Brewer King 34 (Patreon)

Attempting to find Pavano and the Exonaris family within White Tower at night was a near impossible task. It wasn’t that the city was a sprawling place, it was actually fairly condensed, with homes, warehouses, and workshops all tightly packed within three story building that towered everywhere.

The city reminded San of the denser parts of Seattle, but without the wide streets and with a bit more foulness to the air. A world without refrigeration and limited washing and waste disposal left a ripe smell in the air. It wasn’t as bad as Blackened Bridge, but it would take some getting used to. As it was, San hadn’t bathed in days so he was felt as if he were contributing to the overall aroma of the city.

“I should have just gone back to the barracks,” Elgava said. “I’d have gotten some soup and a couple of mugs of free wine.” She hugged herself as they walked down the streets.

“Perhaps, but you’ve been kicked out of the Levy now, lass,” Bostarion said. “The Mage saw to that.”

“What was with that?” San asked. “You’ve always sounded like you didn’t want to continue being a soldier.”

“Aye, spending my life fighting for the Baron would have been hell,” Elgava said. “But as you used your own gems to Level me, I’m no longer subject to the Baron’s Levy. If I had gained a level from Death Leveling or taking gems that were supposed to be the Baron’s then I’d be in his service for the rest of my life. Havatair is like that. You can get rich in the Baron’s service, but mostly you end up dead.”

“Becoming an Adventurer ain’t any easier,” Bostarion muttered.

“Aye, but I got San here to do the heavy lifting,” Elgava said.

“I don’t think I’ll continue being an Adventurer,” San said.

“What?” Elgava demanded. “I have Levels. I can’t just walk away from this now. Unless I want to run away to live with the fucking woodland savages. It’s either fight for the Baron or sign up as an Adventurer with the Corvanus Cult.”

“I’m not registered as an Adventurer,” San said. “Nor am I a Barony citizen. I am a Brewer.”

“Woolly shit,” Elgava spat. “You’re shit with a sword, but you’ve got strength and speed and luck on your side, San. You’ll make a decent Adventurer. Imagine all the wealth you’d obtain, all the wine you could drink, all the meat you’d eat.”

“I think I can make my own wine,” San said.

“Leave the lad be, lass,” Bostarion said. “As a Sol Suvanis Adventurer, you’ll only need to give the Barony an equivalent of one level every two years. That’s ten green gems, we grabbed more than that in less than two weeks.”

“Forty thousand sars,” Elgava said. “Can you even imagine that many sars?” she shook her head.

“Ten thousand in White Tower,” San said, remembering Pavano telling him the prices.

San wondered about the gems he was carrying, over a dozen yellows, a red, five green, and the black one that the had no idea what to do with. The strange gem was terrifying to look at, as if it were calling to him. San shook his head. He couldn’t sell the yellow gems and the Cults would kill him if they found out he was carrying so many on his person. The red and greens he could make a decent profit from. As for the black, maybe he could find a deep hole to throw it down into.

“Still more than my family’s made in the last ten years,” Elgava said. “More than I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I was given a two thousand five hundred sar Nox warhorse,” San said. “Pavano sold it for three woollys.”

Bostarion laughed and Elgava groaned. They made their way down the streets, following Bostarion as he knew where to look first. It was several minutes later they arrived to a run down warehouse that smelled of horse manure and urine.

The ranger banged on a door for several minutes before a small dark man carrying an oil lamp appeared. He glared at the three of them and spat onto the ground.

“If you wanna rent out a stall for your ‘fun’,” he looked from Bostarion to Elgava, “it’ll be a sar for the night.”

“That’s a high price,” Bostarion said. “A bunkhouse is two sars a week.”

“Try fucking in one of those places,” the man spat back.

“I ain’t looking for a place to fuck,” Bostarion growled.

The man squinted and saw San. “You like watching? If you let me watch, you can have a stall for two hours. That’s a big foreigner you got there, could probably put on a show. Give me a few hours and I can make you some sars.”

“We’re looking for some woollys,” Bostarion said.

“To fuck?” the man looked confused.

“Sweet Senta,” Bostarion muttered. “You damned fool. We’re not here to fuck or fuck anything.” The ranger grabbed the man by the tunic, yanking him out of the threshold. “We’re here looking for six woollys that might have arrived within the last few days. There’s an old man and a young lad, the old man talks a lot and goes by the name Pavano. The boy’s Exonaris komai.”

The man blinked for a moment. “Ah, yes. I know of them,” he said. “They’ve stabled their woollys here. That old fool overpaid me.” The man grinned.

“Know where they’re staying?” Bostarion asked.

“No.”

“You have any sars?” Bostarion asked San and Elgava. San shook his head as did Elgava. “Fuck.”

“No coin? Get the fuck out of here,” the man said. “You’re interrupting my dinner.”

“You know anyone that can… turn nuggets into sars?” Elgava asked Bostarion. The ranger frowned and shook his head. “Fuck.”

San held back his chuckle. They had survived so long within the deadly forests and were literally carrying around a huge amount of wealth. Yet none of them had any sars they could use to purchase food, a place to sleep, or even information.

“Tell us where they’re staying, sir,” Elgava said. “Come daybreak we’ll pay you a handsome reward.”

“Unless it’s you tussling with yonder foreigner, I ain’t interested,” the man said.

“Up for a tussle, San?” Bostarion asked.

“With you?” San said.

The ranger turned red and didn’t say anything. Elgava slapped him on the back and laughed hysterically. Even the stable master let out a yipping laugh.

San looked down the street and saw one of the hunched robed figures limping in their direction. They carried a basket upon their back and pulled a wooden sled filled with garbage. The sight killed San’s levity.

“Maybe we can find some help from Lady Densa,” San said.

Elgava looked up and narrowed her eyes. “Seems she likes you, foreigner. Best not bark up that tree; I hear she breaks men bigger than you.”

“Breaks men?” San asked.

“She is of the Senta Cult and is a healer,” Bostarion said. “They hold their faith very tightly and they are the first to draw the blade when they think they are right.”

“All of that means what?” San asked. “She seems to be doing her god’s work, helping those in need.”

Bostarion shook his head.

“She’ll be busy,” Elgava said. “The representatives of the Cults are arriving from the Empire. They’ll be here soon, before Midwinter’s Reprieve and I’m sure she has much to do before then.”

San nodded. “Then what are we going to do?” San asked.

The three stood there in silence. The stable owner slammed his door shut. The street cleaner passed them by, moving in slow shuffling steps.

“Three tough spawns of bitches, armed to the teeth with gunpowder, steel, and bolts, and no money. There’s only one thing we can do if we want some sars,” Elgava said.

***

“Kill him! Kill him!” Elgava screamed.

The big man, stripped to his waist and shining with applied oil, moved deftly as his opponent swung clumsily. The big man snapped forward as the other man recovered from his swing; sending a wet thudding punch into the man’s side.

The opponent grunted, he reached to clutch his side and the big man’s fist connected with his chin as he dropped his guard. The opponent staggered for a moment and then sat down heavily, blood dripping from his nose. The crowd screamed and shouted as the big man showboated, dancing around the ring. He threw up his arms and roared in victory at the crowd.

He was showboating so much that the other man managed to shake his head and then rise to his feet. The big man turned as his opponent pulled back his arm. There was a look of shock and the first slammed into the man’s face.

The big man flopped to the ground bonelessly. He let out a groan and then was still. His bloodied opponent looked down at the defeated man and only grinned.

“Fuck,” someone said.

The word seemed to echo in the quiet that had descended among those watching the fight. Then the realization the big man had lost hit them. There was a thunderous roar of anger and cries of outrage.

“The gods are looking out for us,” Elgava grinned as she raised her betting token.

San watched as she shoved her way through the crowd. Her enchanted strength pushed men bigger than her out of the way. She shouted to a man in a well made tunic and hat, waving her token.

The man looked displeased as he noted down her bet and winnings. A pouch of coins exchanged hands and Elgava shoved her way back out. The sight of the shortsword on her hip kept many hands to themselves.

“Always bet on the underdog!” Elgava cried, joining San and Bostarion at a table. Her eyes were bright and she grabbed the jug of wine that sat between them.

San sipped at his own cup. It was bad wine, but then again he had only had bad wine since arriving. It was almost a point of pride among the Imperials to have vinegar like wine.

“Bare knuckle boxing seems a bit… dangerous,” San said. He could only imagine all the pain and damage one could take from such a sport. There were very little doctor and from what he had seen, medical science wasn’t that advanced. A broken bone, tooth, jaw, or most injuries that resulting from fighting could lead to a pretty painful death.

“The Leveled Fights are even better,” Elgava said, grinning widely. She quaffed her cup and then began refilling it. ‘We got enough sars to buy an entire barrel of wine and eat an entire woolly.”

Elgava split the coins between them, Bostarion slipping them into a pouch and then taking another drink. San scooped up his coins and placed them in a pocket. Elgava was already waving to the server for another jug of wine.

“You seem to be on a winning streak?” a voice said.

San looked up to see a tall, lean woman walking up to their table. She carried a new jug of wine and grinned at San. Saggaris.

“You can turn a silver sar into gold in one night,” Elgava said.

“If you don’t spend it all on wine,” Bostarion muttered.

The trader turned to San, offering to fill his cup. He nodded. They had spent an hour trying to find a buyer from the gold they had taken from the white furred monsters, but between being heavily armed and filthy from weeks of travel and fighting, no one wanted to do business with them. It was until they had arrived to the fighting club that San ran into Saggaris.

The trader had been in the company of several others, but as soon as she saw him, she had left them to glare at him.

“You’re alive,” she said.

It took a moment for San to realize who she was. When they left Blackened Bridge, she had been dressed to travel and wore a thick coat and armor. Now she was dressed like someone enjoying a night out. Which it happened she was doing. Her hair was neatly combed and styled, a link of fine silver hung around her throat along with silver earrings, she wore a long robe stitched with moons and stars, that made it look like she was a wizard.

“Trader Saggaris,” San said, finally remembering. “It’s been a while.”

“You stole three woollys from me,” she said.

“You gained a Nox warhorse,” San said.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is to buy good, young, and trained woollys?” she demanded.

San shrugged. “No. But it was a legal purchase, we got the tags for them and everything. Signed off by your quartermaster.”

“I fired that drunken fuck,” Saggaris hissed.

San shrugged again. “That’s a shame. I guess it’s better than being ‘accidentally’ killed in Midway.”

Saggaris jerked back and looked at him. Then she laughed. “How true, foreigner.” She looked passed him and at Elgava and Bostarion. “New friends? Where’s the old man? Pavano.”

“We’re looking for him,” San said.

“He take your money and run?” Saggaris asked. She looked down at his weapons, armor, and gear. “You become a mercenary now?”

San thought about it. He did volunteer to fight the batto queen, but he was also being paid by the Barony to fight for them. Even if it was a one time thing. Did that make him a mercenary?

“No, still just traveling,” San said. “Seeing the rest of the Barony.”

Bostarion grunted in barely held in laughter.

“You look like shit, smell like it too,” Saggaris added.

“It’s been an interesting time since we last parted ways,” San said.

“Would have been more interesting if you waited in Midway,” Saggaris said. “Nothing safer than a Guard escorted trip back to White Tower.”

“I’d rather have lived,” San said.

Saggaris chuckled again. “True.” She dug into a pocket of her fine robe and tossed San a coin. San snatched it out of the air, seeing a silver sar in his palm. “You paid for us to get you to White Tower. Seems we didn’t complete the deal. Let it not be said that Trader Saggaris doesn’t hold up her end of the deal.”

“And the trappers, didn’t they pay?”

“Had a different deal with the Barony. They paid me far more,” Saggaris said. “Three sars doesn’t buy you much loyalty.”

“Three sars? ‘ San looked at the silver sar. That was twenty sars in value. “You charged me twenty to get to White Tower.”

Saggaris laughed again.

***

“Saggaris, love. Your friend are going to beggar me,” the large man said as he stepped up to the table they were occupying. “That girl knows how to pick winners, doesn’t she?”

San looked to Elgava who was hanging onto one of the former fighters who had joined the crowd. He was a slim man with a shaven head and there were cuts and bruises on his face and body. San remembered he had also won a fight too.

“Luck is with them tonight,” Saggaris said, wrapping her arm around the man’s own. “The gods smile upon them, for they are heroes.”

“Heroes?” The man raised an eyebrow. “What have you saved White Tower from, friend?” he asked San.

“Battos,” Saggaris said. “They killed two batto queens. Walked into their cavern and slaughtered the bitches.”

“Is that so?” the man asked.

San nodded. “Elgava, Bostarion, the Mage Histoa, and I all entered the batto cave north of the Exonaris komai not seven days ago,” he said. “We killed the queen there and the… princess? Too.”

“Hotvar! Bring me a pitcher of Almarano red! We have a genuine hero here!”

“Uh, thanks,” San said.

“Saddan Hion,” the man introduced himself. “I own this establishment, friend. Any friend of Saggaris is a friend of mine.”

“I wouldn’t call us friends,” San said.

“Oh, bygones are bygones,” Saggaris said. “He’s a bit sore that I tried to have him captured.”

“Oh?” Saddan raised another eyebrow. “Any person willing to go into a batto cavern to kill those fuckers is a friend of mine, then. Horrible creatures, battos. I saw an entire region devastated by a nest that grew huge, the Empire had to send in an entire legion to deal with it. Weakened the Tang Governor so much that they lost the port city of Genshen to the Last Emperor’s son.”

“You’re from the Empire?” San asked.

“Aye, lad. Born and raised there. Decided to make my fortune giving the hicks of the Barony a taste of the Empire.”

“With a fighting club?” San asked.

“Best entertainment in the Empire, lad. You’re a big one, you should sign up. If you win your first fight against one of my established men, I’ll pay you a bonus.”

“No, thanks.”

Hotvar arrived with a small jug of wine. The man was rail thin and had a wispy mustache and looked displeased at who he was serving. “Wasting it on foreigners,” he said before leaving.

“Drink up, friends,” Saddan said, pouring for them. “It’s going to be soon when I run out of this stuff.”

“How’s that?” San asked.

“Suvanna has reinforced their blockades to the Empire,” Saggaris said. “It’s why I’m still fucking here. I can’t leave and no one can. They’re letting the Cults through, but anyone trading or traveling is robbed and sent back.”

“Aye, the tiresome parts of war,” Saddan replied. “I can’t get anything from the Empire anymore. Soon I’ll be down to my last few amphoras of Almarano, which I’ll have to save so that I can sell it at triple the price to those rich Landed fucks.”

“Is the Empire the only place to get wine?” San asked.

“Decent wine, yes,” Saddan replied. “The Baronies are blessed with plenty of resources and can grow imbar without barely any effort, but grapes? No decent grapes or vintages grow here, it’s a shame really.”

“What about branching out?” San asked. “Fruit wines, mead, beer?”

The fight club owner scoffed. “Only if I were desperate,” he said. “Only the woodland savages drink mead, foul stuff. Although beer is starting to become popular, but they all taste like week old piss.”

San nodded, sipping at the cup of wine. The taste lingered on his tongue, the flavors of dark cheeries and vanilla swirling in his mouth. It was a bit sweeter than merlot, but compared to what he had been drinking, it was heavenly.

“This is very good,” San said.

“Almarano is the best wine growing region in the Empire,” the man said. “The truly best are found in Votaro, but this swill is good enough.”

San smiled behind his cup. It seemed wine snobbery crossed time and dimensions. He liked wine as he liked any other alcoholic beverage, but his draw had been to beer and distilled spirits. He wondered if anyone was making brandy?

“Ah, Sanjay, we meet once again,” Densa said as she walked up to him. San fumbled with his cup of wine. “Such a small city White Tower appears to be.”

“Lady Densa,” San said, stuttering a bit.

“Lady?” the woman smiled at him. “My parents are mere commoners without land, dear Sanjay. I am not afforded such titles,.”

“If those born into titles exist, then those whose deeds elevate them into the same titles should also exist,” San said. “I would think there are plenty of people deserving of acknowledgement of their deeds rather than their birth.”

Densa laughed and smiled at him. “You are a strange one, Sanjay. Many claim those that live outside the borders of the Empire are savages, but you do not seem so.”

“The world is vast and strange, my lady. To think that all thoughts and philosophies can be contained in only one region is a foolish concept,” San said. He emptied his cup as Densa who only smiled back at him. Nervousness shuddered through him and his thoughts raced on without his guidance. She was a member of the Senta cult and Bostarion’s words echoed in his head. “Where I come from, it is generally believed that one’s merits elevate them rather than their birth.”

“You say that Kazo does not choose wisely in what souls he places into each body?” Densa asked.

“Kazo is not a god where I come from,” San said. “The land where I come from believes in many different gods. But ultimately it is up to humanity to create their own path in life.”

“That would be blasphemy in our lands,” Densa said.

San only smiled back at her. “What brings you to such a place, Lady Densa?”

Saddan chuckled. San realized he had completely forgotten about his table companions as he spoke to the woman. He faced the others, who were all watching him. Elgava and Bostarion had also returned, with Bostarion’s eyebrow raised and a grin on Elgava’s face.

“Saddan is a contributor to my endeavors, Sanjay,” she said. “I help heal his injured combatants, also.”

“Best healer in all the Barony’s,” Saddan said.

“What endeavors?” San asked. He still hadn’t gained much information about the woman, besides her care for the Filth that everyone seemed to dislike.

“Our dear Densa is a kind heart,” Saggaris replied, her tone was one of annoyance. “She cares for the sick, the wounded, the orphans, and the Filth. She trains healers who do not have levels how to stitch, wrap, and care for the wounded. “ Saggaris’ eyes widen a bit. “Ah, you should show her your own skills, San. He saved many of my men’s lives when we were attacked by bandits. Sewed them up like they were cloth and kept their wounds clean until that shit healer in Midway nearly killed them all.”

Densa smiled at San as Saddan poured her a cup of wine. She accepted the cup with a small bow of her head and sipped it, her eyes not leaving San. “You are a trained healer, Sanjay?”

“Uh, no. I got some training from… someone. Just basic first aid stuff.”

“First aid?” the woman asked.

“Uh… that’s what we call it from where I come from. It’s just minor training to bandage and splint wounds and breaks.”

“Tell me more,” she said.