Brewer King - Epilogue (Patreon)

For a week heavy snows hit White Tower. It was as if an entire season’s of snow had been waiting for this moment. Howling winds tore through the shattered and burned out buildings across the city, giving rise to echoing wails that sent people hiding.

There was no supernatural danger, not that San could see. It was just wind and snow. Damaged roofs collapsed. Badly fixed walls crumbled. And hundreds huddled around fires trying to keep warm in the blizzard.

The dead lay where they had fallen. Their blood turned to ice, their bodies frozen hard into rictuses of fear and terror. The Afflicted had vanished, one of the worries that kept San up at night. The Fire in the Night had sealed the breech, it had also forced the Afflicted to flee. The same fires they had burned to bring forth the Void Horrors had been their undoing. With Hesna forced back into the Void, the breech would have still continued. Yet somehow all the fires had turned when San had pushed all his power into the main bonfire.

He didn’t understand it and didn’t particularly care. It had been done. The city was saved. With only half the population dead and a third of it burned to the ground. It was a grand victory.

The forces of evil had been defeated and the heroes huddled in a shuddering warehouse. Silence had been a constant in the week following the fight. The only sounds were the cries of the child as she woke for feeding or changing. There was the muffled groans of people as they writhed in pain from injuries.

So many people were injured. The Temple of Senta was overflowing. They only could take the serious cases. San had brought all he could back to the warehouse. He did what he could, but he was no healer. He was just a Brewer.

San sat in the darkness, a thin blanket wrapped around him when Pavano nudged his boots. San looked up at the old man.

“Guards are here,” Pavano said. “They say Havatair wants to see you.”

San glanced at the wounded in the warehouse.

“They’ll be okay,” Endaha said. She hitched her baby on one hip, while carrying a bucket in the other.

“Come on, lad.” Pavano offered him a hand and San took it.

Elgava and Histao flanked him as he left the warehouse. He didn’t say anything. They seemed to be following him everywhere since that day. Either hoping he’d not run off or do something more stupid.

Death was easy, he thought.

The sun was a brilliant white in the blue sky. No clouds, only thick piles of snow drifts rounding out everything. They slogged through the knee deep snow, noting some fresh tracks and frightened looks from behind shattered doors, windows, and boarded up holes.

The smell of smoke was everywhere. The smell of old smoke, of wet smoke, rose from the gaping holes where buildings once had stood. Their charred beams like hands raised up in supplication to an uncaring deity.

San heard the sudden bark of a dog. He watched as half a dozen children descended upon the animal and dragged its corpse away. Things were turning, he could see. The destruction to the city had hit warehouses and granaries. Even with the new reduced population, food was already scare.

The Keep was pristine as ever. The Guards and Levied soldiers stood in polished armor as San and his group arrived. They moved like well oiled machines, saluting, checking, and allowing them entrance into the Keep.

San watched as servants scurried about. They moved quickly and cast glances at San and his party. Judging if they were a danger or not. They had prey’s sense of survival about them, always on edge, looking for danger. How many of the servants had died on that night?

Havatair was gaunt, his massive body seemingly have shrunken in the last week. He was still big, but not mightily so. Stress and concerned etched its way across his face. He scribbled on a parchment as the group entered the room.

“San,” the big man said, not looking up. “I see you are faring well.”

San had nothing to say.

“You’ve been caring for the injured, I see. Good man. We need everyone we can get to help the injured.”

San continued waiting for what the new Regent of the Barony had to say.

Havatair sighed and leaned back in his seat. It creaked with his weight and size. His light colored eyes flicked to San and then to Elgava and Histao, but immediately dismissed them.

“I’ll give it to you straight. You saved the city-“

“Densa saved the city,” San corrected.

“But you also killed the Head Healer of the Senta Cult and caused the flames that destroyed much of the city,” Havatair continued.

“I have already said what I need to say,” San said. It was true, though. The Fire in the Night had spread out among the buildings, some had already been burning, but more had caught as the evil of the Afflicted seeped into the city itself. The city had been cleansed, but much of it had also been burned for it to occur.

“You have great power and you’re a Foreigner,” Havatair said, not blunting his words. “If not for Zomia’s new rank, you would be dead already.”

San blinked at that. “How so?”

“Word travels fast, San. Good or bad, false or true. Word spreads and it says that you killed the Head Healer. You killed Senta’s chosen and it is because of you, the city is burned and the injured suffer so.”

San closed his eyes. “That is true,” he said.

“It is bullshit,” Havatair said. “Foolish peasants grabbing onto a story. Preventing Void Horrors from being unleashed upon the city is too abstract for them. They see their hungry children, their destroyed livelihood, and they need someone to blame.”

“So the Foreigner and not the Usurpur?” San asked.

Anger flickered across Havatair’s face for a second. “No, not the man who defeated the evil Baron, who saved the Heir, and who fought against the monsters the evil Baron summoned.”

San nodded. “I see.”

“You will have to leave,” Havatair said.

“I know.”

“But we still have need of your powers. Your Moonshine, the Courage, Purification, all those.”

“I know.”

“You will be given men, workers, food, and the tools you need. You will set up your brewery and distillery to make more.”

“I understand,” San said.

“Just not here.”

“Okay.”

Havatair stared at San long and hard. “This is not over, San. War is coming.”

***

Two weeks later the gates of White Tower opened to reveal a convoy of woolies, wagons, and people marching across the snow packed roads. They huffed and puffed, glancing back at the city guards as they left.

“The Komai,” Azios said.

“Yes,” San replied. “We shall rebuild it and start a brewery there.”

Azios smiled, thinking of home once more.

San looked out into the frozen horizon and caught sight of creatures skittering along the woodline. More and more reports of Void Horrors had been coming into the city. The Afflicted, once fled, had begun to change. San shuddered at the thought. Something else to lay at his feet. It was because of him that they had fled, now the outlying villages and towns were at their mercy.