“You really believe that bullshit, don’t you, old man?”
“Of course,” Krann responded. “I have the weight of history behind me.”
“And you are more upset that I didn’t follow procedure than you are about me killing that girl?”
“What is a life without service to order?” Krann asked.
“Incredible,” Clarence said with a snicker. “Are all the Commissioners like you?”
“Mostly,” Krann answered flatly. “But you will find I am a better example than most. My family has served the Protectorates since the beginning.”
“I look forward to reading your letter,” Clarence said. “I’ll ask Protector Lungu for it after he’s read it. I’m sure it will play well in his offices.”
Clarence left the office door open when he left. He found Jank in the hallway waiting for him.
“You look like shit, Jank,” Clarence said.
Red and purple welts covered Jank’s hands and face. “I’ve been stung by bees and hornets, but your generous contract is just the salve I need.”
“A true businessman, after my own heart. Once you have Argan under firm management, we can work something out for Blue Creek. That’s another village this Astrid woman tampered with. I’m going to punish every village she sets foot in.”
“Speaking of that mammoth bitch,” Jank said. “I found one of my men that she tied to a tree at one of the day camps. He had a note in his pocket.” Jank held out a crumpled sheet of hemp wrapping paper.
“This woman loves her missives,” Clarence said, snatching up the paper.
To the authorities:
This man is guilty of torture and attempted rape.
If he is not punished, I will assume that this Protectorate condones his actions. I hope this is not the case. If so, you will hear from me again.
Astrid
Clarence folded the note carefully and slipped it into a pocket on his armored sleeve. “She left another note for Assessor Pleth. Gather six men and meet me in the courtyard. We’re going to pay Pleth a little visit.”
Clarence was happy to see that Jank had already made good on parts of his contract. His men were already present in force on the Toll Road below Keep 52. They rode in pairs in their black armor with the polished plates of light steel on their chests, shoulders, and arms. They were visible every few miles.
“Your men are well-equipped,” Clarence said, noting that all of Jank’s men carried short swords, and one of the patrol pairs carried a crossbow.
“I invest wisely in my company,” Jank said. “You need the right tools for the job.”
“What about the men?” Clarence asked.
Jank shrugged. “They are the most important tools.”
Clarence laughed. “I do so enjoy working with you, Jank. I can’t wait until you start billing the villages in this region for the extra security. My bank accounts will never be happier.”
Jank gave a courteous, political smile, but he was not looking forward to paying Clarence the kickback money for the contract. He started doing the math in his head about how much more he would have to charge the villages to make up for the losses. He also wasn’t looking forward to the loss of another assessor who was very effective at collecting extra tribute.
The Pleth homestead stood at the edge of Lungu Fortress proper. The house had a good view of Lake Bicaz a couple miles away. They could see the southern wall of the fortress built from pieces of the ancient dam that once made the lake much larger.
Two small children playing in the yard froze when they saw the men on horseback approach. The front door opened and Pleth himself stepped out in his casual attire. His mouth was full and a half-eaten apple fell from his hand when he saw eight men staring at him over his white picket fence.
“Go inside, children,” Pleth said after spitting out a mouthful of apple.
“Yes,” Clarence said, after getting off his horse. “Let’s you and I go inside. I want to see this fine home of yours.”
Pleth showed more backbone than Clarence gave him credit for.
“I know why you are here,” Pleth said. “I’ll go quietly. Please. Not in my home.”
“Why do you imagine I am here, Pleth?” Clarence asked. He turned to Jank and the men and said, “Stay here. This won’t take long.”
Pleth stood trembling in his front yard. Clarence strode forward and grabbed Pleth by the sleeve, then pushed him into his house.
“You have a lovely home here,” Clarence said, looking around at the polished wood surfaces and the expensive marble floors. “The life of an Assessor can be a good one, don’t you think… ah… What is your name?” Clarence turned to Pleth’s wife.
“Karla,” the woman said as her boy and girl clung to her skirt and peeked out from behind her hips. “Please tell me what this is about.”
“Karla, I—” Pleth stammered.
“This is about your husband’s poor choices,” Clarence interrupted. “He has kept information from his Protector, namely, a letter.” Pleth hung his head. “Without this letter, we didn’t know about a threat to the Protectorate before it got out of hand. Your husband is costing this Territory much time and treasure!”
“Lieutenant, I—” Pleth began to grovel.
“And you still aren’t going to fetch me my letter!” Clarence bellowed. The children began to cry.
“I’ll get the letter, please, can we take this outside? My children… ”
Clarence lunged forward, and Pleth bolted from the room. He ran upstairs and crashing sounds came from the ceiling above as he tore through whatever room served as his hiding place.
Clarence smiled at Karla and the terrified children. “This will all be over soon,” he said.
Pleth rushed back down with the letter in his hand. He opened his mouth to say something, but Clarence silenced him with a glare. After reading the note, Clarence locked eyes with the cowering Assessor. He stared for several moments while the children whimpered.
“Tell me where you stashed the skim,” Clarence said.
“The what? I never skimmed tribute,” Pleth lied.
Clarence smiled, then raised both his hands and made fists in front of his chest. The cloth of Pleth’s shirt balled up and the man suddenly slammed into the ceiling. Clarence walked beneath him, fists raised. “Children,” Clarence said. “Your father is a liar, and he has cost you your future.”
“No!” Pleth wheezed as Clarence pressed him against the ceiling until the plaster cracked. “Leave my children alone, I beg you.”
“Believe me,” Clarence said. “I’m doing your family a favor by exposing you as the weakling you are. They deserve to know.”
“Leave my daddy alone!” the little girl screamed and charged at Clarence, who let Pleth fall to the floor in a heap with all the wind forced from his chest.
Before the girl could reach him, Clarence whirled and knocked her to the ground with a simple look. Her brother gave an animal scream and charged in to defend his sister while Karla collapsed to her knees and begged for mercy.
Pleth stared on in shock. Clarence knocked the boy down just as he had the little girl, and held both children in place with his magic.
“No! Stop! Please!” Pleth begged. “I’ll tell you everything. Please leave my family alone.”
“I will take your full confession now,” Clarence said. “Including a description of how you had Argan village produce wine off the books so that you could gift it to the Protector and sell some of it for your own profit. Be thorough, and maybe I will show some mercy.”
Pleth jumped to his feet and stumbled to his desk in the corner of the living room. “I’ll do it right now,” he said. “Please don’t hurt my family.”
“I can’t hurt your family more than you already have,” Clarence sneered.
Clarence shook his head at Karla and the children who struggled under his telekinetic grasp. Pleth scurried back into the room with a two-page confession in his trembling hands. Clarence took his time readin
g it. He glanced from the paper to Pleth occasionally when he found the more interesting parts.
“Your skimming goes back far longer than I thought,” Clarence said. “All to find a cure for your unfit, weakling boy-spawn. And you managed to draw in your whole crew. You’ve ruined their lives as well, Pleth. How does that feel?”
“Wh—what does he mean, Daddy?” the boy inquired through his tears.
“Your illness, Adi. The seizures you get—”
“Julius, don’t,” Karla implored.
“He deserves to know, Karla,” Pleth spoke, but couldn’t make eye contact with anyone. “I was trying to get the money for a cure. There’s a woman in the Fortress Wards, she knows how to make medicine. But the ingredients—”
“You’re a bigger fool than I thought!” Clarence howled with laughter, cutting Pleth off. “That old woman sells nothing but false hopes.”
Pleth stared down at his fancy boots and shook his head. He knew it was true. All the money he stole was just to buy himself some denial. He just had to do something. None of the doctors knew how to make Adi better. How could I have been so stupid, he thought. “What will you do with me?”
“I will spare your life,” Clarence said. “But as of this very moment, you are dispossessed. Leave this house right now, with only the clothes on your back. Everything you own now belongs to The Protectorate.” Clarence released the children, who immediately ran to their mother.
Karla gasped and wrapped the children up in her arms.
“But where are we to go?” Karla asked.
“Please,” Pleth begged. “Take my life, but let my family have… something… ”
“Don’t pretend to be noble now, Pleth, you greedy worm,” Clarence growled. “Leave now, before I change my mind.”
The Pleth family fled the house and Clarence followed them outside. He kicked Pleth in the ass on the way.
“Seal the house,” Clarence ordered. The men set to work boarding up the doors and windows by breaking down the fence and using the pickets as planks.
Pleth lead his family up the Toll Road without looking back.
Argan Village
The second harvest presented Argan with a welcome, but pressing problem. They simply didn’t have any way to store so much food. The barrel maker-blacksmith, his two sons, his daughter, and his wife had worked all day to make barrels to hold grains, but it still wasn’t enough.
Shifts of villagers had worked from dawn and now into early evening cutting oats, rye, and picking cabbages and beets. They left the hot peppers and thought they would simply let them rot on the vine. Even the bandit camp pitched in to help.
Working in the fields alongside the villagers and the woods people gave Astrid an idea. She set down her bushel of cabbage and walked over to Woody.
“How many bandits are in the surrounding woods?” Astrid asked.
Woody leaned on his scythe beside a pile of cut oats. “About fifty,” he replied. “Maybe more near the territory borders. Why?”
“Call them in for the harvest,” Astrid said.
Woody looked at her blankly for a moment, then laughed in her face. “These townies are lucky we’re here doing this work. We’re only doing it because they are paying us.”
“Don’t you think the others want to get paid?”
Woody considered that for a moment. “Fuck them. We get paid more if it’s only us.”
Astrid laughed. “Is that how bandits always do each other?”
“Mostly. The tribes don’t work together often, and then only if there’s something in it for us.”
“I’ll make it worth their while,” Astrid said.
“How?” Woody asked.
“Look, this harvest is one-hundred-percent profit. I’m sure Popova will pay handsomely.”
“Bandits don’t work for cabbage. We work for coin and plunder,” Woody replied.
“Bring them in,” Astrid said. “They can have cabbage and plunder. I plan to pay back this Clarence fuckhole for murdering Alisa.”
That got Woody’s attention. He stared at her for a long while, then said, “If it were anyone else that said something like that, I’d think they were full of shit. I will send out some feelers.”
“Besides,” Astrid said. “We’ll have other work for them to do. Keep 52 is filling up with Jank’s men. We’ll need to patrol the roads leading to the village.”
With that, Astrid turned back to work.
Gormer convinced Charlie to pull wagons from the field. When he arrived and picked up the wagon tongue, the villagers dropped their tools and cheered. At first, Charlie looked scared. Then, he saw the faces beaming up at him and smiled back with a huge, gap-toothed grin.
He pulled the wagon easily, then came back for another. The villagers shouted their thanks and Charlie started moving faster. He seemed eager for more praise.
They all worked until the sun set, then settled in for a community meal. Astrid squeezed in at a long table and someone handed her a big bowl of stew. She ate heartily, savoring the thick broth with rye, barley, and big chunks of pork.
“This is ridiculous,” Popova said, standing up from the head of the table.
“What’s wrong, Elder?” Tomescu asked.
“He’s just standing there in the woods staring at us. Has nobody offered him any food?” Popova put her hands on her hips and nodded over at Charlie. The giant stood in the shadows of the treeline just beyond the torchlight.
Popova snatched up a big, empty bowl, then marched over to a pile of beets taller than her. She threw in a bunch of the root vegetables, then added a couple of cabbages. She walked over to where Charlie stood with the bowl raised high.
“Come and eat with us!” Popova said.
Charlie shrank back and made himself smaller.
“Don’t be shy, you’ve earned this,” she said, raising the bowl higher. “Come on. You sit at the table with us, now.”
Charlie inched out of the woods and bent down low to pick up the bowl. He moved to turn back into the woods.
“No, no, no,” Popova scolded sweetly, waving her finger. “You turn right back around and you follow me. You’re part of this village now, and you eat with us. I won’t tell you that again.”
When Popova turned to walk away, Charlie stood blinking for a moment. He put the bowl under his arm and walked back over to the table with hunched shoulders.
Five people jumped up from the long table to make room for him. They smiled and urged him to sit, then surrounded him, all trying to talk to him at once. They thanked him for the help and peppered him with questions. “Where are you from?” “What do you like to eat?” “Will you go fishing with us tomorrow?” “How tall are you?”
“Let the boy eat!” Popova scolded. “I’m not sure he speaks, anyway.”
“What?” one of the men said, raising his hands. “We want to talk to him. He gave us a second harvest!”
“You can talk to him later,” Popova said. She turned to Charlie. “I know you’re hungry.”
Charlie looked around wide-eyed, then gave a smile that consumed his face. He lifted his head and made a happy grunt, then ate half a cabbage in two bites.
The village ate their fill as the moon began to rise. As people began clearing the tables and cleaning up, someone came over with a fiddle. Someone else brought out a wooden flute. A guitar player appeared, and soon, the air was filled with music.
Charlie gasped when he heard the sound. Half-chewed beets dropped from his mouth into his lap.
“Ahhh… ” he said, then rose slowly. He walked right into the circle of musicians and stood there swaying.
The shocked musicians nearly stopped playing when Charlie began to sing. His wordless song blended perfectly with the instruments, and the players rose to the occasion. Astrid had never heard a more beautiful song. She tried to hide the mist in her eyes until she noticed there were no dry eyes around her.
Everyone stopped and gathered around to listen.
15
&nbs
p; Argan Village
Astrid woke before two in the morning. It took her ten minutes to silently climb down from the loft in Popova’s single-room hut. She didn’t want to wake the old woman as she slipped through the front door and into the village square.
Just as she suspected, a shadow moved toward her. It was Moxy. Another figure moved less gracefully across the courtyard. That was Gormer. A few seconds later, the unmistakable round form of Vinnie trundled into view. Tarkon strode briskly into view behind Gormer. They gathered by the well in the center of the village square.
“If we hurry,” Astrid said. “We should be at Keep 52 before dawn.”
“What’s the plan?” Gormer asked, voice gummy.
“Recon,” Astrid said. “I want to know what’s going on.”
“It’s likely they’ve increased security,” Tarkon said.
“Gormer will lead us there,” Astrid said. “Then he’ll keep watch while the rest of us gather intel.”
“I say we retrieve Alisa while we’re there,” Gormer said. “For Woody. Give her a proper burial.”
“You didn’t want to do that yesterday,” Moxy said.
“I just said that so Woody wouldn’t run in there like the madman he is,” Gormer said. “He didn’t care about dying.”
“Huh,” Astrid grunted.
“What?” Gormer growled. “I’m not completely callous. Woody is my friend.”
“I thought you didn’t have friends,” Astrid said.
“Well, as close as I get to a friend,” Gormer replied with a shrug.
“Enough banter,” Tarkon said. “Let’s ride.”
They walked the horses into the woods from the stables.
“From now on,” Tarkon said. “We need to post guards overnight. If we can do this, anyone can.”
“You’re right,” Astrid said. “I didn’t want that today, though.”
“Why the secrecy?” Gormer asked.
“I didn’t want to give anyone the opportunity to object,” Astrid replied. “Also, we need to know for ourselves.”
They made their way by moonlight to Keep 52. They had to leave the horses deep in the woods to maintain silence. They split up near the Toll Road and Gormer climbed up into the branches of a tall beech tree.
Welcome To The Age of Magic Page 125