4 Dangerous Situation at the Inn

Arrogantly, the innkeeper sonorously smelled the pungent liquid and poured its contents into three glasses he had readied on one side of the desk for such occasions. Alastor didn't wait for an invitation, grabbed one of the glasses, and downed its contents in one gulp. An intense expression of pleasure crossed his face. Naliam followed in his example. Sure enough, the liqueur was delicious: an alluring blend of sweet and spicy herbs that gently caressed the throat as they filled Naliam's body with pleasant warmth.

"These are dangerous times we live in." Said Ichabod from behind his glass. He stopped talking as he delicately sipped the beverage. The pause made Naliam (who was somewhat familiar with Ichabod's mannerisms) uneasy although Alastor seemed to not notice it because his eyes hadn't left the container on the table. "Aye, dangerous times indeed. If one listens to the rumours, a shadow is rising in the North that threatens all of us. Closer to home, there are whispers of strange beasts that don't fear our borders."

"With all due respect, master Ichabod, beasts have never respected our borders. They stalk our children and wait for any chance they get to whisk them away under the cover of dark. Furthermore, the greater beasts preclude us from expanding our borders. Only the might of the Church, aided by Divines themselves -may they guide our every step- has allowed us to survive."

Naliam could only snort quietly at Alastor's preaching. Demonic beasts: the scourge of humanity. Genuine monsters that destroyed humans as if it were sensually satisfying to them. Naliam had once heard a relatively renowned scholar say there were as many types of beasts as there were stars in the sky, and he'd believed it. In any case, he wasn't going to try to find out the statement's accuracy any time soon. True enough, demonic beasts mostly didn't venture into human settlements, but that was because people had learned a long time ago not to construct homes near to the beast's abodes. Especially not the ones living up high in the mountains, or in the unfathomable depths of the oceans.

And Alastor was trying to claim it was all thanks to the sanctimonious Church of Divines. What a joke.

The Church did have a strong following, but it was no more than a simple superstition; the Divines had as much to do with societal development as the grime under Naliam's boots. Still, one could never speak against it lest you incur the Church's wrath. And Alastor was someone to fear, precisely because of the wrath he was known to display.

Ichabod smiled and nodded emphatically, not breaking his role for half a second. Playing the faithful innkeeper, he had no choice but to agree with what the old cleric said. He had pondered, for much longer than he should have, to simply signal his soldiers hiding in false walls to strike the men down. That option, however, would have been extremely unwise. A few missing thieves was one thing, an entire group of Church envoys would raise too many questions.

Ichabod Hare knew the manners in which the world worked. He had been born in Groamburk and had lived there for most of his childhood, spouting wild theories of his dream to turn the small city into an important commercial nexus. Back then the people had laughed and started referring to him as 'a gullible and wishful Hare'. His father, a banished young master of a noble family from the kingdom's capital due to lack of martial talent, eventually becoming a quarry worker without any real knowledge about business, decided to send young Ichabod to the closest city to learn to be a blacksmith when the ridicule became too much of a humiliation to bear. That hadn't really worked out.

Instead of applying for an apprenticeship at the forge, Ichabod signed up to be a lavatory cleaner at the biggest inn in the city as soon as he crossed into its limits. A disgusting position that no one wanted to be employed as, yet an opportunity which he relished. Five years later and Ichabod had risen to become manager of the place and soon had enough funds to buy his own stretch of land in Groamburk. He built his establishment, named it 'The Wishful Hare' on account of the humiliation he received at the hands of the cityfolk, and quickly made an immense profit.

The first few years had been extremely hard. From time to time he'd get robbed or have the building wrecked by some bunch of reckless drunkards. Nonetheless, he had always managed to maintain his composure and repair his position. He built in false walls and hired ex-soldiers and other mercenaries to protect the place. An unneglectable size of his fortune had gone into security. Now he had at least two dozen armed men always on the premises, and another sixty in reserve living in the barn out back.

These men, and two exceptionally capable women, were elegantly paid for their services as well as having their food and lodgings provided. This bought him their unwavering loyalty. Add to that the fact that they enjoyed possession of state-of-the-art weaponry -even the expensive hand cannons that could puncture through a fully armoured man standing thirty feet away- and Ichabod owned the strongest military force in the region. Only a full-mounted attack by the Duke's or the Church's forces could threaten him. And even then would they have a harsh fight, because his inn was a veritable fortress and passage between the mountain ranges was near impossible for an entire army regiment.

But still, Ichabod knew that this was not enough. He'd learned the hard way that in this world you will only be allowed to succeed in so far as those around you reap some benefit. As such, he'd come up with a great strategy. Whenever his establishment was attacked by thieves -a far too often occurrence- he let his men kill half of the band. The other half were then taken captive as slaves and sent to work at the perilous lumber mill at the edge of the forest two miles away.

The forest represented the formal end of Groamburk's borders, but in practice none dared near it on account of the beasts calling it their home. The problem was that Groamburkians needed the lumber that the trees provided as it was their main export. Stones from the quarry did have a market, yet their distance from the bigger cities of the Kingdom made it difficult to sell, making lumber their livelihood. Having access to slaves that would perform the labour costlessly had pleased Groamburkians incommensurably. The benefits of this business plan were reaped immediately, and Ichabod had been able to invest the remaining part of his earnings on cooks and other service employees that differentiated his establishment from any run of the mill inn.

Some might have said that it wasn't a good idea to forgo almost all of his profits, which were incredible even under a big city's standards, but Ichabod would have disagreed strongly. The way he saw it, he was buying himself a far more valuable commodity: power. The manner in which he was organised allowed him to be the true master of the region; not the old fool calling himself mayor by virtue of his ancestry, not the man demanding tributes from some far away city under the name of a distant Duke, but him: Ichabod Hare. Only he had control over who could transport goods across his village, only he kept the peace around there. In Groamburk and the surrounding territories Ichabod Hare was judge, jury, and executioner.

His job now was to not lose his power. And explicitly angering the Church would complicate things for him far more than the trouble was worth.

"My good Alastor, you are exactly right. Exactly right." Said Ichabod as he looked at the old cleric, his gaze still fixed on the flask. "We owe much to the Church and its agents. Please, let us partake in a drink to the glory of the Divines and the Church!" At his gestured behest, Alastor -evidently pleased at being allowed to consume more alcohol- filled his glass until it was almost brimming. Naliam joined him.

The toast was short, formal, and to the point and glasses were emptied promptly. Immediately afterwards Ichabod himself filled them again. The conversation turned to menial topics: the state of things back in Trumba and how the traffic on the Groam pass was faring. Mostly it was Alastor that talked, only interrupted by Ichabod's few questions intended at clarifying one bit of information or another. All the while, their glasses weren't allowed to stay empty for long. Such was their speed of consumption that Ichabod was forced to bring out another bottle of the strong drink before half an hour had passed.

Not for the first time, the mercenary leader eyed the old cleric with a mixture of awe and apprehension. At that moment he behaved like a blatant alcoholic. Other times he talked and moved like a scholar. At times he was a demon. During the week-long journey, Naliam had seen Alastor put a beggar to the breaking wheel just because the beggar had cursed the Divines after Alastor hadn't given him some charitable coins. On another occasion, he'd destroyed a child pickpocket's hands after catching him with his purse. Naliam still shuddered upon remembering their screams.

"Now, we must discuss a serious matter." Said Ichabod sombrely, breaking Naliam's trail of thought. "Mainly, why is the Church interested in sending a group of warriors to Groamburk? I must know, for if we are in danger then the people must be warned. If all you seek is refuge before setting out on your journey on the morrow, then you must accept any help I can offer."

"Good innkeeper, that is too complicated a matter to ruin a fine evening with." Explained Naliam. He had been ordered not to reveal his motives to anyone under any circumstances, and simply brushing it off as a secret would only make Ichabod more curious.

"Nonsense Naliam. This is a wise man that can surely understand the situation!" Contradicted Alastor. "Furthermore, his knowledge of the region can provide us with some much-needed intelligence. I'm certain that good mister Hare will understand that he cannot reveal the purpose of our mission to others, too."

Again, Naliam wanted to slice the old cleric's throat. Whatever they told Ichabod would be leaked in a matter of minutes. Then again, he wouldn't be the one at fault for that. He decided to sit back and quietly watch the exchange between Alastor and Ichabod. If things got out of hand, it would be the old cleric's head on the line.

"Of course I understand the need for secrecy!" Humbly said the innkeeper. "But if good mister Leyes doesn't feel comfortable explaining then I shan't inquire any further."

"An undeserved concern." Alastor paused to pour himself some more liqueur. "Have you heard about the township of Yrsogam?"