NOVEL NEXT Chapter LXIX – The crew gets going once more.
51st of Summer, 5859
Imperial Highway №04-763, Outskirts of Azdavay
All roads lead to Rome, except for the roads that were built in realities in which Rome doesn’t exist. Such was the case with the Imperial Highway, on which you couldn’t roam to Rome.
Where you could roam to was every other city in Gemeinplatz however, and traders loved to roam to grease the wheels of the economy. One such group was making their way, loaded with a dozen donkeys and a dozen men who were mostly indifferent from donkeys. They were marching single-file to allow anyone else to pass them if need be, though they hadn’t seen anyone else for a long while now.
“The roads really are deserted, aren’t they?” said the caravan master, whose title as “master” was confirmed by the fact that he had a really fancy feather attached to his silk cap.
“It’s all the fugitives, sir.” replied a caravan guard marching behind his back. “Though, I’m guessing you have heard about them already…”
“I thought that the others at the Merchant’s Guild were exaggerating to try and discourage me from making some good profit.” Of course, such a shrewd caravan master was not to be tricked by such lowly tricks, or so he had thought. “Still, if these lands aren’t visited by others, then that just means there isn’t much competition.”
“You’re right, sir.” The guard patted the sword which laid securely in his scabbard. “It’s not like a bunch of savage fugitives can harm… our… caravan?”
“Hm? Is there something wrong?” The caravan master had taken his eyes off the road while chitting and chatting. He turned around to see a most unsightly sight, one which he couldn’t believe was real. “A-Are yo-you seeing that?!”
“Y-yes, sir!” Swords were drawn as the caravan got ready to fight. Their spirits didn’t last long though. “Ten, twenty, thirty… They just keep coming!”
“They” in question were a column of men marching in formation. Normally men marching in formation wouldn’t be that much of a concern, the caravan was doing the exact same thing, but the nature of these men made the caravan master soil his fancy pants. “What are these darkskins doing?!” He had never in his life seen so many of them at once, not to mention so many of them armed and in a military formation.
Panic ran amok amongst the ranks of the caravan, though they didn’t exactly have the tools to beat a fast retreat. Donkeys weren’t quick on their own, neither they were quick when they were loaded with goods. All the caravan master could do was watch as the column of fugitives got closer, and pray that he was granted a quick death.
“Good morning to you.” Instead, the caravan master was greeted by an old man greeting him from the front of the column. He seemed to be of the gentlemanly sort, far away from someone that the caravan master expected.
“Good… Good morning?”
“What a fine day, isn’t it? Such a clear sky, thank the Lord, a perfect day to take a walk and witness Creation in all its glory.” Such peaceful words came out a bit funny when it was said by someone who had an entire army behind his back. “Anyways, to get to the point…” The old man took a good look at the caravan loaded with goods. A few of the fugitives had already taken upon themselves to inspect the goods. They returned to report their findings to the old man. “Dried meat and fish? Grain? No slaves? Good, good, then I think we’ll have a healthy business relationship. How about you sell us everything you have?”
“Huh?” The caravan master was shocked once more. “I thought you were going to rob me?”
“Rob? Oh, no, robbery is a sin.” The old man procured a small bag of money from a petite catgirl next to him. “Things are about to get rough around these parts, so we’ll be doing you a favor by bailing you out of these goods which you won’t be able to sell otherwise.”
The caravan master received the small bag, opening it and even chewing on the coins to confirm their legitimacy. He had been given money, far away from being enough to compensate for all he had lost, but enough to let him start doing business again once he got back. This didn’t make him happy of course, but was he going to object to these hundreds of armed men? At least these bandits were merciful enough to not murder him outright.
Soon the fugitives had mounted the donkeys, seized their goods and let the caravan off with enough food to make it to their intended destination of Zon’guldac. As the two parties separated, the caravan master had one question:
Who the hell were these people?
51st of Summer, 5859
Casamonu, Castle Casamonu
Sir Baha had a big problem on his hands: he had won. Victory, sweet as it was, wasn’t the end, and it only led to bigger problems that he had to contend with.
For now, Count Baha was sitting in the office of the Count of Casamonu. He had been declared the legitimate ruler by the loose coalition of noblemen he led. Now he had to fight the biggest enemy he had ever encountered: his co-conspirators, who were sitting in the office with him.
They were all quite comfortable physically, the count had thankfully not shied away from comfortable lounging with puffy sofas and cloudlike pillows all around the room. Mentally, however, they were tense like the spine of a sixtysomething who had slept all night in a cave.
“The fugitives, they have stopped their raids.” announced a baron who Baha had convinced to join with promises of plunder which had been fulfilled after the siege. “We, and none of my fellow lords in the area, have reported any plantation being burnt down by fugitives.”
“…excuse me?” Baha was confused as to why such good news would be delivered with such a somber tone. “That is good news! Isn’t it?”
“The thing is…” replied the man next to the baron, who was the mayor of some village who had donated troops to the anti-count campaign. “The matter is, it is certainly true that the fugitives have stopped for now. The problem is that the fugitives weren’t the only one committing such activities. We caught a group of lightskins trying to set the slave barracks of a plantation on fire after having killed some of the overseers and looted the plantation of its valuables. They, before we executed them, admitted to deliberately following the methods of the fugitives in order to confuse is into thinking that their actions were done by fugitives.”
Count Baha could only groan in response. “…great.” The implications of this weren’t good: who knows how many of these raids were done by fugitives and others by plain old bandits? Thinking about it, so many plantations being harmed by such a discrete and small group of fugitives was impossible… Had law and order broken down so much that people were daring to do such brazen acts? Not to mention, the count was deposed due to not being able to protect these petty lords… and I’m the count now! He had to do something. Anything. Anything would be better than no action, but what was he to do with a treasury which had been emptied from the siege and a lack of trade?
Sir Baha had saved his head once; Count Baha had to find a way to save his head on which a little bronze crown stood. It’s not like he could negotiate with the fugitives to somehow stop all of this… could he? Baha shook his head. No, trying to negotiate with the fugitives would just be a death sentence. The other noblemen would rather see their plantations burn rather than willingly surrender their primary source of cheap labor. Baha would see his head fly the moment that the fugitives eventually returned; they would definitely return since nobody had yet to find and destroy them.
This is it, thought Baha. It’s much better to live with dishonor than die with honor. He had secretly negotiated with fugitives, rebelled against his liege to escape the consequences, hadn’t he already gone beyond the point of no return? What was to further stain his honor when his honor had already been stained pure black?
“We’ll discuss these topics by gathering a council of lords tomorrow.” replied Baha “I’ll be listening to all of your concerns there and finding a solution. It shouldn’t be too hard to deter some criminals.” He looked at his visitors. They seemed convinced enough.
“Thank you, Your Excellency.” Both of his visitors bowed down before leaving the room.
The brief taste of power that Baha had managed to taste was more than enough. Power was bitter, tasteless, only desired by those who were addicted to it. Baha would rather not perish in his futile pursuit for power.
When time marched on and tomorrow came, Baha was nowhere to be seen in Casamonu.