Chapter 15: Sowing Seeds

Of the scant taverns scattered amongst the hovels and ramshackles of Hellfrost, the Rusted Spear was the least offensive to the senses. It also was closest to both the Hellfrost Keep itself and to the guardhouse at the town gate, making it the preferred destination for off-duty guards and the town watch. That made it the perfect destination for Esharah to introduce Publicar Etrani to the two figures who could legally complain about Hellfrost’s management.

Three companies of soldiers were stationed in Hellfrost: the active guards led by Erdrak along with two reserve companies who acted as town watch, emergency forces, and general laborers, led by the two men joining Esharah and Etrani at the table.

Captain Wulfred Frostclaw was a canin beastkin, tall and red-furred, with a streak of grey in his thick mane of hair despite being only in his 30s as far as Esharah could guess. Calling him taciturn was being polite. If a man had anything worth saying, he’d say it once, and that was all he would say. According to rumors, he’d once carried a wounded comrade fifty miles back to camp after a scouting mission gone wrong. Esharah’s senses found extremely narrow focuses of his attention: enjoy the ale, watch the door.

Captain Breton Bretonus was decidedly more approachable. With a booming voice that called out compliments to the tavernmaid as comfortably as it barked orders to the troops. Human, with a classical Tarnis nose and the shoulder-length hair and short beard that had been in fashion when Emperor Dramus Dovinius had led the legions 20 years ago - a style that had since fallen out of favor. Except apparently in the eyes of Captain Breton. Perhaps a few years younger than Wulfred, and a few older than Esharah herself, the man still held the energy of a young soldier on his first campaign, despite long years at Hellfrost.

“So you’re the scribe, eh?” Captain Breton leaned back in his chair, swilling ale. “Gov’ner sent someone down to sort out this mess?”

“That is my task,” Etrani nodded.

“When can we expect the backpay, then?” Breton asked.

Etrani’s brow furrowed, “Backpay?”

“Ain’t that why you’re here?” Breton asked.

“There are...many problems that I’ve been tasked to fix,” Etrani said, opening up her book of notes. “What problem are you referring to?”

“My soldiers have gone six months at reduced pay,” Breton leaned forward, smile fading from his face. “You didn’t even know about that?”

Alarm sounded in Etrani’s emotions, “That...was not indicated in the financial records. The records show full dispersal of payroll to all soldiers stationed here.”

“Well, we don’t have the damn money,” Wulfred growled slamming his tankard on the table with a noise that made Etrani jump.

Esharah quickly sent pulses to both Wulfred and Etrani, one to mollify the angry captain, the other to soothe the startled publicar. The conversation paused as both took breaths, calming. Slightly. Esharah kept the touch on their emotions light, enough to cool their tempers without smothering them. They needed the anger, the agitation, just enough that they could see the real problem. Just enough anger to spur action against the deserved object of their rage.

Etrani scratched a note in her book, hand shaking slightly, “How much of a pay reduction has it been?”

“A third of the money missing, every month,” Breton replied.

Esharah felt Etrani slipping into a state of focus on the numbers, leaving emotions behind. To keep the edge, Esharah stoked the agitation, the anger at the mortal sin of incorrect financial accounting.

Apparently, she overdid it. Etrani looked as though she would burst into tears. A yawning void was opening up within her, horror and disgust mixing with despair, “One thousand, five hundred, and seventy eight aurams.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Esharah tried to soothe as subtly as possible, bringing her back to a less agitated state. “Is that correct?”

“I’m not a man of numbers,” Breton replied. “I only know we’ve been underpaid.”

“Over a thousand...” Etrani shook her head. “That...there is no way this was an accounting error. That is a very substantial amount of funds. Too much to simply miss. Where could that money have possibly gone?!”

Wulfred and Breton glanced at each other, then Breton carefully said, “According to Executor Yvris, the money never arrived from Northstar.”

“That’s impossible,” Etrani snapped. “Governor Iraias’ scribes are scrupulous in our accounting. We...” she paused, relaxing as Esharah gave another soothing pulse. “No, it is not impossible. Failure could have come with the initial shipments, with the military courier, or with Hellfrost’s dispersal. I...I need to investigate this more. I’ve no idea how such incompetence...”

The scribe stopped as Esharah whispered in her mind, implanting the thought as Etrani’s own, reinforcing the thoughts already inchoate. What if it isn’t incompetence? Accusing a magistrate and executor of the empire was a traitorous thought. Far less traitorous, however, than embezzling imperial funds.

Etrani took a deep breath, “I promise you that I will get to the bottom of this.” A flash of resolve, the feeling that Esharah was becoming increasingly familiar with in the scribe, mixed with her own flavor of moral indignation, “This will not stand.”

At that resolve, Esharah back off, withdrawing her touch on Etrani’s mind. Once an arrow was fired, there was no need to guide it anymore. That seed was planted. There were others to tend to.

* * *

Esharah waited to meet the soldier as he returned from the shithouse. So aptly named, the storage shack gathered all the waste of Hellfrost (both keep and town) for composting and later use spread in the fields. Perhaps the most viscerally unpleasant duty in Hellfrost, usually reserved as a punishment.

This guard in question, Warren, was a slender young man with close-cropped dark hair. Under normal circumstances, he would have qualified as handsome. Any attraction was overpowered by the stench he carried with him from that day’s labor.

“Warren?” Esharah asked as he approached the gate.

The guard paused, noticing her waiting by the gate. He frowned and inclined his head respectfully, “Warden Esharah.”

Guards and wardens had a strange relationship. Ostensibly, they were peers, though wardens like Zadrine treated the guards as no more than lackeys. The fact that Esharah aided Yvris directly in administering “confessions” meant that most guards pulsed something between fear and disgust around her. Warren’s emotions were mostly fatigue and wariness right now.

“I heard what happened,” Esharah said sympathetically. “It’s not right that you were punished just for helping the prisoners.”

Warren was clearly trying to keep any emotion from showing on his face. Not a particularly useful exercise in her presence.

“I disobeyed orders, and now I’m facing the consequences,” Warren said carefully.

Despite the stoic tone, she could feel the resentment towards Erdrak. She gave that resentment a prod, stirring up the embers into a stronger heat.

“From what I heard, though, you were right to disobey,” Esharah said. “It’s a failure of leadership to punish a brave soldier for doing the right thing.”

Maybe she overdid the touch. Maybe Warren had just had enough work for that day. Regardless, the words didn’t have outcome she hoped.

“Warden,” Warren frowned deeper. “I don’t know what game Executor Yvris has put you up to play, but I’ll thank you to leave me out of it. I will continue to serve as a good soldier. I have no criticisms of our leadership. Good night to you.”

The guard brushed past her, inside the gates. Esharah couldn’t resent him for it, really. Such suspicion wasn’t unwarranted; Yvris had put Warden’s to the task of spying on guards before, searching for disloyalty to punish. And creating it if none already existed. Still, she didn’t need him to trust her. All she needed was him thinking about the failures of Hellfrost’s leadership. Another seed sown.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Night soil had a way of nurturing such seeds.

* * *

Esharah found the rokei boy behind the back wall of Hellfrost, uncomfortably close to the compost heap. Tanya was the one who’d pointed him out to Esharah. The poor boy was inconsolable, the minari matron had said.

The boy jumped as Esharah peaked behind the bulging wall of Hellfrost Keep that formed his hiding place.

“I-I wasn’t slacking!” the boy jerked to his feet, wiping away tears.

Rokei were the smallest of ogres, and this one was a particularly small specimen. Perhaps 80 pounds soaking wet and not even four feet high. This one was young enough that the growth of his ears had outpaced the rest of his body, and the enormous triangular ears twitched in agitation at her presence.

“I didn’t come out here to report or scold you, Jakin,” Esharah said placatingly, placing a calming touch on his mind. Calming the fear of her at least. The grief, the boiling anger...that she left alone. The boy looked a bit startled that Esharah knew his name. For good reason. The wardens scarcely interacted with the lower staff of Hellfrost, especially ones like this boy whose primary job was shoveling frostfang dung. In fact, if Tanya hadn’t mentioned the boy’s name, Esharah wouldn’t have the slightest clue who he was.

Esharah sat down against the wall, gesturing for the rokei to do the same, “What’s wrong?”

I can trust her, Esharah implanted the thought in his head. A bit heavy-handed of a nudge, but from her empathic sense Jakin was not exactly a complex individual. As evidenced by the fact that even while sobbing over the death of his best friend, he was still apparently unable to keep his eyes from bouncing to Esharah’s chest.

“It’s...it’s just...” Jakin sat down, hugging his knees. “It’s Grogan.”

“Oh dear,” Esharah said. “I...I hadn’t heard what happened to...” Him? Her?

Thankfully, Jakin didn’t notice Esharah’s obvious ignorance of the subject. He continued, “Th-they killed her! F-f-fed her to the blackfangs! They made little Nightclaw eat her!” He burst into tears again. Esharah put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing softly while trying to glean what she could from the tumult of his mind.

“That’s horrible,” Esharah said softly.

Tell her more, she implanted. She’ll listen.

“Grogan loved the dogs,” Jakin continued. “Always slipped ‘em extra treats. She was the best trainer we had. That’s why she protected Nightclaw! She’s a good pup! Just ‘cause she’s not as big and strong as the other dogs don’t mean she deserves that! She’s not ready for the voidmeat, but they didn’t listen!” Anger boiled over in his voice, a flash of red-hot rage and hatred.

Esharah tried to follow, “So...Grogan was protecting Nightclaw...and they killed Grogan for that?”

The tears came anew. “That bitch Zadrine burned her alive!” He flinched, “S-s-sorry! I-I know I shouldn’t talk that way about Wardens! F-forgive me, I-”

Esharah shushed him.“No, no,” she said. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to report you. You’re right to be angry. What they did to Grogan was horrible.”

She let the rage in the boy’s mind grow. It needed no touch to build itself up now.

“I-I don’t know what to do,” Jakin mumbled. “I miss her so much. I...I want to make Zadrine pay! I want to kill her!” He balled up his fists.

Not yet, Esharah implanted.

The rage cooled. It didn’t vanish.

“The dogs need someone who really cares for them now that Grogan’s gone,” Esharah said. “You can care for them, right?”

“R-right!” the boy nodded. “Grogan trained me on how to care for them! I-I can keep them strong!”

“That’s wonderful,” Esharah rubbed his back.

And if an accident happens...if the hounds get loose at the right time...

Esharah let the fantasy grow in the boy’s mind. Another seed. Another spark. One day, all those sparks would light together.

* * *

Esharah found Tanya still in the kitchen, cheerfully humming a soft tune while mashing up meat. From the foul, choking stench, it was voidspawn meat.

“Were you able to comfort poor Jakin?” Tanya asked.

“I was,” Esharah said, watching the minari carefully.

Tanya drained the meat through a sieve, letting the tainted runoff out. The meat left behind was edible once the black blood was gone; whether it should be eaten was a different matter. Tanya tossed some of the meat aside, taking a small fraction and tossing the chunks in a boiling pot of stew for the prisoners’ meals. Mixed thoroughly enough in the stew, even the taste of the void could be carefully hidden.

Esharah wondered if something equally poisonous was mixed in the meal’s chef.

“Something troubling you, dear?” Tanya’s voice was sweet as ever, and Esharah felt nothing but sincere interest in her emotions.

“Why...” Esharah glanced to make sure no one else was present. That the Warden’s Eyes really weren’t watching. Apparently, Yvris did not consider the kitchens worth monitoring with the same zeal as the rest of Hellfrost. “Why are you helping us?”

Tanya removed the gloves that protected her plump hands from the black blood and wiped her brow. She gestured to a nearby table, “You look like you’ve been running yourself ragged. Have a seat. I’ll make us some tea.”

Warily, Esharah sat. Despite her suspicions, still nothing showed in the minari’s emotions as she put a kettle on to boil. A few moments later, the soothing scent of the chamomile tisane almost was enough to overpower the stench of voidmeat lingering in the kitchen.

“What are you worried about?” Tanya asked as she set a steaming cup in front of Esharah, the dezar-sized saucer almost comically large in a minari’s grip.

Another search of her emotions came up empty of any subterfuge. Esharah was forced to face the possibility that Tanya might be exactly what she seemed. Or so skilled at hiding it that even an Empath couldn’t tell the difference.

“I’m worried you’ll tell Yvris I’m plotting against him, and he’ll have me drawn and quartered in front of the entire prison,” Esharah tried honesty, an unfamiliar tactic at this point in her life.

Tanya shook her head, “Oh, no, you needn’t worry about that at all.” She pat Esharah’s hand. “I’ve no desire to see anyone suffer under Yvris’ rule.”

“But you work for Hellfrost,” Esharah said.

Tanya chuckled, “So do you.”

“I-“ Esharah paused as a pair of giggling girls entered with trays, both minari but half-a-head taller than Tanya. The one on the left, Tanya’s middle daughter, was almost the spitting image of her mother. The older daughter might have born a healthy resemblance as well if not for the facial injury that left one eye permanently closed and that entire side of her face deformed.

“Oh, Ena, Krista, you finished cleaning the west wing?” Tanya asked.

“Yes, mother,” the girls spoke in unison, the one of the left rolling her eyes. The one of the right, the elder, might have rolled her eyes as well from the exasperation that Esharah felt rolling off of her, but with the deformation in her face, it was difficult to read her expression.

“Good girls,” Tanya said. “The pantry needs sorting with the new food we bought on market day. Take care of that, and then you can head home.”

The younger daughter protested, but only in the way that adolescents are honor-bound to push back against any new task foisted upon them by authority. The negotiations were swift, and the girls managed to talk their mother into a few treats as a reward for their labors before Tanya finally chased them away.

“I’ve been in Hellfrost for ten years,” Tanya said as she returned to the table. She downed the tea in a single gulp, then put the gloves back on and began chopping more voidmeat to mash. “Like so many, my husband was part of the legions, promised land after his service. Quartermaster, not a soldier.” She chuckled, “My Barry wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly...unless that fly was messing with his kitchen.”

Esharah traced the timeline in her mind, “I thought that soldiers weren’t allowed to marry while still serving? But your children...?”

“Oh, yes,” Tanya gave an impish grin. “No one follows those silly rules. Oh, my oldest boy, Mikel, was from my first marriage, but the rest were Barry’s. I followed the camp halfway across the empire for him. We had quite the caravan of soldiers’ secret lovers! Hardly a secret by the fourth child, though. After his honorable discharge, we came to Hellfrost. From soldiers to farmers. A promise of peace, and a chance to settle down.” She sliced open another steak of voidspawn meat, “Not the first broken promise from the empire.”

“You were here before Yvris, then,” Esharah said. From what she knew, Yvris had been assigned to Hellfrost as Executor five years ago. That meant that Tanya was in Hellfrost when Vestra served as warden.

“Oh, yes. And don’t get me wrong, things were no heaven before Yvris. But it’s worse since. Much worse.” Tanya’s face darkened. “You arrived just after the attack two years ago, right? How much did you hear about it?”

“Only that Voidspawn made it to the town,” No one spoke of the details, except in dark whispers. Occasionally, some in the taverns would fall into hysterics at the mere memory.

“That’s right,” Tanya paused. “And Yvris locked the gates of Hellfrost Keep as farmers fled from the fields, begging for safety. He locked the gates as my husband and my son pounded on the door. Begged for help. Begged for him to save them. I heard Barry and Mikel’s screams. I still hear them.” A long pause as the memory stabbed into Esharah’s Empathic Sense like a knife of pure grief.

“And it’s not just Yvris. The rot goes up to the captain of the guards too,” Tanya couldn’t keep the undertones of anger out of her voice, “Do you know how my Ena got that wound on her face?”

Esharah hadn’t witnessed the incident. She only saw the aftermath. Even with all she’d seen in Hellfrost, all she’d felt, that still stood out. “Erdrak did that to her.”

“She spilled soup on him,” Tanya’s voice fell into a strained whisper. “So he threw a boot at her. Then, he threw her to the ground and he stomped. My daughter’s. Face.” The knife slammed into the cutting board with far more force that before, sticking into the wood and quivering amid the black blood and voidmeat.

Tanya turned to face Esharah, blinking the tears away, “Did you know that vis of the Third Circle with body domains are resistant to most poisons?”

A chill went through Esharah. She gulped, “I...I did.”

The righteous fury of a vengeful mother faded back into the minari’s soul, but Esharah still saw burning hatred in her eyes, “So, there’s little one simple widow like me can do. But with everyone they’ve wronged together...”

Tanya let the implication hang in the air.

Tanya returned to her stew, watching the mix of voidmeat, thickened broth, and wilted vegetables boil, “Men like Yvris, like Erdrak believe that power allows them to do whatever they want. They believe that they are above consequences. Above real justice. They grind us all up, prisoner or warden or townsfolk, like we’re no more than stew meat. They’ve had their feast. I’d like to watch them choke on it.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *