Chapter 409

Vargas shoved his blade into the smuggler's guts, and the fat tub of shit squealed at the brutal penetration of a Holocaust Scripture's steel through his flesh. The scripture member snarled as he watched the grasping, fat fingers of the example of foulness grab at his slender shoulders, trying to hold himself upright for just one moment more. The bright light in the smuggler's eyes faded like a candle's fading wick, and then went out, dark as the night in which the fool died.

The obese body slipped off the edge of the sword and fell hard, striking a table and scattering coins in every direction. They clattered, but Vargas had no reason to care about the noise. The rest of the house was dead. He sneered down at the corpse.

"Men like you are enough to make me doubt our supremacy. Chosen by the gods?" He spat on the corpse, the wet glob of white saliva dripped down the man's empty eyes like a mockery of a final tear. "Fucking act like it."

Downstairs the Agante were shuffling through papers, they were making a worse racket than the murder of the master of the house did. Vargas turned an eye toward the open door while blood pooled at his feet, he wiped the sword clean on the expensive cloth that made up a shirt which barely contained the now open guts of the 'former' slave trader, then sheathed it at his side again.

"Did you find anything?" Vargas shouted out the door, and a moment later a human with almost perfect ears, an 'eighth breed' at a glance, popped his head in.

"Not yet, sir, not yet. We're looking. But since the edict some of the elfnappers were getting desperate, they're hiding papers now until they can launder the stolen lives." The Agante agent to speak had a silken voice, a narrow face and build, but Vargas saw chiefly the tips of his ears, the mark of elven ancestry from centuries before, it was a mark of inferiority, but he was 'clean' enough in Theocracy terms that if his lineage was certified human for multiple generations then he could have a clean place in society as long as he did some years of civil service first.

Vargas grunted, comrade or not, there was elven blood there and he had little inclination to speak to that blood line. "Fine. Just make it quick, we've got another place to hit, take whatever you can and sort it out later. This isn't what my scripture is usually supposed to do."

It was a small courtesy in a way to leave off the unspoken, 'And I'd rather not be in your company for long.' Even in the best of times, scripture members and agante members did not get along well.

The agent inclined his head, his hand drifted instinctively toward the long knife his order used, and he drew the hood of his ashen cloak over his head to hide his ears again. He was gone into the dark, blending like he was born into the shadows themselves.

Vargas looked around the once orderly room, it was now smashed to pieces, expensive furniture that could have sold for enough to feed a poor family for half a year was reduced to kindling, fine clothes were sliced to ribbons, but there was one more finishing touch before they rounded up the elven slaves for delivery to Cardinal Raymond.

Vargas crouched, dipped his finger into the man's blood, and went to an expensive painting of the tub of lard done in 'heroic pose' as if he were a warrior who fought something other than sweet rolls and beer. He then scrawled a single word across the sliced up canvas. "Smuggler".

"There, that ought to keep anyone from claiming inheritance." He muttered, and smeared his finger clean along an unspoiled section of the painting. "Now to secure the rest." He verbalized his to-do list and exited the house the way he entered, through the second floor window.

Slavers weren't the most respected profession, but before the sudden scarcity of elves with the war's end, they were at least all considered legitimate. 'I guess when the supply dried up it started making them pretty desperate, no wonder the greedy ones resorted to theft from over the border, and no wonder they're even robbing from their own customers.'

Vargas shook his head, 'Fools like that put our country at risk, that can't be allowed.' He consoled himself with the unpleasant task of being exposed to more human filth and followed what the tip said, the long houses that confined the slave population weren't worth much, long cut logs stacked together and insulated with a mix of sap and straw, their doors secured each night, there were at least thirty adult pairs and their children in a place barely large enough for ten.

'I wonder if they could hear what was happening in the house?' It was an idle curiosity, their hearing was superior, but just how much so seemed to vary considerably from one to the next.

He placed his hands on either side of the crossbar and muttered his martial arts, [Greater Strength][Iron Hands][Lesser Strength] He then squeezed, and ripped. Had he waited, or cared to search, the key to the lock might have been found, but there was no need.

If the noise in the manor didn't disturb the sleeping slaves, then the noise of his ripping the metal free certainly did, the noise of many muffled voices and hasty scurrying feet wasn't well hidden by the thick door, so Vargas paused a moment, waiting to see if anyone would approach and try the exit for themselves.

He stared at the wood, and the voices inside slowly went silent.

Vargas held up his sword and slashed it twice from one upper corner to lower corner, the thick wood fell to pieces at his feet. He wasted no time, ignoring the sudden glow of candles that lit up the lightly tanned faces of elven men, women, and children clad in ragged old clothing, their unwashed bodies from head to bare feet gave off an unpleasant odor to Vargas's nose, but they were looking at him without fear.

Ample curiosity, but fearless. He recited the names he sought, "Faelin Anor, Majin Cana Anor, Zibadi Ina Anor, are you in this… house."

A male, female, and a small child stepped forward through the mass.

"That is us, My Lord…" They went down to their knees while their counterparts stared from the small family to the armed human who stood in the doorframe.

"You are coming with me." Vargas spat the words perfunctorily and stepped back from the entrance.

"M-My lord what have we done?! We've done nothing! Nothing! I swear it!" The male protested, "If we have caused some offense, I pray, punish me! Not my wife! Not my daughter! They cannot take their 'introduction' here a second time!"

His horrified face seemed almost 'human' to Vargas, but he met desperation with flint. "You're not being punished, elf. You're going home. You are free. I'm taking you to join the others taken from your village, and in a few days you will be over the border."

A collective gasp went up from the lot of elven occupants, "But- but the master-"

"He is dead. I killed him. If the rest of my…" His face became sour for a moment, "'comrades' find what they're looking for in his house, then you and your… neighbors, will all be home in a few days."

The gasp went louder, and the one called Faelin spoke up, "May we… have your name, My Lord?"

Vargas grunted, "I've got no family name, but since it'll be easier, you can just call me, Vargas."

Faelin immediately took up the name, "Savior! We're saved! We're saved! Lord Vargas sets us free!"

For a moment he didn't quite grasp what the elf meant, not even when the whole of the cabin took up his name, "Hail Lord Vargas the liberator!" Howls and cries of joy went up as families flung themselves together in wild, joyful embrace. Husbands hugged wives, wives embraced husbands, children behind the little mob were picked up and set on their parents shoulders and their parents cried out, "Behold the face of our liberator!"

At once a dozen sets of parents said, "My son will bear your name, our liberator, our savior. Vargas will be his name, until his bones are dust!"

Elves tended to be a fairly straightlaced lot, stoic in the face of human cruelty, and their outpouring of joy was so unexpected that Vargas felt his tongue bound by the tidal wave of the moment.

By the time he realized what was happening, he had arms flung around him and wide, staring, adoring eyes looking up at him from elves whose mutilated ears could no longer properly dance the way they once did. 'Never look into the eyes of a slave' was an old admonition, and now he couldn't not.

"Wait, no- I'm only here fo-" Vargas tried to protest over the noise, but before he could explain their obvious misunderstanding, he felt a heavy smack on his shoulder.

"That's an unexpected choice. Freeing the whole lot of them as a gesture of good will toward King Mare? Not what I expected out of you, but it's your call as mission lead. I'll send word out to the others." Vargas turned toward the speaker, the second officer and one of the strongest mages in the Holocaust Scripture, a slender man whose waif-like body hid powerful muscles.

"Wait- I- what do I-" His protest was answered before he could properly make it.

"Of course you'll have to take responsibility for them, but for our strongest warrior, that should be no problem. Maybe they can even be useful staff in the short term to help find the rest. Good thinking, sir. Very good thinking."

Vargas had survived what felt like a thousand fights to the death, but in all that time he had never felt as wide eyed and flustered as he did at that moment. 'What the hell just happened here?! How did I just- I'm saddled with… with this?!'

"They found what they're looking for, by the way. The documents were hidden under the floorboards, we're ready to move on and hit the next two places. It looks like Dominic was right, we should have all the missing elves rounded up in a few days and on their way back in no time." The smiling face of the magic caster was full of admiration for his senior.

And all Vargas could think was, 'By the Six Gods! How I want to punch his teeth in.'

But breaking free of the embrace or the mooning, adoring, worshipful look of the elf who clung gratefully to his legs would have been impossible without doing something that would get him in trouble later.

Out of options, or at least ideas, he let out a weary sigh, "Thanks." He muttered and then snapped at the 'free' elves. "Get whatever you've got and be ready to go in five minutes."

Yvon held the document in hand and then laid it down, a smile on his face that even by his reckoning, could only be called malicious. He rang the bell, and then rang it four times more in rapid succession. This particular pattern would call every slave in his house to his location. 'Now for the test.' He thought with a certain sense of smug satisfaction.

They assembled in an almost militaristic formation, they wore little to nothing, male or female, save for the collars around their throats, and waited with heads bowed down in silent expectation, the curiosity they must have felt was hidden behind patient masks practiced by some of them for longer than the Cardinal's own lifetime.

"I wanted you to be the first to hear the 'modified' proposal of Cardinal Dominic which I will be offering to the other chosen leaders of humanity." Yvon said, and though their cut ears could no longer wiggle, they nonetheless perked up, a few raising their heads.

"On the forty-second day of the ninth month, a staged process of liberation will begin, all elven women who have birthed six halfling spawn will be free, allowed to travel anywhere in the Slane Theocracy so long as they acquire a permit and at least two thirds of their children are employed in service to the country. Thereafter, each month the number of children that must have been born will decline by one and they will be freed in succession with the same terms of employment required for travel permits. Thereafter elven women of pure blood who have birthed no children will also be freed, but may not travel beyond the city of their occupation, or leave the nation, unless a tax to the state has been paid in gold, equivalent to the cost of ten years labor of a free human, or forty years of work in service to the state, the term of which will be eliminated if they join the ranks of those who have added to the half-elf population."

He paused and watched their reactions. "Elf men may be set free immediately and will be deported to the Elf Kingdom of King Mare, and are forbidden from remaining in the borders of the Slane Theocracy. However they may remain with any wives or children that they have, if they agree to remain in service to their current masters for life."

The insidious nature of the 'freedom' being offered did not take long to be clearly visible in the eyes of his population of bonded servants. "You will be free, and of course, the choice of what to do with that, is largely up to you." Yvon said, and a wavering hand went up.

He suppressed a little frown on his face, but his own curiosity about what they would say in this situation was enough to drive him to make an allowance. "Yes?"

"My Lord, what was the 'unmodified' proposal?" The old elf inquired.

"A gradual liberation. You would be free for one day per week as your own, then each year an extra day would be added, your lives bought back by your labor, until nine years passed and in the tenth year you would be free." Yvon said and gave it a dismissive snort.

"Absurd, not as absurd as Raymond, but…?" He shrugged. "And before you vex me with your powers of speech, he wished an immediate liberation, but that will never happen. No matter what gods sit over the world." He pointed toward the door, "Now get out, I have things to do!"

Their muted response lacked the despair or frustration he expected, but there was no rebelliousness either. Only their steady stoic mask.

He looked down at his aged, wrinkled hands, 'I won't last much longer… so they all think the same thing. Just wait till he dies, we'll get somebody better… that's how they survive. No matter how cruel a human is, we die in the blink of an eye compared to them.' Envy smoldered like fire in his eyes that was brighter and more alive than the rest of his withered old body, and all he could do was sit and stew over the unwelcome changes being thrust upon him, until a human messenger barged into his office hours later.

"Cardinal Yvon!" The boy shouted, his pageboy haircut and fine clothes were enough to keep the Cardinal from reprimanding the boy, nobody less than a lord could have afforded that, and nobody outside of the immediate government would have sent someone like that to him. So he held his peace and watched the wide eyed boy pant as he tried to get out his message.

"F-F Feron… H-H-Has been burned!" The boy cried out, "I come from Thousand Mile Astrologer, she sees it now, and asks for all to come to her at once!"

"I'm on my way!" Yvon snapped and shot to his feet with the vigor of a man a quarter of his age, and rushed out of his office, intent on the estate of the last member of the Black Scripture.

Thousand Mile Astrologer's eyes had dark circles under them that might as well have been night painted on flesh. 'I haven't slept well since I saw that damn wedding… how could that have happened?! The others… they were all 'guests' there.' She thought it over, watching the captain marry that traitor to humanity and the guests, her friends, eating and drinking and making themselves at home as if it was a normal thing to eat with demihumans…

'How long have I been watching over that place since?' She knew the answer to her own question. Weeks. To the point of neglecting her sleep. The demihuman armies drilled like humans, their former divisions were dying a little more every day, and worse, the Black were helping. Most of what she saw, she kept to herself to keep the cardinals from panicking, but it was the little things that got to her. Roads, traders, travelers with only minor escorts. Instead of tribes of monsters in a constant conflict, they were like a kingdom of humans wrapped in a different flesh.

'The Dragonid Queen is the final piece, we're now boxed in on all sides.' She understood, and then she watched Feron burn, the flames licking at the sky like the tongue of an ardent lover in a moment of passion, an orgy of bloodshed and violence and pent up hatred so deep and rich it might as well have been a sea of red with no bottom.

She watched the other cardinals shift with great discomfort, from Raymond to Yvon, none of them were happy.

But no sooner than Yvon, as the last of them to arrive, took his seat than Dominic made his voice heard first. "What happened?! A disaster?! Did the mountain collapse? Was it a monster?"

"Elves." Thousand Mile Astrologer whispered in a cracked and broken voice, "Thousands of them, from what I saw, they came down from the mountain, gods alone know from where, they must have caught the city off guard, but now it burns, if there are any humans left there, they are not likely wishing they lived at all."

Raymond's face paled as he recalled Nua's warning. 'Get your people away from there…'

And he'd done that, opening up farmland had moved thousands of desperately poor humans into empty plots along the elven border. But that still left a lot more behind. 'She knew. She knew and didn't-" He cut off the thought, 'Of course she didn't, I wouldn't have were I in her shoes. I should be grateful she did as much as she did.'

No matter which way he came at it, he couldn't see it as anything but a long overdue revenge. But therein lay a more important question.

"Is it King Mare?" Raymond demanded, and the last member of the Black shook her head. "No. No it isn't, I checked their border immediately, nothing. Wherever these came from, they're not armored or armed like his."

"Where are they going now?" Berenice demanded. Her eyes afire with urgency, she leaned forward and clenched her hands one inside the other.

"They're hitting the estates, as near as I can tell, they're not on path to any city. I just don't know why…" She stopped when Maxmilion spoke up.

"The logical thing to conclude is that they're going after their brethren. Trying to hit the latifundia estates. I'm sure they'll burn a lot of homes and towns, but we don't need to panic. We can send out scriptures to deal with them, muster the army, and crush whatever is left. We were worried about labor, right?"

"They're beasts of no nation, of course. Even the Allfather can't complain if these are prisoners who slaughtered our people." Yvon remarked with a kind of sick glee that kept even Dominic silent and trading a reluctant quiet stare with Raymond.

"Have they made any demands yet? Has a leader made himself known?" Berenice asked.

"Not yet, but it won't be long, I'm sure." Thousand Mile Astrologer remarked, leaving Raymond with only one thought.

'This cannot end well.'