by Helix Parker
“They’re given a moniker based on a physical trait.” He looked at the girl. “What does your master call you?”
“Round Eyes,” she said meekly.
“How imaginative,” Edgar said.
“I would not exactly describe Barthol as poetic.”
Barthol came striding out in full extravagant garb, with a silk robe, emerald necklace, and gold rings. Leon wondered if he had changed from something else as his hair appeared more tousled than usual.
“You?” Barthol asked. “What do you want?”
“Leon is here at my request,” Edgar said. “I’m here to purchase his property.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“We are men of the world, Lord Barthol. Let’s not start with lies. Everything in the world is for sale. It’s just a question of how much.”
“I’ve already got a buyer.”
“I’ll pay you more.”
“I don’t do business with half-men. So just crawl back in whatever gopher hole you came from and—”
“Double.”
“Double what?”
“Double whatever they have offered you. And notice that I did not wait for you to say what it was precisely they had offered you, so I’m certain the offer will be inflated. In reality, I will probably pay quadruple what your buyer will.” He glanced at Leon then gazed at Barthol. “It’s a worthless piece of land in the middle of nowhere. Why do you care who it is sold to?”
Barthol thought a moment. “His name is Sir Percy, and he’s a man who doesn’t like deals to fall through. You go convince him that I can sell to you, and you can have the property.”
“And where might we find Sir Percy?”
“In a whorehouse, I’m sure. He owns all of them.”
Edgar and Leon traveled to five whorehouses with no luck in finding Percy. Edgar saw a pretty little thing at the fifth and insisted that they stop for a quick respite. Leon would have no part of it and waited outside. Edgar felt odd then, and it made the whole experience awkward, so he finished early and told the girl he was tired.
The next whorehouse was fanciful and fragrant. Flowers adorned every wall, and the women were perfumed with scents ranging from orange blossom to pine. After a long while, a fat man in dirty attire came hopping down the stairs. He was tightening his belt, and his face was bright red and sweaty.
“What do you want?” the man asked Leon, ignoring Edgar.
“Sir Percy?”
“Yes, what of it?”
Edgar stepped forward. “We’re here about a certain property you are about to purchase from Lord Barthol.”
“What of it?”
“We wish to purchase it instead. Barthol stated that if we could persuade you not to purchase, he would then sell to us.”
“And how would you persuade me?”
“Money seems to be a great motivator.”
“Do I look like I need fuckin’ money?” he asked, holding out his arms.
“No, I suppose not. Then what do you need, Sir Percy?”
“I need training grounds for men.”
“Training grounds? Like for an army?”
“Yeah, for an army. You ever heard o’ training grounds for somethin’ else?”
“Why an army?”
“Because, little man, money isn’t power. Power is power. And you ain’t got none unless you got an army.”
Edgar nodded. “I see. Well, how about this? I’ll find more suitable lands for training, diverse lands with streams, mountains, and forests to truly challenge your men. I will purchase that land and bring the deed to you. Free of charge. In exchange, you allow Lord Barthol to sell this man’s land to us.”
He looked them over suspiciously. “And why exactly would you do that?”
“Call it a moral imperative.”
“I call it fuckin’ desperate is what I call it. An’ a man this desperate would probably pay more than just some worthless land.”
Edgar sighed. “Greed never ceases to amaze me.”
“Listen, little man. I got—”
“No, you listen,” Edgar bellowed. He pointed at Leon. “That is Leon the Lion, Destroyer of the City of Gen. And unless you really want to upset him right now, you will take my more than generous offer and do as we say.”
The man studied Leon. “Leon the Lion, my arse. Get out of here, half-man, before you upset me.”
Percy trudged back up the stairs.
20
The alehouse crowd was sparse. The air outside held the taint of a coming storm. The sky rumbled, and thunder made the windows tremble as the grayness outside began turning to black.
Leon sat with Edgar and watched him drink two glasses of ale before their roast duck and potatoes arrived. Edgar didn’t say much, but Leon could see the inner workings of the dwarf’s mind. Edgar appeared confused, but if the dwarf was as clever as Leon believed, the confusion was simply due to intricate thought processes working out a solution. So Leon kept quiet.
After the duck and potatoes, they ate lemon pie and then drank some honeywine. Leon sipped on one tankard of the crimson fluid as his short friend guzzled one glass after another.
Finally, Edgar asked, “I don’t suppose you’d want to just kill Barthol, would you?”
“No.” Leon took a sip from his mug. “How did you know about Gen?”
Edgar shrugged. “I asked around about you.” He belched and leaned back in the seat. “They say you killed over two thousand people in that single day. Men, women, and children. Is that true?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“In a manner of speaking, you committed slaughter?”
Leon ran his finger around the lip of the mug. “Do you have any ideas?”
“You don’t wish to speak of it, do you? Well, no matter. Best to leave the past in the past. But if you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t strike me as the type of person to kill a small city of people, even with a band of pirates at your side.”
“I’m not that man any longer.”
“How fortunate for us that you now have a conscience.”
Leon shrugged. “I don’t want to kill anymore.”
“Then how are you planning to help me with Erebos?”
“I plan to capture him. The king’s lawmen can then do what they want with him.”
“The king’s law? It’s amazing that we can say such a thing with a straight face.” Edgar shook his head. “What if I just bought you some other land? Somewhere not so worthless?”
“There’s something buried there that cannot be removed from the ground. It must be that land. Besides, my family likes it there.”
“What’s buried there that cannot be removed? Anything can be removed.”
“Not this.”
“Hm. Well, my friend, I am fresh out of ideas. So unless you know a trick to get into Barthol’s heart, I’m afraid you’ll be heading back to your family.”
Leon grimaced. “There is something. Barthol has certain… peculiar tastes. Tastes that he would not wish for anyone to know about. Particularly his wife.”
“Oh?” Edgar leaned forward. “Now this does sound intriguing. What type of tastes?”
“Best I show you.”
When night fell, they returned to Lord Barthol’s property. Two guards were up on the walls of the home, one at the north end and one at the south. But both faced west and seemed to have planted themselves firmly in their spots. Leon and Edgar approached from the east, easily sneaking up to the house.
The wind was howling furiously as the storm touched the shore a few miles away. Soon, rain and sleet would be hammering down. Leon led Edgar around the back to the stables. Beside the stables were coops and other enclosures with different types of animals. Leon motioned for Edgar to sit next to him behind some bushes.
Leon whispered, “I was here once, making a payment on the lease, when I caught him back here.”
“The stables?” Edgar said. “What did you catch him doing?”
“Watch.
He comes out every night before bed. I have seen it twice.”
“And does what?”
Leon shook his head. “Just watch.”
An hour later, as a slit of moon rose in the sky and the wind died down—the calm just before the furious violent storm to come—Barthol stepped out of his house. He scanned the area before entering the stables.
Through the slatted stable wall, Leon and Edgar saw Barthol approach a horse. The man tethered the horse to a post. He then stripped nude and got behind the horse.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Edgar whispered.
“Cattle, pigs, horses… I don’t think it matters to him. The thing is that he’s married. And he is a priest in the Church of Bale.”
“And you just happened to be here and see this?”
Leon shrugged.
“Okay, well, that’s certainly something we can use. Follow me.” Edgar rose and walked across the grass to the stables. He opened the door.
Barthol let out a surprised yelp and grabbed his cloak from the ground. “Get out! Get out, both of you!”
“Lord Barthol,” Edgar said with a grin. “High Priest of the Church of Bale. Lord of the Three Cities. Raping a defenseless mare.”
“I’ll have you arrested! I will have you arrested right now!”
“And is raping a horse not a crime? Or is it just a crime against the gods, punishable by death?”
“Get out now!”
“No. Leon is going to keep you in the stables, and I’m going inside to retrieve your wife and as many of your servants as I can. Then we’re going to the law. You will, of course, be ruined. Definitely arrested and maybe even hanged unless you bribe your way out of it. But I have a much easier solution.”
“What?”
“Sell me Leon’s land. Sir Percy will be upset with you, but he can’t destroy you. You’re just as wealthy as he is. It’s a much better proposition.”
“Fine. Fine, whatever you want. Let me go now.”
“Oh no, this transaction must occur here and now. Your poor victim may be one of our witnesses to the contract.”
“You little bastard!”
“Horse fucker!”
“Gentlemen,” Leon said, “calm down, please. Barthol, where are your papers? I will get them, and we can complete the transaction out here.”
Barthol was trembling, either with fury or embarrassment or both, but the intense fear in his eyes told Leon that it was probably more of the former. Barthol gave Leon directions to his desk, followed by a warning not to disturb the people in his house.
Once Leon left, Edgar gestured at the horse. “Fine looking mare.”
“I’ll hunt you down when this is over. They’ll have their land, but who will be there to enjoy it? I’ll kill both of you and turn that wife and daughter of his into whores.”
“You know, I wanted to kill you and take the deed, but Leon talked me out of it. I would think you’d show a little more gratitude to the man.”
Leon returned with parchment, a quill and ink, and Barthol’s official seal. Barthol quickly drafted a contract in the light of an oil lamp then sealed it and handed it to Leon.
Leon folded it carefully then handed Barthol another piece of parchment, the current contract indebting Leon to him. “I want to see you tear it up.”
Barthol grunted then tore up the parchment and threw it at the mare’s feet.
“Pleasure,” Edgar said as they left.
While walking away, Leon asked, “How did you know raping a horse was punishable by death?”
“It’s not. But he didn’t know that.”
21
Rodrick looked out from his window. The darkness of night brought peace. He had grown up a slave, one only used by his drunken owner at night. During the daylight hours, he had been kept in a dark cellar. By the time he could actually see and remember light, he was already of breeding age, and the sun meant nothing to him then.
“You have conflict,” Saria said in her silky voice.
Though she had come in behind him, he knew her voice well, dreamed about it flowing into his ears as she lay in bed next to him. Though he never showed her anything but a laconic manner, he lusted for her in a way he didn’t know he was capable of.
“With what?” he asked.
“The dark. You embrace it and use it as a comfort but not fully. Something about it doesn’t sit well with you.”
“I fear nothing.”
“Nor do I. That does not mean there are not things I am conflicted about.”
He exhaled. “Most of the men here came because we pay them so well in plunder. They’re murderous savages, and they love dabbling in the dark. But I’ve known nothing but the dark for so long I have nowhere else to go. No one to go to. I am here, whether I wish it or not.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders and slinked her slender fingers down his chest and onto his bare skin.
“Why do you torment me?” he asked.
She pulled away and laughed. “Because it amuses me. All your rage and the thousands of people you’ve killed and this great general you’ve become… and still, like all men, you are ruled by one part of your anatomy.”
“I would never—”
“Really?” She moved in front of him and placed her arms around his neck. Her breath was sweet, their lips almost touching. “If I told you I wanted you inside of me right now, that you could have me in whatever way you wished…” She leaned forward and her lips and tongue lightly brushed against his ear. “That I was your slave…” Suddenly, she pulled away, and his knees almost buckled underneath him. “That would mean nothing to you, I suppose?”
“Get away from me,” he said, trying not to lean against the wall for support.
She let out a throaty chuckle. “Don’t worry. You can take your lust out on the maidens, wenches, and farmers’ daughters of Dolane soon enough. Why are you in Erebos’s chamber?”
He turned and strode toward the door. “No reason.”
“Do you love him?” she asked, following him.
He stopped. “I love no one. I am a general of the Marauder horde. I love nothing and no one. Not even my own life.”
Ignoring his statement, she went on. “Because if you do love him, if you think he is your salvation, you are mistaken. He cares nothing for you. He cares nothing for anything. Except suffering. He does not wish a happier life for anyone and only desires to foist his misery on them. If there is anything you care about in this world, he will destroy it only so that you can be brought down to his wretchedness.”
A memory flashed. A young girl with a sweet voice there in the dark with him, holding him after their owner… did what he did to him. She often received the same treatment, if not worse, but she always had strength for him. His sister. His sister….
“I care for nothing,” he said, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him.
22
Leon had a courier take the deed directly to his wife. He wished he could be there to see her face light up when she received it. He stood outside the courier’s office and inhaled the sunlight. Bale had never appeared so festive, though nothing had changed. Even if he were to die at that moment, his family would be taken care of, and that gave him a peace he had never known.
Edgar sat on a nearby fence, chewing on a goga leaf, which caused a pleasant numbness on the lips and tongue. “You look happier,” he said.
“I am happier. Thank you for what you have done.”
Edgar shrugged and climbed off the fence by turning around and scooting down like a child getting off a pony. “I did it for my own selfish reasons. You should remember that, Leon. All men’s actions are selfish.”
“My action was not selfish.”
“Oh, but it was. It gave you pleasure to have your wife and child secure. Hence, a selfish act. If anyone tells you men are capable of selflessness, run the other way because he is only going to be asking for you to be selfless.”
“That seems a rather harsh view.” Leon
fell into step beside the dwarf, glancing haphazardly at merchants’ wares and into the various buildings he had been too preoccupied to notice before.
“Well, take it from one who’s lost everything. Men are selfish beasts. Look out for yourself, and you’ll be happier in the long run.”
“Is that what you are? Happy?”
Edgar glanced at him. “So you are the great Leon the Lion. What is our next step?”
Leon allowed the change of subject. He didn’t want to lose his good mood. “Information must be gathered first.”
“And I suppose you know somebody?”
“I do. And then after that, we should raise a small army. However, since no one would be stupid enough to join an army fighting the Marauders, I know of someone we can hire.”
“Who?”
“The witch.”
“The witch? You mean you weren’t exaggerating? Don’t tell me you give in to the tales of children? Does she turn little boys and girls into gingerbread to be eaten later?”
“Maybe. She’s quite cruel… and beautiful.”
“Beautiful, eh?”
“The most beautiful woman, next to my wife, that I have ever seen.”
“Well then, let’s get on with this information-gathering business, so we can meet this witch of yours, shall we?”
Edgar followed Leon into an alehouse that was really nothing more than a long hallway with oak tables. Serving girls carried trays of meat, fire-grilled vegetables, bread, and ale. Wine, considered more effeminate, wouldn’t be served at a place like that.
Leon went straight to a table in the corner. When a serving girl stopped by, they ordered two ales.
“What are we waiting for?” Edgar asked
“Not what. Who.”
“Who then?”
Leon pointed. “Him.”
Edgar turned to see a young minstrel bouncing from table to table with a lyre, offering his services for a copper or two. His voice was quite beautiful, and the way he strummed the lyre showed a precision that belied his lackadaisical manner and his age.
