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Vainglory 3.39 - Subterfuge
🕑 Added 2025-05-26 20:20:59 +0000 UTCHere's your chapter! Thanks for reading :)
-Plum
39 – Subterfuge
Ward leaned forward in the saddle, urging his captured mount to hurry, nudging his heels and switching the reins. “Yah! Good boy! Come on!” He could see his quarry, and he was gaining on him. Ward wasn’t an expert rider by any stretch, and he certainly wasn’t a light load, so he had to assume he’d simply gotten a better horse from the man he’d killed.
The road was dry, well-packed dirt, and the horse ahead kicked up quite a cloud of dust as Ward pursued his quarry into an increasingly dense forest. As he gained, the dust began to catch in his nostrils and sting his eyes, making it harder to see, but Ward could hear the horse’s galloping progress, so he knew it right away when it slowed and veered to the right. Sensing a trap or at least a last-ditch attempt to win the upper hand, Ward pulled hard on the reins, and his stallion slowed, screaming his discontent as his hooves slid in the dirt.
A grunt and a twang from the trees told Ward a crossbow bolt was coming before he heard it thud into his mount’s haunch, sending it into a rearing convulsion of bucks and whinnies. Ward tried to hold on, but the big horse threw him, and he awkwardly fell to the hard dirt. He was just getting to his feet when the stallion, driven mad with pain and confusion, threw a hoof his way, catching him on the shoulder and sending him scrabbling onto his hands and knees again.
Ward’s focus was singular, and throughout his ordeal, he kept peering into the shadows of the trees, looking for his quarry. He didn’t see the crossbowman, but he saw his mount, its tether looped over a low branch. Rubbing his bruised shoulder, well aware that the blow would have probably crippled his old self, Ward lurched to his feet and charged into the trees, ripping his sword out of the scabbard.
He reached the animal, surprised not to hear another crossbow bolt coming his way, but then he saw why the fleeing man had abandoned his mount. The horse was holding its left foreleg up, clearly lame. Out of the dust, his nose began to work for him, and he picked up the musky, sour scent of fear and stress to his left, so he charged that way, crashing through some fern-like undergrowth, and then he heard snapping branches not far ahead. Grinning, the wolf in him loving the chase, Ward leaped toward the sound.
When he smashed through some already-bent saplings and charged into a clearing, he saw the crossbowman desperately trying to lift a freshly loaded bow to his shoulder. He shook, though, trembling with fear and adrenaline, and Ward was already moving full-tilt. He could have killed the bowman—his sword was out, he was swollen with the urge for violence—but he held back, shoulder-checking the man instead.
His impact bent the arm holding the bow, and Ward heard the small bones in the bandit’s hand snap as the string twanged, sending the bolt flying into nowhere. Meanwhile, Ward carried through, and knocked him onto his butt, sending him sliding and flopping as he gasped in pain, trying to cradle his wounded limb. Ward lifted his sword high, standing over him. “Don’t move, asshole.”
“D-don’t,” he gasped. “I have information!”
Ward put his boot on his chest, knocking him flat. “Keep your hands where I can see ’em and start talking.” Ward had convinced himself that the men were just bandits because it didn’t make sense that they were targeting him. How could they have known he was in that coach? Still, the man’s protestation piqued his interest, and he didn’t want to spoil it by asking the wrong questions.
“We-we were meant to kill you, but we ain’t got anything against you! It was just money! Let me go and I swear you’ll never see my face around Ordo again!”
“Mmhmm, and how’d you know I was in that coach?”
“If I tell you, will you spare me? Do you swear it?”
Ward scowled. The guy had been part of the group that had killed his driver. Should he be allowed to escape without repercussion? He could deceive him, but Ward had a different opinion about lying than he used to, now that he knew souls and magic and things like bonds of fate were a thing. It seemed like lying about something important ought to give him pause. Frowning, he settled on a truth that gave him some leeway. “I won’t kill you.”
The man nodded, wiping some snot off on the collar of his leather coat. “Those who hired us, they could see your progress. See you coming this way.”
Ward’s scowl deepened. “Elaborate.”
“I don’t know how, sir, but them folks holed up at Coral’s estate, they—”
“That’s where you were?”
“Aye! They hired us about five days ago, us and ten other men. We took the estate and captured the lord and his family—his servants and soldiers, too. Well, them we didn’t kill, that is.”
Ward began to put the pieces together. “Who hired you?”
“A fine lady, sir. A lady from the Assembly. She said we was protecting the city and the whole system, besides—that you were a demon who possessed Lord Coral. She said once you were killed, she’d be able to sort him out.”
“You took the estate ten days ago?”
Ward slid his sword into his scabbard and reached into his pocket, withdrawing the scroll he’d folded into a square shape and stuffed there only a couple of days ago—the invitation and map to Coral’s estate. It still had the broken wax seal near the top edge, and Ward took his thumbnail, scratching it off. A pulse of heat warmed the tip of his thumb—confirmation enough that some magic was at work. He wasn’t surprised to find a glyph shaped like an eye beneath the tacky red wax, surrounded by half a dozen much smaller ones. Some sort of tracking magic?
He clicked his tongue, annoyed at his naivety—shouldn’t he expect subterfuge and things like magical tracking by now? He tore the paper around the seal, removing the glyphs from the map, and then tossed it to the grass. He nudged his captive with his boot. “You say there are ten more at the estate? Them and who else besides the lady?”
The guy grimaced, shifting his wounded arm closer to his chest before answering. “Sh-she had three men with her, sir. Hard-looking types. They carried long, slim blades—rapiers or something like ’em. Nobles’ swords. Meant more for pokin’ than swingin’. All shiny and wicked, like they were built to kill fast.”
“Duelists? Sorcerers?”
The man shook his head, still wincing as he gently probed his twisted fingers. “Didn’t see a glow in their eyes, sir, but they looked like professional fighters, aye. The lady—sir, her eyes were bright. Brighter than yours, beggin’ yer pardon.”
“Reembak? That name ring a bell?”
“N-no, sir. All they called her was milady and ma’am.”
“Were her eyes green? Did she have pretty hair—like curled copper floss?”
“Aye, sir! That’s her a’right!”
Ward clenched his fists. So, Reembak had moved against Coral? He supposed that solved the question about whether he could trust Coral. It was also the second attempt Reembak had made on his life, so Ward was comfortable putting her squarely in the “enemy” column. He looked down at his prisoner. “What’s your name?”
“Robb, sir.”
“Sit up and straighten out those fingers. You got anything to splint ’em up in your saddlebags?”
The man grunted, pushing himself up on one elbow. “So you meant it? You ain’t gonna kill me?”
“Not yet. Did you see what happened to Coral’s sorceress? Gwen?”
“Aye, she put up a fight, but the Assembly lady, uh, Reemb—” He frowned. “What was her name, sir?”
“Reembak.”
“Well, she did something to keep her busy—the sorceress, I mean—and then the, uh, fighters I told you about, took her down. We was instructed not to mess with her, me and the other mercenaries. We were told to handle the guards and the staff.”
“Did they kill her?”
“I don’t think so, sir. I think she’s being held captive with Lord Coral and the others who surrendered.”
“You know where?”
“In the manor house—”
“I mean, where in the house?”
“Aye, aye.” He ducked his head apologetically. “In the main parlor, sir. They let some kitchen staff loose to feed me and the others, along with Reembak’s men. They go in and out of the parlor with chamber pots and food and whatnot.”
“All right, Robb, listen up. Here’s the million-dollar question—”
“Dollar, sir?”
“Million-glory.” Ward sighed and squatted, staring the man in his eyes. “How hard are you willing to work for your life?”
“You already said you wouldn’t kill me!”
Ward grinned. “Okay, then. Well, you killed an innocent coach driver and tried to kill me. I suppose I’ll need to take some action to ensure you don’t get up to that kind of business again, yeah? Let’s see… One eye, one hand, and one foot ought to do it. I’ll do you a favor and start with your broken hand—”
“Sir! P-please! I’m begging you! I’ll do anything!”
“Well, that’s all you had to say! I’m going to give you an easy job, and if you pull it off, I’ll let you flee with all your body parts. How’s that sound?”
“G-good.” Robb licked his lips, nodding feverishly. “It sounds good, sir.”
“Okay, step one. Let’s go check on our horses. I think mine will be okay after we get your crossbow bolt out of his rump. What about yours?”
“He can walk, sir. His foreleg came up lame, but—”
“That’s good enough. Let’s go.” Ward grabbed him under the arm and hauled him up. He made a move to walk toward his fallen crossbow, but Ward held him in place, shaking his head. “You won’t need that. Come on.” He tugged him toward the trees, where he could still smell the horses’ sweat and blood. “While you’re patching your hand, I’ll get my horse straightened out. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Ward led him to his horse, still tethered near the road. He left him there, working on splinting his broken fingers, then went out to the road and followed his nose to his wounded stallion. It had finally calmed down and come to a stop about fifty yards down the road. There it stood, grazing the tall grass growing along the berm. Occasionally, it would lift its hind leg where the crossbow bolt sat buried in the dense muscle, twitching its flesh and flicking its tail. “Hey there, big guy. That hurt, didn’t it? You want me to get that out of you?”
The horse looked at him sideways, snorted, and flicked its tail again. Ward reached a pair of fingers into his magical bag and pulled out a healing tonic. “Okay, buddy, I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that those bolts aren’t barbed. Bad news is that it’s still gonna hurt when I yank it out.”
Ward lifted his hand to the horse’s rump, gently patting a few inches away from the bolt. With his other hand, he got hold of the animal’s reins. When the horse relaxed enough to reach for another bite of grass, he deftly grabbed the bolt and yanked it out, trailing a long streamer of dark blood. The horse bucked, kicked out, and whinnied, but Ward had been ready for that. He sidestepped the kick but kept a firm grip on the reins.
“That’s it, boy. It’s all over.” He had to fight the animal as it pulled and stomped, but eventually, its training and the slow realization that its wound felt better seemed to bring some peace to it. The horse stopped fighting and nudged Ward with its muzzle, snorting and chuffing hot breath into his face. “Okay, buddy, okay. I have something that will help a little more.” Ward stroked the animal, inching his way back behind the saddle, and then he lifted the tonic and drizzled a little onto the oozing puncture wound.
The horse whinnied and shivered, twitching its skin and flicking its tail, but it clearly wasn’t upset—no kicks, bites, or stomps came Ward’s way. When it settled, Ward put the remainder of the tonic into his bag and climbed into the saddle. When he turned, he saw Robb, hand bandaged, leading his limping horse back to the road. He clicked his tongue and started toward him, and when he got close, called, “Would a tonic help that leg?”
“I applied some salve, sir, after I put some on my hand. Problem is they ain’t so good at fixing bones as I’m sure you know.”
“How far to the estate if we walk the horses?”
“An hour, I’d guess.”
Ward nodded, watching the man struggle to pull himself into the saddle one-handed. As he got mounted and nudged his heels, getting his wounded mount moving, Ward turned his horse and waited for him to come up beside him. “Okay, so, the short version of my plan is that you’re going to go to the gates and say I escaped and that I’m hiding in these woods. You’ll also say that you saw some mounted men and women going into the woods after me, while you lay hidden.”
“I was hiding, sir?”
“You’ll say you got thrown from your horse and knocked out briefly. That’s how you managed to see the other riders coming. You’ll say I was wounded, and hopefully, Reembak will assume those riders are my allies and she’ll send more soldiers with you to find me and finish me off.”
“And if she don’t, or…” He trailed off, but Ward knew what he was thinking.
“Listen, if you try to warn them that I’m coming, two things are going to happen. One, you’re going to be helping the real evil that’s threatening the city, and two, I’m just going to have to kill a lot more people, including you.”
“You can’t be serious. You’re going to attack the estate? Even if she sends ten men with me, sir, that leaves the sorceress and her killers.”
“Let me worry about that. All I know is that she’s bad news, and I have to save Coral—you helped get a legitimate Assembly member captured! I’d rather not kill all the mercenaries Reembak hired, but if I have to, that’s what’s going to happen.”
“I understand. I’d rather not be there during the fight, sir, but if you lose, it’ll surely mean my head for lying—”
Ward looked at him sideways, grinning wolfishly. “I’m not going to lose. Even so, if you’re smart, you’ll lead those other men here and then slip away. Go back to the city and get passage somewhere else, maybe. It’s up to you.”
“I can do that.” The man nodded, licking his chapped lips.
“I’m going to be watching, by the way. I swear to you, if you don’t play this out the way we just discussed, you’ll be the first to feel my steel.” Ward rested a hand on the pommel of his sword. When Robb nodded again, he asked, “How’s your acting?”
“My acting, sir?”
“Yeah. You’re going to want to look harried and stressed. You’ll want to act like it’s urgent that some men come with you to find me in the woods before my allies help me. We don’t want to leave them with any idea that there’s time to examine your story or put you to questioning.”
“Oh, aye. I can do that.”
“Good.” Ward gestured up the road. “I’ll want to get off the road before we come to the estate. Do they have any guards posted on the road?”
“No. We’ll turn between two orchards, and then it’s a short ride down a narrow lane through the trees, and we’ll come to the stone wall surrounding the estate. When we left, there were four men posted at the gate.” He glanced at Ward. “If you wanted to watch me and get out of sight, you could slip away from the road into the orchard. There’s a hedge on the far side separating the trees from the estate grounds.
Ward stretched out an arm to clap him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” He knew the safest bet would have been to ride back to the city, and collect Haley and maybe Marshal True, Lali, and, if she’d come, Master Rose. Then, they could ride out to the estate together and put up a proper fight to help Coral. The problem was that Reembak was a sorceress, and she was already tracking that letter. She knew something had happened in those woods. She’d send people, and if they found no sign of Ward, they’d pull up stakes. Or, at least, he would if he were in their shoes.
No, this was his best chance to kill two birds with one stone: he’d help Coral, get the man and his sorceress on his side against the Umbrage, and he’d capture Reembak and find out who the cult leader was. It was going to be a risky move, taking on a powerful sorceress with her soldiers ready for trouble, but he hoped he might be able to get Gwen loose and get some help from her.
While they rode, he had Robb describe the manor to him—the layout of rooms, the last place he’d seen Reembak and her guards, and the various entries and exits. By the time they reached the orchard, Ward felt like he had a pretty good grasp of things.
He threatened Robb one last time, then slipped into the trees, angling away from the road but still heading toward the manor. He couldn’t help the grin on his face as he slid off the horse’s back and led him quietly toward the dense hedgerow at the edge of the orchard. Things were either about to go very well or very badly. However it went, it wouldn’t be boring.
