by Alston Sleet
Gerthak most reminded me of a company town as structured by a feudal lord, the combination was odd but made sense from a merchant house point of view. Nobles sent their sons to farm in part of the dungeon, merchant guilds sent promising adventurers to farm their portion. I learned quickly to be able to tell the two from each other.
The merchants, almost uniformly, smiled and greeted me with a handshake or a friendly attitude, it was only after they found out I was essentially penniless that some would start to sneer or frown. Merchants only stay merchants in a competitive environment by being friendly. Once you have guilds and formal structures, even family owned businesses, friendly behavior becomes part of the training from even a young age.
The nobles, on the other hand, fell into two groups; the rich who were usually landed and noble families with little wealth left. The rich families were easy to tell from each other, almost all of them sneered and looked down on both me and my team. If they don’t recognize you, then you aren’t noble or from a rich family they are aligned with. If you aren’t from one of those groups, then they don’t need to be nice to you. This didn’t mean some weren’t nice enough. But if an allied family member spit at you, well then at least jeering along was needed.
The less prosperous noble families made no effort to sneer or insult, mostly they just left us alone. They went to work each morning like the merchant adventurers did, they worked to level up and tried to improve themselves in an effort to strengthen their House. They didn’t have either the time or the inclination to make new enemies.
Clan Head Delsar, and the gray-haired spiffed and polished man went by only that, was a bit put out originally when I had been foisted off on him by the King. Felvers had his spot in the dungeon filled, the House had only so many places in the cave, and now one of their employees wouldn’t be farming. His tone quickly cleared up when I explained that according to the King all he had to provide was gear, a room, and food, all proceeds of my work would be his. No split needed.
I was farming in House Delsar’s traditional area. The section they farmed was mostly home to an odd creature they called a ‘Ralk’. The name came from the sound the creatures made, a type of coughing snap sound as they would slam their oversized heads forward on serpentine necks that snapped in attack as the scaled and clawed body latched on to walls or roof.
Most of the hunters simply shot the Ralk down from the roof or walls with a bow or crossbow and then another would impale them on a long spear with wide metal protrusions designed to keep the creatures from sliding up the spear as the blade was jammed in. Five inches of grooved blade to allow blood to flow was enough to kill most creatures, no need to let them pull themselves up the spear to attack the wielder. Stab, hold them off with the protrusions, let the creatures bleed to death. The adventurers looked almost bored with the entire process.
The dungeon was huge, at least an order of magnitude larger than the one under Berthan. The creatures which swarmed in the depths were both more numerous and far more vicious as well. Kobolds, hairy and scaled creatures which walked upright and loved to ambush from stealth and using traps. The early noble sections always had to be carefully disarmed and these pests removed each morning. This was considered basic practice for a certain class of adventurer the nobles trained. A few casual glances over these adventurers made it clear: rogues in training.
Somehow, I think the uses for these rogues will be nastier than they would be in a video game.
Assassins.
The diversity of the creatures in this dungeon actually surprised me more than anything. Slimes, Ralk, Kobolds, Orcs, Goblins, Cave Trolls, and a host of other creatures I had never even heard of: Salks, Keldans, Gerthak Verns -apparently this was the only place to find this specific breed of Vern- and a menagerie of others.
None of this really mattered. I was hunting Ralk’s, and the hunting was annoying. It wasn’t the hunting which was the problem, it was boring but useful. Spawn, mana shield, the Ralk slams open mouth into the shield, sidestep, downward slice through the neck, wait a minute or three. This seems easy, and it was mostly, but I only had a limited amount of stamina, and worse becoming bored and tuning out in a life and death struggle was an issue; it led to mistakes.
I had to switch out with Felvers every fifth Ralk or so and let myself rest and recover. Lendser was just happy to be back healing the rest of his House. I had figured Lendser to be a bit of a jerk since he was grumpy about an easy bit of power leveling. No, instead Lendser Delsar was just pissed that he had been called away to help power level some no named bumbling idiot when he thought he should be healing his friends and family in the dungeon of Gerthak.
I admit, I liked Lendser a tad more when I figured out he was just worried for his family and not just being a jerk.
“Do you always have to just sit around like that? Can’t you do something like sharpening your sword or help cut up one of the Ralks?” Lendser rhetorically asked as he stomped past to heal a minor wound on another adventurer down the tunnel.
Mentally I rephrased things to myself, ‘mostly not just being a jerk’.
I kept trying to figure future plans, ways to expand my legend, ways to bend others into seeing me as a force to be either helped, or avoided. Being hunted for the secret to immortality was something I could do without spending hundreds of years on.
It wasn’t till a morning insult from a rich noble, an odd gesture which mimed cleaning a dagger on the pants -the implication obvious- did part of a plan form. Admittedly, part of it was that I just wanted to get the rest of the arrogant nobles to back off. They reminded me far too much of the jocks of high school. As pitiful as it was, that was a part of my decision when I started to consider a way to get House Delsar on my side.
I didn’t have a need for House Delsar yet, but I was certain being in favor with them would help me. I also wanted to send the message, help me, help comes to you, while harming me, even casual harm, led to nasty results.
I just needed to be sure I didn’t step on anyone’s toes too greatly. I had to get both King Melnus and the clan head in on things beforehand. Also, I needed them to think I was making an agreement which served them while costing me, I didn’t need them thinking even my payment was something that served my plan. I spent roughly three weeks casually chatting with the other House Delsar adventurers finding out which nobles and merchant houses were in opposition to Delsar. Mostly it took just wondering what Delsar traded and finding out who also traded those same goods and who was making more profit.
The only part which was difficult for me was how mercenary my plan felt. I was basically going to be picking a noble to die or lose significant reputation, based on my long-term goals and the fact that they had insulted me at least once. I could feel my modern American morals recoiling a bit. I couldn’t cheap out and just claim these were computer programs. I was as much a computer program as any of them. I fully accepted the idea that Delsi had presented, the calculation is important not the substrate that does the calculation. The mind was what mattered, not the type of meat that did the processing.
I had to make peace with the fact that because I wasn’t willing to basically live in the wilderness as a hermit, and that I wanted to have agency and control of my place in this world, I was going to have to be willing to fight for that control, even kill for it. Part of it was that the more my legend grew, the less I would have to do this in the future. The rest was that I could salve my conscience with the idea that the only nobles on my list of candidate would be those who had self-selected through rudeness, with the final selection resting with the King and House Delsar.
On Lendser’s next pass through my area, I told him that I would need to have a private meeting with the clan house head in order to present an agreement.
“What kind of agreement?” was the instant and obvious question I got in response.
The idea that ‘private’ and ‘for the clan head only’ were enough reason to refuse to answer him did not sit well with him. With a few
more grumbles and oblique comments about how wasting the heads time was dangerous, he said he would pass on the message.
###
“Your ‘Majesty’?” asked Jofrem as he knocked lightly on the wood of King Calferd Melnus’ study.
It was a subtle hint, but one the King understood instantly. ‘Majesty’ was the title that the immortal wizard used regularly, if Jofrem was using it then he was hinting his next issue revolved around the wizard, but for some reason, he didn’t wish to say this out loud.
With a nod, the King raised his hand and made a left to right sweeping motion then gestured Jofrem in. The hand signal was supposed to indicate his guards and protectors in the walls would need to check for spies and listeners, while each of the guard signal and spy holes were to be closed.
Jofrem stopped in front of the King, then closed his eyes and with a deep sigh and mutter of words the room was muffled by a slowly expanding sphere that ‘snapped’ to the walls as it reached them.
“What has that blasted wizard done now?” asked the King as he contemplated a new force forming in his carefully balanced Kingdom.
With a small smile Jofrem handed the King a letter, “Strangely enough, he has sent a letter along with House Delsar. The offer here is phrased a bit indelicately, but the wizard has apparently entered into an agreement with House Delsar. House Delsar would have first right of purchase or handling for all major economic exchanges for the wizard Shawn for the next three hundred years, at a rate of 25% instead of the standard 15%.”
The King’s brow wrinkled deeply. The idea of House Delsar accepting such an agreement made sense if the Immortal Wizard actually had anything to trade or sell. Normally an economic exchange agreement was made between the Kingdom and the merchant houses and less commonly between merchant houses. The King couldn’t remember a single case of such an exchange being signed between a merchant house and an individual.
Opening the letter the King glanced through it until he reached the second half of the agreement. Apparently, the exchange was what the wizard would be getting, the offer for the merchant house was the list of names. The wizard was offering to ‘reduce the respect and reputation, even on to death, of any name on the list’. Each name was a member of nobility or a rich merchant house clan head in training.
The letter continued, the agreement required that the King have the right to select from this final list of which person would be ‘so reduced’.
The King could feel his heart beat faster at the possibilities and the dangers, “Has anyone else seen this letter? Did you open it anywhere that it could be divined, copied, or spied upon?”
Jofrem responded that it was safe, the letter had been sealed both physically and magically, and that it had been marked as of the utmost secrecy. The letter had even been packaged in a secret manner which only Jofrem and the House Delsar’s clan head knew of. House Delsar had long been allies of the Kings family and had been the first merchant family to warn the previous King of brewing rebellion.
Selecting a name on this list meant the King tacitly accepting what was just short of assassination in an effort to improve the position of House Delsar, it tied Delsar more tightly to the King while also granting a greater economic concession to House Delsar. If done correctly that was, and the King had little doubt that the wizard could do it correctly, at worst he would be shown to be at fault and so a useful patsy.
Scanning the list of names and considering carefully the King found one name on the list which would serve at least three purposes.
Valient Turmins, son of Chaman Turmins, of the noble family Turmins. An ally of the King, the main noble family which had supplied a large number of the troops and weapons to the loyalists in the rebellion. While he was an ally of the King, Chaman had been using his families past actions to grasp at greater and greater concessions from the King and was reaching for ever more power. His control of vineyards to the East had cut into the sales of a marginal business of magical liqueurs the Delsar family used Ralk harvested monster cores to create.
Chaman’s son Valient was the heir to the family and had but a single brother sworn to the abbey in the town outside the families estate. If Valient should fall, it left the family to the far weaker brother, possibly one that could have one of the Kings daughters married to in order to further control the family. If Valient lived but is humiliated, then Chaman’s power is reduced accordingly. If the wizard fails, then the immortal wizard has a bit of his own power broken and the King wins again.
House Delsar gains in economy and the King wrests control back from a difficult ally. Finally, it would send notice to House Delsar. Alliance or not, push too deeply against the Kings good will and you too can be cut back.
Burning the letter in a candle the King instructed Jofrem to make haste and send an encrypted magic letter to House Dalsar with only the name ‘Valient Turmins’.
Chapter 13
Clash of Cultures.
Quickly I worked the long coiled braids in my hair out into a smooth rope of hair. Traditional ‘tea time’ dress requires a ladies hair should be a simple single length wrapped in silk. This is supposed to be an indication that everyone at the table is a friend and of course no artifice is needed between friends.
Sneering at myself in the mirror I yanked on an errant curl until my hair finally lay flat. Normally Sasha, my handmaid, would be here to help me prepare for this tea time. I had sent her to check on a disturbance which had formed at the dungeon entrance. Normally a pre-placed spy would send word, but I had neglected to find a spy in the dungeon originally.
I had mistakenly thought that the actions of dungeon farmers wouldn’t directly affect my husband or my own position, but over the last three months of my self-imposed exile to this backwater, I had discovered all things flow from the dungeon, even intrigue.
With a sigh I slowly calmed myself, I needed this tea time to go well. Valient had insulted one of the main processors of refined steel, the primary resource in the weapons which Valient’s family needed in order to maintain a strong military force. No new steel, no new weapons and armor, no new weapons and armor, and his forces degrade over time, his forces degrade over time, and then the main use the King has for our family is lost.
For someone so focused on his own power you would think such a simple series of concepts would be easy to understand, but no, Valient was only ever concerned about how powerful his own arm was instead of his Barony. I blame his father for failing to teach his sons. He kept them weak to protect against patricide, rumored to be his own method of ascension to Baron, and the result was a muscle-headed moron with nothing but force as a solution and a milksop son who joined the clergy and so made a poor replacement in the potential death of Valient.
Once again I took a deep breath as I tried not to let my frustrations with tradition eat at me. I had my father select Valient, through manipulations with the help of my mother, since he was easily placated and would leave running of the Barony to a third party. Once the Baron died it would be a simple process of bribing with coins or other favors the man with the purse strings while letting my waste of a husband burn out his own issues in fights within the dungeon.
Then the rumors started. Married for three years but no child? Did Valiant’s member not charge as well into battle as he was want to? Was the wife as frigid in bed as she was vicious on the society scene? Perhaps Valient liked diversions of another sort than women?
I could care less what old biddies in money wasting silk bonnets said, but since all of my power and influence flows through Valient, I needed to quell the voices. Unfortunately, Valient refused to leave his damnable dungeon for longer than a month a year. His obsession with personal strength and violence meant I had to live in this hell hole. Yes, ruling the roost of the social scene here was nice. But a big fish in a small pond is still in a small pond no matter how it appears to them. I could not push forward my other goals from this range. The only weapons open to me was the coin and a whisper in the ear, both too di
fficult to wield from this far removed.
At the sound of the door slamming open, I glanced up into the mirror at Sasha’s return. The disarrayed hair and violent entry told the tale, something important was happening and I needed to handle it now.
“Speak,” I commanded.
“Valient has accepted a duel, he will be fighting in the square in half an hour,” Sasha said with obvious dismay.
I was unable to contain my outburst, “Damn him! Why must I be the only one with intellect in this whole damn family? He…”
Quickly I cut my outburst. The way of noble women is through guile, manipulation, and at last resort the poisoned drink. Violence and loss of control were what caused this issue, it would not solve it.
“Quick love, fetch my dark semi-formal attire, grab a dark veil, Gods forbid I need it, and a hand fan,” I started stripping my clothes as I continued querying Sasha, “Who does he fight and what do we know about them? Can we bribe them or their family to forfeit? You said Valient accepted the duel and didn’t issue it? Is this an assassination attempt using a sword master or someone known to the dueling square?”
Dressing was quick and we were on the street heading towards the dueling square in short order. I mentally fumed over Valiant’s actions. For noble men, the dueling square was considered the way to answer the most egregious of insults, a faster and far less messy solution than sending armies. This was the main reason the King hadn’t outlawed the practice. There were few other reasons for a duel, matters of love when a wedding could not be canceled for example.
A duel was possibly the worst way for my own schemes to be ended. If Valient wins then I will have to reiterate to him his sworn oath he made to me at our wedding to avoid duels. His oath had been to avoid ‘all but the most outrageous of insults which could only be solved through honor on the killing square’. The moron never even called it a dueling square, he only ever referred to it as the killing square, as if invoking combat to the death as the only option.
