Chapter 10: Hag’s Hatch

Stringed music echoed from the parties of the aristocracy, in their grand white stone palaces. Frustrated merchants haggled over exotic meats and vegetables in the torch-lit night market. A farmer screamed after walking down the wrong alley. Solun was a loud city. Its residents, humans, ormers, the brutar, and so many others, worked hard in the day, and drank or fucked away their problems in the night. When the sun fell and a chill set in the air, the taverns and brothels swelled with sound. 

 

Inside a shoddy wooden tavern with no sign, two men and a woman were having an animated conversation that resulted in more frothing beer spilled than dranken. 

 

    “NOOOO. What do you not understand, Jem? You die, right, okay, then your body goes to Skyfort. It's a great place with all the food you could ever want and, most importantly, there's no fighting. No one is killing each other and eating each other. You stay in Skyfort for as many days as you lived here. Then, when your time’s up, you get born again, and you have to live in this shitty place ‘til you die again.” 

 

The man speaking had dirty blond hair that curled down to his shoulders, and a clever face with a sharp nose and small thin eyes. He and his other drinking partners at the round table wore scuffed white tunics and brown trousers. Blue cloaks with patterns of overlapping suns were discarded haphazardly on their bar stools. 

 

    “Right, well where is this ‘Skyfort’ exactly, hmm?” The woman questioning the man had an olive tinged oval face and long brown hair tightly wound in a ponytail. Her tunic was worn but better maintained than the others. The sleeves were rolled up neatly two times, displaying large muscle-banded forearms. 

 

“Well, it's…it's in the Sky obviously. It's just so high you can't see it!” The blond-haired man had a smug look that seemed to say ‘only a simpleton would not know that.’

 

“Val, you are by far the stupidest man I know. Barog should take over your position as strategist.” She grinned and gulped down the rest of her beer like it was a glass of water on a sweltering day. 

 

“That is an excellent idea, Jem. We all know Val had a bad fall as a babe that affects his judgment, and now all this Skyfort nonsense.” The deep voice speaking came from a beast of a man who towered over his compatriots at the table. He had a bushy beard and thick sideburns that ambled up to his black slicked back hair. Mud wrestling was very popular in Solun, and he looked like he would be at home doing such an activity. 

 

“Oh, piss off, you giant hairball. My mother could have dropped me 100 times and I’d still beat you in a game of hag’s hatch!” 

 

“Your mother is the only one who still plays that game, you dunce!” Barog retorted.

 

Cackled laughs erupted from all three.

 

Their roaring laughter, which had only been a small part of the roar inside the tavern, now filled the air entirely, the way water adjusts to the emptiness of a cup. The rest of the tavern’s occupants were either silent or talking quietly amongst themselves.

 

Val glanced around at the variety of human and non-human faces nervously sipping their drinks.

 

“Huh, why’s everyone look like they swallowed a fucking toad?”

 

He gestured towards the barkeep. “Al, get us another…uh…uhm, never mind.”

 

A golden cloak glided across the floor, and stopped at their table.

 

“Good evening.” No matter how benevolent or regular the words that left his mouth, they seemed to slice through the air to your ears. 

 

In surprise, all three stammered their greetings over each other.

 

“Follow me. We will have a brief conversation.” 

 

The Count turned heel and strode back out of the tavern, with not a glance to confirm they were indeed behind him. Jem mouthed a curse, then hastily rose from her stool and cursed silently again, as she banged her leg against the table. Barog chuckled lightly, or as lightly as a man his size could, and Val looked wistfully at the beer he had not finished. 

 

Outside the orange glow of the tavern’s windows, there was a dilapidated stable. Not many that visited the tavern had horses, so it was most often empty. Count Balisk stood there, waiting in the shadows. 

 

None of the three asked what this surprise discussion would entail. The Count desired brevity whenever possible, so they waited until he was ready to speak.

 

He stared up at Barog, who stood at least three heads higher than him.

 

“Lieutenant Barog.”

 

“Yes, Count.” 

 

“What is the progress with your unit?”

 

Barog scratched his beard in a puzzled manner.

 

“Well, it is similar to what I told you at our last meeting. A few new members joined, desiring a decent wage and accommodation, but their abilities are…weak. The meats around Solun are from weak creatures, and the reward of journeying across the Ash mountains for better meats attracts many.”

 

“Yes, you have told me as much before. I do not appreciate repetition, drunk or not.” 

 

“My apologies Count, but if I repeat something it is because I believe it is important. And I am about ten beers away from being drunk.”

 

The others mentally winced. 

 

The Count narrowed his eyes at Barog, who stared above him, unperturbed. 

 

“You are lucky to have dined with me last winter, Lieutenant. Otherwise, I may have considered what you just said to be a joke, and I do not have time for jokes.”

 

“Yes, Count.”

 

The Count turned to look at Jem.

 

“Lieutenant Jemeen.”

 

“Yes, Count.”

 

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“What of your unit? Is there none with the potential I am seeking?”

 

“There is none, Count. To be precise, we have nine ormers who could not pass the crafter’s test in their home, three rockmen who would be better suited for Lieutenant Barog’s unit, and thirty humans who have eaten the meat of a tunk or blageth from this area.” 

 

The Count exhaled a sigh. 

 

“Lieutenant Valdo.”

 

“Yes, Count.”

 

“Tell me, if I were not here, and a Shadebringer were to attack Solun, could it be killed with our current forces?” 

 

Barog and Jemeen glanced at each other, nervously. Valdo spoke without hesitation.

 

“I have never seen a Shadebringer, but from what I have heard, we would be decimated, the city utterly destroyed. I do not know if we could kill it even if you were here.” 

 

The faintest of smiles flashed across the Count’s face.

 

“You do not know much Valdo, but you speak honestly, and you think in ways others do not. If you had not taken your no-meat vow, you would likely have General Halding’s position. Regardless, I will give you this task. In the next two days, I need someone, human or not, that could kill Lieutenant Barog and Jemeen in a battle.”

 

Barog and Jemeen’s eyes bulged.

 

‘Do not worry, you two. I am simply using you as a scale of strength.”

 

Valdo pondered as the other two sighed in relief. “How much can I pay them?” He asked.

 

“Nothing. Simply find them and bring them to me. I will do the rest.” 

 

“I will see you in two days then, Count.”

 

“Good. You may all go now.”

 

The lieutenants gave their goodbyes and began their sober trek back to the barracks.

 

The Count watched them disappear down the stone street. 

 

“Jwi, I do not pay you to listen to my conversations.”

 

A small gray rat scurried out from the stables, up the Count’s back and onto his shoulder.

 

“Yes. Jwi sorry. Was wait for you finish.” The rat spoke very faintly, in a thin raspy voice. 

 

“Why have you returned early from Dracon? Were you spotted?”

 

“No. No one pay attention to Jwi. Come back now cause Jwi heard one of the word you say listen for.”

 

Balisk exhaled a cold breath. “Tell me everything, quickly.”

 

“Jwi hide in wall of dining room. See Verdugo have dinner with someone Jwi not see. Food smell good.”

 

“Yes, yes, and what did they speak of?” 

 

Jwi scratched his back with his small hindlegs. Even when he was not in his rat-form, Jwi had an incessant need to scratch himself. 

 

“Not hear much. Just Verdugo say ‘prepare for war’.” 

 

“Nothing else?”

 

“No, not get too close like Count said. Jwi sorry.”

 

“Go rest and eat in the castle. I will have another mission for you when the sun rises.”

 

Jwi hopped off the Count’s shoulder with the unremarkable grace of a scavenger and scampered into the night. 

 

The Count manifested his flame wings and flew slowly toward the castle’s imposing white towers. He was tired. New dangers seemed to be growing each day, like the dark clouds that form before the storm. First, the appearance of a new powerful creature, then, the dissolution of the Niven treaty, and now…Verdugo was going to war with Solun, or perhaps he was speaking of another city preparing for war. Too many uncertainties. 

 

Halding and the Petalman also had yet to return.Their destination was a two days' ride from Solun. It had already been 6 days. His plans would be very difficult to execute without those two. 

 

Over and over, the same whispered words repeated in his head. 

 

“Solun will burn.”

 

The Oracle’s prediction seemed more likely with each passing day.

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