“And you’re still as big and demanding as I remember, Master,” I reply, knowing that stroking his ego is the best thing for this moment.
His smile widens and he nods appreciatively. It’s humorous to me, because my master knows how much bigger and stronger than him I am. At least where it counts. He still numbers among the most proficient and terrifying warriors in all of Olhav, yet when it comes to his base desires, there are many who have him beat.
At the end of the night, Barnabac Craxon is nothing but a vile, weak, small-minded man. He’s been ruined by his own arrogance and ambition, turning so many bloodthralls that his mind has cracked and made him into a gods-touched lunatic.
Still, he’s a lunatic who demands complete obedience from his flock, and sex from whoever is closest. He seems to think doing this to me is a “reward” of some kind, for me, even though he saw me break the neck of one of his “sons,” Kamlirn, immediately after last time.
I keep my temper down, knowing it will only get me in trouble. Last time, I almost died because of my bloodrage—a curse I have thanks to the Blood Baron. I won’t let that happen again. There are too many important things to do.I’ll get my aggressions out another way,I think blithely.
Barnabac tilts his head and runs a hand down the single long braid of his gray beard. He stares at me for a long time, standing before him in obedience because there’s nothing I can do to break the complete hold he has over me.
This evening, after sleeping like the dead all through the day following my excursion with Sephania and the others, Master Barnabac called to my mind from across Olhav. I was obliged to follow his call, and I snuck out of Manor Marquin before the final rays of sunlight had even fallen behind the mountains.
“I take it you’ve heard of the mess that transpired in Trithea Plaza, on the outskirts of my ward,” he tells me. His eyes narrow in scrutiny of my response.
I nod diligently. “Yes, Master. I saw as much as heard about it. The row of impaled heads you lined the streets with will surely see others off.”
He chuckles, nodding. “It was fun, killing all those petty peasants in retribution. Got them from Nuhav. Stirred up a proper tizzy on the Floorboards.”
He’s proud of the destruction and chaos he’s wrought. My ill-advised mind provokes me to ask, “Retribution, my lord? What did the humans do? I heard it was Overlady Mortis who attacked you.”
“What did the humans do? They existed, Vallan. That is all they need to do to deserve my fury.” He sits up, tapping his knees with his hands, like mass murder is merely a chain of events that must happen to get what he wants. “Alacine Mortis was in the middle of a conflict when my soldiers and I arrived. Her fault was in traversing the Military Ward without my say-so. It was foolish of her, but not something we can’t work past.”
“You will meet with her, then?”
“Already have, boy.” Even as his smile fades, the scrutinizing gaze in his beady eyes enhances. “Tell me, son, do you have any idea who Alacine was fighting?”
His words allow no lie. There is a command in his voice that strikes to my core, seeping into my brain and pulling at me painfully. With a quick wince, I nod, and spill the secrets I’ve been trying to keep close to my chest. “Lord Skartovius Ashfen and his court at Manor Marquin, Master. Myself included among them.”
Barnabac blinks. His face is slack, no bloodrage showing. “I thought as much.”
His answer surprises me. “You knew?”
“Why do you think I just fucked you like you owe me your soul?”
I resist responding how I’d like to, the words on the tip of my tongue.“That was the best you can do? Like my ‘soul owes you?’ I hardly felt a thing.”
“That cur, Skartovius Ashfen. He considers himself a lord, does he?”
My bulky shoulders rise and fall. “He is the lord of a manor, Master.”
Barnabac tsks in annoyance. “Of a dingy manse on the outskirts of Olhav. Not even located in a proper ward! The damned countryside horse-fucker.”
I tilt my head. “It sounds like Lord Ashfen angers you more than you’d like to admit, Master Barnabac.”
His nostrils flare and he jabs a beefy finger toward me. “Watch yourself, Vallan. I’m in a black mood.” He sits back when I stay silent, regarding me intently. “Why do you frolic with such vermin as Skartovius Ashfen?”
“Because of the woman at his side,” I say, trying to bite the words back in my teeth.
“Ah. Yes. Your Sephania.” Barnabac smiles fondly. I’ve told him this numerous times, yet his mind is so broken that every time we meet it’s like the first time we’ve seen each other in years. I can use that to my advantage, hopefully, to keep other secrets from him.
Because the problem with Barnabac and his ambition is that he is too forgetful to act on anyone moving against him. By the Damned, he likely slaughtered all those innocent humans in Nuhav to build his head-wall because he thought they truly had something to do with Trithea Plaza.
What he doesn’t realize is that killing so many has only heightened the stakes against him. If only the humans were more powerful, or had allies—like Skartovius and I, or VanisonShirin the silversmith—maybe something would be done to keep the Blood Baron in check.
His unchecked power and broken mind have made him complacent. He sits up here in his tower, on his chair, rarely leaving unless something happens in his direct line of sight, such as the ambush at Trithea Plaza.
“I will grant you leave to continue harboring with the silly lord and your whore,” Barnabac tells me.
