A Forgotten Soul: The Vegard Orlo Saga

by Daniel Sexton

  It was time for bed. Enough drink was sloshing around and a devious plan was taking shape.

  The evening was late when Vegard awoke. The candle had long flickered out and the morning mists had pressed a bone shaking cold throughout their cheap room. He spotted Wera in a corner, curled up in bear form. Her beastial shape, furry, and heaving in a deep and loud sleep. Her bear snoring must have woke him, he thought. Vegard stumbled towards the bucket of water and took his fill—trying desperately to fight the cheap mead that thumped in his skull.

  It wasn’t until he wiped the excess water from his bushy chin that he noticed the gold tinge that heated the room suddenly.

  Turning he saw Flaro Rei’Lind, the goddess, lounging about on his bed. He grunted.

  “Do you not have a bed of your own, goddess?”

  She clasped her iron boots together. “Such attitude. Is my Agaeti not happy to see his patron mother?”

  “Patron mother, my ass.” He sauntered to the middle of the room. “If you are in need of a report, I haven’t killed your merchant yet, but I’m working on it. And I must thank you for the eternal cold that you have bestowed upon me.” He gestured to his floating soul. “Definitely a welcome addition to the enslavement, poverty, and constant mortal danger I’ve been placed in.”

  “Oh, come off it, Vegard Orlo. I see you haven’t lost your self-deprecating manner.” She pushed herself from the bed. Her godly form, once again, swirling around as if suspended in water. “I didn’t come here to criticize you, Agaeti—but rather to congratulate you on your many accomplishments, thus far.”

  “So, I’ve earned my soul back?” He eyed the goddess doubtfully.

  Flaro callously laughed. “Not even close. But you’ve made progress. Much more than I had thought you would.”

  “You fill me with such confidence, oh great one.” He mocked a bow.

  “Oh, you drunken shit. Get over yourself.” Flaro made a round of the room, picking at the runes laid on the floor, and peering out the single window in the high tavern inn like some scrupulous mother checking the chores of her young ones. “I saw how you dealt with the giant. Very nice. Your escape from Dunesmir was…messy, but effective. Innocents were hurt but…” She shrugged indifferently.

  “Funny. I wasn’t aware of any innocents attending the slave fights.” Vegard’s sarcasm had a tinge of heat to it.

  “A matter of perspective, perhaps. But discussing the morality of collateral damage is not why I’ve come.” The goddess finally stopped pacing about the room. She stared intently at Vegard. “Matters in Storrhale are accelerating, young one. The traitor god, Abaniel, has sped up his campaign for complete dominance.”

  “And what do you expect me to do of celestial matters, goddess?”

  “Do what I had sent you to do, Vegard Orlo. Find the merchant, Darold Shaw, and cut out his heart. Him and his priests spread his message daily. With that, Abaniel gains more power. More resources.”

  Vegard scratched at his chin. “You know, come to think of it, what does it matter to me what god controls what?” He side-eyed Flaro, who’s face puffed up. “You, Abaniel, Voluk…” He shrugged. “What difference does it make who sits on the throne of the great halls of Storrhale?”

  Flaro cracked her knuckles and scuffed her brilliant plate mail boots on the floor.

  “Fine, you ignorant shit. You want reasons?” She cocked an eyebrow. “You do not know this god. So let me educate you. Abaniel the Redtail is a jaded, contemptuous, and self-centered being. The slavery you experienced at the hands of that trivial little mountain lord would pale in comparison to the expectations of devotion from Abaniel.” She caught Vegard’s surprised look. “Ah, yes, Agaeti…devotion.” Flaro sneered. “Fore Abaniel is vain. Abaniel is insecure and petty. While the rest of the gods expect practically nothing of you mortals, Abaniel will expect the denizens of Vlero to swear eternal fealty to his unwavering dominance and control.”

  Flaro leaned up against the wall. An contemplative look washing over her. “That is why Abaniel must be stopped. I am doing what I can in Storrhale. Do not think me passive. But every day his resources grow whilst mine waver.”

  “What of the other gods?” Vegard said. “If he is such a threat, why do you not band together and crush this betrayer?”

  “Do you think I have not tried that!?” Flaro growled, slamming her fists into the wall.

  Vegard felt the impact reverberate through his body but the strike left no visible damage to the tavern.

  “On top of being a lousy, vain, serpent of a peasant bastard…!” Her voice rising with each insult until she was screaming. She exhaled, placing her hands on her hips. “He is also a grand deceiver and a brilliant worm. The others are too blind to see the threat waiting in ambush. I have tried. Now it is time for a different avenue.”

  “The merchant.” Vegard said.

  Flaro nodded. “The others have underestimated the advantages of such a figure. Even I didn’t catch it until recently. Hopefully the day is not too late.”

  The goddess locked eyes with Vegard. She suddenly appeared right before him with a crackle of thunder. She grasped Vegard on the face, under the chin, forcing his gaze on hers.

  “Burn him alive, Agaeti! See him dead and your soul will be yours once more!” Her voice echoed and boomed in his head. She pushed him away and when Vegard recovered she was gone. The room returning to its cold and dour state. Wera’s continuous snoring denoted the godly visit was for his ears only.

  “How special I must be.” Vegard mumbled sourly before crawling back to bed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Perperations

  Vegard awoke the following morning with a nudge from Wera’s foot. “Come, warlock. We have shit to do.”

  The pair made their way to the docks of Dawns Fero. They wound their way through the trenches of the bottom tier. The pushers woke up early in the port town, already screaming about their fabrics or potteries for sale.

  Townsfolk ushered their herd animals through the compact walkways. Human refuge and food waste were dumped and sent streaming down to the ocean via ravines built on the side of major walkways. The chunky bits damming in various areas sending rivers of crap down upon the cheap wooden planks.

  How anyone could deal with the pungent smell was beyond the warlock. The city people of the eastern half of Yessriel were an industrious yet filthy people, he noted.

  In the mountains and to the north there was room. A man needed such space. Space to grow and test one’s self. To build a house, farm land, and raise a family. But, on the bottom tier at least, life and community leaned against each other like dirty, drunken sailors.

  The only ‘growth’ in this city was the fungus and disease that must have permeated the many corners and cracks of this impoverished area of Dawns Fero.

  To top of the city’s ‘wonderment’, Vegard observed the many sticky-fingered thieves that took advantage of close quarter alleyways. He had hardly any money to speak of but numerous tugs and attempts had been made on Blacktooth.

  Luckily the enchanted scabbard, Gwerim kept the blade in place. After a second try Vegard snatched a small boy by his throat and pulled him closer for a more personal interaction.

  The little creature was brave despite the situation. Vegard brought his other hand up in front of the boy’s face, showing him the mutilated and burnt flesh that scarred his arms.

  “Ja…Ja…Jarro…?” The boy squeaked.

  Vegard merely grinned, tossing the boy away and watching the pint-sized thief run off and dart behind the next alley.

  “You like tormenting children?” Wera asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes. Yes I do.”

  As the pair reached the docks proper the sky opened up to them. The tiers of the city did not stretch out over the ocean. It was a needed reprieve from the cramped space and stagnant air that filled most of the bottom tier.

  Shipments were a constant stream in the enormous port cit
y. Sailors unloaded goods while merchants collected orders and passed them along to laborers pilling the various goods onto carts. Everything from food, fabrics, spices, meads, and ales, weapons, magical components, books, raw materials, farm animals, slaves.

  Rivers and rivers of commerce crossed the spiderweb of docks and ramps leading throughout the city and onward.

  The whole scene made Vegard dizzy, that or the sleepless night. Wera was perched like a gargoyle above the ruckus. She obviously had a mountain of distrust for crowds and people. And with the appearance of slave business underway, Vegard could understand why.

  “I see nothing that marks his name.” Vegard shouted up to Wera. Every container had the markings of ownership but nothing overtly labeled ‘DAROLD SHAW’.

  “You’re more accustomed to this city business than I am.” Wera said. “Is there anyone here that would be able to tell us who this crap belongs to?”

  An idea popped into Vegard’s head. At the end of the docks was a grand and ornate wooden building built along the cliffside. It stood several stories high like a rugged castle for the working man. A skillfully crafted sign reading: Dawns Fero Merchant’s Guild - The Jagged Branch, hung above the double doors.

  Vegard pushed the doors open and approached a burly woman at the counter.

  “Good day.” Vegard said cheerfully. Well, as cheerfully as the warlock had ever said anything.

  The woman placed her clipboard down and stared at the odd man with a distrustful glare.

  “Whatcho wan’, outsider?”

  “I want information about merchandise coming in the city. Who do I talk to about that?”

  “Me. If’in I feel it’s important for ya to know.” She crossed her hairy arms over her chest. Vegard shooed aside the forced formalities and leaned on the counter.

  “What do you know about the merchant Darold Shaw, woman?”

  A visible nerved pulsed on the side of the woman’s head. She leaned in closer to Vegard, her girth far more imposing the closer she got. “Ya a friend a his?”

  “Not in the least. I mean to turn his life sideways.”

  The woman clutched Vegard by his furred cloak and pulled him in close enough to smell her breakfast.

  “I’ll be lettin’ the ‘woman’ thing pass cause you pleased me with that last bit.” She let go. “And in answer to this query o’ yours, yeah I knows em. I dun like em. His goods are shit and his goods are floodin’ everywhere. He bypasses the guild cause he’s got the coin to do it. We dun like em. Not a bit.”

  “So he has business here in Dawns Fero?”

  “Yup.”

  Vegard could barely hide his anticipation. “Good. How bout pointing us in the right direction then?”

  The pair couldn’t have gotten a more detailed itinerary if they asked the lord merchant himself. The guild had shipping orders, merchandise count, dates, destinations, everything. Supposedly Shaw’s company packaged their orders in beautiful boxes painted in fantastically obnoxious crimson red made of the cheapest wood they could get their hands on.

  Looking out over the docks, Vegard and Wera started to easily spot the various shipments coming in from Shaw.

  “Another!” Wera pipped up. “Same godawful color scheme.” The two couldn’t outright confiscate the goods in the city. Even with the okay from the merchant’s guild they still had to attend with the city guard—some of which were bound to be on the powerful Shaw’s payroll.

  The information came at a cheap price so long as the two were able to keep their crimes to the shadows.

  “That was a hefty chance you took, by the way.” Wera said to Vegard as she continued to watch the crimson boxes being loaded up.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You bringin’ up his name in there. She could’ve turned us in.” She gave him a look. “Still may.”

  Vegard smirked. “Nah, I don’t think that’ll be happening.”

  “Why’s that, then?”

  “I peered into her soul…when I leaned into the counter.” He could tell Wera was starring at him but he pretended not to notice. “It was subtle. Never done it like that before.”

  He looked to Wera who was giving him a look. “What!? I didn’t drink from her! I merely…saw. I could read her thoughts. I threw out Shaw’s name and distracted her with an insult. That’s when I felt it. Her revulsion. A response from her soul upon hearing his name.” Vegard shrugged off the hver’s judgmental stares.

  “Either way. She won’t report us. Her distaste for this lord is stronger than her love for the law, to be sure.”

  The two studied the landscape of the docks in silence. A renewed tension brought forth by the use of his powers. “What about you?” Vegard finally spoke up.

  “Me what?”

  “I have heard of hver that change into numerous creatures. Have you ever wanted to change into more than just a bear?”

  Wera flared her nostrils. “More than a bear? I do not change into a bear. I am hver-bjorn. I am a bear.” She huffed. “It is as natural as birth. I do not expect you to understand.”

  “Then explain.” The comment came off with more force than Vegard had intended but he had grown weary of others judging him for his powers.

  “Not that I need to explain myself to you, northman, but this,” She touched her chest. “is who I am. I am bear. I am woman. Both, all the time. My appearance might change but in my heart I am both simultaneously.”

  “You could not see the benefit in changing into a wolf? Or a fox? To develop yourself further?”

  “From what I am? I don’t need to be a goat or pig or cow or whatever! My power is who I am. It’s not of your like to understand. It is not meant for power. It is who I am.” Wera sprung from her perch. “I’m going back to the room for rest. I am sure we have a busy day ahead of us.”

  Wera left Vegard alone on the docks. The warlock sighed and rolled his eyes. He watched alone as Shaw’s shipments were being unloaded from a sea vessel. The pieces being divided between carts.

  He shook his head. Barely able to concentrate.

  If it is not my powers that push people away then my mouth sure does a fine job.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Bandits are Born

  All the necessary prep work was done for the execution of a plan. Vegard passed a wandering vendor as he made his way through the crisscrossing maze of alleys on tier one. Painted wooden masks clattered together like wind chimes as the cart’s wheels found every nook in the cheaply built sidewalk.

  Vegard pilfered two as the man busied himself with a piss in the corner. They were children’s masks made to look like different forest animals. The masks he snagged were that of foxes. One painted black and the other a sky blue, and both with a circular white tear below the left eyehole. Depressing, cheap things. But they will do the job.

  Vegard met up with Wera outside the city at the ruins out past the road.

  “It is clear.” Wera said stoically, obviously still pissed about whatever nerve Vegard had struck with her. He still wasn’t sure.

  Wera had come out to the ruins early, as bear, and made sure the dilapidated ruins of this forgotten keep were clear of bandits. Well, bandits that weren’t them. The area, the locals called the Hillside Ruins, were what used to be of a large keep built from the stone gathered nearby. The ceiling was gone, open to the ocean breeze, and the stairs led to nothing—if there were even enough steps to justify them as such. The whole structure was a tower at some point toppled over by some mighty force, and laid strewn about on the hillside.

  Hillside Ruins… Vegard laughed … because the poor are clever.

  “What are you smiling about?” Wera asked pointedly. Vegard ignored her sensitivity and tossed her the blue fox mask.

  “For your face. Although, I don’t know how it’ll react to…” He gestured uncomfortably to her being, not knowing the correct way to refer to her power without furthering her distaste for him.

  “It�
��ll do fine.” Wera aligned herself with what remained of a window. The view leading to the road that left Dawns Fero and snaked its way north and west.

  According to the manifest they obtained, one part of Shaw’s goods were intended for another ship headed to Ofren, another were cheap fabrics, hardly worth their time.

  The last of it… “It’s coming. Now!” Wera barked. Vegard crowded the window but Wera pushed him back. The warlock scowled then clambered atop a few toppled stones and peered out over the torn keep walls to gaze across the field.

  There, cresting a hill on the path, was a large, gaudy purple carriage being pulled along by several horses. The coachman matched the absurd decadence with a puffy red tunic with gilded trim that flowed down to his curled leather boots. He had a bright blue plum of a hat that appeared more dessert topping than headdress.

  Four legionnaires rode railings alongside the carriage. All were equipped with sword and spear and wore the colors of a local mercenary guild, or gang; a bronze emblem, yellow sash, and gloves. The men were decked in leather with a spattering of plate here and there.

  Vegard didn’t recognize the emblems. He did, however, remember that the guard that checked them into town wore a similar yellow sash down to his boots. The one that suggested the Sweaty Seafarer where Rorak and his boys had found him so easily.

  I’ll deal with you later, guard. He promised. But for now he had Shaw’s goods to deal with along with four soldiers and a mysterious and plump driver.

  The carriage got closer as it made its way by the Hillside Ruins. Wera and Vegard readied the masks over their faces.

  Vegard tested the reach of his power. The warlock could sense the guard to the back of the carriage. He reached for the pulsing energy he found and breathed it in, beckoning it forth with his disfigured, dark hands.

  The man’s head began to sway slightly then shoulders slumped. One foot slipped off the railing which sent the rest of its armored form tumbling roughly to the gravel pavement below.