Chapter 16: The Implock – Chapter 14 – “Guards and Bastards”

∼ Guards and Bastards ∼

Chapter - 014

"Shut it - you daft halfwit. You've never been to the Iron Gates, and we damn very well know it." A scruffy man remarked, outfitted in plain leather armor and a vest that did little to hide his gut.

"I'm not lying bastard, I tell you." The younger man across the table who wore a matching uniform protested, his cheeks flushing at being called out for his story.

"Sure, and I once took meself a little gander down the Iron Road, charmed the White Widow, and took her to bed to charm her night," A third man said, eliciting snickers from the others at the table. Everyone except the younger man.

"We know the farthest you were ever sent during your enlistment was the duchess's reserve army to dig her latrine!" The last man at the table said, laughing all the while.

Uproarious laughter erupted from the table as the three other guardsmen made merry at their younger and new fellow's expense. Drawing into himself, the previously posturing lad now focused intently on the half-drunken pint of mead in his hands - no longer able to look his laughing comrades in the eyes.

"That being said - did y'oldens hear anything about the recent war effort?" The scruffy guardsman from before asked, the white in his prickly stubble showing his seniority to that of the others, and the way he and his comrades spoke telling of their heritage to the Caper isles.

"Aye, can ye believe it? The Cassians sending reinforcements to help the North - them? Hah!" The man who had remarked about the Widow Queen said, smirking ruefully.

"What? Are they truly?" The only other senior at the table asked in surprise. "Or be this another one of those rumors you've caught wind off during another one of ye drunken escapades?"

"Nae, true it is, I says. The baron himself fixed me an ear 'bout it after receiving a letter about the on-goings of the kingdoms just last dark." He assured the skeptical guard around a slurp of mead.

"Ya' think it has anything to do with that carriage that passed through, tugging at it alone, no caravan? The odd shabby one that left that damn Theodero's entire bandit camp as monster feed?" The skeptical one once again piped up.

"A single carriage to stop the war? Who in the abyss are you thinking they sent - the King himself? Bwah!" The other guard laughed.

"Nay, that be probably some noble passing through." The scruffy man explained, scratching at his stubble absentmindedly. "With all them eccentricities, you never know. One moment, a low profile they attempt, then other, they lay waste to an entire band of bandits just cause of the sheer audacity of the peasants who had dared halt their journeyin'." He sighed with the shake of his head, as even trying to reason with nobles was a feat beyond any mortal man such as him.

"The Cassians, why would those uppity bastards ever lend aid to the Iron People?" The other guard asked, bringing the conversation back on track. "Loathe them, do they not? Even more so than us?"

The oldest spoke up with a grunt of dismissal. "The Sovereign's seat - that be why," 

Ah's were shared all around, the reason seeming quite obvious now that it was pointed out.

"Wait, I don't get it." The younger guard piped up, his previous embarrassment forgotten, replaced with curiosity. "What does that have to do with the sovereign, is he not dead?" A collective sigh of pained groans came from the other guardsmen.

Sometimes they had to wonder why the gods had granted this young lad such skill with a sword - but no wits to speak of. It was only because they wanted to teach him the ropes of a senior guard early on that he was even here drinking with them.

"Listen up, laddie," The older guard said, leaning in closer, his gut pressing against the table. "What could the Red Monarch reap - what would he stand to gain if he helped quell the wiles of war? What would someone who already has everything, desire?"  

A few moments went by where the gears turned in the kid's head. "More coin?" He said after a while.

The oldest guard barely stopped himself from banging his head against the table, giving a sour face to his fellow guardsmen who just smirked amusedly. Taking a deep breath, he returned his attention to the embarrassed kid.

"Nay... think again." He said, with as much patience as he could muster. "From whom would he obtain merit? For committing such a... noble deed?"

Reluctant at first, the kid thought about the older guard's words. "To... gain favor with the magistrate?" He tried hesitantly, brightening suddenly as the older guard let him on encouragingly. "So he can become... the Sovereign?" 

"So ye do be having something between those ears other than mud, hay, and randy thoughts!" He cackled loudly, much to the gaiety of the other two chuckling men.

The younger one just blushed yet again with a sheepish smile.

The padded and steady footsteps of someone with a sure gait made the laughter from the guards die down. When they finally did lay eyes on the tall figure approaching them, they all sprung up, the wooden chairs flying back and clattering to the floorboards as they all stood at attention.

"C-*cough*-captain," The oldest of the guards greeted around a mouthful of mead that got stuck in his throat.

"Miller," The tall man nodded in acknowledgment. "I fear that I must interrupt, as we've been tasked with an urgent matter,"

"B-but sir, that must not be true, not again... our shift do not be starting before noon," The older guard, Miller, grumbled with a frown. But as he saw the placid but chilly look on his captain's rigid face, he quickly wised up and cleared his throat awkwardly. "What would lord baron have us do?" He asked curtly, if not a bit grudgingly.

The captain didn't answer immediately, giving the younger guard a stern look instead. Getting the hint, Miller turned to him. "Audrey, get on now lad, scram - this be senior guard business," The old guard said, fixing the barely out of adolescence youngster a similar look to that of the captain's.

Not hesitating at the thinly-veiled order, the lad scrambled awkwardly out of the bar, almost forgetting his sword and scabbard on his way out. Once out and no one elsewhere was in earshot in the rather empty tavern, the captain explained. "The warlock was murdered last night, and we've been tasked with finding the perpetrators and recovering a stolen item that was of the Baron's possessions. This is of utmost urgency."

"The warlock-!?" One of the guards exclaimed behind Miller, almost too loudly before catching himself. "Ahem - sorry, sir." Miller fixed him with a glare before the guard spoke up again. "-But who in the seven blazes is able-bodied enough to be taking down a warlock? No disrespect sir, but I do mean - are ye sure we should be chasing... whoever could've done that?"

"He appeared to have been murdered in his sleep and it would seem that at least one of the assailants was badly hurt from what the remains and tracks suggest. They've scaled the western side of the wall, but they're likely not far into the Heartweald." The captain answered.

Miller wanted to groan in exasperation, but he dared not in the presence of the captain. While the stout man might not care for others speaking ill of the Baron or his noble contemporaries, the captain was an absolute stickler for the rules. And if anything was to break order and those unbending laws he abided by, he wouldn't hesitate to reveal his ruthless side.

"Get Eric," The captain said, looking at the other guard behind Miller. "We will need him for tracking and the hounds. The quartermaster is already in the process of getting them prepared at the mansion,"

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"But sir-!" He protested, seemingly quite startled by the task. "The last time I was sent to get the bastard son, I stumbled in on him doing the stablemaster's daughter and he broke me nose!"

"Enough, Addams - go fetch the lad," Miller said before the captain could say anything, probably saving the other guard from a likely worse reprimand than just a broken nose.

A dispirited sigh escaped the guardsman as he turned to strap on his sword and strapped and then to leave. But as he walked by, Miller caught him by the scruff of his vest, pulling him close.

"I'd be careful calling Eric such - as ye be very well knowin' what happens if the Baron catches wind of you spreading... rumors so false-like. Understand?" Nodding vigorously at that, Addams quickly sobered up. "Good, now git - duty calls," The Miller said, straightening the vest he had grabbed.

Jogging out of the bar when shoved to get a hurry on, Addams looked up and down the street where the townsfolk had already started their mornings and milled about. Not having any idea where the damn bastard might be, he just ran down the road, in the general direction where the ruffian could usually be found. To Addams' luck, his decision had paid off as when he turned a bend down another street, the commotion of a gathering of people could be heard.

Around ten to fifteen townsfolk were gathered around the only other tavern in town, sharing whispered voices and muffled laughter. Addams groaned as he saw it, not needing to guess where the damn brat was anymore. Pushing through the crowd who quickly parted for him when they saw his guardsman's attire, Addams peered through one of the grimy windows. What he saw inside didn't surprise him even in the slightest.

Inside laid overturned tables, broken chairs, spilled mugs, and the several forms of unconscious men who slept away their addled hangovers and tender bruises. Addams pulled open the door which creaked loudly on its hinges, going inside only to wince at the foul stench that struck his nose.

The Sultry Bridesmaid had never been known for its good reputation as it was the place all the peasants and lowborn congregated, whereas The Loyal Hound was where the guardsmen, traveling merchants, and passing aristocrats would occasionally visit. It was also more of an inn as opposed to a tavern, but only these two places were where you could get a proper drink in town.

Stepping over and avoiding the mess that crowded the floor, which was quite hard considering the only source of light were the early morning rays spilling in from the windows, Addams grumbled as he looked for the kid. He didn't need to search for long. Stepping over to the bar, leading to the scullery, Addams peered over it to be met with the sight of two bare asses.

Was that... the inn owner's daughter? Startled initially, Addams had to take a moment to center himself. With as much confidence he could summon, not knowing if he'd be up for a beating, Addams banged his knuckles against the wooden counter. A tired groan was the only response, but another loud knocking did the trick. Twitching awake, one of the two naked forms pulled themselves off the floor, getting to their feet and absentmindedly stretching in all their nude glory.

Being met with bright green eyes, brighter more so than most other Moravians, Addams took a hesitant step back, taking in the form of Eric. Tall and broad, the young lad was built like a bull for his age. But he wasn't overly bulky, sporting a lean physique with wiry muscles. Framing a rugged and handsome face was a tumble of wavy brown locks that fell just long enough to touch his brow.

He was the spitting image of a much younger Baron Joseph as he hadn't been called the Baron's bastard by practically the whole town ever since he was born - for no reason. Although the baron fervently denies any ties to the boy, with the odd relationship between the two and how the baron practically attempts to control the kid at every opportunity, everyone knows them as unfaithful father and bastard son.

Eric said nothing, entirely uncaring by the fact that he was nude and everyone still loitering about outside could see. But as Addams seemingly found himself lost for words, Eric ignored him as he began donning the clothes laying by the side of the bar. Just as Addams finally regained control of his tongue, Eric was already on his way out, walking past the dazed guard.

"She -uh, she be okay?" The guard managed, looking between the lass on the floor and Eric. Instead of answering, Eric kicked the side of the bar, making the nude girl, still lying face down, wave a lazy hand towards the both of them. Having seemingly heard their conversation, but not caring enough to extricate herself.

"I see... so ah- Eric...? Eric!" Without another word, Eric had already started walking away, not heeding Addams's protests. Passing through the whispering and gossiping crowd of peasants, Eric didn't even look their way.

"Eric! Eric, listen to me! We've been saddled an urgent task!" Addams pleaded to the ever stoic lad, jogging slightly beside him as Eric's long legs carried him forward faster than the much shorter Addams could walk.

"Don't care - get some other moron to do your dirty work for you," Eric said, his voice deep and words curt, accent much more native to that of the countryside. Even as he spoke, he didn't meet the jogging guard's gaze.

Addams grimaced as he looked around, making sure no one else was in earshot. "But the warlock was murdered last dark, and the perpetrators are still at large - in the Heartweald yonder."

"Still don't car-"

"The Baron be ordering it," Addams said, cutting off Eric. This finally made him stop dead in his tracks. Addams could see Eric's fists clench and unclench. Worried that he might be eating a knuckle sandwich any moment, Addams took a step back.

"Fine... where are the hounds? Have they been readied?" He said with a surprisingly calm tone, contradictory to the deep frown on his face and obvious anger. 

"At the gate, they should be. The quartermaster has already been to the mansion." Without another word, Eric turned on his heels and walked down the street in the other direction. Following along, it wasn't long before they were gathered at the gate along with four other figures.

Two of them were one of the guards and the senior guard, Miller. The tall one of the four, towering a head higher than everyone else, almost the same height as Eric, was the captain. And lastly was the old and bedraggled figure of a man who looked like he had just been woken up, which might very well be the case. He was the quartermaster, and in his hands were two leashes strung to two bloodhounds wagging their tails excitedly as they tugged on the leashes in an attempt to run to Eric.

"Eric," Miller nodded, receiving one back from the large lad. The others didn't get the same acknowledgment as Eric just walked over and took the reins from the old quartermaster.

"So, who is it now you want me to track down?" Eric asked. "Heard the old wizard bit the dust, so how come it is we only have this sorry group to make do with?"

"Some criminals have brutally murdered the Baron's esteemed guest and stolen one of his valuable possessions, and we're not at liberty to have this matter become a public one. For that reason, it is only us that know of the knowledge of the warlock's passing, and it will remain as such until further notice. It is up to us to bring these culprits to justice and retrieve the stolen goods. It is imperative that we catch them, and catch them quickly - before tomorrow eve. One of those items stolen is meant for a wealthy merchant caravan that is to come into town all the way from Boreas later this eventide to purchase and retrieve it."

"All from Boreas hence? Must be some bigshot," Miller commented from the side.

"Yes, that is why we cannot dally here any further, we must leave."

"What if the criminals resist arrest?" Addams added hesitantly.

"It is preferred that we capture the criminals and interrogate them," The captain fixed the guard with a piercing stare, "But if any resistance is to be had, we are ordered to execute them on the spot. Is that understood?"

Addams nodded slowly, a show of reluctance clear on his face despite his assent.

"Hey! - I'm not here to help you kill anyone in cold blood, regardless of that old fart's orders," Eric piped up as his role in this situation became clear. "He can take them and shove it up his own ass for all I care - I'm NOT killing anyone."

"Eric. You have no say in this matter, do as you have been told." The captain said curtly, ignoring the anger on Eric's face. But even as Eric protested, the young man bit his tongue and kept silent at that. It was apparent that he had no agency to refuse the direct order, clenching and unclenching his white-knuckled fist, making the leather of the leashes in his hand creak against each other under the pressure.

"We depart now."