She swiped a piece of vellum from the little nook next to her, crumpled it in her gnarled fingers, and disdainfully threw it right on the fire. Switch derisively watched at the conflagration of the secret message in the hearth. “Lazuli has no place alongside Salt. The Fringe will be known as my salt region once the mapmakers come.”
“Is the trader informed?” her impatient voice crooned.
A sharp, metal *plink* of a fingernail cleaning knife ceased its repeated activity. Words full of breathy poise and tact bled through a powerful woman’s sharpened teeth, “Of course he is, Grand Matron of the Salt v– Fringe Region.”
The voice had altered its sugary words at the end, but the obscure figure slithered them forth with only the most minor of pauses. “The trader has all the gold ready; we only need the written documentation and the proper adoption. Once gold is the main currency, our bountiful services will be… available. My men can’t do much with the sacks of salt your village is able to provide.”
The obscure female continued her sales pitch with dark fervor, “Gold, however, will bring in an age of wealth the Fringe has never enjoyed before. All the comforts of the inland regions will start flooding into your coffers and homes. You will be the first to enjoy the tender warmth of a Beast-skin cloak—a robe of such refined quality, so unique in its singular presence that only the most loved, respected, and honored of Elders could possibly have one. Which, of course, can be none other than yourself, Grand Matron.”
Elder Switch took a deep, serene breath with a toothy smile, half-lidded eyes nearly closed as she relished in the praise. *Ahhh*. “Yes. Yes, that’s it. That’s the feeling I love. Thank you, young one, for humoring a Noblesse such as I. Your presence is warming, and I am ever so pleased you’ve come with news. Are they ready?”
Switch snapped the last words before the figure in the back rose, only to take a serpentine step forwards and bow. The experienced raider was scarred; her dark-pitch black hair was tightly bound on the back of her head, while a few exposed knives covered her leather-bound frame. Her words had the same inflection of a slow-bleeding laceration as she drawled out the answer, “Your men just wait for the right moment, Grand Matron.”
The obscure female sidled even closer. “We will remove all those who stand against you and secure your reign over the Fringe. Only your wisdom can lead it to the greatest prosperity, as you are the only one with the foresight to accept and understand the value of gold. Such insight is far too rare in the lands. Without you, Grand Matron, my men and I could have never come this far, and we relish the opportunity to repay you as soon as it arises. I, Hakan the Gilded Blade, will direct all my raiders at your guidance. The Reaper faction will guarantee that your plans see fruition, Grand Matron.”
Elder Switch nodded, hands laced, feeling as though she was on top of the world. She shooed the raider out. “I’m pleased. You may go, young one.”
Having been dismissed, a *thunk* of fist striking chest replied, and Hakan vanished into the shadows, slipping out into the almost entirely deserted village. Why sneak at night when you can walk in broad daylight without a soul present to see? A massive grin graced her face; after all, it wasn’t frequently one found such a disgustingly easy mark. That dumb, old toad was just eating up her honeyed words. Hakan was also delighted to learn that her second mark, the Lapis Lazuli village providing blue pigment as a trade good up north, was such a sore spot she could use as a weapon.
The trap had been baited, and thanks to her additional ploy with the trader… the gathering this town was going to have in the evening would be colorful indeed. Soon, her blades would run her favorite color of red once more. Hakan could scarcely hide her delight as she noticed a huddle of children running about.
“I’ll be back for you soon, my delightful recruits.”
Chapter Three
Past the bend of the nearest birch forest, a rather sizable caravan waited near a hastily hidden raider encampment. Lit torches hung from the cart’s sides as several bulky, scarred men tended to the horses. Hakan raised a disappointed brow at the number of her men who were patting and paying attention to the hooded cart rather than the watch duty they had been assigned. The scarred force almost sounded like babies talking to the beasts. Hakan’s reaction was so reflexive that she heard the slap to her forehead before she felt it.
They were children. Worthless, dumb, children. Still, this provided her an excellent ‘teaching’ opportunity. A thin dagger slipped from her bound thigh; her malicious grin returned to her lips as she silently charged at them with serpentine tactics an adder would find impressive.
Only the spooked jump and loud whinnying of the horses caused some of the lookouts to turn around, while the rest snatched reigns and attempted to calm the animals that had just experienced the chilled, discomforting warning of a rapidly advancing predator.
*Shing*. The slice of steel accompanied a shrill, unmanly scream as one of the scarred men gained yet another ‘failure’ mark on his face. He clutched it in panic, trying to keep the skin together while an unsympathetic boot crashed into his ribs.
*Hurk*! The airy sound exploded from the man who had just gotten the wind kicked right out of him.
“Pathetic!” decried Hakan as the swift *swip* of a bloodied dagger vanished back into a sheathe against the side of her thigh. “I leave you to safeguard the caravan from surprise ambushes, and you all just let me run right up to it? Shame! All of you, shame!”
Enraged, another kick beat the breath right back out of the fallen man’s lungs, right after he’d managed to take a solid one. “Pick this meat up and send him to Needle. Another failure will mean him losing his head!”
Her deadly gaze snapped to a random member tending the horses, letting him feel a dab of murderous intent. This emphasized that this could happen to someone else if they failed to pay attention to their appointed tasks. Fear instilled itself into the actual caretakers of the animals, who were suddenly very invested in their tasks. The fright remained with them while the others hurried to jog off and warn the remainder of the raider camp.
This particular leader of theirs was impatient. Their supplies were short, and she wore her temper on her knife-clad sleeve. Scars tended to be added to people who failed to work according to the plan—or whatever Hakan decided was the plan, at least. Her voice hissed out her demands, “Where is Boro, the traitor?”
“You mean the trader?” a confused reply came from the bulky raider, who ducked for cover as a throwing knife flew through the air where his head had previously been. Her aim was dangerously accurate.
“Fetch my knife, and by the abyss, you’d better hope that my mood has improved when you return it, recruit.” Hakan’s words were a whiplash, and the scuffling movement told her that at least the burly recruit was rushing to retrieve her property. At least he was trying to be useful. “Fool.”
The sound of flourishing robes and jingling accouterments invaded her aural space. “I am where I always am, mistress Hakan. Anywhere there’s a profit.”
Hakan sneered. Without looking, she could feel Boro wring his hands together with a greedy, half-lidded smile of his own playing across his features. Hakan could hear him do his customary bow of welcoming, the flourish of his heinously rich robes fluttering behind him as he performed a mocking greeting, “You called for me, Raid Leader?”
She detested how his willingness to debase himself somehow brought him prosperity instead of death. “The pleasant news is that the old toad has the hatred for Lapis that we thought she did. Is the item we discussed ready?”
Her impatience was clear, and Boro wasted no effort in smoothing over his response. “Ready, folded in a pristine box, and paid for. It must only be delivered.”
The trader folded his hands together to bow once more when he was close enough. “Mistress Hakan, you must grace me with your insight on why you believe a colored robe will force the hand of that old toad. I feel that Elder Switch, while… unreasonable at times, still would not go against the r
ules of the Fringe.”
Hakan sharply turned on her heel and blessed Boro with an unnerving smile that ran from one ear to the other. Boro and the surrounding raiders felt an unpleasant shiver clench their spines at the sight. “Because, my dear trader who sees only glittering coin, it is not what is being delivered but who it is being delivered to. After what I heard today, my only regret is that I cannot be there myself to taste the very moment she snaps and betrays the community she serves.”
Hakan’s vigor slowed, and she took a deep, relishing breath as she imagined the internal torture that aged bat would feel. “We will have our coin. You will deliver the conversions, and then… then I add new prospects to my family. It has been Far. Too. Long. Since I’ve had unmarred faces to cut.”
Boro’s muscles cramped beneath his lavish robes as he shivered in horror, but he kept his footing. A single step would show weakness, and he knew that this blade-crazed lunatic would only relish in taking the opportunity to sate herself with his suffering. Especially since his face was an ‘untouched canvas’. Not tempting Hakan, who saw herself as a bit of an artist, was a stressful prospect. One poor for the business, he thought. Very poor for business.
The deal with the Reapers was lucrative, so he held his ground. For many a season, he’d been ‘in bed’ with Hakan, converting the natural resources of a village into silver coin which the raiders could take and spend back at the very source that had handed it all out in the first place. Boro considered himself a monetary genius for creating the system, even if it left fewer villages to trade with once they had been… expended. The survivors added to Hakan’s raiding party, and she only liked them young.
The rest? Well… Boro had developed a learned hatred of the smell of burning flesh and now purely subsisted on fresh vegetables where he could afford to do so. The occasional feast still had him indulge in meat after enough cups of fermented fruit in liquid form, but the constant experiences had soured his tongue. He shook off the disturbing line of thought. Salt would be merely another casualty in a long string of villages yet to come. That, however, was not his primary concern right now as he hesitantly asked what was bothering him, “Have the pursuers relented?”
Hakan’s mirth vanished in an instant. Her smile bled into a frown, and her fingers curled around the hilts of considerably larger blades on her person. “You take this moment to end my pleasant thoughts, Boro?”
Boro said nothing and stood his abyss-blasted ground. He only repeated his question. “Have they?”
Silent for a moment, Hakan leered into the watchful eyes keeping silent in the forest, doing absolutely nothing as even the accidental sound of interference was grounds for flying daggers. Dejected, she spat on the ground and groaned an unpleasant *ugh*. Hakan flagged a hand at the general group for someone to approach and inform her. She didn’t know the answer and was obviously unhappy about that.
An idea winked into her thoughts, and she stepped up to a decently sized hazel tree. Picking off a branch and stripping the excess, she decided that she preferred hazel over birch based entirely off the aesthetic from the swing. As Hakan waited, the scouting party came forth.
“It’s not good, Mum.” A wicked, loose snap of a switch struck the scout. It silenced him after a yelp, and that pleased Hakan greatly. Her voice oozed pleasure.
“Ooh, that’s nice. I like that. The old toad may not be of great value, but I certainly appreciate her style.” A few more wayward swings of the trimmed branch snapped through the air. “I’m not your mother. Someone give the report properly.”
The wounded scout was sent off, and another took his place. Hakan considered striking this one just for the fun of it but noted it was a girl. She stayed her hand, having an extremely easy tell on the preference of who she preferred to hit. The lightly armored woman saluted before speaking. “Mayu reporting. The clerics are gaining ground every day. The loose ends we’ve left out are running dry, and they found one of the villages we sacked this morning. A messenger corvid came in with information that it was the third village we sacked while in the Fringe, and that’s maybe a few days away.”
“Per instruction of Raid Leader Majorca, we’ve sent a bird back to have them relocate camp to the second village we sacked. Both to throw the clerics off our trail, as well as to have them search in the wrong direction. We… will be losing that raid group when the clerics find them.”
Hakan grit her teeth and quipped in irritation, “Well, that’s not too–”
The raid leader’s words cut short when she saw the urgency in her scout’s eyes. There was more, and it was unlikely to be good. “What is it?”
The scout kept her spirit strong. She knew this was bad news. “The clerics received reinforcements. It’s no longer the novices and common flock anymore. The… weird ones are here.”
Hakan tensed with the intent to cleave someone. “Speak plainly, scout.”
The scout nodded obediently, swallowed hard, and did as she was told. “Cultivators, raid leader.”
Hakan’s snarl was the definition of fury. “Abyss.”
“What do the clever ones think we have left to work with?” the leader spat, hoping there was more detail from the scout about this point. The scout took the hint and unfurled the vellum to read directly from the source. If someone was going to get punished for reporting this information, Mayu was going to send it straight down the command line to save her own scrawny butt.
“We have a handful of moons, at most, before they find this encampment. If we don’t fully move camp within two moons, the other raid leaders have suggested a full withdrawal from the region. They said we have a lot of muscle, but not… enough.”
Hakan’s eyes were full of wanton fury at the report from her scout, fingers tensing and twitching around the wooden punishment tool. “Over nine hands worth of strong men and we don’t have enough?”
The scout nodded at her leader’s displeasure to confirm it—forty-five and a few extra was a low number for raiders.
“Aargh!” A muffled thud resounded as the raid leader angrily punched a tree to vent stress, still holding the switch in her off hand. Her eyes snapped to the trader as she spat out orders.
“Boro, go today. Pretend you’re early and take all the gold with you–just keep it covered. We’re taking the gamble, and we need the old toad to take the bait. I had wanted to do this tomorrow, but it seems time is against us. Take the package. Make sure to deliver it. Everything relies on that dumb, little box being opened at the right time. Can you wring your way into their ridiculous town meeting today? It will be in the longhouse. The building had preparations already in place well before I left.”
Boro merely smiled with the calm demeanor of a practiced salesman having made a very expensive sale. “It will be done.”
He bowed with a flourish, then fully took advantage of this opportunity to make himself scarce. A few of the people he flagged over quickly followed suit. While they didn’t want to load up his cart for him, it beat out the possibility of a random stabbing due to inactivity. None of them liked being stuck under this raid leader, but there was no chance in the abyss anyone was going to defy her or tell her that fact.
Hakan waltzed deeper into the camp and slumped into a seat that had swiftly been vacated upon her approach. A cup of fermented juice was handed over with great deference. The raid leader sipped it, sneered at the taste, and longed for something more pleasant to think about. She pulled out a small, secret potion bottle and tipped it into her drink, shivering as she sipped the potent healing syrup. The image of the pliable, gentle, playful children in the Salt village came to mind. She whispered huskily to herself and closed her eyes.
“Soon.”
Chapter Four
The children didn’t know where the sudden, cold shiver running down their spines came from, given they were all plenty warm under the sun. Aside from the momentary discomfort, they gave it no thought as they gathered up fallen fruit into woven baskets like they were supposed to do. There were more t
han apples in the orchard, but some trees bore fruit they simply did not know the name for. Today, the group was in a hurry.
If they didn’t bring something home by the time their parents came back from the flats, there would be scolding. On top of that, they only had time to gather until the Elder arrived. This signaled story and playtime, and they prepared oh-so-many more questions.
Trudging along his way to the orchard after having done the usual daily tasks that kept one healthy and clean, the Elder spotted one of his sproutlings sitting alone by a tree. The otherwise cheerful boy poked at fallen fruit with a stick, clearly disheartened. Detouring hastily, the Elder said nothing on his approach. Rather, the weary grandfather noisily grunted and sat down next to the depressed, grim child. This glum behavior was recently common for the boy, whom no longer had direct remaining family or parents.
He didn’t like his life with the family that took him in, as they only had eyes for their own offspring and were particularly strict on him even as their doting was directed elsewhere. The sproutling muttered a half-hearted greeting. Replying with action, the community-minded Elder wrapped his arm around the child’s head, pulling the lad into his robed side for a hug. Warm and supportive, the Elder brushed the flat of his hand across the top of the unhappy boy’s head.
Artorian's Archives Omnibus Page 3
