by A. D. Wills
“Who the fuck just threw that?” He said, already red in the face.
No one in the Inn said a word. They looked down, trying their best to appear normal, but they all looked guilty out of fear.
“Huh? Who was it!?” He stood up, and the other guard followed suit.
“If no one answers, we'll just go through every one of you, and make sure you share the punishment,” the other guard added with a sneering smile.
The two guards scanned over everyone in the room, and spotted the two parents shaking over their daughter, clutching her in close.
“Sorry, it was me,” Caden spoke up, cutting through the weighing tension. "I'm new here, so I'm not really sure what your food fight policy is.”
“That so?” The one guard raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, my bad,” Caden didn't flinch, and took a step toward the accusing guard.
The guard's bald head pulsed, his veins popping out when looking down at Caden's face—chin up in the air, without a shred of fear in his eyes in defiance.
The other guard circled around, and hit Caden in the back of the head, sending him crashing onto the stone ground, barely managing to stick his arms out to avoid smashing his face in.
Both of them kicked Caden lurched over on the ground on all fours, but he didn't budge. He didn't fall on the ground. He clenched both his scraped fists, taking their barrage of rib-cracking kicks, and braced himself through the pain while everyone inside watched on.
Zasha watched on, cold and dead-eyed. She refused to take her eyes off of Caden, and watched every sickening blow thud into him.
The guard hit by the piece of bread took his whip out, and slapped it down onto the ground. “Rip his shirt off!”
The other guard obliged with a wide smile, ripping the back of Caden's shirt wide open.
Without so much as a moment to brace for impact, the guard cracked down three whips in rapid succession, cutting into Caden's bloodied back.
Caden dug his elbows into the unforgiving stone floor, clenching down on his teeth, and widening his eyes until the guard got his fill with a couple more punishing cracks of the whip.
“This little shit ruined my appetite for some drinks.” The guard swiped at the two full pints, spilling them all over Caden, the alcohol stinging in his open wounds.
The two guards left the Inn, laughing it up to one another on their way out, while everyone else watched Caden with shocked faces. The foamy ale poured over him, dripping onto the floor with a few drops of blood from his lashings.
Taking a deep breath, swallowing down the agonizing pain, Caden slowly pushed himself up to his feet, dripping wet with stale ale. When he looked over at the parents, their child had a teary eyed look, sobbing to herself while watching Caden.
“You didn't do anything wrong,” Caden said to the child. “This is nothing. Don't worry about me.” Caden flashed the same bright smile he always would. Dirtied, and beaten.
Zasha and Chryssa made their way over, noticing Caden's wobbly legs, despite his feigned smile, and slung him over their shoulders to carry him back.
◆◆◆
Snillrik and Sappo were hard at work, constructing some kind of launcher with the sparse parts available to them. Old half-rotted planks of wood, some rusty metal beams, and whatever scraps they scrounged up. Snillrik was adamant about having it be constructed in parts they can put together on the night of, so it can rest flat on the roof without giving rise to any suspicion.
Despite the lack of quality materials, Snillrik managed to draw something up, and thanks to Sappo's immense strength in shaping the metal just as best anyone could, it started to take shape.
“So, do you think this is going to work?” Sappo asked, a little shaky and unsure looking at the device taking shape; the makeshift metal tube, and some wooden supports.
“In theory, yes, but there isn't any time to test it, and put it through any proper trials. Truthfully, we won't find out if it works as planned until tomorrow night,” Snillrik offered up, but their words weren't all that assuring to Sappo.
Sappo nodded along, but it didn't seem like he was actually all too concerned with the weapon's progress. His gaze has been averting away all afternoon, going in and out of focus, and Snillrik noticed it.
“Is there something in particular on your mind Sappo?” Snillrik asked through an awkward clearing of their throat, while fiddling around an intricate little cage to place the glynt.
Sappo hesitated for a moment. “Are you ready to do something like this?”
“I'm not quite sure what you mean,” Snillrik wondered, biting down on their tongue, focusing to carefully place the cage inside an opening in the side of the tube.
“Sorry, what I'm trying to say is, I'm just someone who wants to be a cook after all. I knew we were going to travel all around, and Caden warned me about this too...but I don't know if I'm right for this. I mean, Caden just brought me along as a chef. I can't fight, and I can't think of all these plans like you do either. I just don't want all of this to fall apart because of me, because ever since we got here, I've felt so out of place.”
“While I appreciate that you think of me in such a high regard, I'm far from being certain about my role here as well.” Snillrik turned their undivided attention Sappo's way.
“You're the one who came up with this whole plan though.” Sappo was surprised to hear Snillrik expressing any nerves, and insecurities at all.
“I couldn't have done any of this without any of you. Caden and Zasha bringing the guard back, Chryssa leading us to get the city plans in the first place, and do you think I could bend this metal into shape on my own? And I'm not so sure why you think of your skill as any lesser than ours, as if eating proper meals is of no contribution. Much like any given trinket and all its intricate parts, we have our own roles to play. Without any one of them, the circuit of commands falls apart. No one action is any less than the others when they all require one another to work.”
“Thanks, Snill..." Was all Sappo mustered to mutter out behind a voice filled with cracking emotion.
It might not have seemed much for anyone on the outside, but it took everything for Sappo to speak up, and open up. Something that's been eating at him in the back of his mind all this time, a seed of doubt planted by his father worming through any confident thought that might otherwise grow in its place.
Sappo felt much more at ease now, and continued helping Snillrik with everything he needed until they managed to come away with a suitable makeshift launcher. Two wooden stands that would be attached at either side during the night of the raid, prop the crude, heavy metal launcher upright while a shoddy wooden crank is used to change the trajectory.
But shortly after finishing, they heard a rough stumble downstairs into Chryssa's home.
“Did you hear that?” Sappo asked, worried and wondering if they were guards.
Snillrik held their finger up for now to stay quiet, and listen in case.
“Lay down face-flat over there, and don't move,” Chryssa's voice reached up to the rooftop.
Snillrik, and Sappo climbed down the rickety small ladder, and upon turning around, saw Caden's bloody beaten back, and the already deep purple bruising on his ribs.
“What happened!?” Sappo rushed over to look.
“It's fine, don't worry about it,” Caden turned his head to Sappo, and tried sitting up.
“Lay down.” Zasha pushed her hand down on the back of Caden's head holding him in place. “He challenged a couple of guards, and had to take the punishment he sought out in the first place.”
“Guards? You challenged some guards!? Do they know about us? Are we found out?” Sappo rattled off in a panic.
“We're fine, relax,” Zasha assured Sappo with a cold cut in.
“Can one of you go into the bedroom, go under the bed, and get the case sitting there?” Chryssa asked, rolling up her sleeves.
Snillrik nodded, and ran into the room, leaning down to spot the case. He yanked it out, a
nd tossed it down in front of Chryssa who popped it open, revealing an array of healing supplies.
“I can heal this up, but it's not going to be pretty,” Chryssa cringed at the bloody grooves in Caden's back.
“No worries, it's fine, just patch it up and I'll be good for tomorrow,” Caden didn't seem fazed at all by the pain.
Chryssa uncorked a phial of yellow liquid that immediately filled the room with its pungent toxic scent, and poured it all over Caden's back.
Caden snapped his head back, eyes widened and watering—screaming out as loud as possible before Zasha covered his mouth so as to not alert anyone potentially passing by.
“Sorry, it won't sting much longer, but this will close your wounds up for now.” Chryssa watched Caden's skin slowly heal in a cauterizing effect “It's not a permanent fix though, only the Omori Shaman can really do that kind of healing. Think of it more as an extra bandage, but this will help for now...before they reopen.”
Caden settled down the more he became numb to the searing stinging shooting throughout his body. Once Chryssa dressed his wounds, she sat him up, and wrapped bandages all around his ribs.
Sappo and Snillrik couldn't believe Caden would be ready for tomorrow night. He could hardly hold his arms up above his head while Chryssa treated him. As much as he tried playing it off, Caden wasn't fooling any of them with how bad his condition really is right now.
“Should we maybe wait a few more days to heal?” Sappo asked.
“We can't risk sitting on this. Like the guard said in his questioning, Workal already knows we're here. The second he catches wind of anything happening, we won't stand a chance. All our advantages, as slim as they are, would be gone,” Zasha explained.
“It was worth a try I guess,” Sappo let out a tired breath.
“Yeah we'll be fine, and besides, we've got old man Grumli helping us out now.” Caden shone a smile through his cold sweat laden face.
“Then he agreed to aid us?” Snillrik asked the others just to make sure.
“He was a little unsure at first, but he's in. To be honest, I'm not really sure how many he'll be able to round up, but at least he's going to try,” Chryssa clung onto the faint hope. “It's still only a day to get ready after all.”
“We'll do with what we have tomorrow. Either way, I'm taking Workal's head, with or without this place's help.”
“Workal's mine,” Caden defied.
“You don't even stand a chance against some guards, don't get full of yourself,” Zasha scoffed.
“I know I can kick his ass!” Caden shouted, before seizing up as his wounds stretched, threatening to tear open.
“Just sit!” Chryssa pushed him down. “You'll be able to make it through tomorrow, but only if you rest for now. Everything's taken care of, so just wait.”
Caden conceded, laying down on his stomach to let his back heal up.
Now they wait and hope Grumli pulls through, and see just who will stand with them tomorrow.
Chapter 23: Divine
Down in the quarry, Workal stewed above in his posh little hut. Everything inside was a class above everything else in Qwayke with its polished floors, and walls that shined as if little crystals were embedded inside, and custom made furniture crafted for Workal's massive body to comfortably sit in. But even with all of these comforts, Workal looked on edge. When he would usually have a twisted smile of enjoyment watching the villagers down below, he stared out the window with nervous twitchy eyes.
“Sir, I'm sure there is nothing to worry about. Lord Divine Judocus will contact you soon as promised.” Angren, Workal's right hand man and capable lieutenant, tried to ease Workal's stress as he usually would in his unwavering fealty. His long flowing red hair was beautifully terrifying, as if it were soaked in the blood of his enemies, and snake-like green eyes that slithered around with every shifting gaze.
“Shut up will you? Go and make yourself useful—make sure those fucking peons are hard at work." Workal shooed Angren away in disgusted, stressed annoyance.
“Very well, sir.” Angren bowed, hand clutching the top of his buckled rapier, and took his leave to stand outside of Workal's door.
Once Angren left, Workal made his way over to a dark oaken table, turning his sights down to a small disc trinket securely set down. He couldn't take his eyes off it, demented, obsessed, and infuriated just from the silent sight of it.
“Damn him, making me wait on pins and needles like this, knowing I've been expecting him to check in...” Workal muttered in sweaty frustration—dabbing the beads off with a towel—before he was cut off by the disc shooting open, and revealing a projection in front of him. “L-Lord Judocus, a pleasure as always, an honor really.”
From an unknown location, Divine Lord Judocus sat on a solid gold throne, with an array of rare glowing jewels speckled around its trim, wearing the fanciest of fluffy purple garments to top off his pompous good looks. A snide smarmy smirk that never seemed to fade, clear blue eyes, and a smooth face that looked untouched, perfect and ageless.
As usual, Cerros and another masked Divine Knight stood on either side of his throne with stern looks of superiority looking down upon Workal, a lowly grunt in their eyes that was worth very little, but one that should be tolerated so long as Lord Judocus allows it.
“While Verdain might enjoy this groveling of yours, I would rather get the information promised to me, and spend as little time as I possibly can with you,” Lord Judocus in all his snobby tone, sneered at Workal. “Well, go on then. I haven't the time to waste on the likes of you for very long, Workal, please spare me any needless semantics and pleasantries."
“Forgive me, your magnificence, I was so caught up in wondering just where to start,” Workal awkwardly played off, his shaky eyes terrified of miffing Judocus even a little. “As requested, I have narrowed down where the relic is, my Lord—my Divine Lord. However, the villagers have proven to be completely useless in retrieving it from the depths of the dungeon, so it'll take some more time until I'm able to bestow it upon your greatness.”
“Then fetch it yourself you useless dolt,” Lord Judocus immediately suggested. “You can milk every last drop of torment you wish out of those miserable villagers, if you so please, but I will not have your personal pleasures delay what I sent you there for in the first place. Do you understand me?”
“I assure you, there has been progress made here, I promise you will soon see—”
“Hold your tongue you disgusting, worthless worm. I don't recall allowing you to pitch your little pity piece to me” Lord Judocus visibly twitched, snapping at Workal who cowered and shriveled up in fealty. “You have been just about as useful as the filthy swine you have been using. Honestly, you may as well be down in the quarry working among them, perhaps more might get done in the end if you would.”
“Of course my Lord, I was out of line, forgive me,” Workal pleaded, dreading what might be in store if he misspoke again. After all, he's seen for himself what's happened to those Lord Judocus had grown tired and bored of. Death would be an escape compared to the cruel horrors Workal's seen.
“I want you to report back in two days that you have the relic. Afterwards, you can do whatever it is you do there to your heart's content. But if you so much as miss this deadline by a measly minute, I will have Cerros go there himself. He's quite good at cleaning up the messes I need him to.” Judocus let out a threatening smirk.
“Yes, your magnificence,” Workal cringed at the demand, but did his best to hide it.
Divine Lord Judocus didn't bother acknowledging Workal, stopping the projection without any parting words.
Workal smashed his heavy fist against the desk, shattering it to pieces with a single blow.
Angren busted back in upon hearing the loud noise. “Is everything alright, sir?”
“Did I tell you to come in?!” Workal rushed to his feet, embarrassed to be seen in such a state.
“My apologies, sir,” Angren bowed his head like a good underlin
g. “May I ask what Lord Judocus had to say?”
Workal looked at Angren with seething eyes—his blood coming to a boil on his red puffy sweaty face. “He wants that bloody relic, and wants it now, or else he's sending his precious Cerros out to take care of it.”
“Send me in there then, sir. I can retrieve it,” Angren suggested.
“I know you can. You think I don't know that you or I could have just gone in there and gotten it by now!?” Workal snapped as spit flung from his mouth. “I would've gotten it eventually, but once we get it for him, there won't be a point in sending those rats into the dungeon anymore. What do I get out of it then? But anything Judocus says is law. And the last thing I want to deal with is Cerros right now."
Upon mentioning Cerros, Workal's face turned pale, staring off in the distance in a moment of detached distraction.
“A shame, sir, but perhaps we can still find something worth entertaining you with afterwards. They may still have some use yet,” Angren agreed with Workal as always, pandering to his horrific tendencies without question. “Then when shall we begin the search, sir?”
“Tomorrow night,” Workal declared.
“Shall I go and retrieve myself then?” Angren asked.
“No, I'll do it. You stay out here to watch over things so those slaves don't get the wrong idea they've got a day off or anything. That damn Judocus though, he never even told me what this stupid relic even does, or what it looks like. All he said before is saying we'll know when we see it, whatever that even means.”
“Very well, sir. We shall begin whenever you are ready,” Angren happily agreed. “And sir, is there anything you wish for me to do about these adventurers?”
“What?” Workal sneered in a ridiculous look, as if Angren was talking nonsense.
“Two of our guards ran into them earlier,” Angren added.
“So? Who gives a shit about them? If they ever tried anything, we'd just throw 'em down here with the rest. Any adventurer dumb enough to come here isn't worth a damn.”
