"Servant of Empire" - Ch 11

I’m pleased to say our journey to Adelhome was uneventful. We divided up the gains from the giants equally – as it turns out the company exists as a contracted independent band, much like a mercenary company, at the pleasure of the kingdom. Part of this contract includes divides of all gains, and taxation thereof.

We arrived in midafternoon, having joined the main North road early that morning. Adelhome is a small place, probably not more than three thousand people, and rests in the foothills of a mountain range to the North. Old limestone hills roll around the town, and a river passes directly past the center of town. The river has enormous granite columns and ridges rising several hundred feet up, with forest adorning their tops. It’s clear that once upon a time this area was a huge lava floodplain, and that the softer rock has been worn away by time and erosion, leaving these towering harder stone plugs still standing. Around the rolling terrain small farms are dotted, some in the shelter of the rock faces, some out on the floodplain of the river.

Up atop an overlooking plateau of granite, I could see the remnants of a castle, its walls broken. Rendo saw where I was looking.

“There used to be a king here, small-timey. His castle,” he pointed to the ruin, “…is all that’s left of him. He was crushed when Banner first exerted itself as a kingdom a few hundred years ago. We had to clean out some bandits from that ruin when we first formed up as the Wayfarers.”

“That was a fun time, not.” Nix muttered.

“Yeah, but it makes for a good memory now,” Rendo said.

“Maybe for you. You didn’t spend three days wet in the cold.”

A wide stone bridge passed over the river from the farmlands South into the town center. We rode up to find a short queue of farmers wagons stuffed with caged geese and chickens, and one which looked like a spring grain crop. The tollkeeper was cataloging each wagon and assessing a fee to them before they could pass. Two guards flanked him, each with a straight short sword on his hip.

“Everyone pays to use the king’s bridge,” Wynter said. “The next crossing is a fjord something like five miles further West, then you have to come all the way back. So you can save the money in exchange for a lost day and possible damage to your vehicle, extra risk, or you can cross on the bridge.”

He pointed to a sign on the side of the road, which I hadn’t read (the Trade language sounded right, but the writing on that sign wasn’t anything I was familiar with). “That’s the schedule there – 1 penny for each chicken, three for a goose, a silver for an ox, and so on. They are refunded for everything they bring back home over the bridge.”

I could see that the main road continued through the town and up and into the forests where the foothills became taller. I pulled my hood up over my head and horns, and curled my tail up under a fold of the horse’s blanket. No desire for extra trouble.

The town itself was typical, only one building taller than two floors (the main inn, as it happens, had three). Whitewash over stone and wood. Village architecture seems to be similar even after millennia. A short wall, perhaps eight feet high, ringed the town and was broken only by the river. Occasional soldiers patrolled its length. Their stance seemed to indicate training, but I couldn’t imagine this frontier town to be subject to too many serious attacks.

“Mostly raiders, I take it?” I gestured towards the soldiers.

“Yeah, orcs or goblins occasionally try to raid the town. The river protects the farmsteads to the South for the most part. The trolls were the first really serious threat this place had seen in ages.”

Smoke from various chimneys rose in thin threads to an inversion layer a few hundred feet up, and the thick forest to the North still steamed a bit in the sun as we rode across. Wynter moved up and spoke to the tollkeeper and flashed some papers, which apparently got us free passage. We stopped at the city center – the ‘rathouse’ they called it, much to my surprise and good humor – and paid our taxes on what we’d gained from the giants as well as making a report on the action to the local burgher. I also signed some papers to officially register as a member of the company.

Rendo fell in beside me.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked.

“Well, Wynter’s house is a long way out, so we generally stay at the inn.” Rendo replied. He pointed to it with his bow. “Should be some food there, the Steaming Green is pretty well-stocked.”

“Okay, sounds good. I’m definitely hungry, and a bath would be great to get the road dust off.” And the troll-stink from under my fingernails, I didn’t say. The smell still hadn’t completely faded. It was a small town, but maybe they had a perfumery that could give me something to mask this cloying stink until it went away.

Across the bridge, several small stalls were set up selling bread, pastries, beer and roast ham with onions. The smell was overwhelmingly good, and got my stomach veritably groaning to be filled.

“That smells fantastic,” I thought out loud.

“Yeah, that’s the traditional every-day street food. Some time they’ll have this great big pan out where they do potatoes, onions, and mushrooms with a garlic cream, that stuff is fantastic when you’re coming off the road.” Nix said. “I’m ready for some serious chow too.”

Small children were also on the road, offering flowers and rolls. I gave a couple of coppers to one and got a hard-crust brown bread with a wad of butter to shut my stomach up. I think she noticed my hand, she stared at it fairly hard as I took the loaf from hers. Hopefully it was just the skin color that gave her pause, but I pulled back to myself and nodded politely as we moved on.

We reached the Steaming Green in short order. The hanging sign depicted something I wasn’t expecting – instead of a foggy meadow, it was emblazoned with a big green turd, steam rising from it.

“Not the best advertisement for one’s food,” I offered.

Nix chuckled. “I said the exact same thing when I first saw it.”

Wynter was tying up his horse and looked over with a tight grin. “Don’t let the sign fool you. It’s been named that forever. Probably was named that to keep outsiders out.”

He looked at it wistfully. “It’s one of the things I miss most.”

Ah, right, he doesn’t eat. I simply can’t comprehend how unlife would be. No eating? No steaks, no pies? And no beer or whiskey? I guess it puts truth into the phrase, ‘that’s no life.’

Of course, I suppose no dysentery either. Or latrines at all, for that matter, so it would go a long way to explaining why an army of undead is often a priest’s or wizard’s choice. Very little upkeep.

Sered flagged one of the stable-hands and pointed out our animals, and we gathered our belongings to enter. I slung my pack over one shoulder and headed for the door.

Inside, the ceilings were low and stained with woodsmoke. A large hearth at one end of the room smouldered, surrounded by small tables and chairs. The other side of the room was dominated by the bar and its back wall crowded with tapped barrels. Two tall, long tables that provided resting places for patrons to rest their drinks and elbows while standing. Two farmer-looking men were sharing a table near the hearth, and a middle-aged man was wiping down a clay mug behind the bar.

“Travl’rs,” the barkeep nodded at our entry. “Ah, the Wayfarers. Welcome back.”

Rendo raised his hands over his head. “We need beers, sir! And what’s on the menu?”

The barkeep started checking mugs and filling them. “Pig’s not done till later tonight,” he said over his shoulder. “Have chicken stew, that work for you?”

My stomach practically leaped up my throat to strangle my brain. “That’ll do perfectly,” I choked out.

I realized I was going to have to find myself a personal mug. If I was going to be traveling places, I was going to need one.

“Rooms same as always?” He asked.

“Yes please,” Sered said while hanging up his cloak on a peg by the door.

I dropped my pack on a chair and unclasped my cloak. “Do you have baths here?”

“Got two in the back, yep,” the man said, glancing over his shoulder from the mugs that were rapidly filling up. As soon as he saw me, his gaze locked on my horns and he froze.

“I don’t bite,” I said. “Unless bitten first, I guess.”

He frowned, confused. “Your kind aren’t…”

“…going to go hungry in this fine establishment.” Nix finished for him. “He’s with us.”

The barkeep shook his head. “No, Shadrim aren’t allowed here. Bad luck.”

Rendo started to say something, but I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.” I said. I tried to cover my anger and disappointment. “I’ll figure something out.”

I re-slung my pack over my right shoulder, and pulled my hood back up. I could hear arguing back in the room as I left, but I didn’t pay it a lot of attention.

My horse was still here, the stable-hand hadn’t come for it yet. I parked my pack on the saddle-horn and untied her, then walked down the street looking for the general store. I paid for a large bowl of some kind of meat with a strange, shapeless pasta, and ate it as I walked along. It filled me up quickly, though I have to say I’d rather have been seated with a mug of beer.

I was angry, yes, and frustrated. Most of all I was simply stunned, and hurt – I’d never been refused service in all my life. It was inconceivable that a noble would be turned out simply because of what I was. I was a war hero, for the King’s sake! Granted, none of these people knew what war.

A few small market stalls were scattered around the town square, and I quickly found the place among the buildings there. Inside, a few humans – I almost said ‘people,’ but a division existed now where I didn’t see one before - were bustling about the shelves while the shopkeep weighed potatoes for a woman at the counter. I took down a small sack of flour and made my way over to the shop assistant, who was sweeping out one of the aisles. I grabbed several candles on the way as well.

He didn’t look up as I approached.

“Excuse me,” I said.

He still didn’t look up, but I could tell I had his attention. “Yes sir?”

“Is there a place – not the Steaming Green – where I can find a room for a week or two, and maybe a stable?”

“Well sir, the town stable is a few blocks North, just inside the wall,” he gestured with a hand the direction. He still didn’t look up, and I began to wonder if something was wrong with him. “As for a room, I think the Widow Madeline was renting a room out. She’s three streets West, green house on Elm Street. Sign in the window, can’t miss it.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Sir?”

“Sorry, you just weren’t looking when you spoke.”

“No sir, Mister Gibbens doesn’t like me looking at the customers.”

“Why is that?”

“My face, sir.”

I began to understand. “May I?”

He looked slightly up, but still didn’t meet my gaze. I could see he had severe scarring across the right side of his face, it looked melted.

“Were you in a fire?”

“Hot oil, sir, when I was young I had an accident in the kitchen.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, son. Everyone has problems. Some are just more visible.”

“Thank you for saying so, sir.”

“I’m learning that myself, really.”

“Sir?”

I held the hood of my cloak open a bit, so he could see more of my face. His eyes widened a bit in surprise, and a little fear.

“I see, sir.”

“Do you still go in the kitchen?”

“Yes sir, I’m quite a good cook for my family.”

“That’s good. Thanks for the help.” I offered a couple of pennies to him, which he stashed away quickly with a nod of gratitude.

“Let me know if you need any extra help, sir, I’m always here.”

“I might. A man like you is in the right place to hear things, and you seem like you are good at not being noticed. A man in that position could make a fair bit of coin to keep a man like me informed of any interesting goings-on. What do you think of that?”

“I think my luck might have turned a fair bit today, sir. How would I know what counts as interesting?”

“Well, let’s start with anything noticeable at all, and over time I’ll help you learn what to filter out. Fair?”

“Very fair, sir. How will I know how to reach you?”

“I’ll drop by from time to time, and once I set myself up with a place to stay I’ll let you know where I can be found. We’ll also set up a signal, so if something pops up you can let me know you need to see me.”

“Yes sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Charles, sir. Charles Montee.”

“Nice to meet you, Charles. I’m Azrael of the hou…oh, just Azrael.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No, just call me Azrael.”

“Yes, sir.”

I didn’t push the point.

“Now, I think it’s time for me to pay for these, and pay a visit to the Widow Madeline.”

“Yes sir, many thanks, sir.”

I patted him on the shoulder, and went to the counter to pay for the goods I had picked out. I pulled two large pickles from a large glass jar and added those to my selection. The shopkeeper – Mister Gibbens, I supposed – cast a bit of a glare over my shoulder when I arrived.

“He bother you there, sir?”

“Not at all, it was I who was the bother.” I pulled my hood back a bit and started fishing out coins. I could see him tamp down his initial fearful reaction quickly, but I knew he was startled. “I’d like to buy these, and are those butterscotch sticks there?”

He had to push himself to tear his eyes away from me and look back over his shoulder to the container I was pointing at.

“Yes sir, they are.” A slight stutter

“I’ll take two dozen. How often do you re-stock?”

“Takes about two weeks to get fresh ones in.”

“Okay, I’ll take them all then.”

“As sir wishes.”

As I emerged from the shop, I settled the package into one of my saddlebags and walked my horse down to Elm street, chewing loudly on one of the pickles. It was very fresh, crispy and not too sour. Shame I didn’t have any good hot sauce for it. I doubted I’d be able to find any Voruscan pepper oils here. I also had a large sack of tobacco and a small box of six cigars – they were the only ones in Adelhome.

Most cities and towns stink badly – not so much, this one. A prevailing South wind seemed to be blowing any of the more common smells off into the forest, and after a few minutes I realized that there wasn’t any real street sewage. Sure, a few buildings were obviously used commonly as places where men would urinate, but there wasn’t any center-of-the-street gutter. Underground sewers? That was very interesting. It must be a leftover from when this place traded with the elves, their sense of smell is keener than humans, and they would have been put off from trading if they had to walk through a place that stank of waste. It all clicked with me then, the town had seemed strange before, now I realized it was the absence of the smell of waste.

As I made my way across the square, I distributed the candy to various children who were working or playing in the plaza, with similar instruction to that I gave the shop-boy. Best to get an intelligence network going early…if this was the Wayfarer’s home town, it would not do to be caught unaware of goings-on.

I found the green-painted house right where Charles had told me it would be. A two-story town home, with a tiny garden out front. It abutted a second house to its left, and to the right a tiny alleyway led somewhere behind it. In the window, a small sign read one word, “Room.”

I walked to the door and knocked firmly. A few moments later, I heard a child’s voice saying something, and the door unlatched and opened to reveal a small human boy, perhaps seven years old.

“Yes?” He said.

“Hello. Is your mother home?”

The door closed. I heard a muffled shout, “Maaah!” Steps rapidly receded into the background.

A few moments later I heard heavier footsteps approach. The door opened again, revealing a woman in her twenties, wearing a common dress and grey shawl.

“Can I help you?” She said plainly. Her accent was atrocious, and I could barely understand her. Or, probably more correctly, mine was – seeing as she lived here and I didn’t.

“Madam Madeline?”

“Yes, that’s me.” She looked a little nervous.

“I’d like to inquire about the room, please.” I drew my hood back to reveal my features. I’d rather have that discussion out of the way now rather than waste her time and mine. “Charles at the store said you were renting it out.”

She looked relieved at mention of the room, squinted when she saw me, and frowned a little. In a moment, her expression softened and she nodded. “Come in. Boots at the door.”

I took off my boots as instructed, and followed her up a very narrow set of stairs. Up a hallway she then used a key to open a door, revealing a small room with a comfortable-looking bed (granted, any bed looked comfortable to me at this point) and a wooden bureau with a washbasin on it.

“I make breakfast at six bells, clean the table at seven. Dinner’s the same – it’s on the table at six and done at seven. The well is in back, you can carry your own water. No guests, and no drunken behavior in my house. The front door is bolted at ten bells.”

“I see. And the cost, ma’am?”

“A crown per night, paid weekly in advance.”

“How many keys to the room are there?”

“Only two – I keep one and you have yours. Yours will also work on the front door, but as I said, if you aren’t in by ten the door will be bolted. And stable your horse in town, I don’t have a place for it here.”

“Of course. This seems like it’ll work just fine for me, if you are agreeable.”

She grunted once and nodded. She offered a key, and held it out as I counted out seven silver crowns out of my purse. The coins disappeared into a pocket after she quickly looked them over.

“Thank you,” I said.

She nodded, and left me. Her steps receded down the stairs, and I heard her speaking to her son briefly. As I unslung my pack and laid it on the bed, I heard his steps coming up the steps.

“Mister?” I turned to his voice, to see him standing in the door.

“Yes?”

“Mam said I should introduce myself, that you’ll be staying here for a little bit.”

I brushed off my hand and extended it. “I am, yes. Pleased to meet you, my name is Azrael.”

He shook my hand, his face a little nervous. “I’m Timothy. Are you really a Shadrim?”

I felt with my left hand up on my head, patting at my horns. I turned and looked behind me, twitching my tail for effect, and feigned a look of surprise. “Oh my! How’d that happen?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve got…wait a second, I am Shadrim! When did that…I guess I must be!”

He snickered for a second, then rolled his eyes. Taking a very stern look, he planted his hands on his waist. “You knew all along. You’re faking.”

I winked. “You got me. Yes, I’m a Shadrim. Actually always have been.”

“I thought so. Do you eat little kids?” He was frowning at me now.

I couldn’t speak for a moment. Eventually my voice came back. “What??”

“Don’t you eat bad little kids?”

Ah, right. “No, I’m afraid not. Never liked the taste very much.”

He nodded. “I thought not. I knew Mam was making that up.”

“You’re pretty sharp for a…how old are you?”

“Eight.”

“For an eight-year-old. You’d make a good soldier.”

“I’m going to be a tailor when I grow up.”

“Really? I’m sure you’d make a fine tailor, too.” Who was I to know? Tailors needed brains as well, I suppose.

“My dad was a tailor.”

“I’m sure he was very good at it.”

“Yes, he was. I used to help him.”

“That’s very commendable of you.” I closed my pack and leaned it against the wall. “I’m afraid I have to go, Timothy. I have to take my horse to the stable.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. When are you coming back?”

I thought it over. “Probably this afternoon, but I’m not sure.”

“Do those hurt?” He pointed at my horns.

My eyes went up. “No, they’re a bit like fingernails. They don’t feel anything.”

He nodded and pointed at the scar running up the base of my left horn. “That didn’t hurt, then?”

I passed my fingers over the scar and the mottled skin beneath it. “The part in my horn didn’t, but it was more than just my horn. See this scar?” I traced it down from the horn to where it ended on my cheek.

“Yeah.”

“This part hurt.”

“Ow. How’d you get that?”

“I was in the army, and I made a big mistake.”

“Did orcs hit you?”

“No, not an orc. My commander did this.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“Well, he was my commander, he wasn’t supposed to be nice.”

“Did you hate him?”

“No, he was right. We became friends a while later.”

“I’d hate someone who did that to me.”

“I suppose in some circumstances that’d be right. I was lucky, we ended up liking each other.”

He rolled his eyes again. “You’re weird.”

I nodded. “I guess a little. I’m Shadrim, we’re weird by nature.”

“You better get your horse. Mam will get mad.”

“I guess that’s right. It was nice talking to you, Timothy.”

“Hey, can we be friends?”

“I don’t see why not, sure.”

“Great! I’m going to tell all my friends that I have a friend Shadrim! They’re going to be soooo jealous!” He sprinted down the steps and out of sight.

I shook my head with a grin and headed downstairs myself, locking my door behind me and pocketing the key.

Going out the front door, I gently shut it and collected the reigns of my horse. “Kids don’t change much, I guess,” I told her. She had nothing to say on the matter.

I walked her to the stable, and arranged for a week’s stay for her. Collecting my remaining belongings from the saddle, I paid the stablehand for a week and turned around to try to decide where to go next. Shouldering my saddlebags and carrying my bow in my off-hand, I started back towards the town center.

A moment later, I saw Rendo come around a corner and spot me, jogging up a moment later.

“Hey, found you!” He grinned.

“Yep, sure did.” I was glad to see him, but still put off at my encounter in the inn.

“We had some words with the innkeeper after you left. He’s said you’re welcome to drink there as long as you’re with us.”

“Generous of him,” I said.

“Well, Sered figures we can bend him further, but it’ll take some time.”

“I’ve already arranged a room and board,” I pointed out.

“Really? I was going to say we could probably sneak you into one of our rooms this evening. Glad you have something better lined up.” We were walking steadily back towards the town square.

Something strange wafted by. It was on the wind, in the air. Dusty, sharp, like freshly-fractured granite.

“Hey, do you smell that?” Rendo asked.

I nodded, looking around.

We’d reached the edge of the square, where people were bustling about doing their daily routines. The wind was still blowing gently from the South, but there was something askew. At first it was just the smell…but shortly the wind started to pick up, and most alarmingly a faint tremor made my feet tingle.

We looked at each other worriedly. “I’d better suit up,” I said as I unslung my saddlebags and grabbed my chain shirt out of one.

We both started jogging towards the Steaming Green, to meet up with the others.

And that’s when we heard the first scream.

(All content here, outside of those elements attributed otherwise, is copyright (2025-) Thomas Theobald. With the exception of AI training, personal use with attribution is granted.)