King's Pawn
Introduction:
Swamp Rats
Kingdom of Carmathia, County of Tharathorne,
Spiderfell Swamps, 1815CF (Carmathia Founding)
The Carmathian summer was notoriously merciless. The journey into the Spiderfell Swamps seemed to have been plagued with problems from the beginning. The heat of the Midsummer Day left the mercenaries sweltering under the noonday sun. Already the company had lost seven of its thirty warriors. Four had simply given up, complaining of the relentless heat they had turned back and made their way back to Beragon City. Two had died from poisonous bites and one had fallen prey to a swamp troll and all were suffering from Black Swamp Fever. Periator Horhart was unperturbed. The merchant and master alchemist would find the three lost towers if it was the last thing he ever did. No matter the cost to his hirelings.
The towers dated back to a time before the land had turned to swamp. Perhaps two hundred years had passed since the towers were lost to the outside world. Some even claimed that the occupants of the towers created the swamp with sorcery and forbidden magic to protect them from marauding tribal warbands and curious treasure hunters. Periator had no time for such old fishwives tales. There was valuable tomes and artefacts to be found. Of that he was certain. As were his financial backers. The Merchants Guild and The Alchemists Guild. In this dangerous venture.
Asher wiped the sweat from his brow, rubbing his hand down his trousers in frustration. It was hopeless of course, the blistering heat was sent to punish them for their arrogance. At least that was the general feeling among the mercenaries. Captain Geraint was doing his best to keep his men focused on the task of reaching the lost towers. But the mood was solemn at best and downright mutinous at worst.
They had only been in the swamp for a week and already there was talk of turning the boats around and heading back to the city. It wasn't helped by the fact that they had only been paid ten percent of their fee for the journey. Such was the desperation felt by many in these troubling times of war. Periator had insisted they would all be paid the full amount once they had completed the task and returned to Beragon. Many were unsure of whether to believe the merchant.
The further they had penetrated into the swamp the more dangerous it had become. They had spotted swamp trolls on at least four occasions now, and all were certain that an attack by the vile beasts was imminent.
Kingdom of Carmathia, County of Tharathorne, Beragon City,
Old Town, Beggars Boulevard, Abandoned House, 1815CF (Carmathia Founding), 1 Week Later
Asher barely moved as the kick to his ribs brought a muffled cry from his lips. As he lay on the dishevelled makeshift bed of straw. Sweat stained blankets. And piss soaked bedrolls for pillows.
"Hell's bollocks it smells like a desert slave arena pit in here. Move it, vagrant. We're shutting this doss house down. So either move or spend the next few weeks rotting in prison."
Asher pulled the lice ridden blanket over his head in protest at the torch now shining in his face. The bitter taste of stale ale was still strong in his mouth and his head swam, his vision blurred by the potent brew he had consumed the previous night. And waking nightmares danced a hideous diabolical horror show before his very eyes as the fever took hold and held him firmly in its grip.
"Leave me to sleep. You son of a whore spawned dog." Asher shouted, though his speech was slurred and almost unintelligible.
The boot to his stomach was agonising bringing a loud yelp from the excruciating pain. The guardsman brought back his foot again. This one was aimed at Asher's head. Asher pulled back the blanket just in time to see the guardsman's boot connect with his nose. He screamed in agony as blood burst from his shattered nose. Spilling onto the filthy blankets he had wrapped himself up in. He cursed and rolled away from a third kick aimed at his head.
"Call me a whore spawned dog will you, Scum." The guardsman shouted as he swore in frustration when his kick missed Asher's and stubbed his toes on the wall where they connected.
Asher rolled up into a crouch and pulled a stiletto blade from his boot sheath. He readied himself as the guardsman charged at him. But his vision was bad enough that he saw three men charging. He shook his head as he tried to focus. But he was too late to stop the kick to the side of his head. The pain was unbearable and he lost balance. Falling onto his side. The stiletto blade falling from his hand. He felt hands on him. Perhaps two or three men were wrestling his arms and legs. Trying to pin him to the ground.
At any other time he would have been able to put up a better fight. But this was not going to go his way. Besides his drunken state he was also suffering from a fever that left him drained of energy. Coughing blood. And with hot and cold flushes that wrecked havoc with his body.
He cursed the month he had spent in the Spiderfell Swamps looking for his employer's lost tower. They never did find it and the swamp had cost the lives of twenty three men, and the rest were in no better shape than him. Some were worst suffering from poison bites and the dreaded Black Swamp Fever. He lay still as they pinned him down. Not wanting to antagonize the bastards any more than he already had.
"Damn fool. You'll be spending a month at least in the cells. You should have listened vagrant scum." The guard sergeant said with a wicked grin that spoke all to well of the kind of place the cells must be.
"You didn't give me any chance to move. Your dumb ox of a guardsman was too busy …" Asher was cut brutally short as the guardsman stamped on his stomach. He couldn't help but throw up the full contents of his stomach, a mixture of vile looking liquid, blood and bile. He couldn't remember a time when he had felt worse than he did at present.
"Take this disgusting pile of whore vomit down to the cells. We'll think up some special kind of punishment just for him." The guard sergeant said with a vicious kick of his own. Asher looked up at the ceiling, the room spinning faster than he could handle and was soon falling into an unconscious state.
Asher awoke a day later. shivering in the freezing cold of the damp, rat infested cells below the streets of Old Town. In the much feared dungeons that were notorious for the wickedness of the prison guards. Although no one actually knew if the rumours were anything but rumours. King Ragnar was a fair man and not one for unnecessary acts of violence and cruelty. The same couldn't always be said for those who carried out their duties in the king's name.
Asher suddenly looked down as a sharp pain bit into his toes. He cursed as the rat seemed intent on making him its next meal. He shot up and launched the rat at the wall. A sickening crunch of bones was followed by a high pitched squeal and then there was silence as the rat died. Asher hadn't even noticed the man in the cell with him. He was hugging Asher's boots to his chest. As though he had found a treasure chest filled with gold and precious gems. Asher snarled and ran over to the man. His fist raised in a threatening manner. The old man yelped and scurried into the corner of the room. Flinging the boots away in terror at the thought of violence.
Asher picked up the boots and pulled them on. At least he still had his clothes and a pair of boots. He could only imagine what had happened to his weapons, armour, shield and backpack. All were now no doubt sold off by the guards.
"How long have I been here, old man?" Asher questioned with a slight hint of a threat in his voice.
"A day. A day you've been here. Thought you dead I did. I wouldn't have taken you're boots if I'd known you were still living. Old Henri's no thief." The old man pleaded.
"Do I look dead old man? Although it feels like all the demons in the hells have been dancing on my head." Asher complained as he felt his head and the blood that had dried into a hard crust from a gash at his temple and his nose which felt like it had been broken.
"Brought you in they did. Tossed you into the corner all bloody. You were mumbling something I didn't understand about a swamp and a tower. And something about being all a fevered. Thought old Morngrimm had come to collect your soul I did." The old man explained. Seemingly pleased he wasn't on the receiving end of a beating.
"Damn Morngrimm. He can wait for my soul like all the rest of those bloody useless gods." Asher shouted angrily. Never one to be much for worshipping or church going.
"That's blasphemous, that is. Strike you down they will, don't anger the gods while I'm around. I've lived a good life I have. When it's Old Henri's turn for Morngrimm to collect. I'll be glad to be spared the hells." The old man said with a glint of hope in his eyes and deadly serious tone to his voice.
"Lived a good life? Then what in the hells are you doing in here?" Asher said, amused at the old man's reaction.
"Framed I was. I never did nothing. Old Henri's as innocent as the day is long." The old man protested. Though Asher wasn't convinced.
"Whatever reason you're in here for. It doesn't really matter does it. We're stuck here until those bastard guardsmen come back and free us."
"Don't get your hopes up. Old Henri doesn't think you'll be going anywhere for a while. Pissed them off you did. Heard them talking I did. They want to hurt you, badly."
"That's good to know. I don't suppose there's any chance I'll get to see a healer for some medicine for this hells spawned Black Swamp Fever."
"You keep away. Old Henri not want anything that's catching."
"You old bastard. You can't catch Swamp Fever from other people. Be quiet old man before I come over there and cough all over you." Asher watched in amusement as the old man crawled into the corner with his ragged shirt pulled over his mouth.
"Hey, vagrant. Got a visitor you have." The prison warden shouted into the cell. Asher woke from his nightmare filled sleep. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus beyond the bars of the cell. He hadn't ever expected to see Periator Horhart again. The fat alchemist was as ever dressed in the finest silks money could buy. No doubt with the gold that was still owed to Asher and the other mercenaries.
"It's good to see you well. Young Asher." The alchemist said, though Asher doubted the man cared one way or the other how he was.
"Well, I don't call having to sleep in an abandoned building and then getting thrown into prison doing well. Not to mention this damned fever that seems to want to plague me until my last dying breath. Where have you been Horhart? You said a day at most to get the gold we were owed. It's been over a week and this is the first I've seen of you. The men are dying from all manner of poisonous bites and fevers. I have no idea where any of them are, not since being thrown in here a few days ago."
"Ah, well. I had some trouble finding your gold, a little problem with my business partners. But that has all been resolved now. I have the gold to pay you and the men and enough to have you released into my custody. More importantly, I have been granted enough funds to continue with the search for the lost towers."
"Lost towers? I thought it was just one tower."
"Our research has led us to believe that we seek three towers. Although it is not clear about which one holds the information and artefacts we seek."
"I don't think I want to ever see another swamp for as long as I live."
"But I can pay you double what we agreed last time. And pay you up front on trust that you will comply with the terms of our agreement."
"If there's any question of trust …"
"As I said it was a mere troublesome problem that has been resolved."
"And what am I supposed to do for travelling gear? Everything's been taken and no doubt sold by these damn guardsmen."
"Your stuff is in storage, vagrant. We're not thieves." The prison warden said. Wiping a long trail of snot from his nose and flicking it onto the floor.
"I can ease the symptoms of your fever now that I have access to my laboratory. What say you? young Asher. Will you join our great endeavour once again. The men will look to you for leadership now Captain Geraint is dead."
"What about the rest. We need replacements if we're going back into those gods' forsaken swamps."
"I will spend the next week recruiting replacements. And with your help we should have enough to continue our journey."
"And everything will be paid for in advance this time? No scrimping on supplies and equipment?"
"I have the funds now. Everything will be provided. Not to mention my own excellent supplies of potions and medicines will be available to all present for a very modest fee."
"You're all heart, Horhart. Alright, anything that will get me out of this rat infested cess pit has to be better than spending another day here in such wonderful company."
"Wonderful, you won't regret it. I promise you. Let him out, my good man. We have much work to do."
The prison warden sighed in disgust. It wasn't often anyone came to claim a prisoner. He'd been planning and looking forward to some special treatment for their newest prisoner. Now he would have to make do with Old Henri or one of the local drunkards. He walked slowly towards the cell door. Taking a long chain from his belt and sorting through his keys until he found the correct one. With another sigh he opened the cell door.
"You're free to go, Vagrant. Go on, get lost and don't come back. Or next time your stay won't be so pleasant."
Asher breathed in the fresh morning air, taking in a lungful and savouring the smell of raw sewage and the everyday aroma of life in the Old Town District of Beragon City. It was at least better than having to put up with the terrible stench of the prison cells.
He weighed his weapons in his hands. Thankful that he didn't have to try and find new equipment. Everything was still in his backpack to his complete surprise. But nothing would matter soon if he couldn't shake off the terrible fever that plagued him. He new the alchemist from reputation and didn't doubt he would have some kind of cure. He had to wonder how much it was going to cost him.
