Bound by Truth

by Ian Rodgers

  “What is this?” he asked Kari, holding up a red figurine.

  “An idol of Naliot, carved from beryl by Rosher of Annod Bol, worth two gold and four silver,” Kari said after just a single glance.

  “And this?” Krave held up a book this time.

  “A forged copy of Rites and Rituals, Ninth Edition, worth only six copper,” Kari replied. “The forger was right handed, when everyone knows that the original author, Arnolt Cantos of Manatrem, is left handed.”

  “Very good!” the pudgy lord exclaimed happily, passing the objects over to his butler who took them away. “With just a look she intimately knows the identity of an object. We can test her second Trait later. For now, hand over the other items.”

  Scarrot nodded stiffly before handing over the gilded treasure box and a key to the golden mole’s cage. Krave smiled wickedly, removing a tiny key of his own and inserting it into the lock of the masterwork lockbox.

  It opened easily, and when Krave lifted the lid white light shone out of it illuminating his face. His smile only grew wider, and he closed the container with a snap.

  “Most excellent, Scar. Most excellent indeed. And as for the animal, I have to say it is a lovely specimen. Such luxurious fur. It’ll make a wonderful coat once I’m done with it.”

  The large burrower cowered in fear at the back of the cage from the lord’s tone, and Dora clenched her fists to control her emotions.

  She was glad she had done so as the fat slaver turned to her next, scrutinizing with an unpleasant glint in his eyes.

  “Hmm, not bad, Scar. I didn’t know you liked them young. Or perhaps, is she Holt’s?”

  “She is our Healer,” Holt hastily said as Scarrot twitched slightly.

  “Indeed? No wonder you haven’t visited for a while, you have a portable medic in your caravan and no need for our paltry doctors,” Krave said with a smirk. He then held out his hand. Dora stared blankly at it.

  “The contract scroll, girl. Are you slow or something?” the lord of the West Tower snapped, and Dora fumbled for the roll of parchment Reed had given her over a week ago.

  It was snatched from her hands and Krave peered at it, checking the contents before giving a satisfied nod.

  “Everything is in order,” he declared, turning to Scarrot and Holt. “I will have your payment brought to you by the time you leave, and will inform my agents to send Reed’s cut on its way by morning.”

  “My thanks, Lord Krave,” Holt said with a bow. “But I must say, it is a surprising honor to be in the presence of two Tower Lords.”

  “As it should be,” Krave stated pompously. “Lord Tiegan and I are going into a business venture together. It promises to be the most lucrative one in the history of Annod Bol!”

  “Indeed, Lord Krave,” the green suited man said. “For the first time in generations, the towers of East and West work together for the good of the city. And the items you have brought will allow that to happen.”

  “It has been an honor to serve,” Holt said with a bow, the rest of them bowing as well.

  Krave dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and the crew marched out of the study. Shoulders squared and back straight, Dora walked away without daring to look behind at Kari as she left.

  Before they arrived at the mysterious up-and-down room, Uldo left the golden mole’s cage with a few servants who were waiting. They strained under the weight for a moment but got it under control.

  The golden furred creature snuffled sadly as the half-orc Healer stepped away into the moving room, but Dora took a deep breath to steel her nerves. Two souls abandoned in less than an hour. She wasn’t sure her heart would take any more abuse.

  “Keep a stiff upper lip, Dora. We’ll be gone soon enough and we can put this whole ordeal behind us,” Holt whispered to her as the black door slid closed.

  “Don’t tempt fate like that, Holt,” Scarrot grumbled. “As for you, Ildora…”

  The one-legged orc trailed off, unable to voice his thoughts. In the end, he just clapped her on the shoulder, his touch lingering for a moment. Uldo patted her on the head in brotherly affection, causing Dora to smile weakly at the trio.

  “Thanks. I’m glad to be part of this family,” she mumbled while looking down at her feet before glancing up at Holt with a smile.

  “Especially you, Holt. I sometimes think of you as the father I never had.”

  A round of choking and strangled gasps came from the two older men as Uldo threw his head back and roared with laughter. The servant operating the lever and the four mages looked at the group in surprise even as Dora folded her arms in annoyance.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s nothing, Dora. They’re just incapable of seeing themselves as parents,” Uldo said, giving the half-orc another pat on the head, though he mussed up her hair slightly in the process earning himself a swat on the arm.

  “So, I suppose that makes me the brother, then?”

  “Sure, why not,” Dora said with a shrug. “I could do worse for a sibling. Like Reesh.”

  “Yes, he makes a good friend or cousin, but a terrible brother. And Rindel can be the fun uncle.”

  “Yeah! And Reed can be the grandpa who spoils his grandchildren rotten!”

  Scarrot snorted, desperately holding back chuckles at the thought of the old, seemingly harmless crime lord being a doting grandparent. Holt had no such reservations and simply burst out laughing.

  Even as the household staff of Lord Krave looked at the group as if they were crazy, as they exited the mobile room Dora’s smile was a genuine one for the first time in a long while. After all the stress of the past few days, it was all melting away. She could finally focus on the future.

  Still, the Healer made a mental note to offer up a prayer to Cynthia for Kari and the great big golden furred mole’s safety and well-being. It had been a long time since she had prayed. But this was for someone other than herself. She could do that much, at least.

  Chapter 9: From below plots are made

  “Mama?”

  “Yes, my mint leaf?”

  “Who was my daddy?”

  Irene paused in her cooking and looked over at her daughter. The young half-orc girl returned her mother’s look with an expectant stare.

  The staring contest went on for a moment, but then the Healer gave in with a sigh and carefully removed the pot from the fire somewhat so it wouldn’t boil over during the talk.

  “Why do you want to know?” She asked softly, beckoning her daughter to her side.

  “Because all the other kids have daddies,” Dora pointed out.

  The young Healer picked her up and walked over to a stuffed armchair in the sitting area. With Dora resting on her knee, Irene began to stroke her hair as she talked.

  “Your father… was an interesting man. He was a merchant from the Dreadlands.”

  “Really?” Dora asked, wide eyed. Irene chuckled lightly at her expression.

  “Really really. It was during the first few weeks I was in Far Reach after being transferred that I met him. Quite a few merchants and traders come through this area since it’s fairly close to Saluda and the Cracked Land, so it makes sense to find supplies here.”

  “I was browsing the market one day when I found him trying to haggle for some rope and tent canvas. The argument was getting rather heated, so I took a deep breath and stepped in to try and defuse the situation. Afterwards, he thanked me for my help, and offered to repay me if I ever needed anything.”

  Irene sighed dreamily. “He was the first orc I had ever seen, did you know that? With Partaevia being so closed minded we don’t get a lot of travelers from other races. And I was instantly intrigued. He looked so intimidating, so strong, so… exotic…”

  “Mama!” Dora cried, covering her ears with a look of disgust on her face. Love was icky! Bleh!

  “I’m sorry,” Irene laughed, tousling her hair playfully. Dora pouted up at her mother in childish annoyance.

  “Where was I? Oh yes,
meeting your father.” She gave a hum as she organized her thoughts. “We continued to run into each other over the rest of the week his caravan was in town, before he had to leave. They were just starting out that year, and had very little capital. I helped them buy some of the goods they needed due to the prejudice that surrounds orcs.”

  “It was several months before they returned, and I hadn’t thought much of him until I saw him again. At that point, I felt relieved to see him. Traveling is not easy, especially not through the Dreadlands. He was safe, and he was happy to see me again. They’d picked up a boy who had run away from some slavers, and he had a nasty wound on him. Your father got on his hands and knees and begged me to heal the child.”

  “It was a terrible wound. Long whip marks had all but stripped the flesh from his back, and some sick, demented person had branded the mark of a dark entity onto the stomach.” Her face was pinched in disgust, before she shook her head and focused on better thoughts.

  Irene’s smile turned beatific as she relived another memory. “The boy was someone he had no connection to, no obligations to save or heal, yet there he was, prostrating himself for his sake. I was touched. And in that moment, I felt something. A connection. Even if he was an orc, someone Partaevia vilifies, he had a kind soul.”

  “What about me?” Dora asked, peering up at her mother.

  “You were a blessing in my life,” the Healer assured, cradling the young half-orc closer to her.

  “For two years your father and I would meet, on and off. Whenever he was in town we spent our time together. Relaxing, cooking, reading, sleeping … *ahem!* One thing led to another, and then you came along.”

  “The stork, right?”

  “Yes, exactly,” Irene said, covering up the stammer in her reply. “It came… earlier than we’d planned, but you were so cute and adorable, the precious little light in our lives, we didn’t mind at all. You were our precious, perfect mint leaf.”

  “Why didn’t daddy stay?” Dora asked, sorrow tinging her voice. “If he loved me, why didn’t he stay?”

  “It was a difference in opinions,” the blonde woman said, a hint of anger flowing into her voice. “He had done some things I wasn’t proud of, and he was afraid we might get into trouble because of it. He wanted us to leave with him. I refused.”

  “Is that why you were shouting that one night?”

  “What?” Irene gasped, looking down at her daughter. Dora fidgeted under the questioning stare.

  “I-I remember waking up one night when I heard you shouting at someone. They shouted back with a loud voice. I couldn’t hear very well so I crept over to the door, but that didn’t help much and I wasn’t able to see who you were talking to, either. When I got there, you slammed the front door and began to cry.”

  “You remember that?” her mother whispered softly. When Dora nodded, she hugged her tighter. “Do you remember anything else?”

  “That’s the earliest memory I have,” Dora mumbled. “I don’t remember daddy at all.”

  “Oh sweetie,” Irene crooned, stroking her daughter’s hair. “I’m impressed you even remember that at all. You were barely three years old at that point.”

  “I’m six, I’m a big girl!” Dora responded. “I should remember more! I want to remember more! He’s my daddy!”

  She hiccupped, tears clouding her eyes. “I want my daddy!”

  “I know you do, Dora. I miss him too,” Irene said sadly and let her daughter cry herself to sleep.

  .

  “Argh!”

  “Careful with the door, there, Dora,” Reesh called out, holding back a laugh.

  Dora grumbled as she stumbled around the door she had walked into. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but dreams had woken her far too early for her liking. That was her excuse for why she’d bumped into the door.

  “I’d forgotten I was sleeping in an actual room,” Dora retorted, glaring at the wretched creature known as a ‘Morning Person.’ “And, thus, forgot that tent flaps are not the same as sturdy planks of wood, and don’t give way as easily.”

  She walked out of her room, one hand holding her stomach where the doorknob had struck her, the other viciously gripping said offensive item as she flung the door open.

  “Yeah, it’s weird sleeping in a room with four solid walls after so long in a tent,” Reesh agreed. “I keep expecting to see the walls flap and bend whenever there’s a breeze.”

  “Is breakfast ready?” she questioned as the pair walked through the stone barracks. It was a decent enough place to hunker down for a night or two. Stark and bare, but it was cozy. For her, at least. As the only female among the crew she had commandeered an entire room for herself, while everyone else, bar Scarrot and Holt, had to bunk up with one another.

  Reesh shrugged in response. “Dunno. I was making my way to the mess hall myself when I saw you greet the door.”

  “Do you always wake up this early?” she inquired, glancing at the taller man.

  He gave a helpless shrug. “Yeah. I don’t sleep well. Too many… thoughts. Nightmares. Memories.”

  “Were you a slave?” Dora asked, voice little more than a whisper. Reesh stopped.

  “Yes.” The handyman of the Yellowmoon Menagerie walked stiffly over to a window and stared out of it. He then pointed up at the towers that loomed overhead like dark, accusing fingers pointing at the heavens.

  “Those black spires are the oldest memory I have,” Reesh said. “I was born to a slave, and thus was one myself. I spent my early childhood doing all manner of odd jobs that my owner wanted. I don’t particularly recall who he was, but he worked for one of the Tower Lords.”

  The thin man had a dark look cross his face. “And then I was selected for a ritual. Apparently, I had been born for the sole purpose of being a sacrifice.”

  Dora gasped and Reesh nodded.

  “I wasn’t aware Naliot condoned live sacrifices,” Dora said meekly. To that, Reesh snorted in amusement.

  “He doesn’t. He’s the god of slavery and imprisonment. A life in bondage is the worst he demands of sinners. No, what I was made for, bred for, was sacrifice to something worse.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Reesh spat, turning away and stalking off down the halls. “Just know that for every angel that exists, so, too, does a demon.”

  Dora went pale as she processed his words, and ran after him.

  But he refused to speak any more after that, remaining tight lipped throughout the morning.

  “Just give him time, Dora. He’s hurting more than you realize being in Annod Bol,” Rindel said with a comforting pat to the half-orc’s leg.

  “I just can’t fathom it, is all,” Dora admitted. “I grew up with far more privileges and comforts than most of the other crew, and can’t really comprehend all the fear and hate this city brings out.”

  “Annod Bol is seen by many of the Cracked Land as a piece of the Hells made manifest on Erafore because of all the slavery and illegal trading and actions that go on within it. There are no rights and no laws, save those given by the overlords who sit in those black towers. Every one of us, even you and me, lives by their graces,” Rindel said sourly.

  “They could, at any moment, burst in here and arrest us all for some crime without any evidence other than the word of a rich, influential person. Or, one of us could be kidnapped off the streets and made into a slave on the spot. Again, with no real defenses or regulations against this. As such, order is only maintained through force and fear.”

  Rindel plopped down across from Dora at the breakfast table and stabbed at his mashed something-or-other with a vengeful fork.

  “Scarrot bends the knee to Dominick Krave not because he likes him, but because he has no other choice if he wants to live and prosper in the Dreadlands. To protect himself, the crew, and the caravan, he’ll even lick that bastard’s boots. And in return, we are safe. No one touches anything that belongs to one of the Tower Lords lest he or she faces thei
r wrath.”

  The pair sunk into silence which was soon interrupted by Holt stomping into the mess hall. He looked around fervently while ignoring the looks his men were giving him before striding over to the gnome and half-orc.

  “Dora, I need you to come with me.”

  “What…?”

  “Now.”

  The Healer rose uncertainly, worried by the look in Holt’s eyes. She followed behind him as he stormed out of the room and down the halls to the exit of the barracks.

  Standing outside was a livid Scarrot who was staring down two men in plate armor with the purple emblem of Lord Krave on their breastplates.

  “Are you the Healer?” one of the armored men demanded as he spotted the half-orc approaching.

  “I am,” she said, straightening her back and hiding her apprehension behind her empty mask.

  “Lord Krave wants you to accompany him outside the walls as that Bloodline girl’s handler,” the guard explained. He shot the one-legged orc a sharp look. “And no, it is not a request.”

  “Outside the city?” she asked, confused.

  “If he wants to explain more to you, he will. Our orders are just to bring you to that prissy bitch of his. She won’t do anything without you there.”

  “I see. Please, lead on,” Dora said. The half-orc was secretly grateful she had mastered dressing herself even while half asleep. And yet she couldn’t open doors. That’d get a laugh from the crew later, she was certain.

  “Hold on! Ildora is my worker! I have not given her permission to…!”

  “Boss!” Dora said sharply. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I won’t be gone long.”

  Scarrot gritted his teeth and stormed away, leaving Holt to bow his head in apology to the two guards.

  No more time was wasted and Dora was whisked off back to the West Tower. All around her were guards and other rough and strong looking men, many of which were preparing wagons piled high with equipment. Mining goods, by the looks of it.

  She started to regret not packing her crossbow, or even a knife. Hells, even those urns from Reed full of alchemical oil would be nice to have on hand. A few of the men were leering at her and undressing her with their eyes.