by B. H. Young
They sat out amid the morning sun once again, riding in saddle together. A scowling Elven woman of beauty now seemed more gracious in his company. He did not even have to lift her onto the horse; instead, she climbed up on her own. If she was tricking him, she was doing a very good job of it he thought. No more did she complain about her shackles or call him bastard as if it was his given name. The Elf even made polite small talk when they passed an excavation dig where some Dwarves were unearthing a dragon's remains.
"Wonder what the world was like when they roamed it?" she had said for which he had no answer, but was sure the dragon skull half buried in the dirt was the biggest he had ever seen.
Lucinda talked more as the day went on and he invited it as best he could, but when one was so ill, excessive talking was the last thing they wanted to do. It was better than arguing, though. Maybe she was attempting to calm him in her presence to take him off his guard and then run a blade through his gut.
The morning dragged its feet into noon and then crawled to early evening. Keeping from the main roads all day to keep any unwanted attention away from Lucinda, he tried his best to maintain his weakening body. If anything were to transpire, he would be too weak to defend her or himself. It was a struggle just to keep from giving into the sickness and passing out.
His replies to Lucinda's conversations became shorter but she did not seem to mind. Stopping with words, she began to hum a melody. It eased his slipping mind and he could feel his body growing weightless as the land distorted and blurred. Was this it? Where was he to go and what would be waiting for him there. He tried hard to fight it, but the tightening of its grasp on him would not lessen. Maddening in thought as the land around him grew black a voice called out to him.
"Godzton? Godzton, are you all right?", then there was nothing but silence and emptiness.
Chapter 40.
The antlers cascaded from the chain locking with one another and clutching a dozen burning candles that seared the room in a sputter of light. Lisbet and her men sat below its haze eating an early morn meal. The manchet, crisped pork, and poached eggs showed the innkeeper's good intentions to feed the Irons more than the usual slop, but good intentions did not season food. Gemador was a mud pit of a town with poor structures, a hard musk, old heritage, and unseemly people. The bulk of the residents were people of Vikandor descent, hard men, and women of the land who made for good farmers and killers and were not shy with their lingering gazes of disdain or their whisperings at the presence of Irons.
The coldness crept in under the door, pressing at her before she had a chance to fully wake. Even the food mirrored the town's destitute glare, but she was not looking for comfort or posh treatment. Lisbet picked a piece of bacon, held her breath, and took a bite. For two days, she and her men had held up here, waiting for a foreign animal to take the bait.
The days spent shaking down sources along the Crow's Perch with half-hearted attempt did not go quickly. The perch's rocky frame sat in three provinces, casting its shadow over numerous settlements, and a bit more than a hundred miles from the Iron compound was far enough she thought. Lisbet wanted nothing more than to be finished with the task and back at the warm safe embraces of the Iron compound. Her efforts to please Typarion weighed in her thoughts, but she scoffed at the idea of venturing into the heart of the province to seek out one man.
The outside world beyond the compound's wall was not a place she longed for. Bad things happen out here, in this place where there was no full control and where position and rank did not matter. At every turn, she felt conspiring eyes pressing at her from the soiled people of Gemador. Even the innkeeper hid a motive behind his cratered cheeks that wore a smile when he served her food. Most steered clear of Irons, but not all. Not all were so easily scared. Lisbet was reluctant to admit that self-belief of strength and honor washed away out here.
Seizing the Iron was a monumental feat yet the Harbinger of the Order needed further validation of her worth. It was insulting. The Iron High Guard was hers now and she should not have any more to prove to Lord Willem or anyone else for that matter. The shit headed Elf wouldn't even officially recognize Kenneth and Joldewin as her Sentinels because she was not yet recognized as a council member. The Eldafienden now had three Overseers in their graces and seemed indifferent of it all, except for Typarion who shared in her grief and assured her that regardless of the Harbinger's words the Order did identify her standing and what she had achieved. But maybe her worth was not so grand if she couldn't even flush out one vagrant.
The toil of the days proved useless in her effort to track down Dardanos. One source led her to Moonback were the Iklaceian had an altercation with a local gang, killing three and wounding two others. The information gathered from there sent her to Baymarch and on and on. It was a daunting search reserved for grunts. Years as an Overseer kept her above such common chores, delegating them onto others. Fieldwork was for laborers, not those of high standing authority, but in the Eldafienden, no one's boots were clean from dirt. With Jack and Eric in tow, she swept the lands as if she was a recruit sent on a stripe earning assignment, and she hated it.
The Iklaceian was not of the kind to waste any time with what he pursued nor did he stand idle for long it seemed. Squeezing vagrants and innkeepers for information and moving on, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake. The women of brothels sung him praise while others cursed him. Lisbet knew good and well she would not find him if she dared not go further, but she would not spend weeks scouring the lands.
Men like Dardanos are prisoners to their egos and cannot ignore anything that dares challenge it. A challenge of Iron would send most into hiding, but an insane person has no use to hide nor does a Jester of Chaos. She spared no expense in showering many hands with coin to put forth word of who they sought. Silver always helped words spread like wildfire and she knew it would bring him to her. If only she had thought of it before galloping around the perch for days.
"No sign of him for days, is there any doubt he has moved on? How long we gonna be out here," Jack said and then crammed a fork-full of poached whites into his mouth.
Eric sat with his elbows dug into the table staring at his plate, sliding a piece of pork around with his knife. "If we're not going to go any further, there's no point being out here," he said, the contempt in his voice was apparent.
Lisbet snapped to him waiting for his eyes to rise and meet her, but he would not raise his head. "Is there a problem Eric? Am I keeping you from your more important task of slumping around the compound trying to screw new recruits or shaking down the traders of Iron Town?"
"No ma'am," he said, still, not giving her the courteous of his attention. "We've been searching for days, spreading coin and hoping he will come to us while we sit in this shithole town. It just makes no sense is all, we seized the Iron--"
"We?" she said with a sharp voice, that drew his courtesy.
"You," he corrected. "I would think pulling that off would bring greater merit and keep us from having to slug around in such petty tasks."
It was hard to fault him for his aggravation; it pecked at her as well. "It's best that you not forget your place, Eric. The matter that has had us out here for days is simply beyond your understanding and I haven't the patience to render myself to the level of ignorance it would take to explain it to you. Be that as it may we'll be heading back soon enough. Another day is adequate enough time before considering this endeavor a complete loss."
Her men had grown irritable, losing their understanding of who was in charge. She never liked talking down to them, but every so often, a reminder was required. They were loyal, but loyalty cannot calm the fractious nature one finds dwelling in surroundings they loathe.
"What of Typarion's command?" Jack asked as he smacked on a mouthful of bacon.
"It was not his command," she said. "Besides we have bought assurances this foreigner will seek us out and we will make good on our charge, of that I have no doubt. Ravenorn is thirty miles south of he
re and he would have to trek up the Goat Road from there to get here. We'll catch him there by surprise. A day's time and if this rouser still hasn't shown by then, so be it."
"But Typarion said--"
"I will handle Typarion, Jack," Lisbet said.
It would not be hard to gain Typarion's understanding as he had already shown disagreement with Lord Willem's order. He confessed as much the night before she left. The memory was still fresh in her mind days after. The longing for his touch had grown intolerable and she feared venturing into the field would delay it further, but then he came to her quarters and there was no suave in his eyes that night, just hunger, she remembered. Their encounters were always rough, at her request, but even she found it hard to stand after that meet. It was just as well, as he did not want her to stand, but rather lay in his embrace for hours.
"What of Godzton? Is there any chance he'll stop the slayers? What has the order commanded be done of him?"
"Laythan has already fallen to the elements and Godzton's last report came before our departure. He has learned more than I gave credit that he would, but the fortune of the Gods favors us. Their supply of serum has been destroyed, I only wished I'd known that before I issued the execute on sight order. Either way, his days are numbered."
"So the order wishes him dead then?" Jack said as he picked at his teeth with his knife.
"No, I did not wait for official orders to be given, I need none. They are Iron, to be dealt with by the Iron and I do not need permission to deal with my own."
Jack spit a chunk of gristle from his mouth and said, "Pity, I was looking forward to smashing his head alongside his little flowers."
Lisbet did not find his remarks amusing. "Do not be vulgar Jack, there's no call for it. Martha would've made a good addition had Godzton not gotten her involved."
She haunted Lisbet's dreams endless in her torment of just staring with saddened eyes and uttering no words. Lisbet was certain she could have brought her into the fold.
"Paython would disagree with that," Jack said as he fiddled his fingers at the edge of the table.
"Do not forget it was his volunteering of self-sacrifice that allowed us to remain completely above suspicion."
"Don't much rather remember him volunteering."
Lisbet straightened up leaning into the table and beamed a sour look at him. "Really?" she said. "Because I seem to clearly remember him volunteering when he suggested doing to her what he wanted to before killing her! That is an act lower than that of filth and I will not tolerate that kind of devious behavior in my ranks. Do I make myself clear?"
"Fair enough then," Jack said.
Eric looked up curling his face and said, "That's a hard way to have to go. I'd rather beg for my brothers and sisters to strap me to a pole, skin and burn me alive, than deal with a detox from the serum."
"He's a stubborn bastard that one," Jack said.
"I'll keep that in mind Eric," she said with sureness in her voice. "In the meantime, we'll proceed as normal."
The abrupt shining of the day dimmed her eyes as she stepped from the inn. The new day had come bringing grayness over the soaked land. The storm in the night had not even whispered in her ears as she slept. The buildings of wood and clay glistened with dampness and the streets slopped in a brown sludge. The color of shit seemed fitting for Gemador, Lisbet thought. She did not think it possible for this place to smell worse, but the rain had permeated a smell of excreta to stinging heights. But the townsfolk wandered above the stench, immune to it with paralyzed noses.
Slumping through the muck and throwing her saddlebags onto her horse a sharp voice rose out in the air. "I hear you wish to have a word," the man called out, raising his head. He stood rooted in the middle of the street with his hands behind his back and his feet spread apart.
Jack and Eric turned, both readying their hands to the grips of their weapons. Lisbet had not even noticed him and turned, looking with confusion, and rising eyes. She did not know if the odd man was talking to her, but his deadened stare remained locked at her.
She stepped up between her men studying him. "Dardanos Eastmunn?" she called back and then walked into the street with Jack and Eric at her sides.
"Seems we won't be needing to go to Ravenorn after all," Jack muttered.
Lisbet pulled her sword but kept her distance. Jack and Eric stepped at her sides with weapons in hand. Her efforts to draw him out had worked, though the element of surprise was lost.
"You know I find that those who tend to seek me out are not the brightest of individuals." He tilted his head back, raised his brow, and stretched a smile. "But quickly, they learn," Dardanos said. "So what word would the Iron High Guard like to have with me?"
"You're a long way from home Iklaceian." Lisbet signaled her men to sweep out to the sides. "What business do you have in Terongard?" she said.
Nearby citizens began to gather in the morning dew and look on as their curiosity peaked. She would not strike first letting them witness a cold-blooded act by the Iron High Guard. They would take him into custody, and execute him away from prying eyes.
"Oh just taking in the sights, partaking in the sampling of your many brothels..." he grinned with an un-concerning look "...I may have started a war between two feuding houses. I'm not sure though I should think," he said and squinted. "This is an infested ass of land though I must say though. I here you have a problem with stewards being murdered and I offer you my services to find the ones doing it."
"We do things by way of law around here foreigner and we do not need the help of thugs," Lisbet said.
"I could care less of the stewards I tell you, I'm more interested in collecting the debt owed to my family and I shall think I would like to continue on my hunt," Dardanos said.
"I don't give a damn what you would like to do. We have three dead men in Moonback that you will answer for. You'll be coming with us back to the compound."
"Ah yes, the Syddian's of Terongard are very sensitive. You make one comment in jest about their skin being black because their ancestors were pulled from the ass of a God, and they get very insulted. Though, I'd wager they found being killed more insulting," he said with a perplexed twist to his face.
Lisbet waved her sword to Jack and Eric and they began sweeping out to Dardanos from each side. Jack was closer, but his intimidating size did not stir Dardanos from his stance. Jack reached his bear paw of a hand out to grab a hold of Dardanos he met with a playful smirk from the Iklaceian.
"Ok then," Dardanos said.
Lisbet hoped the Iklaceian might go peacefully. But it was a hope that was quickly destroyed as Dardanos pushed Jack's hand aside and without hesitation threw his blade up under Jack's jaw and clear out the top of his head. The Iklaceian was shorter and had to reach high, but it made no difference, as Jack was dead before he knew what was happening. Eric lunged only to meet his gut to Dardanos's boot, sending him sliding along the ground.
Breathless, Lisbet pushed fear aside and rushed the Iklaceian with sword in hand. Dardanos jerked the blade from Jacks' head and then snapped it down at his side, the blade's handle grew, locking out into seven sections. It looked as if just a big knife at first, but in a blink it had morphed into a spear and she paused. In her daze, a smack across her face made the sky and ground mix as one in a swirling of pain before the mud kissed her with force. With her jaw throbbing, she rolled to her knees quickly and swept the muck from her face only to see the Iklaceian with his blade shoved into Eric's throat. The rapid thumping in her chest fell silent as Dardanos slid his blade up and out, splitting Eric's skull into two halves.
Shakiness clenched her body and she held back from screaming. A right mind to flee pulled at her, but she fought it and grabbed her sword from the drenched dirt, pushed from her knees and rushed him once more. Pressing forward through the wall of dread and telling herself that she was strong and not afraid, Lisbet advanced with angering swings and thrust. Hoping a strike of luck would land a hit, but every slash of
her sword failed to deliver a fatal blow or even find its mark.
The Jester of Chaos continued to avoid each move while smiling at her. Exasperated and covered in muck she stood planted firm as the grinning buzzard circled her. The bastard was just toying with her, but her distressed eyes continued watching for a misstep to seize upon.
With a cocky tease, Dardanos stopped and extended his arms out taunting her to take a shot. With no forethought, Lisbet jumped at him with a maddening howl. The hilt slammed to her wrist thundering a shattering of bone through the air to a collective gasp from the on looking crowd. Her fingers splayed out refusing to hold the sword any longer and she could not help but to squeeze her eyes shut. Safety, in the dark, behind closed eyes, did not last long. His blade, still warm with the blood of her men, pressed under her chin, lifting her attention. With painful heaves, she opened her eyes slow to see Dardanos, still grinning, like the madman he had shown to be. More townsfolk's had now gathered around to see her failure she observed from the corners of her eyes. It was coming, that fearful crossing over into the unknown abyss where only the Gods know what waits, she thought.
"You know you are puzzlingly attractive for an Iron I should think. We are not so lucky in Dyerwin to have Iron doves like you. Vultures, yes I should think, but not doves." Dardanos squinted and scrunched his lips together. "Maybe it's the scar across your face or the cloudy eye, perhaps your wide hips maybe?" he said and held the blade steady under her chin.
The sky rumbled with thunder in the distance of an approaching storm and a hard admission sat on her shoulders. She was scared and hollowed out to the fear of death. The bastard was to mock her before killing her. She did not want to die, but could not find the bravery Typarion had instilled in her for years out here in the unbridled world. It had been a long time since this feeling of emptiness had reared its head within her. There was no harder feeling of being helpless than that night in the farmhouse so long ago, she thought, but she was wrong. The safety found in rank and uplifting words were all gone and replaced with terror as Dardanos looked her up and down like a piece of meat.