Book 3: Sound And Fury

  Chapter 26 Folsom Prison Blues

  “What are you going to do with all those people… Gary?” Tawny asked gently, when he woke. She lay on a lounge chair in the private grotto, while Gary was sprawled in a nest of water plants in the constantly swirling pool.

  “I’m all jacked up, floating helpless, while you scold me about things I have little control over… Feels like old times.” He sighed. “I got mildly cursed by that dude’s sword, but I’ll be fine soon.”

  “I know, Gary… I tended you myself… Just like old times.” She said with a smile that felt warmly golden, like afternoon sunshine, after a long, cloudy morning. “Now answer my question.”

  “I’m not doing anything with them. I’d turn them all loose right now, if it wouldn’t cause absolute chaos for… everyone.” He grumbled softly. “Having a huge army of slaves bound to my soul is super uncomfortable and offends me on a basic level. Shit sucks, yo!” He moaned, as he rolled over, in a futile search for a little relief from the internal pressures he could not escape.

  “The frequencies of magic used in their control collars are really… Let’s just say that I am not able to easily use those forces and energies.” He muttered. “Something dark inside me responds to those spells and curses. It’s a lot of work, just keeping my shit together right now.”

  “We must do something.” She urged him carefully, wary of the feral look in his eyes. “This is a deeply troubling situation: ethically, morally and legally.

  “I’ll see what I can do in the morning…” He grumbled from his nest of water weeds.

  “It’s been a day and a half, my foolish friend. You’ve been out cold for a while.” She smiled wanly. “Feeding these people and clothing them is a challenge, even with your magical mad-house and ridiculous hoard of grain.” She sighed wearily.

  “Well, I do run an inn, brewery and distillery. I have beer, wine, cider and spirits going all the time.” He sighed happily. “I barter for commodities and trade in kind. Are you surprised I get a lot of grain?”

  “And the meat stores…? She demanded with a smile. “I can hardly believe you still have more of that awful ground-dragon from so long ago.” She shook her head and laughed. “Becky thinks we might just feed them the last few tons of that beast, before we’re done here.”

  “She must be so excited.” He yawned mightily and stretched. “I guess I need to get moving…”

  Tawny halted him with an upraised palm. “Before you put my stitchcraft to the test, I’ll have my say.” Her warm, liquid voice became a cold bar of gold, one suitable for beating his brains out.

  “While my idiot husband and his band of armored buffoons may heap honors and praise on you for your duel with that awful general… It was a foolish, prideful and nearly fatal act of utter stupidity.” She scowled at him and blew a huge, exasperated breath through her nose.

  “That does sound like something I’d do.” He remarked glibly, as he began extracting himself from the water weeds and hyacinths. “I wanted to take him alive… but his sword was super nasty. A normal human wouldn’t have survived a single scratch from that thing. To me, it’s just a normal cursed sword.”

  “You aren’t immortal, Gary.” She said very quietly. “The curse of festering blood it afflicted you with would have killed most living creatures within minutes.”

  “Nobody knows that better than me, Tawny.” He smiled sadly. “Is Shai pretty pissed?”

  “Furious, but I think she’s come to terms with your idiocy, by now.” The priestess sighed, as she left the grotto. “My husband is meeting with the representatives of the prisoners and the… former slaves today. He would probably appreciate your attendance.”

  “Aw, man…” The Fool whined weakly, as she departed.

  /

  Master potter Wilbur Gershon shuddered all the way down to his bones, as the big, ugly warrior led him up to the ancient, rough hewn, granite castle that crouched over the town like a loathsome gray spider, ready to devour the humble city below. They marched silently through the thick, rough timber gates, across a drawbridge, over a deep moat filled with huge shards of granite, obsidian and flint.

  Warriors looked down from the walls, as he walked to his certain doom in the heathen keep. Wilbur tugged awkwardly at the fine, well tailored clothes he’d been given before departing the slave compound near that mad inn.

  He’d felt the noose inexorably tightening around his neck, since being chosen as representative of the enslaved… Or maybe that was the damned collar.

  Through a wide entryway, decorated with hanging plants and garden boxes, paintings of smiling people hung in simple, but elegant frames. Humble, comfortable furniture, such as any well to do merchant or craftsman might have, offered a welcoming and homey air to the grim place.

  The huge warrior in brown leather armor led him into a vast audience chamber, hewn from the side of the mountain and roofed with huge, rustic beams and red clay tiles.

  A wide stair led up, presumably to the barbarian ruler’s quarters, since a collection of odd, costly and bizarre relics had been artfully displayed on shelves and pedestals. Several skulls, some of bone, decorated with jewels, others seeming to have been cut from huge crystals or gemstones… A ruby shaped like an enormous human heart and many more bejeweled and decorated idols and artifacts glinted in the bright light of magical lamps.

  Beside an enormous, empty fireplace, two men and a woman were making music. She sat at a pianoforte, tinkling out a sweet, unfamiliar melody, dressed in the robes of some local cult; while the others strummed strange guitars, clothed in the garb of common workmen or artisans.

  With shock and a profound chill of dread, Wilbur recognized the madman from the strange display in the clouds, when he smiled at him. That crooked, mad grin, like a bare skull, leering from an opened grave…

  “I present count Liam Kinnis and lady Trelawny Kinnis, rightful rulers of this domain. My lord, I bring master potter Wilber Gershon, formerly of the city of LightGlen and duly elected representative of the… Survivors.” The huge warrior grumbled.

  As he spoke, Wilbur slumped to his knees and placed his forehead on the floor, as was proper.

  “Thank you, sir Bran… Take your ease, we will speak with master Wilbur, privately.” The beautiful, golden woman at the keys said softly.

  When the warrior departed, the woman smiled down at the middle aged, worn and exhausted man, who still had his face pressed to the floor.

  “Master Wilbur, please take a seat… We have tea and some snacks prepared.” She murmured, her voice soothing and soft as summer wind, blowing through fragrant honeysuckle vines.

  A few long moments of absolute silence and stillness later, a hard, calloused hand landed on Wilbur’s collar with irresistible might, dragging him up and onto a seat in a lovely brocade sofa.

  “No one is going to hurt you, master potter.” The same sing-song, lilting accent and odd, compelling voice from that terrifying night-time demonstration among the clouds murmured gently in his ear.

  “You are safe here.”

  “Master Wilbur… This man, Gary Ward… is the person who currently… Owns you and your contingent, he is here as your group’s advocate and legal guardian.” The golden countess explained gently.

  “Once arrangements have been made, your curse of bondage will be dissolved; as will all the others. Please be patient with us.”

  She shot a fond glare at the mad witch, who was back to strumming his instrument and smiling blandly. “Has your treatment been satisfactory in his care?”

  “More than satisfactory, lady Kinnis…” He struggled to swallow a very large lump in his throat for what seemed like an hour, before he could speak again, very quietly and softly.

  “Most of the f… female slaves have been taken away… as well as the male pleasure slaves…” He murmured weakly. “I must ask as to their… status, my lords, my lady.”

  “Those who were taken away are safe…” Lady Tawny answered calmly. “They are receiving treatment for their trauma and psychological wounds in a safe, comfortable place… In the care of experienced and capable experts.”

  “My… my lady… forgive my impertinence… rumors persist that they were taken away by… By goblins… my lady.” He mumbled, fully expecting to find himself looking up at his own falling body; from a severed head on the floor, at any moment.

  “They were indeed taken in care by the goblin king and his court. Their safety is assured, master Wilbur. Have no fear on that score.” She answered, while the two men continued their music.

  “Now, let us discuss returning you and your fellows to your home… I am informed that there have been some sweeping political and religious changes there, since you arrived in my humble domain.”

  \

  “Gods above and below…” Liam grumbled, half an hour later. “That was like pulling teeth from an angry wallowbear…”

  “Curses of enslavement always come with that kind of subjugation magic… Filthy and despicable, I’m even more pissed that the damn light cult is forcing me to engage in this asshattery, just to clean up their mess!” Gary growled, once the man fled back to the slave encampment near the lake. “It’s been fun, but I have lots to do…”

  “Sergeant Jeng, bring in the representative of the conscript troops, please.” Tawny sang sweetly. “Journeyman Haviland of the woodcutter’s guild, I believe?”

  “Wait, there’s m… more?” Gary gasped, as another man came in, looking deeply frightened.

  “We, or rather… You will be meeting the legion commander and a delegation of the lords, templars and clerics, as well.” She answered with a cruel smile of victory on her perfect, pink lips. “I’m off on my rounds of the clinic… This will take you all afternoon!”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Noo…!” Gary gasped, feeling the walls begin to close in around him.

  /

  The conscript troops offered similar obeisance, groveling and general subservience, which was annoying, tiresome and uncomfortably convenient.

  “As your lordship commands…”

  “By your will, my lord…”

  “As his lordship commands…”

  The poor conscript peasant schmucks were just happy to be alive, well fed and buggery free. When offered the possibility of returning to their farms and homes, across the gateway, they were largely enthusiastic and eager to leave the domain of Foresthome.

  The lurking spiders and buzzing, fast darting sugar wasps in the woods were making them feel deeply uncomfortable, as intended.

  There were almost no attempts to sneak off, since beyond the thorny, awful hedges around the camp, lay shadow haunted, spider infested, wasp filled woods that were extra, super uninviting.

  The legionnaires were a different matter entirely… The commander, captain Justin Whitcolme was in his mid thirties, handsome and well presented considering the circumstances, in a uniform of red wool. Unarmed and without armor, his coat no longer bore the light’s embroidered ensign, it had been crudely picked out with a sharp stick… or perhaps with the man’s teeth, leaving battered and discolored spots on his breast and each shoulder.

  “Your lordship possesses an awful and mighty witch; yet you seem to lack a sufficient army…” He purred, through an unctuous smile, while avoiding looking at Gary. He was working really hard at that part, really really hard.

  “My lord’s acumen and might should be reflected in his warband… For surely, the witch cannot take or hold territory, no matter how terrible he may be.”

  “I can take and hold territory, as you saw…” Gary growled at the oily and confident young officer. “And don’t call me Shirley.”

  /

  Gary shuddered as the legion commander walked out a half hour later. He marched proudly, back straight and head high; looking absolutely pleased with himself for some reason. “That asshole is planning something.”

  “Oh, yes, he’s a greasy sack of guts.” Liam agreed. “He is convinced that I will be hiring him and his thousand legionnaires as a mercenary band; to ‘expand my domain aggressively and keep order…’ or some such.” The count smiled awkwardly and shook his head.

  “Needless to say, I will not be hiring a band of raiders to harass and pillage the local populace. Especially since he no doubt intends to supplant me at his first opportunity, in some ill thought out coup attempt.”

  “Sweet! He seems awesome and cool… It was nice knowing you, bro.” Gary sang merrily, with a broad wink and chuckle for the aggrieved count.

  “Seriously, keep your eye on that slippery, weasel’s prick.”

  “A number of your spider friends are already on the job, brother.” Liam answered calmly, with a worried look in his eye. “Are you well? You look tired.”

  “I’m still unranked, buddy. All my old weapons and armor are copper and bronze rank, that fight took all the jam out of my donut.” He sighed, slumping down over his instrument.

  “I won’t be back up to full speed until I can lose this slave collar and spend a whole day with my ass planted on the lawn, sipping lemonade.” He sagged back on his chair, hugging his guitar like a long lost friend, newly returned from a journey.

  “Have you considered where you might fill your broken Contract? It’s time to get yourself put back together, my friend.” Liam whispered.

  “Lord Marduk is more than willing to restore your Contract, now that your curses are broken…”

  “I can play music again, brother. That’s enough for me right now. Tell Ducky to stuff it, if he pressures you like that again.” The madman sighed, as a brief flash of feral rage clawed its way up from somewhere deep inside and quickly subsided.

  “The gods don’t get to mess with my family anymore, even the ones I like.”

  “Lord Marduk did not pressure me… but I feel his longing, his grief and sorrow for what was done to you, whenever I visit the chapel to make my offerings.”

  “Well, crap… Now I feel even shittier.” He grumbled around the intro to ‘Let It Be’. The Beatles were just the right mood for the moment. “I’ll talk to him tonight; if I can sleep.”

  “Yeah, talking to Gods… You’re a freak, my friend…” Liam muttered fondly. “Maybe this will cheer you up… Malus, bring in the prisoners’ representatives.”

  A few moments later three men dressed in torn and soiled finery clanked in, bearing heavy iron manacles at their wrists and ankles, bound with short lengths of sturdy chain.

  A fourth followed after, also chained, but wearing a soiled and stained white tabard over his woolen arming coat and trews.

  “My lord, count Kinnis of Foresthome, I present the lords Stourbridge, Lamburgh and Quinnlan. Also present is sir Skander, captain of the templar knights.” Malus shrugged…

  “His lordship, Liam Kinnis, count of Foresthome will hear you now.”

  Liam set his guitar on its stand, beside the pianoforte and turned a calm, pleasant smile on the four battered, exhausted and disheveled gentlemen. The handsome young lord, dressed as a common artisan leaned back on his simple, comfy looking chair. “Who among you would like to speak first?”

  The three richly dressed men all jostled amongst themselves, silently arguing with glares, gestures and inarticulate noises, since they all four, wore silence collars woven of horsehair, intricately beaded with pale pink shell fragments.

  While the comical pantomime of protocol raged out of control, the man in the white tabard stepped forward and bowed crisply.

  At a silent nod from the count, Malus removed the enchanted collar, allowing the man to speak, while the well dressed contingent continued arguing.

  “You may address me as Count Liam, or your lordship, sir Skander. What is your complaint?” The young lord spoke sharply, but without anger in his voice.

  “My lord, thirty eight of my knights remain missing. I would like to inquire as to their fates… I have a list.” Skander managed, after a moment.

  “We have the arms, armor and effects of seventeen of your knights, slain in action by my forces… We will retain them as spoils of war.” He smiled thinly. “The corpses have been prepared and will be returned to you or buried, as you wish… After we have concluded our dealings. Likewise, the entire contents of your camp are spoils of war.”

  “My lord, that leaves twenty one men… unaccounted for.” Skander insisted gently. His eyes were on the count, but all of his attention was focused on the smiling witch, still softly strumming a mandolin behind the lord’s chair.

  “I believe that most or all of them were seen marching into the woods behind the captured pleasure slaves… Who are, of course, your property, now… My lord.”

  “Oh, those assholes… Those belong to Kree now.” The witch answered glibly from over the count’s shoulder. “They went scampering off during the battle to herd their… ‘pleasure slaves’ away.”

  The madman seemed on the verge of vomiting for a moment at the end, but continued on. “Kree, the Hive Maiden enslaved them with her venomous sting. They belong to her, now.” He shrugged and chuckled. “Whatcha gonna do?”

  “Those knights are not slaves… Sirrah!” The enraged knight sputtered and fumed at the witch, looking him up and down, finding no sign of rank or status, so he took his best guess.

  “Sirrah my ass… I’m no knight and those dirtbags are definitely slaves now.” He chuckled darkly and eyeballed the disheveled, shackled noblemen as well.

  “She has a bunch of your silk draped vermin in her thrall, as well. They also belong to the Hive Maiden.”

  “Gary, I cannot violate my treaty with the hive council…” Count Liam declared firmly, with his eyes locked on the mad witch’s feral gaze. “Any of the templar knights who have not been stung, must be accorded at least the courtesies due a vanquished foe.”

  “Yes sir… count Liam…” He muttered, seeming deeply disappointed.

  The three well dressed prisoners finally came to an agreement and nodded to one of their number. A man stepped forward, dressed in white linen robes lined with golden silk and embroidered with an endless ribbon of entwined sun-disks at his collar.

  He waited impatiently for his collar to be removed and began speaking rapidly.

  “Count Liam… I am a cleric of the one true god, the radiant one, the Light, blessed and pure… I demand my release and liberty for all of my brothers of the cloth!” He barked. “I further demand the return of all goods, properties and chattels, for they are marked as holy, under the Light!”

  “First, let’s address that whole chattel issue. Your goods, treasures and all the wealth in that camp are mine, with the exception of those ‘chattels’ you mentioned.” Count Liam smiled, technically… It was a very cold and chilling expression.

  “Slavery is outlawed in these lands and has been for generations uncounted…” He shot a nervous glance at the mad witch who now held a guitar and was smiling and nodding along, like a tremendous fool.

  “Well, slavery is outlawed, mostly. Those people are free, or will be, as soon as we can find a place for them.”

  “Impossible! They are our property! Property rights are sacred! Sacred!” He gasped. “Did not your witch just claim to have enslaved our fellows?!” The lord gasped, sputtered and barked, seeming to forget his shackles for a moment, in his towering and prideful fury.

  “No cleric can be enslaved, nor can any of the nobility or knighthood! That is sacred law, sacred scripture!” He sagged at the end, exhausted, but smiling confidently at the young lord.

  “Gary is my court wizard, the one who kicked all your asses with a startlingly small cost in blood or treasure… Kree is his loyal familiar.” The handsome count explained, while looking deeply embarrassed.

  “She is a sugar-wasp, a dangerous and intelligent fae species, that dwells in these woods. Like the sun-sting bees, the Arachneans and several other races; they are autonomous tribes with sovereign territory of their own…” He shrugged helplessly.

  “Territory which your camp encroached on, I’m afraid. You will need to negotiate with her people to seek the repatriation of the slaves.”

  “Impossible! Those noblemen and knights cannot simply be enslaved! They are neither commoners, nor peasants.” He stammered in amazement. “This is in defiance of scripture!”

  “Gary, as the glorious hero of the battle of Bitches and Dweebs… I gift this lot to you unconditionally, brother.” The count said calmly, with a smile for his mad witch. “The supposed clerics and high nobles are all yours. Enjoy yourself.”

  “Sir Malus, please escort sir Skander back to his companions. I believe sir’s Jeng and Stillbend are on duty there.”

  While the count directed his warrior, the madman’s eyes lit up, like a child offered a favorite treat. “Well, boys… You lucky dirtbags just grabbed the sharp end of the sword.” Gary sighed happily, as he set down his instrument and stood up.

  “The count says you’re mine… Though I’m sure he’ll draw the line if I go too far with you. Unless he doesn’t see.”

  The mad witch laughed gleefully and smiled, as the count very obviously and ostentatiously looked in another direction, contemplating his collection of trophies beside the grand stair of rough hewn stone balustrades and carefully polished granite steps.

  “Kree, darling, come on out, please. These people want to complain about your new slaves.” The Fool cackled merrily.

  In a twinkle of shiny gold and black plate-mail, the four inch tall, armored wasp girl flew out from behind the witch’s ear. “Hey, humans! What’s your problem with my slaves?” She demanded, her hands resting on her absurdly narrow waist, just above the hilts of her weapons of black and gold. Her jewel tone wings buzzed in annoyance, while she glared at the richly robed men. “You could join them in my service… it’s just a single sting.”

  “Count Liam… this is wholly intolerable! We are clergy, men of god! We cannot be deprived of our property and liberty in this manner! Nor must we abide this mad jest… Send your filthy witch away, banish this pixie and let us deal under the blessed light, as ordained in scripture!”

  He took a deep breath and went on, when no one interfered.

  “The treatment we have received is absolutely intolerable for members of the clergy and nobility! We are penned up and chained, fed boiled grain gruel and water… Our demands for parole are denied unheard… even our goods and slaves have been confiscated! Intolerable and a violation of sacred law and scripture!”

  Stourbridge looked a little proud of himself after his rant; even in rags and chains, it felt like he hit the mark. The count simply gestured to his pet witch and remained silent.

  “Oh, the fun times we will have…” Gary chortled. “Tell me all about how I have to obey your stupid scriptures. If you’re entertaining, I might just let you all go through the void, as free men.”

  “Gary… The ones I have are my humans, fair and square! They were taken in battle on my tribe’s lands…” Kree complained and sulked prettily as she landed atop his head, sitting with her legs crossed. “You can’t just give my toys away like that.”

  “Oh, Sugarbee… You know I was lying! I’d never let them just go free… Not these crooked lords and clerics of the false, idiotic light.” He said softly, but more than loud enough for the three remaining prisoners to hear.

  He got up and strolled over to the collection of oddities by the grand staircase, selecting a huge ruby red gemstone, the size of a large man’s head.

  “I’ve bumped into your cult a few times before this… and you all completely suck trapdoor ass. Now, I also find that my long lost brothers, the Tarots, have been at war with you for a long time.”

  “Turns out, I’ve been at war with you shit-birds longer than anyone ever expected.” He held out his odd ruby colored gem, veined with gold and silver in the very image of a huge human heart.

  “This is all that’s left of Pontiff Luxor… The demon you clowns snuck into this world a few dozen centuries ago.” He grinned at them and held up the gem with a smile. “She’s been rooted out of this world and sent away… Permanently, like that idiot lich you all watched me peel like an onion.”

  He smiled as the clerics began murmuring excitedly among themselves. “Oh, so you know that your ‘holy pontiffs’ are simply extra-planar beings, demons, allowed into this reality through ritual sacrifices and evil, magical artifacts like this one? That really helps with my moral quandary!”

  He glanced at the count and smiled hopefully. “I really can have them all? For real?”

  “I have no interest in these men, nor their fates.” The handsome young man replied firmly. “Duke Belen and the council of dukes have declared them outlaws… So long as they are removed from my lands, you may ‘dispose’ of them as you wish.”

  A flurry of loud and irate protestations erupted from the shackled trio, drawing the handsome lord’s cold and menacing glare.

  “Your cult and scriptures mean nothing here, likewise, your titles of nobility are meaningless in this realm. You have no wealth here, no power and no influence. Here, you have no more prestige nor honors than the slave army you marched onto my domain.” He smiled coldly at them.

  “Your general promised to ‘scour my home of all life’. What duty have I, to uphold your claims of honors and status?”

  The lord and his witch let them bluster and shout for a few moments longer, before the count spoke again, silencing them with the force of his glare.

  “So long as he does not execute you in my town, or engage in any necromancy… I am deeply uninterested in your fates.”

  The count turned to the ugly warrior, who had returned to watch the proceedings with ill concealed glee.

  “How many of these… people do we have?” He asked calmly, ignoring the sputtering lords, as one would a flock of noisy chickens at the poulterers yard.

  “In our custody we have Three hundred templar knights, They haven’t caused any trouble to speak of… Otherwise, we’ve got thirty five men who claim to be high nobles or clerics, eighty who declare themselves noble, fifty belted knights and a smattering of lesser officers who claim special privileges.” He answered after briefly checking a small notebook.

  “We have the complainers all staked out on short chains on their former campsite. We thought it best to isolate them; they’re a seriously rapey bunch.” He chuckled at the three outraged elite prisoners.

  “They got their special treatment! Staked down in a field like a bunch of fighting cocks; so they can’t cause any trouble.” He grinned again, laughing wickedly.

  “Bran is cooking all their meals personally. He’s famously bad at it. The former slaves and conscripts are eating so much better than these assholes.”

  The three men shared warm and comfortable smiles, while the four prisoners complained and bitched, unheeded.

  /