AN: After spending thanksgiving break out of town-and away from all forms of computers-I have gotten some more story fluff to use here. Took more time than I'd like, but here is my best shot at keeping this story alive.
Thanks so much for your continued support. I love you guys.
"If this goes sour, I'll be taken' ye down with me," Zanth growled. Gangrel nodded, running his hand over the pommel of the Levin sword lent to him for the raid. As the gates to the city opened, the pair slipped among the crowds of people rushing to and fro.
It had taken three weeks of arguing, twenty-seven incidents of insubordination, and exactly five death threats to convince Zanth not to attack the port city of Tergaron in a traditional assault. Gangrel knew the city well-it had been a favorite of his during his days as king-and knew with a surety that any piracy attempt from the sea was doomed to fail. One of the most powerful generals in the Mad King's army held a personal stronghold within the city walls, with a personally loyal militia, which performed an extensive check on all ships coming in or our of harbor. All this evidence, and the Captain had still insisted on the raid.
Gangrel might have been seeking death, but being struck down in a battle he had not started seemed wrong, somehow. Like he deserved recognition before the final blow.
Though sheer determination, the servant had held his arguments steady and convinced the pirate captain to take a more subtle, complex overland approach. Zanth had not let any of the crew know that it was the Maggot's idea-not his own-to try a new strategy. The plan revolved around the pirate crew splitting into teams and infiltrating first the city, then the fortress, posing as travellers seeking aid. Once an audience with General Halstead could be arranged, the crew would meet up in the stronghold and lay waste to the city's treasury.
The plan was fraught with risk, but Gangrel knew the general very well: he was a good man. And good men have a pitiable habit of offering help to strangers, despite obvious risks.
"State your business," a guard by the stronghold's main gate growled. Gangrel stepped ahead of Zanth, earning a scowl from his captain.
"Travellers, Sir. We come seeking shelter and provisions."
The guard was not a tall man and squinted up at Gangrel, trying to see who he was underneath the hood that was carefully placed to hide his identity.
"Why didn't you go to the inn? This isn't a charity."
"The inn is full," Gangrel said honestly. Full of Pirates waiting for a change to enter the fortress.
"What is your name?" the guard asked with a heavy sigh. "I will announce you to the General, and he will see that you have a place to rest tonight."
"I am Dharkan. My friend is called Garn."
The guard nodded and marched inside the gates. Zanth glared at his crewman.
"Ye better know what yer doin', Maggot. This better pay off handsomely, or you'll feel the lash fer all the insubordination you've put up."
"The men need to mass about the gates. We'll open it once we have the general," Gangrel said, ignoring the threat. His Captain was livid, but decided to humor his cabin boy, stalking off to the inn to ready his crew. Gangrel checked that his hood was all the way up for the hundredth time. No chances could be taken when he was this near the Ylissean border to Plegia.
The guard returned well after Zanth, and guided the pair into a large room that was decorated with rich carpets and tapestries. While Gangrel didn't so much as glance at expensive decoration, the pirate looked around, impressed.
"What I wouldn't give to live in this palace," Zanth muttered. The Mad King rolled his eyes. A comfortable lifestyle, to be sure, but filled with expectations and responsabilities that could break a wyvern. His thoughts were interrupted as the guard returned, accompanied by the general. After an introduction, the soldier returned to his post outside the gates.
The general surveyed the pair of them, even as they did to him. General Halstead was a tall, well muscled man, with an air of battle-readiness. His cropped black hair was streaked with gray, as were his impressive sideburns.
"Perhaps you should remove your hood, good man," Halstead suggested. "There should be no need for secrets here, and I should like to see your face."
Unbeknownst to the General, those were the words that would seal his fate. Zanth drew his axe as Gangrel allowed his hand to grip the Levin sword's hilt. With his free hand, he pushed the hood back from his face. The General's face drained of color when he saw his former master.
"Do yer job, Maggot, an' get the location of the vault," Zanth ordered. "I'll be back with the crew. If he doesn't talk, gut him."
As his captain ran to open the gates, Gangrel drew his blade, pointing it straight at Halstead's chest.
"So, will you tell me where the gold is hidden, or do I have to kill you and find it myself?"
"Gangrel," the general gasped. "Is that you, sire? I thought you dead!"
"I am dead," Gangrel replied. "I'm just a maggot now, following orders. And don't think that I wont do as I'm told and run you through."
"What do you mean you're dead?!" Halstead cried. "You're alive, clear as daylight! And what are you doing, pretending to be a servant? You are a king!"
"Maybe once, but not anymore. It's not an act: I've fallen a long way. If you can call it falling. More like a rude awakening."
The general shook his head at his former king in amazement. Halstead had known Gangrel when he'd been young and idealistic, and had watched the change that lead to his becoming the Mad King. To see the man change in a way opposite from before was amazing and frightening. In Halstead's mind, Gangrel was still royalty, and to see him reduced to little more than a slave disgusted him on a profound level.
"Kill me if you must," the General sighed. "Release me from my duties and be done with it. I won't tell you where the gold is; you already know."
Gangrel sheathed the Levin sword and instead drew his long, steel knife. Circling around the soldier he had once commanded, Gangrel touched the sharp tip of his blade against Halstead's back.
"General Halstead," the former king said clearly, "I release you from duty."
The knife plunged into Halstead's back, piercing his heart. The man before him gasped and collapsed to the ground, spasming twice before he died. Gangrel looked at the steel weapon in his hand, watching the blood run down the short length of the blade, dripping red on his wrist.
"Maggot, where's the gold?" Zanth bellowed as he entered the room, followed by the crew. Gangrel halted his conteplation of his knife and sheathed it.
"Follow me," he ordered, ignoring the Pirates' sputters of rage and furious scowls. Into the labyrinth of halls, Gangrel led the would-be thieves, stopping at a large statue of the Fell dragon. As he pressed an indention in the statue's base, one of the walls opened to reveal mounts of gold, silver, and gemstones. The pirate gleefully grabbed as much as they could hold, hiding the spoils in pockets and bags. Gangrel took nothing aside from a single fistful of coins before opening another hidden door-this one having concealed a long passageway.
"This tunnel will take us outside of town," the red-haired man called. "We go this way and we don't need to face the soldiers stationed in the city."
Zanth scowled and stalked over to the servant, his axe drawn.
"What are ye doin' Maggot?" the captain demanded. "I should kill ye here an' now fer insubordination."
"I'm saving your neck," Gangrel snapped back. "You want to die by going out the front door, be my guest. I've given you an easy way out, so I suggest you take it and be pleased with the riches we've secured here."
Never before had the Maggot ever spoken so powerfully. In that one moment, Zanth was unsure who was really in charge of the raid. The Pirate had never seen such fire in the taller man's eyes before, not even when his hands were bloodied by his crew. For a moment, he was afraid.
Gangrel stalked down the tunnel, yanking his hood up again. He himself wasn't sure what was happening, but it felt good not to be the powerless one. It felt almost good, but his contentment was halted by a flood of bitterness.
Once again, there was blood on his hands.