Michael Head
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Wandering Warrior: Jury - Chapter 5
🕑 Added 2023-08-24 16:00:09 +0000 UTCChapter 5
The screams of the tortured captives made it impossible for Gleason to concentrate on the designs in front of him. He knew it was necessary for their cooperation, but his underlings weren’t nearly as effective as he was at getting what he wanted from people. They just didn’t have the same passion for the art that he did.
Being a White Warden had opened the door, but recent events had changed him from someone who liked his work–forcing the truth from people, no matter how recalcitrant they might be–to a man who loved what he did. Hurting others had been a necessity for Gleason to perform his mission as leader of the White. Now, it was still a necessity, but he no longer bothered with the song and dance of pretending to find an excuse.
Gleason used pain as a way to make other people do as he wished, and as a way to make himself feel good. The screams were far too distracting for him to finish with the plans for the recently captured blacksmith. Gleason would rather torture the man and his family for a few more days, just to make sure the final product came out as perfect as the man could make it. If he was properly motivated, it might even be possible to get a masterwork out of the man.
He swept the drawings for the new armor into a neat pile and put them into one of the waterproof pouches stacked on the shelves that currently served as his filing system. It was necessary, since the dampness of the sewers would ruin parchment and paper in only a few days. The plans he’d already put in motion were outlined in the numerous documents he had in other locations, but here were the ones still to be finalized. There were plenty of ways Gleason could move forward, and he knew most of them would hinge upon the actions of those who weren’t even in the city yet. He double-checked the seals on the pouches, making sure nothing would be ruined while he left for the surface.
For Gleason, finding the old abandoned sewer maintenance station under the Merchant Guild District was another sign of the Trinity’s favor. It had everything he needed, all in one place. A small barracks, kitchen facilities, enchanting tables, forges, blacksmithing workshops, alchemy stations, offices, and even a small temple dedicated to the Trinity. The pervasive smell and toxic fumes had probably been what forced the maintenance crews to the surface ages ago, but such trivial matters didn’t bother him anymore.
Ever since the lich had cursed him, and then the vampire had bit him, he wasn’t affected by the same things as a normal person. He held up his hand in the dim candlelight, studying the black veins that throbbed under his skin. Once, a few candles wouldn’t have been enough light for him to see such fine details. Now his eyes could see no matter how dark it was. He only needed light to see colors.
At first, he had thought himself abandoned by his gods. Cursed by the undead, defeated by some monster calling himself a judge, and doomed to die a horrible death. After his trials, his awakening, he understood the truth. Gleason had undergone a transformation. A series of trials had remade him, shaped him into a tool the Trinity could use to cleanse the filth from the world. The Trinity had made sure he didn’t turn into an undead, as that would mean he was no longer fit to serve them. Instead, they had made him something more. Something new.
“Sir!”
Gleason turned, surprised to see one of his men had been brave enough to disturb him. The eleven followers he still had were once thirteen. Two had been turned into lessons for the others, so they would know not to make the same mistakes. He cleared his throat and motioned for his underling to get on with it. “I take it this is important?”
“Sir, I know you don’t like it when we come in here, but you told us to tell you immediately if any of the prisoners escaped.”
Instead of reacting, Gleason studied the man. The formerly white robes and pristine armor of the White Warden were now gray and dingy, scuffed in several places and going to rust in others. A few blood splatters stained the uniform, layered in both old brown and new red colors that created a mosaic of his deeds that Gleason could appreciate. He decided then and there he would rename them. They were no longer White Wardens. These were his Blood Wardens, and they would do his work as the Trinity intended. He would have an announcement and ceremony to inform them of their new designation and ranks tomorrow, after all of this excitement was dealt with.
“What would you like us to do, sir?”
“Who escaped? And who was on guard when it happened?” Gleason grabbed the thick metal bar he had been using as a weapon off the table before limping swiftly out of the room, ignoring the stiffness in his limbs that persisted even after all the healing he had been through. The broken limbs given to him by that damned judge seemed cursed, forever causing problems. “It wasn’t you, was it?”
“N-no! I mean, no, Commander. No one was on guard. It was in the section of tunnels we had secured last week. There wasn’t supposed to be any way for them to get out.” The Warden waved a gauntleted hand toward the east, closest to the region where both the slums and the river encroached on their section of the sewers. “From what we could tell, it looks like they found a secret passage, or maybe a hidden door. It leads to an area we’ve never explored, close to the docks.”
“And who is this ‘they’ you mentioned? A crafter?” Gleason could afford a crafter or two escaping, as long as they weren’t too highly placed in their guilds. If one of the politicians escaped…
“Yes sir, it was a carpenter. One of the shipwrights in the Sailor’s Guild. The man you…” The Warden trailed off, swallowing hard, not wanting to meet Gleason’s eyes.
“The man I what? Spit it out.” Gleason was getting tired of the man’s timid nature. He had half a mind to try and see if some time on the rack would burn it out of him.
“Last week. The prisoner you maimed. When you got angry after he spit on you, so you cut out his eyes and tongue. It’s him and his sons who are missing. We thought he was going to die, but…” The Warden slowed down as they approached the section of sewer tunnels where they had thought there was no escape for those housed inside, pulling free a ring of keys from his belt. “It’s just above the water line, near the flooded sections.”
“Show me.” Gleason pushed through the heavy metal doors that served as their prison entrance for those broken enough that they no longer required a watchful eye. All the people on the other side of the doors huddled in the dark around the few candles he allowed them to keep lit, clustered as tightly as they could get on the narrow walkways on either side of the filth flowing through the middle. Threatening to take the light away was the easiest form of control he had at his disposal, especially when it came to mass punishment. “Move.”
His order meant everyone on his side of the sewers had to jump into the disgusting muck running through the arched tunnel, but none of them hesitated. Their skinny forms and shrunken cheeks cast jagged shadows on the ancient stones, somehow making their muted whimpers and quiet splashes more macabre than pitiful.
“I’ll get the lantern, sir. Give me a moment to find the matches, and–”
“Stop talking.” Gleason held out a clawed hand and furrowed his brows, concentrating for a brief moment before dark orange flames erupted from his palm. His magic had transformed even more than he had, and its power was far beyond what he could have managed in the past. He looked over at the prisoners before motioning his Warden to lead the way. “We’re going to check on this supposed ‘escaped’ prisoner. If any of you try to leave while we’re gone, I’ll burn off the bottoms of all of you and your families feet, so you aren’t tempted to try and run a second time.”
It wasn’t normal fire that he conjured, but something from a different place. It was laced with veins of black, that seemed to swallow the light the orange flames tried to emit. More concerning, it gave off an oily smoke that settled in the lowest places, such as the cracks between stones, and the slowly flowing sewage that cut through the tunnel. Anyone who looked too closely would swear sometimes there were faces that briefly formed in the smoke, screaming in agony before disappearing like they had been pulled back from wherever they had escaped.
“We don’t have to travel far, Commander. The flooded sections are closer to the river, so we need to go this way.” The Warden led Gleason through a series of tunnels that were even in worse disrepair than the rest of the sewers. This section was either older, or had seen heavier use due to its proximity to the river. Or, given the extra moisture, it hadn’t weathered the passage of time nearly as well as the rest of the system.
They came to a stop just before the tunnels started to angle downward, and to go one more step would mean they would be up to their ankles in filth. Gleason could see a hole running along the edge of the channel, butting against the opposite walkway. His vision allowed him to see details that those who had inspected before him had most likely missed in the poor lighting.
“It isn’t some kind of hidden doorway, or secret tunnel. That’s part of an overflow relief system. From the clarity of water coming in, I would bet your life that it runs straight to the river. Two starving young boys and a blind man? They’ve certainly drowned themselves trying to escape.” Gleason thought for a moment, trying to remember any large drain pipes that exited along the city wall near the docks. He couldn’t think of any that were made from the old stone found in the ancient sewers. “Send some men to try and find their bodies. If they haven’t been eaten, they’re probably caught under the docks somewhere. Toss them where the undead or goblins will find them. We won’t hear any questions after that.”
“Yes, Commander. What about the mission to pick up the new alchemist and his family? The guilds have all increased their security, and their new number four now has a guard detail at his house.” The Warden hurried to keep up with Gleason, who had already turned to go back to the entrance. “Do you want us to take the risk?”
“Hmm…” Gleason paused, causing the Warden following behind to almost stumble into the disgusting causeway beside them. “No. Instead, send them an invitation to dinner at a nice restaurant. Make sure it’s from someone they won’t want to offend, and the location is far enough away they’ll want to hire a carriage. That carriage will be ours. Bring them here, and begin the integration process immediately.”
“What if they have their own carriage?” The Warden winced when he saw the look on Gleason’s face.
“Then you make sure they don’t have a carriage driver available. Do I need to explain everything to you?” The flames in his hand jumped higher, but somehow there was less light than before. “Or does the number four alchemist’s carriage driver also have a guard detail to protect him?”
“I–I’m sure we can arrange something, Commander.” The Warden swallowed heavily, stepping back from the thick black smoke that seemed to reach for his boots. “There shouldn’t be any problems.”
“Good.” The fire returned to normal, and Gleason returned to his steady march toward the exit. “Now, I’ve got a few more designs to go over with the shield master, and a completely new idea I want the leatherworker to review for a different kind of whip. One I think the enchanters are going to really lose some sleep over.” He looked over his shoulder at the underling trailing behind him. “So this time, I really don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Y-yes sir, of course sir. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of.” The trails of smoke grasping at his boots were more than enough warning for the Warden. Most of all, he would make sure the next time something happened, it was someone else that drew the short straw and had to visit their Commander.
The two quickly left the prison section, locking the doors behind them. Quiet whispers burst forth as the light from Gleason’s dangerous flames slowly disappeared. No one took a candle and ventured to inspect where they had come from. The carpenter and his boys had tried to get more people to leave with them, but none had been willing to take the risk. They understood what the carpenter hadn’t. Sometimes, there were powers you didn’t challenge. It was best to let those with the ability to stand against such things to do so, while those who were mere mortals stood to the side.
Even though the heavy slabs of steel had remained open while Gleason had been deeper in the prison, not one person had tried to escape.
[I hope that ending lands like I want. It's meant to be a play on the saying "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." These people are standing to the side, waiting for others to step in and save them. Yes, they are starving and malnourished, but there are literally dozens of them, and only two bad guys. If they had jumped them and tried to drown them in the sewer, they might have actually won. But, history has proven time and time again that most people will not take that step, or risk themselves, choosing slow starvation and no chance at freedom over a blaze of glory with only a tiny chance at life and freedom. I'm touching on those points here, like I do throughout the series with other things like morality, choices, viewpoints on justice, etc.]
Comments
Gotcha. I copy/pasted this in the document for the developmental edit. Keep the insight coming!
I don't think the ending really fits what you are trying to portray with the "evil triumphs if good stays put". First of all, there is a sentence talking about how "they mortals need to stand aside", implying that they think of themselves as inherently inferior, and think that there is no chance whatsoever at victory or escape. Second, I think there should be more emphasis on the fact they want to be saved, instead of putting emphasis on the impossibility of escape. This way you can drive home the fact they are hoping for someone else to do the dirty work, which is morally questionable. Being too afraid to escape isn't something to be "judged" over necessarily, but hoping for others to do the job for you, certainly could be.
Lena M. Lucente
Good job. And yeah, there is the saying that fear is debilitating! (I think that is the right word I'm looking for)
