Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 3

I opened the door to the King’s Stallion Tavern in Queen’s Street and stepped inside. The place was as large as the Lusty Lion’s ground floor, and it also smelled like it. The stench of sticky booze, southern pipe weeds and its patron’s perfumes mixed with the roasted meats and spices from the kitchen. The whole place just screamed wealth. Luxurious silk curtains hung between booths, golden laced furniture, and large beautifully carved wooden statues embellished every corner between the painting-adorned walls.

The clientele was what you’d expect from a place in Queen’s Street: generals, lords, barons, ladies of the court, and they were all served by sleek-looking waiters in fancy clothes.

A slender finger poked me in the chest. When I looked up I saw a milk-fed guard in white leather armor that cost as much as half my club. Private security, no doubt. The King’s Stallion could afford it, obviously.

“I’m keeping an eye on you, Ashlord.”

It’s Lord of the Ashpit. If you’re using that title, at least get it right.

I sighed and swiped his finger away. The young man lowered his hand on the rapier at his side and I snickered somewhat uncontrollably.

“Don’t worry, boy. I’m not here to paint the place with your innards.” His eyes went wide so I landed a hand on his shoulder and pushed the other into his hand. “Just looking for Maddog. I have some official business.”

The guard looked down to find five king’s head in his palm. His mood shifted quickly, and he nudged his head over his shoulder towards one of the booths. It was hard to miss. The place was half-empty and the only voices rumbling through the gloomy redwood walls came from that direction.

Loris Maddog stood atop a table with a large mug in his thick, hairy hands. A group of crippled officers, two of which were captains, clapped and laughed on the chairs around him. They were all wasted as hell. Some had missing limbs, others had bandages around their heads or extremities.

The sons of lords who managed to catch some flak in battle and now got to enjoy their early retirement.

I almost envied them. Most retired or wounded soldiers ended up in the street or on bounty hunter payrolls. Like me.

Maddog was a different beast entirely, however. The bulky steward of the Three of Steel looked like he weathered a thousand battles. Every inch of his skin was criss-crossed with scars and he had several missing fingers. Those few he had were riddled with golden rings packed with thick precious stones. Engraved bracelets, and several heavy chains hung around his neck.

He brought the mug to his bearded face then drowned the whole thing as the others cheered on. I raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed by the feat. He wiped the foam off his face and burped loud enough for the silken curtains to waver. Cheers and applause erupted throughout the tavern as he slammed the mug back on the table. He climbed down with the grace of a drunken ogre, grabbing for chairs and laughing.

Finally, his black eyes landed on me.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said and the other officers roared in more laughter.

“Frank Midnight,” I said offering a hand.

He grabbed and squeezed what I imagined was as hard as he could, but I didn’t even blink.

“Why does that sound familiar?” Loris said and burped again.

“That’s that Ashpit lord they all talk about lately. The guy who offed Redball.”

“No shit,” Loris said, raising a furry eyebrow. “I liked Redball.”

There was no questioning Maddog’s intent, but I wouldn’t take the bait. No matter how rough he tried to come off, he was a noble in his big fat heart and nobles liked to do these underhanded insults and threats that usually led nowhere, but made them feel good.

“You lie,” I said flatly and the burly man’s eyes widened. “Nobody liked Redball.” After a brief moment of tension, he laughed raucously again and landed a fat hand on my shoulder.

“Alright, fine. What do you want, Ashman?” he asked, picking up a cup off the other table and taking a big gulp.

“I need to talk to Shieldmother and I was told you’re the man I need to talk to first.”

He spat out the red wine and laughed again.

“Talk to Shieldmother? What the fuck do you want with Shieldmother?”

I felt a pang of anger shoot through my head like a hot spear. These rich fucks talked to us like dogs and yet without licking up all the shit they threw your way, you wouldn’t get anywhere.

“Long story, Loris. I’m willing to pay, of course.”

“Pay? Hah! He wants to pay me! Me! Fucking Loris Maddog!”

The other officers laughed half-heartedly. One of the captains with a bandage around his head lowered his cup on the table and spoke.

“The man is being courteous, Maddog. He’s from the fucking Ashpit, he doesn’t know how fucking loaded you are.”

“Hah!” Maddog blew air through his nose. “Fair enough. Listen, I don’t need your fucking money, Ashpitter. I’ll take you to that angry bitch just to see what’ll happen. But I am curious. What the hell do you want to talk to her about?”

I relaxed somewhat at his change of heart.

“I need to find Snowdog.” Loris’ lip curled up and his jovial demeanor disappeared like Korvan during rush hour. “What?” I asked.

“Forget it,” Loris said and forced a smile back on his face. “I’ll take you to Shieldmother. She’s in the Steel Citadel probably. The King forbade her to leave for the frontlines and she’s been taking out her anger on trainees all day. Those poor fucks.”

The men in the booth looked to each other with compassionate faces. I didn’t know what it was about, but I had a hunch.

“Alright, gentlemen. I’ve had my fill for the afternoon,” Loris said, slamming down a handful of gold on the table. “Let’s go see what Shieldmother will do to you for asking stupid questions.”

He grinned and his men laughed as we made our way out.

The Steel Citadel was in the outer perimeter of the King’s Palace that sat at the center of Sankta Varath. It was the first time I was about to be privy to the inner workings of our seat of power. To say it felt weird to be there was an understatement. Two rows of white walls surrounded the palace and I hadn’t been in either. Ever. As a kid from the Boroughs, stepping across the white stone into the courtyard felt like I was doing something wrong, something forbidden.

It was strange to have all those old feelings seep into my awareness again. I had to remind myself I wasn’t a homeless barefoot urchin anymore, I wasn’t even a paid killer, but rather a respectable businessman of Sankta Varath. Although, when I thought about it, respectable might not be the right word.

I grew a bit anxious nearing the main gate and seeing the King’s Guard stationed there. But the golden guards of Sankta Varath didn’t even glance at me. Of course not. I was accompanied by Loris Maddog, the Steward of the Three of Steel, a position that commanded immense respect.

“Nervous, Ashpitter?” he asked, slapping me on the back. I scoffed at that. “Hah, you should be. Those fuckers in there might not be able to lift a fucking spoon, but one word and they’ll wipe your whole fucking family tree off the face of this world,” the drunkard said and laughed out loud. “Oh, relax.”

Just as we were about to walk through the giant main gate, Loris stopped, buttoned up his jacket, spat into his hands, and fixed his long black hair and beard.

“Got to keep up appearances, aye?” he said jovially.

I didn’t say anything and just followed after him.

The palace’s outer courtyard was a dream set in white and green. Gardens meandered between the two rows of walls in all directions. Massive fountains spurted water dozens of feet into the air, leaving a fine, refreshing mist that was carried by strange, probably magical winds throughout the area. Giant trees reached into the sky, their branches finely worked into abstract forms, some twisting, others shaped like crescents or circles representing our three moons. They were littered with birds of all colors and sizes that I never saw in the rest of the city. How they commanded them to stay there was beyond me.

The smell of flowers was incredibly rich and colorful. All my senses felt attacked by the sheer luxury and beauty of the place. For a moment I wished I could take a whiff from our outhouse just to ground myself back in reality.

Ladies of the court giggled and chatted on beautifully carved benches as servants stood like statues next to them offering a banquet of exotic fruit. A flock of tiny, pink flying pigs flapped by us leaving a trail of perfume in their wake. Gnome garden mages and druids made otherworldly plants grow with incredible speed. Flowers bloomed within seconds, then erupted in a shower of petals that filled the air with even more scents. The rustling and bustling of Sankta Varath was nowhere to be heard. Only the song of birds and the trickle of the fountains mixed with the giggle of nobles was ever present.

“Master Newark,” a thin-lipped, purple-clothed noble said as he passed by us.

Loris nodded courteously.

“Lord Benig,” he smiled back at the man whose eyes were already on me, scanning, prodding, judging.

“More fodder for Shieldmother, I see.” The gawky aristocrat said and before Loris could explain he reached out a hand and grabbed me by the arm. His bony fingers curled around my biceps, and it took a mountain of self-control not to react violently. I saw Loris clench his teeth and offer a subtle shake of the head, but he didn’t really need to. I wasn’t going to start a fight with a lord inside the palace. I wasn’t big on being boiled alive.

“Oh, look at this one! Loris! You outdid yourself!” He said trying to squeeze. “Lord Criton, you must see this!” He said over his shoulder. “Maddog brought a proper one to fight Shieldmother!” The other lord came limping towards us leaning on a gold-headed cane. He was dressed in tight black and gold with outlines of purple. An old, weathered man worn down by decades of feasts and petty bickering. A big black wig sat atop his head that reached way passed his shoulders and threatened to crush him under its weight. He licked his lips.

“What is this one called, Lord Loris?”

“My name is Frank,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, brilliant,” Lord Benig began, “The drawl of the Boroughs in this one’s tongue, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he’s an angry looking one, isn’t he?” Lord Criton said smacking his thin lips. “Maddog, I’ll put down five-hundred coins that he’ll manage to take a swing at her!”

“A thousand that he won’t!” Lord Bening said excitedly. Several things went through my mind at the same time, all colored red. What was I? A racehorse? A gladiator? A slave? I never expected much from the nobility and I got even less, but these palace folks were beyond anything you could meet in the rest of the city. Before I could answer, Lord Benig called for more lords and ladies to join in on the wager and they flocked our way like starving peacocks.

“My lords, ladies,” Maddog began. “Frank here is actually just going in for some friendly chatter.”

“He’s what!” Lord Benig roared.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Loris quickly continued, “If the situation does come to blows, which is always an option with our dearest Shieldmother, I will certainly send for you.” He finished his words with a hearty laugh but the nobles around us didn’t join in.

“What a waste!” Lord Criton said. “What am I supposed to do for the rest of the afternoon?” Maddog smiled again politely, bowed slightly then pushed me on offering excuses and farewells.

As soon as we passed the flock of bored and blood-hungry nobles, Loris snickered.

“Apologies, Frank. You know how these people are.”

“I didn’t up till now. What the fuck was that?”

“Don’t take it to heart. They’re bored out of their minds.”

“I saw all kinds of nobles around town, Maddog. Officers from important houses in the military, plenty of Glade folk, but this? Ashpitters and farmers are dragged into a bloody war while these people—.”

“Are living the life, I know. Come, there’s no point ruminating about it.”

“Aye.” His words rang true, after all. I was the richest club owner in town and yet to these court nobles I was less than the dirt beneath their soles. But such was Sankta Varath. Always has been.

We passed by two adolescent nobles standing at a pond with what looked like wands. Flying fish would jump out the water, and the two would blast them with magic. The servants standing nearby were splattered with fish gore and blood, but congratulated them heartily on every hit, nonetheless. For a moment I thought I recognized one of them. Mishka the brawler, a Boroughs kid. He may have recognized me as well, but before I could say anything, another fish got torn apart by a magic missile and its innards splattered across Mishka’s face.

“Brilliant, my lord!” he called.

We soon came to the famous Steel Citadel, a tall and narrow building sitting within a walled courtyard. The citadel wasn’t much to look at. It was a barracks of sorts carved from a large piece of white stone that was probably there even before Sankta Varath was founded.

Loris seemed to finally relax when we arrived. He unbuttoned his shirt, looked over his shoulder, then cursed.

“Fucking degenerates,” he mumbled. “Must be strange to see all this.”

“Strange? The Black looks normal compared to this place. Is this what they do all day?”

“It’s a slow day, Ashlord. You don’t want to be here during festivities.”

A loud crack followed by a desperate cry rang out as we entered the courtyard of the Steel Citadel. I raised an eyebrow in surprise. This part of the palace looked nothing like the rest. What was once a garden resembled a battlefield more than anything now. The ground was upturned, treetrunks lay scattered about, and the stone walkways were shattered in more places than not. Parts of the inner wall, too. Destroyed training dummies were strewn every which way and dried blood was everywhere.

“I yield!” the same voice that cried a moment ago did so again.

Another loud crack followed the pleading and then there was silence. My Deeproot chimed.

[WARNING: Extreme threat level detected.]

[Leave immediately.]

“Shieldmother!” Loris yelled, startling me somewhat.

The main tank of the Three of Steel appeared from behind one of the supporting buildings. Shield in one hand and sword in the other. She wore no armor just like last time, but there was no doubt in my mind that no sword could ever cut her. Every conceivable muscle on her still somewhat slender form, threatened to burst out from underneath her bronze skin.

Shieldmother frowned. Permanently. Now, though, it seemed those small black eyes were somehow even darker than the last time I saw her.

I could sense the dark energies building up inside me. Readying my mind and body to face the unsurmountable fortress that was one of the Three of Steel. Animalistic instincts kicked in. Then the memory of our last encounter. I felt sweat gather on the back of my neck.

The woman brought out the worst in me every time I saw her.

“You,” she said calmly but accusingly.

Loris gave me a quizzical look.

“She knows you?”

“We’ve had a—we’ve met.”

“You didn’t mention that before. Well, I guess we can skip the introduction then.”

“Why did you bring him here, Loris?” she asked, sheathing her sword.

A group of limping men, all rather capable and large specimens, walked out from behind her. They seemed badly battered and bloody. Shieldmother didn’t so much as glance at them.

“Master Newark,” one of the men said as they hobbled past us.

Loris pulled out his vaultcoin and paid the man. The bloodied warrior thanked him, looked over his shoulder, then hurried the resto of them onward.

“We’re running out of men, Shieldmother,” Maddog said as the humbled fighters left the courtyard.

“There are ample men in the Quinta army,” she retorted coldly.

“You can’t take out your frustration on Sankta Varathians.”

“Not yet,” she replied.

“You’re one of the Three of Steel, your place is where the King is. Not out on the frontlines.”

“The King has his walls.”

Loris tsked and looked to the heavens.

“I don’t want to have this argument again.”

“Then don’t, Maddog. Fetch me more men. These last ones were the worst batch yet. I could have killed them in my sleep.”

Loris rolled his eyes then slapped me on the shoulder.

“Anyway, Ashman here has a question. Go on, ask her.”

Shieldmother’s expression was as flat as ever.

“Alright, let me first say I’m uhm…sorry for last time.”

“I don’t care.”

“Right, right,” I said, stumbling over my words and took a deep breath, then just spilled whatever I had to say. “I need to find Snowdog. It’s said he’s in some kind of enclave in the south. Do you know where it is?”

Shieldmother’s eyes wandered from me to Loris and then back to me. I was already prepared for whatever she might throw my way, but instead, Shieldmother just stood there and scanned me intently.

“I remember that sword on your back.”

“Aye, it’s called Mercy.”

“Think you can cut me?”

I looked to Loris and the large steward just shrugged.

“Maybe.” A hint of a smile curled up her lips.

“Cut me and I’ll tell you where to find Snowdog.”

“Cut you? Shieldmother of the Three of Steel?”

“Yes. If that blade touches my skin at any point, I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

“You fucking kidding me? Everything’s a game to you people, isn’t it? Loris? What the fuck?”

The large man shrugged again.

“Told you.”

“Fucking hell,” I cursed, unsheathing Mercy.

A fine black mist encased the edges of Hector’s sword as I brought it up.

“And if I don’t cut you?”

Shieldmother shrugged her broad shoulders.

“I guess you die.”

“Well, in that case. Loris?”

“What?”

“Call those lords and ladies over, I want to make a wager myself.”