain, when he tried to move the fingers on his left hand.
The mid-finger on his right protruding straight, also bandaged, where that nail was missing.
“It’s his head, if he messes up,” Sudi pointed out.
“And ours, so there’s that,” Nattas reminded him. “Where’s he?”
Gordian was his meaning.
“The cellar. Where ye kept Titus.”
Storm sighed. “It wasn’t a punishment, Sudi. He needed to get his head straight.”
“Lost that head in the end, chief. So I don’t know.”
“That was the man we have in there,” Storm told him sternly.
“He’s still out of it. Don’t see him living the day.”
Damnit.
“Where’s Maja?” Nattas asked. “I promised the King proof.”
“Not here. Things got a bit out of hand,” Sudi said, looking a bit better than before.
“They did. How do you fare?” Storm queried, walking to his office.
“Happy I’m breathin’. I gave it fifty-fifty odds last night,” his man replied truthfully.
Storm got inside, went straight for his desk, found that bottle of Flauegran and got it out. Popped the cork and dropped it on the desk, found two half-clean goblets and poured wine into both. Sudi stared at him for a moment unsure. Nattas signed for him to take a seat.
“Make no mistake,” Storm said, after washing the taste of the night from his mouth. “This will eventually kill one, or both of us.” Sudi blinked, but gulped down the contents of his goblet and reached for the bottle. “But if I hadn’t acted now, the next attack would have succeeded. When you get shafted repeatedly, your opponent always bringing a bigger stick, punch him hard in the mouth, or kick his teeth in. It’s a small road from a stick, to a blade.”
“We were at the blade part,” Sudi noted, sitting back.
Nattas nodded. “Aye.”
“So, we’re fucked?” Sudi pointed, with a frown.
“It won’t be difficult to realize, who was responsible. They might even know already,” Storm said, working at his injured left hand. “Proving it, is another story. Especially, if they have the fear of repercussions.”
“Who’s they?”
No other people, Maja teased in his mind.
“We will find out. Assume everyone is suspect.”
“Why would Kelholt kill the Heir?” Sudi queried.
“Maybe that wasn’t what he wanted. The marriage breaking apart, wasn’t helpful to him. The opportunity to have a crusade against the Old Gods was.”
“Ain’t these two things opposing each other, chief? You’re saying, it wasn’t him?”
“I’m saying, I don’t know.”
“Who then, if not the priests?”
Storm smacked his lips. “The Khan is happy for sure, but was he the one who ordered it?”
“I’m confused. Who else is out there, chief?”
Nattas sighed and sat back deep in thought. Minutes later, Sudi on his third cup of wine, Storm leaned forward, deep lines on his forehead, his eyes tired. “Wake me up in two hours. Send Maja to Gordian the moment she comes in. Tell her to heal him. We need him alive, whether he talks, or not.”
Sudi smirked, now in familiar territory. “I’ll post a guard outside the bedroom.”
“Keep one next to the Magister, someone you trust,” Storm replied and yawned. “I swear, I’ve slept less than half the days, of this darn forsaken year.”
You could see the sandy beach from the open veranda doors. The palm trees shading a portion of it. Lush green and gold, on a blue backdrop. The floor out of white marble, the rails shaped like small columns outside. A rich man’s estate by the sea. The woman, white hair caught at the nappe, wrinkled face familiar and wearing a long summer robe snuggly, for a female her age, turned her head towards the long hall leading outside and pouted. The walls covered with frescos, showing lewd mermaids caught in the tentacles of a Kraken.
The young man, wiry and tanned, dressed in leather and silk, like a rich adventurer, saw her stare and frowned. Light green-blue eyes, over a square-jaw and handsome face, sporting a well-groomed goatee. His hair dark, with a blond strand on his right temple.
“I was caught in traffic,” He explained, gliding on the floor to reach her. Took her hand to his lips, when he did and kissed it softly at the knuckles. “This smile, just made my day.”
Maja sighed and pulled her hand away.
“Where’s your horse?” She queried. “Didn’t hear it return.”
“Ah, that old thing? Made a deal for it.”
“Was coin involved?”
The young man, thought about it assuming a somber expression.
“Property and Leticia.”
Maja licked her lips and stared at the man sitting outside, a quill in his hand. The bookish man answered, without looking her way, as if sensing her eyes.
“Sounds like a good deal, dear.”
“It’s that whore,” Maja hissed at his nonchalant response. “And that rat-infested dwelling, she calls a brothel!”
“Now, we’re not bigoted in this fine household, darling.”
This is a weird dream, Storm thought.
“Are ye talking to me, while working?” She queried, narrowing her eyes. The young man put a hand on her elbow, slithered it down the forearm and took the dagger away. Flipped it once in his hand and then sheathed it in his leather waistband.
“I’ll need that back,” Maja warned him and he touted. It turned into a chuckle.
“No you don’t. You, are retired,” he raised a ringed index finger between them, to stop her protests. “I know,” the young man droned her favorite mantra. “Once in the Guild, forever in it.”
He turned and walked outside, patting the man writing on the eucalyptus-wood lacquered-white table on the shoulder and chuckling at his frustrated gasp.
“I don’t want you visiting the docks, Silvio,” an old Maja said following after him. “Show me some respect, young man!”
Silvio stopped and with a last glance at the sea lapping at the small beach, turned to look at her upset face.
“I know what I’m doing,” Maja rolled her eyes not buying it, so he sighed and went another way. “I respect you, but you ain’t my mother.”
“What are you doing in the docks?” She asked, this time anger spilling out of her. “I need the truth, young man!”
“Trying to get a ship and crew,” he replied, looking at his expensive boots. “Find myself a Kraken.”
“Metaphorically?” The man asked sounding perturbed, stopping his scribbling. “Surely you’re jesting!”
Maja hang her head in despair. “It’s that stupid mermaid story. Sudi is an old drunken idiot.”
Silvio grinned, as wicked a grin as Nattas had ever seen, or ever imagined and he’d imagined quite a number of weird stuff in his time.
“You look like you stepped in manure,” Secundus explained and Sudi frowned, half his right eyebrow gone, whatever remained white as snow. Storm got out of his reverie, still drowsy from his nap and listened in. Wishing that he hadn’t.
“Just woke up,” he repeated. “I’m still mending. It’s a process.”
“Don’t know about the latter,” Secundus deadpanned, crooking his mouth. “But I’ll give ye the former.”
“Right,” Storm intervened and glanced at the young assassin leading the Guild. “On that note, let’s focus on our prisoner.”
Maja stared at him. “Is everything alright, father?”
“Yes dear,” Storm kept up appearances. “Is he coming about?”
Gordian was his meaning. They had gathered in his cellar, the place packed.
“Give him a minute,” the blond assassin replied.
“Argh,” High Magister Gordian said, groan turning into a rough cough, the second time Sudi slapped him hard in the face. Secundus grabbed him by the shoulder, when he came around and sat him down on a chair, small table in front of him, crude and cleared of bottles and produce minutes earlier. They had to push a lot of stuff to the sides and take the bed Titus had used to sleep outside, in order for them to have enough room to stand on the other side of the table.
“What…” Gordian said, red eyes blinking, dark circles under them, his skin a shade of green and leathery. “Is that you…” He coughed again, the sound cavernous and worrisome and almost got Secundus with a fat blob of phlegm, the lithe man stepping to the side at the last moment. After recovering somewhat the priest of Uher stilled his blue-grey eyes on Storm. “Lord Nattas. What did you do?”
“Ah, but the important thing,” Nattas said evenly, if not a little depreciatively, getting a silk hankie out to wipe his neck and nappe. “Is what did you do, Gordian? The city is in shock.”
“Huh, you fools. What’s this?” Gordian asked, with an uncertain grin, staring at Sudi and Secundus, even Maja. “Let me go. This man will have you all executed, alongside him.”
“Sudi,” Storm said, sounding bored.
“Fingers, chief?” The man queried, looking into a wooden box he’d opened on the floor next to the table, the latter being in the middle of the roomy, but stuffed with large barrels and bottle-stands cellar.
“Ahm, toes… I think. He might need those,” Storm replied and Gordian frowned sitting back on his seat. “Mister Sorex, kindly restrain his torso with the rope for his convenience, afore giving us the room.”
“Aye, milord,” Secundus said and approached a squirming Gordian, now fully awakened.
“Is this some kind of joke? Have you taken leave of your senses, Lord Nattas?” He cried.
Storm disregarded his outburst. “Is there a problem mister Sorex?” He asked seeing the hired-blade scrunching his jaw, this way and that, while working the long rope.
“I should have yer daughter escorted out, milord,” the ex-soldier said apprehensively.
Secundus had a soft spot for the ladies.
“Eh, how about you don’t?” Nattas replied, “My daughter stays.”
“Enough! Lord Nattas, release me right away!” Gordian yelled, more fear in his voice now. Secundus unbothered by his protests, seemed unwilling to let go of the previous topic.
“Milord, if I may speak, it is better for the young Lady to step outside,” he insisted. Maja giggled delighted at that, small dimples forming on her rosy cheeks.
“Mister Sorex, it’s my daughter. I get to tell her what to do. If you’re so inclined to take over her upbringing, you’ll have to marry her, my good man,” Storm explained, hint of razz in his voice, turning into a warning. “Am I to assume, you have your eye on her? Speak then, now is your fucking chance!”
“You’ll rot in jail, or worse! Curse you!” Gordian snapped, but nobody was paying any attention to him.
“I misspoke, Milord,” Secundus said chastised. “I shall take my leave sire.”
“You do that, close the bloody door on your way out,” Storm advised him and frowned sensing Maja’s fingers lace in his. He snatched his hand away and cleared his throat, then eyed the sweating High Magister. “Now, let me repeat my earlier query, dear Gordian. I had to put him in his place. The man is well below her station,” the latter he delivered with a creepy leer. “Well, what was it then? Ah, yes. Gordian, what did you do? Why?” He looked at Maja next and she raised an eyebrow and finished it for him.
“Magister Gordian, the city,” the assassin of the Guild had said. “Is in shock.”
BANG
Followed by a squishy sound, the latter rather disturbing, Storm reluctantly admitted.
“GAARGH!” Gordian wailed miserably and fainted abruptly, his head jerking up, almost toppling the chair backwards, but Maja had kept hold of it with both hands, standing right behind him.
“Darn it,” Sudi cursed, with a grimace of disgust looking at the mess under his heavy iron hammer. “Think I got two o’ them, chief.”
Good grief.
Storm closed his eyes, arms crossed on his chest. “Clean it up, remove the squashed bits away, burn the wound,” he ordered, having been part of the procedure many a times in the past. “Wake him up, after you do.”
“He may not talk,” Maja said, offering Sudi a razor thin knife casually.
“Everyone talks,” Storm replied and she chuckled at that. “He didn’t know you.”
“Or he pretends,” Maja countered. “Or I was looking different then.”
Hmm.
Sudi perked up at that, but pretended in turn that he was focused on his gruesome job.
Nattas cleared his throat, the cellar hot and smelling of mold, sweat and urine.
“Wine?” He offered and everyone seemed to favor his proposal.
“Cut me an onion as well,” Maja asked and he stared at her surprised. “I’m famished,” she explained, pushing a blond curl let loose from her bun, behind her ear.
“I can order something better from Mercos,” Storm said.
“Nah, I’m on a diet dear,” Maja deadpanned and that was that.
Sirio Veturius was shaking like a leaf, so Storm had to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. The young man, found a wall of the hall outside the cellar and put his back on it, face sweaty and flustered.
“What if they find out?”
“They won’t,” Nattas told him. “We are at the crossroads, my friend.”
“They are looking for him. Half the city guard out searching, the Legion patrolling the streets, the King had an order plastered everywhere and everything. A reward is offered.”
“How big?” Storm asked calmly.
“A hundred gold Eagles,” Sirio said. “You should have kept Secundus and the bodyguards here, my Lord.”
Alistair could have waited a bit, Storm thought sourly.
“Ah, mister Sorex will make sure, everyone is on the same page.”
“Will you turn him in?” Sirio asked with a frown.
“For the amount?” Storm asked. “I suppose, I could. Give the coin to charity, or something. On second thought, I have a daughter to look after. All this charity stuff is naught but a con.”
“He’ll talk. This won’t end well.”
“Sirio, my good man. Let me finish my thought,” Storm said. “This is a crossroads. In politics, or in my line of work, when people want you dead, or out of the game, you either comply and you’re gone, or you inconvenience them. Make it ruinous for them to continue. Had I not reacted, I was as good as dead. Next time it would be funds missing, or the fact I’m not favorably inclined to the current Pantheon.”
“You’re not?” Sirio queried and Storm offered him his hankie to wipe his face.
“Breathe. Calm yourself down,” he advised. “What was the alternative? Run away, hmm? Like your ancestor?”
Sirio cleared his throat. “He was betrayed.”
“You think I would’ve been spared the embarrassment? These people have an agenda, if they are allowed to continue, the Realm will suffer.”
“The greater good,” Sirio said, breathing deeply.
“Don’t be a fool,” Storm admonished him. “There’s no such thing. There’s better and worse options in life, but you get to pick out of a bucket full of shit.”
“Every book, needs embellishment,” the young man droned, trying to convince himself and Storm patted him on the back.
“Not all words, make it into history,” Nattas added and looked into his eyes meaningfully. “They shouldn’t.”
Sirio nodded, licked his lips and glanced at the closed cellar’s door, the screams coming out of it horrifying and inhuman.
“You have… a daughter, my Lord,” he asked, unsure. “Is this true? You’ve told me she was a murderer, why lie?”
“It was half a lie.”
“I don’t understand. Why keep her a secret? People were assuming…”
Storm stepped back and looked at the thin bookish man for a long moment. A small smile crept up on his face, while he did.
“What is a title, mister Veturius, if people don’t accept it?” He asked him. “What is a contract, if the parties involved won’t honor it?”
“Just words,” Sirio murmured, with a frown. “On a piece of paper.”
“I want you to write down a confession,” Storm continued with a smirk. “Would you like to hear it, right from the source?”
Sirio gulped down, looking uncomfortable.
“I’m not sure, I’m cut out for this, Lord Nattas,” he whispered.
“Nobody is,” Storm replied, his smile turning sad. “Not when they begin. Most people are sheep and they don’t know it. You live and you die. The manner being the only difference. In the end, few get to choose my friend. The chance coming and going, in the blink of an eye.”
Sirio stared at him, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“I know too much,” he croaked, but Storm said nothing, just kept looking at him. “Now I know how my ancestor felt.”
“He made the wrong decision,” Nattas reminded him patiently. “Got nothing out of it and died screaming.”
Come on kid, step through the finish line.
“I hate blood,” Sirio blurted out, a little ashamed.
“I won’t hold it against you,” Nattas deadpanned. “I did as well, for a time.”
“I may faint, my Lord,” the young man replied, blushing like a virgin. “Do not be alarmed.”
Storm had Maja standing next to him, just in case.
A wise precaution, as it turned ugly.
“Speak you miserable buffoon!” Storm snarled, veins popping on his neck and drenched in sweat. Sudi slapped Gordian, the man’s face swollen, eyes bloodshot and lips split in several places. His right leg was covered in bloody bandages, not a toe left attached on it, alike his left and he’d three fingers missing on his left hand.
“He’s running out of dangling parts,” His man noted, wiping his bloody hands and putting down the blunted knife. I should buy him a butcher’s apron at some point, Storm decided.
“Hear that?” Storm asked Gordian, the man barely conscious.
“Please… have mercy, for the love of Uher!” He begged hoarsely, but Nattas banged on the table, blood splattering, severed fingers dancing on it, one falling down, amidst the squashed bits of flesh that were once perfectly fine toes. Storm glanced at the white-faced Sirio, the young man on the verge of collapsing again and frowned.
“You have plenty of skin left, the way I see it,” he warned the injured magister, steel in his voice. “Mister Sudi?”
“Aye, Chief. Just let me get the other tool,” his man replied and stooped into his wooden box to riffle through its contents.
“Wait! Curse you…” Gordian gasped, a cough almost doubling him over, but for the fact he was tied up tight. “You vile fiend! What kind of dark creature—”
“Mister Sudi, hurry it up, if you please,” Storm hissed. “I’m running out of patience and frankly, I’m quite famished.”
“No… stop him!” Gordian snapped, panic breaking through, the pain well-above his limit, eyes ogling and tearing up. “I’ll… talk. May you burn in Uher’s hells, Nattas! You… miserable piece of crap! A degenerate thug! In the King’s council!”
“Ah, you’re wasting your breath, dear Gordian,” Storm retorted. “I’m thick skinned and an infidel. Now, let’s have the truth, shall we?”
Gordian nodded with a look of despair when he realized, he couldn’t move his arms, the skin blueish and swollen.
“Who ordered the Heir assassinated?” Storm asked him again. “You better talk, I’m of the mind to have him cut your cock off, just because it’s wasted on you. Work on the skin later.”
Gordian shuddered, a shell of himself and tried to look towards Maja and Sirio with pleading eyes. The assassin reached in her many sheaths, found a curved skinning knife and got it out. Flipped it once in her hand and then run her tongue on it suggestively.
Fuck, Storm thought. That’s creepy as all hells!
The priest of Uher obviously of the same mind.
“We had nothing… it wasn’t us,” he blurted out, almost relieved, but still in great discomfort. The man had a great level of tolerance, Storm decided. He had to give him that.
“Names, Gordian!”
“The priesthood… we’d never harm the Heir. He loved the kid!”
“Kelholt? How about Lady Silvie?”
“Of course… that was horrible.”
“You did stage the insurrection,” Storm noted, a little disappointed.
“A protest! Never supposed to go that far, for heaven’s sake! Argh! I’m in great pain… please, I can’t feel my hands.”
“It’s for the better,” Storm reassured him. “You don’t want feeling returning there, trust me. Now, who was in on it?”
“The order came from Kelholt and Lord Ravn.”
The Est Ravns’ of Midlanor?
“A protest,” Storm repeated, thinking it through.
“Aye… gods I’m hurting… can I have some water?”
“What is Uher’s Light?”
“Argh… I’ve no idea! Kelholt… please some water…”
“Who gave the order to have me killed?” Storm queried next, nodding to Sudi to fetch him a carafe of water.
Storm was thirsty as a mule crossing the Alden Sands.
“There was a man. He suggested it,” Gordian said, his teeth rattling. “Sir Reus used him to organize the team to stir up trouble. Ah… can’t remember his name. A Lorian… not local.”
Storm glanced towards Maja and she returned his stare. The cold eyes of a killer, on a cute face. Her beauty a skin she wore, to hide her real appearance.
“Where’s he?” He hissed, turning to Gordian.
“I don’t know… probably died in the attack.”
“What did he look like?” Storm snarled, stooping over the table.
Gordian grimaced in pain. Shook his head, eyes unfocused and dark.
“Just a man… a silent thug. Half his face painted white… what does it matter? People hate you, Nattas. You’re a god darn monster!”
Storm took a deep breath and stepped away from the table. He walked to where Sirio stood, next to an expressionless Maja and looked in his pale face. “You have the confession?” He asked him simply.
“Yes, I do. How did you know, what he was going to say?” Sirio asked him and Storm answered him, now looking in the assassin’s face.
“I followed the thread,” he said and accepted the large scroll the young man offered him. Walking back to the table and the heavy breathing, probably dying from blood loss High Magister, he grimaced and wiped the sweat off his brow. “I need your signature on this, Gordian. My men will take good care of you, after you do.”
“What about Lord Ravn?” Sirio asked and Storm stopped and put a hand on his chest forcing him to stop. He glanced at the palace guard, watching them under his conned helm and grimaced, in the pretense of a smile.
“You heard it,” he said simply.
“I did.”
“We will use it, if the need arises, not in front of anyone else, but the King.”
Sirio cleared his throat, some of the color returning to his face. Storm noticed he’d brushed his hair back and he smelled of soap.
“You wish to leave him the option,” the young man said, just as the herald announced them.
“That is correct, my friend,” Storm replied, assuming a troubled, but respectful look appropriate for the venue. “Always leave room to those on top, when the alternative is war. Else our words might turn into a problem worth fixing.”
“Ah, Lord Nattas,” King Alistair snarled from his throne, ever in the best of moods, the Queen sitting on her smaller one next to him. “A busy day, I hope.”
“I spared no time to come here, my King,” Nattas replied with a sharp curtsy. “I have news.”
“Give us the room,” The King ordered, Miranda staring at Storm’s eyes looking for a clue. She looks worried, he thought. A high crime.
“I’m warning you Nattas,” Alistair said, standing up, when everyone was led outside with little fanfare. “I’ve heard some conflicting reports.”
“Is to be expected, in lieu of what I have uncovered, your Grace.”
Alistair frowned, thick grey brows meeting in the middle of his forehead.
“Dear, if you please.”
“I wish to hear what he has to say, my King,” Miranda replied.
“We will have guests on the morrow,” Alistair reminded her patiently. “Given the state of the city, we might want to keep them inside. They are not the easiest people to please.”
Nattas frowned.
“Dignitaries, your Grace?” He asked, before he could control himself. “Has the High King send word?”
“Crows, Lord Nattas,” the King replied, looking at him. “Are gracing us with a visit,” and seeing Storm didn’t get it, the shocked look on his face giving him away, he added with a grunt. “De Weer decided to see the Realm, afore he dies. The fact he hasn’t already, an affront to the gods.”
Lord Ruud, was his meaning.
Now this, Storm thought, glancing at the shivering Sirio, still prostrated before the King of Regia. Is a genuine surprise.
Never a good thing, when you’re in mid of covering up, murdering a couple of hundred people with a false confession.
Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Nattas
Not all words, make it into history
-The Long Knives aftermath-
Two hours before noon, Lord Nattas returned to his home in Alden. Zizel’s inn was now housing Dalbert’s remaining brigands, making it too crowed.
They are hopefully laying low until the heat dies down, he thought.
Storm told Sudi as much. The long-serving lackey greeted him at the door.
“Dalbert’s is no fool,” Sudi argued.
“Perhaps, but he’s a darn criminal for sure. Law breakin’ and undisciplined at the fuckin’ least, seem like prerequisites to qualify as one. This makes him unreliable,” Storm countered, grimacing in pain, when he tried to move the fingers on his left hand.
The mid-finger on his right protruding straight, also bandaged, where that nail was missing.
“It’s his head, if he messes up,” Sudi pointed out.
“And ours, so there’s that,” Nattas reminded him. “Where’s he?”
Gordian was his meaning.
“The cellar. Where ye kept Titus.”
Storm sighed. “It wasn’t a punishment, Sudi. He needed to get his head straight.”
“Lost that head in the end, chief. So I don’t know.”
“That was the man we have in there,” Storm told him sternly.
“He’s still out of it. Don’t see him living the day.”
Damnit.
“Where’s Maja?” Nattas asked. “I promised the King proof.”
“Not here. Things got a bit out of hand,” Sudi said, looking a bit better than before.
“They did. How do you fare?” Storm queried, walking to his office.
“Happy I’m breathin’. I gave it fifty-fifty odds last night,” his man replied truthfully.
Storm got inside, went straight for his desk, found that bottle of Flauegran and got it out. Popped the cork and dropped it on the desk, found two half-clean goblets and poured wine into both. Sudi stared at him for a moment unsure. Nattas signed for him to take a seat.
“Make no mistake,” Storm said, after washing the taste of the night from his mouth. “This will eventually kill one, or both of us.” Sudi blinked, but gulped down the contents of his goblet and reached for the bottle. “But if I hadn’t acted now, the next attack would have succeeded. When you get shafted repeatedly, your opponent always bringing a bigger stick, punch him hard in the mouth, or kick his teeth in. It’s a small road from a stick, to a blade.”
“We were at the blade part,” Sudi noted, sitting back.
Nattas nodded. “Aye.”
“So, we’re fucked?” Sudi pointed, with a frown.
“It won’t be difficult to realize, who was responsible. They might even know already,” Storm said, working at his injured left hand. “Proving it, is another story. Especially, if they have the fear of repercussions.”
“Who’s they?”
No other people, Maja teased in his mind.
“We will find out. Assume everyone is suspect.”
“Why would Kelholt kill the Heir?” Sudi queried.
“Maybe that wasn’t what he wanted. The marriage breaking apart, wasn’t helpful to him. The opportunity to have a crusade against the Old Gods was.”
“Ain’t these two things opposing each other, chief? You’re saying, it wasn’t him?”
“I’m saying, I don’t know.”
“Who then, if not the priests?”
Storm smacked his lips. “The Khan is happy for sure, but was he the one who ordered it?”
“I’m confused. Who else is out there, chief?”
Nattas sighed and sat back deep in thought. Minutes later, Sudi on his third cup of wine, Storm leaned forward, deep lines on his forehead, his eyes tired. “Wake me up in two hours. Send Maja to Gordian the moment she comes in. Tell her to heal him. We need him alive, whether he talks, or not.”
Sudi smirked, now in familiar territory. “I’ll post a guard outside the bedroom.”
“Keep one next to the Magister, someone you trust,” Storm replied and yawned. “I swear, I’ve slept less than half the days, of this darn forsaken year.”
You could see the sandy beach from the open veranda doors. The palm trees shading a portion of it. Lush green and gold, on a blue backdrop. The floor out of white marble, the rails shaped like small columns outside. A rich man’s estate by the sea. The woman, white hair caught at the nappe, wrinkled face familiar and wearing a long summer robe snuggly, for a female her age, turned her head towards the long hall leading outside and pouted. The walls covered with frescos, showing lewd mermaids caught in the tentacles of a Kraken.
The young man, wiry and tanned, dressed in leather and silk, like a rich adventurer, saw her stare and frowned. Light green-blue eyes, over a square-jaw and handsome face, sporting a well-groomed goatee. His hair dark, with a blond strand on his right temple.
“I was caught in traffic,” He explained, gliding on the floor to reach her. Took her hand to his lips, when he did and kissed it softly at the knuckles. “This smile, just made my day.”
Maja sighed and pulled her hand away.
“Where’s your horse?” She queried. “Didn’t hear it return.”
“Ah, that old thing? Made a deal for it.”
“Was coin involved?”
The young man, thought about it assuming a somber expression.
“Property and Leticia.”
Maja licked her lips and stared at the man sitting outside, a quill in his hand. The bookish man answered, without looking her way, as if sensing her eyes.
“Sounds like a good deal, dear.”
“It’s that whore,” Maja hissed at his nonchalant response. “And that rat-infested dwelling, she calls a brothel!”
“Now, we’re not bigoted in this fine household, darling.”
This is a weird dream, Storm thought.
“Are ye talking to me, while working?” She queried, narrowing her eyes. The young man put a hand on her elbow, slithered it down the forearm and took the dagger away. Flipped it once in his hand and then sheathed it in his leather waistband.
“I’ll need that back,” Maja warned him and he touted. It turned into a chuckle.
“No you don’t. You, are retired,” he raised a ringed index finger between them, to stop her protests. “I know,” the young man droned her favorite mantra. “Once in the Guild, forever in it.”
He turned and walked outside, patting the man writing on the eucalyptus-wood lacquered-white table on the shoulder and chuckling at his frustrated gasp.
“I don’t want you visiting the docks, Silvio,” an old Maja said following after him. “Show me some respect, young man!”
Silvio stopped and with a last glance at the sea lapping at the small beach, turned to look at her upset face.
“I know what I’m doing,” Maja rolled her eyes not buying it, so he sighed and went another way. “I respect you, but you ain’t my mother.”
“What are you doing in the docks?” She asked, this time anger spilling out of her. “I need the truth, young man!”
“Trying to get a ship and crew,” he replied, looking at his expensive boots. “Find myself a Kraken.”
“Metaphorically?” The man asked sounding perturbed, stopping his scribbling. “Surely you’re jesting!”
Maja hang her head in despair. “It’s that stupid mermaid story. Sudi is an old drunken idiot.”
Silvio grinned, as wicked a grin as Nattas had ever seen, or ever imagined and he’d imagined quite a number of weird stuff in his time.
“You look like you stepped in manure,” Secundus explained and Sudi frowned, half his right eyebrow gone, whatever remained white as snow. Storm got out of his reverie, still drowsy from his nap and listened in. Wishing that he hadn’t.
“Just woke up,” he repeated. “I’m still mending. It’s a process.”
“Don’t know about the latter,” Secundus deadpanned, crooking his mouth. “But I’ll give ye the former.”
“Right,” Storm intervened and glanced at the young assassin leading the Guild. “On that note, let’s focus on our prisoner.”
Maja stared at him. “Is everything alright, father?”
“Yes dear,” Storm kept up appearances. “Is he coming about?”
Gordian was his meaning. They had gathered in his cellar, the place packed.
“Give him a minute,” the blond assassin replied.
“Argh,” High Magister Gordian said, groan turning into a rough cough, the second time Sudi slapped him hard in the face. Secundus grabbed him by the shoulder, when he came around and sat him down on a chair, small table in front of him, crude and cleared of bottles and produce minutes earlier. They had to push a lot of stuff to the sides and take the bed Titus had used to sleep outside, in order for them to have enough room to stand on the other side of the table.
“What…” Gordian said, red eyes blinking, dark circles under them, his skin a shade of green and leathery. “Is that you…” He coughed again, the sound cavernous and worrisome and almost got Secundus with a fat blob of phlegm, the lithe man stepping to the side at the last moment. After recovering somewhat the priest of Uher stilled his blue-grey eyes on Storm. “Lord Nattas. What did you do?”
“Ah, but the important thing,” Nattas said evenly, if not a little depreciatively, getting a silk hankie out to wipe his neck and nappe. “Is what did you do, Gordian? The city is in shock.”
“Huh, you fools. What’s this?” Gordian asked, with an uncertain grin, staring at Sudi and Secundus, even Maja. “Let me go. This man will have you all executed, alongside him.”
“Sudi,” Storm said, sounding bored.
“Fingers, chief?” The man queried, looking into a wooden box he’d opened on the floor next to the table, the latter being in the middle of the roomy, but stuffed with large barrels and bottle-stands cellar.
“Ahm, toes… I think. He might need those,” Storm replied and Gordian frowned sitting back on his seat. “Mister Sorex, kindly restrain his torso with the rope for his convenience, afore giving us the room.”
“Aye, milord,” Secundus said and approached a squirming Gordian, now fully awakened.
“Is this some kind of joke? Have you taken leave of your senses, Lord Nattas?” He cried.
Storm disregarded his outburst. “Is there a problem mister Sorex?” He asked seeing the hired-blade scrunching his jaw, this way and that, while working the long rope.
“I should have yer daughter escorted out, milord,” the ex-soldier said apprehensively.
Secundus had a soft spot for the ladies.
“Eh, how about you don’t?” Nattas replied, “My daughter stays.”
“Enough! Lord Nattas, release me right away!” Gordian yelled, more fear in his voice now. Secundus unbothered by his protests, seemed unwilling to let go of the previous topic.
“Milord, if I may speak, it is better for the young Lady to step outside,” he insisted. Maja giggled delighted at that, small dimples forming on her rosy cheeks.
“Mister Sorex, it’s my daughter. I get to tell her what to do. If you’re so inclined to take over her upbringing, you’ll have to marry her, my good man,” Storm explained, hint of razz in his voice, turning into a warning. “Am I to assume, you have your eye on her? Speak then, now is your fucking chance!”
“You’ll rot in jail, or worse! Curse you!” Gordian snapped, but nobody was paying any attention to him.
“I misspoke, Milord,” Secundus said chastised. “I shall take my leave sire.”
“You do that, close the bloody door on your way out,” Storm advised him and frowned sensing Maja’s fingers lace in his. He snatched his hand away and cleared his throat, then eyed the sweating High Magister. “Now, let me repeat my earlier query, dear Gordian. I had to put him in his place. The man is well below her station,” the latter he delivered with a creepy leer. “Well, what was it then? Ah, yes. Gordian, what did you do? Why?” He looked at Maja next and she raised an eyebrow and finished it for him.
“Magister Gordian, the city,” the assassin of the Guild had said. “Is in shock.”
BANG
Followed by a squishy sound, the latter rather disturbing, Storm reluctantly admitted.
“GAARGH!” Gordian wailed miserably and fainted abruptly, his head jerking up, almost toppling the chair backwards, but Maja had kept hold of it with both hands, standing right behind him.
“Darn it,” Sudi cursed, with a grimace of disgust looking at the mess under his heavy iron hammer. “Think I got two o’ them, chief.”
Good grief.
Storm closed his eyes, arms crossed on his chest. “Clean it up, remove the squashed bits away, burn the wound,” he ordered, having been part of the procedure many a times in the past. “Wake him up, after you do.”
“He may not talk,” Maja said, offering Sudi a razor thin knife casually.
“Everyone talks,” Storm replied and she chuckled at that. “He didn’t know you.”
“Or he pretends,” Maja countered. “Or I was looking different then.”
Hmm.
Sudi perked up at that, but pretended in turn that he was focused on his gruesome job.
Nattas cleared his throat, the cellar hot and smelling of mold, sweat and urine.
“Wine?” He offered and everyone seemed to favor his proposal.
“Cut me an onion as well,” Maja asked and he stared at her surprised. “I’m famished,” she explained, pushing a blond curl let loose from her bun, behind her ear.
“I can order something better from Mercos,” Storm said.
“Nah, I’m on a diet dear,” Maja deadpanned and that was that.
Sirio Veturius was shaking like a leaf, so Storm had to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. The young man, found a wall of the hall outside the cellar and put his back on it, face sweaty and flustered.
“What if they find out?”
“They won’t,” Nattas told him. “We are at the crossroads, my friend.”
“They are looking for him. Half the city guard out searching, the Legion patrolling the streets, the King had an order plastered everywhere and everything. A reward is offered.”
“How big?” Storm asked calmly.
“A hundred gold Eagles,” Sirio said. “You should have kept Secundus and the bodyguards here, my Lord.”
Alistair could have waited a bit, Storm thought sourly.
“Ah, mister Sorex will make sure, everyone is on the same page.”
“Will you turn him in?” Sirio asked with a frown.
“For the amount?” Storm asked. “I suppose, I could. Give the coin to charity, or something. On second thought, I have a daughter to look after. All this charity stuff is naught but a con.”
“He’ll talk. This won’t end well.”
“Sirio, my good man. Let me finish my thought,” Storm said. “This is a crossroads. In politics, or in my line of work, when people want you dead, or out of the game, you either comply and you’re gone, or you inconvenience them. Make it ruinous for them to continue. Had I not reacted, I was as good as dead. Next time it would be funds missing, or the fact I’m not favorably inclined to the current Pantheon.”
“You’re not?” Sirio queried and Storm offered him his hankie to wipe his face.
“Breathe. Calm yourself down,” he advised. “What was the alternative? Run away, hmm? Like your ancestor?”
Sirio cleared his throat. “He was betrayed.”
“You think I would’ve been spared the embarrassment? These people have an agenda, if they are allowed to continue, the Realm will suffer.”
“The greater good,” Sirio said, breathing deeply.
“Don’t be a fool,” Storm admonished him. “There’s no such thing. There’s better and worse options in life, but you get to pick out of a bucket full of shit.”
“Every book, needs embellishment,” the young man droned, trying to convince himself and Storm patted him on the back.
“Not all words, make it into history,” Nattas added and looked into his eyes meaningfully. “They shouldn’t.”
Sirio nodded, licked his lips and glanced at the closed cellar’s door, the screams coming out of it horrifying and inhuman.
“You have… a daughter, my Lord,” he asked, unsure. “Is this true? You’ve told me she was a murderer, why lie?”
“It was half a lie.”
“I don’t understand. Why keep her a secret? People were assuming…”
Storm stepped back and looked at the thin bookish man for a long moment. A small smile crept up on his face, while he did.
“What is a title, mister Veturius, if people don’t accept it?” He asked him. “What is a contract, if the parties involved won’t honor it?”
“Just words,” Sirio murmured, with a frown. “On a piece of paper.”
“I want you to write down a confession,” Storm continued with a smirk. “Would you like to hear it, right from the source?”
Sirio gulped down, looking uncomfortable.
“I’m not sure, I’m cut out for this, Lord Nattas,” he whispered.
“Nobody is,” Storm replied, his smile turning sad. “Not when they begin. Most people are sheep and they don’t know it. You live and you die. The manner being the only difference. In the end, few get to choose my friend. The chance coming and going, in the blink of an eye.”
Sirio stared at him, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“I know too much,” he croaked, but Storm said nothing, just kept looking at him. “Now I know how my ancestor felt.”
“He made the wrong decision,” Nattas reminded him patiently. “Got nothing out of it and died screaming.”
Come on kid, step through the finish line.
“I hate blood,” Sirio blurted out, a little ashamed.
“I won’t hold it against you,” Nattas deadpanned. “I did as well, for a time.”
“I may faint, my Lord,” the young man replied, blushing like a virgin. “Do not be alarmed.”
Storm had Maja standing next to him, just in case.
A wise precaution, as it turned ugly.
“Speak you miserable buffoon!” Storm snarled, veins popping on his neck and drenched in sweat. Sudi slapped Gordian, the man’s face swollen, eyes bloodshot and lips split in several places. His right leg was covered in bloody bandages, not a toe left attached on it, alike his left and he’d three fingers missing on his left hand.
“He’s running out of dangling parts,” His man noted, wiping his bloody hands and putting down the blunted knife. I should buy him a butcher’s apron at some point, Storm decided.
“Hear that?” Storm asked Gordian, the man barely conscious.
“Please… have mercy, for the love of Uher!” He begged hoarsely, but Nattas banged on the table, blood splattering, severed fingers dancing on it, one falling down, amidst the squashed bits of flesh that were once perfectly fine toes. Storm glanced at the white-faced Sirio, the young man on the verge of collapsing again and frowned.
“You have plenty of skin left, the way I see it,” he warned the injured magister, steel in his voice. “Mister Sudi?”
“Aye, Chief. Just let me get the other tool,” his man replied and stooped into his wooden box to riffle through its contents.
“Wait! Curse you…” Gordian gasped, a cough almost doubling him over, but for the fact he was tied up tight. “You vile fiend! What kind of dark creature—”
“Mister Sudi, hurry it up, if you please,” Storm hissed. “I’m running out of patience and frankly, I’m quite famished.”
“No… stop him!” Gordian snapped, panic breaking through, the pain well-above his limit, eyes ogling and tearing up. “I’ll… talk. May you burn in Uher’s hells, Nattas! You… miserable piece of crap! A degenerate thug! In the King’s council!”
“Ah, you’re wasting your breath, dear Gordian,” Storm retorted. “I’m thick skinned and an infidel. Now, let’s have the truth, shall we?”
Gordian nodded with a look of despair when he realized, he couldn’t move his arms, the skin blueish and swollen.
“Who ordered the Heir assassinated?” Storm asked him again. “You better talk, I’m of the mind to have him cut your cock off, just because it’s wasted on you. Work on the skin later.”
Gordian shuddered, a shell of himself and tried to look towards Maja and Sirio with pleading eyes. The assassin reached in her many sheaths, found a curved skinning knife and got it out. Flipped it once in her hand and then run her tongue on it suggestively.
Fuck, Storm thought. That’s creepy as all hells!
The priest of Uher obviously of the same mind.
“We had nothing… it wasn’t us,” he blurted out, almost relieved, but still in great discomfort. The man had a great level of tolerance, Storm decided. He had to give him that.
“Names, Gordian!”
“The priesthood… we’d never harm the Heir. He loved the kid!”
“Kelholt? How about Lady Silvie?”
“Of course… that was horrible.”
“You did stage the insurrection,” Storm noted, a little disappointed.
“A protest! Never supposed to go that far, for heaven’s sake! Argh! I’m in great pain… please, I can’t feel my hands.”
“It’s for the better,” Storm reassured him. “You don’t want feeling returning there, trust me. Now, who was in on it?”
“The order came from Kelholt and Lord Ravn.”
The Est Ravns’ of Midlanor?
“A protest,” Storm repeated, thinking it through.
“Aye… gods I’m hurting… can I have some water?”
“What is Uher’s Light?”
“Argh… I’ve no idea! Kelholt… please some water…”
“Who gave the order to have me killed?” Storm queried next, nodding to Sudi to fetch him a carafe of water.
Storm was thirsty as a mule crossing the Alden Sands.
“There was a man. He suggested it,” Gordian said, his teeth rattling. “Sir Reus used him to organize the team to stir up trouble. Ah… can’t remember his name. A Lorian… not local.”
Storm glanced towards Maja and she returned his stare. The cold eyes of a killer, on a cute face. Her beauty a skin she wore, to hide her real appearance.
“Where’s he?” He hissed, turning to Gordian.
“I don’t know… probably died in the attack.”
“What did he look like?” Storm snarled, stooping over the table.
Gordian grimaced in pain. Shook his head, eyes unfocused and dark.
“Just a man… a silent thug. Half his face painted white… what does it matter? People hate you, Nattas. You’re a god darn monster!”
Storm took a deep breath and stepped away from the table. He walked to where Sirio stood, next to an expressionless Maja and looked in his pale face. “You have the confession?” He asked him simply.
“Yes, I do. How did you know, what he was going to say?” Sirio asked him and Storm answered him, now looking in the assassin’s face.
“I followed the thread,” he said and accepted the large scroll the young man offered him. Walking back to the table and the heavy breathing, probably dying from blood loss High Magister, he grimaced and wiped the sweat off his brow. “I need your signature on this, Gordian. My men will take good care of you, after you do.”
“What about Lord Ravn?” Sirio asked and Storm stopped and put a hand on his chest forcing him to stop. He glanced at the palace guard, watching them under his conned helm and grimaced, in the pretense of a smile.
“You heard it,” he said simply.
“I did.”
“We will use it, if the need arises, not in front of anyone else, but the King.”
Sirio cleared his throat, some of the color returning to his face. Storm noticed he’d brushed his hair back and he smelled of soap.
“You wish to leave him the option,” the young man said, just as the herald announced them.
“That is correct, my friend,” Storm replied, assuming a troubled, but respectful look appropriate for the venue. “Always leave room to those on top, when the alternative is war. Else our words might turn into a problem worth fixing.”
“Ah, Lord Nattas,” King Alistair snarled from his throne, ever in the best of moods, the Queen sitting on her smaller one next to him. “A busy day, I hope.”
“I spared no time to come here, my King,” Nattas replied with a sharp curtsy. “I have news.”
“Give us the room,” The King ordered, Miranda staring at Storm’s eyes looking for a clue. She looks worried, he thought. A high crime.
“I’m warning you Nattas,” Alistair said, standing up, when everyone was led outside with little fanfare. “I’ve heard some conflicting reports.”
“Is to be expected, in lieu of what I have uncovered, your Grace.”
Alistair frowned, thick grey brows meeting in the middle of his forehead.
“Dear, if you please.”
“I wish to hear what he has to say, my King,” Miranda replied.
“We will have guests on the morrow,” Alistair reminded her patiently. “Given the state of the city, we might want to keep them inside. They are not the easiest people to please.”
Nattas frowned.
“Dignitaries, your Grace?” He asked, before he could control himself. “Has the High King send word?”
“Crows, Lord Nattas,” the King replied, looking at him. “Are gracing us with a visit,” and seeing Storm didn’t get it, the shocked look on his face giving him away, he added with a grunt. “De Weer decided to see the Realm, afore he dies. The fact he hasn’t already, an affront to the gods.”
Lord Ruud, was his meaning.
Now this, Storm thought, glancing at the shivering Sirio, still prostrated before the King of Regia. Is a genuine surprise.
Never a good thing, when you’re in mid of covering up, murdering a couple of hundred people with a false confession.
