BRUTAL: An Epic Grimdark Fantasy

by James Alderdice

  “There’s plenty in Aldreth without any gods or goddess being involved.”

  “Don’t get preachy with me,” she said. “If I say it is safe here, it is.”

  He rubbed a hand across his face. This was making him tired. Why hadn’t he brought a bottle of mead? Never go anywhere without a bottle of mead, he told himself.

  “I finally feel like myself again with you. I haven’t felt myself in years. So much has changed in the last two days. I can finally live the way I want. I’d like that to be—”

  He eyed her with a worrisome twitch. “If you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say—don’t.”

  She frowned again but retorted, “I’m just trying to say that I feel like there is something about you that helped me break from an enchantment. One I think was placed upon me by the Marquis. I feel like I can remember things as if they were a dream. Nightmares involving him and the dark goddess, Boha-Annu.”

  “Can we just say the plump goddess instead? She doesn’t look malevolent to me so much as jolly.”

  “You jest with her at your own peril. There is a cruelty in that smile of hers, mockery too, as she dares foolish mortals to follow her into some starless embrace of night. She is the goddess of dreams and much of that realm is nightmare too. She is all too welcome in Aldreth and has crossed over and touched many lost souls in the night; inviting them to enter her realm with hints of secret wisdom, visions of wonder and seduction, but it all leads to the abyss of black terror.” She paused a moment and looked away, whispering, “I’ve known that place.”

  “What are you asking me to do?”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m warning you.”

  He took a deep breath and hoped his face looked sincere. “I count myself warned. Now can we go see if the others have arrived yet?”

  “I’m not done. Didn’t you listen? I was enchanted by someone, probably the Marquis.”

  “But you don’t know? It could be a bad dream?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not going to take that from you. I’m speaking the truth, telling you how there are deep sorceries at work, much more vile than just some old men trying to turn dross into iron! No! There are dreadful rites invoked here, someone is manipulating souls and spilling blood to feed her! Why won’t you listen?”

  He grunted for an apology and they sat in silence for some time. It was warm and Nicene fell to sleep.

  The Sellsword watched her breathing and decided she was fine. She had said the parlay would happen in the back chamber, so he knew where to go. Probably better that he left her here in any case. He went down the low spiral staircase and into the main temple hall. Someone had left the great doors open and a breeze gusted in, dousing the lit candles and swelling the incense into spiraling purple clouds that wafted farther into the temple. When he was halfway to the pulpit and the rear chamber doors, he saw a pair of men poke their heads in at the front door. They watched him suspiciously, but did not enter. They instead turned back around and shut the great doors as if they had been posted to keep watch from without.

  If this was a trap, he had allowed Nicene to choose it, but his senses didn’t say that it was—yet.

  Passing through the rear chamber doors, the Sellsword heard before he saw the two wizards and their four lieutenants sitting at a great round table and arguing collectively over the mines, alchemy and adjusting to the absence of the Duke. The lone eleventh man was Terance, silently representing the Marquis in his stead. They all looked up at the Sellsword as they noticed his presence. Terance looked nervous. Each group murmured together and no one offered him a seat at the round table. So, he slowly paced around the table, giving every man there a stern glare.

  No one seemed willing to speak first. The Sellsword decided he would, “I can make them leave,” he offered.

  “How?” snarled Anaias in a whisper. “What magic do you possess to get those vultures of the crown to leave us be?”

  The Sellsword smirked. “Before you go baiting, be sure what you’re hunting.”

  “What is that supposed to mean in relation to our problem?” asked Varlak. “I was a fool to come here, Orlov, let’s go.” He stood up.

  “Sit down!” thundered the Sellsword. Varlak sat. “I saved that captain of the guard’s life back at the battle of Ravenna. He owes me a blood debt. I will call it in and ask him to move on. I’ll tell him that there is nothing to see here in Aldreth and you can all get back to your struggle for supremacy without intervention from the crown. At least until only one of you is in charge of the city again.”

  “For a price, I assume?” sneered Varlak.

  The Sellsword stepped forward and gently slapped Varlak across the chest. “Of course, for a price. Why should I give up a blood debt for you both, for free?”

  “Don’t touch me again!” shouted Varlak, “Or I’ll have your head!”

  The Sellsword stared down Varlak’s men, particularly Orlov, who cradled his blackened right hand.

  “What do you want for this debt?” pressed Anaias.

  “What is it worth to you to make them leave? This is something of value to both of you. I couldn’t care less. I could make them stay longer if I ask for a reverse of my offer to you. Then they might get wise to your civil war, and you’d get the king’s troops and you don’t want them establishing order here, do you?”

  The two wizards leered at one another. Varlak began, “What assurances do we have that they will not return on the morrow? We want, what?” He gave a sidelong glance at Anaias. “At least a week to determine our outcome here?” “Ha! A week he says! I could slay you and all your men in a fortnight!” responded Anaias.

  “A day and we could kill you!” cried Orlov of the Black Hand. He half drew his sword, but Varlak bid him sit back down, which he did still glaring across the table.

  The Sellsword broke the bickering with his own thunderous voice, “If I am to call in the debt, it better be quick.”

  “One hundred gold crowns,” said Anaias.

  Varlak chuckled and shook his head.

  “Are you seeking to insult my blood debt? Offer me more!”

  Anaias snarled, “You damn mercenary. I’ll give you two hundred gold crowns. Match that Varlak!”

  Varlak snarled in response like a wounded animal, but nodded.

  “Terance, the Marquis needs to carry his weight too,” said the Sellsword.

  Terance wiped sweat from his beading forehead and gulped, saying, “I suppose if this is what we are all agreed too, I can fetch the sum from the Marquis’s accounts. If that is what we all agree too, to be rid of the king’s envoy.”

  “It is,” snapped Anaias. “We need them gone!”

  “Then I will go and fetch the sum, for the good of the city,” said the emaciated giant. He stood and bowed, though he never dropped his eyes from the Sellsword until he left the chamber.

  Anaias pounded the table. “You’ll receive your bribe, Sellsword. Varlak, you better contribute too!”

  “I . . ,” Varlak cast a wary look about and muttered low, “I cannot.”

  Anaias burst out laughing and pointing! “Moneybags here is broke! Perhaps I have no need to call off the King’s guard then after all. You can’t afford any of your own men, and I’ll have mine kill you by sundown.”

  Varlak grunted. Sweat beaded down his forehead despite the cool afternoon breeze. His men murmured nervously behind him. He would lose them in the next heartbeat if something didn’t contain their fear.

  This wasn’t what the Sellsword wanted, at least not yet, but he had to act fast. “Dead Hand,” he called, addressing Orlov, “I will accept gold from the reserve treasury you have beneath the great statue of Boha-Annu. This is the time to count that wealth. No more holding back.”

  Orlov caught on quick. He nodded. “I will procure it for you and to pay our men what they are owed,” he said, through grated teeth.

  Anaias protested, “There’s no treasury beneath that statue! I served this old windbag for
ten years. There is no such vault.”

  “That you knew about,” snapped the Sellsword, “But part of my falling out with Varlak was finding those secrets. Now with the situation he is in, he’d rather I have the gold than keep quiet, eh wizard?”

  Both Varlak and Orlov looked surprised and reluctant enough for the bluff to appear plausible.

  Anaias scrutinized the two men and shook his head, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

  The Sellsword carried the conversation forward. “I get two hundred crowns from Anaias, two hundred from the Marquis, and two hundred from the hidden vault of Varlak. Within the hour,” he emphasized. “Any longer and the King’s guard will become suspicious on why we didn’t bribe them to leave sooner.”

  “Are you sure this will work?” asked Varlak, still sweating.

  “Gold shouts. They’ll be happy enough to take that much and leave. I guarantee it.”

  “I can get mine to you in the next ten minutes,” said Anaias. “Just call in your debt to that captain, now.”

  “When I have the coin in hand,” said the Sellsword, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. “Dead Hand, fetch it yourself and hurry.”

  Orlov looked to the still stunned Varlak, nodded and hurried away.

  “When it’s in my hand, Anaias. I’ll tell them to go.”

  The wizard glanced at his men. “Wylim, Janus, hurry both of you!” He faced the Sellsword, his voice dripping with venom. “If you are playing a game with us, I will eat you up.” He licked his lips.

  The Sellsword was disgusted, but would never reveal such, so he gave Anaias a puzzled look and shrugged, saying as he jutted his chin forward. “Make it fast, bugger.”

  Anaias then addressed Varlak. “We wait a full day for the envoy’s to be gone and the truce is over. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” murmured Varlak. “The peace shall be kept for a full day, starting from when they depart.”

  It looked like they might shake hands, but neither man did, instead they gave each other a solemn nod and made a hand gesture that made no sense to the Sellsword. He guessed it was an alchemist token.

  ***

  Terance was the first to return with two fine velvet bags of coin. One in each hand. He was awkward from the weight, his tall frame stooped.

  “Why didn’t you just have a sign around your neck that said, ‘Rob Me’?” laughed Anaias.

  Terance flushed. “I was trying to hurry. No one stopped me. Not with the king’s guard patrolling the city.”

  Within a few minutes, Anaias’s two men returned with a saddlebag of gold. The wizard took it from them and reluctantly handed it over to the Sellsword. “I assure you it is all there.”

  “Yeah, I assure you,” parroted the Sellsword, as he began counting.

  “Will you now send those dogs of the Usurper king away?”

  The Sellsword ignored Anaias and continued counting coin, murmuring the numbers softly to himself.

  “Well?”

  Buckling the strap over the saddle bag, the Sellsword said, “It’s all there. I’ll go call in the debt and they’ll leave. I assure you.”

  “What about Varlak’s debt?”

  “Don’t worry about me!” cried the elder wizard.

  “Orlov is bringing it, don’t worry nobody rides for free,” answered the Sellsword. “I’ll collect it.”

  Anaias and his men grumbled, but didn’t vocalize anything more. Varlak still fidgeted. He sidled up to the Sellsword and whispered, “My thanks for the ruse. But why? You know I have nothing beneath the great statue.”

  “I’m going to call in a favor from you in the next day or two and you will do it,” threatened the Sellsword.

  Varlak’s brows smashed together as if he were trying to visualize what this favor might be. “I see.”

  “No, you don’t. But I want you both on even footing when the envoys leave, then it’s still up to you and yours to triumph.”

  Varlak’s wizened face curled into a grin, and he nodded quickly, “Ah, then now I see. My thanks. There is still a welcome place for you in my council. I need your help. Once I triumph and control the city, I will have all the wealth I need and I will require a new captain of the guard. We can eliminate Bearcoat and give you his position and more.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He strode away from the table, then turned and said over his shoulder, “Have Orlov bring the gold to me at the Gate House.” Then he went through the door leaving his enemies all wondering if they had indeed made the right choice in being united for a brief moment by heeding the nameless Sellsword.

  13. The Peace

  The troop of the king’s guard formed up beside the Gate House. The captain of the guard, Niels, looked to the Sellsword as he received a saddlebag of gold and asked, “Are you sure, you know what you’re doing?”

  “What is life without a bit of rolling the dice?”

  “After all you’ve accomplished and done? I find you here, playing wizards against one another?”

  “Someone needed to do it.”

  “This isn’t a game. There are other ways. Methods that don’t involve so much risk. Why not use us? It’s what the king always intended the royal guard for.”

  “There aren’t enough of you. But they fear word leaking out back to Hellainik at least until one has triumphed and consolidated power. Until then?” He shrugged.

  “What can one man do?” asked Niels as he mounted his charger.

  “The right thing.”

  “And with you, that means blood.”

  The Sellsword nodded. “That’s all some men have to give,”

  “And all some men have to offer,” Niels finished. “There is a difference.”

  “Aye, it’s a wicked talent.”

  “I wish you’d let me help. This isn’t an important city any more. It’s forgotten in the rest of the realm. Useless.”

  “Not to the people that live here.”

  “I always thought you were arrogant, but this,” he gestured at the city, “all by yourself?”

  The Sellsword looked at the horizon and said, “Sometimes you need to do things yourself. Your own way.”

  “Do you have a maxim for everything?”

  “Speak the truth and—”

  Niels threw up his hands. “Argh! I get it. Answer this. Why did you leave?”

  The Sellsword looked him in the eye. “I had to get out. Had to feel a horse under my legs again and swing a bloody sword. Spend a night on a cold mountain, maybe do some justice with road pirates.”

  “We found them. I wondered if that was you. Where is your horse?”

  “With the road pirates. Well, at the bottom of the ravine. They spooked him over the side.”

  “Damn shame, that was a fine horse.”

  “He was fast.”

  Niels shook his head again. “You’re crazy. I don’t understand your old ways of doing things, but I trust you and pray that you’re right.”

  “I’ll be back where I belong soon enough,” answered the Sellsword.

  “See that you do.” Niels horse stamped impatiently, it was ready to leave the gloom of the city. He pulled on the reins. “Do you know they call this city All-Death now? I wondered if that was because you were here.”

  “I first heard it from one of the road pirates. I hate puns.”

  “Yes, well.” Niels attention was drawn to Nicene sitting at a table waiting for them. “Who is the woman with you? She is a looker. Seems fancier, than those I’ve usually seen you with.”

  “Softer,” agreed the Sellsword. “She is the recently widowed Duchess of the city.”

  Niels brows raised. “It seems neither of you waste any time.”

  The Sellsword gave a lop-sided grin. “She is touched in the head.”

  Niels leaned in to whisper, despite the fact that they were much too far away and there was too much city noise for Nicene to possibly hear them. “Well, if I was staying, I would take your place in easing the burden of her terrible grief.”
>
  “That’s why you’re leaving,” laughed the Sellsword. “Get going!” He slapped the captain’s horse on the rump and waved him off.

  Niels called out as he rode through the gates, “Remember, the touched make the best lovers!”

  Nicene who had almost been dozing, looked up. “Was he talking about me?”

  “No, a trollop he is courting in Hellainik. I tried to dissuade him from marrying her.”

  “A captain of the king’s guard with a trollop? What a scandal!”

  “I know. That’s what I’m trying to tell him.”

  Nicene watched as the king’s guard rode through the valley. It wouldn’t be long now and they would go up the slope and away. She hurried to catch the Sellsword who was already walking away. “I’m still not sure why you asked for them to leave instead of using them to restore order,” she said. “You seemed to have a good rapport with that captain.”

  “I have known him for years. He’s a good man,” he answered, not slowing down.

  “Is that all you will tell me about him?”

  “I told you he was courting a trollop.”

  A passing cart came between them and Nicene had to wait and dash along faster to continue the conversation. “I just had the impression that there was something beyond his being a king’s royal guard and you a lowly sellsword.”

  The Sellsword stopped in the middle of a busy intersection, forcing traffic to move around him like a boulder in the middle of a torrent. He shielded his eyes and took stock of the sun’s position. “There is, but we don’t have time for that now. With them leaving, I suspect the peace will be over as soon as it gets dark.” Then he was moving again with folk turning aside like the sea to the bow of a ship. Nicene had trouble following in his wake.

  He turned once to make sure she was there and kept going.

  Nicene pulled at her skirts, trying to keep them up just enough as she struggled to match his pace. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Of course, but we have to be prepared. Choose the ground we fight on.”

  “So, you’ve chosen a side?”

  “No one has paid me to yet.”