Stench from the South Pt. 01

Still smiling, Balthus decided to give it a rest and let the assistant stew for a while. So, beneath the pale grey of the clouds and with a mild late winter wind brushing their faces, the Captain matched pace with the Master Mage of Braelon.

"Ever been down Nocturne-way, Master Jakobus?"

The vampire chuckled merrily. "Much like the King and Queen, Captain, I don't require such formalities from you. 'Jakobus' will be just fine."

"Well all right then, Jakobus. I suppose 'Balthus' will do for me as well."

"Wonderful. To answer your question, yes, I have been to Nocturne a number of times. A fascinating and ancient country, shrouded in mystery and intrigue-some of it harmless, some of it...not so much."

"Only been twice myself, and both times merely to some of the northernmost villages. Elksmore and Pasqual, specifically."

"I have been to Elksmore; most people who travel to Nocturne will pass through it, on account of it being the closest town to lie on the Kingsway-relative to the Rallean border, that is," Jakobus said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

At that moment, Mattison managed to finagle his horse up beside Halberd. "I have never been, but I wonder, Master-are the Nocturnals really as cold, simple, and backwards as I've heard?"

"Whomever describes the Nocturnal people as such has clearly never met many of them-if any at all," said Jakobus, his voice far colder than the winds. "In my experience, the people of that land are resourceful, pragmatic, and very hardy-they must be, after all, for Nocturne is, by and large, an unforgiving and difficult land to work and make a living in. It is home to dense, near-impenetrable forests, deep and murky marshes, rocky highlands, and rolling moors-all of which have been said to swallow unwary and foolhardy travelers alive. And almost all of it, for much of the year, is covered by a layer of thick, nearly palpable mist. To assume that the people who live and thrive in such a place," the Mage added with a hard glare at his assistant, "are mere simpletons is, by all accounts, is an act of sheer ignorance. Were you to make such comments in a place such as Deadlight, I daresay you would deserve the...retribution, shall we say, that would come your way."

"It was only a question, Master!"

"Despite what you might have been told by others, boy, stupid questions are very real indeed. I would advise you to think about that when we arrive in Nocturne." Looking back to Crick, he continued where had left off. "We both know enough of the land to get to Grayspire relatively quickly, at any rate. Barring any unforeseen delays, I'd wager we should arrive in...oh, ten or eleven days? Does that sound accurate to you?"

"Thereabouts, yes. Hopefully the weather'll hold up in the meantime," Balthus grumbled, looking to the clouds above.

"I wouldn't count on it, Balthus."

*****

After a short while, a light, misting rain began to fall. The trio pulled the hoods of their heavy travel cloaks over their heads and began to pick up the pace.

"We can make it to Wincher's Mill before nightfall," Jakobus said. "It's just some miles to the southwest, and it's got an inn."

"As good a place as any, I suppose. Do we really need to bother while we're still so near the Capital, though?"

"The King and Queen don't want us exposed, Captain, and I mean to follow that order whenever possible," the Mage replied with a smirk. "It isn't as if they didn't give us the Ren to afford it."

"Fine, fine. By the way, I meant to ask you something earlier."

"Yes?"

"What do you know of Madame Tristessa? Have you met her?"

Jakobus nodded. "I am the Royal Mage of Braelon, and as such, I am among the highest of magical authorities in Ralleah-therefore, I frequently find myself in communication with leadership figures both domestic and foreign."

"Sounds impressive," Balthus replied with a grin and roll of the eyes. The Mage simply shrugged.

"It was merely a statement of fact, not a boast. But yes, I have met and corresponded with Madame Tristessa on multiple occasions-though far more often than not I will speak with with Rickart Volkr, the Madame's Court Mage; we are colleagues, after all, and will sometimes consult one another in matters of magic and its' research."

"What's the Madame herself like?"

Jakobus sighed quietly, pursed his lips, and glanced at the sky. "She is...difficult to pin down, if I am honest. But, on the surface? Intelligent, shrewd, dedicated-ferociously so, I would say-to the welfare of her people, level-headed even under pressure, and an accomplished mage in her own right. And, if I may be perfectly honest with you, Captain, she is quite beautiful."

"She sounds like quite a woman."

"She is an exceptional woman, Captain," the Mage replied with a subtle nod, "and an exceptional leader."

"I hear she's surprisingly tall, too."

"An understatement, my friend."

"How so?"

"She stands at approximately six-foot ten."

"Six foot-! Father above, were her parents giants?!"

Jakobus chuckled. "Those born to vampire parents-her mother and father both had the Blood-will oftentimes be blessed with unnatural height, strength, and durability-both physical and magical. She got all three, I daresay."

Balthus rolled his eyes. "I don't know much about the hereditary nature of vampires, I'm afraid."

"Well, suffice to say that while vampirism has its' drawbacks-"

"Weakness to sunlight, requiring blood to survive, the like?"

"Yes, precisely," the Mage nodded. "A vampire might have to contend with these things on a daily basis, yes, but the tradeoffs can make up for them. Those born to one or a pair of vampire parents tend to have the strongest inherent abilities of all, like the Madame. I was turned, as was Mattison" he laid a hand on his chest, then gestured to the younger vampire, "so while we are both certainly enhanced in many ways, neither of our powers are nearly as pronounced as those of a true-born vampire or vampiress."

"Now that I think about it-I've heard that Nocturne has the highest concentration of vampires in the Western Kingdoms. I assume that's due to the fact that it's usually at least overcast there?"

The Mage smiled. "You pick things up quickly, Captain."

They fell silent for a moment, then Balthus spoke again.

"Jakobus, what do you think is really going on down south? What did you make of my report?"

The vampire glanced at him, his expression unreadable.

"I am unsure, but the nature of the attacks has me...worried, Balthus."

"That doesn't happen often, I take it."

"Not like this, it doesn't" Jakobus said quietly, looking at the sky again. "I consulted a number of tomes last night, as well as conferring with Master Abelina in the Library, just to be sure, and...well, I found nothing at all about any sickness or spell that would make a man crave the flesh of another. If what you say is true, then we may very well be dealing with a force that is hitherto entirely unknown."

"I see."

"And that," Jakobus continued, looking over at the Captain, "is what worries me the most. It is, more often than not, devastatingly difficult to combat that which you do not understand. The amount of lives that might be lost before we truly know what we are dealing with might be...severe, if we are not quick and meticulous about things. I do not intend to sound fatalistic, you understand-"

"No," Balthus interrupted, "I know what you mean. Some worry is healthy, especially in situations such as this; anyone who tries to claim otherwise refuses to see the bigger picture. All we can do is our best with what we find."

"This is all very hopeful and inspiring," sneered Mattison, "but we'll be arriving in Wincher's Mill soon. We ought to start asking passersby, find out where the inn-"

"I know where the inn is, Mattison, don't grumble so! It's unbecoming of a servant of Ralleah."

Mattison rolled his eyes and pulled his hood further over his face, so as to shield himself from the light rain.

*****

"Pint of black ale, sir!" A low, soft 'thunk' as a steel flagon was set on the table.

"Thank you very much, sir."

"Not 'tall, friend, not 'tall! And you, sir? Fresh steer's claret, correct?"

Jakobus smiled warmly at the young, blonde-haired server with the friendly blue eyes. "Thank you, young master. Your finest vintage, I'm assuming?"

The server chuckled. "Only the best barrel-aged lifeblood this side of the Kingdom, my friend. Served right here in our humble establishment!"

The tall vampire took a sip from his flagon and swallowed. He then set it down and gave the server a grin.

"What is your name, young master?"

"Mickel, sir."

"It is excellent, Mickel. This will more than suffice, I think. Thank you again."

"Of course, sir. Both of you, don't hesitate to call out should you need anything else!"

With that, the handsome young man was off to take orders from a group of women who had been getting increasingly drunk since the trio had arrived, and they fawned over the server endlessly as he laughed along and took their requests. Smart, Balthus thought...cater to all crowds and the drinks will never stop flowing. The best taverns and inns in Braelon never failed to keep a bevy of lovely young women and handsome, strapping lads on staff, after all-why shouldn't other places do the same?

"Frankly," Jakobus grumbled, taking a sip of blood, "I am grateful that Mattison decided to go back to the quarters. Skilled and intelligent as he is, I can only take so much of his brat's attitude each day."

Balthus rolled his eyes and grinned. "Right, and the fact that he came off a fool to that brunette over by the bar earlier had nothing to do with it, I'm sure."

"Do you think that she was actually married, or was she lying just to get rid of him?"

"Shit, I don't know, and I wasn't about to ask," Balthus muttered, taking a long draw off his own flagon before setting it back onto the worn tabletop. "If I were her, though, I'd have said the same either way."

Both men chuckled, though the sound was nearly lost in the bustle and activity of the Mill Inn's tavern. At least three-quarters of the tables and stools in the tavern were filled, their occupants eating and drinking their fill as they sought to escape the weather for a while. Flames in the nearby fireplace danced hot and high, keeping the room pleasantly toasty. It was so pleasantly consistent, in fact, that Balthus found himself wondering if they'd paid to have the fireplace enchanted.

"How did you sleep last night, Captain?"

Balthus looked at the vampire, momentarily puzzled. Then, the underlying subtext of the question struck him like lightning.

"Fairly well, I would say. I did dream of it, however, if that's what you're asking."

"So would most, I think."

"I've seen more than my share of horrors throughout my career, Jakobus. Soldiers usually do, after all. But this..."

"They will be found, my friend. Then, we will see that they are...suitably reprimanded."

They eyed one another, both impressed at the other's ability to not waggle his tongue in public. Balthus found himself thinking that the young assistant likely wouldn't have been so discreet, had he remained with them. And so, they sat for a time and drank, slowly and casually, soaking in and letting themselves be put at ease by the pleasant merrymaking taking place around them. At one point, though, Balthus noted that his flagon was just about empty-fuck it, he thought, we've got a long, arduous, and potentially dangerous journey ahead of us. One more was in order, he decided.

"Don't have too much, friend."

Balthus gave him a wave of the hand and scoffed. "I'm going to get one more and call it a night. Don't feel like making the journey hung over, after all."

"A wise decision. Be cautious all the same, however."

Balthus understood the subtext, obviously. As he approached the bar, he took note of the people around him. Most appeared as regular working folk or tradespeople, but those types of locals were generally obvious enough to him. No, he was looking for anyone who appeared out-of-place: people who sat by themselves, isolated from the rest, who didn't converse much with the rest of the patrons. Especially those loners who looked overly road-worn, as if they'd been been doing much traveling-scouts, for lack of a better word. In other words, Balthus was trained to look for those small signs that someone was lawless. Balthus knew better than most that not all smiles were sincere in places like this-and that not all eyes and ears were friendly.

Balthus knew that he likely stood out himself, as he waited for the innkeeper to bring him a refill. He was certain that a few people had already pegged him as a soldier; a man of some rank, though he currently wore no insignia. His travel armor was the proper color and his sword was obviously of Keep make to anyone who knew their steel. He suddenly found himself hoping that his presence here wouldn't alert the wrong people-

"Top y'off, friend?" The innkeeper-a short, wiry, bespectacled old man with a bright smile, bald head, and friendly eyes named Craw-leaned over the opposite edge of the bar, his arms crossed as he rested his elbows on the polished counter.

"Count on it, Craw. One more, and I'm cashing out."

"Right-o, sir." He swept the Captain's flagon off the bar and rushed to a nearby keg, giving the spigot a tap. As Balthus watched the dark liquid flow into the cup, he suddenly stopped as a nearby snippet of conversation reached his ears.

"-ain't seen hide nor hair of the man since he made his way down to Deadlight two weeks ago, nope. Kinzie thinks they got laid up with a broken wagon axle, but I'm not so sure-"

There he was. Middle-aged man a few feet down the bar to his right, brown muttonchops, fingering a mug of what appeared to be coffee spiked with whiskey-popular mix out in a lot of these countryside taverns, as Balthus recalled. He was speaking to an elderly M'zaeran woman-her rolling accent would've given her away even if he hadn't been able to see her-and she appeared to be distressed upon hearing Muttonchops' news.

"Theus has never struck me as a man to not care for his wagon! I don't believe that for a moment!" That was the grandmotherly woman.

"Well," said Muttonchops, "there's been some strange talk comin' from out near the border, you know? Highwaymen acting crazier than ever, from what I been-"

Balthus edged just a little bit closer to the pair, picking up his refilled flagon as Craw replaced it on the bar in front of him. The Captain nodded, fishing the proper Ren count from his trouser pocket and placing them into the Innkeeper's hand. The kindly man smiled, thanked him again, then wandered off to help another customer. Crick acted casual, facing away from the bar as he leaned against the countertop. He waited until Jakobus looked his way, then caught the Mage's eye. The vampire raised a questioning eyebrow before Balthus gave the tiniest of nods toward the pair down the bar. The Master Mage looked between them and the Captain once, then nodded once. He stood, and strode casually over to the bar, standing on Balthus' opposite side so that Balthus could maintain a clear line of sight on their subjects. The Captain knew immediately that the Mage was listening in with him.

"What'dya mean when you say 'crazier than ever', Tobias? Acting crazy, how? Bandit types are always acting crazy, from what I hear! What does that even mean?!" The grandmotherly women again.

"Just relayin' what I been hearin', Mazia! No one saw fit to give me specifics, if'n they even had 'em! But ol' Theus was supposed to be back at his shop four, five days ago now, and no one in town's heard tell of him, his wife, or his caravan hands in that time! Hasn't sent a messenger or nothin'! It ain't like him to just disappear, you know that!"

"They likely just ran into cart trouble, or maybe some foul weather-it is still winter, after all, and they were headed to Nocturne, where the weather is most cruel this time of year! You worry too much, Tobias! I am sure that Theus, Gillie and their caravan hands are fine."

"I just can't help myself," said Tobias, a slur sneaking into his voice. "Just got me feelin' that somethin'...well, that somethin' ain't right, is all. Strange stories comin' from Nocturne and the border, Theus and company bein' so late...you know they're punctual folk, Mazia; you known 'em even longer than I have-!"

No one seemed to notice as the two out-of-towners-one tall and thin, the other muscled and bearded-slipped upstairs; and if they did, they gave it not a second thought and immediately dove back into their flagons.

*****

The fire within the quarters' fireplace burned low and hot, filling the space with a pleasant warmth. The moods of the men sitting in front of it, however, were anything but.

"So the Queen's intuition was correct," Mattison muttered, shifting in the rocking chair that he'd pulled closer to the flames. "There have been more attacks."

"Maybe," said Balthus, staring into the dancing tongues of flame, "but we can't be certain that there's a connection. Shit, maybe the old woman was right and the people they were talking about really did just run into cart trouble or inclement weather."

"The timing is certainly interesting, however," Jakobus said quietly from Balthus' right. His fingers were interlocked in front of his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, deep amber eyes transfixed on the fire much the same way that Balthus' were.

"My thoughts exactly," Balthus replied.

"He said that they were headed to Deadlight," Jakobus said. "That's about seventy miles over the border, on the western side of the Southern Kingsway. If this caravan made it that far-"

"Then that would mean that these attacks are more widespread than we'd previously thought," finished Balthus.

"We're speculating," Mattison interjected, "and that is something we should avoid. Like you said, we don't know anything, not for sure-this is all conjecture, and you both know that."

"As much as it pains me to say," Balthus sighed, "you're correct, Mattison. We shouldn't get ahead of ourselves here."

"Agreed," said Jakobus, who stood up from his chair. "I suggest we get some rest, gentlemen, as we have several days' riding and many miles ahead of us-and that's just to reach the border."

As Balthus lie in bed, blankets half covering his scarred and powerful body, he found his mind wandering to unspeakable places. The rain, which had only teased his party as they'd arrived in Wincher's Mill, was out in full force now as it thundered low and angry against the window which looked out over the street below, where all was dark and still. The sound reminded him of the soft pattering that had been ever-present in the background as he'd looked upon the torn corpses of the Fessely clan. He remembered that one had been beheaded entirely-how long must it have take to pull that thing off, he wondered? Where had the head itself ended up, anyway? Maybe these people were the type to take trophies, after all...

The defleshed bodies. The devoured animals. The near lake of blood spread over the floor of the living area, whose stain would never come out, no matter how hard it was scrubbed. The severed limbs. The gnaw marks that had left deep, cruel indentations in the surface of horribly bright bone. The overwhelming stench of copper that had clung to his nostrils like a leech upon skin. He'd smelled it many times before, of course, but never in conjunction with that level of animalistic brutality before. All these sights swam before his eyes, and he knew that the scene would never truly leave his mind, even up until the moment he went to meet the Three in their ethereal realm. The scent of blood and the soft sound of rain-he was certain that both would bring him back to that day, no matter how briefly, from that point on.