Chapter 96: Gale Outbound, Utter Slacker Inbound
Marhal wasn't the one slacking off. The black horse he rode staggered this way and that like a sick nag, unable to walk straight. No real problem had cropped up. What injury could a guy messing with a perfectly dead horse's corpse even get? Once, it even tried to buck him off, but caught Marhal's glance and stopped dead.
What a clown.
Horses were sensitive creatures. For one this sharp, sensing the fragments of history Marhal carried wouldn't be strange at all. Seeing those fragments outright was generally impossible, of course. The beast just plain didn't want to go back.
Marhal had seen how it lived in the stable. Isolated from the other horses, no walks in its dreams. Even for humans, cramped quarters were tough. For a naturally skittish horse, worse.
"Come back with me when we head home."
The horse halted, as if asking if he meant it. Marhal tugged the reins once, and only then did it pick up speed bit by bit.
Marhal chuckled softly, too quiet for the quick-witted beast to notice.
Did it know? At their destination, a stablemaster far beyond this city's horse-handlers awaited. Could a famed general, once commanding a whole castle, not handle one horse?
Missing the wind, perhaps, it bounded along the daytime wasteland. The breeze slapping his face felt refreshing. But the job wasn't done.
Assassins still lurked in the city. The drugs spreading there needed rounding up, punishment dealt. And the city itself had to return to normal. For Marhal, tougher than nabbing the Black Fingers.
The black horse bore Marhal onward through the wasteland, facing the wind as the sun rose.
Back in the city, Marhal stabled the horse again in its single stall. It resisted, hating it, but no choice. Still work to do here.
A figure appeared at the stable entrance.
"All done?"
"They say old folks don't sleep. Up already?"
"Time I finished dawn chores. Lunch for me now."
"It served well. I'll buy it. How much?"
"Free."
Marhal eyed Rail. The old man said calmly,
"Bought it from the start as a bribe for the landlord. Just heading to its real owner."
"No special favors."
"Won't take more anyway."
Rail was the city's first investor. One of the few who could pitch ideas straight to Hugo. He could do more, but wouldn't. He knew from experience where to stop before it soured.
Marhal brushed past Rail at the stable door.
Rail asked, "Can you normalize the city?"
"Wipe out the drugs root and stem. Know a capable nun too. Call her in, and the worst fires get doused. Probably."
Marhal lacked full confidence because it was drugs. A saint might scoff at addiction, but could Alasil manage? Addicts were trouble. Discard the worst cases, sure, but treating each one? Ages.
Rail knew that too. Still, he trusted the young landlord's affection for the city.
Rail headed home. Locked the doors, multiple layers. Now it began. The great cleanup.
Marhal returned to the mansion. Someone else waited inside already.
In the reception room, Marhal sought Hugo first.
"Hugo, round up the crew."
"Everyone?"
"You weren't playing around at dawn."
"We've squeezed everything out of them."
While Marhal was out, Hugo and the others hauled the captured assassins underground for intel. Hugo couldn't do Marhal's refined torture. Mind games and atmosphere were Marhal's specialty. Strekl and Kaban knew torture, but stuck to basics. So they went plain.
"Scoop up the remaining assassins before they bolt. Raid the dealers too. Recover the drugs by force if needed. Burn 'em with the other trash now that the dump's collapsed. Finally, send a letter to the border church in my name. Want to borrow a nun named Alasil. No budget limit."
"Understood."
Hugo left the room. Next, Dagon.
"Dagon, runners and hiders underground. Got it?"
"No killing?"
"Yeah. Pay won't be stingy."
"Heh, that's a given."
Hugo haggled every coin, but Marhal spent freely. A few gold pieces? Pocket change.
Marhal filled his belly with reception snacks. As he crammed water and treats, Bayola asked,
"Nothing for me?"
He swallowed, opened his mouth, then shut it.
"Why?"
"Just got one. Strekl comes too."
"Detox done? Time to rise then."
Bayola's heart pounded. She raced down the hall, flung open Marin's door.
Marin sat up, clutching her head.
"Marin!"
Bayola dashed to the bed, hands on it, leaning in.
"How long was I out?"
"A day. Feeling okay?"
"Fine. Marhal?"
"Me?"
Bayola felt slighted. First words from the worried visitor, asking for someone else? Anyone would.
Marin pondered handling this pest. Wrong words, and training turns hellish for a while. Not ungrateful, though. First here after waking.
"What... he'll manage. Easy for you, right?"
Seeing Bayola's face soften a bit, Marin pivoted.
"Assassins? Drugs?"
"Black Fingers from boss down, all locked underground. Drugs? Pulling 'em out now."
"Already...?"
Just yesterday, smashing dealers one by one, hunting distributors and makers. Sorted in a day?
"That guy's work."
"Yeah. Marhal could."
Admiration rose with self-loathing and guilt for doing nothing key. If it wrapped overnight, she'd moved then—but slept through. Disgust at herself.
Marin hid the gloom. No point moping; it wouldn't undo facts.
As she threw off covers to rise, Marhal entered.
"Rest. Looks fine, but stamina's down."
"But..."
"Got a job then. Only you can do it."
"I'll handle it. Just say."
Strength filled Marin's voice.
"Everyone ignores me."
Strekl grumbled from behind, but no replies. The duchy's war hero had a petty streak now known to all.
Strekl and Kaban went to aid Hugo. Bayola followed Marin out.
Alone, Marhal entered his room in the mansion. Hugo used it, but his mansion.
Marhal's room was oddly laid out. Bed in corner, bookshelf beside. Desk against wall. Wardrobe by door, box for miscellany. Whole house crammed into one room.
He napped or did light work there. Separating office, bedroom, closet? Waste of space. Combined.
Marhal flopped onto the bed. The finest western craftsman's work, soft as boasted, caught him gently. Told him to fill basically; Hugo went all top-grade anyway.
Whatever else, bed's worth it.
Worth it, yet used maybe once a year.
Marhal closed his eyes. Magic nonstop since yesterday. Day: scouted city. Night: subdued Black Fingers. Rode all night chasing mage, boosting horse speed with spells.
Truth: horse spells tired more than city surveillance or subduing. Land-history magic barely burdens inside territory. Source from land itself; just focus.
Marhal scryed allies with magic. Hugo erecting pillars outside city with help. Squirming things below. Assassins' price just starting.
Marin and Bayola nearby. Marin might've seen; fresh shock for Bayola.
Dagon grabbing dealers with Hugo's men. Few settled locals; mostly from nearby drawn by drug buzz. Involved? Severed tendons, slave labor for life in city.
All smooth. Mountains more to do, but.
Rest now fine.
Western cities often lacked walls. Walls needed vast cash, stone. Stone scavengeable, but labor could build villages aplenty.
Best: wooden palisade. Marhal built none. Logistics hub; people, wagons radiate all ways. Walls, fences just hinder.
Out the city: wasteland. East wasteland drew thousands. Even caravan bosses delayed departures to gawk. Worth it.
Hugo signaled; men dragged assassins. Bound hand-foot, dragged like luggage, unable to walk.
Huge pillar awaited. Sharp merchants whispered at black wood.
Ebony. Pillar's wood name. Fake, carved from Bayola's find. Use fake? Loss anyway. For executions, showy use.
Might sell pricier than real.
Criminal-blood-soaked fake ebony. Looks real; mages might eye the fakery more.
Hugo ordered, "String 'em up."
Small groove atop pillar. Man tossed thick rope, hooked it. Tied one end to assassin, pulled other: hung dangling.
Twenty assassins swung from pillar. Onlookers cursed city-wreckers, hurled stones.
Most thought punishment done. But their executions just began.
Hugo checked faces. Resigned. Natural, after seeing Marhal's power.
Hugo disliked it. No mere deaths. Death luxury for them. Must learn pain beyond. Pay for actions. No calm acceptance. Souls dyed in agony, screaming. Then he'd allow deaths.
He'd make it so. Per his lord's will.
"Return. Back to your places."
Assassins' lives ended, but city mending began.