Someone needs to teach this pup manners. Connacht thought to himself as he endures Alexius's disdain. The sad state of the heir apparent of Wheldrake's aristocracy had already left a less than favorable impression upon him, and the sight of the boy in armor would have been comedic under other circumstances. Given the boy's station, it was more than moderately worrisome- doubly so because the youth didn't appear to have any noteworthy talents to make up for his lack of martial vigor.
Connacht lingers in the door frame for a few moments as Alexius walks inside, turning around to face the Carlo and Lothar, "Get some rest, you've earned it." Connacht tells the two farmhands who had been ordered to follow him out into the desert.
Connacht tries to take stock of the interior of the Sabinus residence, such as it was, otherwise keeping pace with Alexius on his way to meet Lord Sabinus herself.
Connacht walks through the dim and cool manor home, examine it as closely for clues as he searched the hill trails for sign of bandits. Alexius walks ahead, completely ignoring Connacht, as if he were a servant or common laborer being taken to a job site.
While insulting, it does give Connacht a good chance to look around. The overwhelming sensation the druid feels, moving down the hallway is...age. This is an old home, dating back to a time when Wheldrake was far richer and more lucrative for a ruling noble family. Even so however, it shows its rustic roots in a ways a manor home in Taldor proper never would.
For one thing it is nearly empty. Connacht only spots a bare handful of servants about, cleaning, carrying the laundry or other household tasks. Even the most petty of landholding nobility in Taldor would have had at least twice as many servants, let alone a family that claimed ownership of an entire town like the Sabinus did.
Secondly, almost everything is made of wood, not stone. The floor was worn hardwood, long polished to a faded shine by the passing of feet. Walls and ceiling are woodpaneled as well, heavy oak and maples. It is well done, with the grains and knots being used as artistic choices instead of flaws. Whatever long dead craftsman made this, they knew their work.
Lastly, the house feels....old. Many noble estates in Taldor were old of course, stone piles dating back centuries in many cases. All of them however felt alive, and were alive, active places of life and organization, often the center of activity for a given area. This home however....it felt like a relic, a carefully up kept memento of better times. Connacht passes in front of several doors that look like they have been kept shut for decades, if not generations.
Alexius leads Connacht to a set of open doors, which lead into a classic Taldane study. Round walls covered with heavy bookcases, filled with leather-bound tomes. A number of bulky, overstuffed leather chairs sit around a cold fireplace, a massive and ornate bit of carved marble probably imported from Taldor itself. In one 'corner' a large liquor cabinet sits, dusted and stained with age. In the middle of the room, near a large frosted glass window, is a wooden table.
Across from it stands Lady Sabinus, wearing a fine but practical gown and tunic, in the house colors, hair braided sensibly. Connachtc an't help but think that she looks more imposing and militaristic in court clothes then Alexius does in a mailshirt.
"Ah, Connacht. You have returned with news, excellent." She looks at Alexius and nods. The youth turns, closes the doors then steps back to the table, pale eyes fixed on Connacht.
"My son will hear your tidings as well. Please proceed, Imperial Agent." The Lady Sabinus says politely, but curtly, waving Connacht to speak.
Connacht appreciated the atmosphere of the Sabinus manor more than he would a more typical Taldan estate- perhaps because he just tended to be more comfortable around wood than lifeless stone. Additionally, it was hard for him not to respect the sheer ancientness of the building- who knows how many generations of Lords had governed this town out of this building? The history of the thing was worthy of respect, even if it was something of a relic.
Upon finally entering the study, Connacht gave a respectful bow the the aristocrat. Upon being instructed to speak, Connacht begins. "Of course, My Lord."
The Imperial Agent did his best to give a thorough explanation of the situation at hand- largely for the sake of Alexius, who he suspected did not yet possess the tactical knowledge of his mother. "I have managed to locate the pack of bandits that have been causing you and this community so much grief: they're located in a unusually verdant valley several miles outside of Wheldrake, a fair distance off the path of the Endless Way. The tracks they left from their retreat from the caravan are still relatively fresh, and I'm capable of guiding any force you provide to their location. "
"In scouting out the Vale, we managed to discover that, luckily for us, the valley has only one proper entrance. It should be fairly easy to ensure that once whatever forces we have at our disposal can prevent any of the outlaws from escaping out into the desert. Our issue will be trying to flush them out of the caves that lie below the valley. Regrettably, I can't speak as for where said caves ultimately lead- and with that in mind, I'm of the opinion that we are better off launching an assault when we have more of a reason to expect to catch all of them off guard to ensure that as few as possible are able of slipping away- namely some time at night."
"I was able to sneak into the valley proper and get a headcount of mot the bandits. There are slightly more than twenty of them, all in relative fighting shape, although given my encounter with them earlier today I expect that few, if any are particularly skilled warriors. All of them were human, or at least close enough to pass as human from a distance. A decent number of them were arguing that it was time for their group to pack up and move further South- specifically to Yanmiss- and make a new life for themselves on the right side of the law- but not enough that we should worry about that faction directing their actions for the next few days. If left undisturbed, it's likely their status quo of raiding caravans won't change."
"In addition Lothar and Carlo, two of the mercenaries from the caravan that was rescued today accompanied me to scout out the Vale. As we speak, they're planning on gathering other fighters from the caravan for an eventual assult on the valley, although of course I cannot guarantee their eventual support, given that Sevra might decide against allowing the people in his employ from partaking in the raid. I intend to convince him otherwise, but merchants tend to be a stubborn lot."
The main content of the report finished, Connacht goes on to make some initial requests. "If you have a map of the surrounding geography on hand, I'd be able to give a more precise location of the Valley relative to the town. Additionally- how many men do you have at your command that can be relied upon to fight and follow orders?"
The two Sabinus nobles take Connacht's report in without interruption, although Theodora nods at the right times, clearly indicating she is following Connacht's words. As for Alexius...he grows bored after a few minutes and wanders over to the window, looking out it. The druid has no time what, if anything he has heard of his report.
However, when he finishes, it is the lad who speaks first. "You are going to ask the merchant? A man who sells for coin and you are going to go down on one knee and beg?" He turns, his haughty face filled with the exact level of disdain Connacht expected. The druid had known too many nobles that had exactly the same attitude.
"We are his betters and his superiors, he has to to listen to us. Is asking how they do things now in Taldor? Tell him Mother, tell him how we do things here."
The Lady Sabinus ignores this outburst and says, eyes faintly distant, "Two dozen, maybe more? While having one entrance has its advantages Imperial Agent, it also has the obvious downside. For the defenders, they only need to hold a single line against us. If they are not caught unaware, they could hold the valley entrance long against us, supplied as they are with food and water. You speak true Connacht, we must strike swiftly and overcome them in one , single onslaught, for we do not have the numbers or the will for a siege."
A pause then, "As for how many men....not as many as I wish. My grandfather, or even my father could have raised a hundred solid men and retainers besides. Ah, the stories they told me...." Her bright eyes grow misty for a second, reflecting old burnished glories. Slowly, she comes back to the present.
"But times are hard and Wheldrake is not what it once was. I can give you maybe forty, and most will be farmhands that have never used a weapon before." She grimaces at the low number and says, in a rare unguarded moment, "Not as many as you hoped for, I would wager."
Connacht looks over at the boy, remaining silent and allowing the outburst to pass. He was not one to defend the lack of civic duty many merchants were guilty of, but the heir's remarks were simply motivated by arrogance. While his mind is filled of biting remarks, for now the Imperial agent only bites his tongue and does his best to keep a straight face. His time will come. Eventually.
He returns his attention to Lord Sabinus, nodding in agreement with the assessment about a siege. "Agreed. Fortunately, their discipline seems to be fairly lax- they had a trap near the front of the Valley, but it was so overgrown with plants that it likely it hadn't been used in months, and they had no sentries posted on the edge of the valley to serve as look outs. We'll have to be careful, but our task is by no means impossible."
Connacht allows the woman to reminisce in silence, then looks slightly surprised at the number of troops she has at her disposal. "Honestly, my lord, I came up here expecting nearly all vestiges of Imperial authority to be nothing more than distant memories. Forty men is forty more men than I thought I would start with." After thinking for a few moments, he goes on and says, "Do you have equipment for them? We don't need high quality weaponry or armor, but shoddy leather and some hatchets work better than mere pitchforks and plainclothes. On the topic- while we can't be too selective, we shouldn't try to scrape the barrel too much in looking for men- if someone bolts in a moment of panic, it might just cause men who would otherwise hold their ground to follow in their footsteps. I've seen it happen more than once. As you said my lord- if we don't handle this in one stroke, we won't be able to manage a proper siege." It takes a bit of effort to avoid looking at the younger Sabinus as he makes these remarks, even though they weren't (initially) intended to refer to him. But the sight of an aristocrat- however contemptible- fleeing from the fight would no doubt give many an excuse to drop their weapons and run as well.
That subject addressed "Other than Yasin, are there any other healers in this town, magical or otherwise? Even if everything goes well we're bound to have some wounded. If we can't bring one along, at the very least, we ought to bring along a few makeshift stretchers. We'll need them one way or the other."
Lady Sabinus smiles frostily, "Ah, so you expected so little that even Wheldrake as it is, diminished and reduced, impresses you? I suppose I should take that as a compliment although it sits bitter on my tongue."
The formidable woman shakes her head, as if dismissing old, dark thoughts, "As to the men, you have a point. We are unlikely to overawe the bandits in any case. Say thirty good men, then. Hatchets and leathers I can give you. There are old hoards of weapons and armor, but is has long gone to rust and decay and we now lack the skill to refurbish them."
Before addressing the healers, Theodoroa says, "I doubt we shall have trouble with us breaking ranks. With myself, my son and yourself in the front row, we should be able to lead the charge. It is the bandits who will break first, mark my words, Imperial Agent."
Turning from the window Alexius turns, smacking his palm with a fist. There is a light in his eye, a hunger for glory and violence that makes Connacht uneasy. "Mother, have you considered simply burning the valley? Dump burning oil and pitch from the valley edge? This man here says it is full of trees and plants. More for the kindling, I say. Put a few men at the mouth of the valley to cut down the few escaping stragglers, and all could be done in an hour."
Connacht's about to respond to Sabinus as Alexius decides to participate in the conversation. Would it kill him to talk as if I'm actually in the room? Either way, disturbing or not, the suggestion indicated that the youth had been paying at least some attention, and that if pushed could come up with at least a halfway decent idea.
"Sadly, that's not going to work my Lord." Connacht tells the young man as he shakes his head. "The valley's quite large- I doubt there's enough oil Wheldrake to pull something like that off. Besides, it's not dry kindling we're dealing with- its harder to burn living wood, especially given how abnormally humid the vale is. Even if we could pull it off, the bandits will be far more likely to scurry down into the caves in the valley, and gods know how long it will take for us to find them then, if we find them at all."
Connacht thinks aloud for a few moments "Thirty good men... yes. Given how quickly they broke when I went after them head on, that should be enough, even if we get no further help from the caravan. On the topic-you wouldn't happen to know if Serva trades in arms, would you my Lord? Perhaps some supplies for the militia could be bought off him, money permitting."
After the noblewoman answers his question about healers, Connacht goes on to the point he expects to get the most pushback on. "You're right about not overawing the bandits- not without bloodshed. But, we aren't talking about a pack of zealots here. At some point, they're as likely to drop their weapons and beg as they are to make a run for it, especially if we manage to corner them.” ”If we have a chance to take a few alive, we could pry some information about the caves below Valley from them, give ‘em a chance to rat out anyone we don’t manage to get in the first raid in exchange for their own skin. It’s the only way we’re likely to find anything about what on Golarion broke open the skull of the bandit I captured this morning and was using magic on your servants in your lands. Whatever did that’s likely to be more of a threat to Wheldrake than a barely clothed rabble armed with pickaxes.”
After that, he shrugs and says, ”After we get the info we need from them, surely they can be put to work on some crumbling building or another. For those unwilling to cooperate or who try anything, there's always the noose. And if we go out of our way to slaughter them down to the last man, anyone who might otherwise be inclined to surrender will fight like cornered animals. We don’t have the men to spare to risk a bloody purge in the Vale if we can avoid it, and forgive me for saying so, but I doubt even most of your good men are hardened veterans.”
The Imperial Agent was no Sarenite- any prisoners they took would have to work to pay off their imprisonment. But he had no love of bloodshed, and could only hope that Lord Sabinus agreed with his logic. But either way, it was best to sort out the issue now, rather than have contradictory orders given during the raid.
.
When Connacht disagrees with his 'burning' plan, Alexius merely sneers and turns to his Mother. The Lady Sabinus however, gives a curt shake of head, obviously agreeing with Connacht although she does say, oddly enough, "We might have more oil then you think." The boy glowers and turns back to the window.
"As for arms, I do not know what Serva trades in these days. It too has fallen on hard times. Time was, he would have thirty, forty wagons in his caravan and a small army to protect them. Now, he has what, less then a dozen and troubled by two dozen bandits. I do not know what he has in his caravans but Trenzi will know, he always does a through inspection, more for tradition's sake then anything else. It is not as if we can much to buy or means to purchase it."
Connbacht can feel his pitch to spare bandit's lives faltering even as he gives it. When he finishes the Lady Sabinus shakes her head, "I admire your dedication Imperial Agent but I feel you are perhaps too merciful. These are bloodthirsty killers, attacking innocent and valuable trade in the Empire. There is only one sentence for such as them. We will kill them all and if my men balk....I will do it myself."
Her bright eyes are hard and cold as diamonds. Connacht has the sense this woman could kill two dozen men and women in cold blood if she wished to. It was a terrifying thought.
"If they fight like cornered animals, we will kill them like corned animals. We fight to the death, Imperial Agent, and I expect you to follow my lawful and just orders." Only a faint air of menace in those last words, but enough.
Connacht's face becomes expressionless as his eyes flick back and forth between the elder and junior Sabinus aristocrats. Like mother, like son. The two had their differences- Theodora was obviously more restrained, competent, and in many ways regal. But a cruel streak ran through both of them.
"But of course." The Imperial agent says after letting Theodora's remark hang uncomfortably in the air for a few moments. "I brought the issue to you now to avoid any risk of confusion during the raid- that's the last thing I want." That much was true- conflicts in the chain of command were disastrous enough on a small scale. Commanding thirty or more people, it would be a nightmare. The Imperial Agent wasn't about to risk the lives of the citizens of Wheldrake to contravene Sabinus's orders in the middle of a pitched fight.
That didn't mean he approved of her methods. But he could tell there would be no swaying the woman.
"Beyond my earlier concern about medics- all that's left to decide is when we launch the attack." Connacht continues. "The way I see it- they aren't heading anywhere. Attacking tomorrow night would give us a bit more time to prepare, maybe drill the militia for today and tomorrow. In addition, I'll have a bit more magic at my own disposal than if we launch it tonight. Either way, they don't know about my scouting expedition today, so we won't loose the element of surprise. Either way, it's your call my Lord"
"Ah yes, healers." The Lady Sabinus says, voice not exactly dismissive but....unconcerned. Connacht gets the feeling that setting up first aid stations is not among her military priorities. "I agree however, that Yasin is too old to accompany us. A pity, for rumor has it he was a formidable warrior in his youth."
She pauses in thought and says, "Perhaps someone from the Haven?"
Alexius laughs and turns back towards his mother. "They never help with anything, let alone something dangerous. Besides, what good are a bunch of prostitute going to do?"
Laby Sabinus eyes her son steadily for a moment, and the young man visibly wilts. Slowly she turns back to Connacht saying, "Regardless of what my son says, they may be of help." Then, seeing Connacht's blank look goes on, "My apologies, Imperial Agent, I forget you are still new to Wheldrake. The Haven is a small church of Shelyn and brothel filled with former slaves, many bought from passing caravans. They tend to be quite...spirited and anti-hierarchical. They would refuse me on principle but perhaps you can convince them? I am not sure an Imperial Agent would appeal but it may be worth a try, if you wish to exhaust every resource."
When Connacht talks about drilling the militia the Lady Sabinus raises a hand, "Perhaps, but you forget something, one which speaks greatly in favor of immediate action. It is very possible the bandits have confederates in town, or at least informants. Taking so long before the attack may merely alter them of the impending strike. We may find the Valley fortified and held against us."
May I never be accused of neglecting logistics. By Sabinus's own admission, Wheldrake didn't exactly have men to spare. If she was so hellbent on slaughtering the bandits to a man, at the very least Theodora could attempt to deal with the probable repercussions of it.
The remark about Yasin causes one of the Druid's eyebrows to arch up in surprise. "Huh. I never would have pegged the man for a veteran." Even after service, you could often tell that a man had been in military life by the way he carried himself. It was never a surefire indicator- but it was just bit of information about the Sarenite that just felt... wrong.
At Alexius's remark, Connacht finds himself in the uncomfortable position of sharing the young man's temperament. Should have guessed that's what the colorful building was. It wasn't uncommon for trading towns to have such disreputable establishments, but the news that the place doubles as a temple of Shelyn fills him with no small amount revulsion. "Ugh. I'm inclined to agree- for more than one reason- but time permitting I'll give it a shot. I believe the Caravan had someone on hand who could tend to wounds by hand rather than by spell- I'm likely to have far better luck with them."
And yet... Connacht's mind begins overthinking what the possibility of a healer inclined to disobey orders could do, and it fills his head with an idea better left unvoiced for now.
Pushing aside the idea for now, the Imperial Agent considers Lord Sabinus's last point. "I can't dismiss that- I've only been here a day, you'd know more about any potential informants than I would. If you think that's a significant risk, then we really are best off launching the attack tonight, my Lord." After a moment's pause where his eyes flick up to the ceiling in thought, Connacht continues, "Crescent moon tonight. We'll need torches or lanterns for the men, else we'll be stumbling around in the dark. Unless you would have us attack while the sun still hangs in the sky?"
Lady Sabinus seems quite unconcerned with the entire healer debate and merely shrugs saying, "Whatever you think is best Imperial Agent. I give you full authority to negotiate with the caravan. I respect your ability in such matters and desire you to share as much of your insight as you can. My son and I, of course, will lead and command the final assault however." This is said with sublime assurance, like someone describing how the sun rose every morning or that water flowed downhill.
The woman considers what Connacht has said about timing for a moment and the druid is relieved that at least Lady Sabinus is willing to listen to good advice. "We attack tonight, torches can be arranged. There is no way we could attack before sunset anyway, that many men would move too slow. Yes, tonight, as soon as we can. Perhaps we can outpace their messengers. May the gods look on us with favor, Connacht. Good luck with the caravan." The final words are an obvious dismissal, curt and cold.
Connacht opts not to bring up the fact that her opinion on if he should negotiate with the Caravan or not was irrelevant from both a personal and a legal standpoint. "Yes, certainly." The fact that she was insisting on her son being with her during the assault was... regrettable. With luck, the experience would provide him with some lesson in humility, or at least a frank look at the reality of life in this part of the word.
"Very well then- I assume we shall be mustering here when the time comes?" After Lord Sabinus responds, Connacht gives a bow and departs from the Manor house.
Well, that could have gone worse. 30 good men would be enough, and gods willing they would have some extra back up from caravan. Connacht absentmindedly whistles for Derwyn to follow after him as he makes his way back to the caravanserai, mulling over just how exactly he should deal with Theodora's penchant for butchery. He'd killed before, and knew that before the day was out he'd likely kill again. That would be troubling enough for the young man regardless if Sabinus hadn't been so resolute in her desire to ensure none left the valley alive.
And as of yet, the only plan he had to subvert her plan was a crapshoot at best. He takes his time wandering towards the caravanasari, content for now to try and sort out plans in his mind- there was time till dusk, after all.
Derwyn at this side, Connacht heads back into Wheldrake proper, trading the quiet green shade of the orchards for the hot early afternoon sun. The blue sky is like a vault overhead, endless and free of clouds. One could get lost in it, if their eyes can withstand the sheer intensity of the colors.
As Connacht enters the small collection of houses that counts as the town, he can feel the energy is the air. Clearly word of a possible raid is out and even despite the heat, he can see people moving around, gathering in small groups talking. Eyes follow the druid as he paces his way back to the ruined caravansari, and mutters trail him. Gossip spreads fast in a place like this, and despite his best attempts to slow things down, there is a sense of....gathering momentum in the air.
In the shaded front porch of where he is staying he sees two figures, sitting apart from each other, clearly waiting for someone or something. When Connacht approach both stand up, indicating it was him.
One Connacht knows all too well by now, it is Viorec, the green-eyed fortune teller who had supposedly told Connacht his fortune. The whole experience, from the dancing columns of smoke, the darkness to the man tasting his blood, still bothered the druid. The man was wearing an embroidered vest, and dark trousers, just like the first time they had met, along with that strange knowing smile. A ferret lounged on one shoulder, keeping a beady eye on Derwyn.
The other figure was unknown to Connacht. They were slim, with a slender build and narrow hips that reminded the druid of a young boy or woman. Their clothes were unlike anything Connacht had seen in Wheldrake before, a multi-colored robe like someone had taken a rainbow and bound it up in cloth. But it was the person's face that interested Connacht. It was impossible to tell their gender. They were young, no doubt about that, with smooth skin and soft brown eyes topped by a cleanly-cut bowl of brown hair. But there were no other clues, and the result was slightly alien and off-putting.
If things are changing so fast in the span of a day, Connacht reflects as he makes his way through the town then what changes will an entire week bring? There was a tension in the air that was more oppressive than the heat and growing thicker by the minute. So this is what they mean when they say "there's a new sheriff in town".
The Imperial Agent had come up here to reshape Wheldrake, but the rate of his own progress was disconcerting to him. Could such rapid gains be contained, or would all of this eventually spiral out of his control? Or would all this energy be exhausted before any lasting change could be enacted.
None of it sat well with him.
As he finally reaches the caravansari, he feels a phantom pain on his finger where that miserable little weasel had bitten him. Connacht stops in his tracks to do his best to assess the two humanoids making for him. His sense of unease only grows as he attempts to parse out the gender of the stranger.
Better the devil you know. Connacht makes his way over to the mage first. "I've heard rumors that you're haunted." Connacht greats Viorec with the statement- not spoken as an accusation but a mere statement of fact. "If you've got business with me, I'm listening, but I'm a busy man today."
Viorec smiles, mobile mouth over his black beard but the movement doesn't reach those sharp eyes. The thin man is hard to read, even for Connacht who has made a life out of judging people's intent but the druid guesses there is tension below the seeming casual, disaffected air.
The man waves his hand dismissively at Connacht's remark about haunted saying, "Few people truly understand the ways of the arcane and divine, and ignorance is the breeding ground of rumor. Surely, as an Imperial Agent, you know this?" The small ferret yawns widely, revealing rows of bright white teeth, all sharp as needles.
"Speaking of rumor, the word is out that you intend to lead an attack on the bandits that have taken to attacking local commercial traffic? The rumors were unclear with what force, but I would like to volunteer my services. I have some small skill in magic which may prove useful to you and your task. I do not even ask any payment, the honor of seeing some of Taldor's finest in action is reward enough." It is clear to Connacht that Viorec is the kind of man who wants to have his finger in every pie, a eye on everything of note and would not pass up a chance like this lightly. It is possible this raid could be a significant moment in Wheldrake history and at the least a source of stories for years to come.
Connacht’s eyes briefly flick over to the ferret as it’s mouth opens wide, and he didn’t like the creature’s teeth one bit. Standing a few feet behind him, Derwyn let’s out a low growl, apparently taking an immediate dislike to the fortune teller. ”True enough.” The imperial agent agrees with Vioric’s asesemnt while waving behind him for Derwyn to lie down and stay put. For now.
Connacht’s eyebrows raise up as the spindly mage makes an offer to assist in the raid. Of course he knows about it. Why wouldn’t he? Either way, the offer to help under other circumstances would be readily accepted. Had he not run across the man while wandering aimlessly last evening, he would accept the man’s request and be grateful.
”All help is certainly welcome,” Connacht says cautiously, not even bothering to try and counteract the truth of the rumors (while admittedly undercutting the assertion that the raid would be conducted by “Taldor’s finest”), ”but it’s something of a hike to make it to where we’ll be going, so be prepared for that. What sort of magic can you use? Make no mistake, these aren’t mere cutpurses we’re going after. If you can’t put up a good fight, you’re as liable to come back on a stretcher or in more than one piece as you are in whole”. The downside out of the way, Connacht goes on to a more practical concern, ”Besides, depending on what magic you can use it might wind up changing my tactics.”
Here you are, looking a gift horse in the mouth. But who could blame him when he had felt the bite of the horse’s teeth?
The wiry man glances down at the growling wolf and, for a reason Connacht can't discern smiles. Needless to say that is not the usual reaction Connacht's companion gets.
Viorec shrugs at the druid's questions, "I might not be a rugged man of the outdoors like yourself, but I can handle myself. If you trust the others in town can make it, I will not be a burden. As for fighting ability..."
"Enough to be of aid, I would guess. I am not a wizard or an alchemist, to sum up my learning with a list of spells scribble on bits of paper. But I feel I would be an asset to your mission. I also have some mundane skill at healing and have a steady hand."
Then the man smiles again, a true smile this time, with a sly knowing look, "And, as you know, the sight of blood won't turn my stomach. Can you say as much for your other possible recruits?"
The more Connacht listened to the man the more he felt his skin crawl. There were many words that could be used to describe the fortune teller- none of them polite- but it's only as his last remark that Connacht is unable to hide his revulsion as his disgust becomes clear as day on his face. A silence hangs in the air for a few moments as he recomposes himself before he makes up his mind.
Nope. Enough of this. I pass.
"Well. I appreciate your offer." Connacht says to the man, doing his best to recover from his slip up, "But ultimately the call isn't mine to make. Lord Sabinus will be in charge of the operation, you'll have to get permission from her to come along. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to." And with that, the druid takes his leave of the fortune teller.
The entire scene would have been shocking to just about anyone who knew the Imperial Agent- he was not the sort to pass the buck onto a superior (let alone a superior he found distasteful). But here he was. Two could play the game of shifting blame for mistakes onto another party. Admittedly, she hadn't actually attempted such an action yet, but she probably would if given the chance. Besides, Sabinus likely had a better chance of knowing if it was worth it to bring the ferret lover along.
It takes all of Connacht's restraint to avoid muttering a whole variety of foul things as he departs the immediate presence of Viorec, having to turn around mid way and gesture for Derwyn to follow after him. After finding the wolf to be stuck in a staring match with the fortune teller, Connacht calls for him, "Derwyn, come boy." After holding his gaze for a bit longer, the wolf lets out a wimper before making his way after his master.
Now, for the devil I don't know. He thinks to himself as he makes his way over to the stranger wrapped in a rainbow colored cloak. "Sorry for the delay, I don't believe we've met. Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name?" Connacht asks as he tries to size up the stranger, and hoping the revelation of a name would also give an answer as to the stranger's sex.
Viorec looks surprised when Connacht tells him the choice isn't his. The bright green eyes narrow and the man says, "Of course, I merely wished to indicate my desire to help. I didn't mean to disrupt the chain of command. Good day, Imperial Agent." Smoothly, the fortune teller leaves, walking out into the bright sunlight.
Connacht turns to the unknown person, wondering how long it would be until he simply met everyone in town. Wheldrake couldn't be that big, could it?
The person is nervous, that much is obvious to Connacht. They shift from foot to foot, hands tightly clasped behind their back in failed attempt to keep their wringing out of sight. Connacht does glimpse a determination though, a willingness to break rules or conventions. They also don't seem like they would lie often or well. A change from Viorec, at least.
"My name is Lin." they say, voice high but modulated, as if trained for singing or acting. Despite this, they stammer on, like a bad student called on in class,"I....I want to help your raid. I can heal people, if they get hurt. I don't like it when people get hurt." Seeing Conancht's face the persons sputters on, "I can help, I promise!"
Damn. The name doesn't help. Connacht does his best to push the issue aside for the moment."Well Lin- am I right to assume you're with the Shelynite temple?" The singsong voice and colorful clothing seemed to make that obvious enough, but better to ask now than to avoid any confusion later on.
Regardless of the kid's answer, Connacht found himself in a bind. A stubborn healer was exactly what he needed... and yet again, he found himself looking a gift horse in the mouth. He wasn't about to throw a child into harms way without ensuring the kid would be able to be safe. "Look, laddie," he selects the term figuring it's androgynous enough to work either way, especially given how young the child is, "I've got to ask- how old are you exactly? Have you ever had to protect yourself from an attack before?" The questions aren't asked dismissively, but out of concern for the child. Raids were a bloody business, after all. He wasn't going to let the kid have any delusions about what he was signing up for.
"Most of all- you know we'll be hurting the bandits, right? I don't relish violence, but there's not a chance under Heaven that tonight ends without some level of bloodshed." Connacht waits for the child's response.
Lin's face grows anxious and frustrated at Connacht's words. Clearly he knows if the conversation turns to physical fitness and ability to fight, he isn't going to win out. At least the kid is that self aware, probably a good sign.
Connacht watches the dark face think, transparent after the guarded demeanor of Viorec. A gleam of triumph fills Lin's face as he thinks of a counter argument.
"Does it matter how old I am? I won't....I won't be fighting on the front line. Just helping people who got hurt. I like helping people." He nods and adds, more firmly, "And I'm good at it! I've learned all sorts of things, to get better, and you'll need anyone you can get. Are you going to let someone...die, because I don't shave yet? That doesn't seem fair."
Ah, he doesn’t shave yet, implying that he’ll shave eventually. He’s a boy, good. Connacht felt a bit of relief knowing that he wouldn’t have to keep beating around the bush with that particular issue.
”Aye, aye.” Connacht nods. It was good the kid wasn’t full of himself- the last thing he needed was for the lad to run headlong into danger. ”That’ll be the plan, of course. You’re certainly not going to be on the front line if I bring you at all. But in a battle, things can get messy, chaotic- what’ll you do if one of the thugs gets past our lines and comes after you- no offense, but you look like an easy target. Or worse yet, a hostage.”
Connacht had an answer to this question- and at any rate, already planed to have a guard with the boy to prevent any such harm, should someone actually manage to get past them. He wanted to know the boy’s answer, just to try and get a snense of what the lad would do.
”One other thing- how exactly do your superiors feel about all this?” Connacht asks. ”Do they even know you’re out here offering this? I ain’t keen with making enemies of one of the two temples in the entire town- I plan to be here for a while, after all.”
He was being harsh with the lad- but he wanted to make share he was fully aware of just what he was getting into. Anything else would be manipulative on his end.
When asked what they would do in an attack Lin says simply, "Run away. Or try to use magic....but I'm not very good at using it against people. I....I don't like to hurt people, if I can avoid it."
Lin cocks his head at Connacht and says, with the innocent rush of youth, "What do you feel, when you hurt people? Do...do you get used to it?"
When Connacht mentions the young person's superiors, their face turns red and eyes avert, which tells Connacht all he needs to know. Lin is here without any permission at all. In fact, judging from the kid's body language.....perhaps against explicit orders. 'I am here on my own, just like everyone else. Why can't I help? Won't saving people make you less enemies then letting them die?"
Connacht nods his head as the boy responds to his question-the last thing he needed was for the kid to attempt to play the part of a hero. The imperial agent is just about to respond before Lin asks him to explain the emotional impact of what, as a matter of fact, was a solid third of his job.
"Personally? a bit. More than I'd like, kid. I don't take pride in that part of my work, but justice demands it. It's just something that needs doing." It wasn't exactly a pretty answer, but the kid was offering to stick his neck out for him, the least he could offer in return was a bit of honesty. He shrugs and goes on, "it's different for everyone- and you have some control over it as well. I try to fight against normalizing the messy parts of what I do. So far, it's worked."
You're as optimistic as ever.
In spite of the deference to authority he tends to show, the imperial agent smirks as he realizes the situation Lin is in. He'd been a willful youth at one point too, after all. As the conversation turns to talk of what would make everyone else more grateful, the Agent lets out a sigh. "You'd be surprised." Connacht releases a great deal of frustration at the way of the world in those three simple words, responding to Lin's naivete.
Connacht continues to think, still torn on what to do about the boy.
Lin cocks their head when Connacht shares his world-weary despair and says solemnly, "The world is unkind." It was a sense of the rote about it, like a catechism said daily or learned at your parents knee. Something bred right in your bones, even if you are a young and seemingly innocent kid. What exactly kind of place was this Haven, anyway, to instill this so young?
Then Lin does another unusual thing. Instead of asking more questions or advocating their case, the kid simply...stays quiet. Wide dark eyes look seriously at Connacht, patiently waiting for the druid to make up his mind. While the staring made Connacht a bit unconformable, at least Lin seemed sensible and level-headed enough.
Connacht can hear voices from inside the caravanserai and around him, people seemed to be trickling in, clearly expecting this building to be the source of further gossip and news.
Conncaht lets out a sigh at the boy's words. "Tell me about it." The kid was right, after all. If Lin was wrong, then he wouldn't have had to have killed his first man while he was barely older than Lin was.
Connacht thinks long and hard about the choice, blocking out the rumors of strife whirling around him as the citizenry makes its way to the caravanserai. I'm not sending him into the thick of things- Erastil, if I'm in error here forgive me.
"There are some conditions." Connacht begins to address Lin with the air of a man defeated but determined to mitigate the damage of his loss. "First of all- you're not wearing that." Connacht says as he gestures to the bright rainbow robes Lin is wearing. "Everything about you right now screams 'I'm an easy target.' you'll be wearing clothes suitable for traveling several miles across the desert, and if we can find a set of leathers that fit you'll be wearing those as well. You'll also be carrying a weapon- no, I don't expect you to fight." Connacht anticipates Lin's objection before continuing, "but the goal is to make you look like you can fight, at least from a distance. You'll have at least one person guarding you throughout all this, in the unlikely event that trouble come your way."
With the more pragmatic issues squared away, Connacht gets on to his more important concern. "Now, for the important part- I don't know for certain what exactly the priests at Haven said to you in regards to all this, but I have some pretty good guesses." Connacht lets Lin make of that what he will of that before continuing. "Let me make something clear right now- while the raid occurs tonight, I expect you to follow my orders- and I want you to swear to me by your goddess that you will before I let you come along."
"Think about it, if you need to." Connacht says to the boy. "You've got a couple of hours, and oaths should not be given lightly."
Lin nods as Connacht gives the kid rapid fire orders, eyes still wide. Whatever the Sabnius's family had said about the Haven, at least this member seemed willing to at least pretend to listen. Lin does balk whenever Connacht mentions a weapon though, "A...a weapon? Like a sword, I sad-" But stops when the druid explains himself.
Slowly, after taking a moment to argue with themself, Lin says, "Yes, but I won't use it. Not even if I am attacked, I'll run."
When Connacht asks for an oath the kid nods right away, "I will do it. I already have thought about this, more then you think. I...I swear by the The Incorruptible herslef, to follow your orders during this fight, as long as they do not defy her own sacred commands." Lin seems to almost smile at this built in loophole but adds quickly, "It is...mandatory for me to include that in any oath I give."
"Good. That's what I wanted to hear- you are not to play hero, you hear me?" Connacht almost felt sick about all this, but he just didn't have the manpower to spare to not accept this sort of help when it was offered. For some, adulthood and all it's burdens came knocking early. At least Lin was getting a chance to have some say in the mater. It was more than he had be afforded.
"No, you haven't." Connacht cuts of Lin before he swears the oath. "I've been in this town for nigh over 24 hours. You probably didn't know I existed until this morning, let alone that there would be a fight tonight." Connacht sighs ,"The rate rumors spread in this place is obscene."
"I expected nothing less than that." Connacht says as Lin adds the loophole into his oath. "You don't need to worry on that account. Now-" Connacht says as he makes stock of the situation around him, with throngs of people coming and going from the caravanasari. "Well, head over to the Sabinus Manor- explain that I got you to come along as a healer." He didn't like having to send the kid off on his own accord to deal with the noblewoman, but at the rate he was going he wouldn't be ready for the raid until dawn the next morning.
Connacht watches Lin hurry off, the young person's gait not the steady stride of a man or the more mobile grace of a woman. Still a child, whatever their strange background. Connacht hope he would not regret taking Lin into the inferno of combat or that Erastil would not punish him. Still, if someone wished to defend their community from danger and chaos....was that not holy, in a way?
Connacht is still grappling with this as he steps inside the cool caravanseri. He threads down dank hallways until he finds Trenzi's musty old office (more by following his nose then any memory of the building's confusing warren-like layout). The door is open, revealing two men inside.
One is the bookish administrator, just as reedy and dry as Connacht remembered him. The other is the plump, shrewd faced merchant from the caravan. Two birds, one stone?
"Ah, excellent." The merchant says waving to Connacht, "Just the man we needed to see." His friendly manner is only skin deep, Connacht can tell at a glance. This was not to be a mere social visit. 'Please, sit."
Trenzi relaxes, clearly fooled by the merchant's easy words. The man says, "Trademaster Serva here tells me you are going after the bandits directly? Is that wise? Might that not merely provoke them? Perhaps it would be to simply bribe them to move along, everyone knows bandits like easy coing."
Serva merely shrugs, sipping a glass of dark red wine, eyes fixed on Connacht.
Blast. Connacht thinks to himself as he enters the office and sees that Trenzi is already with the merchant. The plan had been to try and get some information out of Trenzi before talking to Serva, but just as he's about to back away Connacht is waved into the room by the Trademaster. "Thank you." Connacht returns the pleasantries with the awakened moneybag as he takes the offered seat in the room.
The imperial agent makes a mental note of Trenzi's gulability- that might have to be managed, and should it come to it might be exploitable. One thing at a time, though.
"Yep, that is the current plan." Conacht replies to the book keeper's question after briefly glancing over at Serva's wine. "Aye, they'd love that sort of an offer- if we had the coin for it." Connacht stops for a moment to think then asks "Does Wheldrake have the coin for something like that, should it be needed? We'll have to go over the town's finances at some point. At any rate- the issue with that plan is that once we've given them the money, they've got no reason to actually leave. They'll just think we're weak, and it won't be long before they take up raiding again and ask for more. Even if they leave, we'd just be shunting our problems off to another part of the Empire, which I somehow doubt my superiors would be thrilled about. " Not that it was entirely clear who his superiors were, but it was still likely true. If they cared at all. It was possible the bureaucracy of the Empire had forgotten they had ever even sent
"Now, Trademaster, Connacht turns to address the merchant, "You wouldn't happen to be transporting any arms and armor in your caravan, would you? Lord Sabinus has a mind to replenish some of her supplies in light of the upcoming raid, and it's possible you could be of help in that."
Connacht sizes Serva up, eyeing the plump merchant. The face is guarded, only the most shallow expression of friendly professionalism. What is underneath is...hard to say. A sense of watchfulness, of wariness. This is not a man who enjoys being drawn into things but one who enjoys knowing things.
"You do not need to ask me, Imperial Agent Connacht. I have, in accordance with both standing law and storied custom, filed a complete manifest with the local trading official. Our honored Trenzi, in this case."
Trenzi nods, old robes rustling. He hands Connacht a bit of parchment over, a stylized but readable list of Serva's goods. Bales of silk, exotic dyes, expensive jewelry, a few petty arcane items. A very wealthy and upscale haul but not unexpected. Only items of the most value are worth transporting from Casmaron on the Endless Way. Connacht looks over the list with a practiced eye. One did not work in Yanmiss long without becoming knowledgeable in the ways of caravans.
No, the goods were not to question but the amount was. Connacht had seen the caravan, Gods he had ridden on it, on his way back from the bandit attack. These goods would only have filled three fourths of Serva's space. They would not be empty. Of all goods, empty air was the most expensive of all to ship. No, Sevra was hiding more in his wagons, items he did not wish to explain on his manifest.
"Something wrong?" Serva says mildly, eyeing Connacht reading the paper.
Connacht takes his time going over the note- truth be told, he had to. He did not learn to read at a young age (not much opportunity for it, living a nomadic life in the forest), and truth be told was not as swift of a reader as he liked. Nevertheless, he was getting through the document, and Serva's gall was almost breathtaking. He must be used to fleecing Trenzi every time he comes through here. He had expected the merchant to be well versed in the art of mixing declared cargo with undeclared cargo with misdeclared cargo. But Serva was crossing a line here.
He's going to pay for this one way or another.
"Shame. We could have used some extra weapons for tonight." Connacht says tersely as he finally looks up from the formal report, sliding it across Trenzi's desk with a single finger while keeping eye contact with the Trademaster. "At any rate, we've located where the bandits are making camp- a valley a few miles off the Endless Way. Fortunately for us, there's only one entrance, so between Sabinus's men and your caravan guards there shouldn't be much of a problem making short work of them." There's no threatening tone, no scowl at the merchant- Connacht merely goes on as if Serva supplying his bodyguards to the raid was the most natural thing in the world. Without missing a beat, he continues, saying, "It's a good thing too that we're doing this now- I snuck into their camp and overheard serious talk of a planned attack on Wheldrake proper. Best to nip that flower in the bud, if you ask me.
With luck, the merchant would be more open to this friendly recommendation than Connacht had given him credit for, and the druid hoped the wouldn't be too difficult.
Mostly. Watching merchants squirm could be immensely satisfying, after all.
Serva's eyebrows go up when Connacht casually (and rather rudely) begins assuming the merchants full air and help. He lets the druid's talk runs its course however, merely watching him with bright, flashing eyes. He sips his wine, glancing back at Trenzi silently a few times. When Connacht finishes, the stout man clears his throat.
"Ah, a raid. Sesser and Orkum both spoke of it. I must commend you. Sesser speaks so rarely, I have often thought he had some oread in his background, to be so much like a stone. Then again, you are a druid after all? Perhaps speaking to stones is not such a marvel for you."
His smile does not reach his eyes, before going on "But you assume much, Imperial Agent. I am under no obligation to help with this. I am a private citizen, a merchant of the realm. It is your task to keep the roads free of bandits. I admire your work but have no desire to risk my considerable investment in such an enterprise. Do you have any idea how expensive caravan guards are? If the attack goes poorly or is improperly planed...." The man waves a hand negligently, "I could be in debtor's prison before the year is out. As for Wheldrake itself, I am sure you can defend it from a few poorly armed rabble, arguing amongst themselves then anything. You drove them off my caravan single-handely, after all."
"He's a decent man. It was nothing special." Connacht responds to the Serva's initial quip.
The imperial agent suppresses a sigh as the Trademaster goes on about all the reasons why, really, he just can't help. Connacht was unconvinced, not least because of the contradictory reasons the man gives. Besides, caravan guards were costly but not that costly. Either way, he was having a positively lousy time swaying people to do anything today.
Where in other situations he might give, this warranted a little more of a push. Not only had he saved the man's life today, he was repaying that favor by attempting to smuggle contraband, and didn't even have the good sense to claim he was carrying something all this way. Even misdirected cargo would have been less offensive than this nonsense.
"Bankruptcy? You won't be needing my help with that, given that about a quarter of your cargo is apparently empty space." Connacht picks the merchant's manifest off the table, holding it as he continues. "You wouldn't have happened to forgotten a sheet or two of the manifest, would you? We have to keep good records of this sort of thing, you understand."
Connacht lets the offer float, waiting to see how the man would react. If the man had any sense, he'd know that Connacht knew full well that he was on to the man.
Serva Rallus narrows his eyes slightly, looking at Connacht. There is no open malice there, no anger, just the steady stare of a man sizing up an unknown opponent over a chessboard. Clearly a struggles lies ahead but one must first test the waters and feel our your opponent.
"Is my reputation in question?" The merchant says mildly, eyes flicking from Connacht to Trenzi, who looks like he just bit into a lemon. "Is that a formal accusation, Imperial Agent?"
"Of course not-" Trenzi tries to interject, raising a thin hand but Serva waves it away, talking over top him.
"I am one of the few caravan merchants who still regularly visits Wheldrake. Most of the others have moved on to greener pastures, fickle to the needs of coin and idle comfort. But I, Serva Rallus, have remained loyal to old friends and bonds. And yet, here I sit, accused of illegal practices while sitting in your very home, Trenzi! I'm surprised, and a little disappointed if I am frank."
Trenzi looks caught, glancing between Connacht and the stout merchant, helpless. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air on the bank, pointless and soundlessly. Finally Serva says, turning back to Connacht, "Unless I am misinterpreting your words, Imperial Agent?"
"Formal accusation?" Connacht's eyebrow's arch up in surprise even though the merchant's objections were not at all surprising to the imperial agent. "I merely speculated that you might have accidentally left a page of the manifest back with your caravan. The wisest of men have been known to occasionally misplace something from time to time. A petty bureaucratic error of this degree could hardly be considered a crime, especially among friends, of course."
Connacht lets the fond words hang in the air for a moment, letting tensions relax and allowing Trenzi a bit of time to recover before suddenly shifting course. "Even though I haven't been here long, I know your connections here run deep." The imperial agent continues "I even saw you privately speaking with our beloved holy man, Yasin, shortly after you arrived I have to say I didn't have you pegged for a Sarenite when I first met you, but I hope whatever business you two had with each other went well- and I must say, your friendship with him speaks a great deal about you."
To Trenzi's ears, the words might sound as if Connacht were attempting to continue to make amends, but Connacht was hoping the words would be felt as sharply as a dagger point. Truth be told, Connacht wasn't sure exactly what the merchant's association with the priest was truly about- but he did know that neither party wanted it to be public knowledge. The Trademaster didn't need to know exactly what Connacht knew about the secret letter. The more Serva fretted over determining what he exactly Connacht knew, the better.
"In any event, Serva" Connacht continues, "I hope you understand that one of my top priorities here is to ensure the stable flow of commerce into Taldor, and to ensure an honest accounting of wealth. I'm afraid with that manifest you're going to be harassed by every experienced trading town guard from here to Oppara."
That you don't bribe.
"Allow me to expedite the process for you, Trademaster ." Connacht says as he rises from his chair. "I'll conduct a formal search of your cargo, right now. Then I can give you a letter with my signature and seal of office as Imperial Agent explaining that all of your affairs are in order and emphasizing all you've done for this little town on the frontier, along with a letter of recommendation to the town guard in Yanmis for good measure- I have substantial connections with them.. I wouldn't want a such a friend of Wheldrake or the empire to go through any unwarranted scrutiny on his way south."
Hidden in the threat was an offer, even though it made Connacht's stomach turn. If Serva was willing to offer men for the raid, he'd cough up the letters to him, search or no search. He just hoped Serva would see the opportunity and take the easy way out.
A real look of surprise and concern crosses Serva Rallus's face when Connacht mentions Yasin, clearly the first time during this exchange he has startled the merchant. The heavy man hides it well however behind a bland, polite mask. His eyes narrow however, considering Connacht in a new light, one tinged with a certain amount of respect.
Trenzi, robes rustling dryly stands up himself stammering, "What the Imperial Agent means...."
Serva cuts him off with a wave of the hand, eyes not leaving Connacht's rugged face. "I know exactly what the good Agent means, Prefect Trenzi." His words leave little doubt that the dueling threads of threat and offer are not lost on the merchant.
Remaining seated Serva goes on, coolly and clearly not concerned by Conancht words, "You do me a great service, Imperial Agent. Offering an inspection and new papers for free? Merely for carrying out my civic duty? And they say the honor of the Taldane Empire is dead." A short pause as the merchant sips his wine, then "But as you say, even the wisest merchant sometimes makes mistakes. Or, dare I add, the most honorable Agent. What if, during this complementary some discrepancy was found or imagined to be found? Would we really want such a petty legal argument to intrude on your very important duties? I would hate to bother the Lady Sabinus with such a...misunderstanding at this important junction. I know her well and while a dedicated civic leader, her patience for such things transnational is not renowned."
Connacht notes with a degree of amusement Serva get worried about the mention of Yasin. Other than that, it was a shame he wasn't able to shake the man a bit more, but either way the man was at least entertaining him. He could work from this.
"Oh, I'm sure that a friend of Wheldrake would have nothing to worry about." Connacht says as he makes his way towards the door. "Besides- you'll be right there with me, able to clear up any misconceptions I might have as I stumble across them."
Opening the door for the rotund man, the Imperial agent goes on."You're likely right about Lady Sabinus- which is why we need not trouble her with this matter. After all, I have within my authority to enforce the laws of Taldor by my own hand- you yourself agreed, after all, when you mentioned I should just go and hang the bandit I caught out while I was saving your life earlier. Now, if you'll lead the way, we can do this quickly- I'm sure you'd like to relax after such a long journey, so I shan't take up more of your time than needed."
With the formalities out of the way, he gestures for the merchant to take the lead.
Serva's eyebrows raise when Connacht moves toward the door, then slowly narrow. The merchant inclines his head in some sort of token, but the exact meaning is unclear to Connacht. Acceptance? Resignation? Defeat? Casual politeness? This trader was annoyingly difficult to get a bead on.
Then the rotund man stands up with a breath of a sigh. Turning to Trenzi he says, "Keeper, could you go tell my men I will be out for an inspection? Thank you."
The bookish man looks back and forth from Serva to Connacht, hands folded togetehr in his moth eaten robes. The man may be niave but he isn't stupid. Connacht can see Trenzi can at least see the outlines of the game going on. Finally he shakes his head and leaves without a word, closing the door to the office behind him.
"Ah, good man Trenzi." Serva says, eyeing the door. "He isn't corrupt you know, never takes a copper unless it is tradition or expected. Gives most of it to his sister anyway. Rare, int his day and age." Another short sigh and the merchant turns fully to Connacht, eyes sharp and present. "Very well played, Imperial Agent. I must admit, I underestimated you but the bit about Yasin....very good." The tone is light, casual, one colleague to another but Connacht can sense anxiety underneath, concern. This was an act, like any other.
"I suppose if I lend you men for the raid, this little inspection will go more smoothly?" Serva Rallus says, inspecting a nail.
That's... not great. Connacht muses as Trenzi solemnly walks out of the room. As the merchant goes on to describe Trenzi in detail, Connacht does his best to not let on how important of a detail that was to him.
With Trenzi out of the room, the druid leans back against a wall in the office with his arms crossed. and eyes the merchant as he secede his ground. "That's true enough." The imperial agent tells the merchant with more than a bit of bitterness in his voice. By some standards, what he was doing right now would put him in the category of all the other corrupt administrators in Taldor. "I'd say he deserves to be in a higher station, but the Empire needs good men in all it's regions, and there's no shame in faithful service, even if it's in a place as obscure as the Avin prefecture."
Knowledge of Trenzi's character would be important in the days to come- and knowing the man couldn't be bribed meant he was more reliable than 4 out of 5 administrators in the empire. At least I will never have to deal with any problems from that corner. He immensely preferred dealings with honest men then ones such as the man he was now talking too.
As Serva explains blatantly spells out the deal he had only tacitly offered, Connacht grimaces before replying. "You are a lucky man." Connacht goes on to say, not doing too much to contain his frustration with the situation. "I save your life- not to mention your cargo- and not 10 hours later you attempt to defraud the Empire of it's rightful tariffs. Fortunately, I'm a forgiving man, and the support of your mercenaries can serve as a sort of... informal tax payed in kind rather than in coin. It should make up for the deficit, and it's in service to the Empire. Be grateful that our circumstances- Wheldrake and the Emprire's- are such where you have the luxury of accepting the offer."
Not to mention, have the sense to at least have a manifest with enough goods to actually fill your wagons. Your simple oversight made all this possible. He wasn't about to give advice on more effective smuggling practices though, so his remarks are kept to himself.
After letting tensions cool for a few moments, he goes on to say, "Rest assured- they won't know we're coming, and I already have several healers on hand. I want to keep as many of our men alive as we can, and already have more than one healer in my employ for the raid. The bandits are a blight on this land and need to be pulled up from the root, and for your help in this matter- however it had to be obtained- you have my gratitude. Unless I find smuggled demonic artifacts from the worldwound in your luggage, we have an accord."
His orders had been to uphold the laws of Taldor. He had his limits for just what he would tolerate allowing the Trademaster to get away with, but the Empire needed those bandits taken care of more than they needed a 3 copper tariff on imported silk robes.
Now, shall we? Connacht says as he goes to the door once again to show Serva the way out. "The day grows late, and at the rate I'm going I'll have 3 people interrupt me on my way back to the Sabinus manner alone."
Serva's eyes narrow when Connacht implies that he will still be conducting the search, and even letting slip his intention to enforce certain ethical rules (even if his standards will be low).
The merchant steps forward quickly, standing nearly nose to nose with Connacht. The stout man is shorter then Connacht, but his personal presence is not diminished in the slightest by his size. With one quick motion he re-closes the office door, trapping both of them inside.
Without moving away the merchant says, voice low and dangerous now, "They have a saying in Casmaron. You can't both the sheep and the money."
"What we said before, both with and without Trenzi, about the bandits...that was a game, my young friend. I was merely testing you, to see what the new man in Wheldrake was like. Consider it am idle fancy of mine. I care nothing for the bandits and frankly thing it is a good thing you are rooting them out. A few stretched necks might keep the roads a bit safer."
He waves his hand, gesturing so close to Connacht he almost brushes the druid's chest. "But I will not have you inspecting and passing judgement or what you find or think you find. I have agreed to your little raid, do not push matters beyond. You think you have leverage over me, with your inspections and letters of approval?"
His voice is a mere hiss, "I will resists this search and if you somehow prevail, over my protestations....I will take vengeance. Not on you but on your charge, this town. I am one of the few traders to still come to Wheldrake and I assure you, if you inspect my caravan I will never set foot in this trading post again. Furthermore, when I arrive in Yanmiss, I will tell every trader and merchant that a new and officious agent has arrived in Wheldrake, one to be avoided at all costs. Word will get out and Wheldrake will become even more a ghost town then it already is. You will kill this town."
"Not only would this be a professional failure but," He points to the holy symbol of Erastil, "A theological disaster, if I understand your faith. The destruction of a community. Is that something you want on your conscience, merely to salve your pride?"
A moment passes, the two men face to face, then Serva steps back. He smooths the front of his robes evenly and goes on, voice more normal, "I am a reasonable man. I will still agree to lend you my men to quell the bandits. I can even agree to a feigned inspection, if you wish to impress your quality to the town. I don't care but if you think you are about to rummage through my affairs, free to make up whatever crimes or claims you wish, you are mistaken, Connacht Imperial Agent."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
And so I get a glimpse behind the mask.
With every word that pours out of the maw of the obese merchant, Connacht gets reminder after reminder as to why he disdains his entire class. The man was acting as if the laws of the entire Empire ought to bend to his whims and his interests, that the purpose of every Imperial Official along the endless way was there to facilitate the exercise of his fraud. At least the nobility with land understood that they could only do so much to defraud their own people before the peasants got uppity and impaled them on pitchforks. The appetites of merchants was unlimited. In more than one sense, given the sheer size of the man.
Connacht regards the man coldly as he rants about his power and leverage- The Imperial agent begins to make a move to grab the man's wrist as he waves towards him, but holds back as the man barely misses him. It requires more effort to hold his tongue, and the merchant doubtlessly notices one of his hands balled into a fist with his knuckles turning white.
Not now. Not yet.
He had more than half a mind to remind him just where exactly where the two of them stood. Yanmass was far, far away, and all his connections and friendships would do him little good if he found himself on the edge of the noose tomorrow at dawn. But he knew well enough that any such threats- at this juncture- would backfire.
.
"Honesty, is refreshing, isn't it?" Connacht asks the man as his scowl dissipates and he reminds himself that in this little outburst the merchant had done him a favor. The Imperial Agent now had no doubts about the character of the man before him. "For everything, there is a season, Trademaster." Connacht recites a phrase from the parables of Erastil at the man, reasonably confident the man would not know all the meaning the phrase held. "I suppose I'll have to settle for a passing glance at the outside of your wagons in exchange for the assistance of your men. Worry not- you'll get your damn papers."
Connacht eyes the man for a while longer, and like Trenzi before him, shakes his head. "Well then, I doubt we have more to say to each-other. Lets not keep your employees waiting." With that, Connacht leaves the room, not bothering to hold the door for the merchant this time around. They were quite beyond gestures of professional kindness at this point, after all.
Someone on the way from here to Oppara needs to see that cargo. It seemed like it might not be him, but one did not threaten economically devastating an entire community over a few pounds of smuggled salt. And his worry that he would attempt to "imagine" crimes did not work in the Merchant's favor. But all that would have to wait. Tonight, the bandits would be dealt with, and from then he could move onto less urgent matters. The merchant had won this round, sadly, if not the war.
Serva seems unconcerned with Connacht's biting sarcasm. Clearly the man has heard worse, working out deals of all sorts across campfires and tables for a lifetime. He merely gives the druid a flintly smile as Connacht leaves the room, the merchant following behind.
Outside, Connacht finds the caravan semi-organized in the grounds around the trading outpost. Men and women drawn up, corralling animals and wagons. Sesser and Orkum stand there, the latter barely able to stand still for the excitement, the former standing in well chosen shade. Both exchange a look with Connacht as he emerges, trying to divine what deal, if any, was made.
Serva steps into the bright afternoon sunlight behind the Imperial Agent, nothing but beaming smiles. "Hello, everyone!" he says, addressing his hired hands. "I see you have already heard the news. Yes, our intrepid law keeper will be going after the bandits and, of course, we will be assisting him. Bandits trouble us merchants just as much, if not more so, then townsfolk." The stout man turns to Connacht and nods his head, "Happy to be of service."
The trader turns to Sesser and says, a bit peremptorily, "Everyone ready?"
The weather beaten guard nods, waving a hand to a group of about a dozen or so armed men and women. All have that weathered, worn look that spoke of a lifetime on the road, and surviving many dangers, like Sesser. Connacht peers closer however and sees a resemblance beyond that of career. Relatives?
While the crowd murmurs at the news Serva says to Connacht, "Shall we proceed with the inspection?" There is the slightest edge in his voice, a tiny worry that Connacht may change his mind and go back on the deal.
Connacht smiles as he notices the wagons outside- namely, at the fact that they were, in fact, outside he'd be able to work with this in the long run. He lets Serva act out his role before moving up to the wagons. "This won't take too long" Acting out the farce, Connacht makes his way around the outside of the wagons in his mock inspection, doing his best to make the act seem convincing to onlookers.
Regardless if the charade is convincing enough, he returns back to Serva before too long. "It's good to know the Empire inspires such loyalty in her subjects. Like the Trademaster, he too is all smiles and formalities now that the two of them are in public.
Facing the assembled mercenaries, he addresses them, "We're meeting at the Sabinus Manner for the upcoming raid- those of you who will be joining us should head there post haste."
"Now, Trademaster, if you'll excuse me, I have more matters to attend to." Without another word, the Imperial agent heads off back inside the trading post, off towards his room in the building.
Connacht is a bad liar and it is blatantly obvious to any observers that his inspection is little more then a farce. He barely looks in any of the wagons himself and is instead brought out items by caravan workers, and matched up with the manifest. Serva however does the the job with grace and skill, having clearly done many such 'inspections' in his time. Connacht is forced to wonder when the last time, if ever, someone had really gone through the merchants cargo holds?
The druid spends some time staring at the wagons from the outside, but he gains little insight. They are are the usual big, well-made caravan wagons that fill the streets for Yanmiss and other trading route cities, made to last for many years through rough travel and little formal maintenance. These are older but well-kept, showing the scars and wear of many years on the road, fording river, dragged up hillsides and baked by endless sun.
The ground they are drawn up on is of little note. Dry, packed earth around the caravnseri long trampled to mere dust by the passages of many such vehicles for many years. In out of the way corners near the tumbled stones of the building weeds poke up, clinging to life despite the bright sun and acrid soil.
When Connacht says the rally point is the manor, Serva nods and turns to Sesser, "Sesser, you have command as usual. Keep the boys safe and do the Empire proud."
Connacht makes his way back inside, grateful for the lack of interruption as he attempts to clear out his mind of it's present troubles for the task that lies ahead of him- a task that, in his mind, is of at least equal importance to the bandit raid tonight.
The imperial agent had a letter to write to his wife. Although with luck, it would never be delivered.
Finally returning to his room, Connacht lays down several of his burdens- the shackles, the sword sheath, the quiver on his back, some of his leather armor. None of it would take long to put back on, but for now he needed to concentrate. Lighting a candle, he makes use of some paper and ink and gets to worse.
Dearest Wessa,
That was the easy part. Connacht sits in his chair for what seems like an eternity, but in likelihood was no more than a few dozen minutes. As the letter reaches completion in his mind, he sighs and picks up his pen and slowly begins to write.
You've never liked me being less than forthright with you. So- as you've probably guessed by now- if you're reading this, it means that I've fallen in service to the Crown.
I realize that this will not be much comfort- but I promise that my last thoughts were of you, and the time -however brief- we spent together.
If I may make one last request- remember that this life was never meant to last forever. I lived a short life- and not an easy one- but I pray that for my sake you can look back upon it and find in it something worth cherishing.
Till we meet in Heaven,
Connacht
Connacht carefully picks up the letter in his hands, watching the ink dry on the piece of paper while shaking his head. It's not nearly enough. But of course, he knew that going into the task at hand. The handwriting was merely adequate, the wording passable, it was far too short and overall it would do little to capture his devotion to his spouse. Of the two of them, Wessa was the scribe, without a question.
What was he thinking- if Wessa ever received this the last thing she'd be thinking about was his penmanship.
By the gods he hoped he could burn this thing before the sun rose the next morning.
After the ink dries, Connacht folds the letter into an envelope before sealing it up with candle wax- no official seal is needed, not for a personal correspondence. After the letter is signed and sealed, Connacht finally gets up from the small desk in his room before re-assembling his gear.
Now... to find Trenzi... He truly doubted the manager of this place was too keen on seeing him just yet, but hoped the man would be willing to listen to his request- from one family man to another.
Connacht heads outside, and moving from the dim interior to the outdoors is like stepping into an oven. Already the men assigned for the raids are gone, out of sight under the deep green of the orchards. More townsfolk have arrived, talking excitedly, pointing fingers at both the circled wagons and the manor home.
Connacht finds Trenzi outside, watching the caravans, a young woman at his side. After a moment he realizes it is Aedia, their 'evaesdropper' from his first night here. Then he had thought she was little more then a child, but clearly he had been wrong. This is clearly adult woman, although her smooth skin and simple clothes made her look younger.
The bureaucrat spots Connacht and frowns slightly, clearly unhappy at the druid's negotiations with Serva.
"Imperial Agent Connacht, this is my sister Aedia." He says stiffly, indicating the woman beside him. She curtsies, a gesture wildly out of place on the dusty packed earth of the wagon yard. It had the look of a very infrequently used but very practiced motion.
"Greetings Master Agent. My brother has told me a great deal about you." She says, voice high and clear, but her eyes harbor...distrust? How? Connacht had never even met this woman, was everyone in Wheldrake going to hate him?
Trenzi softens slightly, even before Connacht gives him the reason behind the letter. "Of course. It is a sacred trust, and I value that you entrust it to me. I shall defend it with my life and pray to the Gods I will not need to send it."
"Indeed, the Gods." Aedia puts in, looking at Connacht, "Will you pray in the plaza before you set forth?" There is a judgement in her words that Connacht doesn't quite understand.