No Strings Attached - Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Four

55th Day of Spring - Year 1758 of the Golden Era

Shorefarm, Yellowfield, Draya Calyrex

Maldrak stared at Baron Goldfilius for a long time. The only motion in the room was the faint breathing of the three men within and the shimmering shuffle of a curtain caught in a faint breeze. His hand tightened on the head of his cane until his knuckles popped, and then, finally, he spoke.

“You wish to take the town given to me to rule by Aurynth the Golden?” the baron asked.

“My puppets relayed to me what was said between you and them,” Maldrak replied. “You know that the dragon is dead.”

“Maybe. But I am not,” the baron said. “And I am not so weak that I cannot yet crush your little mage head in one fist.” He raised one of said fists up. The baron’s hand was covered in fine scales, his fingers ending in blunted talons like chipped stone. 

“I am certain that your prowess in combat is exceptional,” Maldrak said. “But what does that matter when your people will starve or be driven mad before spring turns to summer? You cannot be a baron over the ruined remains of a township.”

The baron leaned back, fist lowering until it thumped onto his desk. “I’ve spoken to a lot of mages in my day. Sniveling little academics with their eyes downcast and minds befuddled by their own brilliance. Most are only brave until you grow some scales and start spitting fire. But you... you have balls, don’t you, Magus Maldrak?”

Maldrak tilted his head in a slight bow. “I will take that compliment in the grace it was given,” he replied. “I... am a contentious member within the world of mages. I prefer action over mere words, and that has at once helped me grow and has stifled my advancement.”

“You’ve the smell of an archmagus,” the baron said. “But enough flattery. Why do you want Shorefarm?”

“The shoreside town that’s part of your domain is currently occupied by the sailors that came with me on this voyage,” Maldrak said. “Shorefarm proper is an hour’s walk away. It has fields--though they are untended--and homes that only need maintenance and care to be brought to a respectable standard.”

“I know what I have,” the baron said.

“And I know that I need it,” Maldrak replied. “This very morning I struck a deal with Magus Beornhelm of the local mage’s tower. Soon, I will be sending correspondence across the ocean, informing some associates and allies of mine of the greater situation within the continent. Already, rumours must be spreading, but my word is worth more than these.”

The baron’s brows drew together. “You’re wanting people to come here?”

“Yes,” Maldrak said. “I need willing bodies to carry out some tasks. Several hundred of them, even, and the support network to keep them fed and housed. An existing town is a good starting location for what should eventually be a massive expedition further north and east, into the Yellowfields and the cities nearby.”

The baron hummed. “A conquering force,” he said. “And you want my town to be its staging ground.”

“Not a conquering force,” Maldrak said. “Lumberjacks approaching a virgin wood aren’t conquerors. They are merely exploiters.”

“The distinction won’t matter to the other nobles,” the baron said.

“I believe they are currently otherwise occupied,” Maldrak said. “We crossed Viremontis on our ship as we approached. The city was burning. I imagine it’s much the same for the rest of the continent.”

“And those not burning are fomenting rebellion,” the baron said. “The church is likely rallying for a lass hurrah. If any dragon yet lives, they will pledge all of their power to their cause.”

“I have reason to believe that none do,” Maldrak said. “This is a new world. One without dragons, but not yet without their influence. You and your family will yet have the mark of your draconic inheritance for some time. Your children and theirs and likely theirs in turn, will be stronger than most can ever hope to be. Or you can remain the baron of a ruined township. I will have my staging ground either way.”

The baron stared at Maldrak for a long time, the room once more sinking into quiet. Finally, he spoke, though the timbre of his voice had changed. He was less confrontational and strong, quieter, calmer. It set Maldrak’s teeth on edge. 

“I’ve aged gracefully under the blessing of my dragon forefather,” Baron Goldfilius began. “But I was once young and brash. At the time, it was common for pureblooded families to allow their youth, especially the young men, to leave their home and go off on grand adventures.”

“Go on,” Maldrak said to fill the silence.

“I went on a few of these, with friends and with adversaries who became bosom companions. I met strange people from across the continent, had my ideas challenged, and grew into a proper man on those trips. You remind me of one of these.”

Maldrak shifted. He was uncertain of where this was going.

“You know of the Emberfang Barrens?” the baron asked.

“An inhospitable area, far to the southeast,” Maldrak said. “I want little to do with the space, though I’m aware that there are some natural treasures there.”

“The land is an endless swamp, the ground is wet and will suck you in. There are mosquitoes the size of horses, and horses the size of baby dragons. There are several dragons that live in that region. Great black and red beasts that spit poison mists and shit acid. It is not inhospitable. It is merely a place that no human ought to set foot within. But we did anyway. The people who live there are a strange folk, and we wished to see them up close.”

Maldrak nodded slowly. 

“You remind me of something I encountered there. It was a monster. A plant the size of my manse. It snuck up to our camp one fine night, slithering tendrils moving across the swamps and over rocks until they caught the legs of one of my retainers. Pulled the man out of his cot and shoved him into a flower lined with razors and thorns. Never saw him again. I still remember the screams as he was digested in the flower’s acid sack, though. Muffled screams that went on until we’d run past the nearest hill.” He shifted, looking down and meeting Maldrak’s eye. “You remind me of that thing, Magus.”

Maldrak shifted his weight. “I take it, then, that we have an accord?” he asked.

Jorvin, silent until then, chuckled darkly.

“Yes, Magus,” the baron said. “But I must first know what you want from me and mine.”

“Your men aren’t too afflicted by the essence corruption, I’ve noticed,” Maldrak said.

“I won’t allow them to be, no,” the baron said.

“I’m not certain I understand,” Maldrak said.

The baron sniffed. “Maguses always seem to look down upon those who use the essence of the draconic to empower themselves. As though it is no more science than your arcanistry. My men will not turn into cancerous masses of dragon flesh. Given control of my own town, I can ensure that those still loyal to the Goldfilius name retain their minds, at least. I cannot say that we will live long and healthy lives, but we will all go to the grave painfully sane, as long as I remain so as well.”

“Interesting,” Maldrak said. It was. His desire to probe and ask questions was tempered, however, by the political truth of the situation at hand. “In any case. What I need from you is a policing force and manpower to improve Shorefarm into a state where it can serve as a hub for an expansionist force.”

“Strangers to the continent will have no luck resisting the essence they take in,” the baron said.

“Then perhaps we can add gravedigging to the duties you will have to attend to,” Maldrak said.

“Hmph. ‘Do what you would have done anyway, but under my auspices’, is that right? You could perhaps give that plant monster some lessons in subtlety, Magus Maldrak. What of outsiders?”

“The people coming from other continents answering my call?” Maldrak asked.

“No. Outsiders to Shorefarm, from the rest of the Yellowfields. Some will have fled their homes gone mad. They will wander the roads. Some will turn to banditry, but others will merely be fleeing in search of safety.”

“Then we will fold them under your care as well, as long as they are willing to work for their keep,” Maldrak said. There was already a longstanding tradition of serfdom here, so he would use it if he could. “Perhaps some will work as scouts for me, but otherwise, they can fall under your auspices.”

“You are making yourself a duke,” the baron said. “All you need are a few more baronies.”

“No. Nobility isn’t my calling, Baron Goldfilius. Far, far from it.”

***