A Forgotten Soul: The Vegard Orlo Saga

by Daniel Sexton

  “Business is our business, good sir.” He handed the paper off to the awaiting guard. The man unfurled it while Rorak went on with the ruse. “In the backs yer like to find clothes, spices, and such. Lookin’ to add some of these wines we’ve been hearin’ so much of across the realm!” He laughed and took a drink from a flask—one of the many things tucked away on his person.

  The guard eyeballed the odd man. “So you’re merchants, then?”

  “Born en bred. Of assorted goods. Not specializing in one thing so much as the lot!” Rorak laughed again. “In the back yu’ll find a bit of it. In da carriage here…” He patted the roof. “This’ll be two of our foundin’ investors. They’ll be wantin’ to talk wholesale with yer storage fellas, I imagine.”

  The main guard had signaled two more to check the back compartment. Inside were all the items accounted for on the shipping form Rorak had handed the guard.

  The guard knocked on the side door. Vegard pushed the velvet curtains aside. “There a problem?” Vegard asked.

  “Just doing our job, sir. I see you got your misses with you.”

  Wera’s lips pulled back indignantly. This charade wasn’t her strong point. She looked ready to burst at a moments notice. Vegard looked to salvage the best he could. “This is my business partner. Wera Goldstone. We are big fans of your lord’s merchant business. Thinkin’ we can offer a service a little unique to these parts.”

  “These parts? Where you all coming from?”

  “Came across the waters from northern Yessriel.” Vegard figured the closer to the truth he stuck the less likely he was to stumble in this fantasy. “We’ve set up vendors along the coasts of Valuk’s Riff.”

  “That’s wild country up there.” The guard snorted.

  “Indeed.” Vegard grinned. “Wild but prosperous.” He jangled his purse at his hip. The familiar sound of gold always tended to curb a man’s suspicions. “And with times what they is, I’m guessing your lord could use a ‘for sure’ business venture. Our caravans don’t get knocked, if you catch me.” He winked and with his wink he burrowed subtly into the man’s soul.

  Rummaging through the guard’s past he found that little nugget of domination that most kept buried away. That moment when the weight of the world made you feel your smallest. And in that moment Vegard became the weight of the world. His very appearance was that which made men feel like boys. When they were scolded by an elder, pushed down by a peer, punished by authority. To this guard Vegard became the living embodiment of that larger than life force.

  The guard withered slightly. His shoulders having doubled in weight. His armor and weapons hanging worthlessly on his person.

  “Well…you and your men…you seem very capable. I’m sure there is business…” Rain began to fall in force all around them. Thick droplets of water showered and pattered against the roof of the carriage drenching the questioning guard and everything around.

  The archer from the tower was shouting while pulling his hood overhead. The other two quickly rushed back to the cover of their stone station, ducking under the archway for relief.

  The main guard under Vegard’s influence was shielding his eyes to the sudden squall. He shouted to be heard above the storm. “There wasn’t a cloud in sight!” He wiped his eyes clear. “Odd times we are having lately, my lord!”

  Vegard couldn’t recall being a ‘lord’ as part of the ruse but didn’t bother correcting the man.

  “Ah, well…follow this road for a mile. If the weather suits it you’ll see signs leading to the main warehouse for stored wines and such. Guther Richman will be the foreman there. He’ll be the one to talk to.” He was still shouting, his voice barely rising above the tumultuous weather. “I’ll get ya a pass for the compound that way ya ain’t bothered on your way. God speed!”

  The guard ran back to his tower checkpoint, grabbed a pass that he hung from the side of their carriage over a torch fixture. He saluted to the group, “And I’d get your slave girl back inside, quick! Before she be catching death out here!” He said before running back to the security of his watchtower.

  Rorak motioned for the horses to move on. The caravan lurched forward in the now muddy pathway leading into the Shaw vineyards.

  “Slave girl?” Vegard muttered as he poked his head out the window and looked behind them at the caravan in tow. Sitting on the roof was Fulvia. The druid sat crosslegged, her eyes glazed and lost to the distance. Vegard noticed her emerald stone bracelet gripped firmly in hand.

  He retreated back to the comfort of his lordly carriage with a smile on his face. “At least it is not fog.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Infiltrating the Grounds

  The carriage ride to the estate proper was a dour one. The constant sheet of rain kept pouring down as Fulvia’s magic continued to manipulate the weather, keeping their company obscured and the servant classes busy tending to the crops.

  Wera was a quiet ball of nerves next to Vegard. He was so concentrated on the final task that he hadn’t even thought of how his friend was doing.

  “You alright?”

  She heaved and sighed, tossing her noble garment to the carriage floor. She rolled her shoulders and hefted her spear from its hiding spot. “Merely getting into character.”

  It was the best he could wish for, at the moment. Vegard, himself, was far away from anything resembling a ‘home’. Even after this confrontation he didn’t know what was the normal he would seek out. What freedom was this supposed to buy? He had come a long way from Jogen’s fighting pits as a combat slave and yet still, with all that has happened, felt he had turned away very little from that life.

  He had merely replaced the sand pits with the free-range of the entirety of Vlero. But his purpose was all the same. In the charge of some greater being with the purpose of eliminating someone for their own personal gain. Man or god, did it really make a difference? He was still subjugated by some force.

  Vegard wondered if Wera thought on any of these things. Or, perhaps she was better off than he. She chose to follow Vegard on this journey. A little nudging of sorts from Mohin but it was still a choice of hers, none the less. This deed could be seen to its end or not and it would make not a bit of difference to the hver. She lost none of her freedom if she packed up and went home.

  “You think this’ll set us free?” Wera suddenly spoke. It was as if the hver was in his head.

  Vegard shook his knotted mane. This was going down a philosophical trail that didn’t serve a damn thing other than to keep anxieties hidden from them.

  “I’d thought maybe vengeance against this lord…” Wera continued, “I thought that maybe it would give me closure. He’s not the one that enslaved me before my escape. But he represents it, ya know?”

  Vegard nodded, unable to speak.

  “I just remember being so filled with hate. It’s all I thought about. Even when Mohin had taken me in I never even let him, with all his kindness to me, I never let him close.” Wera’s hands worked at the grip of her spear. A sort of background tick while she spoke.

  “Suddenly I feel tired. Of that. As if that was the only thing moving me forward. I want somethin’ else, I think. But not while people like me are still in trouble. From men like Shaw.”

  That last bit gave the warlock pause. Maybe they were fighting for something more than personal freedom. Even if the two of them, or the three or four or however many, could walk away from this—there would still be those that couldn’t.

  And, out in the rainy fields, men and women like that were hard at work. They were tending fields they had no ownership of. They were pushed and whipped by guards just doing their part for a meager wage. Or they were made an example of. Beaten, hanged, and left for the carrion birds to feed upon.

  This was the world of the rich and civilized. And it needed to be upended.

  “You’re right.” Vegard finally said. His voice a whisper of its normal self. “I’ve been so distracted b
y my own suffering…that I forgot there are others. Others who don’t have our power to do something about it.” He locked eyes with Wera. “Maybe that’s our purpose.”

  Wera didn’t need to speak for Vegard they understood one another. Suffering was suffering. It didn’t matter the ratio heaped upon an individual. It was an inherit shame that it existed, at all.

  Right now his goal was to keep blood pumping to his heart long enough to drive Blacktooth’s sharp end through Darold Shaw’s flesh. Blood would pay for freedom. If not theirs, then somebody’s.

  The cart slowed to a halt as they came to the entrance of a large wooden warehouse. “This is yer stop, kiddos!” Rorak rapped on the carriage rooftop.

  Vegard could already hear the welcoming party approaching the side doors of their cart. Vegard took one last calming breath before opening the door and making his way out into the rainy weather.

  “I’m sorry for the unexpected weather, my lords.” A plump middle aged man greeted them. He wore rich greens down to his elegant sandals and held a curious parasol with a wooden handle and cloth canopy.

  His few hairs that remained atop his head were slicked back and held firmly in place by some pungent chemical that was miraculously still apparent in the open air of the vineyards.

  “Quite, quite unexpected. But commerce stops not even for the gods!” He laughed, clasping his bejeweled hands together. “Come inside. The servants will see to your caravan and water for your slaves. Although, they’ve probably had all they can drink out here!” He laughed again.

  Vegard pulled his cloak higher as he followed the waddling man to a side entrance of the warehouse. Stairs led to the second floor away from the commotion of the workers below. The door beyond led to a comfortable room of carpets with a light fire going in the hearth.

  The room was adorned with two plush chairs and a low sitting table with snacks and wine ready for the willing.

  “I usually refuse to work on such tumultuous days. I hate getting my Bedrashi silks all dirty. Although, I might have worn something a little more informal if I’d have seen the storm coming. I mean, what good are slaves if not for keeping the dirt from under our fingernails, yes?” He turned to offer Vegard a cup of wine. That was before a spear was driven through his chest and his body sent flying to the other end of the room.

  His body flopped helplessly against the wall, pinned in place like a bear skin rug. Wera was at the other end of the deadly weapon. Her face was screwed up in a wild look of rage.

  Her wiry muscles were slick with the heavy rains of outside. She shifted her bare feet deep into the rich carpeting, driving the spear further through the dying man. Blood burped from his lips before his eyes mercilessly lost their light and faded away.

  Vegard had no words for the sudden outburst. Wera dug her feet and yanked her weapon free sending the fat corpse flopping to the floor. She absently wiped the blood clean on the man’s ‘Bedrashi silks’ before she noticed the warlock staring at her.

  “If I had to hear the word ‘slave’ come out of his mouth one more time.” She said.

  “What? You’d kill em?”

  Wera had nothing to say to that.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Vegard continued on. “Won’t be the last corpse we leave this place with. Where are the others?”

  “Fulvia and Rorak are with the horses. Chenway, as well.”

  “For the better. Let’s get going.”

  The pair found a side door leading down a long open hallway above the warehouse proper. On the floor below the servants were busy toiling away with work orders and shipments. Supervisors with whips in hand and chained dogs yelled tirelessly to keep the production going ceaselessly.

  The sheer amount of commerce on display was staggering. Vegard almost felt compelled by routine to continue where Wera and him had left off—jumping from the railing and shouting orders to seize all the goods and make haste to pawn them off at the blackmarket of Dawns Fero.

  But they weren’t there to rob the lord merchant of his arbitrary goods. They were there to steal away with his life.

  The two kept their heads low as they made their way across the railing. They scooted through a door at the end of the hall, down some steps, and out the back of the warehouse.

  The rain was still going strong. Fulvia must have still been grasping at her emerald chain and chanting her plains-speak. The storm was doing most of the work in keeping their presence unknown to the groundskeepers and guards. The dogs, themselves, would have served a whole new set of problems, but maybe the heavy rain was keeping their scent at bay.

  Vegard didn’t know how dogs work. He just knew they weren’t fans of his and didn’t much want to find out if they were fans of hvers, either.

  In the distance, upon a hill overlooking the whole of the wine production was the largest estate around, and honestly, the largest estate Vegard had ever seen. The white stone manse was only two stories high but stretched the length of the hill it was set upon. The second floor roof was held by beautifully worked stone pillars that wrapped around the entirety of the building.

  They scurried across the grounds to the large iron bars that surrounded the estate. Guard towers were set every hundred feet or so around the fence. With the downpour it would have been impossible for the patrols to see but a few feet in front of their faces, let alone at the pair sneaking along its side.

  They found one of the many barred entrances. Vegard shook it lightly, a thick iron lock adorned the gate, well beyond the warlock’s abilities.

  Wera drove her spear into the ground and looked up at the guard tower looming over them. Her form changed as a raven took flight, flapping into the heavy winds the best she could. She swayed awkwardly before perching on the guard tower window.

  A torchlight illuminated, coming to inspect the odd bird that had come to visit.

  The raven leapt in.

  Vegard could just barely make out the shadows dancing on the inner wall. There was a solitary man, then a hulking shadow that cast its epic shape upon the stone surface. There were muffled roars followed by an even more muffled yelp. The torchlight was snuffed and nothing but the incessant pattering of rain could be heard once more.

  Wera, the raven, perched herself on the edge of the window, keys dangling from her beak. She took flight and shifted to human form as she slid across the muddy, pebbled walkway. She spit the keys from her mouth, undid the padlock, and the two slipped in without so much as a word.

  Their teamwork was smooth and oiled. The pair worked wordlessly with moderate hand signals and gestures. All that time ransacking caravans tempered them for such deeds as this. Even though their masks had been long discarded, they were still the demons of Dawns Fero, the Ember Foxes. Shadows that struck with haste and precision. Vanishing without stirring so much as the blades of grass around them.

  They moved, deft as mountain cats across the manicured lawn leading up to the estate. The patrols were easy enough to avoid. Even with the added paranoia of the recent burglaries, no sane individual would attempt to strike at the merchant himself. None except those driven to such extremes by the elites themselves.

  The rain served as a cloak to their movements. The pattering of the rain upon the earth muffled their footsteps. Wera galloped forth and pressed herself against one of the many pillars. A pair of soldiers patrolled calmly underneath the protection of the patio. Their red skirts swayed and their swords jangled by their sides. Wera shifted her spear just as they passed by her hiding spot. Just as she pivoted and twisted about the pillar to bury her spear in one of their necks, the two men collapsed to the floor.

  Vegard strutted forward and tapped the side of his head revealing his ever blackening eyes. The warlock needed to feed. These two were an appetizer for the main course.

  They stalked around the building, felling guards as need be, shoving the bodies into square shaped, trimmed bushes that lined the estate.

  “This whole place will burn.” Wera grunte
d to Vegard as she shoved another patrolman into the bushes.

  Vegard’s body roiled with souls. He felt like to burst at this point. The power surged through his veins like blood to a mortal man. He was ready to take this pesky merchant down.

  When the immediate area was clear of threats they rounded upon the main entrance of the estate. Its large red doors a beckon for the threat that awaited within.

  With subtly a passing thought, the two warriors burst through the men entrance of the house.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Estate

  Vegard and Wera stepped into the grand abode of the lord merchant, Darold Shaw.

  They were greeted by all the obnoxious signs of wealth one could possibly accumulate. Red carpets that spanned the entire lengths of hallways, ornate tables topped like fanciful wedding cakes, more chandeliers than most could afford candlesticks.

  Every square inch of the house was decorated with some trinket, or jewel, oak furniture or marble statue. The merchant most definitely liked his things.

  “I see no one.” Wera said, her eyes scanning the large orientation room. It was most certainly true. The outer area of the compound had forces milling about. Workers, servants, slaves, soldiers, foreman, merchants, caravan drivers, herd animals. A constant bustle of commerce and movement. But in the most expansive of structures on the entire vineyard—there was nothing.

  Vegard closed his eyes and breathed deeply in. He scanned the area for any sign of life. Nothing. His dark powers sensed nothing. No butlers or maids, body guards, or holy men.

  “Let’s keep searching.”

  They prowled from room to room. Each filled to the brim with more opulent nothings. Shiny ornaments and jewelry, paintings with thick golden frames, and tapestries interwoven with useless gems.

  Up the stairs they went, pushing open large double doors, across an indoor garden with exotic colored plants.

  Still no servants. No one tending to the wild beasts locked in their cages. No gardeners pruning the foreign leaves of these misshapen and feral looking plants.