Mr Worldz
patreon
Chapter 59: Fort Gaellin
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 10:00:05 +0000 UTCI follow Hamza back to the alehouse, the door creaking on its hinges as we push inside.
Yurik stands among the brigands, sleeves rolled up, barking orders as they haul the loot from the past few weeks to a battered table at the center of the alehouse. He leans over it, inspecting each pouch of coin and crate of stolen goods, before grinning with approval.
Once satisfied, he straightens, resting his warhammer against his shoulder, and calls out over the din.
"Right, listen up, you sorry bastards!" he roars, voice carrying across the smoky hall. "We've done good here. Redwick's bled near dry, an' it's time to quit while the quittin's good."
He grins wide, teeth glinting through the gash in his cheek. "Time we gather up our take, pack the carts, and head home. Edric's called us back, says he's got a proper job waitin'. A fat one."
The men lean in, grinning, muttering to each other.
Yurik chuckles. "He says it's a real feast this time, boys. Not some piss-poor village neither, we're talkin' fat merchants, fat purses, and fat bellies waitin' for the gutting."
The brigands erupt in a roar, mugs slamming on tables, fists pounding on wood. The alehouse shakes with the force of it.
Yurik throws his head back and laughs. "Pack light, drink deep! We ride at first light!"
The brigands cheer and Yurik nods approvingly. He turns toward me, grinning through broken teeth. "Yer little gang's comin' along. Done yer share, so it's time ya met the captain."
He jabs a thumb toward me. "Yer halfway decent with that spear, more'n I can say for half the useless fuckers here. Edric'll want a word with you, and that boy of yours...” He jerks his head over to Luna. “Garren? Him too. Edric don't like to waste talent. He’ll give you both a good position, providin' you continue provin' yerselves."
I nod, anticipation welling in my stomach. At last, it's time. We'll be meeting him. The leader of the Bleeding Knives.
Edric the Butcher.
We depart at first light, frost still clinging to the bare branches overhead. The loot is packed into a creaking cart, pulled by a weary mule, both 'gifts' from Redwick village.
William is sent ahead with the scouts, tasked with keeping an eye on the road. Hamza brings up the rear with half a dozen others, their eyes scanning the trees for any sign of enemies. Luna and I are assigned to guard the cart itself, walking alongside it, weapons ready.
Yurik rides casually atop the cart’s bench, reins in one hand, a strip of dried meat in the other, chewing with loud, contented bites.
As the cart rattles along the frozen road, I lean close to Luna, lowering my voice. "Any idea where they're leading us?"
She keeps her gaze forward, her hood drawn low. "If I had to guess..." she murmurs, voice low. "Could be the old iron mine east of Redwick. Or maybe the abandoned logging camp near Coldmere Creek. This road should lead to both."
As we continue, the path narrows, the trees thickening until the sky itself is barely visible. We leave the main road entirely, winding through rough, half-forgotten trails.
Wherever this new hideout lies, it is well hidden.
Yurik shifts atop the cart, glancing back at us with a smirk. "Wonderin' where we're headin', are ya?"
I nod. "A little."
He chuckles. "You an' half the gang. This place is new. Most o' the lads ain't even seen it yet. Only shown to us after that bastard Edwin raided our last den."
He spits into the snow, the glob steaming where it lands. "Barely got out with our skins thanks to the useless fuckers that got themselves caught. Could've at least held their tongues until we got all the loot cleared."
Yurik's sighs, leaning back. "Hope Gandre's had 'em all drawn and quartered by now, the squealin' little shits."
I glance at Yurik and ask, "You know Gandre and Edwin well?"
Yurik narrows his eye. "Why d'ye ask? You know 'em?"
I pause, and catch Luna shooting me an irritated glare. Quickly, I shrug, keeping it casual. "Been past Ravencroft a time or two. Heard their names tossed around."
Yurik grunts, tearing off another bite of dried meat. "Hm, well… aye, I know ‘em well. Served with both under Lumenon's banner."
He spits into the snow. "Gandre, he grew up in Ironcliff same as me. Hard bastard, even back then. Edwin... different sort. Always chasin' glory, lookin' to climb. No loyalty in him unless it served his own hide."
I nod, but Yurik continues eyeing me.
Luna, quick to shift the subject, asks in a roughened voice, "You said you were shown this place. By who?"
Yurik raises an eyebrow, chuckling. "You really are just a boy, ain't ya? Sounds like yer balls ain't even dropped yet."
Luna stiffens slightly and looks away.
Yurik chuckles, tugging lightly at the reigns to guide the mule.
"Edric's got friends, being the great man he is. Powerful friends. A couple o' 'em deigned to come lend us a hand in person. You'll meet 'em soon enough, same as the rest."
He lowers his voice, glancing about as if someone might be listening.
"But mind yer tongue when you do. Edric likes men with a backbone, sure, but these two? They're a darker breed even by our measure. Nasty fuckers, the both of 'em."
Nasty, even by this savage's standards?
"What should I look out for?" I ask.
Yurik finishes his meat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "First one’s a big fucker. You think me an' you are big? This one makes us both look like piss-skinny dock boys. They call 'im Two."
Of course... Two...
He shifts in his seat, a rare edge creeping into his voice.
"Then there's the other. Wears a black robe, hooded all the time. Maybe scarred up like your boy there," he jerks a thumb toward Luna. "They call 'im Maldor."
Yurik shudders visibly.
"That one... I don't know what to make of him. I've killed men before. No stranger to a bit o' torture, neither. But what that man does... it ain't right."
He spits again, shaking his head. "You know Lumina ain't real, 'cause if she was, she'd have struck that fucker down long ago."
Maldor... never heard of him.
I glance over at Luna; she merely shrugs, offering no answer.
Curious, I ask, "What's so important that the boss needs these two to help? You lot seem to be managing well enough without them."
Yurik chuckles, his mood lightening. "You'll find out soon. Edric'll explain it all when the time's right."
He leans back, stretching his arms. "And trust me, lad, when he does. You'll be glad you decided to join up with us."
He leaves it at that, offering no more.
The conversation dies, and the rest of the journey unfolds in tense, expectant silence. We weave through the winding trails, through the deep woods.
Until finally, we break through into a clearing. At its center rises a ruined, crumbling fort, its walls half-fallen and choked with creeping vines.
But the ramparts are manned by brigand archers, their bows scanning the woods lazily. Voices drift from within, rough and raucous. Despite its battered state, the fort thrums with life. Filled to the brink with brigands and becoming a thriving, dangerous den.
Yurik stands atop the cart, looking over his cold, tired men. He spreads his arms wide and calls out, voice booming across the clearing. "Here we are, boys! Home sweet fuckin' home!"
He slaps the side of the cart for emphasis, grinning through cracked teeth. "Fort Gaellin," he declares proudly. "Ain't much to look at, but she's ours now. Time to get some fuckin' rest."
As we draw closer, the fort looms larger with every step. It's an ugly, oddly shaped thing, its towers uneven, the walls slanting at strange angles, I'm not sure if time's just weighed on it badly, or if it was poorly constructed to begin with. Despite the decay, the stone walls rise higher than even Ravencroft's proud defenses, casting deep, crooked shadows over the clearing.
Yurik hauls himself off the cart, stomping through the snow, and stops before a heavy, slanted iron gate pitted with rust. He raises one thick arm, his voice rumbling out, low and mean.
"Knock."
A smaller brigand scurries forward, he taps a quick pattern on the gate with the butt of his knife. Sharp, rhythmic. Two, one, two, one.
For a long moment, nothing.
Then, the iron groans, dragging inward. The heavy gate opening in welcome.
William leans in close and whispers, "What was that about? Shouldn’t they recognize Yurik?"
I shrug, keeping my voice low. "Maybe it's a code. Lets the ones inside know there aren't enemies waiting in the trees, or hidden among us, holding us hostage."
He grunts quietly and we turn back to the fort.
The doors grind fully open, and a man steps out, broad-shouldered, armored in a battered brigandine like Yurik, a sword swinging at his hip. He hawks and spits at Yurik's feet, sneering.
"Well, look what the rats dragged in. You stinking hogs get lost on the way to the pig pens?"
Yurik snorts, stepping forward. "Want to guide me there Bran? I'll feed them yer corpse."
Bran grins, his teeth surprisingly neat and clean. "Think you can you big fuck? Look half dead already."
Yurik cracks his knuckles. "Maybe yer lookin' to see if you can finish the job yerself?"
Bran steps forward, their faces inches apart, tension crackling between them.
Then, just as sudden, they laugh, gripping each other by the shoulders and shaking roughly.
"Get yer asses inside, ya filthy bastards!" Bran calls out to the rest of us, still grinning. "You stink like a goat's ballsack. There's a hotspring below, wash yerselves before you foul the hall."
Yurik blinks, surprise crossing his scarred face. "A hotspring? Since when?"
Bran chuckles, thumbing over his shoulder. "Since last week. Maldor uncovered it."
Yurik's grin fades at the mention of the name, and he mutters, "Tch... him..."
Bran rolls his eyes. "Stop frettin' about the damned sorcerer. He does good work, whether you like him or not."
My ears prick at that, and so do Luna's. We exchange a glance.
A sorcerer... here? What exactly are these brigands up to?
Yurik grumbles something under his breath, too low for me to catch. Then he sighs heavily and shouts to the crew, "Get inside, you filthy shits! Time for a bath."
The brigands pour in, us among them. All eager to rest after the journey through the snow.
I glance sideways at Luna, hood pulled low, mouth masked. Her golden eyes flick briefly to me, unreadable, as we're funneled deeper into the fort.
William claps me lightly on the back, his grin tight, forced. "Lovely place, innit?"
Hamza silently trudges along, lost in thought, swept in with us by the crowd.
We descend deeper into the fort, following narrow, stone passages through the old ruin. Light comes from the flickering torches mounted in iron brackets along the uneven walls, walls that are slick with moisture, especially as we head deeper below.
We pass through what must have once been the dungeon, iron-barred cells carved into the rock, now broken and abandoned, though their stench lingers still.
At the bottom, the tunnel opens into a wide, low cavern. And there it is: a hotspring, steaming against the cold, its waters catching the torchlight.
The men let out whoops and cheers at the sight, shoving past each other, stripping off belts and cloaks in a mad scramble.
One filthy brigand makes a break for the water, sprinting forward like a dog off a leash.
Bran, fast as a snake, snatches the man by the back of his grimy tunic and hurls him back into the crowd.
"Hold, you ugly fuckers!" Bran bellows, slapping the nearest man with the flat of his hand. "Strip them rags off first! Maldor keeps the water clean somehow, but I ain't risking it with you disgusting hogs!"
He turns to Yurik, gesturing to his garb.
"Armor and tunic by the door. Someone’ll scrub ‘em. Spare rags by the wall."
A thin brigand pipes up, voice cracking. "Can I get a pair too, Bran? I pissed me breeches comin' here..."
Bran turns to him and punches the boy clean across the jaw, sending him sprawling unconscious into the mud.
“Alright boys, let’s get ourselves clean.”
Then, strips down himself, bare-assed, and wades into the steaming pool with a groan of satisfaction.
The others follow, laughing and hooting, the cavern quickly filling with splashing water and crude jokes.
William dives into the water with a laugh, calling over to Hamza. "Come on, Hamza! Water feels amazin'! Like the goddess herself spat in it."
Hamza hesitates, but with a grumble, strips down and wades in.
I shrug and begin undressing as well. As the last of my clothing drops, I glance toward Luna. She's turned away, face hidden beneath her hood and mask, twisted with disgust knowing her.
Yurik catches it and lets out a booming laugh. "Don't be shy, boy! Yer little cock’s got time to grow yet! Git in! Heat'll bring 'im out!"
Luna doesn't reply. She turns and starts to walk away.
Yurik's good humor dies quick. He pushes up from the water, snarling. "When I speak to you, boy, you answer."
Inwardly, my stomach knots.
Fuck. If Luna’s exposed here... with all these brigands around...
I shudder at the thought.
Yurik growls, wading through the water.
"Better get yer skinny arse in here, boy."
Luna doesn’t respond. She simply sprints away, her boots splashing against the stone.
Thinking fast, I call out before Yurik can react.
"He's embarrassed."
Yurik turns, one thick brow arching.
I shrug, trying to sell it.
"His scars... they go all the way down, if you know what I mean."
Yurik’s lip curls, disgusted but curious.
I press on.
"The ones who caught him. They didn’t just carve up his face. They took everything. Cock, balls... nothing left below, just a nasty gash."
Yurik grimaces, spitting into the steaming water.
"A eunuch then?"
I nod.
He snorts.
"Fine. Suppose he don't stink half as bad as the rest of you lot. But you, get in."
I nod and wade into the hotspring.
The heat crashes into me like a wave, sinking deep, thawing muscle and bone alike.
For a moment, I close my eyes, letting it burn the cold, the filth, and the fear away.
William, always quick to fill a silence, launches into a story. "So there I am," he says, arms wide, "sittin' in the old wash-barrel behind the tavern, tryin' to scrub the week's stink off me, when the brewer's sow comes wanderin' over. Big ugly thing, thought it was a lady at first, squintin' in the steam—'til it stuck its head in and drank half the bloody barrel!"
The brigands howl with laughter, slapping the water and each other.
Bran, wiping tears from his eyes, asks, "Who the fuck is this guy?"
Yurik chuckles. "Name's William. Knows how to talk, useless otherwise."
William gives a mocking bow. "Don't need nothin' else. Talked my last mark outta his coin without even drawin' a blade. Man thanked me for it, too."
Bran chuckles. "Best kind of thief."
William grins. "If you don't mind me askin', how exactly did that Maldor fellow find this place?"
Bran shrugs. "Don't know. Maldor's a mysterious fucker. You'll see when you meet him."
One of the men pipes up, "He really a sorcerer?"
Bran rests his arms along the rough stone edge of the pool. "Dunno. Seen him do strange things. And... he knows things he shouldn't. Never seen him throw lightning or nothing like that though."
Yurik spits into the water again. "He's a sorcerer alright. What he does with the bodies we give him... Carves 'em up, writes strange letters all over 'em. Whatever he does, Lumina sure don't approve."
Bran laughs. "Since when you give a fuck about what Lumina approves of?"
Yurik looks away, scowling.
Bran leans closer, voice dropping. "Man you should really be afraid of is Two. That giant son of a bitch is insane. Do not even look at him unless he talks to you first. Never seen a man move like he does."
Yurik chuckles. "What, afraid, Bran?"
Bran snorts. "Any sane man would be."
Yurik grins. "Don't worry. As long as we've got Halrick with us, we don't got nothin' to worry about."
William, curious, asks, "Who's Halrick?"
Yurik chuckles. "Second in charge. Best damn fighter we have. Even Edric can't beat 'im."
Bran nods with a proud smile. "Me and Yurik could come at Halrick at once and still end up gutted like pigs. Guess that noble upbringing did him some good at least."
The bath continues on, lively, the men roaring with laughter and splashing about like pigs in a trough. Most don't even both to wash, choosing instead to just enjoy and splash about in the water like children. When we're done, they haul themselves out, drying themselves off, only to drag their filthy clothes back over their bodies.
Still, the stink is dulled somewhat... and that goes for me too.
"Come on you lot."
Yurik and Bran gather us up, leading us through the winding halls once more. Yurik grins over his shoulder, voice booming through the narrow passage. "Alright, you disgusting dogs, now that you’re cleaned up, time to see the boss. Mind yer manners, boys, you're 'bout to stand before Edric the Butcher himself."
