Before the Storm: Act 7, Chapter 4 |
Chapter 4
“You sure that’s him?”
“I don’t know. The description they gave us is worth jack shit!”
A blonde-haired youth who would already be considered an adult in Re-Estize.
That was pretty much one in ten people. Maybe a bit less since a bunch of them had died at the Battle of Katze Plains.
“We need to find him quick. If he reaches the checkpoint without us…”
“I know! Just shut up and keep an eye out. There must be something that sets him apart.”
“You Olin?”
“I’m Olin. Just Olin.”
“Liam,” the youth replied. “Just Liam.”
What were the chances that he was posing as the Sorcerous Kingdom’s agent? Powerful people had powerful enemies, after all.
“Nice to meet you, Liam,” Olin smiled. “My man here’s Hench.”
“Hello,” Liam said.
Hench grunted in response and turned away. Olin resisted the urge to throttle the man. Then again, the lack of retaliation from ‘Liam’ gave him something to think about.
In his experience, the Sorcerous Kingdom was ruthless. Inhuman. The memory of what they had put him through was enough to make even the most hardened criminal vomit. Since Hench had gotten away with his show of disrespect, it became more likely that Liam wasn’t who he claimed he was. Olin wasn’t about to accidentally piss off the wrong person, however. He would have to discern the truth without drawing suspicion.
“When do we leave?” Liam asked.
“When the caravan’s ready,” Olin answered. “Is there anything you need to do before that?”
“No.”
The corner of Olin’s mouth tightened. He was hoping that the kid would expose himself in some way before leaving.
Wait. If we leave and the real agent shows up…
He placed a hand on Hench’s shoulder, pulling him aside.
“You need to stay behind.”
“Huh? Why?”
Olin sighed. The man wasn’t exactly an intellectual giant.
“Just in case another boy named Liam shows up.”
“I don’t follow.”
“What’s wrong?” Liam called out to them.
“Nothing,” Olin said. “Just giving Hench some instructions. He’ll be staying behind. Gotta keep an eye out for tails.”
“I see.”
Do you, now? We’ll see about that.
There was no way that the Sorcerous Kingdom would send a kid. If they had, their agent was probably some sort of Demon that wore a young man’s skin. A monster like that was bound to give itself away through its inhuman behaviour.
After ensuring that Hench knew what he was supposed to do, Olin rejoined Liam, who was watching the caravan’s teamsters check over their wagons. Would a monster show interest in that kind of thing? Maybe he was sizing up the staff as food or playthings to torment.
“Mister Olin,” the Merchant leading the caravan, a well-fed woman by the name of Joan, said, “we’re just about ready to be on our way.”
“Got it,” Olin replied.
“They seem nervous,” Liam said.
“People always get excited before travelling. Merchants always have plenty to worry about.”
They were on the move fifteen minutes later, wagons rolling forward at walking speed. The youth walking alongside him spent an uncommon amount of time staring at his feet, ignoring the buildings of the border town as they left.
“What are you doing?” Olin asked.
“My job,” Liam answered.
Your job is staring at your feet?
The missive they had received from the Sorcerous Kingdom never said for what purpose the agent was being sent: only that the agent represented their interests. Those interests were undoubtedly rooted in unspeakable evil and certainly didn’t include staring at the ground.
“Olin.”
“Hm?”
He looked away from Liam to find that Joan had dropped back from the lead wagon to speak with him. Olin did his best to keep his lip from curling at the sight of the woman’s waggling chin.
“Our agreement still stands, yes?” Joan asked.
“Yeah,” Olin answered. “Why do you ask?”
“The higher-ups in my company are becoming worried that things might have changed with everything that’s been happening.”
“Not that I know of,” Olin shrugged.
The Merchant settled into an uncomfortable silence, returning to the front of the caravan. Going by the woman’s behaviour, she was expecting something to happen.
“Which company does she work for?” Liam asked.
“Speckled Mare,” Olin answered.
“As in one of the Great Merchants?”
“The same. They’re based in the capital, but they’ve been operating in the Azerlisian Marches for decades now.”
“So were they there first, or you?”
“What does it matter?” Olin laughed, “We’re not like the Nobles who think their ‘history’ is worth a damn. What matters is who is in control now…and that’s us.”
“What do the Nobles have to say about that?” Liam asked.
“They can say whatever they want,” Olin answered. “But if they get in the way, then…well, let’s just say they’re not so great at being ‘stewards of the land’ like they claim they are.”
Olin gauged Liam’s reaction to his response. The youth was concealing his feelings on the matter behind an uncaring mask, but Olin had a feeling that he didn’t like what he had heard.
As I expected. This kid is probably a spy.
There weren’t many powers in the region that might be able to challenge the Sorcerous Kingdom. In the northwest, there was the Argland Confederation, but it was a country that stayed mostly aloof when it came to regional events. That left the Slane Theocracy in the southeast, and, given their religion’s concern over the well-being of humanity, it made the Theocracy the most likely country that Liam worked for. Given Liam’s apparent skill, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he was a member of the Windflower Scripture.
What could he do with that information? Would he be rewarded by Lady Albedo for exposing a Theocracy spy? Or would he be punished for potentially exposing the Sorcerous Kingdom’s activities in Re-Estize? He rested a hand over his churning stomach as he agonised over his options. If he chose poorly, he would surely be subjected to that pitch-black hell again.
I should play it safe for now. Figuring out how this guy found out about the meeting should earn me some favour either way.
He continued to observe Liam, who in turn continued to observe the ground and the sides of the highway as they continued northward. Who did he think he was fooling? The little shit was obviously trying to figure out what to do now that he believed that he was in.
The wagon beside them shuddered as they crossed the border between the Raevenmarch and the Azerlisian Marches. Olin moved over to walk on the grass to avoid collecting mud on his boots. Their progress slowed significantly as the wagons had no such option.
“Why is House Blumrush against paving their parts of the highway?” Liam asked.
“Why would they want to?” Olin yawned, “It costs money.”
“It’s better for logistics,” Liam said.
“Logistics are a Merchant problem,” Olin shrugged.
Another strange question. One that wouldn’t have come from the mouth of a monster. The Theocracy was rumoured to have even better infrastructure than the Empire, so he was probably comparing things to what he was used to seeing.
An hour after crossing the border, they came upon a flooded section of road. The caravan stopped and a few of the teamsters went to speak to the peasants who were presumably there to fix the problem. Olin shuffled forward to hear what they had to say.
“Storm up in the foothills somewhere,” one of the peasants said as he gestured toward the ranges in the east. “Creek’s got too big for the culvert to handle.”
“Why do we even bother paying tolls?” Joan sighed, “I swear these roads get worse with every passing year.”
“We’re here, ain’t we? Fixing this shit ain’t instant.”
Olin doubted that the ‘shit’ could be ‘fixed’. It wasn’t as if they had a way to decrease the volume of water coming down from the mountains.
“How deep is this mess?”
The first peasant leaned forward and made a chopping gesture just below his knee.
“‘bout that deep. Current’s not too bad so your wagons should be fine comin’ through.”
Olin’s eyes narrowed slightly at the exchange. He made his way back uphill to where Liam was watching them.
“Let’s stay out of their way,” Olin said in a low voice.
Thankfully, the youth didn’t do anything annoying like insisting they should cross too. Maybe he had already figured out what was going on.
Calls for caution rose from the caravan’s teamsters as they slowly guided their wagons into the water. About halfway across the water, the horses of the lead wagon neighed in protest as their vehicle struck something with an audible clunk. The curses from the caravaneers came just as loudly as they tried to figure out what the problem was. Joan rose from her seat to speak with her men and got a quarrel in the gut for her efforts.
The plump Merchant fell into the water with a splash. Her men followed shortly after as a hail of bolts from the bushes along the creek peppered the caravan. The peasants show no sign of alarm at all. One of them used his shovel to smash in the head of a teamster trying to crawl out of the water.
Stolen novel; please report.
Beside Olin, Liam had his dagger out, his attention split between the bushes and the caravan.
“Is this your doing, Olin?” He asked in a low voice.
“No,” Olin answered, “but the signs were clear enough. The ambushers are on our side, of course.”
“Why did they attack?”
“I have no idea. You’ll have to ask that guy over there.”
Olin gestured to a man who looked every bit the bandit that he was. Standing a full head taller than Olin and half again as wide, he looked more Ogre than Human. Some even joked that he was a Half-Ogre, though none dared to say so within the range of his hearing.
“Olin,” the man called out as he walked up to them. “Who’s the brat?”
“A guest,” Olin replied. “Liam, this is Louis. He’s a part of the security division around here. Louis, Liam.”
“What part of that was ‘security’?” Liam asked.
Louis sent a look in Olin’s direction. Olin’s gaze went to the caravan, where some of Louis’ men had rolled out a cart from the bushes to load corpses into. Others were checking out the caravan’s cargo while preparing to drive the wagons off somewhere.
“I can’t say I’m not curious,” Olin said. “What happened between us and Speckled Mare?”
“They didn’t like the updated terms of our arrangement,” Louis said. “They wanted to negotiate. Well, we’re negotiating.”
“By killing their staff?” Liam frowned.
“Gotta show them that we’re serious,” Louis told him. “Merchants love acting as if nothing they do affects them – like everything’s just a transaction by a ‘neutral’ party. They need to understand that there’s a price to pay when you fuck around with people.”
“Sounds personal.”
“You bet it is,” Louis grunted. “If you came from around here, it’d be personal for you too. These ‘Great Merchants’ are only great at fattening their purses.”
Olin cleared his throat.
“Louis,” he asked, “how long until we can get moving again?”
“We’ve got enough warehouse space in Middle Harbour to dump these goods,” Louis replied. “One of the guys wedged a big rock into one of the ruts underwater, so we can move once they yank it out again.”
“What will happen to the bodies?” Liam asked.
Louis gave the youth a strange look. The exchange further proved that Liam wasn’t who he claimed he was. No monster would show concern over the death of Humans and an agent from the Sorcerous Kingdom would know that the corpses would be delivered to that kingdom of darkness. There, the souls of the slain would be enslaved forever as Undead abominations.
Sometime after the caravan completed its crossing, while Liam became preoccupied with staring at the ground again, Olin dropped back to the rear of the procession to speak with Louis.
“That kid ain’t legit,” Olin said in a low voice.
“Not legit?” Louis frowned, “As in…”
“He’s not who he claims he is. I’m pretty sure he’s Windflower.”
“Want us to get rid of him?”
Olin shook his head.
“Not yet. He’s been going along with whatever we’ve been doing, trying to figure us out. The Windflower’s already all over the place, so us acting out of sorts will clue them in on what we’re up to.”
“Then what’s the plan?”
“Keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t step out of line when I’m not lookin’. Actually, no. Once you get these wagons to town, get ahead of us and deal with the Windflower agents in the area.”
Deep furrows creased Louis’ wide brow.
“Deal with them? We probably don’t know where even half of them are. It isn’t as if Theocracy spies conveniently gather in shady taverns.”
“The point is to cut off this kid’s support,” Olin said. “He’ll be harmless so long as we keep him from gathering any allies and those Windflower agents will be isolated and easy to take out. Most of them are just local informants anyway. You should just be thankful that we’re not dealing with something like Ijaniya.”
“We still might run into trouble,” Louis said. “If any of those agents reach their handler, there’s going to be blood on the streets.”
“Then make sure none of them do,” Olin told him. “Get rid of the handlers first, if necessary. Call in as many men as you need.”
The Slane Theocracy’s Windflower Scripture was primarily an organisation that passively gathered intelligence, and the way it operated wasn’t exactly a secret to anyone who worked in a less-than-reputable profession. It focused on casting a wide net across the countries in the region using agents recruited from the local population. Those agents weren’t actual members of the Windflower Scripture, but they were coordinated by a handler who was. Every city in Re-Estize had a handler, as did a handful of major towns.
As such, it was easy to silence the Windflower Scripture. In theory, at least. The local agents were no stronger than regulars in the Eight Fingers and the security division still had people who could take on the Windflower’s handlers despite losing the Six Arms. If push came to shove, they could always overwhelm the handlers with numbers or some roundabout means of elimination.
What kept them from getting rid of the Theocracy’s agents in the past was that they weren’t worth messing with. They never meddled in the Eight Fingers’ affairs and they had powerful allies to fall back on. There was absolutely no reason to challenge them and doing so might result in the entire syndicate being exterminated. The Theocracy was filled with powerful individuals and many of them were rumoured to make even the former Six Arms look laughably powerless by comparison.
But we have a powerful backer of our own, now…
The ghost of a smile traced over Olin’s expression. With the Theocracy right on the Sorcerous Kingdom’s southern border, they were surely their greatest adversary in the region. If he could orchestrate the collapse of the Theocracy’s information network in Re-Estize, he would prove his usefulness to the Sorcerous Kingdom and secure a place in the new order that he would help usher in.
He just had to play his hand right. The Sorcerous Kingdom had plans for Re-Estize; the problem was that he only knew a few bits and pieces of those plans. Not long after the annexation of E-Rantel – about a year and a half ago – the Demon named Albedo made an official visit to Re-Estize’s capital as the Prime Minister of the Sorcerous Kingdom. Unofficially, she had attended a number of private functions to issue instructions to the Eight Fingers and their collaborators.
It didn’t take long for Olin to get a read on Lady Albedo’s personality. The Demon was so arrogant and assured of her superiority over everyone that she didn’t even bother hiding it.
Simply put, she was a power monger. Like any power monger, she desired as much direct control as possible. Authority, influence, and wealth were doled out in a miserly fashion, ensuring that her minions remained permanently bound to and dependent on her. When it came to their operations, she doled out tasks in such a way that no single person under her could understand the big picture.
Lady Albedo’s reliance on the Eight Fingers in Re-Estize made it easy for Olin to gather many pieces of the puzzle, however. Every division of the syndicate had been ordered to cease the expansion of its criminal activities. Instead, they were to consolidate their assets and invest in legitimate ventures. They did everything from securing grain contracts and building mills to purchasing mines and warehouses. Additionally, this shift in operations was facilitated by a faction of foolish scions whose blind hunger for political influence allowed the Eight Fingers to grow at an unprecedented rate.
He was confused as to why their new activities only seemed to deal in basic commodities until he found out that they were also sneaking Undead into Re-Estize. While a few of them were powerful horrors meant to fill in for the now-defunct Six Arms, most served as menial labour. Slowly, but surely, an Undead infestation grew out of the notice of the Kingdom at large, replacing its people with slaves that never grew tired and only hungered for the souls of the living.
For Olin’s part, he didn’t care about the fate of Re-Estize. All that mattered was that he ended up as close to the top as he could manage. Being made the overseer of a former duchy on the coast would be ideal. To do so, he would have to distinguish himself from the other syndicate leaders who surely shared similar ambitions.
He rejoined Liam after sorting out what he needed to do next. The youth hadn’t missed him at all, never mind suspected that anything was amiss. When they arrived at the next town – the aforementioned Middle Harbour – Olin set his plans into motion.
“That inn over there is where we’ll be staying,” he pointed at the largest establishment along the town’s high street after they passed through the gate. “The Crooked Axle. Do you need any special arrangements?”
“I’m good,” Liam said. “I won’t have any problems if I take a look around town, right?”
“None at all,” Olin smiled. “Feel free to do whatever you need to.”
Olin rushed over to the town’s waterfront after parting ways with the Theocracy spy, finding Louis and his men unloading the wagons into a half-empty warehouse.
“He’s on the move,” Olin said. “You find the Windflower agents yet?”
“We just got here,” Louis replied. “Unless I’ve gone crazy, you entered the southern gate right along with us five minutes ago.”
“That is more important than this!” Olin hissed, “The cargo isn’t going anywhere; our mark is acting now.”
Maybe the man was part Ogre, after all. Blumrush’s territory was filled with incompetents. He would need to fix that at some point. The last thing he needed was someone making him look bad in the eyes of Lady Albedo.
“Make sure you get messengers ahead of us,” Olin told Louis. “I want things taken care of before this guy gets anywhere.”
The big man turned and left with a nod and a grunt. Provided Liam didn’t suddenly decide to steal off into the night, that would be the last of Olin’s woes for the time being.
Now, where did that brat go…
He returned to the town’s high street, finding the spy not very far from where he had left him. To Olin’s astonishment, Liam was chatting with a Priestess in front of the tiny chapel that served as the Temple of the Six for the area’s few followers.
How much more obvious can you get?
A spy from the Theocracy openly frequenting an affiliated temple. He may as well have held up a sign over his head declaring who he was. Olin waited in the shadows until Liam left the temple, falling into step beside him several buildings up the street.
“Enjoying yourself?” Olin asked.
“I’m working,” Liam answered.
I’m sure you are…
“Well, I should show you to your room before you get too into it,” Olin said.
“Alright.”
If he could tie the boy up for an hour or so, it would be more than enough time for Louis to take care of all the loose ends in the town. After walking past a row of refineries, they arrived at the entrance of the Crooked Axle. Olin grinned despite himself as he came in from the cool autumn evening, feeling the smoky warmth of the inn’s tavern seep into his bones. The aroma of ale and hearty meals washed over them as a smiling barmaid came over to receive them.
“What’s for supper?” Olin asked.
“Baked trout and lentil stew with rye bread and steamed fiddleheads,” the barmaid answered. “There anyone else on the way?”
“It’s just the two of us for now,” Olin replied. “We’ll take our seats in the back.”
The barmaid’s smile wavered for a heartbeat before she turned and led them to a section of the tavern divided from the rest. Several men looked up from their seats as they entered, their gazes on Liam as he followed Olin to a long table near a well-stocked fireplace along the far wall. The barmaid’s smile had fallen off entirely by the time they seated themselves.
“Dinner sounds good,” Olin said. “How about it, Liam? We should eat up while it’s hot.”
“Sure.”
“Ale for me and the boys, as well,” Olin added.
Once the barmaid disappeared into the kitchen, the men scattered across the seats nearby converged on their table.
“Olin,” one of them nodded. “Long time no see.”
“I’d never come back if I made it big in the capital,” another added.
“I’m accompanying an important guest,” Olin replied, then gestured to the spy. “This here’s Liam. Be sure to keep a close eye on him.”
The men around the table introduced themselves. One of them, a not-too-bright fellow by the name of Reed, inevitably asked the question that was probably on everyone’s mind.
“So, Liam,” he said, “what are you doing up in these parts?”
“Just seeing how things have been going,” Liam replied. “It’s my first job here.”
Everyone nodded in understanding at his stupidly vague answer. Olin was content to enjoy his meal while the other men did most of the talking.
“So you all know Olin?” Liam asked.
“Most of us regulars do,” Reed answered. “He’s a woodsman’s get like me.”
“Are you all frontiersmen?” Liam asked.
The men shared an amused chuckle.
“Around here,” Reed told the boy, “everything not directly off of the highway is the ‘frontier’. Only about half of us are woodsmen, though. The rest are from mining villages.”
“But this land has been settled for almost two centuries, hasn’t it?” The youth’s confusion was plain, “How can most of it still be a frontier after all that time?”
“If you’re here to take a look around, you’ll see soon enough.”
“In that case, I’ll be in your care. We can get started early tomorrow morning.”
None of the men voiced any protest to his words. They were content to drink the night away, after all. As the evening wore on and the group continued chatting, Olin somewhat regretted his decision to be so passive in the discussion. It started to feel like the men were warming up to Liam. He couldn’t allow a threat to his influence to go on like that, so it would probably be a good idea to get rid of him sooner rather than later. The Azerlisian Marches had plenty of abandoned mineshafts to dump his corpse into.
Once Liam was done for the night, Olin brought him to the guest room on the second floor of the inn. Like the tavern below, a portion of the building had been set aside for the exclusive use of the Eight Fingers, effectively making it their base in the Middle Harbour. As the spy dumped his belongings on the bed and rummaged through them, Olin weighed his chances against him in a fight. As expected from a Theocracy agent, he felt quite strong. A dagger in the back might not slow him down at all.
Maybe I could have his breakfast poisoned? Or we could just gang up on him once we’re out in the bush…
The latter felt unsound, especially given how the men had warmed up to Liam. In any case, the more people who were in on a conspiracy, the harder it was to keep it a secret.
There were more than a few poisonous plants in the area and he would be able to forage a sufficient quantity of them before dawn. None of them were especially potent, so the Theocracy spy would probably die a slow and agonising death. Maybe the Sorcerous Kingdom would appreciate that touch.
When his focus returned to Liam, the youth was placing a set of leather scrollcases on the room’s small table. Olin frowned slightly as he came closer to inspect them.
“What are those?” He asked.
“My work,” Liam answered. “Intelligence assessments, mostly. Could you please get these to the post office in Feoh Berkana? The staff there will know what to do with them. Oh–I could use another stack of paper, too.”
Feoh Berkana?
“What are you talking abou–”
Olin froze as a shadowy claw reached out from the underside of his arm and retrieved the scroll cases one by one. He couldn’t take his shocked gaze off the unsettling sight until the table’s contents were cleared and the claw vanished. He felt his forearm up and down, but there was no sign of the apparition that had emerged from it.
“Wh-Wh-What the hell was that?!” He barely managed in a hoarse voice.
“A Shadow Demon,” Liam yawned. “He’ll be back before we get going tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.”