Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 26

Sankta Varath was a mess. A chowder of a city with greedy, angry, frustrated people of maddened minds. With dirty, chaotic streets where peddlers and ruffians, thieves and tricksters, murderers and beggars found their home. It was a city of immeasurable luxury, a hellhole of poverty and crime, it was all of this and more before the war.

But now?

There was nothing but desperation and fear in the faces of my people. So many buildings, homes, and workshops were just smoking ruins. Those standing were barricaded, the window shutters closed, their doors locked as terrified Varathians slid through alleys and streets with their heads low, and their steps hurried.

Balls of fire and stone sporadically flew over the city from the northern battleline. Sometimes they crashed in the Glade, sometimes around the Pantheon, the Estates, the Ashpit…

Cries of desperation and pain echoed across Sankta Varath between the cacophony of war and slaughter. Even the White Palace wasn’t left unscathed. The glistening towers were reduced to tall sharp stumps and some were missing entirely. The King must have been shitting his royal panties in there. If the Quinta didn’t get him, the orcs certainly would.

Speaking of the green bastards. They now ruled the southern part of town. Everywhere you looked, orc patrols marched in formation. It was a sobering thing to see them so organized. Usually, the orcs couldn’t be forced to use the outhouse properly. All of that changed during war time when they became the most proficient military organization possible. Supply lines ran through the streets, guards were posted at critical intersections, companies moved in unison not misplacing a single step. They were made for this. For war. If only they picked the right side every once in a while…

I rode through Gank Street which was still a mess. Wounded orcs squirmed in stretchers as shamans healed what they could. Soldiers ran up and down the cobbled streets, commanders barked orders, and orc kids carried buckets of water, food, and other supplies. Everyone had a job to do.

I can’t say I didn’t cause a ruckus trying to squeeze Wolf and myself through the chaos. The orcs, young and old walked up to me touching the deviltail which he didn’t enjoy too much. Even going so far as to voice his opinion on it.

“Not touch Wolf,” he said directly into my mind.

“Easy, boy. We’re almost there,” I said, petting the back of his neck. Several of the commanders cheered when they saw me coming.

“Nergat waiting for you god slayer Frank!”

“Frank boss will make King suck his dick!” another cried.

A strange idea to be honest. Why would they expect me to handle Nergat’s shitshow?

As Gank Street ended and turned into the Ashpit, a sense of unease washed over me. This wasn’t my Ashpit anymore. This didn’t feel like home. Large tents of animal leather and twisted wood stretched across the square. Great wooden war machines were being assembled by hundreds of workers, orcs, humans, dwarves, gnomes, and many others. Improvised forges bellowed smoke and fire as smiths hammered together weapons and armor. This wasn’t the Ashpit anymore, this was a war camp.

A high-ranking orc commander approached me as I neared the place. I could see hesitation on his face as the demi-god warning blinked in his Deeproot. He knew who I was, but the additional title caused unease even among the orcs.

“Frank boss,” he said, raising a hand as a small company quickly assembled behind him.

“What is your business?”

“My business?” I snapped. “I’m going home,” I said nodding towards the Midnight Bounties that could barely be seen hidden behind the large tents.

“That not your home anymore, that Nergat’s command base now.”

“You wanna bet?”

“Uhm…how much?” he asked seriously.

I sighed then narrowed my eyes on him.

“I’m going home. Don’t try to stop me.”

“I have orders, Frank boss. Things changed since you gone. Nergat now commands from Midnight Bounties. He say I must check everyone who come. If you want audience you must­—”

“Orc,” I snapped.

The energies of the Everdark darkened the area around us for a moment and a hot, cinder-rich wind blew between us. The commander took a step back and swallowed.

“Are you sure you need to check me?”

The orc cleared his throat.

“Frank boss goes home,” he said. “Let him through.”

The company in front of us moved out of the way and I rode into the square looking toward King Varyn’s statue. There was something off about it.

As I got a bit closer, I realized there was someone strapped to it. Some creature of dark skin and broad shoulders. I stopped Wolf in his track and the deviltail stomped his front feet.

“No,” I muttered realizing who I was looking at. “You fucking savage.”

I dismounted and ran up to the statue pushing orc warriors out of the way. There, hanging strapped with iron chains to the decimated statue of the old king was the lifeless corpse of Snowdog of the Three of Steel. His chest was wide open, rotting. The bones picked clean by vultures. Dried blood still clung to the white stone. His face was mutilated too and he was missing an arm. The image almost made me barf.

“Who the fuck did this?” I roared catching the attention of every orc in the vicinity.

I grabbed the nearest green bastard by the throat and picked him off the ground with one hand.

“Who did this so I can tear his heart out?”

The orc struggled to breathe, his legs flailing.

“Cast—Castelian.”

I dropped him on the ground looking around frantically. Right then and there, I was ready to tear the whole camp down.

“Why the fuck would you let him hang there? Get him down! Now!”

“It a big kill!” One of the orcs said. “It show strength!”

In a rush of uncontrollable anger, I closed the distance to him and punched the orc so hard he flew several feet back into one of the tents, causing one of the twisted beams to break.

“Oh! Frank boss serious!” someone yelled.

“Get him off the statue,” I hissed as purple and white lightning crackled around me and the powers of hell fell over the square.

“Nergat said we leave,” another said, raising his hands and expecting a similar treatment. I had to remind myself who I was talking to. The orcs would rather die than disobey that big bastard’s orders.

I walked back to the statue and tore the chains off myself, then took the dead body in my own hands. I called Wolf over and put Snowdog on the saddle and pulled my mount through the gathering crowd of orcs and others.

The Midnight Bounties wasn’t a club anymore. It was a fortress. Spikes ran along the foot of the wall, windows were nailed close with thick wooden beams and guards patrolled the above terrace and even the roof. The banner of the Green Tide hung to both sides of my red entrance door.

“Wait here, boy,” I said as the two heavily armored guards at the door approached me.

“Frank boss, Nergat busy. You can’t—” I shoved them aside, sending one of them flying off his feet and into the wall and bashing my elbow into the other’s face. He fell to the ground, unconscious. As I was about to push the door open, I realized there was a magical shield or some kind of barrier around my club. I simply pushed through, the arcane energies crackling around me. I kicked the door open and walked into my club.

“Nergat! What the fuck are you doing in my home!” I yelled before my eyes got used to the darkness.

First there was a moment of silence, then a glass fell on the floor and shattered. Ragul looked over at me, holding the cloth he was polishing it with in one hand and the other frozen in the moment he let the glass drop.

“Master Frank,” he uttered as if seeing a ghost. “You­—are back from Hell.”

There wasn’t just disbelief in the vampire’s face, but also true emotion, perhaps. I dared say even an inkling of happiness.

“Frank!” Fey’s voice thundered through the club.

Before I knew it, she was in my arms and hugging me tightly. All the rage in me suddenly disappeared. Well, not all of it, but enough for my broken brain to take in the reality of where I was and who I held in my arms.

“Fey,” I muttered hugging her back.

“You’re really back, right? I’m not just seeing ghosts,” she cried, looking up at me with her hazel brown eyes. Her face seemed tired, exhausted even, but she was unmistakably the same beautiful girl I met in that cursed dungeon.

“The fuckin’ boss is back!” Rot yelled, raising his mug from the bar. The door to the courtyard slammed open and Wort and Spif came running inside. The fautar and the satyr charged me so hard I almost fell over.

“You have been dearly missed, friend. By the Rev have I prayed for you,” Wortimus said, sobbing and hugging me while Spif clung to my leg.

“Your eye,” Fey said, wiping away tears.

“Yeah, it’s gone again.”

“Now look at this tough bastard right here,” Matis said, walking down the stairs with Opius. “Guy comes back from Hell and—Holy shit, what is this warning in my Deeproot?”

“Slayer of Gods,” the deep, rumbling voice of the orc warlord filled the club.

Only then did I look to my left where the podium used to be. The dance poles were gone, and instead one of my tables was parked there full of maps and papers. Nergat stood at the head of the table and was surrounded by his ancient shaman, Targa, and other chiefs and high-ranking orc commanders.

What caught my eye, however, wasn’t the large black orc ruler, but Hezzak. He was chained to some kind of heavy cast with iron shackles around his legs and hands. He looked absolutely miserable. Hezzak was allergic to any kind of metal, or so he claimed. Chaining him like that must have been absolutely torturous. If displaying Snowdog’s dead body in the middle of the square wasn’t enough to get my blood boiling, seeing the hobgoblin in that state certainly did.

“What the fuck is this, Nergat?” I snapped.

“This is war, Frank.”

“War?” I walked up to him so quickly even he flinched the tiniest bit, dark and light energies crackling around me. I could see the discomfort in his commanders and even the old shaman. He quickly regained his composure, barely perceptible.

“Hezzak, are you alright?”

The hobgoblin looked up at me and grunted softly. He was barely able to even blink his eyes.

“What have you done?” I hissed holding back a world of pain.

“What had to be done in wartime,” Nergat said raising his tone. “Hezzak suffers from a serious case of insubordination. That will not be tolerated. You’re a soldier. You know how these things go.”

“Release him.”

“Don’t give me orders, Frank. God slayer or not, I command an army of thousands. You don’t get to make demands.”

“There’s no army you can hide behind, Nergat. I can kill you and your entire army in minutes.”

The warlord suddenly laughed. He circled the table, picking up a glass of wine and sipped it.

“You won’t do that, Frank. You have people you want to protect. Speaking of which, is this how you talk to me after I stopped Castelian from slaughtering your family?”

I looked to Fey and she nodded softly.

“After he killed Snowdog, Castelian wanted to end us all. Nergat stopped him.”

It took all I had not to squeeze his neck and break it.

“You’re all alright? Where’s Pearl, is she alright?”

“We’re fine. Pearl too. She’s in her club. It’s a forward base for the orcs. We had to abandon the Lusty Lion, however. It was too close to the fighting. Besides, I don’t think the King and his men looked too kindly at us after—”

Her eyes wandered to Nergat.

“After what?”

“After you’ve betrayed your King and conspired with the orcs, Frank,” Nergat said with a smile. “It was you who supplied us with all the information we needed to take over half the city and you did it through your spy post, the Lusty Lion.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You killed Redball, Frank, an outspoken black-flagger and you threatened his connections. Then you staffed your clubs with orcs and spies, it was all very obvious to be honest. Strange how the King didn’t suspect anything until the very last moment.”

“Gods fucking—”

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to piece it all together. How was I that stupid and blind? I knew Nergat was strangely forthcoming with whatever I asked of him. It didn’t seem like he treated anyone else that way. I began to rely more and more on him, even so far as to protect my own family while I was gone.

“Well played, Nergat,” I said.

“I knew you’ll see reason soon enough, Slayer of Gods. A nice title, how does one acquire such a thing?”

“Titles mean shit, Nergat. Only blood and steel matter,” I said and Targa slapped his chest suddenly, nodding in my direction. Nergat shot him a deathly glare and the leader of the Loco Bruego lowered his hand immediately.

“The orcs respect you, even my highest-ranking officers look up to you, Frank. Let’s not quarrel. It’s time we work together. I’m glad you’re back, believe it or not. We need all the support we can get to fight off the Quinta.”

“The Quinta? You’re in open war against the King. You’ve torn a city under siege in two. How is that helpful?”

“That is the old fools’ doing!” the warlord roared, flinging the glass of wine against my fireplace. “I’ve tried, Frank,” he said with a softer tone. “I offered him our help if he let me command his forces instead of those degenerate idiots he calls generals. I sent messenger after messenger to the palace, and he returned them headless. He’s the city’s undoing, Frank. War is our only option. Once the city is under my command, we will defend it.”

“He’s right, Frank,” Matis said out of the blue. “Stein and the others have brought this upon us. The Second Army is dead, the First Army is in disarray. A third of the men deserted and fled south, the rest is wounded, exhausted and dead. Even the Sons of Varath are at the gates together with the City Watch while the King hides in his chambers. The northern wall has been broken by that giant golden monster. It died, but Quinta troops have established positions inside the walls. The fighting has been going on for weeks now.”

I rubbed my chin then walked up to the bar as all eyes were on me. I sat down next to Rot and the duergar slapped me on the shoulder.

“Nice to have you back, lad.”

“Aye, Rot. Ragul, the usual, please.”

“Certainly, sir,” the drow vampire said and poured me a whiskey. I gulped it down, letting Nergat stew in silence.

“Another, please.”

I lit a cigar and picked up my glass, then sipped on it and let out a long breath, puffing out a waft of smoke and looking around my club. They were all here. All well and healthy or as well as they could be considering the situation.

“So, what now, Nergat?”

“Now, with your help, we breach the White Palace and end the rein of the Catan. Then we deal with the Quinta.”

I chuckled at that and Nergat didn’t appreciate it in the slightest.

“No, no more fighting my own people.”

“No?” he barked.

“Here’s what’ll happen. First, I’m going to bury Snowdog, then you’ll remove the iron shackles off Hezzak—”

“I told you once, Frank!” the warlord snapped. “You don’t give orders here!”

I narrowed my eye on him, remaining as calm as I could.

“That too. I do give orders here and you know why? Because this is my fucking club, my fucking house, and my fucking family.”

“You’re out of line, Frank,” Nergat hissed.

“Once Snowdog is buried and Hezzak released,” I continued as the warlord fumed. “I’m going to pay the King a visit.”

Nergat breathed out slowly. He walked off the podium one heavy step after the other, then leaned on the bar looking at me with his fingers entwined. He loomed over me like a mountain, fully equipped in black, glistening armor.

“And why would the King listen to you?”

I took another sip of my whiskey.

“I’ve just returned from Hell, Nergat. I killed…I don’t know, something like two, three hundred demons there? A whole lot of alien flesh monsters, too. Obviously I also killed two gods and then I struck a deal with the lords of all Demonkind.” I puffed smoke into the warlord’s face. “I think I can handle an old man.”

“Master Frank?” Ragul suddenly blurted out.

“Pour me another, pal. I’ll tell you the whole story later.”

“And if you fail?” Nergat asked.

“Then you do what you wanted to do anyway.”

“You seem awfully sure about yourself, slayer.”

I finished my third glass of whiskey and got up. Purple and white lightning snaking around me. The whole ground floor became much darker and hotter. The air began to crackle, and cinders flashed. Even Nergat’s officers, hardened orc veterans each and every one, suddenly seemed unsure of whether to stay or dash out the door. Fear was painted across their weathered faces and they recognized death when they saw it.

“I’m tired, Nergat,” I said and the warlord straightened out. There was no doubt in my mind that he felt very uncomfortable but he had to appear strong.

“I want to bury a good friend, then I’m going to spend some time with my family, and finally fix this mountain of shit you’ve piled over us. You can follow along or you can be an obstacle. Either way, that’s what’s going to happen.”

Nergat watched me for a long moment. A whole storm of expressions washed over him as he chewed on the reality he suddenly found himself in.

Finally, he smiled.

“The Slayer of Gods, huh?” he said, addressing his officers. “How can a simple warlord say no to such a man?”

“Good,” I said. “Now get the fuck out of my house.”