Brewer King 50 (Patreon)

San wondered how in his twenty-eight years of life he had never headed a group of armed revolutionaries in his own world. He hadn’t done anything spectacular since he had arrived to this world, only what he thought was the right course of actions. Defending the caravan, fleeing from being potentially murdered for coming across the gold ore secret, killing the monsters plaguing the komai, and then fighting the battos in their home.

All of those things were, to him, the right thing to do. He could have walked away, ignored them; it was something that he had done in his own world. How many issues, how many problems, how many people needed his help back in Seattle? He had never fully comprehended that. In his world, there were services and people who would help those in need.

In this world… everything was so much… dangerous. Monsters prowled the land and there were crazed cults who were trying to end the world. It sounded more like a movie or somekind of bad novel, but it was San’s reality. He had come to this world at the lowest point in his life, but now he stood arming himself for what amounted to a war to save a city full of people he barely knew.

But doing so, putting his life on the line for now reward, was the right thing to do. It needed to be done. He had it in his power to try and he would do so.

In his old life, he had the same power, but he never tried. He could have done things different, but the comfort of his old life had been hard to discard. He had focused his life on one thing so much that everything had finally slipped from his grasp in a single moment.

Densa clasped the straps to his cuirass close. She looked at him, her eyes seemed less bright than normal, as if they had lost an internal light. San could only imagine what she had been through. He had felt the fire the first night and all the terrible thoughts and memories that it had brought up.

She had come close to losing herself, to becoming one of the creatures swarming the streets. The woman whom they had rescued, she was still sobbing in the rooms upstairs. The mental anguish and suffering they underwent wasn’t minor.

There would be no easy cure for those people who had been Afflicted. The healed wounds of their suffering and grief had been ripped open and now they felt those griefs as if they were brand new.

As a healer, San knew Densa had seen and suffered much. She had been in wars and had tried to save lives. Yet the black flame would have consumed her and even if he could have saved her from it, the grief would have been unbearable once more.

“You’re staring,” Densa said as she finished putting his armor on.

“Sorry,” San replied.

“Thank you for returning for us, for trying to save us,” she said. Her voice was low, barely a whisper.

San was about to respond with his standard ‘it’s no problem’, but stopped himself. Doing the right thing was only a part of the equation that had made him risk his life to get more Purification. He had done it because they were his companions, even if Densa hadn’t been there for all the craziness he had experienced since coming to this world.

She was special, someone who did good things and tried her best to make the world better. San admired that, it reminded him far too much of his late wife. Mary had the same kind of spirit, pragmatic, dedicated, but overall caring and helpful to everyone. She had always called it her country upbringing, but that was just modesty.

“There are few truly good people in the world,” San said. “You are one of them.”

Densa stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

“You don’t know that,” she said. “We all have our sins.”

“I know, but that doesn’t preclude you from being a good person. The actoins that you do make you a good person, not those moments when you are forced to make the hard decision with limited choices.”

San brushed aside a lock of her hair. “We need your strength and your resolve,” San said. “We need your light and your spirit. There are dark times ahead.”

Dena set her head against his cuirass and he could feel her shuddering with barely held back sobs.

“The world is plunging into darkness,” she said. “I’m terrified.”

“So am I.”

***

“You’re a trader, Saggaris,” San said.

“Yeah? Doesn’t mean I know how to breech the Keep and rescue the Young Baron and Havatair.”

“Well, if there’s one thing I know about traders, merchants, and anyone who’s trying to make a bit of coin. You have your methods of getting into places without notice and without paying taxes.”

“That’s just rude,” Saggaris replied. “I’m an honest trader.”

Markona snorted with barely contained laughter.

“Fine, fine,” the woman sighed. “There are ways into the Keep, some of them aren’t known to the Guards. There’s plenty of rich assholes that like a bit of this and that but they don’t wanna get their slippers dirty coming to the bad end of the city.”

“This big sacrifice,” San said, “it has to be in a place of power, right?”

Everyone shrugged. San looked to Vicca and Histoa.

“I would presume that is the case,” the Mage replied.

“Such rituals are steeped in ceremony, therefore one would have to assume that it needs to be done in a special place.”

“The real only special place is the White Tower,” San said. “It’s an Old Kingdom obelisk and if what Vicca says is true, then it is a like a magical lightening rod.”

“The White Tower was built by the Old Kingdom?” Saddan asked. The club owner looked confused.

“It’s been covered up over the centuries,” Vicca explained. “I suppose to hide what it is, even the Tribals and Empire didn’t want to destroy something that they might need later on. It’s a source of power that makes this city special.”

San wished he had access to some artillery at that moment. There were cannons and mortars of this world, but those were massive heavy things. He didn’t think he had the time, training, or gunpowder to even get one shot off.

“We need to get there and stop them,” San said.

“Easier said than done,” Markona said. “The New Baron’s been pulling in the Levy, sure it ain’t much and they’re half trained idiots, but they’ll do what their leaders tell them to do.”

“Weren’t most disbanded already?” Elgava asked. “It’s standard procedure after they’ve returned from campaign. Donsval won’t give up an extra sar if he doesn’t have to. Once they’re back within the city, they’re just released to go on their merry way.”

“The Levy captains have been ordered to round up the Levy once more, but you’re right. They’ve been scattered for about two days now, so it’ll take some time to round them up.”

“The Guards have sided mostly with Havatair,” San said. “Or at least he believed so.”

“If that were true, they’d have freed him already,” Saggaris said.

“He told us to wait,” one of the Guard soldiers said, pushing his way forward. After the Guard had returned with Histoa and another Guard, they had been resting for the upcoming fight. “He wanted to try and reason with Esomir, but…”

“Aye, the boy’s power hungry and is willing to kill anyone to see himself made king,” Pavano stated. “There are plenty of bad rulers, but mad ones are the worst. He’s a loon if he thinks the cultists aren’t going to turn this whole city over to the void.”

“Can we count on the Guard if things gets messy?” San asked.

The Guard frowned and finally shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t know. We’re the Barony’s protectors, our duty is supposed to be to the Baron,” he said. “I don’t know how many will be willing to go against the New Baron.”

“Great,” Saggaris muttered. “If Havatair is freed, will they follow him?”

Again the Guard frowned and then shrugged. “I don’t know. Plenty of us have followed Havatair for years, he’s the only commander we’ve know. Even the Baron didn’t really have much to do with us, unless we were needed for war.”

“We’re going to have to trust Havatair’s leadership,” San said. “If the Guards are really the Barony’s protectors, then they need to know what the hell is happening out here. They need to see that the Hesna cult is going to kill everyone and turn them into void horrors.”

The Guard only nodded, not saying anything.

Saggaris was not pleased by the response. “I can get maybe a dozen into the Keep, there are some old passages that were built into the Rock, they lead to various parts around the White Tower and into the Keep itself. If we know where they’re keeping the Young Baron and Havatair we can rescue them. We can then move against the cultist fucks and tear their throats out.”

“I heard they’re keeping the Young Baron in his rooms, while Havatair will probably be put into the dungeons. They don’t need him for this ritual, they only need to kill him afterward,” the Guard stated. “There are some lesser known ways into the dungeon, there’s an entrance from the Baron’s secondary chambers.”

“Ah, well I suppose it was a good thing the old Baron was a torture loving fuck,” Bostarion commented, chuckling darkly. “What kind of sick man has an easy route into his dungeons?”

“It’s a boon to us,” San replied. “We can use it to get to Havatair, release him, and then we’ll see which way the Guards loyalty lies.”

The Guard frowned again, uneasy by the comment. “We have been loyal to the Baron since the days of Arigairo Sava. The Guards are descended from the body guards of the great general.”

“Times change, lad,” Pavano said. “The New Baron has sold out the city and possibly the entire barony for power. That’s thirty thousand souls he’s giving over to the void.”

“They’ll most likely cut his dick and balls off too,” Bostarion said. “Better to have that fat little shit than this void worshipping fuck.”

San couldn’t help himself, he let out a chuckle. He received an astonished look from Saggaris, who then laughed. Within a moment, everyone was laughing as if the comment was the funniest thing they’d ever heard of.

The laughter went on for far too long, but in the end, the worry and stress were somewhat relieved. The twelve that would be going readied their weapons and gear.

In the end it would be San, Elgava, Saggaris, Densa, Markona, the two Guards, Histoa, Bostarion, Herokov, and three fighters. Saddan was not a fighter, but he offered three of his men to help. They volunteered as they too had family and friends within the city and saw what was going on. San was glad for all the help he could get.

***

“Stay safe,” San said to Azios. The young man nodded. He carried his crossbow and tried to look stoic as he stood guard over the stairs the led to the upper part of the warehouse. He hadn’t begged to go or tried to join them. San was glad he understood where his true loyalties lay. It was with his family, his brother’s wife and children.

“I’ll do my best, San,” Azios said. He had grown a lot since the first time San had seen him. Half dead and half frozen, trying to reach White Tower to save his sick sister-in-law.

“I know you will, Azios. You’re a good man and I trust you.”

The young man nodded again and then wiped his eyes. “Be safe,” he said.

San pulled him into a hug. He gripped him tight, feeling a sudden emotion hitting him. He hadn’t known the young man for more than a month, but it felt as if he were apart of his entire life.

San had brothers, but this felt different. It wasn’t the slightly antagonistic relationship he had with his own siblings, this relationship was different. Not deeper nor more loving, just different.

“We’ll put a stop to this and we’ll be back,” San said.

“Aye, we’ll be waiting.”

It was the second time he had this type of conversation with the young man, San realized. The first had been when he was going with the Mage and the others to destroy the batto cavern. Now he was on a more dangerous mission, trying to stop the cultists from killing the city. He paused to wonder how his life had come to this. Never in all his years back in his own world had he ever come anywhere close to trying to defeat a evil within the city.

He already said his farewells to the others, Pavano, Endaha, the kids, and even Vicca whom he barely knew anything about. The priestess was unconscious, dosed full of Purification and hit with some Power from Densa. San didn’t know if anything would help the woman. She seemed like a true believer and facts, discussion, and Power wouldn’t change her mind or stance.

There was another option to deal with her, but San wouldn’t allow it. There was killing in the the midst of fighting to save your life and then there was killing what amounted to prisoners of war. He wasn’t about to cross that line and wouldn’t allow anyone else to either. They had to be better than that.

As he headed for the warehouse door, where everyone was gathering, San spotted Elgava sitting by herself. She still didn’t look fully recovered from her experience and hadn’t been open about what she had undergone.

“Are you okay?” San asked, as he neared Elgava.

The woman glanced up at him and slowly nodded her head. “Aye, I’m fine,” she said, but she didn’t sound fine.

San waited for her to respond. He knew Elgava somewhat, the days they had spent together after the batto fight had formed a friendship. He doubted that he would have befriended the brash woman, but they had been thrown together by fate and bonded over saving one another’s lives.

“He’s dead, San,” Elgava said, her voice catching with emotion.

“What? Who?”

“Digario,” she said. “My brother.” Elgava took a long breath, wiping her watering eyes. “He’s in Sentari, aye, but not for the winter. He’s in the ground.” She choked up and clenched her eyes shut.

“Oh, Elgava. I’m sorry for your loss,” San said. “I’m so sorry.”

“He’s a stupid shit,” Elgava said, trying to catch her breath. “One out of every one hundred hearths, that’s the Levy. I already volunteered and then he goes and joins again. The damn fool.” She closed her eyes and took another steadying breath. “The damn fool.”

“I’m here if you need me, Elgava. I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love.”

The soldier nodded. “Aye, we all do, it seems. Not anyone’s free of grief in this world.”

San nodded, feeling a worrying pit in his stomach. Grief, the black flame preyed on it. What had Hetvana’s Hero proclaimed? Grief would be his salvation.

Everyone it seemed carried around grief within them. This world was not a kind one, but then again no world was. Yet time tended to heal all wounds, even if it took a long, long time. The black flame grabbed hold of every miserable memory and amplified it, all those healed wounds were reopened and ever emotion was fresh once more. The flame used that grief to smash against their resolve in order to break them.

They stood there for a while, not saying anything. Elgava wiped her eyes and steadied herself. She gave him a sad smile and then proceeded to check her weapons. She, unlike him, wasn’t wearing armor. She had lost her brigandine on the trek back from the Old Kingdom forest. Instead she wore some chainmail she had gotten from somewhere and thick leather bracers. It wasn’t much, but it would protect her from slashes and minor cuts. She also carried her short sword, a dagger, and an arming sword, along with a shield.

Besides the soldiers and Markona, they carried the most arms among the men. Saddan’s men only carried what looked like bats or clubs, one even sporting some brass knuckles. Bostarion had replaced some of his lost gear, but he had been a ranger, not a soldier. He carried his crossbow and daggers.

Histoa was meditating beside the fire. San hadn’t talked to him much, but the young Mage was a good man. He would have their backs and he could trust him. As if feeling San’s eyes on him, Histoa opened his eyes and looked back at him.

San nodded to him and the Mage nodded back, gracefully rising to his feet.

San cleared his throat, bringing some silence to the room.

“We’re off, now,” he said. “The city and its citizens are relying on us to stop this evil that the Hesna cult is planning. We have all seen the horrors that void creatures bring and those horrors will be exponential if this city falls to the cult. We are on the brink of devastation we have never imagined. If we fail, the city dies. Therefore we must not fail. For the sake of the citizens in White Tower and our very souls, we must defeat the evil that plagues our city.”

There were no cheers or applause, but San could see the firm determination in the gaze of everyone gathered. They knew the consequences of what would happen if they failed. They knew that the city would be destroyed. And they were ready to do what was necessary to save it.

***

The evening was colder than San remembered. It was as if all warmth had been sucked out of the city, turing the air icy and dry. The sky had thickened with clouds, turning darker shades of gray, even as the sun began to ease toward the western horizon.

Saggaris was in the lead with Saddan’s fighters taking the rear. The rest were bunched up in the center, trying to look in every direction and jerking at every noise. The city was too damn quiet and San winced at every crunch of boot on the snow or every snap of ice.

There was a wrongness in the air, like a miasma that invaded his senses and dulled his thoughts. It was everywhere, the entire city holding it’s breath, trying as hard as possible to not move, not make a noise, and not draw notice to themselves.

They all stopped when a scream echoed down the streets. It was followed by the boom of a rifle, not the shaper crack of a pistol. There was only one group that had access to gunpowder weapons, the Guards.

“We’re almost there,” Saggaris whispered. “We run.”

San nodded and glanced to Densa. The woman was still sickly looking, but her eyes were once again bright, this time with fear and worry. He gripped her hand in his and she gave him a tight smile. She was the only one who would not fight, but her skills would be needed.

“I’ll not slow us down,” Densa whispered to him. To San it sounded more like a prayer.

They hustled down an alleyway, their boots crushing ice and snow, their weapons jangling, and their breaths sounding explosively loud in the narrow lumber canyons.

Saggaris pulled them to a stop outside of a sagging storage house that had seen better days. The paint had once been gaudy, but now it was faded and peeling, the wooden sides warped and gnarled with age.

There was another boom of rifle fire, followed by half a dozen quick shots that sounded like volley fire.

“The street’s clear,” Markona stated.

“Move.”

They rushed toward the storage building, Saggaris shoving the door open with her shoulder and everyone piling into it. They crashed into the dusty room and slammed the door shut. San breathed heavily as he and the others peered through the cracks in the walls to see if they had been noticed.

Twelve people running in full armor and with weapons wasn’t a quiet act. They instinctively huddled together and stilled their breath as they heard the clatter of feet and screeching.

A handful of the Afflicted rushed by the storage house, with purpose. San watched in the waning light, noting how different these ones seemed. He only knew of two previous nights where the black flame burned, but for all he knew it could have been going on earlier than that. When had the Hensa cult arrived? He didn’t know, but he did know they didn’t have a strong position in the city.

The Afflicted, the older ones, didn’t seem human anymore. Their limbs were rail thin, their clothing in tatters, they were covered in wounds, injuries, and frostbite, but whatever controlled their bodies didn’t seem to notice or care.

Yet even as the bodies of the Afflicted were being destroyed, they were also changing. Becoming more inhuman as whatever possessed them lingered within. The skull was becoming elongated, their mouths and jaws seemingly expanding, and the ends of their fingers, where the frostbite and injuries wore away the nails, long deadly looking claws were beginning to form.

“I don’t think they’ll be able to be healed,” Densa whispered beside him. She was watching the figures, her mouth in a tight frown. “They’re far too gone already.”

How much time did they have to reverse the Affliction? The woman they rescued; she had been one of the creatures, but she was too distraught with what she had been through to tell them anything beyond the grief she had felt.

If they stopped this ritual, if they stopped the opening of a breech, then would that stop the Afflicted? Would the magic that the Hesna cult invoked dissipate once they were defeated? No one but the cultists had an answer to that one.

One way or another, the issue would be resolved by nightfall.

“This way,” Saggaris said. San saw that most had already moved deeper into the storage house, following Markona into the bowels of the building. Like the Senta Temple, the storage house had a small back room with a ladder into the floor. A pair of men were in the room, two men San had never met. They were big, scarred, and looked tough, but San could sense the fear oozing off of them. They might have been guards, but it was clear they were hiding.

“Panchavi’s gonna be pissed,” one of the big men said. His eyes bugged even wider as he saw San. “This fucker is with you? Sweet Senta, Saggaris. Panchavi’s aching to put a knife between his ribs.”

“Get around, don’t you?” Saggaris said, looking at San.

“I suppose,” San replied.

“You come walking in from Tribal territory, those tree fuckers didn’t tie you up and leave you to die, so I guess they either owe you something or you’ve done something for them. Then you somehow manage to meet everyone in White Tower that means anything.”

“I don’t think Panchavi’s one of the people who mean anything,” San said. “He’s an asshole and a extorter.”

Saggaris shrugged. “He’s got money, he’s got power, and he’s got connections.” Saggaris shrugged again. “I guess it don’t matter if we fail tonight.”

The others lowered themselves into the hole in the ground, San followed suit and found himself within a wide tunnel. It wasn’t a sewer, but instead looked like an old escape tunnel. Saggaris handed out lanterns and they began moving down it. Behind them, the two men shut a heavy steel reinforced door. The thumping of the closing door gave a sense of finality to their endeavor. There was no turing back for any of them. They failed or they won.

The dark tunnel beckoned and the only sounds were the scraping of boots against stone and the metallic sound of moving armor.