Baron Assassin: Chapter 13

Yup, the writing brain is back in gear. Once I got going, it really got going. I wrote this and my brain wants me to write another chapter because of course it does, but it's 3am here. So, i'm gonna call it a day. But, more for you to enjoy! ~Eric

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“Is there a reason we’ve stopped?” asked the baron. “We can’t possibly be there, yet.”

Daran glanced out the window. There wasn’t much see in the winter darkness, but he knew the approximate distance to the knight’s estate. The baron had the right of it. They hadn’t been traveling long enough. The former spy hazarded a glance at his teacher and sworn lord. Any other noble would either be furious at the delay or concerned about some kind of threat. Varan Halfstead, or whatever his actual name was, looked neither angry nor concerned. He wore his usual expression of vague indifference. Not that the man was truly as indifferent as he appeared. He cared deeply about a few things, just not trivial matters like unexpected delays.

“I’ll see what’s happening,” said Daran, opening the carriage door and stepping out into the winter cold.

He looked around and saw the problem immediately. There was a group of, at quick count, ten men barring the road. They all carried swords or crossbows. While no one was actually pointing a weapon at the carriage, the message was clear enough. Of course, the four mounted guards that had put themselves between the carriage and the gang might have contributed to that. Daran was more or less certain how this was going to end, but he thought there might be some value in at least trying to solve the matter peacefully. He trudged forward through the slush, passing between two of the mounted guards.

“Well now, I suppose you’d be the baron’s servant,” said a burly man with a missing front tooth. “You better tell those guards not to do anything stupid.”

There was a whisper of steel as four swords were drawn practically in unison. Daran knew they hadn’t practiced that move. They’d just all reached the same conclusion at virtually the same moment. The seemingly practiced precision made the burly man step a half step back. It was probably the smartest thing he could do at that moment. What the gang leader didn’t know was that that the baron had picked these men and then taken a hand in their training. Most were orphans or had come from incredibly poor families. Simply by making them guards and providing them with steady income, he had transformed their lives and the lives of their families from desperate struggle to relative ease.

Beyond that, most of them had younger brothers or sisters who had also, almost incidentally, benefitted from the Baron’s rather unique opinion about things. In most of the kingdom, commoners were illiterate and could only do the kind of math that happened with one’s fingers. By the time Daran had arrived, the man had already instituted a requirement that every child within the barony be taught to read, write, and at least learn fundamental arithmetic. Daran had asked the man why he’d done that.

“Because I won’t tolerate such easily remedied ignorance. It serves no purpose. If anything, it makes the people in my domain less useful than they could be. I was taught to read and write. I gained from it. They will be taught to read and write.”

With that single act, the baron had rewritten the futures of countless children across his domain. Not that he seemed to understand or care about that fact. Nor had he begrudged the cost and effort it had taken to get that simply command carried out. There had been no far-reaching plan. No, it had simply offended him that skills he considered basic weren’t being taught to the children. So, he took action. Daran, and the men guarding the carriage, knew what it meant to be able to read and write. It would open up a world of possibilities and opportunities for those children. They could lead different lives, better lives, than they ever would have been able to.

The barony had already seen benefits from it. Positions that would have otherwise gone unfilled were now being filled by those with the necessary skills. That had improved everything from record keeping to speedy tax collection. After all, it was easier to trust that your neighbor’s son was telling you the truth about what you owed than a stranger. Some of those children had gone off to other parts of the kingdom and secured employment, only to send home some of their earnings to less well-off families. That money was spent on food or, often, to hire extra help on farms.

All of which was taxed, and then most of that money was plowed back into the barony. All of which helped to improve things even more. Daran had even heard rumblings that it might be time to consider some kind of formal academy in the barony. He hadn’t broached the topic with Halfstead, yet, but he thought it might be a good idea. It could create some problems down the road, but those problems were navigable and would likely be more of a social headache than a true sticking point with anyone. It might even open up some additional opportunities for the people within the baron’s domain.

That was why he wasn’t surprised that the guards had taken an aggressive posture. They knew what the man had done for them, their families, and the barony at large. Their faith in him was absolute. So, it wasn’t accurate to say the guards were loyal. They were fanatics. If Halfstead asked them to cut off their right arms for the good of the barony, it would be a race to see which of them finished first. Compared to that, fighting off ten men, and whoever was undoubtedly positioned in the woods, wouldn’t even make them blink. Daran heaved a little sigh before he spoke.

“Barring the road this way isn’t wise. The baron is a patient man, though. If you leave now, he’s likely to forget this little incident. An option I strongly urge you to take.”

The leader smiled at Daran, or maybe he just bared his teeth. It was difficult to be sure.

“Oh, I like our odds just fine. It’s time for you to turn this carriage around and go home. Jareks isn’t seeing anyone today. Or tomorrow. Or ever.”

“I’m afraid that won’t work,” announced Daran. “The baron will be visiting Sir Jareks this evening.”

“I don’t think you heard me, little man. You ain’t going there. Do you think we care that he’s a baron? We can bleed a baron just like anyone else. Or maybe we’ll bleed that daughter of his a little, just to send a message. What’s her name? Marida?”

Daran closed his eyes for a long moment. Then, he turned on his heel and started walking back toward the carriage.

“I ain’t done talking to you!” shouted the leader.

Daran looked over his should with a pitying expression and said, “We are done talking. There’s no point in talking to dead men.”

And they were dead men. They had all died the second Marida’s name had passed their leader’s lips. Their bodies were just a little slow to catch up to that truth. Halfstead cared nothing for position or title. He could and would bear almost any insult to himself. His vast indifference to verbal injuries had left several other nobles almost frothing at the mouth in fury when their carefully laid barbs accomplished nothing. More than one attempt at instigating a duel had utterly failed because the baron simply did not care.

Only one fool had ever dared to utter an insult to Marida. There hadn’t been an official duel. There hadn’t been time for one to be declared. What had followed was said to chill the blood of every noble present. Halfstead hadn’t gone into a rage, as one might expect. He’d struck the man in the throat. Then, he shattered the noble’s jaw so thoroughly that nothing the man tried to say could be understood. That prevented the doomed soul from doing anything so inconvenient as surrendering or offering a false apology. The baron had methodically broken half the bones in the man’s body, an expression of vague indifference never leaving his face.

That task accomplished, Halfstead dragged the man to the highest floor in the building. After dutifully checking that no one was below, the baron hurled the other noble to his death on the cobblestones. As if all of that hadn’t been unnerving enough, the baron had returned to the party. He wiped the blood off his hands with a handkerchief, picked up a drink, and resumed the conversation he’d been having before the entire incident began. There was an unwritten law among the nobility after that night. If one had nothing good to say about Marida Halfstead, one said nothing at all. By issuing a threat to Marida, the gang leader had loosed an arrow of destruction that could not be called back.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” demanded the leader.

Before Daran could think of something to say, a bloodcurdling, animal scream of pain and fear cut through the night. Everyone froze at that. Then, what was left of human beings started stumbling out of the trees. Men without eyes. Men without hands. Men carrying their intestines in their hands because their stomachs had been cut open. Women with their lifeblood spurting from throats that had been opened to the spine. The gang members in the road began to panic. Some tried to run.

“Stand your ground, you damn dogs!” bellowed the leader.

Not that it helped. Soon, the runners were sent stumbling back, their wounds fatal, but the slow kind of fatal. Throughout it all, the carriage guards simply watched. If the grisly sight twinged any sense of sympathy in them, it didn’t show on their faces. Daran watched the terror mount in the gang as they learned exactly why the Baron Harven had once been called The Lamentation. His only reaction was to speak to the guards.

“If they come this way, don’t kill the leader. We’ll have questions for him later.”

“Yes, sir,” said one of guards.

Not that the baron seemed inclined to let them run. He stepped out of a shadow, plunged a dagger into what looked to be a man’s liver, and disappeared again. Within seconds, the man started screaming in agony, then he collapsed to the ground, thrashing and clawing at his own skin. There was another flickering of shadow, and another man collapsed, having lost his leg just below the knee. One by one, they fell until only the leader remained. The gang boss’s eyes were wide and wild. He spun in place, trying to look everywhere at once.

“Show yourself! Coward!” the man screamed, his voice high and tight with barely repressed terror.

“Coward?” asked a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “You threaten my child, and then accuse me of being a coward? How amusing. I can only assume that you don’t actually know what that word means.”

“Come out and fight me, man to man!”

“That would require you to actually be a man.”

“I’m ain’t afraid of you! You think you’re the only one with magic!”

The gang leader held up his left hand, palm facing out. A look of horrible concentration twisted the man’s face and a modest fireball appeared. The shadows flickered and four fingers on the man’s left hand dropped to the ground. There was a moment of stunned disbelief on the man’s face before the fireball winked out and the screams started. As Daran had watched this display, he reflected on the fact that the baron had, years before, somehow come to the ludicrous conclusion that he wasn’t dangerous.

Ever since, he’d been hiring people to instruct him. Halfstead hadn’t particularly cared who they were, as long as they could teach him things. Daran did know who those people were. He’d made a point to know, and their identities did not belong to the kind of people who sought out students. Yet, for their own reasons, they had come to the baron. He’d watched with a kind of morbid fascination as those monsters helped one of the most hideously dangerous men he’d ever met steadily forged himself into…something. Daran wasn’t sure what that was, or if the process was even complete. He wasn’t even sure the proper word existed for it. Unapparelled? Inhuman?

All he knew was that the baron’s strength, when unveiled, felt like it would eclipse the sun. So, it wasn’t a shock when Halfstead stepped out of a shadow directly behind the gang leader and plunged something into his neck. The burly man tried to spin, but lost his balance halfway and collapsed. He tried to swing his sword at the baron, only to have his arm brutally crushed into the ground until bones audibly snapped. A bit of screaming later and the man went limp. Apparently feeling that the lesson was over, the baron went from body to body, putting the ones who were still alive down. Then, as if nothing unusual had happened, he walked over to where Daran and the guards waited.

“Bring the leader. After you drop me at the knight’s estate, take the useless creature somewhere. He’ll wake up in about an hour. Find out what he knows. Then dispose of him. I’d do it myself, but I have other obligations tonight.”

Daran noted that not even one of the guards batted an eye at those orders. The goddess help anyone who comes to the barony looking for war, he thought.