Home, Siege Home

by Eric Ugland

  Snow started to fall in thick, fluffy flakes. I started moving a little quicker, thinking the snow might make it harder to hear me. It wouldn’t be a long walk to the road that cut though my lands from the Royal Road. Half an hour, I guessed. When I arrived, I stopped right next to the road, and knelt in some bushes just as I heard the unmistakable sound of horse hooves crashing against the ground.

  Sure enough, a moment later, a horse thundered by. The rider had on livery I didn’t recognize, and his cloak streamed out behind him. The horse was really hoofing it, and the guy was so far gone I couldn’t hear him.

  Something had to be happening. A messenger? What kind of message would need to be delivered in person in this world?

  At the moment, it wasn’t important. I checked once more, then darted across the road, sliding to a stop in the dark underbrush.

  I waited, paranoid most likely, worried someone might have seen me. Or that someone might be coming.

  But nothing and no one was there.

  Walking through the trees, I kept lower than I probably needed, but I wanted to stay out of sight. Just in case. Another twenty minutes, and I came to a large cleared area. Not just a large area, multiple large areas on either side of the road going all the way up to the tunnel we’d cut through the mountains to Coggeshall. At the tunnel, there were some spiky walls built up, about four or so feet high and manned by several soldiers. There were braziers lit quite a ways into the tunnel, and plenty of fires along the spikes to keep the soldiers warm. One side of the road held long square tents that looked somewhat disheveled. There were rows of the things, going a remarkable distance. Plenty of space for an army. Two huge square tents, each one several hundred feet long, were closest to the road.

  On the other side, sandwiched between the road and the river, were the nice tents. Very clearly where the nobles were. These were mostly smaller, but it looked like they were significantly cleaner. And individual. Or, I guessed, these were the tents for each knight and his coterie of helpers. There were small pennants flapping in the cold wind, each one denoting the man or woman who was in the tent. Plenty of lions and bears, a few dragons, and as always in Vuldranni, a cohort of animals I couldn’t identify.

  Down close to where I was, a large open field had been cleared, where hundreds of horses wearing thick blankets lazed about. There was a split log fence around the whole pasture, as well as two tents I figured had to contain the grooms. It made me wish I had the means to contact Fritz. A land shark in with the horses? That’d be a beautiful sight to see. Magical. And by magical, I also mean horrific. It’d be a slaughter. That made me wonder where the fuck Fritz had fucked off to. I hadn’t seen him in a hot minute.

  On the edge of the horse pasture, near the river, were various camp workshops. A trio of blacksmiths were easy to identify, what with the fires burning and the anvils out front. It looked like they were getting started early, stoking their forges. Some younger folk did grunt work around the place.

  It was also pretty easy to identify Caticorix’s tent, given the pennants waving atop the massive tent in the center of all the pretty ones. There was no obvious signs pointing to a prison, though. But given that Northwoods was a lord, I had the feeling he’d be amongst the knights and nobles.

  There were only guards around two tents. One was Caticorix’s, and the other was a smaller tent with no fire inside, no smoke coming out the top. Either it was an empty tent guarded for some particular reason, or it was where our prisoner was being held.

  There were other guards around, sentries and whatnot. They moved mostly in twos, patrolling the open spaces between tents. But there wasn’t any regularity to it, not in a pattern I could recognize at least. It looked like I had to wing it.

  I moved a little quicker around the fence line of the horse paddock, realizing that, one, dawn had to be coming up if the blacksmiths were about to start working, and two, if the blacksmiths were about to start working, I’d have plenty of noise to cover my movement.

  The horses ignored me. I guess I looked enough like a human, or like their humans, that I bored them. Or, you know, they were asleep. My knowledge of horses was limited to, well, it was very limited. Either way, I went around the fence line until I got to the edge of the river without causing a stir.

  Given the time of year, the river was flowing slower than during the summer. I slid down the bank until one foot was in the water and then stopped, crouching low enough that I was in danger of getting a wet crotch. It wasn’t a steep bank — if I stood up, I’d be looking at the feet of the horses in their pen. But keeping down meant staying out of sight, so I essentially crawled along the bank of the river. I moved at a snail’s pace until I got to the spot where I thought the tent would be. Or at least as close to that as I could get and stay by the river. There weren’t any guards posted at the river, so I wanted to stay along it as long as possible.

  There were six tents between myself and the one I thought Northwoods was in. I approached the first one, keeping to the shadows as best I could. Then I put my ear up to the rough canvas, and heard someone snoring. Two someones. I slid the ring onto the canvas, and took a peek. Two figures on two cots. They had their armor on stands, weapons put away, everything nice and neat. A small fire burned in the center of the tent. Everything about the inside of the tent looked thought out and well put together. It was certainly a nicer interior than my own home, even if it was only temporary.

  Despite the temptation to slice through the tent’s wall and dice up the occupants, these were not the men I was looking for.

  I ducked under one of the ropes holding the tent up, and moved around until I got the edge of a shadow. I waited there in the quasi-darkness as two men walked along the muddy path tucked between the tents. They stopped, and I feared the worst, wondering if I needed to fight. But:

  Cool Beans, you’ve leveled up the skill Stealth.

  They didn’t see me. Something else I probably wouldn’t have had concrete knowledge of back in the world. Another bonus for having all the game stuff.

  One of them produced a small medical flask. There was a bit of quiet chatting.

  Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, Carchedonian.

  Well fuck, I thought. These weren’t imperials. Maybe I didn’t need to feel that bad, you know, murdering them. They were the enemy.

  I fingered the dagger hanging on my belt, and really gave some consideration to starting a massacre.

  “Smells like goblin shit around here,” one of the two men said.

  “All Imperials smell that way,” the other countered.

  Chuckles. They took a few pulls from the flask, then stamped their feet.

  “Too cold in this fucking place,” one said to the other.

  The other was too busy blowing on his hands to reply, but he nodded and then they resumed walking.

  Next tent, same general story. Two people inside, a small fire, everything perfectly arranged.

  I wished for some sort of view from the air, just so I could get a better picture of where the guards were patrolling. Or soldiers. Were they considered soldiers or guards? Did it matter? Why was I bothering to debate semantics while sneaking around an enemy camp trying to pull off a rather troublesome prison escape? I punched myself in the thigh and tried to get my head back in the game.

  There weren’t any signs of guards — I didn’t hear anything or see anything — so I darted from tent to tent until I was at the last stop, and put the ring up against the only other guarded tent.

  It was mostly empty. There were no lights inside, no fire pit, nothing to indicate even the slightest bit of comfort. However, there were a few chests around the perimeter, heavy wooden things banded with thick iron and kept shut with massive metal locks.

  I pulled the dagger from its sheath, slid it into the canvas, and cut a new door. Stepping through, the air inside was acrid, unpleasant. Like an unwashed man who’d been unable to use a restroom was in there. Bit like the walkways under bridges in Central Park.
>
  I noticed a figure sleeping on the straw in the middle. He had a distinctive wheeze, as if he were either woefully out of shape, or sick. I stepped over the large chest, and, moving as quietly as I could, I knelt next to the figure to get a look at his face.

  Northwoods.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  He looked like shit. I mean, Northwoods wasn’t the best looking man to begin with — he weighed more than he should, he didn’t have the best teeth, and his nose looked like it had been broken a number of times but not always reset. But looking at him sleeping now, things were markedly worse. He had significant bruising over his face. The poor bastard had been worked over. And as someone who used to be a professional worker-over-er, the working over was done by someone well versed in their craft. He wasn’t wearing much in the way of clothes, certainly nothing in the way of armor. His hair was matted with both straw and small creatures. Which, you know, likely meant the straw was filled with small creatures, and I began to itch all over. There was no way the little bugs had infested me that quickly, but it’s amazing how fast the mind will work.

  I pulled a healing potion from my bag as quietly as I could, but then I paused. I had little experience with healing potions, considering they weren’t exactly necessary for my own usage. I knew the basics: you know, drink it, watch miracles happen, that sort of thing. But I wondered if it was possible to use the potions in a more spot-fix manner. So instead of trying to force the liquid down the man’s throat, I gently poured a bit over his face.

  For a moment, it looked like it was a bust, that I’d just gotten him wet. But then the liquid absorbed a bit, and I watched a remarkably quick transformation. His bruises faded, some of his bones shifted slightly, and the grotesque swelling disappeared. He looked back to almost good. His breathing was still pretty ragged, but I figured that was something that could be handled by ingesting some potion rather than bathing in it.

  I clamped my hand over his mouth and gave the man a good shake.

  His eyes snapped open. Like, wide open, and he screamed a muffled yawp.

  “Shhh,” I said. “We’re being sneaky.”

  He shut up, but his eyes were definitely in the crazy spectrum.

  “I am going to take my hand away, but you need to not make any noise, okay?” I asked.

  A mild nod.

  I moved my hand.

  “Do you know me?” I asked.

  “I cannot see,” he replied.

  “Ah, yeah.”

  “But I recognize your voice. Are you, uh, Duke Coggeshall?”

  “That’s me.”

  He struggled to sit up, but then started coughing.

  I pushed the healing potion into his hands.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “Healing.”

  He drank the potion down, and he sighed, laying back down on the hay.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Why are you here?”

  “Your daughter wanted me to ask you over for dinner.”

  He chuckled.

  “You’ve got better plans?” I asked.

  “I appreciate your invitation, but I seem to be a bit busy at the moment.”

  “You think I can’t get you out of here?”

  “I admit to knowing little about you, Duke Coggeshall, but I do know quite a bit about this camp we are in and the man who runs it. You will have a challenge leaving here.”

  “Maybe,” I said, patting his thigh. “But that’s where the fun is.”

  I pulled the blankets from his body, and saw where Northwood’s doubts might have been coming from. His ankles were chained together. I shook my head, and grabbed either bracelet. I pulled.

  “What are you doing?” He asked, trying to pull away.

  I shook my head, not really realizing he couldn’t see that motion, and I tightened my grip and redoubled my efforts. There was a very slight groan, and then a pop as a chain link shot off.

  “What are you?” he asked quietly.

  “Can you move?”

  “Yes. I think.”

  I helped him to his feet, and he swayed a bit. He grabbed onto one of the supports for the tent. I, meanwhile, looked at the contents of the tent. Chests. With big locks.

  “Any idea what’s in these chests?” I whispered.

  “Payroll.”

  “No shit,” I said, suddenly much more interested in what was around.

  “It is a shame they are so heavy,” Northwoods said, “losing this would make things very difficult for Caticorix.”

  Some grumbling came from the guards outside. I worried they’d heard us chatting.

  I put a finger up to my lips, but Northwoods was quicker. He dropped back down to the hay and pulled his blanket up over him. I stepped over Northwoods, and put my back against the tent wall right next to the door the guards would come through.

  A hand reached in and pulled the hanging door out of the way. A small lantern was pushed inside, the flickering light sending shadows dancing every which way.

  “You hear things,” a voice said.

  An ugly mug pushed through — the kind of face even a mother would hate — and he peered around.

  “I tell you,” Ugly said in a raspy tone, “I heard voices.”

  “He is broken and sleeping,” the other guard replied. “Let me just finish this stupid shift and go for a tumble with the ladies.”

  “Then go,” Ugly snapped. “I will cover the rest of your stinking shift if it means I no longer have to listen to your exaggerated tales of your—”

  “They are no exaggerations. My penis is—”

  “Go.”

  There was some laughter, and then the sound of someone walking away.

  The head peeked inside one more time, and I had a terrible idea.

  I grabbed my bag of holding, opened it wide, and then pulled it over Ugly.

  The man disappeared, lantern and all. I let the door close.

  “Get up,” I hissed. “Time to motor.”

  “Motor?”

  “Move quickly.”

  He nodded, and began the laborious process of getting to his feet again.

  I chose to start loading all the chests into my bag. One. Two. Three. I stopped counting because there was no point to it. There were plenty of chests. And they were heavy. Heavy chests meant lots of coin for me, and lots of problems for Caticorix. As I dumped the last chest into my bag, I thought of something I should have realized at the beginning: these fuckwits had to have plenty of food, enough to feed an army larger than my town.

  Northwoods slipped out through the slit I’d made. I followed right behind.

  “You know where the food is stored?” I whispered.

  “I do, but why?”

  “I need to resupply.”

  “You are thinking with your stomach at a moment like this?”

  “I used to always think with my stomach, but I’m much improved in that regard. Right now I’m thinking of how painful it’s going to be if this asshole has no money and no food.”

  “How will you take his food?”

  “With my grubby little hands.”

  Chapter Fifty

  After explaining to Northwoods the barest bones of my plans, Northwoods was frantic in asking me to also make a visit to the main tent, to snag a book from Caticorix.

  “A book?” I asked.

  “It is of vital importance,” Northwoods professed. “I cannot leave without it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the book’s import.”

  “Yeah, got that part. Why is it important?”

  “Must you know the reason?”

  “I would like to know why I’m risking my life for it, yes.”

  “Are you aware of the magic which allows two individuals to communicate over long distances?”

  “Oh, it’s that sort of book.”

  “Yes. It is that sort of book. And the man on the other side of the page, he is one of the most powerful men in the Empire, someone who listens to my council. Should C
aticorix, or the man behind Caticorix, find this out, the damage they might do to the Empire is… it would be bad. Very bad.”

  “Dude. Saving you isn’t enough?”

  He shook his head. “Were I to choose between myself and that book, I would ask you save the book.”

  You have been offered a quest Lord Northwoods:

  The Book Score

  Lord Northwoods has requested you retrieve his book from the tent of Caticorix.

  Reward for success: (unknown), XP

  Penalty for failure (or refusal): (unknown)

  Yes/No

  “Fuck me,” I said, looking down at the mud. I knew I’d say yes. I barely ever said no. “You know where the book is?”

  “It’s in his tent,” Northwoods replied with half a smile. “Blue book, about three inches thick. Scent of the Sea. A tawdry tale if you can bear to read it, but that is just for shock value. To keep prying eyes out.”

  I escorted Northwoods down to the riverbank, and then directed him along the edge, telling him to get past the horse field and wait for me there. He’d pointed out the larger tents on either side of the road. One was the mess for the nobles, as well as the officers of the mercenary army, while the other was the spot for the common folk. While Northwoods crawled along the muddy bank, I decided it was time I found out what happened when you put living creatures into bags of holding.

  Spoilers — it’s not pretty.

  Northwoods’ former guard came out dead. Which was about what I’d expected. It didn’t seem to be a particularly violent death, but an expiration nonetheless. I stripped the armor from him, and the clothes that weren’t soiled, and then I kicked the body into the river. I put his clothes and armor on, and tried my best to look like I wasn’t wearing something two to three sizes too small.

  I walked into the camp and strode along the path towards the kitchen and the mess hall for the nobles. I passed by other guards, but I didn’t deign to look at them, and they dutifully got out of my way.