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Chapter 37
Hard Caught Game
**Characters and text are protected under copyright law
Disclaimer: This is not meant as ‘erotica’, but dark adventurefantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.
Author’s Note: Based on feedback, the previous chapter (#36) was completely rewritten, from the ground up. If you last read the chapter prior to 10/11, you will need to go back and reread the previous chapter or this one won’t make a lot of sense, as a lot got changed.
It was rare for Tylone Orchidbryar to feel any sort of longing or nostalgia for his, once, homeland. To most who had seen them, the Fenn Lands were considered one of the most beautiful of countrysides, full of dense and magnificent forests, rolling green hills, and cozy little townships snuggled into elegant geography. To the much taller foreign folk, the rural hamlets were all quaint and amusing, seemingly ‘childsized’ for the diminutive populace. They saw the houses and shops like something akin to dollhouses and playthings.
Most Fennfolk just sighed such things away, more concerned with their own daily chores than the opinions of oversized visitors. Such tourists weren’t all that common to begin with, since that same small size of everything wasn’t very accommodating to bigger folk for long stays. So, most days within the Fenn Lands were quiet ones, people going about their own business of being simple, rustic, folk.
While there were no laws against the ownership of slaves or the sale of slaves within the Fenn Lands, few of its citizens owned or dealt with them. The government of the Fenn Lands didn’t use enslavement as a punishment for crimes, thus local Fennfolk themselves were never made into slaves. Very few Fennfolk felt comfortable among the far taller races, where they might find themselves under a legal system where enslavement was common for crimes, so there was simply very few Fennfolk slaves in general.
The problem with slaves of others races was that it was typically not very practical. Most other races towered over Fennfolk, who rarely reached even four feet in height. Keeping slaves of any larger race meant requiring lodging and devices sized for them. That was rarely worth the extra expense on its own. Add to that the advantages of being much larger and stronger than their owners, and it was not hard to see why very few of Tylone’s people opted to go that route.
What few slaves one might find within the Fenn Lands tended to be of races that were of similar size, which were rare in the world. Of the other races that were the same size as them, few made good slaves for such a lax and rural environment. Goblyns were rarely good for anything but arena combat, being naturally violent, the dvarta were notoriously hard to break, and the atylmy were too small to be of much use as practical slaves.
And so, Fennfolk culture had adopted a sort of unspoken disinterest in the trade and acquisition of slaves. That alone was reason enough for Tylone to never have any interest in returning back to such a simply and rustic life. Nothing made him feel more powerful than being a man of such small stature who lorded so completely over beings of that towered over him. He especially enjoyed seeing the looks of utter humiliation in a new slave’s eyes when they realized they now belonged to someone half their size.
While a Fennfolk farmer might have trouble keeping orlings, hobkin, and humanfolk in hand, Tylone’s wealth allowed him to employ those who could easily break and wrangle any slave he chose to purchase. However, it was always careful to establish that it was he who, ultimately, held the leashes and the chains of all his property. He typically oversaw all punishments personally, even if he sometime required someone else to be wielding the whip.
Despite being so small, Fennfolk were otherwise no different from a humanfolk, causing them to often liken them in appearance to one of their children. This made it all the more delicious for Tylone, especially with pleasure slaves. While he was far from being a child, he could sometimes see the instinctive disgust some of his girls would have the first time he laid with them. He enjoyed making them pay for such expressions quite roughly.
While most of his kind cared little for the opinions of other races in regards to their heights or culture, Tylone had found the general disregard for him as someone worthy of respect from many of his peers to be quite vexing. They seemed to assume that, just because he was half as tall, he must be half the man. There were many a person who had learned the hard way not to underestimate him, as he reveled in getting revenge on his detractors.
And tonight, he would finally be getting vengeance on one of his biggest critics in the arena. Cornelius Venge had considered him a joke since the first day they’d met and gone to great lengths to ensure that others saw him as one as well. He’d questioned Tylone not just based on his size, but claimed that Fennfolk should not be the owners of gladiatorial houses at all. Had conducted a rather annoying campaign to vex the wee owner at every turn.
There was little question in Tylone’s mind that Venge been behind a number of misfortunes that had occurred to him and his house. Attempts to discourage him from remaining and, most certainly, to keep House BlackOrchid from prospering. He’d been denied access to choice gladiators, had what decent gladiators he did manage to find get sabotaged, and been undermined in commercial circles where he could make side profit on his slaves.
By the morning, however, he would never have to worry about the man again. He’d have been arrested for arranging the murders of the heads of House Firebridge and Whitebanner while they were onroute to a social event. His recent hi with the both of them and the criticisms they’d lodged against him would be motive enough. All Tylone had to do was make it appear that he’d masterminded a whole plot that he believed he’d be able to get away with, but had unforeseen circumstances betray him.
While Tylone didn’t necessarily have all that much against poor Verdant, neither he nor Sabrina belonged as the owners of Arena Houses. Verdant’s idealism would likely get him killed by some opportunistic slave someday and Sabrina was a depraved whore who’d managed to accumulate more power than she deserved to hold. Not to mention, neither of them had a viable successor that would inherit their holdings, so both Houses would go up for auction and he’d be the first in line to acquire some of their best.
With Cornelius also out of the way, he’d finally be able to get some decent competitors that he could milk for glory and profit. It was almost a shame that Sabrina’s little prized blonde would also be dead, as she was showing some real promise as a star. However, she did turn one of his own up and coming stars a useless cripple; so let her die screaming.
“I think I might take a bath, Eglantine.” He said to his personal assistant, who was following a few steps in his wake. “Have Poppy and Jasmine prepared to join me. I think I would like to soil the both of them while I clean myself.” He gave a little chuckle at his own clever turn of phrase.
“Yes, Lord Orchidbryar.” Eglantine replied in a low tone. “When would you like it ready for you?”
“In a half hours’ time, I think.” He said thoughtfully. “I need to write a quick missive for delivery in the morning, but that shouldn’t take too long to compose. I trust you know how best I like them decorated?”
“Yes, Lord Orchidbryar.” Came the expected response. Eglantine was as obedient and loyal as she was strikingly beautiful. He’d hired her a little over a year ago and she’d proven herself worth every coin of the wages he paid her. And he’d raised the pay twice during that time. She was also quite proficient in his bed.
As they reached the door to his office, he gestured her a dismissal to go see to his instructions, paying no particular attention to the pair of guardsmen who flanked his office door. Not that he would have likely noticed anything peculiar about them if he had. However, as soon as he stepped into his office, he realized immediately that the two men were likely not his own.
“You really should purchase yourself a more dignified desk, Tylone.” Cornelius said conversationally, sitting atop it as though it were a chair. “I suppose I get why you would need a child’s version, being so low to the ground yourself. Still, surely you recognize that most consider the quality of the desk upon which a man does his business to be a reflection of the quality of the business he does upon it.” His smile was horribly smug.
“Lord Venge, how…pleasant of you to visit.” Tylone said carefully, the small hairs on the back of neck raised completely on end. There was little question in his mind that Cornelius’ presence here was simply a coincidence. If he made it out of this room alive, he would have his entire House security dismissed and replaced. It was bad enough that no one had warned him that Cornelius was on the ground, but for him to have been allowed to be alone in Tylone’s private office was absurd.
“Oh, I very much doubt that.” Cornelius said with a dark laugh. “I am sure you’d be much more pleased for me to be at a certain aristocratic gala right now, carrying this.” He produced a small vial from a pocket of his vest.
Tylone didn’t need to ask what was in the vial, he’d been the one to arrange for Cornelius to have access to it. Gods, he’d even picked out the vial itself. For a brief moment, he weighed whether or not to even try to deny any of it. He quickly decided that it would be pointless to do so, however, it would be best not to admit to anything more than what Cornelius showed he knew. Hopefully, he would assume that the ridiculous plot he’d constructed to lure Verdant and Sabrina into the real trap was all there was to know.
“I assume it would be wise of me to discard everything in my liquor cabinet.” He quipped, gesturing towards the shelf of fine whiskeys and wines he had in the corner. “Quite the pity. I was rather looking forward to the Vaendalian white I just procured.”
Cornelius gave a vague shrug. “I prefer to leave you guessing, my good man.” He replied almost cordially, as if it were a friendly game they were playing. “All the more painful for you to toss such expensive things out, not knowing if you even need to.” He tucked the vial back away into his vest.
“Should I take that as some level of assurance that I will have the chance to do so?” Tylone asked, trying to mentally prepare himself for what or who might be about to step out of the shadows of the room.
Cornelius gave a sincere laugh. “Of course, you will, Tylone.” He gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, as if he’d heard something foolish. “I would not be so incompetent as to kill you in person, with so many witnesses in your estate to my being here.” He gave a shake of his head. “I’d no more try to kill you than I would try have Mistress Marlowe and Master Crahka murdered in some dark alley somewhere.”
Tylone felt all the blood and warmth leave his extremities. “I see.” It was all he could make come out of his mouth.
“I will give you credit, my short, short, little man.” He said, a thread of menace pouring into his voice. “Your little plan was quite deviously clever, if a touch ramshackle in appearance. I am quite impressed with how well you managed to fabricate a trail leading to my door for the ambush you’ve planned. Crafting it so that it wasn’t obvious, even appeared as if effort had been made to obscure who had hired the assassins, but ultimately containing just enough flaws for inquisitors to sort it out.”
He stood up from the desk, absently smoothing his clothes. “Your agents were adept at their jobs too. If I hadn’t known about them before hand, I would have never recognized them as hidden vipers.” He strode over to the shelf of crystal decanters, selected a snifter, and removed the stopper from a red wine Tylone had imported from his homeland.
“They ARE dead, by the way.” He said as he poured a finger of the dark rose liquid into the glass. “Or, at least, are currently in the process of becoming so. They are currently becoming acquainted with a few members of my gladiatorial stable at the moment.” He took a swallow of the wine. “Quite nice.” He said, gesturing the tumbler of wine towards Tylone.
“So, you’ve known from the very beginning.” Tylone sighed grimly, realizing that he should have realized that Cornelius would have his own spies installed in every other House, even those he didn’t consider a threat.
“Quite, dear boy.” Cornelius replied. “It has been entertaining watching each step you’ve taken along the way. I’ve even admired some of the craft you’ve employed. Believe it or not, I am not even offended.” He took another swig of the wine, then walked back to the desk to sit down again.
“I’ve treated you poorly, Tylone. Underestimated you a bit, in fact.” He gave a little nod in recognition to the Fennfolk HouseMaster. “You have a lot to learn, admittedly, but I admire the effort you made. Enough so that am willing to overlook this little ploy. So long as you accept that you are now, deeply, in debt to me. And not one that can be paid with gold, Tylone. One that I will expect you to repay someday when I come to you to cash in that debt. No questions, no hesitations.”
Tylone took a long moment to fully consider his current situation. He’d underestimated Cornelius, to be sure. If the man had been following at every step, he’d undoubtedly set up his own trails that lead to Tylone’s door for trying to arrange the assassination of two of his fellow House owners, as well as what would appear as an attempt to poison someone at the gala. On the other hand, he could hardly repay some kind debt to Cornelius if he was in a dungeon somewhere.
“That sounds fair.” He said, half choking on his words. “Though what about Verdant and Sabrina? What should I tell them when nothing happens?”
Cornelius raised an eyebrow. “Well, I would think your hope would be that they don’t survive your little ambush to ask.”
Tylone’s eyes widened. “Wait! You’re letting their murder continue?!”
“Why, of course.” Cornelius replied before draining off the last of the wine. “It is far too perfect a way to be rid of the whole lot of them. Why would I put a stop to it? Especially considering that all the loose threads you carefully laid no longer lead to me, but to the real employer of the killers.” He grinned. “That would be you.”
“But…but…if I’m implicated…what about the debt I owe…” Tylone was starting to panic.
“Oh, my dear, stupid, little, man.” Cornelius said as he stood back up. “I never said where you’d be when I cashed in that debt. You were sly enough to set it all up, surely, you’re sly enough to quickly cover it all over again. Though, I would suggest you start on that, I imagine your coconspirators have already arrived in your trap.”
Setting the tumbler down on the low desk, he breezed past the speechless Fennfolk. “If you’re still here in a few days, I’ll swing by for a chat. In the meantime, I think it’s time I collected something that is mine.” He opened the door of the office to reveal Eglantine standing patiently outside it. “I will no longer need your services here as a spy.” He informed her. “I assume you have gathered your personal things already and had them transported to my carriage?”
“Yes, Lord Venge.” She replied obediently to him.
***************
At Verdant’s hoarse cry, Sabrina turned in time to see one of the fake coachmen, his chest coated in blood, but still alive, rising from where he’d scavenged the sword of the man Sasinel had downed. His surprise at the door he’d been about to burst through suddenly opening had made him pause long enough to keep him from lurching forward and skewering her with the blade already. As she saw him, however, he was jolted into action, charging to mount up into the passenger compartment, the sword thrust ahead of him.
Sabrina didn’t so much calculate her response as just reflexively react, pulling the door quickly closed as she threw herself back and to the other side of the compartment. She doubted she could have timed it better had she been trying, but the closing door managed to pin the man’s blade, stopping it. Not missing a beat, she quickly swung herself into the center of the passenger space, letting go of the door’s handle, and kicked back outwards again with all her strength.
It flew back open, slamming into the man behind it mounted up onto the carriage step. He was to the ground, the sword flying from his grasp and clattering beside him. Sabrina didn’t hesitate a moment, leaping out of the coach to land nimbly. She scooped up the lost weapon as the man scrambled away from her. Sabrina hoped that her being armed and him not would be enough to intimidate him, possibly encourage him to cut his losses and just surrender.
Unfortunately, the man had apparently seen something beneath the carriage and his rushed scrabble away had been an attempt to get to it. He lurched back to his feet, armed now with a halberd, likely fallen from the driver’s area as Barty had been killed. A corner of his mouth curled upwards as Sabrina grasped her weapon with both hands, standing awkwardly and pointing it towards him as he leveled his new, longer, weapon.
He thrust in with the polearm, trying to stab her with the point of the halberd, but kept his body ready to turn the jab into a slash with the axehead beneath. His arrogant expression betrayed his assumption that this pampered noblewoman, with her spoiled lifestyle, was little threat to him. Her poor combat form added support to that belief. His attack was made with some degree of tactic, but without much worry as to her own ability to defend against him.
Thus it came as quite the surprise when she deftly transitioned into a far more polished stance, just as the thrust came at her, expertly parried the halberd, first up, then over, then down. Rotating as she shifted stance and moved closer to him, she swung the sword down into his right elbow, perfectly positioned into place by her defense, still using both hands to drive it with all her strength. The swing nearly took his lower arm clean off.
He staggered back, screaming at the bloody stump she’d left, forearm dangling by a few strips of flesh. However, she immediately adjusted her footing, spun in place, and executed a perfect horizontal chop with the sword across his neck, opening his throat up. His screams truncated into a gurgling strangle, dropping the halberd from his remaining hand to futilely try to hold his neck together. He collapsed a moment later, still gurgling and rasping into the halls of the dead.
She looked up into the carriage to see Verdant and Lanni staring at her in complete dumbstruck surprise. She gave a little fauxnervous laugh, as though she were as shocked by the display as they were. “Well, that was a lucky adventure.” She said lamely.
She’d long ago learned how to use a sword, trained by Kalder in the earliest days of her career as a HouseMistress. It had been less for her to learn to defend herself than so she could better recognize what actual talent with combat looked like. She was far from equal to the average gladiator, but she was also far from inept. Equal, at the least, to the dumb thug she’d just killed.
Her best weapon was keeping her skill of arms a secret and knowing how to make an opponent believe she knew nothing about weapons or combat. This man would have been far more a challenge, had he not immediately underestimated her as an easy target. Now, he was dead.
ero
