Axiom

by Dennis Vanderkerken

  With only a single tower, thin walls, and ostentatious courtyards, the structure was meant to be a place of flirtatious flaunting and capricious courtesans. History had proven otherwise since its position on the edge of the Fringe had turned it into a prime strategic location. The reputation of the forest allowed the castle to be easily defendable. It encouraged armies to sneak through the forest, ignoring the rumors in order to assault the position from a considerably less defended wall. None of those soldiers ever made it back out. Their howls and cries were all that remained, moments before the unwelcome trespassers had been silenced.

  Olgier recounted that it had been quiet lately, but anything with ‘Phantom’ in the name was well known as a place where people easily went missing and terrible events happened with ease. On the second hill, Olgier squinted to see some static figures. The shapes were haphazard and about as far from professional as you could get, but the telltale markers of the ‘Toll Guard’ were clear enough for the disgruntled trader to make out.

  They rose from their lazy positions and unwanted duty, their intimidating body language shown along with rusted blades. The Northern accent was thick in Olgier’s voice. He didn’t want to play their games today. “Put that away, you mules. Fetch your leader women. Olgier is here to pay his toll. Also, I have information to sell Hakan. Pricy, valuable information.”

  Olgier wasn’t the least bit against using intimidation tactics against people trying that on him. Name dropping important people made even these dumb muscle boys shrivel. They hurriedly spit words between themselves and played some sort of game with their hands. The loser groaned in defeat, not wanting to go but running off to the castle regardless.

  Brigan and Ulno clapped hands together. They didn’t need to risk getting their face cut by fetching a leader. When Olgier got closer, they recognized each other and Ulno shared some words. “Oh. It you. Why no say? Come!”

  Brigan made a wild come-along motion, and the hill guards strolled along with the hooded cart while Olgier slipped right into a chatty merchant role. The rectangular tower on the castle was right in front of him when he went down the hill. The flat façade hung large flags but only to hide the holes in the construction from siege damage over the years. Currently, the flags were crude and drab with scythes painted in dull browns.

  Large portcullises were seen in the connecting left and right walls, but the left was a crumpled wreck that had half a battering ram rotting away in it. The right gate wasn’t in much better shape. Technically, the portcullis was closed, but the metal had been sawed out in places to let traffic pass through. Several patches of stonewall had hammered wood panels filling up holes to cover weaknesses. The structure itself still stood fine, but the whole bastion had seen centuries of better days.

  Olgier drove his cart into the main courtyard, which served to show off the rest of the lavish layout. It led to two smaller courtyards where wildflowers bloomed, the first main structure nested between them. From the third balcony above the ground, a stern woman was leering down at the main courtyard. The empty lot swiftly filled with brutish looking men who counted respect based on the number of facial scars they had. Olgier was dismounting as a young lady with her hair braided in a single line stomped up to him.

  “Ah, my lady Lunella! How wonderful it is to–”

  *Slap*! He was cut off as she stepped all over his words. “How dare you call for the Mistress of the Domain!”

  The back of Lunella’s armored hand backhanded Olgier across the opposing cheek while Hakan relished in the sadism from above. “My lady! I have import–

  *Slap*!

  “You have tolls to pay and tithes to offer, and if… if they have value, then the mistress may see fit to grace you with her kindness.” She squinted her emeralds eyes at him. “Are you talking to me while above me, male?”

  Olgier knew better than to fight back or quip and hurriedly bowed deeply before the simple act of paying a toll got ugly. The men around him didn’t come to his aid; this wasn’t worth a cut to the face.

  “Oh, just bring him to me.” When Hakan removed her presence from the window, the grouping of men created a funnel and path for the lady and trader to traverse.

  The man from Rutsel knew better than to get in front of her; that was cause to lose body parts. The heated parlor of the castle foyer was terribly lavish. Regal carpet was scrubbed by several raiders, rugs mounted the walls and coated the floor. Rich, magenta cathedral candles remained lit, and hooded torches lined the bare spots on the walls. In some design flaw, there were no windows on the ground floor. Serene footsteps made their way down a staircase as Olgier was ushered to take a seat.

  The nicest chair at the table was pulled out by Lunella, and she stood to the side of it, remaining unseated. Hakan, while dressed in her standard attire under the noble’s coat, had puffy fur wrapped about the neck. She took the seat and sent a smirk to Lunella, who bowed and pushed the chair in. Her voice was as edge-tempered as ever. “Drinks.”

  A bustle of activity occurred at Hakan’s order. Several raiders swiftly ran out to take buckets of water from those who had the forethought to gather some from the well outside. Actual glasses were filled with clear fluid. Rather than be put on the table, they were offered to the leather-clad Lunella. She carefully tasted each glass, and only when pleased placed them before Hakan and Olgier.

  After, she took an empty spot near the wall, being handed a common wooden cup by a familiar-looking young male with the same emerald eyes. Only a single cut ran across the left side of his face, from forehead to the left of the eye, ending down the cheek. Wuxius didn’t drink from his cup until after Lunella took a sip, acting as personal aid.

  Olgier didn’t dare parlay until Hakan had the first word. “I don’t get requested unless it’s really juicy information, merchant. My patience is the same distance as my smallest blade. Speak.”

  With a minor bow, Olgier went right into it, “The cloister where the village Salt used to be? It has developed a cure against the venom you use for your arrows, but… the force currently stationed there will leave a few days before my next visit.”

  Hakan already had a knife out, rolling it between her fingers. Her dissatisfied voice rang out, “And?”

  Olgier smiled. “They’re not taking the cure with them.”

  The twirl of the knife stopped as Olgier’s honeyed words reached interested ears. “Oh? Well, now… that won’t do. Everyone is leaving?”

  Olgier made a wiggle-waggle motion with his hand. “A token force is being left behind—from the sound of it, mostly healers if they’re going to continue work on the antivenom.”

  Hakan pressed her fingers together, stirring her water with the knife-edge of the blade. “Your source?”

  Olgier shrugged. “The old Elder of the Salt village. He’s not up for sticking around. He’s taking all his valuables, including one beauty of a lapis robe, and requested a ride to Rutsel. A shame he won’t make it the whole way.”

  The sound of a dropped cup reached Hakan’s ears. Stupefied, Lunella open-mouth gaped at the trader. She caught herself as Hakan took the effort to look behind her. All the raider leader saw was Lunella one-handedly strangle-dragging Wuxius by the neck, pulling him into the darkened passage while grumbling a, “You little–”

  Hakan was pleased. One of her favorite apprentices had come a long way in treating her lesser with the proper force. She paid no further heed and turned back to the trader. Lunella’s grip had been strong, but it was all show. Once around no less than two corners from the foyer, she released her hand and collapsed into Wuxi’s arms, who was ready to support her. Luna’s hand pressed over her own lips to muffle her unstoppable sobs.

  Wuxius just held her tight, hidden from view. He too felt a deep emotional shake, but he needed to be there for Lunella right now. Luna was heaving, her fingers digging into his chest from the news. “He’s alive. He’s alive! Elder is alive.”

  Wux nodded and silently rubbed the back of her head, not caring if he
pressed down on her leadership braid. His voice had gained significant depth over the years. “See? I told you it was going to be alright.”

  “I told you leaving flowers was a good idea.” She hiccupped the words and was soothed by the tight embrace and brushing attention. They always had to do this in secret. When people were looking, she could hold her face and act intimidating, but otherwise, she didn’t have it together in the least. Luna was falling apart behind the scenes and would have done so publicly if she didn’t have Wux to keep her propped up, to keep her playing along with the lie they needed to survive.

  She pulled the iron gloves from her hands and lifted them to touch and feel the warmth of Wux’s face. Her fingers were icy, but he said nothing and let her get warm. She brushed her thumb over the scar and immediately felt the guilt.

  “It’s okay, and yes, you did. It was a great idea,” Wux whispered support and brushed the back of her hair, just letting Lunella cope. “You’re doing great, Luna. Just a little more and we’ll be out of here. We just need to be ready for whatever insane, little scheme that old man is making. We’ve got a month. That’s plenty to make some preparations. We can–”

  Wux didn’t have a chance to keep talking; Lunella kissed him to shut him up. His world whisked away into hazy butterflies. He forgot what he was talking about until Lunella had her fill, sunk into his chest, and her voice reached him, “We’re going to destabilize the region, cause utter havoc between the men, and give our Elder as easy of a time as possible. Let’s get back in there.”

  Wux took a firm step back and squeezed his muscles taut and shut his eyes. A loud *slap* resounded through the dark passageway. Wux’s sharp breath let her know a nice, big red mark was sure to show. Having the visual that she’d beaten him, they resumed their positions in the foyer where Hakan was playing with knives and Olgier talked shop.

  Hakan was speaking, “Profitable is the right word. A minor token force isn’t enough for a large raiding crew. Robbing them blind is what we do, and survivors from the Choir are… undesirable. I am not fond of a cure to my precious crystal cobra venom. When I’ve put a plan together, it’s raiding time. I need you not to be there so we can avoid unnecessary collateral damage.”

  With a waggle of her knife, she dismissed the trader. Olgier rose, performed a bow, and left the foyer flanked by Lunella and a very red-faced assistant. They handled the collection of the toll, going by Hakan’s orders of what appropriate recompense was going to be. Overall, Olgier left Duskgrove with more profit than he’d arrived with. A rare occasion, but then it wasn’t often you could hand Hakan a target on a silver plate.

  He was going to splurge in Rutsel when he arrived!

  Chapter Forty-Three

  A month later, Olgier pulled his hooded cart into the near-abandoned cloister. The orderly rows of tents had been broken down, maybe a single cleric manned the tower, and nary a soul was visible within the walls. He reined in his horse and looked around for confirmation. Sure enough, it seemed the expedition force was gone.

  Some smoke still rose from several places behind the main church building, but it was minor. A shuffling step got his attention, and what must have been a living pillow shambled his way.

  “Err… well met?” Olgier was hesitant, as all he could see were brown sacks and fluff.

  “Good morrow, my boy!” came the muffled response from beneath it all. “Could you help me get my things on? I can’t quite see where I’m going.”

  Ah, it was the Elder. Pillows. Sure. Fair enough. The Northman hopped off his cart and lifted sack after sack, shoving them into the back of the cart. He was surprised the old man hadn’t been crushed beneath the weight, but sure enough, Artorian was beaming with relief as he was freed. “Ah. Fresh air.”

  Olgier enjoyed a laugh at the Elder’s antics. “You look well, old man! Quite healthy!”

  Artorian handed over a few more sacks now that he had help. “Oh, indeed. I had several injuries for a while, but nothing some consistent cleric power couldn't take care of. Whoo. Air resistance is a drag, let me tell you.”

  Olgier didn’t understand that last bit, so he simply hoisted the next sack as the Elder prattled on. “I’m afraid you’ve missed the host, m’boy. They all left days ago. It’s just me and some stragglers now. I’m all set to go, no parcels this time. Did the others make it?”

  Olgier held out a hand, helping Artorian clamber on the transport with a grunt. “They certainly did. I had their arrival ensured. How has the last month been?”

  The old man pulled some pillows from one of the sacks and set them on the front of the cart before sitting down. “Eventful. I signed some paperwork for the Head Cleric here, giving him the land that he thinks he now owns.” Artorian gave a conspiratorial wink to the trader, who had another good laugh. “In truth, there’s no such thing as land ownership in the Fringe! Can’t be done. Contracts are invalid since they can’t be secured, and conveying him a title didn’t actually do anything either since my heart wasn’t in it. He can be the Cloister Elder all he wants if it makes him feel better.”

  Olgier couldn’t stop cackling, his hand coming down on his knee with firm slaps. “Did you trick them, old man? How can you even tell who is in charge of the region?”

  “The obvious way,” Artorian regarded him, pushing his thumb under the edge of his robe to hold it out while lying through his teeth. A toothy smile followed from the merchant, and both of them shared a laugh as they settled to get going. “Aside from pulling one over on clerics, it’s been much of the same. I require a lot of rest. Time in the sunlight is prized, and to be honest, I had a slew of recurring injuries that needed to heal up. I’ve got a good handle on it now, along with some clever new tricks of mitigating their causes.”

  Olgier got the cart going and envied the pillows the old man was sitting on. Why had he never thought of that? It was a great idea. Ah well, he’d have them soon enough. Speaking of… “I need to make a small detour before I can head to Rutsel. Is that fine?”

  Artorian waved it off. “Whatever you have to do.”

  The old man scoffed and flipped a small knife out from the inside of his inner robe. Content with the sharpness, he began grooming with it. The end edge of his long beard was frazzled and needed tending, and he had hours upon hours to kill. Olgier let the old man have his distraction.

  Nearly two days of rough terrain and hills later, evening fell flat once again. The cart operator pulled away from the dirt path, which made the old man look about with curiosity as Rutsel spoke quietly, “Keep your head down. Raiders.”

  Artorian didn’t fuss; he simply hurried into the back of the cart, ruffling through one of his sacks. It wasn’t too quiet, but Olgier had no worries. He thought the geezer was trying to hide. He calmly watched the sizable war party pass. They saw one another, but both parties knew the plan and thus ignored each other. He gave them a signal, and the look full of malicious joy turned even his murder-hardened stomach. The raiders moved on, and Olgier did as well after they’d passed. He’d need to conjure a good excuse as to why he didn’t go hide in the cart as well.

  “Looks like they… didn’t see us?” his voice rumbled into the back of the hooded cart. Not hearing a response, he looked to see what the old man was up to. The last thing he ever suspected was a point-blank *twang*!

  The sharp end of the arrow erupted from the back of Olgier’s head, and his body slumped, tumbling right off the cart. Artorian stepped back into the limelight with a strung recurve bow in hand. Without a word, he drew a second arrow. *Twang*!

  The hunched man kept a solid eye on the fallen traitor, now with two arrows in his noggin to confirm the kill. He was admittedly distracted by the end of the raider horde but wasn’t overly concerned. That wasn’t his problem to tackle; his personal war had just advanced. The full might of the Choir’s expedition was waiting for the approaching raiding party in a well-planned ambush.

  It was amazing how empty you could make the cloister look by temporarily moving peopl
e to the salt flats. When the cart departed, Tibbins was playing guard and had signaled a well-placed scout. While Olgier had been distracted with the ramblings of an old man on the ride away from the cloister, the expedition force erupted forth to reinforce the bastion.

  Choir scouts had confirmed beforehand that the raiders had prepared to move out and laid full sets of contingency plans. The raiders thought they were just going to walk all over a few cultivators with sheer numbers, and they certainly fielded a sizable crew in order to do so.

  Hakan

  Hakan herself wasn’t present for the cleanup job but had still allotted a hefty amount of men. You couldn’t underestimate even a weak cultivator, and the Church wasn’t known as a pushover. However, enough arrows in a man still did the job. So, she just needed to send enough men to guarantee success. So what if a few fell in glorious sacrifice?

  At worst, there was going to be a short siege. Equipment had been sent along just in case there were some problems with that cloister wall, but Hakan firmly believed that might made right… especially when she had all the might. She’d find out how it went in a few days when her raiders returned laden with loot and trinkets. Hakan hadn’t the luxury to go with her raiders.

  She certainly wanted to wet her blades on some cleric necks, but her camp had been in disarray over the past few weeks. She had been unable to pin down the source of the chaos, but every day, there had been yet another small issue that made her normally cohesive troops snappy. They had even dared to almost fight with one another. Tensions were high, and she had to be personally present to keep order at home. She even sent her apprentices off to sort through the less important problems.