NOVEL NEXT 63 - Deep Roots
"We are the blood of Yorval," said Maven. "Third branch of the great house of Ralic. To our kind family was all. Until it wasn't."
Like Stump, her small size granted her only a modest view over the table. He and Morg occupied burned chairs at the other end, in a study cluttered with shattered bookcases and the heavy scent of woodsmoke. The old matriarch held burns of her own, but most were covered by her many layers of colourful silk.
"They murdered my husband, you see," she continued with a scowl, reliving the tale as she told it. "Handed him to the wolves to end the warring between our factions. It was a gift for them, but a curse for us. Merra was only an infant, and the lord of Ralic cared not for our lives."
Morg was leaning forward, his jaw tight. "So ye ran," he surmised.
Maven gave a slow, faraway nod. Though her eyes met his, they were glassy with the unfocused stare of trauma. "As far from Borovic as my legs would take us. Over hills and fields, through the Rimewood and the warring clans of the greenskins. I found Aubany by the sea, and the Outerward surrounding it. Lumensa's shroud. I'd always heard tales. It was meant to be ours, I was told. Our homeland."
Stump recalled that first meeting with Tydas, and how he'd mentioned the vampires of Borovic and their interest in claiming Aubany through war. "Your son-in-law told me the same."
Her frown deepened. What began as a grumble devolved into a weary sigh. "He is right about Borovic," she allowed. "The Pearl of the Night, they call Aubany. They dream of one day taking it for themselves. But he is wrong about our people, the ones who flee. For thirty years we've built our home in the shroud. First for Merra and myself, and now a small piece of twilight belongs to my granddaughter. It is all she will ever need, and all that we desire."
Although a great gulf of wealth separated their family from the squalid Downs, Stump found in Maven's story a piece of himself. They ran, just like I did. And like him they started from nothing.
He glanced around the broken yet still magnificent Peaktree Manor, with its old stone, worn walls, and fire-licked rafters, and marvelled at how sturdy and assured its foundations seemed, as if the wisdom of the people living in it had soaked into the wood. He thought of the Nobodies, and the Knight Inn, and wondered if they might one day stand as strong.
Morg, oddly quiet, shifted in his seat. He looked like he was summoning the courage to speak, but before he could form the words, Maven dragged them out of him.
"You too have run from your past, haven't you?" she said. "Morgish, of the house of Orzaval, is it not?"
He stiffened as if caught in the act of a crime. "I… I… how'd ye know?"
Maven's grin was playful. "I had you figured that first night. Tydas may have the obsession, and Kestrel the vengeance, but neither have the instincts of a true vampire hunter. But I found you because I recognized the shame you carry. A shame about who you are, what you are, and where you come from."
Despite Morg's wide frame he looked no bigger than a goblin. His shoulders slumped, and his chin lowered to his chest. "Haven't heard the name Orzaval in a long time. Didn't plan on hearin' it again after I left."
Maven hummed grimly at his hesitance. "Your story is your own. It took me many years before I was able to speak the name Ralic aloud. I suspect you are still on that journey, and I will not haste you to its end. However…"
She leaned forward and reached across the table. In her palm was a pale purple stone stamped into a silver amulet, grimy and rusted with age. "I am too old to return, but you are not. If you one day find yourself confronting whatever past led you out of Borovic, you will need this beyond the Bright Queen's shroud."
When Morg accepted the item, whatever connection he had with it passed through Stump, delivered by the Words From The Sky.
- Magic Item Acquired -
Minor Amulet of Solar Shielding
An old Lumenurgic device that protects the wearer from the full effects of sunlight. For every twelve hours of sunlight it absorbs while equipped, you may bestow one point of virtue to a nearby follower of Lumensa, including yourself.
Value: ~15 silver
"There's no need to hide yourself in shame with a cowl or a mask," she continued, and smiled as though sucking on a lemon. "Wear that instead, and bless the world with that crabby frown."
Morg was rarely one for displays of emotion, and he was no different in the presence of lady Maven, but Stump knew by the slight bow of his head that the dwarf was more grateful than he could offer as words.
" 'Preciate it," was all he said, and closed his fist around the amulet.
Maven relaxed in her chair, satisfied. "Now, you must be hungry for payment."
She hauled a purse atop the table and one by one brought the coins to her nose, and only under the gaze of her crossed eyes would she confirm the blue glow of silver was, in fact, glowing blue. When the reward was counted she pushed the pile across the table and Morg shovelled it into a pouch.
"You can take that and be on your way, if you like. Or…" Maven paused for effect and produced a pipe from the folds of her silk. She lit it with a candle and took a few shallow puffs. "I can round it up to twenty. A gold piece."
"A whole gold?" said Stump, dumbstruck.
"Those Iron Fleece swords proved to be less capable than expected. They failed in their quest. But now the goblin horde has been culled, and they've skulked off to their cave. If you manage to rouse what remains of the defenders to sally forth to this subterranean refuge, I will pay you another five silver."
Stump conferred silently with Morg, whose insistent glare told him all he needed to know. It felt odd accepting glimmer for a task he was already going to complete without it, but the dwarf would have strangled him if he turned it down, and Reema would have chided his poor bartering tactics.
"We will," said Stump. "Or we'll try. I'm not sure if the others will want to come with us after everyone they've lost."
"Your words will move them," Maven said without a hint of doubt.
"Maybe. But I wasn't strong enough to stop him here, when I had my chance."
She chuckled, and leaned forward with a glint in her eye. "Once they see your bravery in returning to the world from which you fled, they will follow. You are the strength you lend to others, little goblin, and I have seen in the deeds of those who love you great power."
Goblin skittishness and the lessons he'd learned from his tribe nudged him to reject her kind words, but every day he was getting better at ignoring them.
Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (4/11)
"You're very wise, lady Maven," he said.
"Oh I know, dear." She curled her lips around the pipe and offered a pleased grin. "I know."
Stump and Morg excused themselves with their silver, but before they reached the door she called to them again.
"I have one more quest for you."
Stump turned. "Yes?"
She wielded her pipe like an instrument of war. "Put my damned plants back."
"Seems to me yer fine home still stands on account o' the good nature o' those around ye." Ruggan's voice bounced off the walls of the great hall. He paced in front of the burning hearth, thumbs in his belt, kicking aside broken bits of manor.
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"Seems to me this good nature ye received has been, shall we say, less than inclined to be returned to those who need it," he continued. Ruggan stopped in front of the wide leather chair in which the lord of Peaktree sat, his clothes and skin still marred by battle. "Seems to me we're owed a debt."
Tydas weighed the dwarf's words with a cold countenance. He looked from Ruggan and his sons—Ruggan The Second, Ruggan The Younger, Ruggan the Red, and Norish, who each occupied a chair—to Nell and Faelan, who stood behind their dwarven friend with steely confidence, and Stump, who waited next to the hearth with Morg.
"What would you like?" said Tydas. "I have silver. Gold."
Ruggan looked to be a man who perpetually straddled the line between anger and joy. His eyebrows were stuck in a sharp angle to his nose, giving him a furious expression, but his eyes were alight and his cheeks red as though he'd thrown back four pints when no one was looking.
He nodded approvingly. "Aye, some o' each will do. But we had 'em glowin' metals long before ye came to Peaktree," he said, and stepped uncomfortably close to Tydas. "What we need now are assurances. Binding oaths."
"Oaths?"
"Promises kept. Down south they've got 'em solar farms and their sungrain, but north o' the Blightwater we're not so much farmers as we are a brotherhood o' gravekeepers. Together we tend the Bright Queen's rot and grow her death into life for our people. And like the great fungal roots 'neath our feet we dine together. When there's a threat to one of us, we fight together. And when the storms pass and winter ends, we sow together."
Tydas' hard eyes landed briefly on Faelan. "If it's builders you require for the Orwen farm, I have sent for Aubany to hire Brick And Mortar. I can spare some of their men."
"Not only for us," said Faelan, uncrossing his arms. "The Balins abandoned their stead some years ago, and the Kuresh family followed after you sent the Black Sun to root out a blood drinker among them. A debt, Ruggan said. One that's been building for some time."
Tydas regarded the farmer with the same calculated gaze Stump had received during their meetings in his study. And like those meetings, time seemed to slow as the lord of Peaktree considered the demand.
Unlike Stump, Faelan didn't wait.
"We have deeper roots than you know," he began. "As Rugg said, our land is as much a graveyard as it is a bed of soil, and that alone binds us. But you and I share a history that reaches back before the Bright Queen's fall. Before Jaessun. Before Ingilish. Do you remember our words?"
It took a moment for Tydas to decipher the hint. His skin paled.
Faelan closed the distance between them with a slow, confident stride, buffeted by sharp winces of pain. When he reached the chair and towered over the lord of Peaktree, the farmer uttered the sounds of a forgotten language.
"Nostur en da sola, erweg en dos sila."
Tydas gasped. "Though we sleep in gold, we rise in silver," he said as if the phrase was pulled from his throat by some greater power. "You're…?" he stopped himself before asking the question he knew eluded the Ruggans.
The family of dwarves exchanged uncertain looks. Stump, despite knowing the deep roots Faelan spoke of, shared their curiosity. He'd only ever known his goblin language through the simple names of his people. Beyond that it was lost. Forgotten. As dead as the gods themselves. Ingilish was written in the Words From The Sky, it was the tongue of Grumul, he was taught. The tongue of Jaessun. And no one remembered the words from a time before the Godslayer.
Or so Stump had thought.
Tydas lowered his head for a long beat of silence. The hearth crackled and snapped as the farmers waited with held breaths. When he met the the gaze of Faelan again, he extended a hand.
"I'll rebuild your farm. Gold will be granted to the Balins and Kuresh to start their business anew," he said. "You have my word."
Their clasp was witnessed by all.
Ruggan, Ruggan, Ruggan, Ruggan, and Norish exited Peaktree Manor with a pouch of silver and several sacks of building material. Faelan and Nell followed them out, and Stump saw them off.
"You'll return to the Downs?" said the farmer. He leaned against the remains of the palisade spearing out of blood-soaked mud.
"Soon, I hope," Stump said, and looked beyond the farmer to golden hills sparkling with the trace of rainfall, and farther still to the line of trees where Thrung had fled. Soon, he thought. With Denna and Yeza.
Faelan's nod was one of understanding. "I believe I told you there was good in all of us, even those beyond the Bright Queen's shroud."
"You did."
"I still believe it to be true. But it's like the sun. Doesn't matter that it's there. If the light isn't bright enough, there's no use growing a field of sungrain," he said, then limped close enough to place a hand on Stump's shoulder. "You remember that when you face this creature again. One tyrant's been taken care of. Now for the other."
He wobbled and fell to one side, but Nell was there to provide her shoulder. She reached out to shake Stump's hand. "It was a pleasure hosting your company in our hall," she said. "Someday I'd like to visit yours."
"It's a basement," grumbled Morg.
"A nice basement," Stump corrected. "At the Knight Inn. Reema and Jin would like you. And… well, once your home is rebuilt, maybe…"
"Anytime," she said, and flashed a smile. "All you need to do is come by."
After they left, Morg fixed the amulet around his neck and pensively removed his mask. He clutched it to his belly with both hands as if it might vanish with a sudden wind, and blinked against the fading light. A sliver of a sunbeam glowed in the purple stone. He ran a thumb over it with a nervous frown.
"Uh…" He cleared his throat when he noticed Stump watching. "Should we go find 'em 'n let 'em know our plans?"
Stump watched the Orwens disappear over the nearest hill alongside their dwarven friends. "There's one more thing I have to do," he said, then tilted his head at Morg. "So... Morgish Orzaval?"
"Don't start."
"Sorry."
Stump knocked, and the lord of Peaktree answered.
"In," he said, but his usual sharpness was dulled.
The room was unrecognizable. The window had been shattered and the curtain torn, letting in great gulps of sunlight that glittered off shards of glass. Books had been returned to their shelves haphazardly, shredded papers decorated the floor, and Tydas occupied his wide-backed chair, his frown studious and his fingers interlocked in a businesslike manner, as if nothing about the state of his study was out of the ordinary.
He gestured to a chair that had been slashed and pilfered of most of its stuffing. It coughed feathers when Stump sank into it. Despite being even closer to the floor than his previous visits, he didn't feel as small, and the light hitting every corner of the room broke its illusion of grandeur.
"You've been paid by Maven," said Tydas. Or maybe it was a question.
"I have," said Stump.
"And the Orwens have their supplies and the promise of mercenaries to rebuild their farm."
"They do, but…"
"And you've trained with Kestrel."
"I did. I'm level seven now, and I learned how to better harness the virtue I have."
Tydas' narrow gaze was appraising. "And yet there's something else," he surmised, and indicated Stump to continue.
"There is. The last time I was here I noticed a letter," he said. "I'm not angry. I'm not even very surprised. They seem to be everywhere, don't they?"
Even the manor lord's exhale was considered, like every breath was to be accounted for. He produced the paper from a drawer and flattened it with a palm.
"There. Read it if you like. I hold no love for them or their secrecy."
Stump reached for it, and it fluttered to his fingers on a timely breeze. The words were slanted and held a tone that veered close to the smirking condescension of Sylas:
"Tydas, may the Gloaming Veil grant you dreams of gold and silver.
Your patronage thus far has been appreciated, but circumstances have arisen that require an alteration to our partnership. Your weekly offerings of five silver pieces is no longer adequate. In order to sustain ourselves in these turbulent times, we request you now bring seven silver pieces weekly to the Cantankerous Tankard. We will notify you again once the situation abates.
All the best to your goblin problem.
Your silent friend,
The Pale Lady"
Stump furled the letter. "Glimmer is all they want?" he said.
"What else is there? They're thieves with a smile. They shake your hand with one paw and hold a blade to your throat with the other."
The image was almost too perfect for Stump not to recall lying on the beach, with Sylas standing over him. I'm quite fond of you, the felari had said in the same moment he was stuffing Stump's hard earned silver into his pocket.
"What are you going to do?" he said.
"I'll give them what they want."
"But why? You're a lord. Can't you pay somebody to fight them? The Iron Fleece? Or tell someone in the city what they're doing? Or…" Stump faltered at Tydas' scoff.
The manor lord rose with a pained grunt and limped to the window. "The Midnight Ocelots are a silver company, sanctioned and officiated, and they pay their dues. Beyond that, you don't think there are lords, mercenaries, and tradesmen who rely on their tactics? Their discretion? The Iron Fleece knows their operation well. So do all five platinum companies of the council of Aubany. They welcome it."
Stump knew the choice would one day come to join the ranks of the bronze companies inside the city walls, but how could he, knowing that they allowed the Ocelots? It was the Downs they preyed on, and none of those higher companies cared to defend it. To protect it. Nobody did.
Nobody but The Nobodies.
Stump had a steep hill before him, but he didn't have to climb it alone. He had Morg. He had Reema and Jin. There were all the inns of the Hollow, all the companies and companymen crushed under the Ocelots, and Wick and the Stillwater Fellowship. And someday Boragu would join him. And I'll have Yeza, too.
Bronze, silver, or gold, it didn't matter the rank of the Midnight Ocelots. They might've had a hundred under their command, but so did Thrung, and Stump had already won that battle.
Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (5/11)
Instilled with new confidence, Stump spoke with a harder tone. "You have more power than you know," he said.
Tydas was still facing away, gazing at the orange sunset. "Tyrant, they call me. There are days where I wish it was true, but the tyrant of Peaktree is little more than a puppet for grander narratives. In Borovic I held power. Here I have none."
Annoyance churned the bloodlust in Stump's belly. He slid off his chair and rounded the desk. "You do have power. You have it over the Orwens and the Ruggans and all the families who've left because of you. You have power over your family. You've been hunting them for years, without even knowing it. Use that power to help them, instead."
Tydas shook his head. His voice quivered when he spoke. "We're beyond that now. The man I invited into our home tried to…" He took a breath. "I thought I was protecting Aubany. A silent guardian beyond its walls, standing alone against the threat of Borovic. Against my own family. What a fool I was. I don't care that they're vampires. But the hurt is done and Kestrel is gone, and there's no one to talk us through our pains."
"Not no one."
Tydas turned with a curious frown. "What do you mean?" he said.
Kestrel might've been gone, but his lessons were not.
"Maybe I can help."